in my right mind {Oriel}

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“You sure? C’mon, bet’ll be a lot easier than trying to say whatever shit you want to say to his face.” Maybe. Oriel should learn to take his own advice, which would be a lot easier if he had any confidence in his literacy. “Put like, little pink hearts on the envelope…rub some sexy perfume on it….include a polaroid dick pic…” Of course he wasn’t serious, and if Oriel hadn’t been so sleep deprived, then maybe he wouldn’t have turned it into a joke.

He could still try to be serious though.

“…..then fucking call ‘im.” Oriel paused. “Fuck, I know, easier said than done.” Oriel rolled over again, taking the phone with him. “You know…I probly never would’ve talked to you again if you hadn’t shown up at the hospital,” he mumbled. “‘Cause I’m a fucking chicken shit. And an asshole. Just…fuck, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.” No, he did, he just didn’t want to have to explain…for reasons he just explained.

[Erik Stewart]

Oriel probably wasn’t being serious. Or, he hoped not. There was no way he was putting anything in Dom’s locker, including a souped up Valentine’s note. He wouldn’t want that in his belongings. “I’ll put some of DJ’s dead rats in your locker,” he grunted.

Back to his original idea. Erik didn’t consider himself gutless; there were a lot of things he’d do that (probably) many others wouldn’t. He could gut a deer and skin things and walk knee-deep through swamp water, but calling someone seemed like a hopeless ordeal. “What should I say?” he asked, as if Oriel could tell him. As if he wouldn’t just throw it out the window as soon as he heard another voice on the line.

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Oriel was always serious! Mwa ha ha ha!!

Though seriously, he didn’t think Erik would go for that, so the suggestion was really for his own amusement. “Heh,” he snorted with an evil grin. “Sounds like dinner to me.” No, Oriel wasn’t going to eat rats. Erik would have more of a threat if he put DJ in his locker instead.

Why was Erik calling him about this? Yes, Oriel was glad he did, but that was for completely selfish reasons. It was just they’d already determined that Oriel didn’t know any more of what to do than Erik did. Or what to say.

Words were hard.

“Fuck if I know. Anything. Maybe “Hi” for starters.” What would Oriel say? “Maybe “thank you for beating the shit outta that guy” or something like that.”

[Erik Stewart]

Erik slouched against the wall where his bed was set up against, one arm crossed over his stomach, the other holding the phone to his ear. His brows furrowed as he listened. His nose wrinkled. Erik snorted, kicking the backpack that laid on his bed to the floor. “Thank him?” he said, and repeated, mockingly, “Thank him. Oh, fuck off.”

Before he put his thumb on the ‘off’ button, he paused. “I’ll see ya later,” he added.