The bell rang and everybody was out in a split second, leaving Comfort alone in the class. She is always the last one to come out from the class. She loves to do everything slow and steady. She put her books into her bag weakly, even though, the book isn’t that heavy. “Comfort,” a voice called from the door. She turned to the person and sighed. She quickly walked to the door, as she doesn’t want to be with that guy in the class. “Move,” She shrugged. The person didn’t move an inch. He was blocking the only exit from the class. “You got to hear me, Comfort. I did that to save you from embarrassment,” He sounded so pathetic. “Save me from embarrassment, huh? Dylan, I believe the thing you did is much worse!” She pushed his shoulder and he let her out. Dylan sighed. Comfort walked away from him with a frown carved on her sweet innocent face.
“Comfort wait!” Dylan chased her. She started speeding when he called. He grabbed her hands and pulled her to him as soon as he got near her. He locked her tight in his hands. “Spit it out! I don’t have time for you anymore!” Comfort pushed him and fixed her half-long sleeves. Despite the fact that she hates him, she still let herself listen to his explanation. Oh, she surely hates that she loves him. “It’s Christine! She asked me to do so! She got the video of you… in the room, Valentine’s night,” He was being careful with his choice of words. “She what? You did that… for me? Proof?” She doubted him. Dylan placed his hand on his chest, and another one on her shoulder. “You stole my heart, Comfort. I never knew I needed you so much till I said those stupid words to you,” He said, feeling terribly sorry. Comfort felt terrible for treating him like a jackass. She quickly jumped to Dylan and grabbed him.
Is that how women say sorry?
She snuggled her head into Dylan’s ropy neck in front of many eyes. Some cameras flashing for a minute; they wanted to be the one to spread the news.
DYLAN IS CHEATING ON CHRISTINE. HE’S WITH COMFORT!
So, the news ran all over the school. There’s this thing called SMS which really helped the students to share their updates—well, there’s nobody who doesn’t have phone in this school, they were all spoiled kids. They need one to survive these modern days. All (Sort of) phone rang and they read the message. Some ignored and continued on their stuff. Some over-reacted, for instance; Christine. She shut her locker angrily and headed to the place where Comfort and her dear boyfriend were ‘making out’. She knew the place, as the picture spoke a thousand words.
Don’t they?
Across the hall, Comfort’s fingers were chafing Dylan’s including-today-it-makes-a-week-since-he-last-shave face. She was glad to know that Dylan was into her too. “Can we start all over again?” Dylan fell on his knee. Once again, the paparazzi took their phone out and caught the debut picture of him on his knee. “All from zero. Hello, I’m Comfort Walker,” She reached her hand out, expecting him to take and kiss it—maybe?—and smiled contentedly. Dylan took her hand and shook it.
“And I’m Dylan Bradshaw!” he said, rising to his feet. He ignored all the paparazzi. He imagined the hallway was absolutely empty. Only both of them standing in the middle there, introducing themselves to each other.
“And you are mine!” An annoying voice shouted. It belonged to the one and the only, Christine Foster. She paced quickly to her boyfriend—that’s what she thinks, at least—and took her phone out from her handbag. Her big and so-pink bag. She waved the phone to Dylan, keeping her steps smaller as she got closer. “Don’t be a bitch!” Dylan shouted angrily. Put the phone down or you die. He thought secretly. He stared at her for quite a long time. He was hoping she would not send the video to others. That would be another mess for him to clean up. “You made me a superbitch! And this makes your so-called girlfriend a porn star!” she pressed the send button. She grinned with her eyebrows furrowed. “NO!” Dylan shouted. He ran to her but he was too little too late.
COMFORT, BUCK AND THE GANG: THE V NITE SEX.
CLICK HERE TO WATCH.
This time, every student gave their fullest attention to the message given. The title sounds fun and they stopped every single thing they were doing and clicked here. Everyone was shocked to see the video. The boys took the chance to set them in the fantasy—boys will always be boys, no matter whom starring in the video—and the girls were actually terrified and disgusted by the full of terror video. Buck and the gang were in the canteen, laughing at the video. Noah Snyder was there too. In fact, he is one of the five who poked her. “I’m her first,” said Buck. He laughed so hard with his bunch of jerk friends.
So, it wasn’t three. It was five of them! O-mwa-God!
At the same time, Dylan was chasing the poor, Comfort. She ran as soon as everybody saw the video. They laughed at her. They thought she was playing DEAD in the video, but actually, she wasn’t acting, SHE WAS (HALF) DEAD. Dylan tried to catch up with her but the students made him hard to walk. They were crowding him, as Comfort gone out from sight. He knows he’d done better if he could talk and soothe her.
Kapoff. A new video star (sort of) is born!
…
“So, why you brought me here?” asked Roxanne, curious. She crossed her legs and eased herself on the chair, holding tasty-looking bread. She was feeling odd of Natasha bringing her for hanging out in Starbuck—just two of them.
“I’m sorry,” snorted Natasha. She dug her hand inside her handbag and took out Christian Dior sunglasses. She wore it on her head—looking like a spy—waving her palms on the air to somebody who had just entered the coffee house. “Sorry, don’t hate me,” she repeated.
“Roxy,” a familiar voice called. It was Izzy. He was in his black and purple checked shirts with black tight jeans, hair combed messily, and looking very . . . gay. He took over Natasha’s place as she walked away when he got to the table. Roxanne felt disgusted by just looking at his face. She grabbed her bag and rise on her feet unsteadily—her high heels were higher than before—and marched away from the table. She left a dollar bill on the table, next to her untouched coffee. “I thought we are friends!” Izzy pulled the chair back and tried not to grab everyone’s attention. He failed anyway. Roxanne stopped at the door. “We were friends!” She corrected him.
She’s right. Izzy have to work on his grammar. Past, present and future. We are, we were, we will.
“Stop right there,” Izzy ran to her, pushed her out from the shop as he felt many eyes on him. More or less hurting her fragile arms by his grips, he pushed her to the street’s wall and locked the position. He didn’t want her to get away this time. Roxanne could smell his vanilla fragrance—yeap, he wears fragrance! Not cologne!—and it somehow made her nose blocked.
“What are you doing!?” she shouted on top of her lungs. She felt the adrenaline rushing through her veins. Her heart was beating faster than usual; she’s afraid Izzy—her long lost love—will do something that might harm her physically and emotionally.
Emotion? CHECK!
“I just want to be with you. I don’t want lie to you and to myself anymore,” He tighten his grips, pushing himself onto her. His peewee body left no space between Roxanne and him. He moved his head closer to her face since they actually have the same height—maybe he’s taller by half an inch.
“Stop right there!” an indistinct voice warned. It’s so familiar. It’s the voice Roxanne wanted to hear since she saw the asshole’s face.
Here comes the hero… or the trouble?
“Fuck you!” Keith cursed at him. He pulled Izzy off her girlfriend and threw him down to the grey-potholed pavement. Izzy scratched his palm and found himself bleeding—both in and out. Keith wrapped Roxanne with his arm and she calmed herself in his embrace. For once since ten minutes with the Izzy-bastard, she felt secured. She let his finger rubbed her hair, pressing him tightly. Keith changed his path; he turned to Izzy and glared at him, holding Roxanne’s hands firmly in his palms.
“What are you doing here? You are just some begger and you do not suit her! Not at all!” Izzy rise to his feet. He swept all the dirt off him and got closer to Keith, trying to pick up on him. Keith gave him no time to duck his one big knuckle sandwich. Izzy immediately fell on his butt, as the impact was so strong. Roxanne ran to her boyfriend and pulled him back away from Izzy. She didn’t want it to turn into a fight which she would regret if any of them got hurt. She’s on nobody side—although, her boyfriend was defending her, he should not have engaged violence into his act and for Izzy; he should not ask Natasha to arrange a meeting with a person who loathe him—and she totally disagree for both of them to fight over her.
“Enough! Both of you!” Roxanne vividly sighed. Her nosh-up was clearly heard by both of the livid people. They stopped instantly and both quickly grabbed one hand each. “Let go of me!” she pulled both of her hands. The last time she ever did that was when Dylan and Harold pulled her to the roller coaster ride two years ago. The silent took over them for a while. She stared at them. They stared at her.
Awkkkkkwwwaarrrddddd!
“Go home,” She turned to her back. Her long hair hit Keith’s face and she paced swiftly across the road and hailed for cab. A cab pulled over and she got in without waving at any of them.
She left two young confused guys hanging gawkily on the pavement, staring at one another. They both walked the opposite direction and acted as if nothing happened there. Of course, some passerby from their school captured the scene and it went straight to the blogs.
They are just like the instant noodle. Hot for a second, cold the next.
…
“I need a room!” Harold commanded, rushing towards the hotel reception counter. The receptionist dropped her pen; she was so shocked by the sudden request. She pushed her half-blonde-half-brunette-hair to the back of her ears and tried to remain calm. “One night, sir?” she asked softly. Harold nodded and tossed a platinum credit card onto the counter, where it landed in the receptionist hands right before it almost reach the floor. She signed him up a suite for the night. She gave back Harold the credit card and Harold handed it to a girl in his arm. She was Chloe van Blake, in her WetSeal Kimono Sleeve Tunic Top, white legging that fit the perfect curve of her legs and BCBG bootie came to another perfection for the night.
They walked to the lift and to their room with dizzy heads. They were from the Fleur De Lys Lounge. People like them—older for sure; they were not allowed to get in at first, but with Chloe’s cunning brain, they managed to get in without getting caught—loves to spend their night hanging out in that pub. Both of them are just another two spoiled kids; they will get drunk and in the next morning, they will be asking their partner ; “Where are we?”
In this case, it’s the same. Drunk, overnight in a hotel, and “Chloe, where are we?” –vice versa.
Both of them looked for their room. There’s room 276 on their left, 278 on the other side. “Which is ours?” asked Chloe impatiently to get undress. Harold pulled her as he saw a room with a sign reads 277. He quickly slashed the card and opened the door, which made a loud bang sound. He pushed Chloe in; desperately need some entertainment to heat up the night. Or maybe something to remind him how good she was. He closed the door, pulled his shirt over his head, and let it fall to the marbled floor. Then, he unbuckled his belt, kicked off his shoes and pull down his jeans. It was hard to get rid of the last piece but with some help from Chloe, they got it off eventually. Harold got on the bed and rested his head on the pillow. She tumbled over him and laughed crazily and they live happily ever after.
Believe it or not, past can change the future. Who wants to guess what’s next? Going once, going twice. Wrong answer, it is worse than that.
“Comfort wait!” Dylan chased her. She started speeding when he called. He grabbed her hands and pulled her to him as soon as he got near her. He locked her tight in his hands. “Spit it out! I don’t have time for you anymore!” Comfort pushed him and fixed her half-long sleeves. Despite the fact that she hates him, she still let herself listen to his explanation. Oh, she surely hates that she loves him. “It’s Christine! She asked me to do so! She got the video of you… in the room, Valentine’s night,” He was being careful with his choice of words. “She what? You did that… for me? Proof?” She doubted him. Dylan placed his hand on his chest, and another one on her shoulder. “You stole my heart, Comfort. I never knew I needed you so much till I said those stupid words to you,” He said, feeling terribly sorry. Comfort felt terrible for treating him like a jackass. She quickly jumped to Dylan and grabbed him.
Is that how women say sorry?
She snuggled her head into Dylan’s ropy neck in front of many eyes. Some cameras flashing for a minute; they wanted to be the one to spread the news.
So, the news ran all over the school. There’s this thing called SMS which really helped the students to share their updates—well, there’s nobody who doesn’t have phone in this school, they were all spoiled kids. They need one to survive these modern days. All (Sort of) phone rang and they read the message. Some ignored and continued on their stuff. Some over-reacted, for instance; Christine. She shut her locker angrily and headed to the place where Comfort and her dear boyfriend were ‘making out’. She knew the place, as the picture spoke a thousand words.
Don’t they?
Across the hall, Comfort’s fingers were chafing Dylan’s including-today-it-makes-a-week-since-he-last-shave face. She was glad to know that Dylan was into her too. “Can we start all over again?” Dylan fell on his knee. Once again, the paparazzi took their phone out and caught the debut picture of him on his knee. “All from zero. Hello, I’m Comfort Walker,” She reached her hand out, expecting him to take and kiss it—maybe?—and smiled contentedly. Dylan took her hand and shook it.
“And I’m Dylan Bradshaw!” he said, rising to his feet. He ignored all the paparazzi. He imagined the hallway was absolutely empty. Only both of them standing in the middle there, introducing themselves to each other.
“And you are mine!” An annoying voice shouted. It belonged to the one and the only, Christine Foster. She paced quickly to her boyfriend—that’s what she thinks, at least—and took her phone out from her handbag. Her big and so-pink bag. She waved the phone to Dylan, keeping her steps smaller as she got closer. “Don’t be a bitch!” Dylan shouted angrily. Put the phone down or you die. He thought secretly. He stared at her for quite a long time. He was hoping she would not send the video to others. That would be another mess for him to clean up. “You made me a superbitch! And this makes your so-called girlfriend a porn star!” she pressed the send button. She grinned with her eyebrows furrowed. “NO!” Dylan shouted. He ran to her but he was too little too late.
CLICK HERE TO WATCH.
This time, every student gave their fullest attention to the message given. The title sounds fun and they stopped every single thing they were doing and clicked here. Everyone was shocked to see the video. The boys took the chance to set them in the fantasy—boys will always be boys, no matter whom starring in the video—and the girls were actually terrified and disgusted by the full of terror video. Buck and the gang were in the canteen, laughing at the video. Noah Snyder was there too. In fact, he is one of the five who poked her. “I’m her first,” said Buck. He laughed so hard with his bunch of jerk friends.
So, it wasn’t three. It was five of them! O-mwa-God!
At the same time, Dylan was chasing the poor, Comfort. She ran as soon as everybody saw the video. They laughed at her. They thought she was playing DEAD in the video, but actually, she wasn’t acting, SHE WAS (HALF) DEAD. Dylan tried to catch up with her but the students made him hard to walk. They were crowding him, as Comfort gone out from sight. He knows he’d done better if he could talk and soothe her.
Kapoff. A new video star (sort of) is born!
“So, why you brought me here?” asked Roxanne, curious. She crossed her legs and eased herself on the chair, holding tasty-looking bread. She was feeling odd of Natasha bringing her for hanging out in Starbuck—just two of them.
“I’m sorry,” snorted Natasha. She dug her hand inside her handbag and took out Christian Dior sunglasses. She wore it on her head—looking like a spy—waving her palms on the air to somebody who had just entered the coffee house. “Sorry, don’t hate me,” she repeated.
“Roxy,” a familiar voice called. It was Izzy. He was in his black and purple checked shirts with black tight jeans, hair combed messily, and looking very . . . gay. He took over Natasha’s place as she walked away when he got to the table. Roxanne felt disgusted by just looking at his face. She grabbed her bag and rise on her feet unsteadily—her high heels were higher than before—and marched away from the table. She left a dollar bill on the table, next to her untouched coffee. “I thought we are friends!” Izzy pulled the chair back and tried not to grab everyone’s attention. He failed anyway. Roxanne stopped at the door. “We were friends!” She corrected him.
She’s right. Izzy have to work on his grammar. Past, present and future. We are, we were, we will.
“Stop right there,” Izzy ran to her, pushed her out from the shop as he felt many eyes on him. More or less hurting her fragile arms by his grips, he pushed her to the street’s wall and locked the position. He didn’t want her to get away this time. Roxanne could smell his vanilla fragrance—yeap, he wears fragrance! Not cologne!—and it somehow made her nose blocked.
“What are you doing!?” she shouted on top of her lungs. She felt the adrenaline rushing through her veins. Her heart was beating faster than usual; she’s afraid Izzy—her long lost love—will do something that might harm her physically and emotionally.
Emotion? CHECK!
“I just want to be with you. I don’t want lie to you and to myself anymore,” He tighten his grips, pushing himself onto her. His peewee body left no space between Roxanne and him. He moved his head closer to her face since they actually have the same height—maybe he’s taller by half an inch.
“Stop right there!” an indistinct voice warned. It’s so familiar. It’s the voice Roxanne wanted to hear since she saw the asshole’s face.
Here comes the hero… or the trouble?
“Fuck you!” Keith cursed at him. He pulled Izzy off her girlfriend and threw him down to the grey-potholed pavement. Izzy scratched his palm and found himself bleeding—both in and out. Keith wrapped Roxanne with his arm and she calmed herself in his embrace. For once since ten minutes with the Izzy-bastard, she felt secured. She let his finger rubbed her hair, pressing him tightly. Keith changed his path; he turned to Izzy and glared at him, holding Roxanne’s hands firmly in his palms.
“What are you doing here? You are just some begger and you do not suit her! Not at all!” Izzy rise to his feet. He swept all the dirt off him and got closer to Keith, trying to pick up on him. Keith gave him no time to duck his one big knuckle sandwich. Izzy immediately fell on his butt, as the impact was so strong. Roxanne ran to her boyfriend and pulled him back away from Izzy. She didn’t want it to turn into a fight which she would regret if any of them got hurt. She’s on nobody side—although, her boyfriend was defending her, he should not have engaged violence into his act and for Izzy; he should not ask Natasha to arrange a meeting with a person who loathe him—and she totally disagree for both of them to fight over her.
“Enough! Both of you!” Roxanne vividly sighed. Her nosh-up was clearly heard by both of the livid people. They stopped instantly and both quickly grabbed one hand each. “Let go of me!” she pulled both of her hands. The last time she ever did that was when Dylan and Harold pulled her to the roller coaster ride two years ago. The silent took over them for a while. She stared at them. They stared at her.
Awkkkkkwwwaarrrddddd!
“Go home,” She turned to her back. Her long hair hit Keith’s face and she paced swiftly across the road and hailed for cab. A cab pulled over and she got in without waving at any of them.
She left two young confused guys hanging gawkily on the pavement, staring at one another. They both walked the opposite direction and acted as if nothing happened there. Of course, some passerby from their school captured the scene and it went straight to the blogs.
They are just like the instant noodle. Hot for a second, cold the next.
“I need a room!” Harold commanded, rushing towards the hotel reception counter. The receptionist dropped her pen; she was so shocked by the sudden request. She pushed her half-blonde-half-brunette-hair to the back of her ears and tried to remain calm. “One night, sir?” she asked softly. Harold nodded and tossed a platinum credit card onto the counter, where it landed in the receptionist hands right before it almost reach the floor. She signed him up a suite for the night. She gave back Harold the credit card and Harold handed it to a girl in his arm. She was Chloe van Blake, in her WetSeal Kimono Sleeve Tunic Top, white legging that fit the perfect curve of her legs and BCBG bootie came to another perfection for the night.
They walked to the lift and to their room with dizzy heads. They were from the Fleur De Lys Lounge. People like them—older for sure; they were not allowed to get in at first, but with Chloe’s cunning brain, they managed to get in without getting caught—loves to spend their night hanging out in that pub. Both of them are just another two spoiled kids; they will get drunk and in the next morning, they will be asking their partner ; “Where are we?”
In this case, it’s the same. Drunk, overnight in a hotel, and “Chloe, where are we?” –vice versa.
Both of them looked for their room. There’s room 276 on their left, 278 on the other side. “Which is ours?” asked Chloe impatiently to get undress. Harold pulled her as he saw a room with a sign reads 277. He quickly slashed the card and opened the door, which made a loud bang sound. He pushed Chloe in; desperately need some entertainment to heat up the night. Or maybe something to remind him how good she was. He closed the door, pulled his shirt over his head, and let it fall to the marbled floor. Then, he unbuckled his belt, kicked off his shoes and pull down his jeans. It was hard to get rid of the last piece but with some help from Chloe, they got it off eventually. Harold got on the bed and rested his head on the pillow. She tumbled over him and laughed crazily and they live happily ever after.
Believe it or not, past can change the future. Who wants to guess what’s next? Going once, going twice. Wrong answer, it is worse than that.
