FIGMENT
By Wes
Leigh
This is a work of wild fantasy
intended solely for the entertainment of my readers; any resemblance to any
real people or places is purely coincidental. This story involves romance and
sex between adult men as well as between men and teens and preteens, some
incestual. If you are uncomfortable with any of this, please choose another
story. This story is the property of the author and is protected by copyright
laws. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the
author's consent.
Readers who would like to chat
are encouraged to contact me at weston.leigh@protonmail.com.
If you enjoy this story,
please support the Nifty archives today with a thoughtful donation by visiting https://donate.nifty.org/.
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Sar tel' lythi
ath tel' sintilai, ath Menodal,
ath Aro, ath En, ent ath Eern
ro talin. Sar tel' Eladrin.
We are the children of
the seasons, of Springtime, of Summer, of Autumn, and of Winter's frigid grasp.
We are the Eladrin.
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A soft knock on the bedroom door woke me up. Rick continued
sleeping soundly next to me. The next knock was louder, and when Rick didn't
awaken, I nudged him gently in the side. He grunted and mumbled, "What izit?"
"Someone's knocking on your bedroom door," I replied,
turning on my side to kiss his naked shoulder.
He groaned and sat up. "Who's there?"
The door opened halfway and Trace's face snuck around the
edge. He saw the two of us in bed together and smirked. "I have practice in 30
minutes, Dad."
Rick turned and looked at the clock. "Oh, shit!"
"Yeah. `Oh shit' is right. And Drew said you promised to
take him for a haircut this morning."
Rick shook his head to clear it, then threw off the bed
coverings, jumping out in all his naked glory and trotting into the ensuite
bathroom to splash water on his face.
Trace moved inside the bedroom and casually leaned against
the wall, studying me. I wasn't about to allow this teenager to intimidate me,
so I sat up in bed, allowing him to see my naked upper body. I wanted to say,
`That's right, boy. I slept with your dad last night, and we had a great time!'
but instead, I asked, "What kind of practice is it?"
"Swim team," Trace replied with a smile as his eyes
travelled up and down my hairy dad-bod.
"What's your best stroke?" I asked, making conversation.
He grinned, and I could tell he wanted to make an inappropriately
vulgar response, but instead he replied, "Free or butterfly. I'm pretty good at
both." He peeled off his tee-shirt and revealed a powerful, ripped physique.
I was impressed and said so.
Rick came out of the bathroom, drying his face on a towel. "He's
been on the team for a couple of years. His body puts mine to shame."
I couldn't completely agree with that. Rick had a great
body, and certain parts of it were fantastic. I didn't say that out loud, not
with Trace standing there.
Trace glanced at his naked father and frowned. "By the way,
we should have left a half hour ago and dropped Figment off at his piano
lesson?"
Rick's shoulders slumped. "I completely forgot about that."
He turned to face Trace. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?"
Trace shrugged. "Didn't think about it. You're always the
one with the schedule."
Rick sighed and pulled on sweat pants, covering his shapely
ass. He mumbled to himself, turning to face me and biting his lip. "I'm sorry
to take off so abruptly, Caleb, but we gotta leave
now." He pointed at Trace. "Get your brothers in the car. You'll just have to
be late for practice."
"Coach is gonna flip out. That's
twice this week."
"I know, Trace. But there's nothing I can do about that."
I spoke up. "Anything I can do to help?"
Rick turned to me and said, "Well, yeah, but I can't ask
that of you."
"Sure you can. What do you need?"
"I need to be in two places at once. I need someone to take
Trace to swim practice while I drive Figment across town to a piano lesson."
"I can do that," I replied, climbing out of bed and looking
for my underwear. Trace was unashamedly checking out my gear, so I decided not
to do the bashful cover-your-junk move. If he was going to look, I would let
him see all he wanted to see. I found my underwear against the wall and pulled
them on.
"That would be a HUGE help," Rick said, "but it's really a
lot to ask. You'll be stuck there for two hours while they practice, then have
to bring Trace back home ..." His voice trailed off and he looked dismayed by the
dilemma he found himself in and the favor he was asking.
"No problem. I'm your man and Trace's chauffeur. For TODAY
ONLY!" I gave Trace a fake glare.
Trace laughed and said, "I'll grab my bag."
Rick came around the bed and kissed me quickly. "I can't
tell you how much I appreciate this. You're a life saver."
"Pfft," I replied. "Just helping out a friend in need."
He kissed me again and rushed to his dresser, shoving a
wallet in one pocket and keys in another. "Drew, Figment, we have to go NOW!"
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Trace lied to me. He wasn't "pretty good" at the butterfly.
He was lightning fast, leaving the rest of the swimmers a length or two behind
with every lap. And his freestyle stroke was smooth, efficient, and a thing of
beauty to behold. His body moved effortlessly through the water, and as I
suspected, he was well-endowed, which became obvious when he stood at the edge
of the pool with a towel around his neck, chatting to his teammates. The black
speedo he wore barely contained the monster between his legs.
I had to look away. `He's the son of your lover,' I kept
telling myself. `The TEENAGED son of your lover.' But damn, did that boy look
fine! In fact, most of the boys on the swim team were pure eye candy, and they
definitely didn't mind flaunting it. When the coach blew the final whistle,
sending them into the locker room to shower and dress, I was grateful. Maybe
now I'd have a chance to get my boner down before Trace came back out for his
ride.
Fifteen minutes later, I saw Trace strolling along the edge
of the pool, gym bag tossed over one shoulder, his hair wet and more curly than ever.
I stood up, grateful that my cock was finally behaving. "All
done?" I asked.
He nodded. "Thanks for bringing me."
"No problem," I replied. "You're pretty damned fast at the
butterfly."
He shrugged. "It's in the arms. I'm a few inches longer than
the other guys." He glanced down at his crotch and gave me a sexy smirk.
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On the ride to their apartment, I tried to make small talk,
but Trace grunted and ignored me, staring out the window. The good mood he'd
been in at the pool seemed to have evaporated completely, and the grouchy Trace
had returned with a vengeance.
After my third attempt to start a conversation, Trace turned
to look at me and said, "Look. I get what you're trying to do, and it's not
necessary. You gave me a ride. That's cool, but I don't need anything else from
you. I don't need a friend. I don't need a pal. And I sure as fuck don't need a
new stepdad or whatever the fuck it is you're trying to be."
I was shocked into complete silence. I focused on the road
and didn't say anything else.
After a minute, Trace cleared his throat and said, "Hey.
That was a little harsh. Didn't mean to sound like a total asshole, and, ummm, I'm sorry."
"It's okay," I replied. "Apology accepted." I held out my
hand. "Friends?"
Trace looked at my hand and replied, "If it's alright with
you, I'll pass on the friend part for now. I'm not sure I'm ready for that."
I put my hand back on the wheel and kept driving.
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"What are you plans for the weekend?" Rick asked me over
lunch.
"Nothing specific," I replied. "I need to start working on
the next campaign for D&D. We're going to finish up with the Wizards of the
Caves in two to three weeks, and I want to try something new after that."
"Like what?"
"Well, you guys have inspired me to take the party on a walk
on the wild side."
Rick chuckled. "Really?"
"Yes. You know how your family is always talking like you're
actually fey elves?"
"Yeah."
"I just thought it would be fun to magically transport the
party to the Feywild, where fairy dragons, unicorns,
and sprites live. Maybe spend a month or so adventuring there."
Drew and Figment looked up from the pie they were eating.
"Awesome!" Drew shouted.
Figment shook his head eagerly in agreement.
I laughed. "If the two of you approve, then I'll get started
this afternoon."
Drew pointed his fork at me. "You have to include the Eladrin."
"The Eladrin? Who are they?"
Drew shook his head in disbelief. "You call yourself a DM,
and you don't know who the Eladrin are?"
"No. Tell me." I turned my head slightly and winked at Rick,
making sure Drew and Figment couldn't see.
"Only the most important creatures in the Feywild," Drew replied, exasperated with me. "They're elves
... the FEY elves ... the rulers of the Feywild. You
can't adventure in the Feywild without running into
the Eladrin."
"Ohhhh!" I exclaimed, smiling
broadly now.
Drew shook his finger at me. "You're pulling my leg. You
know about the Eladrin, don't you?"
I smiled and nodded. "I do, but I could use some help
fleshing out the campaign. I wish I had someone to suggest ideas and help me
design the puzzles."
Drew shook his head. "Nope. Not me. I'm no good with those. I
hate puzzles."
Figment silently pleaded with me to choose him. I walked
forward and knelt down until our eyes were level. "Will you help me out,
Figment? Be my assistant Dungeon Master?"
He threw his arms around my neck and hugged me until I
gasped for air.
I looked back at Rick and said, "I take that as a yes. May I
borrow Figment this afternoon? I'll bring him back tonight after we plot the
doom of the party."
Rick looked at Figment and said, "I think that's a wonderful
idea. Grilled chicken for supper?"
"You've been feeding me all week," I replied. "Let me bring
home a bucket of fried chicken."
"YES!" Drew shouted. "I love KFC!"
Trace wandered into the room. "KFC for supper?"
"That's the plan," I replied.
"Mac and cheese," he grunted. "Can't eat KFC without mac and
cheese."
"Your wish is my command," I teased.
Trace looked at me strangely, as though thinking of other
commands he might give me.
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Figment sat in my lap as I searched the internet for story
concepts related to the Feywild. As we read each
website, Figment sometimes nodded in approval, but often shook his head,
reaching down to click the mouse for the next site.
We found an article on the Eladrin, with interesting
background I'd never seen before. It described the Eladrin as elves of the
seasons.
Spring
Eladrin exhibit the joy of Springtime to all creatures around them, rendering enemies
temporarily friendly and reluctant to attack. Spring Eladrin are also
mischievous and delight in using charms, confusion, and hallucinatory spells.
Summer
Eladrin are fiery and aggressive and project fear to those in their proximity.
Unlike Eladrin of other seasons, they do not cast spells, but instead rely on
their speed and strength.
Autumn
Eladrin are more mellow, filled with the goodwill of the fall season. They
avoid conflict when possible and used their magic to heal and help.
Winter
Eladrin are creatures of sadness. Filled with the melancholy of midwinter, they
attack by sapping the will to act from all creatures around them and by casting
wind and ice spells in combat.
As
I read, Figment scribbled on a piece of paper. He held it up for me to read.
It's
not that way.
Almost
but not exactly.
There's
more to the Eladrin.
Much more.
I
read his note and smiled. "I hope you'll tell me what isn't quite right. I want
this journey to the Feywild to be perfect."
He
wrote furiously for a few moments then handed me the note.
My
dad is an Autumn Eladrin, most of the time. He's good for us.
Trace
is Summer. Always mad about something and really strong.
Drew
is Spring. He's funny and makes me laugh.
I chuckled as I read what Figment had
written. "Then I can use your family as the model for the Eladrin of the Feywild?"
Figment nodded.
"And you? Which kind of Eladrin are
you?"
Figment ducked his head and blushed.
I hugged him to my chest and rocked him
slowly back and forth. He sighed and relaxed, enjoying being in my arms. I had
to admit I loved holding the boy, feeling his warmth against my chest. How had
I missed out on this wonderful feeling? Could I have started a family like
Rick? Was Rick's family my second chance at fatherhood? I didn't expect to
start crying, but tears of missed opportunities fell down my cheeks and onto
Figment's blonde hair.
After a few minutes, he pushed off my
chest and added a line to his note.
You
are Winter, but I'll help you find your Spring.
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I wanted to spend every night with Rick and the boys, but I
made myself go home after we ate KFC (complete with two extra orders of mac and
cheese for Trace, of course).
Rick tried his best to get me to stay, but I made up some
silly excuse about having to prepare for work on Monday. It wasn't true. My
work was to enjoy retirement, having sold the investment planning business I started
twenty years ago. I still dabbled in stocks from time to time, and that's
something I could do from home. But mostly, I wrote. Boring, dry tomes full of
amazing advice on financial planning. I found that writing about investment
planning and tracking market trends and such things helped me to stay grounded
in the real world, unlike D&D, which allowed me to explore my wildest
imagination. The two fit together and brought balance to my life, and somehow,
it seemed to keep my mental monsters at bay.
Although I didn't have work per se, I did need to tighten up
a chapter or two in the book I was currently writing. I suppose I wasn't
actually lying to Rick, but I still felt bad making excuses for leaving, and to
be honest, my heart yearned to spend every hour of every day with Rick and
Trace and Drew and Figment.
But my head argued with my heart. It's a good idea to spend
a day or two away. Give yourself a break. Give them a break. Make sure this is
what you want.
Is it possible to be sensible and moronic at the same time? Yeah.
I thought so, too.
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I gave in to my heart on Tuesday. Called Rick and asked to
take him and his family out for a nice meal at a nearby steakhouse.
Rick wanted to pay for it, but I insisted that it was my
treat, and they could repay me by listening to some ideas I had for the Feywild campaign. We met at the restaurant at 7:00, ordered
our meal, and enjoyed the delicious food while I told them my ideas for the Feywild, leaving out a few key plans I had for tormenting
the players. I didn't want to spoil the campaign for them.
They listened to my ideas and offered several suggestions on
how the Eladrin would respond to a party of adventurers trudging through their
kingdom. Oddly enough, they all talked knowledgably about the Eladrin, except
for Figment who sat next to me with his hand lightly resting on my knee,
listening and nodding his head vigorously in agreement with his brothers and
dad. They suggested a few minor changes I should make in the culture and
attitude of the rulers of the Feywild, and when the
meal was finally over, I felt I had a solid background for our next D&D
adventure.
But here's the odd thing. At times, I found myself thinking
they weren't simply D&D enthusiasts who happened to be infatuated with fey
elves, but that they actually KNEW what the Eladrin were like. As if they had
been there. And experienced it all first hand. Weird.
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Friday night, we were back at Mountain High Games, sitting
around our table in the back corner, moving the figurines around the hex map
and fighting a new mess of monsters and one angry, vengeful wizard.
I had decided to give Mark a few extra-difficult puzzles,
basing the solutions on rogue skills such as detecting traps, picking locks,
and sneaking in the shadows. Mark was enjoying himself, but Trace was getting
visibly agitated.
Finally, Trace burst out, "When are we gonna
fucking kill something? This is boring as fuck!"
Rick grabbed Trace by the elbow and pulled him to his feet,
then guided him across the room and began speaking softly but intensely to a
surly teen who stared at his feet, mumbling "okay" and "yeah" every few
seconds. At one point, Trace looked up at his dad and muttered, "You kidding
me?"
Rick shook his head and spoke again, daring Trace to
disagree.
"Fine!" Trace huffed, turning and walking quickly to where
the rest of us sat and waited. "Dad says I have to apologize. Sorry for being
an asshole. Sorry for my language. Sorry I think this has been boring as fuck
tonight."
"Trace!" Rick shouted.
Trace ignored Rick, turned and stomped out the front door of
the gaming shop.
"Should we take a short break?" I asked.
Rick nodded. "Yeah, I think that would be good."
We all bought soft drinks and sipped them, waiting for Trace
to come back inside. He eventually did, thanking his dad for the Mountain Dew
Rick had purchased, and sitting down at the table, fiddling with his pencil,
drawing patterns in the side margin of his character sheet.
I started the game again, wrapping up the puzzles and
sending the group down a trap door to the dungeons underneath, where they
confronted zombies and ghouls. Trace's spirits improved when he was able to
dispatch three zombies in a single round. In fact, everyone seemed happier now
that Trace's barbarian was covered in blood and ichor.
At the end of the night, Rick took me aside and apologized. "I
promise I'll talk to Trace about his behavior tonight."
"Look, Rick. It's okay. We understand."
Rick shook his head. "No, I need to talk to him. His anger
is so out-of-control sometimes."
I put my hand on Rick's forearm and squeezed gently. "Do you
think it would help if I talked to him? Maybe in my capacity as the Dungeon
Master? I could talk about how I want to include different kinds of activities
in every night's adventure to appeal to all the players. If we start talking
about D&D, he might talk to me about whatever it is that's making him so
angry all the time."
Rick nodded. "It's worth a try. I would love it if you could
get through to him. I've tried everything I can think of."
I squeezed his arm again, reassuringly, and turned toward
Trace. "Hey, Trace. Got a minute?"
He frowned and nodded, walking over to where his dad and I
stood.
"I was wondering if you'd like to get hamburgers tomorrow. I
want to talk to you about your barbarian and what kind of quests you'd
eventually like to go on."
Trace looked at me suspiciously, but then nodded his head. "Sure.
We can do that. After swim team."
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I waited for Trace in the parking lot outside of the
natatorium where his team practiced. His face was flushed from the cold, his
cheeks rosy, and his hair was still slightly wet, though he wore a woolen cap. He
climbed into my car and pointed the heater vent directly at his face. "Damn,
it's getting cold."
"November in Colorado," I said with a grin.
He rubbed his hands together in the warm air blowing from
the vent and asked, "Where we going?"
"Golden Bear okay with you?"
"Oh, yeah," he replied. "Love their bison burgers."
"That's why I go there," I said, putting the car in gear.
As we drove to the restaurant, I asked him how he was
enjoying the D&D games so far.
He didn't answer right away, then stared at his lap and
mumbled, "I know what this is all about. I saw you and my dad talking. We
really don't have to do this."
"Do what?"
Trace turned and looked at me. His eyes were the same color
as Figment's, but filled with anger and frustration. "Don't treat me like a
child, Caleb. Dad probably told you I'm a fucked-up kid, bitter and mean and
hateful. He wants you to talk to me, get me to settle down and treat everyone
better. Am I right?"
I shook my head. "We never discussed any such thing, Trace.
I asked your dad if I could talk to you about D&D, nothing more, but if
there's something else you want to get off your chest—"
Trace interrupted, laughing. "This is incredible. You're
going to sit there and let me vent all my frustrations? Really? So we should talk about how you came into our house, climbed
into my dad's bed, and fucked him while me and my brothers are just down the
hall?"
"I don't think you can say we—"
"Oh, yeah? You guys didn't fuck each other?"
"I didn't say that—"
"I heard you shouting last night, Caleb! `I'm cumming!' Isn't that what you shouted? Was my dad ball's-deep
in your ass when you yelled that?"
I was stunned into silence.
Trace turned and looked out his window. "Don't worry, dude. I
don't care, to be honest. Dad's been lonely since Mom died. This last week,
with you spending the night and hanging out with us ... he's been happier than
I've seen him in a long, long time. So I suppose I
should be glad you're fucking him and he's enjoying himself."
Trace's attitude was beginning to irk me, so I had to correct
one thing he said. "We aren't fucking, Trace."
"Well, you sure as hell aren't playing cards!"
"No. Just give a minute. Let me explain."
"Fine. Educate me. I'm only seventeen, so I don't know
shit."
"No, I'm sure you know all sorts of shit, but one thing you
damned sure don't know is what is going on between your dad and me!"
Trace finally shut up and looked at me, waiting to hear what
I had to say.
I swallowed my own anger and said, "First of all, we aren't
fucking. That's a disgusting word and doesn't begin to describe what your dad
and I have been doing. We've been making love. Kissing. Caressing. Hugging. And,
well, a few other things."
Trace snorted and smirked. "You can tell me the rest of it
too. I'm sure you and dad haven't done anything I haven't done before."
"Maybe. I don't know how much you've experimented."
Trace grinned. "Actually, I've done a lot."
I chuckled and shook my head. "I don't need to know."
Trace persisted. "That's why I say you don't have to skip
over stuff. I know what two guys do when they're making love. I can guess that
my dad was fucking—was making love to you—when you yelled, `I'm cumming.' It's what I yell when I'm getting it good up the
ass."
I stared at Trace in surprise. He laughed and shrugged. "I
told you. I've done a lot."
I sighed. "I don't think it really matters just which body
parts were inserted where. The bottom line is your dad
and I weren't fucking. We were making love. Sharing emotionally and physically
with each other."
Trace mumbled, "I get it. You don't have to explain. And to
be honest, I know you're good for my dad. Like I said, this is the happiest
I've seen him in a long, long time."
"So are you okay with us being
together?"
Nodding, Trace replied, "Yeah, I'm cool with you guys being
lovers. Drew and Figment are okay with it too."
"They know about—"
"Of course, they do. They know what sex is. Dad has always
been open and honest with us, so we all know what's been going on in Dad's
bedroom. We've seen how happy he is, and we know how big Dad's pecker gets, so
you're probably pretty happy too." I knew Trace was teasing me, but I carefully
kept my eyes on the road.
He laughed and said, "Come on, Caleb. Don't be a prude. Dad's got a nice big one, and I'm sure you enjoyed having it
up inside you."
All I could do was blush.
But Trace wasn't finished. "If you like what Dad's giving
you, you would LOVE what I can do. I'm a few inches longer and just a little
thicker at the base. I could rock your world, Caleb."
I almost hit a parked car, quickly steering the car back
into my lane.
Trace laughed and added, "Hell, I'd make you cum twice if
you gave my barbarian a better war hammer."
I swallowed hard, struggling to find an answer to that. "Uhh, Trace, I don't know what to say right now."
Trace looked at me and his eyes widened slightly. It seemed
he finally realized what he had just said. His cheeks glowed bright red with embarrassment
as he turned and looked out the window, refusing to meet my eyes. His voice was
strained as he moaned, "Damn it, why do I keep doing this? I'm such a fuck-up!"
I didn't know what to do, so I pulled the car to the side of
the road and parked. Then I reached over and gently squeezed Trace's neck.
He shrugged my hand away, groaning in misery. "You probably
think I'm a total piece of shit right now."
"No. I don't."
"But I am, Caleb. My dad is finally happy. He's found
someone to love, and I make the dumbest dumb-ass comment I can possibly make."
I softly suggested, "You know something, Trace? You are
probably the first teenager ever in history to make a dumb-ass comment. You
should be proud of yourself. Might even start a new trend."
He turned his head and stared at me, then snorted. "Right.
First in history, huh?"
I nodded. "Most teenagers are a perfectly balanced blend of
common sense, emotional stability, and wisdom beyond their years. I'm sure it's
been difficult for them to be so perfect, and now that you've broken new
ground, they can all relax and let loose."
He blew out his breath and stared gloomily at his hands,
folded in his lap.
Making a guess about why he was doing this, I asked, "You
still miss her a lot, don't you?"
He nodded and frowned. "Almost every day. Sometimes I think
I can hear her in the kitchen, making our breakfast. I don't tell my dad,
because he tries so hard to take care of everything. I don't want him to think
he's not doing enough for me."
"He won't think that, but he might appreciate knowing exactly
what you're dealing with."
Trace nodded. "You may be right. I always try to help dad
with Drew and Figment, and I try to keep my own shit together, so it's one less
thing he has to deal with."
"How's that working out?"
Snorting, Trace replied, "I think you can see for yourself.
I'm a fucking mess some days."
"Welcome to the real world, Trace, where all of us have good
days and all of us have fucked-up days. It's life. But one of the cool things
about life is you have people around you who actually enjoy helping you out on
the fucked-up days."
He nodded his head. He swallowed and took a deep breath. "Thanks,
Caleb."
I reached out, offering my hand. He grinned and pushed my
hand away, instead pulling me in for a tight hug, which wasn't easy given the
tight confines of the front seat of my car. He pressed his cheek against mine
and nuzzled against me, so I held him and rubbed his neck with my thumb.
Trace seemed to whimper slightly, then I felt his hand
sliding down my hip and onto my groin. His fingers searched until the found my
cock and began squeezing through the fabric of my pants. My cock wasn't hard,
but his fondling was causing me to swell up quickly. Oh yes, he was definitely
experienced, but I simply couldn't allow this.
I pushed him back gently and softly spoke. "Trace. Stop.
Please."
He pulled away, looking at me in surprise with his hand
still on my groin, still fondling me.
I took his hand and pulled it off my cock. "We can't do
this, Trace. We just can't."
He gasped and turned away from me, wrapping his arms around
his body and curling up in a tight ball against the door on the far side of the
car.
"Trace. Buddy. Listen—"
"NO! Don't talk to me. I'm so fucking embarrassed right now.
Just take me the fuck home. Please."
The end of Chapter Three of
FIGMENT