#prkhee

[ ♂ ] — It was the fourth time this week. The FOURTH TIME he has been visiting the bakery since he’s spotted the oh-so gorgeous employee. Some would deem it at voyeurism, but she was well aware he was around, so it wasn’t THAT creepy, right? He even ordered his glass of milk from her, y’know, just so she wouldn’t start wondering why the fuck was an adult-teen boy spending his days sitting at a bakery without picking anything. The downside from those glasses of milk was that it ran right through his body and ejected itself from whatever orifice you may think of. Back home, of-fucking-course. How awkward would it be if he happened to just...LEAK right there, in the middle of the shop? Fuck, he’d probably, very literally, DIE. Gutless people have a tendency of accidentally killing themselves after constraining their SOLAR PLEXUS with too much stress. True fact!

This fourth time though, he thought, hey! maybe if I got some kind of solid food with the milk, maybe it’ll help the liquid get around inside my body without fucking up. And in that instance he wished he had completed high school, SO FUCKING BAD. It wasn’t that complicated of a process-- buying the food-- but he always liked to add stupid shit to it, perhaps get the lady on the other side of the counter wet. 

❝ I’ll take the coconut ( whatever! ) bread, babe. ❞, his words were sleazy, almost disgusting.

❝ I know you’d rather me pay with my PHONE NUMBER, but... ❞, disgusting, as he slapped a twenty ( whatever! ) dollar bill on the surface between the both of them. He finished with something along the lines of you can keep the rest, trying to sound nice and gentleman-like. Maybe he was planning on using that excess cash to get a blowjob out of her, who knows!

And then he sat, staring at the food for far...too..long. Trembling hands not even close to touching the bread, beads of sweat trailing down his forehead, dry lips, mouth, throat,...so much for looking good in front of the girl, yikes! Didn’t really help that his subtle harsh breathing was having an effect on his eyesight-- this innocent piece of bread, flashing as pieces of rotting human meat, it palpitated his heart, it churned his guts, it stressed his solar plexus. A small, scared whine escaped his lips every time he exhaled, but the EMOTIONAL ROCK stuck in his throat cued the fucking tears. Haydn was an orchestra of everything going bad, except the conductor wasn’t even there! 

As soon as his teary eyes met hers, he was gone. A swirling headache caused by the smell of sweets, the burning acid in his stomach threatening to fire up his chest, legs as wobbly as a newborn baby’s, A FUCKING MESS! He ( tried to ) rush somewhere, maybe the washroom?, or perhaps outside?, he couldn’t tell, he couldn’t see. The fucking loser, d’you know what he did? He vomited, right there in the middle of the place. Except he didn’t vomit anything in particular, and he just hoped that it would stop there-- but ahh, there it was. The waterfall tears. The sniffling. The noisy sobbing.