WHEN YOU LOVE

FORTY DEGREES RISING

Lee sighed and said, "I can't think in his stead, but start by forgiving yourself first. It's too early to expect him to come around, butㅡ," Lee paused. There was one thing that bothered him, and he didn't know how to express his thought; still, he spoke, "he's a kid; you don't need to lower your voice when you catch him being mannerless. You made a mistake. It's one thing, but it doesn't give him the right to trample your remarks."

Sana didn't think Lee had noticed how she resigned from reprimanding Dylan about the milk.

The man wished he could help things along, but again, he, too, lacked the right formula to communicate with Dylan.

"You're right. It's too early; I guess I'm too eager. Let's let time do its duty. I can't expect Dylan to warm up to me immediately, can I," Sana said more for herself than for Lee's understanding.

"He's a good lad. He'll come around," Lee replied while praying for his statement to manifest itself.

In his room, Dylan fumed. How could his dad let Sana come back as though nothing had happened?

Who did this kind of thing? It made no sense.

Dylan couldn't believe it when he heard laughter coming from his father's room.

Guess his father was no different from the next person who loved a good pair of tits and a fanny.

How sickening!

Dylan's thought was interrupted by the beep of an incoming message:

We're at Greg's. We've got booze and bunnies. Want to join us?

P.S. Bring a bottle.

Dylan didn't need to be baited twice. He got up, put on the first tracksuit he saw, made a stop by his father's cellar, and headed out without making a sound.

Greg was the rich kid who tried to fit in by providing what the other kids couldn't. He offered a hangout when his parents traveled and supplied all things illegal for teens their age. Thirty minutes later, Dylan entered Greg's home.

"Didi," Carly greeted, jumping into Dylan's arms and kissing him all over his face.

There was nothing official between them. They just enjoyed the saliva exchanges and the intense groping sessions. Of course, it was a detail. Most thought they dated.

Precious Carly, who had her cherry squeezed dry, aimed to make Dylan's banana burst all creamy in the fruity analogy of her mind. The girl made it her ultimate goal, and Greg offered the perfect setting and props with his five-roomed flat.

Candy rolled her eyes at the sight of the couple in the making embrace. She didn't know why she came; no, the truth was she didn't want to acknowledge the reason.

Dylan was at his lowest. He could play hard all he wanted; Candy knew his actions were a desperate cry for help. Even if every bone in her body told her to stay away and protect her own well-being, she desired to support him somehow. So Candy came to see that Dylan didn't do something he could regret. Some would say she wasn't his keeper, and she would reply I can't help it.

Candy didn't think Dylan would show up when Dibbs texted him, but there he was.

"Hey Carly, there are rooms for that. Let go of the boy, "Suzy, one of Carly's possy said. Carly stepped down, and Dylan took her in a side hug before facing those seated in the living.

The first stare that met his was Candy's.

What was she doing there?

She wasn't a girl for these types of gatherings.

Candy could read the statement in his stare. Thus, she returned a: you aren't one for this place either glare.

Dylan turned his gaze away and joined another group playing Mortal Kombat.

Beer, wine, whisky, beer, and vodka; the cocktails were lethal, and Greg added the dose by bringing out a French pastis his parents brought provenance in the South of France. Ryan rolled the buds for all. It wasn't long before most were high.

The forty degrees volume alcohol Pastis had Dylan choking at first, but after a few sips and a few joints, Dylan saw his inhibitions disappear.

Strangely enough, it was Candy he sought when he felt almighty, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Was she gone?

He left the living room and began to search.

Dylan left the bathroom to look in the garden when he found himself dragged into one of the rooms.

"Candy," he whispered to the girl who kissed him. Before Dylan knew it, he was making out with a girl he thought was Candy until she switched on the lap on the nightstand next to the bed.

It was neither Candy nor Carly but the school's gazette loudmouth Becky.

Dylan didn't even have time to soak in the information that Becky was pulling down his tracksuit pants.

"Tell me what you like," Becky said as she slid her hands into his undies to stroke him.

Carly wasn't the only one aiming for the virgin. Dylan was the boy everyone wanted a piece of, and he had no clue about the tacit competition between the girls in his school.

Only Candy stayed away from the conspiracy. She neither spoke nor alluded to things about their relationship. Even when Dylan became petty, the girl kept her head up and didn't throw out the laundry.

This fact alone made Candy special to the boy. The girl knew almost everything about his family and recent shenanigans. She could have made him the laughingstock of their school if she wished, but she wasn't like the others. The girl didn't care about her reputation and appearance. She found no satisfaction in laughing at someone else's misery. Candy lived her life, and she had her art. 

If there was someone with whom Dylan wished to walk miles, it was her. 

Then why mistreat her?

Dylan detested the answer, which was that he hated himself and the idea Candy knew all his dirt. It made him feel unworthy. Thus, he preferred being with people who only knew his surface. It gave him the impression of being safe from judgment.

The boy's mind was hazy, but his resolve was stronger. Flirting with Carly was one thing, but doing anything with Becky would blocklist him forever in Candy's eyes. He wasn't a man hoe, yet it was the reputation he gained with his lightening relationships.

"Stop it," Dylan whispered, tapping the girl's head.

Becky didn't listen; she continued to suck and gobble. No man could resist a good blow job, and it took Dylan a lot of will to sit up and tell the girl to stop in a firmer tone. Saying it wasn't pleasurable would be a lie, yet for Dylan, it was more about the person who offered the deed.

Of course, the door sprung open at the moment when Becky wiped her mouth, and Dylan pulled his track pants up; otherwise, the tale wouldn't be fun.

"You sleazy arse bitch," Carly screamed and went to yank Becky's hair while Dylan slid out of the room. He grasped the wall to advance. His head pounded, and his stare was foggy. Everything swirled anticlockwise, he was sure he moved, yet he had the impression of walking in reverse. Why was everything so loud? His heartbeat throbbed in his ears. He he had only taken a few steps when he dropped to the stone-cold floor without warning.

The thumping sound his body made had everyone rush to his position.

"Dylan, Dylan, wake up."

"Oh, my God, is he dead?"