one | troy bolton cult

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october 16th
london, england

THERE I WAS, lying in that overpriced, spherical platform bed with an out-of-my-league male right beside me, regretting all of my stupid life-choices. I carefully switched sides so I could look at him. His eyes were closed and dark hair all messy which I expected, because he slept like a spastic dog; turning over, back, one leg over my whole body and depriving oxygen, and so on. But the sight of him being in such a peaceful state was awe-worthy. On the other hand was I about to jump out of the window. I couldn't believe I gave my fucking virginity away like that, I couldn't believe my last tiny bit of dignity had deceased.

Suddenly he pursed his lips and blew into my face. That was shocking enough, but when he opened his mouth and started talking, I couldn't help but let out a high-pitched squeal.

"Get me a coffee- Jesus fuck," he quickly covered my mouth with his hand without opening his eyes, "you can't just earrape people like that."

"Sworwy," I mumbled into his hand.

"Just get me a coffee and some aspirins, will you?"

It wasn't a request, it was an order. I frowned my brows at him and pushed his hand off my face.

"Who the hell do you think I am?"

His eyeballs started to move under his eyelids where after he finally opened them.

"My assistant. I pay you to bring me coffee, remember?" He yawned and stretched his arms.

That made me feel... some type of way. For some reason my stupid drunk alter ego – let's name her Becky – thought I was the only one he had slept with, but that obviously wasn't true. Of course this vainglorious writer had an assistant to fuck whenever he felt like it and of course that assistant agreed, because she must've been as stupid as me. I felt ashamed of myself and didn't know whether I wanted to throw myself out of the window or him.

His reaction left me speechless. He did not have the capacity to distinguish me from his fucking assistant. He had treated me that whole night as if I was special, 'something else' as he kept telling me, but in the end I wasn't even someone – I was something he'd make use of and then throw away.

Becky definitely was a snake for making me have sex with him.

The bare, famous writer beside me groaned, rubbed his eyes and then looked me dead in the eyes.

"What are you waiting for?"

"I'm not your fucking assistant!" The only thing I could do was throw a pillow at his face. Really pathetic.

"Wait," he removed the pillow from his face and fixated his hair, "what's your name again then?"

"Oh, fuck you Xavier Montgomery!"

And that was when I punched him in the face.

a week earlier...

october 4th
dallas, america

Seeing my fellow students constantly taking notes demotivated me. My paper was plain except for the little penis in the corner. The only one who had a weird obsession with drawing penises was Drew, he was mentally stuck in middle school.

The never ending talk about mitochondria and other cell organelles made me sick, so I decided to grab my worst enemy and best friend; my damned phone. The second I turned it on, it continuously started buzzing like some kind of fucked up vibrator. That comparison made me giggle a bit.

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