Chapter 6: Breakup
The fluorescent lights hummed a flat, industrial note above the row of gray lockers. Percy stood before his, a solitary figure in the echoing hallway. He wore the same slightly-too-large hoodie as always, his soft hair falling into his eyes. The only discordant note was the fresh, angry scrawl on the adjacent locker in bright red spray paint: "Property of the King." He ignored it, methodically swapping out a textbook.
The click-clack of approaching heels echoed first, then the cloud of vanilla-chocolate body spray and whispered gossip announced them. Brittany led the pack, a sun around which five planets—Kelsey, Mika, Sasha, Becky, and Lana—orbited. They were a spectacle of cinched waists, impossible cleavage straining against plaid uniform tops, and swaying hips.
Brittany didn’t speak. She just walked up behind Percy, pressed her front against his back, and buried her face in the space between his hoodie and his neck. She inhaled deeply, a long, shuddering drag of breath.
“You still smell like us,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his skin. “Like mom’s perfume and my sweat and… everything.” Her hands slid around his slender waist, palms flat against his stomach, pulling him tighter against her.
The squad watched, a mixture of awe and predatory curiosity. Tiffany, hanging just at the edge, bit her lip, her eyes fever-bright.
“Let me smell,” Mika said, taking a step forward, but Brittany shot her a warning look over Percy’s shoulder, her arms possessive.
“Get your own,” Brittany said, but there was a taunt in it. A challenge. She began grinding against him slowly, right there in the hallway, her pleated skirt riding up. Percy remained still, his hands pausing on his locker combination.
“Brittany? What the hell is this?”
Chad’s voice cut through the feminine energy like a dull saw. He stood a few feet away, letterman jacket over a tight t-shirt, his face a mask of confused anger. His eyes darted from Brittany, glued to Percy’s back, to the gathered, smirking squad.
Brittany didn’t detach. She turned her head, resting her cheek on Percy’s shoulder blade, and looked at her boyfriend. Her former boyfriend.
“It’s exactly what it looks like, Chad,” she said, her voice languid and utterly bored.
“Get off of him,” Chad demanded, his fists clenching. “Now.”
Brittany actually laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. She finally unwrapped herself from Percy, but only to slide around to his side, slotting herself under his arm, her hand snaking down to cup him through his jeans. Percy exhaled softly, a quiet puff of air.
“Or what?” Brittany asked, tilting her head. “You gonna cry? You gonna tell the coach?”
Chad’s face flushed. “He’s a freak, Brittany. Look at him!”
“I am looking,” she purred, her fingers tracing the prominent outline now visibly swelling under her touch. The squad giggled, a unified, cruel sound. “I looked all last night. My mom looked. We’re still looking.”
The mention of her mother landed like a physical blow. Chad’s confidence wavered. “You’re disgusting.”
“You’re empty,” Brittany fired back, her voice dropping, losing its bored cadence for something colder, sharper. “You’re a loud noise and nothing else. You fill nothing. You can’t fill anything.” She emphasized the word, letting it hang in the stale hallway air.
She leaned into Percy, who remained a silent, placid pillar. “He can. He does. Until it’s dripping out.” She looked back at Chad, her gaze stripping him bare. “You’re fired. We’re done. I belong to the King now. It’s even written on the wall. Can you read, Chad?”
A strangled sound escaped Chad’s throat. Humiliation burned through him, hotter than anger. He looked at the squad for support, but found only mirrored expressions of contempt and a new, hungry interest directed at the meek boy under Brittany’s hand. He turned and stalked away, his shoulders hunched.
The moment he rounded the corner, the energy shifted. It was as if a seal had been broken.
“Holy shit, Britt,” Sasha breathed, her eyes wide.
“Did you see his face?” Kelsey snorted.
But Becky was staring at Percy, at the very obvious, heavy shape Brittany was still fondling. “So it’s… it’s really that…”
Brittany finally released Percy, a smug smile on her face. “Bigger than your head, Beck. And he doesn’t get tired. And he doesn’t ask stupid questions.” She looked at each of them in turn—Kelsey, Mika, Sasha, Becky, Lana, even the worshipping Tiffany. “He just gives. Until you can’t think.”
Percy finally closed his locker with a soft clang. He zipped his hoodie a little higher, as if to conceal the evidence, but the gesture was futile. It only drew more eyes.
“My boyfriend,” Lana said slowly, almost to herself, “talks about football for an hour after and then falls asleep.”
“Mine lasts two minutes,” Mika muttered, her gaze locked on Percy’s zipper.
Brittany shrugged, the queen bestowing wisdom. “Then you have a choice. You can have a boy who gives you a sad little handshake at the end of the night.” She reached out, her fingers lightly tracing Percy’s lower lip. He blinked slowly. “Or you can have a king who turns your brain off and paints your insides white.”
The bell for class rang, a harsh, bleating sound. No one moved.
Tiffany was the first to break the silence. She dropped to her knees in front of Percy right there on the polished linoleum, her hands trembling as she reached for his fly. “Please,” she whispered, not to Percy, but to Brittany.
Brittany nodded, a faint, regal dip of her chin.
With frantic fingers, Tiffany undid the button and zipper. She didn’t pull his jeans down, just freed him into the cool, fluorescent air. The squad gasped in unison. It was a stark, breathtaking contrast to his delicate face and frame—a brutal, thick weight of flesh that seemed to defy physics.
Tiffany didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward and took him into her mouth with a desperate, choking hunger.
Brittany watched for a moment, then turned to her squad. Their faces were no longer just curious. They were decided. Resolved. A pact formed in the space of a heartbeat, sealed by the sight of their captain’s obsessed lieutenant on her knees, and the proof of everything Brittany had promised bobbing gently before them.
“So,” Brittany said, her voice clean and clear over Tiffany’s wet, gagging sounds. “Who’s dumping their deadweight today?”
They all looked at each other, then back at the kneeling girl and the silent, patient boy. One by one, they nodded. A slow, wicked smile spread across Brittany’s face. She had an army now. And they all wanted to worship at the same altar.