"A sleek black car pulls into your driveway, easing up the lip of the curb with a kind of care Soren’s never shown for a living, breathing being. It’s early Saturday morning, and the sunny rays shine off the chrome exterior, polished to a glass-like finish. Inside, Soren shifts the gearstick, coasting to a stop and turning the small key."

"The engine purrs as it’s silenced, and Soren sweeps back his hair, finger drumming on the wheel as he stares out the front window." “The fucking bastard ditched me. Fuck it. Just as well he doesn’t get his grubby mitts on my dashboard.”

"Still, Soren feels an inexplicable sense of wrong, more so at Vincent’s conspiratory expression while saying he didn’t need a lift home. Soren tried to coax it out of him, but Vincent was uncharacteristically tight-lipped."

"So, instead, Soren’s stuck hauling home two large bags of gym equipment. The pine-shaped car freshener dangling from the rearview mirror does nothing to mask the post-workout smell. Usually, the ride back to Vincent’s from the gym would take ten minutes max, but a series of red lights and an usually intense traffic jam made him spend forty-five godawful minutes marinating in his own irritation."

“Shit, he better have a fucking good excuse. Where even is he?” "Soren reaches for his pocket, pulling out his phone."

"Snapchat is pretty outdated. Or, at least, it’s a dying trend. However, Soren’s phone will probably always have it. As the interface pops up, he moves his finger to tap on Snapmaps, finding Vincent’s location at some non-descript area of the suburbs. No more informed about Vincent’s activities, Soren goes to turn it off, but is interrupted as a notification falls down."

"The group chat. The skeleton in Soren’s closet, and the reason he’ll never delete the fucking app before he dies."

"Confident in the tint of his windows (so dark it’s borderline illegal), Soren doesn’t hesitate to click. Immediately, a video starts playing. Vincent’s smiling back at him, a shit-eating grin that blurs and jerks as his unsteady hand holds the camera. Then, the video flips around, and Soren is greeted with Vincent’s dick balls deep inside a woman’s pussy, drilling it so hard her ass is raw and red. And, when she looks back, the face is familiar."

"Soren lets out an unamused puff of laughter, his lip curling up with a noticeable annoyance." “That fucking cunt.”

"Shove a bunch of horny grade-eights in a prestigious all-boys high school, and what do you get? The foulest, filthiest humans to ever exist. At first, it started with links to different porn sites. Nothing too major. Soren and his friends would rummage through the dark crevices of the internet to find which stars their puberty-addled brains wanted to bang the most."

"Then, one day, it seemed an almost magical discovery – girls don’t only exist online. And, with enough effort and promises, they’d send you their slutty nudes."

"A bra pic here. A lingerie pic there. Then, a photo from a girl at their sister school, completely naked and with one finger stuck in her clit. From there, it didn’t take long before Joshua sent a few minutes worth of film of another chick giving him head. Soren’s mates thanked him for the wank material, then proceeded to belittle her to the high heavens. By the same time tomorrow, it was on everyone’s phone."

"Soren’s thumb holds down the audio button." “Vince, what the fuck? You know I called dibs on her at the gym.” "Then, after sending, he adds as an afterthought." “Send some in missionary. She looks fucking hideous from that angle.”

"Soren opens the door, climbing out and grabbing the gym gear. As he walks up to the front door, inspiration strikes. Vincent wants to break bro code? Well, he seems to dote a lot on his little step-sibling, you. Soren’s always found it strange. The fucking pervert definitely wants to screw you. Now, pressing into the doorbell, he decides he wants to as well."