Who hurt you? Participates in the Anti-hero competition. Cover is all CC0.


1. Fuckboys

    They were already drinking at seven. It’s Friday and they’ve met up at August’s place, Julius, David, all of them.

    “Really, though?” Julius laughs.

    “On some real shit,” David says.

The guests bring the booze, that’s the rule and it’s fair enough, a tax to get out of cleaning up the potential puke tomorrow.

    Fifteen?” August asks.

The music’s loud and they have to yell to be heard, but that’s a life lesson.

    “Bro.” David puts down his beer and holds his arms out. “I’m telling you, her ass did not look a day under 18.”

David spits out his Somersby, cramping up in a laughter. The liquid drizzles over August.

    “Aye!” he says, pushing David. “Get that gay shit off me.”

But it only makes David laugh even harder.

    “Who drinks Somersby, anyways?” Julius asks.

    “Your mom,” August says.

    “Dead ass though,” Julius laughs, “it really only be moms that drink that juice.”

    He gets flipped off by David who takes another sip of his Somersby.

    “Moms and bitches,” August adds. “That’s why David’s drinkin’.”

Julius cramps up in laughter.

    “Sit the fuck down,” David says, shaking his head. “Alla that talk and so little action.”

Julius stops laughing.

    “Ohh damn,” August says, holding his hand up in front of his mouth.

They all know David is ahead of them, the MVP of the game. He’s at 17 at 17.

    “We gonna change that tonight,” Julius says, pointing to David.

    “Bro,” August says, “you’re behind with, like, seven.”

David nods as he pours more shots of the Belve.

    “I’m gonna beat you tonight,” Julius says, “and I don’t care if I’ll have to star in an orgy to do it.”

He’s handed a shot by David. They all get ready to cheer, but just before the culmination of the glasses, August pauses.

    “On your Somersby-drinking mama?” he asks.

Julius takes his shot. He takes August’s head between the hands and looks into his eyes.

    “On alla our Somersby-drinking mamas.”


They run into Roman in the metro.

“Romaniii,” August says, dabbing him up.

    “Brother mine!” Roman greets David.

Julius gets the “I don’t really know you”-nod and he returns it with a “what’s up, man?” that’s left unanswered. Suddenly the conversation’s turned. They discuss Sarah from ninth grade and how they lost their virginities in seventh. Julius went to a different private school and he didn’t meet them until this year. August and David, Roman. Loud and jumping around whenever one of them mentions a giz they used to know. They’re drunk but it’s a secret only Julius and the other passengers have been let in on. Roman gets off, he’s going to some private party in a friend’s apartment, so Julius seizes the opportunity and starts talking about Hannah from last month, about how she’d colored her hair and August accidentally had broken codex because he thought she was a different girl. David has to hold onto a seat to not fall on the floor laughing.

“Aye, bruh, you gotta admit though,” August says to David, “the krid was of another caliber.”


    The bass is strangled between the walls separating the club and the street. It’s still light out even though it’s well past ten. The three boys lose each other the moment they enter the club, marking the beginning of the hunt. August makes his way to the bar, buying two drinks so he can offer the first to a shorty and the second to another if the first girl isn’t thirsty enough. He always does that, it’s his thing. Julius makes his way to the middle of the dance floor. The air is damp, music’s deafening and the people pulsating to the beat make them seem as one. Julius joins in like it’s the most natural of habits, gets behind a girl and lets her know of his presence. Dancing’s his thing. He’s sweaty already but he doesn’t mind the heat, doesn’t mind the way the sweat tickles when it glides down his neck.

    “Ay, ay, ay!” people start chanting as a girl in a white dress gets down on another girl in the middle of a circle.

    Julius forgets to move for a moment. The white-dressed laughs and hugs the other girl as the circle dissolves and they both disappear into the crowd. He looks after them until the girl he’s dancing with gets impatient and leaves. That’s when he takes off, only seeing white. Suddenly it’s in everything, the triangle of a button-up hidden by a blazer, the pants of a girl saying “bring it” to her period. Suddenly he sees the white dress. He makes his way next to her, not uttering a single “excuse me.” He has nothing to apologize for.

    “I saw you getting down,” he yells to her.

    “What?” she yells back.

    “Grinding,” he whispers in her ear, “with the girl.”

    “Oh,” she smiles, still swaying to the beat.

    “Only dance like that with girls?” he asks.

    She looks him up and down.

    “Wanna find out?”


    The metro’s quiet in a tranquil way after midnight. There are people travelling from the airport with suitcases, there are North Face-dressed men and there’s Julius and the girl of the night. She’s pretending to pole-dance around the metal pillar in the middle of the metro, he’s cheering her on. She gives him a drunken lap dance, occasionally interrupted when she falls as the metro starts or stops. They make it back to his place. She sings all the way there, picks it up a notch when they enter the stairwell and her voice echoes. He laughs. They’re home alone.

    “You live here?” she says.

    He didn’t heard the accent from Jutland until now. Nods. They fool around on the couch, make out all the way to his room.

“You got condoms?” she asks.

    “Huh?” he says, still kissing her.

    “Condoms,” she repeats, but it’s strangled in between their mouths.

    He smiles somewhat sleekly.

    “We’re not there yet.”

    She smiles, too, takes off her panties and lies down on his bed. He pauses for a moment, looks at her confused as she spreads her legs before him. Then he picks her up and puts her on top of him, pulling off her white dress but he’s too eager and it rips. She doesn’t seem to notice, her eyes are faded even in the dim lack of light. He puts his hands behind his head and waits for her to take the hint. She’s still kissing his neck and he gets impatient, pushes her head down. She doesn’t seem to understand, goes up against his hand so he pushes harder. Finally she catches on. Unzips. He closes his eyes but the room starts spinning so he opens them again. The thought of writing a 10 on his resumé gets him hard. She takes it in her mouth, starts going up and down, he moans. It’s dry though, “spit on it,” he tells her. She does but it’s not enough, it needs to be sloppy, he needs her to drown in him. He gets impatient. Grabs her hair and pushes her head up and down. She twists her head, tries to get away but he’s persistent.

    “It’s my first…” she gurgles but it’s lost in a gag.

    He grunts, “fuck,” he feels it building. Takes her head up and down faster, deeper, feels how the ceiling of her mouth can’t cope.

“Keep going,” he says.

    “Wait,” she says, but she gags and he doesn’t hear, can’t hear.

    He takes her hand. Puts it by the root. Considers telling her to focus on the head with her tongue as she gags again and he feels something warm drip out of her mouth, spread over his groin.

    “What the…” he says.

    She stops, holds her mouth and wipes something from its corners.

“Oh my god…” she says.

Everything that seemed faded about her eyes has been replaced with fear. He looks down and sees the liquid drip down from his inner thighs to his linnen. Looks at her sitting there, tears in her eyes, covering her mouth.

    “You fucking whore,” he says as he starts smelling her vomit.

    She’s crying now, there’s no doubt, loud sobs leave her throat along with a single, strangled burb. He’s disgusted, it’s pecked into the frown on his face as he feels the puke find its way through the folds in his skin.

“I’m sorry!” she yells after him as he gets up and disappears into the bathroom.

He hears her repeating it, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she sobs. He’s shivering with anger and detest as he gets the towel and wipes himself of the vomit. When he returns, she’s putting on the leftovers of her dress but it’s a pathetic sight, jumping up and down with one leg through the hole he ripped. The mascara has stained her cheeks but she’s not torn like the dress anymore.

“You want me to call an Uber, you kran?”

“I should report you for assault, fucking psycho,” she says, sniffling.

“What are you still doing here, bitch?” he says as he rips off his linnen.

“It was my first time,” she screams.

He turns to her.

“You threw up on my bed. On my dick,” he hisses.

     She throws her arms out, searching for a way to argue with a wall.

     “You’re insane,” she says.

     Her eyes are tearing up again. Julius chuckles.

     I’m insane? Get out.”

    He holds the door open for her like a gentleman. She takes a step towards him but it’s shaky and she has to hold onto his bed. She realizes and pulls her hand to her. Stares straight at him as she says:

“Who hurt you?”


Julius is hungry. He texts the group chat that he brought home a 10 and that they’re about to go for round two once she’s recovered from the first.

“A 10 fr?” August texts back.

Julius opens the fridge.

“What’s her name??” David asks.

Grabs some leftover pizza.

“Her @?” August asks.

Julius thinks about it as he sits down, twists his brain for the moment she introduced herself.

“Bro I’m so fucked up, idek,” he ends up saying.

“No pics no points.”

He turns off his phone and eats the rest of his slice. The pizza tray can’t fit in the trash. He pushes harder, it rips the bag. He kicks it. Annoyed, he knows he won’t be able to sleep in his own bed so he grabs a blanket and finds rest on the couch. If the boys buy his story, he’ll be at 11 now without even wasting a condom. He thinks about her in that white dress, dancing with the other girl. Gets hard again. He still surprises himself sometimes, he thinks as he admires the bulge in the blanket. There's no saying what a man like him can do, that's for sure. The girls better watch out. He chuckles. Thinks, maybe tonight wasn't wasted after all.

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