Chapter 4: Race
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Not even a blink. I didn't even blink and the cars already dissipated in my line of sight. Leaving a large cloud of smoke and dust mixed with the scent of gasoline. Coughing, I wave away the remaining dust that could've clogged my nose as I hear the resounding roars of the vehicles blaze from a distance.
I grunt. "Fuck..." Once the smoke and dust clear...I just gaze at the now-empty asphalt where the JDM cars once roared their engines. The skid marks on the said asphalt are embedded in the street. I say to myself. "Shit, uh, now what?"
My eyes trail through the extending street that stretches miles across the more, 'less civilized' region of the city, and for a moment, I could see two specs black and dark purple dragging through the asphalt, leaving a trail of white smoke, probably the JDM cars, trying to outspeed the other...for now, though, they're both at the same speed. Eventually, the two vehicles vanish from my sight again after they drive uphill. Damn, they're fast. I just love how the bellowing engines just echo down the street...Anyway, I meant by 'less civilized,' I meant this exact location I am in is where the 'lower class' exists. I could proudly announce that I'm in the lower middle class, but, I'm a humble dude, if I do say so myself. I study my surroundings for a bit.
I'm not particularly familiar with this area...I take note of the small apartment buildings lying about around the block, unsupervised, leading to some cracks on their windows, cornerstones, etc. There are some small convenience stores placed at every block, most likely for the 'convenience' of the residents that live in this area. But the most noticeable feature of this place is...
It's gloomy. Dark.
There's no light.
Unlike Neon City...where I live, this region has little to no lights at all. Maybe just a few for strip clubs, bars, and tattoo shops here and there, but overall, not much. But even though, this part of the city was still bustling with tipsy and horny teens. Did I add that teen pregnancy rates are 130%?
"Hey wait, aren't we classmates?" a voice calls me out.
A long beat...
Fuck... It's a dude.
I wasn't expecting someone to converse with me right now.
I didn't respond. The voice probably called out someone else other than me. That's usually the case.
...
The guy proves me wrong and clamps his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it a bit, making me wince. The hell...his grip's tight.
"Oh wait, yeah, your the organic dude in our class, right? Dante?"
...Fuck me--I've been recognized.
I turn around and face the guy. He was a head taller than me, probably around 6'1 and a half. Not as tall as Klara though. I respond sheepishly. "Uh...yeah man. Am I famous or something?"
I feel like I know this guy...I meet him sometimes in the hallways of school. Just a mere peek though.
The latter shrugs. "Sort of. In a bad way though."
I could feel my shoulders slump. Ugh. What sort of shittery have I jumped into now?
"Urgh...what is it this time?" I squint at the tall lad's facial features. Yeah, he's pretty handsome. I could tell that the ladies would be down bad for this kinda bad boy. He had long neck-length wavy black hair, a chiseled jawline, and...two different eye colors. One was blue, and the other was bright yellow. I could tell those were implanted eyes and those obvious black streaks on his cheeks that are connected to his eyelids that trail down toward his chin, creating a unique pattern. Ah. I remember him now. "...oh, hi John."
Right now, he was shirtless with only his gray baggy joggers on, showing off his assets. I'm not going to describe it. He technically has abs with visible metal on his obliques. It was dead clear he was heavy on implants.
John's got some form of reputation in my school. Basically, he's widely known as the playboy. How'd I know this, you may ask? Uh, I eavesdrop on rumors and silently listen to gossip. "Yup. Das me. The one and only." he responds, flexing his biceps. I find that unnecessary.
I roll my eyes. "Harty har har. What is it now, Johnny boy?"
I didn't like him right off the bat. And it was clear he didn't like me too by the way he looks me. So...I don't really know where this conversation will go.
He chuckles. "I heard you kicked some balls. Literally."
Oh. So I'm famous in THAT way, huh? "It was self-defense."
"Uh huh? You even called one of 'em that hard 'r' and attempted to whip them with your belt," he giggles again. "You're abusing your freedom of speech, aren't cha?"
I scoff a bit before rolling my eyes. I take a step away from the towering dude's figure and waltz toward the asphalt and look down, staring at the skid marks the supercars fabricated a while ago. "That's why it's called 'freedom.' I can say whatever I want."
"Hah. Righttt. Rightt. So that does mean I can woo that girl bsf of yours, yeah? Klara? Since it's 'freedom' and all that? But fuck me--she's a bombshell. That woman's taller than me--hell taller than most girls I know! And it's the way she looks at me bro, My Lord--I think she's into me. Every damn time she looks at me is just--God I wanna fuck her so bad. Sorry man, can't help it. She's stunning. Sexy at most. Like, one in a gazillion or something."
"..." I kind of ignored that dialogue. Of course, another asshole wants to use Klara as some kind of sex toy. Why am I bothered by that? I mean--yeah it's concerning that he just suddenly blurted out that he wants to do the dirty with Klara but...Why the fuck did I not bark back at that? Well...uh...most likely cuz I'm not the most...attractive to begin with. At least I think so. I'm also like, 3000% sure Klara doesn't have feelings for me anyway. Why would she? I shrug. I'll just let the jerk bask in his fantasy. "Yeah, yeah. Sure. Go. Go ahead and try. See where it goes I guess. I heard she's a challenge."
John laughs out loud, stretching his arms. "I love challenges, they make me better. In this case, better in wooing, eh~?"
I grumble. "Whatever. What do you need from me anyway?"
"Nothin'. Just saying hi is all. Maybe future bsf after I woo Klara too and make her mine," he says. Then he scoffs, smirking. "You're not gonna be my contender, right?" he adds smugly.
...
Fuck that guy. He knows I got no chance. He KNOWS that I know that I stand no chance. Urgh. I'll just give him the response he wants.
I scratch my head. "Psh, nah. As if--come on, look at me. I'm just some slightly chubby, 5'7, half-Asian, lazy kid, with zero for my talent. There is noooo way I can beat your ass in a 'flirting' contest."
And there it is. That boastful smug--yet shitty grin. Yeah, I'm giving the response he wants. That asshole just wants to hear it from me. I mean, what can I do anyway? Even if I want to bark back, there's nothing I can really boast about either. I guess showing him some hands is a pretty dumb idea too. I'm hella vulnerable. No implants, not a single part of me screams athletic, no other friend group to back me up, and most of all, being an Organic. Staying Organic in general in today's society just makes one a subject of abuse. In short, it's not nice. Klara's an exception. Mainly because she's witty, way too charismatic, charming, and extroverted. (I can't think of any other reason. She's probably just really pretty too and uses that to her advantage.)
I turn to John, deadpanning at him.
I twist my tone a bit, a bit more sarcastic in a way. "Oh, I can't possibly compete with such a...stupidly fucking beautiful man that you are," I add. "I might as well just 'fuck off', huh? I guess that's just the path for me in this, huh? I'm a loser anyway. I can't even talk to a woman properly--it'd be a damn miracle if I were able to pull it off."
Thereee it is. That charismatic prideful fucking grin curling from his lips. I despise that. Severely. I hate how he's handsome, I hate how he gets the women too damn quickly. I hate it. Fuck him. I bet he just came all the way here to push my buttons. Asshole.
...
I internally scoff as I drag my feet away from this dickhead, squeezing past the crowd. "Anyway, I'll be going ahead now. Since your arrogant ass kind of likes that. Stupid, attention-seeking cunt. I bet that dick of yours ain't even organic anymore."
...
I didn't say that. I just internally played that specific dialogue in my head because I'm too pathetic to make a comeback.
--
After shamelessly degrading myself...I just slithered away--squeezing into the teen-drunk and horny crowd. Even if I wanted to know where Klara and that other racer dude went, I can't jog all the fucking way over to the finish line..! I'm an organic! I don't have a convenient USB port where I can lodge a chip into my cervical vertebrae to make me sprint several kilometers without breaking a sweat--that's rich people's shit. Wait...the chip is the rich people shit. Applying a USB port at your cervical vertebrae and connecting it to your brain is the norm. Yeah even if that stuff is reasonable, I kinda don't like having metal inside my body. So does Klara.
After getting passed the crowd, getting a few bruises I walked back home.
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I grab the door knob to my apartment unit and gently open the door and I was greeted with the usual hallway.
I look at the clock on the left side of the hallway.
11:57 pm.
Fuck, I forgot to make dad's food...
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