Journal Entry #12
Therapy Journal
Dear Rhys,
Today went off the rails and down the side of a fucking cliff.
Jett and I were minding our business, maybe about to get arrested for gym-related crimes of the deeply inappropriate variety, when boom, the Unholy Trinity appeared: Chad, Hank, and Margo.
I think the devil spit them out just to ruin our afternoon.
Thanks for believing us. I could tell by how you loitered in Walter’s parking lot like a guilty dog outside a butcher shop that something was chewing at you.
You wanted to say yes to Benji’s sleepover invite.
But something held you back. Was it the mess of it all?
The violence? The way Jett looked when he said yes?
For the record: no sex tonight. Too much adrenaline and bruises and courtroom foreshadowing.
We got tacos instead. Benji even ordered extra queso. Did you know you can dip tacos in cheese like a goddamn king? Jett didn’t. It changed his life. He let me lick cheese off his face and Benji turned a color I didn’t even know skin could be.
We’re gonna “just cuddle” when I’m done journaling, which is code for me touching them in increasingly deviant ways until someone breaks. They know. I know. We’ve made peace with the lie.
Wish you were here. You’d like the tacos. You’d like me more with cheese on my fingers and less blood on my mouth.
Rhys Journal
Don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten about tomorrow.
In the middle of all the blood, the sirens, and the gymfloor groping, I still made time to craft a first date kit just for us.
Because I’m thoughtful like that. It’s got white chocolate (for after), a very pretty gag (for during), I cannot be caught screaming your name in your office.
There’s a second gag. For you. Just in case you’re the one who can’t keep quiet.
Are you a top, Rhys? Or a bottom? Or do you just want me to climb into your lap and decide for us?
Because I can flip like a switchblade, baby.
Say the word. I’ll be whatever you need.
Benji Journal
I’ll make this fast because I don’t trust you and Jett alone for a single goddamn minute. Not after what y’all did with the chocolate mousse. I still don’t know how it got on the ceiling, you filthy beasts.
I love you. So much it feels like my ribs don’t fit right anymore.
I’m sorry you were scared for me. Sorry that seeing me busted up hurt you. But I swear I’m okay. Still wild, still yours, still stupid in love with both of you.
I have no idea what you’re doing right now, but I just heard Jett cuss and laugh, which means trouble is afoot and you’re probably enabling it. I’m coming.
Get ready. I’m gonna kiss your hands. Your mouth. Your everything.
Jett Journal
So. We got arrested together. Again. That’s twice, baby. One more and I think we get to keep the orange jumpsuits. Maybe even a punch card. “Buy three, get your charges dropped free!”
I screenshotted our mugshots. Mine is art. Swollen lip, crazy eyes, blood down my chin. I look like a sexy little felon. You just look pissed. I told you to smile. Did you? No.
Now it sounds like something broke in there. You two better not be traumatizing Mr. Wriggles while I write this. That worm’s been through enough. If I find out you’re stress-smoking next to him or letting Benji show him TikToks, I will spank you both.
Thanks for having my ass, on the weight bench, in the fight, in the back of the cop car.
Ride or die. Or ride then die. Or ride until you can’t remember your name. I love you.
P.S. I bit your mugshot. I also saved theirs too. I drew a glittery dick over Hank’s face.