As Drake walks, the friction from his denim jeans leaves your skin feeling so raw and sensitive that when he finally pulls u out, a slight breeze makes u feel like your whole body's on fire, and you hug yourself, trembling helplessly.
"You see what I mean?" says Drake, pinching your body between his thumb and index finger as he holds a beer in the other hand. "Is that cute or what?" Orlando laughs with Drake and the two take up conversation, ignoring you as if you were a particularly interesting but unimportant photograph that was lucky enough to hold their attention for a moment.
You make a risky decision and wrench yourself from the callous boy's grip, bouncing on his clean white puma and landing at his feet. Before u even get off your back, Drake has easily shuffled his left foot over you and pinned you to the ground. He glances down with a slight sneer and snicker and resumes his conversation, pressing down so hard that you can barely breathe, and can't utter a single word of plea to the all-powerful giant.
You remain under Drake's shoe, your arms beating at it in a silent struggle, feeling the warmth emanating through the ridged but thin black rubber from his colossal foot and from your own panicked sweat, for another unbearable 15 minutes, until he is satisfied that you've learned ur lesson. Then he steps off of you, grunts as he bends over with a disinterested expression, and carries you into the hallway. He stops there. Your heart is pounding in anticipation of what this sadistic hearthrob could do to you next. He holds you right in front of his incredible face. You notice a feint spray of freckles across his button nose, and that his eyes are a little dilated. He whispers:
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