Scout was shocked into paralysis for a minute before he fought back. When did Harry get so strong? and, (come to think of it this was a more pressing question,) why would anyone do anything this gross? He was actually sucking Scout's neck. Ew.
Scout managed to dislodge Harry, and staggered back. "What the hell, man? Is this some kind of frat cult?" And, he added silently, why hadn't he been asked. He was a Calhoun, after all. His dad would be so disappointed in him if with his connections he couldn't manage to be some kind of popularity king. He thought - I mean, obviously, I'd've said NO, cause, firstoff, unhygenic, and, yaknow, standards, but kind of rude not to give me the refusal -
Not answering about the frat cult thing, Harry hurled himself back at Scout like a rugby tackler. He'd never been the big contact sports fan hitherto, although this wasn't the most constructive thought Scout could have had right then. Weakened by blood loss, Scout didn't throw him off again.
It wasn't long before Harry stood over him. "oh God, oh God.." Harry felt just awful. The bewilderment and hunger had passed now. It left room for an all embracing guilt. He realised what he had become.
Scout peered through the gathering dark. "Harry?" His voice was whispery.
"I never meant -" Harry sobbed. Scout was always kind to him. Dumb, yeah, sure, but kind. This was one of the last guys in Rawley to deserve such an end. Frantically, Harry scrabbled at his own wrist. He had thought of a solution.. "Scout! Drink this!"
Scout looked at the red drops welling from Harry's cut hand. "Ew. Gross."
"Just do it. All right."
"Call 911." Scout gasped. He pressed his hand to his neck.
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