You're behind the wheel of a parked car, and you feel good.
No, you feel more than good.
There's a sense of leaving the bad shit behind, a big fuck you to the world and all its expectations, a sense of liberty and freedom, and you can almost feel the yoke lifted from around your neck. And alright, so maybe that's just because someone's mouth is on your cock, and maybe that's a big screw you too, but you're done feeling guilty, and this is the last night before you cast it all off. You're going to wake up in the morning, you know, and you're going to walk into the old man's office, and you're going to tell him that you feel like you're suffocating in this life you never wanted. Yeah, you're gonna do it, and it feels like a better decision than anything you've decided since graduation. And you're drunk, but that doesn't matter, because you've been drunk since you walked into that office in the shipping yard months ago and saw your future in barrels and crates.
You're elated, but in that drunk way that brings way too much happiness with it, almost manic, really, when it's all said and done. And you're definitely not sober enough for choices.
"It'll be better if the car's moving," the blond boy in your lap says, the one with a mouthful of your cock and blond curls that surely belong on an angel somewhere. You know he has a thing for the car, a sleek black Porsche, all leather and graphite interior, and yeah, alright. Just around the parking lot. What can it hurt?
You don't know when you hit the highway, but the too-bright lights in your eyes make you realize you must have, even though you don't remember it. But, shit, the entire world is in your balls right then, and you don't even hear the screech of tires as the car you're swerving into tries to get out of the way. Hell, you don't even realize when you crash. It all feels like falling out of the bed during a nightmare or something, but nothing hurts, and the blond boy finishes sucking you off before you even realize anything really went wrong.
"Man, we must have hit a tree," you hear yourself say, and you believe it. Your dad is going to kick your ass, you think, but that's cool. It's a good lead-in for the talk you're going to have in the morning. Hey, pop, so I wrapped the Porsche around a tree, but it's because I feel like I'm living in a coffin or something. Thanatology humor, no one ever gets it but you.
You hear sirens, and you close your eyes and let your head rest back against the seat. Cool, a visit to the ER will make mom worry, and then pop will have to listen. Cool. The blond boy is going on about how it was an awesome ride, and you just reach over a lazy tired hand and muss his curls. You don't remember his name, but it doesn't matter. Shit, the only thing that matters just then is the freedom coming with the sunrise. And, hell, it feels good.