6

                                    

                                          
"Marc," I bit out. "Marc, listen to yourself."
                          
He halted very suddenly. Even under the faint illumination of the street lights, I could tell that Marc was determined to carry out the task he had in mind, and the fact that I was trying to stand in the way of justice, was irritating him.
                          
"I said I'm going to kill that cunt. I can't sleep knowing we terrorized some kid, knowing all he gotta do is to tell the cops or something. Or," Marc gritted his teeth, as his eyes stared into the distance. "God forbid that cunt kills himself and mentions all of us in his suicide note."

                          
I inhaled, and I exhaled. "So you're saying being charged for intentional manslaughter is better than unintentional manslaughter?"
                          
"Andie, I'm fucking eighteen. I could get jailed, do you understand?"
                          
I sighed. "Marc, but that's why I took a picture of his pin dick. He's insecure about that shit. Make it viral if he so much as tells a soul - "
                          
"What the fuck happened to you?" Marc squinted his eyes at the screen, probably trying to glean a better look at my face.
                          
"What?"
                          
"Nice hair," Marc smirked. 
                          
"Oh," an unconscious hand ran its way through my hair as I uttered the syllable. "Yeah, my grandmother got me to dye it back."
                          
"Just like when I first met you," Marc said to himself.
                          
"Am I ugly, Marc?" I asked quite earnestly. 
                          
Marc almost dropped his phone. "Since when you were insecure?"
                          
I blinked at the screen. A thought provoking question indeed - since when was I ever insecure? 
                          
"No, you're not ugly," Marc replied. "Not physically anyway. Why?"
                          
"Wait, what do you mean 'not physically anyway'?"
                          
"Are you naked?"
                          
I frowned at the screen, before I looked down and realized that my blanket had dropped enough to deem this a 'dirty Skype call'. Even with two screens and 2,000 miles between us, I felt my cheeks reddening as my hands grabbed hastily for my blanket.
                          
Marc laughed, it was a strained one. "So I've arrived at Patrick's house. Here, I'll show you," as he said these words, he switched cameras to the back camera to show me this black structure with illuminated windows.
                          
Clearly, either Marc's phone wasn't made for night-mode videos or Skype wasn't designed to capture houses in the dark. 
                          
"You're not serious, are you?"
                          
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Marc went. "Don't worry, I'm not killing him in there. I'm gonna coerce him to come out with me, and then I'll knock him out cold before ending his life."
                          
"You called me for this? So I can watch this?"
                          
Marc let his hand drop, so his face no longer filled the screen. Instead, I am met with the sight of grainy darkness - I assume this is the pocket of his jeans.
                          
"Marc?" I called to the grainy darkness. "Don't leave me," I whispered. 
                          
"I'm on earphones, dumbass. Keep talking."
                          
"What are you doing now?" I asked.
                          
Marc hummed. "Trying to see if that cunt has friends over. Planning verbiage. I dunno." 
                          
"Do you ever, actually think things through before you act?"
                          
"I've done this before, Andie. Don't worry," Marc assured me. "So... I'm just gonna walk up to the front door, tell whoever that opens the door that I wanna apologize to the cunt Patrick. Then we make nice. And at 9 o'clock sharp, I drag his ass out - on his own accord, I mean."