A text is received

You stand by the pool table, lining up your next shot. The play had been an absolute failure. Kathy had gotten a broken leg from a poorly secured sandbag. Susan had nearly electrocuted herself because of a wiring fault, receiving a fairly bad burn. Cast and crew alike had dropped out in record numbers, all for different albeit likely made up reasons. With things failing increasingly quickly and accidents increasing, the Principal decided to step in and call things to a close. With low numbers, actually producing a worthwhile play seemed unlikely and even if it was, it just wasn't worth the risk of more people getting seriously hurt. Hell, no one even seemed to care. The Principal, like most of the students, were far more focused on the success of the football team to even give a shit.

Tonight was supposed to be their grand victory, and now here you are, half-drunk on vodka and playing pool, by yourself. You'd invited Caoimhe, Katie and Beth, but somehow all three of them were busy. God knows how they'd made plans so quickly after the play fell through.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, so you slide it out, breaking you from that train of thought.

There's a message, from Chad, one of the football players. You unlock your phone, curious to see what it is. Gloating? Or more dickish behavior like he's normally responsible? Not surprising, really, he is named Chad.

"Yo dickcheese, come to the locker room."

"Why?" you text in response.

"Fuck off and come here, clitsucker."

You slide your phone back into your pocket, swearing. No doubt he's planning to bully you into cleaning up their uniforms, or just planning to mock the loss of the player, or if you're (un)lucky, maybe he's going to fuck Caoimhe in front of you. He always loves doing that, letting you nice and hard and then sending you back to your room to jack off.