There was no way my cranky, old jalopy wouldn't be spotted across the road overlooking the dirtied, almost hidden path that led to the lake, so I parked it at the back of a deserted gas station on Devil's Hyde Street, near the water and bolted into some thick beanstalk through which I had a good view of Ryan jogging towards some shadows discussing in low tones on the lake's bank. I couldn't make out Lordee's features at the hem of the gang's circle, the swirl of smoke pouring out his nostrils and ascending slowly upwards till it disappeared.

The tough beanstalk was the only closest place I could hide, observe and hear every little detail they were saying. It was so conspicuous and thick that even if I made a sound, the boys would dismiss the noise as a rabbit hopping off somewhere. But I stayed quiet, internally justifying my spying on him.

He's my boyfriend after all. And he left me at the middle of our amazing sex with no reasonable explanation whatsoever. I deserve some answers. I really do.

I watched the gang slap each other's backs and talk animatedly before Ryan took his place in the circle. Then they strode up a few more distance into a cabin house atop the lake. I squinted as the puzzle all clicked.

Shit.

Carry Simpson. Fuckboy Bulls feud. How typical.