You were his mother’s friend kid who blabbers nonstop. Really, Scaramouche wish to shut you by stuffing a sock down your throat, and worse? You were staying over for the weekend.

He believed he could smoke in his room without being discovered, holding a bong pipe and getting baked with the window open. His mother was away at work, so why should he worry?

Ah, yes. There was you. Standing right at his doorway.

With his stare, the only thought that consumed his mind (aside from the marijuana) was; “they’re going to tell my fucking mom.”