<div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d2/Radbrad4.jpg)</div>"-And finally, crush your corn sized balls into a FUCKING mash and feed them to you through the same bloody tube!" Brad finished the very complex and spicy chain of threats and swears he was throwing at whatever fuckhead was on the other side of that door. That actually made him feel good; feel like…what was the word? Cleaned? Cleansed? Some chick-flick thing like that, as he felt like he could breathe freely again, as if he removed some sort of harness that was suffocating him from deep within his guts. The physical aspect of his current state was an entirely different story;<em><strong>Jesus, did that thing hurt like a motherfucker!</strong></em>It was like his shoulder was this burning ball of fire stinging everything it touched, it was also somewhat lower positioned compared to the healthy one on the other side.  He raised his frowned eyes to look at the worrying ones of Raye, standing just a couple of steps away from him, pitying him, he knew she wanted nothing more than to rush to him, feel his shoulder, and maybe even hug and pet him like a cradled little pet. His frowned turned colder, a 'don't you fucking dare' sort of expression. An extremely annoying high pitched sound made him turn his eyes to Stefy, which seemed to be enjoying that little show of pain.<em><strong>Is that bitch really laughing at me?</strong></em>He growled at his girlfriend, as he dragged himself out of the way to make room to that psycho bitch, which seemed to find a crowbar somewhere… typical, probably had it in her bag.<br/><br/>Brad blinked as he realized he might have something useful in his bags. With a couple of painful and quiet- real quiet- gasps, he managed to get to his feet and walked to the table on which he threw his bag before he jumped Dyllan, and as he sat down on a chair next to it, he started going through his things. There was his brand new iPhone… which sockets were still clogged with dried ketchup, no signal, perfect, he decided he'd better not let Stefy see how he wrecked the phone she only bought for him last week, and shoved it right down the bag, buried under a pile of seven jumbo boxes of condoms, about one hundred pieces each, and three brand new tubes of spermicide lube (he was planning on staying at Stefy's for the weekend), the baseball cap he was going to give his councilor as a going away present during their last meeting (to which he never made it), with the very personal 'ShitGrinder' tag across the front, which still made Brad snicker in an infantile manner, and ten double jumbo packs of beef jerky (sometimes Stefy would make him stay in bed and he got hungry…). The jock eyed the box filled with those goddamn microwave burgers, "No fucking way I'm touching those." He said, unknowingly giving voice to his thoughts. Brad squinted… that wasn't all. He shoved his left hand right back into the depths of his bag, feeling and searching, until he finally could feel the round glassy shape of the expensive bottle of Chivas Brothers scotch whiskey, Royal Salute edition, 21 years of age, Blended, which he got from Stef's Dad's liquor cabinet, figuring a stinking rich sucker like that wouldn't miss one bottle. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with it originally, probably get wasted with his friends, showing them some of the more interesting vids he was going to take of his soon to be ex-girlfriend. Brad might have been dumb, but he wasn't a dope, he knew his relationship with Stef was just a high-school-time deal, he was about to leave that godforsaken town for some glorious future in at least one Pro league, but he was sure as hell going to enjoy their last couple of weeks together.<br/><br/>Brad buried the bottle deep into the bag, and reached his other hand to get the jerky… only the other hand didn't do as it was told. Brad blinked and looked at his right arm, poking it with his left hand's index finger, he did feel it, but he couldn't move it. "Oh, not that again…" he huffed as he clumsily removed his letterman jacket to see his twisted dislocated shoulder, and here it was hoping it was just excruciating painful and nothing else. Shaking his head, the Blond looked around the room, observing the meager selection he had to choose from. Max and Nate were both out of the question; they would love it too damn much. Pauly was a good choice, but he was still a bit on the loopy side, crying to the speaker, and Brad didn't trust him one bit, the guy was just too damn nice to be true. None of the girls made any sense to Brad, not even Raye, she wouldn't have the guts to do it while seeing him in pain. Tessa would probably beat the shoulder back to its place with a crowbar… which only left one last choice. Brad breathed heavily, and put two fingers to his mouth, whisteling at the group of nerds, "You." he looked at Max, "Shut the fuck up, she's trying to help." he turned his eyes to Dyllan, "Yo…Dyllan." He said and puased for a moment, only now, after five years of constant bullying, he realized he had no idea what was Dyllan's last name. "Com'ere. Come on, don't be a sad wimp." He huffed, "Not gonna hit you or nothin. Come and listen, carefully. Sit on the table behind me, on the right side, and put your knee against my right upper back, then hold tight to my right shoulder and pull while kneeing when I tell you to. Don't fuck up and we'll be good, I'll even forget how you got us all into this christfucking mess."