"Nothing? Really? Well fuck you too, honey."
Jaxon still wasn't sure how to feel about one of his friends being dead.
Rather than scamper off into the unknown as the sun set, Jaxon stayed in the gift shop, locked the door and got some sleep on the carpet and his bag. It was probably the worst patch of sleep he'd gotten in his life, but at least it was something. There were gigantic latex boobs in his bag to help rest his head, though, which made it a better pillow than someone who'd just gotten a plain, boring, drab dress.
He'd been woken by the announcements, and the moment Jaxon had been dreading since the moment he woke up had arrived. He hadn't prepared to hear Aidan or Will or Sebastien or Taylor's names up there yet, and if they did show up it was going to be a mess.
Of course, he did hear names he'd recognized. He heard Davis, Austin, Isaiah and Lucy, which shook him but not by much. He heard Damion, and he barely cared, especially since he'd been part of the duo that threatened him when he woke up. The real hard names to swallow came next.
Lisa Toner. He'd had classes with her. They were friendly. Fashion club, drama club, both clubs they shared and now this girl he'd spent time with was gone.
But of course the biggest shock came from the second name. Taylor. One of his best friends. Someone pushed him off a tower, he never caught who. Jaxon lay there on the filthy carpet listening to it over and over in his head. Taylor was dead. He felt hollow inside, like someone had frozen him in place, scooped out his innards with a melon baller and served it to a starving child. How the fuck was this even possible?
Oh, of course he knew how it was possible. This was SOTF. He was on it. Taylor was on it. And Taylor was no longer on it.
The real shock from the announcement wasn't his death, though. It was the description that caught him. Jaxon stood up once it had finished and was fuming.
"REALLY? 'Most flamboyant'? I'm standing right the fuck here and somehow I'm not the most flamboyant one on this season? Give me a fucking break! BITCH, IF I WAS ANY MORE FLAMBOYANT I WOULD PISS GLITTER AND SHIT SEQUINS! Taylor fucking DeVasher was a goddamn hashtag masc hashtag dom hashtag top compared to me! Jesus fucking Christ."
He wasn't so much fuming over that anymore. He was more fuming over the fact that he felt as though he hadn't even been considered as a contender. He was sure the cameras were ignoring him, and his mentor hadn't gotten back to him after his plea hours before.
"So, what, like, I'm your little black sheep of this game, really? You just gonna ignore me?", Jaxon yelled. He was half at the cameras, half into his collar. He was sure that whoever it was on the other end of either didn't give a fuck about him. Was he not, quote, entertaining teevee, unquote? Fuck that noise.
"Fine. Whatever. I'm done with this scene."
But all the swearing and yelling and misdirected emotion in the world wasn't blocking out the fact that Taylor was dead. He pulled his head into his chest and choked back a scream. He wasn't aggressive but there were times he just didn't feel like being strong, didn't feel like keeping his head up. He just wanted to fall onto the ground and throw a tantrum over this fucking insane mess he'd been dragged into kicking and screaming.
But he couldn't, because to hell if the last thing any of those goddamn assholes who judged him for his lifestyle were getting the satisfaction of laughing at another fag. No sir.
So he straightened himself up, collected his neatly scattered belongings, and went on one more walkabout. Hopefully that'd be the last he ever saw of that shop.
((Jaxon Street continues in Get Out of the Kitchen