Categories > Original > Drama > Okay
Okay
The screen flashes at me, announcing that I’ve died one too many times for a small blue hedgehog to be able to cope with and I sigh; playing Sonic by myself isn’t nearly as fun as playing it with Dan, with my sixteen-year-old boyfriend.
But no, he has to be in school and I’m meant to be out looking for a job lest I want my mother to throw out all of my Pokémon trading cards. Not that she actually would; she spent way too much of her hard-earned money on them throughout my childhood to just throw them away now.
I glance to the clock; half past three. Dan should be home at any minute, ready for our regular Friday routine. First of all he’ll come in, tell me about his day even if there’s nothing in particular to tell, then I’ll fail at trying to help with his homework and then we’ll stay up all night, alternating our time between watching YouTube videos, playing my new Xbox game and kissing.
Or somehow doing all three at once.
My favourite thing to do is a combination of YouTube watching and kissing. This is largely because the YouTube video playing will make Dan laugh or smile or both, and a kiss is so much sweeter when the person you’re kissing is smiling into it. I like it when Dan smiles; it makes me feel like I’m doing something useful with my life because I must be doing something right to make my boyfriend be not-sad. It’s pretty too, when Dan smiles, simple and soft, but oh-so-pretty. I tell him that too, but he just puts on his grouchy face and says that he’s too manly to be pretty.
He hasn’t been smiling a lot lately though, not compared to his normal rate of smiling.
It’s like all of his smiles lately have taken a lot of effort on his part, like they’re forced and not as true as they should be. The glint of his teeth doesn’t reach up to his eyes; the sharp-soft sound of his giggles doesn’t come from his soul. I haven’t said anything though, not yet; I just don’t know what to say. I can’t just go up to him and start asking him why his smiles have started looking funny and why his giggle sounds dead. Every time I come close to asking he’s either too near to true happiness for me to want to bring him down or already too miserable for me want to do anything other than snuggle with him until I click on the right YouTube video and he starts laughing again. But it’s always that same, brittle, not-quite-there laugh.
And that, as sappy or clichéd as it may sound, breaks my heart. Leaves my heart broken and only fixable with the glue of Dan’s real laughter, his real smile.
But he should know that he can come to me with anything; I shouldn’t have to force him to tell me when something is wrong. Right?
I don’t know anymore, I really don’t. And that’s what makes it so horrible; Dan’s depressed and I, as his older boyfriend, should know instantaneously how to fix him. When I asked him to be my boyfriend I was making a silent promise to myself that I’d look after him; make sure he’s always happy at worse. And I hate breaking promises, even unspoken ones. He never lets me be down for longer than five milliseconds, so it only seems fair that I should be able to do the same for him. Apart from I can’t.
And I can’t pretend that everything’s all alright anymore either; not if he’s like it again tonight.
The shrill scream of the doorbell forces me to my feet and to the front door at a speed faster than, the currently dead, Sonic. I tear the door open; I’m like this every time Dan comes over. My mum says I remind her of an overexcited dog seeing it’s owner for the first time in a long while whenever I catch a first sight of Dan.
My excitement plummets like a bird turning into a stone at the sight of him, of my Dan. He’s smiling, his dead smile again, but there’s something on his face that makes me want to set the world on fire just to get rid of whoever it is that’s done this; whoever it is that’s given my Dan a black eye.
“Heya, Phil.” He looks away sheepishly, clearly feeling uncomfortable with the way I’m staring, gawping, at the huge blot on his otherwise flawless face. “What?”
I reach out a hand to trace my fingers over his bruise, instantly recoiling when the slight contact causes my boyfriend to wince away. His eyes start brimming with barely containable tears, bottom lip wobbling, and I react instantly by pulling him through the door; pulling him straight into my arms, hugging him so tight that part of me wants to worry that he might snap in half.
He lets out a tiny gasp of pain; he’s hurt, really hurt. Not just a black eye. I can tell.
“What happened, Danosaur?” I whisper as I guide him up to my bedroom, looking away as each step makes him shudder with effort. I should help him, I know I should, but what if I just wind up hurting him even more? “Who hurt you?”
As I open my bedroom door he practically collapses onto my bed, burying his face in the familiar scent on my Totoro soft toy. Unsure of what to do with myself, I simply perch next to him, a hand placed lightly on his shoulder. A shoulder that starts shaking under my touch; he’s crying. He’s trying to hold it in, I can tell from the way his convulsing is muted and restricted, but that just makes it even more heart-breaking.
I think this might be it; this might be the day I find out why his inner light’s vanished.
“Nobody. I tripped.” He mumbles, rolling over to face me. The action dislodges some of his fringe and I see a small but bloody gash painted onto his forehead; the sight of it makes me feel sick in every conceivable way. “On the stairs at school. I tripped.”
He’s lying; I can tell, he never has been able to lie to me. Sure, he might have fallen down the stairs at school, looking at the state of him that really is quite believable, but I doubt he tripped.
I think he was pushed.
That would explain the reason for the way he’s crying, the way it’s supressed and shameful, like he’s got something to hide that he desperately doesn’t want me finding out about. He never likes admitting when something’s really wrong, he’s a little bit too proud for that, so it would make sense for him to not want to ask for help with bullies.
It still hurts, though. Knowing that he’s hurt and he doesn’t think he can tell me why.
“You don’t have to lie to me, Dan.” I keep my voice low, all calm and quiet just in case the bruising gash or black eye are giving him a headache, which wouldn’t surprise me. “I just want to help you get your smile back.”
I lower myself to lay next to him, pressing a kiss into his tropical-shampoo-flavoured hair as he automatically embeds himself into my side. His hand grabs at my t-shirt, clinging onto me as though I’m the one fading away. I look down to his hand, eyes wetting as I see that three of his knuckles are split wide open.
He’s definitely either been beaten up or somehow managed to get into a fight. I think it’s most likely the former, knowing Dan.
We lay like that for an eternity of not-long-enough seconds, Dan just crying softly into my worn-out t-shirt whilst I card my fingers through his hair, contemplating what to do. I think this is why he’s been down lately; bullies. It kills me inside, eats away at me like a cancer, knowing that other kids are hurting him, but I can’t help but be at least a little bit glad that I know now.
Because at least now I can do something about it, even if I don’t know what that something is yet.
“I hurt, Phil.” He sobs after a while, red-rimmed eyes looking up at me and begging me to please, just please, make the pain stop. I would give anything, absolutely anything, to be able to make his wish come true. “Everything hurts.”
I move myself to be sat up; him propped against me in a slumping/sitting position, lolled on my chest, and take a moment to just look at him. He doesn’t look weak like I know he would to anyone else right now, he looks strong. He’s crying and he’s beaten, but he looks stronger than I’ve ever seen a person look before. Because he’s not scared to cry, not anymore; he’s going to ask for help and that alone makes him stronger than a lot of people I know.
What makes him the strongest person of all is the fact that this kind of thing happens to him yet he’s still a good person; he hasn’t snapped into doing things just as bad as others have done to him. He hasn’t retaliated.
That just makes me love him even more.
“I know, Danosaur.” I scrutinise the gash, starting to consider maybe taking him to the hospital, before I realise that I can only see a small amount of his skin; his crumpled, scruffy school uniform could be hiding God-only-knows-what else. “Dan, I need you to answer this honestly, okay?” He nods, looking up at me with lost eyes. “Are you hurt anywhere I can’t see?”
He blushes and clamps his eyes shut, telling me more than words can. When I’m about to ask him again, he starts to slowly, shakily, unbutton his white shirt.
After watching him struggle for an endless number of painful minutes, his quivering fingers and split knuckles making the process a near-impossibility for my stubbornly determined boyfriend, I gently pull his hands away and take over from him, knowing that if he really didn’t want me undressing him then he’d tell me.
The first thing I see once I’ve finish the arduous task of undoing the shirt without putting Dan through any more pain is a mottled rash of bruises; some a faded murky blue-green, others red raw from freshness.
I gasp.
That’s all I can do.
“They said that they would do it worse if I told.” He sounds small; so breakable. Not like a sixteen-year-old boy should sound. Not like my boyfriend should sound. “Are you mad at me?”
“No, Danosaur! Of course I’m not mad at you. That’d be like milk being mad with cereal.” He offers me the bud of a smile and in return I give him a quick kiss, clean on the lips. “How long has it been going on for? Tell me about it, Dan. I want to help you.”
He looks reluctant for a minute, which obliterates my heart all over again for the millionth time since Dan got here, before nodding a little bit, more to himself than to me. I rub a hand over the worst of the bruises on his stomach, being as gentle as I possibly can in order to make it comforting rather than agonizing.
I know it’s working when he lets out a kind of purring noise.
Perfect.
“Few months. Didn’t start beating me up until two weeks ago, though.” He sniffles, wiping his nose on my t-shirt because he knows me well enough to know that the item of clothing probably hasn’t been washed for over a week and so I don’t mind him using it as a giant tissue. “Never as bad as today though. They cornered me and I begged them to stop, Phil, but they didn’t. Wouldn’t. I just. I was scared, Phil. Really freaking scared.”
I don’t doubt his words; the haunted tint to the brown of his eyes tells me that, if anything, he’s playing it down. He really does look frightened, like half of him thinks he’s about to get attacked all over again, so I press a kiss against the bloodied skin of his forehead; my way of letting him know that he’s safe now.
“Does you mum know?” He shakes his head, silently begging me not to tell. “Oh, Dan.” I sigh, looking over his beaten body and wishing that I could take his place because the physical pain he’s now is nothing compared to the mental excruciation of seeing my boyfriend like this. “Look at what they’ve done to you.”
“I’m ugly, aren’t I?” His voice is almost silent, but at the same time feels to be deafening.
“No, Dan. You’re the most beautiful boy I know, so don’t you dare start lying to me and saying that you’re not because boyfriends don’t lie to each other.” I hate sounding so serious, so stern, but the situation really does call for it. “And don’t you dare start believing whatever rubbish it is they’ve been saying. They’re worthless liars and you’re worth a million of them.”
“But they must do it for a reason, Phil.” He sounds frustrated, fisting my t-shirt twenty times harder and looking at me with a distant gaze. “People don’t just do this to someone for no reason.”
I don’t know what to say to that, I honestly don’t. Understanding how people, how teenagers, work is something that can’t be explained; not by someone like me anyway. But I’ve got to try. For Dan’s sake, I’ve got to at least give it my best shot.
It’s the least I owe him for not noticing sooner, like a good boyfriend would have.
“They don’t need a reason, only stupidity. They just, they feel like they need to prove something to someone and this is how they think they can do it.” I stop to wonder how I’m managing to say something even remotely helpful and throw a soft smile to Dan when he looks up with a kind of ‘but why me’ look. “They pick on you because they’re jealous of you. Yeah, I know that’s the whole bully cliché, but it’s only clichéd because it’s true. They see you, someone different and smart and pretty and awesome, and they think that if they can beat someone better than them, then that proves something. And it does; that they’re total idiots.”
There’s an expanse of comfortable silence, Dan resting easily against me as I hum the Mario theme tune in an effort to gain some sense of normality. I just want him to understand that this isn’t his fault; that he didn’t get beaten because there’s something wrong with, but because there’s something wrong with them.
Of course I know it’ll take longer than one snuggle session to undo all of what they’ve done to him, but I’ve got to start somewhere.
I wish I could take him away from all of this, to somewhere where there aren’t people who like hurting him and where there are people who can appreciate him like he deserves to be appreciated. Actually, I wish I could take him somewhere where there aren’t any other people; just me and him, alone together. That way we could just be us all day long and I’d know that there was nobody hurting him.
But that’s impossible. The closest thing we have to our own little world is my bedroom.
“I’m sorry. For not telling you.” He shuffles so that we’re sat next to each other, his head resting on my shoulder and my cheek pressed into his hair. “I was just, I don’t even know.”
“It’s okay, Dan. You’re okay now. I won’t let it happen anymore, I promise. I’ll make it okay.”
I have no idea how, but I know I will. I have to; I don’t back out of promises, not promises I make to Dan.
No matter what, I will make this okay. No; I’ll make it better than okay.
I’ll make it perfect, just how it used to be.
A/N: Part ‘O’ of my Alphabet Challenge. This took forever to write, even if it isn’t all that great, so I hope it doesn’t suck too bad.
Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
NEW A/N: There is a second part to this, but FuckWad was being a bitch and only let me post the first 600 words. I tried posting it as a separate story, but that didn't work either. I'll try again tomorrow, but if you want to read it now you can do so here: http://coldkid.deviantart.com/art/Protector-PHAN-OKAY-PART-2-330686484
The screen flashes at me, announcing that I’ve died one too many times for a small blue hedgehog to be able to cope with and I sigh; playing Sonic by myself isn’t nearly as fun as playing it with Dan, with my sixteen-year-old boyfriend.
But no, he has to be in school and I’m meant to be out looking for a job lest I want my mother to throw out all of my Pokémon trading cards. Not that she actually would; she spent way too much of her hard-earned money on them throughout my childhood to just throw them away now.
I glance to the clock; half past three. Dan should be home at any minute, ready for our regular Friday routine. First of all he’ll come in, tell me about his day even if there’s nothing in particular to tell, then I’ll fail at trying to help with his homework and then we’ll stay up all night, alternating our time between watching YouTube videos, playing my new Xbox game and kissing.
Or somehow doing all three at once.
My favourite thing to do is a combination of YouTube watching and kissing. This is largely because the YouTube video playing will make Dan laugh or smile or both, and a kiss is so much sweeter when the person you’re kissing is smiling into it. I like it when Dan smiles; it makes me feel like I’m doing something useful with my life because I must be doing something right to make my boyfriend be not-sad. It’s pretty too, when Dan smiles, simple and soft, but oh-so-pretty. I tell him that too, but he just puts on his grouchy face and says that he’s too manly to be pretty.
He hasn’t been smiling a lot lately though, not compared to his normal rate of smiling.
It’s like all of his smiles lately have taken a lot of effort on his part, like they’re forced and not as true as they should be. The glint of his teeth doesn’t reach up to his eyes; the sharp-soft sound of his giggles doesn’t come from his soul. I haven’t said anything though, not yet; I just don’t know what to say. I can’t just go up to him and start asking him why his smiles have started looking funny and why his giggle sounds dead. Every time I come close to asking he’s either too near to true happiness for me to want to bring him down or already too miserable for me want to do anything other than snuggle with him until I click on the right YouTube video and he starts laughing again. But it’s always that same, brittle, not-quite-there laugh.
And that, as sappy or clichéd as it may sound, breaks my heart. Leaves my heart broken and only fixable with the glue of Dan’s real laughter, his real smile.
But he should know that he can come to me with anything; I shouldn’t have to force him to tell me when something is wrong. Right?
I don’t know anymore, I really don’t. And that’s what makes it so horrible; Dan’s depressed and I, as his older boyfriend, should know instantaneously how to fix him. When I asked him to be my boyfriend I was making a silent promise to myself that I’d look after him; make sure he’s always happy at worse. And I hate breaking promises, even unspoken ones. He never lets me be down for longer than five milliseconds, so it only seems fair that I should be able to do the same for him. Apart from I can’t.
And I can’t pretend that everything’s all alright anymore either; not if he’s like it again tonight.
The shrill scream of the doorbell forces me to my feet and to the front door at a speed faster than, the currently dead, Sonic. I tear the door open; I’m like this every time Dan comes over. My mum says I remind her of an overexcited dog seeing it’s owner for the first time in a long while whenever I catch a first sight of Dan.
My excitement plummets like a bird turning into a stone at the sight of him, of my Dan. He’s smiling, his dead smile again, but there’s something on his face that makes me want to set the world on fire just to get rid of whoever it is that’s done this; whoever it is that’s given my Dan a black eye.
“Heya, Phil.” He looks away sheepishly, clearly feeling uncomfortable with the way I’m staring, gawping, at the huge blot on his otherwise flawless face. “What?”
I reach out a hand to trace my fingers over his bruise, instantly recoiling when the slight contact causes my boyfriend to wince away. His eyes start brimming with barely containable tears, bottom lip wobbling, and I react instantly by pulling him through the door; pulling him straight into my arms, hugging him so tight that part of me wants to worry that he might snap in half.
He lets out a tiny gasp of pain; he’s hurt, really hurt. Not just a black eye. I can tell.
“What happened, Danosaur?” I whisper as I guide him up to my bedroom, looking away as each step makes him shudder with effort. I should help him, I know I should, but what if I just wind up hurting him even more? “Who hurt you?”
As I open my bedroom door he practically collapses onto my bed, burying his face in the familiar scent on my Totoro soft toy. Unsure of what to do with myself, I simply perch next to him, a hand placed lightly on his shoulder. A shoulder that starts shaking under my touch; he’s crying. He’s trying to hold it in, I can tell from the way his convulsing is muted and restricted, but that just makes it even more heart-breaking.
I think this might be it; this might be the day I find out why his inner light’s vanished.
“Nobody. I tripped.” He mumbles, rolling over to face me. The action dislodges some of his fringe and I see a small but bloody gash painted onto his forehead; the sight of it makes me feel sick in every conceivable way. “On the stairs at school. I tripped.”
He’s lying; I can tell, he never has been able to lie to me. Sure, he might have fallen down the stairs at school, looking at the state of him that really is quite believable, but I doubt he tripped.
I think he was pushed.
That would explain the reason for the way he’s crying, the way it’s supressed and shameful, like he’s got something to hide that he desperately doesn’t want me finding out about. He never likes admitting when something’s really wrong, he’s a little bit too proud for that, so it would make sense for him to not want to ask for help with bullies.
It still hurts, though. Knowing that he’s hurt and he doesn’t think he can tell me why.
“You don’t have to lie to me, Dan.” I keep my voice low, all calm and quiet just in case the bruising gash or black eye are giving him a headache, which wouldn’t surprise me. “I just want to help you get your smile back.”
I lower myself to lay next to him, pressing a kiss into his tropical-shampoo-flavoured hair as he automatically embeds himself into my side. His hand grabs at my t-shirt, clinging onto me as though I’m the one fading away. I look down to his hand, eyes wetting as I see that three of his knuckles are split wide open.
He’s definitely either been beaten up or somehow managed to get into a fight. I think it’s most likely the former, knowing Dan.
We lay like that for an eternity of not-long-enough seconds, Dan just crying softly into my worn-out t-shirt whilst I card my fingers through his hair, contemplating what to do. I think this is why he’s been down lately; bullies. It kills me inside, eats away at me like a cancer, knowing that other kids are hurting him, but I can’t help but be at least a little bit glad that I know now.
Because at least now I can do something about it, even if I don’t know what that something is yet.
“I hurt, Phil.” He sobs after a while, red-rimmed eyes looking up at me and begging me to please, just please, make the pain stop. I would give anything, absolutely anything, to be able to make his wish come true. “Everything hurts.”
I move myself to be sat up; him propped against me in a slumping/sitting position, lolled on my chest, and take a moment to just look at him. He doesn’t look weak like I know he would to anyone else right now, he looks strong. He’s crying and he’s beaten, but he looks stronger than I’ve ever seen a person look before. Because he’s not scared to cry, not anymore; he’s going to ask for help and that alone makes him stronger than a lot of people I know.
What makes him the strongest person of all is the fact that this kind of thing happens to him yet he’s still a good person; he hasn’t snapped into doing things just as bad as others have done to him. He hasn’t retaliated.
That just makes me love him even more.
“I know, Danosaur.” I scrutinise the gash, starting to consider maybe taking him to the hospital, before I realise that I can only see a small amount of his skin; his crumpled, scruffy school uniform could be hiding God-only-knows-what else. “Dan, I need you to answer this honestly, okay?” He nods, looking up at me with lost eyes. “Are you hurt anywhere I can’t see?”
He blushes and clamps his eyes shut, telling me more than words can. When I’m about to ask him again, he starts to slowly, shakily, unbutton his white shirt.
After watching him struggle for an endless number of painful minutes, his quivering fingers and split knuckles making the process a near-impossibility for my stubbornly determined boyfriend, I gently pull his hands away and take over from him, knowing that if he really didn’t want me undressing him then he’d tell me.
The first thing I see once I’ve finish the arduous task of undoing the shirt without putting Dan through any more pain is a mottled rash of bruises; some a faded murky blue-green, others red raw from freshness.
I gasp.
That’s all I can do.
“They said that they would do it worse if I told.” He sounds small; so breakable. Not like a sixteen-year-old boy should sound. Not like my boyfriend should sound. “Are you mad at me?”
“No, Danosaur! Of course I’m not mad at you. That’d be like milk being mad with cereal.” He offers me the bud of a smile and in return I give him a quick kiss, clean on the lips. “How long has it been going on for? Tell me about it, Dan. I want to help you.”
He looks reluctant for a minute, which obliterates my heart all over again for the millionth time since Dan got here, before nodding a little bit, more to himself than to me. I rub a hand over the worst of the bruises on his stomach, being as gentle as I possibly can in order to make it comforting rather than agonizing.
I know it’s working when he lets out a kind of purring noise.
Perfect.
“Few months. Didn’t start beating me up until two weeks ago, though.” He sniffles, wiping his nose on my t-shirt because he knows me well enough to know that the item of clothing probably hasn’t been washed for over a week and so I don’t mind him using it as a giant tissue. “Never as bad as today though. They cornered me and I begged them to stop, Phil, but they didn’t. Wouldn’t. I just. I was scared, Phil. Really freaking scared.”
I don’t doubt his words; the haunted tint to the brown of his eyes tells me that, if anything, he’s playing it down. He really does look frightened, like half of him thinks he’s about to get attacked all over again, so I press a kiss against the bloodied skin of his forehead; my way of letting him know that he’s safe now.
“Does you mum know?” He shakes his head, silently begging me not to tell. “Oh, Dan.” I sigh, looking over his beaten body and wishing that I could take his place because the physical pain he’s now is nothing compared to the mental excruciation of seeing my boyfriend like this. “Look at what they’ve done to you.”
“I’m ugly, aren’t I?” His voice is almost silent, but at the same time feels to be deafening.
“No, Dan. You’re the most beautiful boy I know, so don’t you dare start lying to me and saying that you’re not because boyfriends don’t lie to each other.” I hate sounding so serious, so stern, but the situation really does call for it. “And don’t you dare start believing whatever rubbish it is they’ve been saying. They’re worthless liars and you’re worth a million of them.”
“But they must do it for a reason, Phil.” He sounds frustrated, fisting my t-shirt twenty times harder and looking at me with a distant gaze. “People don’t just do this to someone for no reason.”
I don’t know what to say to that, I honestly don’t. Understanding how people, how teenagers, work is something that can’t be explained; not by someone like me anyway. But I’ve got to try. For Dan’s sake, I’ve got to at least give it my best shot.
It’s the least I owe him for not noticing sooner, like a good boyfriend would have.
“They don’t need a reason, only stupidity. They just, they feel like they need to prove something to someone and this is how they think they can do it.” I stop to wonder how I’m managing to say something even remotely helpful and throw a soft smile to Dan when he looks up with a kind of ‘but why me’ look. “They pick on you because they’re jealous of you. Yeah, I know that’s the whole bully cliché, but it’s only clichéd because it’s true. They see you, someone different and smart and pretty and awesome, and they think that if they can beat someone better than them, then that proves something. And it does; that they’re total idiots.”
There’s an expanse of comfortable silence, Dan resting easily against me as I hum the Mario theme tune in an effort to gain some sense of normality. I just want him to understand that this isn’t his fault; that he didn’t get beaten because there’s something wrong with, but because there’s something wrong with them.
Of course I know it’ll take longer than one snuggle session to undo all of what they’ve done to him, but I’ve got to start somewhere.
I wish I could take him away from all of this, to somewhere where there aren’t people who like hurting him and where there are people who can appreciate him like he deserves to be appreciated. Actually, I wish I could take him somewhere where there aren’t any other people; just me and him, alone together. That way we could just be us all day long and I’d know that there was nobody hurting him.
But that’s impossible. The closest thing we have to our own little world is my bedroom.
“I’m sorry. For not telling you.” He shuffles so that we’re sat next to each other, his head resting on my shoulder and my cheek pressed into his hair. “I was just, I don’t even know.”
“It’s okay, Dan. You’re okay now. I won’t let it happen anymore, I promise. I’ll make it okay.”
I have no idea how, but I know I will. I have to; I don’t back out of promises, not promises I make to Dan.
No matter what, I will make this okay. No; I’ll make it better than okay.
I’ll make it perfect, just how it used to be.
A/N: Part ‘O’ of my Alphabet Challenge. This took forever to write, even if it isn’t all that great, so I hope it doesn’t suck too bad.
Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
NEW A/N: There is a second part to this, but FuckWad was being a bitch and only let me post the first 600 words. I tried posting it as a separate story, but that didn't work either. I'll try again tomorrow, but if you want to read it now you can do so here: http://coldkid.deviantart.com/art/Protector-PHAN-OKAY-PART-2-330686484
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