Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog.  While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience.  Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections.  Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.  

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author.  Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts!

He sat on the front steps of his house, staring down at the now pac-man shaped front tire of his bike, and he thought of everything that had transpired before getting here.

“Look, I’m sorry about what happened, but you have to let me help you get that back into place.”

Scott looked warily at his nemesis from the corner of his eyes.  He hated him more than anyone else in the world right now, but he also couldn’t deny the look of compassion on his face either.

“Alright,” he admitted grudgingly.  “What do you want me to do?”

B.J. giggled from the inside the truck, where he still leaned over the driver’s seat watching.  It was a lunatic sound, brought on by nerves and just a little bit of madness, and it sent an icy chill down the spine of both boys.

“Shut up, B.J.,” Tommy warned threateningly before answering the question.

“I don’t know, maybe get you to a hospital or something…”

“NO!!!” Scott shouted with much more force than he had intended.  It caused both of his enemies to jump in surprise, but he didn’t notice.  He began to speak again, and this time the restraint was obvious in his voice.

“We can’t go there…”

“Why not?  What’s the hell’s the big deal?”

“Because my mom works there, dumbass.  You should already know that.  She helped set your arm when you broke it last year.”

A dark cloud passed over Tommy’s face and B.J., who had suddenly found hilarity in every little thing, instantly grew quiet.  The former stepped around behind him, grabbed his arm with his left hand and placed his right hand in the middle of Scott’s back,pushing him toward the front of the pickup.

“Dumbassary comes in many forms Scott,” Tommy said through gritted teeth.  This time it was his voice that was held in restraint.  “Yours is that you don’t know when to keep your fucking mouth shut.”

His knees buckled as Tommy kicked them from behind, but before he could even react, he felt the other’s hand pushing him down and forward.  His injured shoulder connected with the front end of the pickup and there there was a sickening *crack* as it was violently forced back into place.  He had screamed, and the pain had nearly caused him to black out, but it was Tommy who brought him back into focus.

“Don’t even think about it, faggot,” he growled through this teeth.  B.J. cackled again from his perch, his voice high and almost feminine in pitch.  When he was satisfied that Scott wasn’t going to pass out, he pushed him with enough force to send him stumbling back a couple of steps.

“Kick his ass Tommy,” B.J. screeched from the truck.

“Nah.  I’ve already done that.  Besides…  I promised MIsty that I would do this.”

Scott, who had barely been on his feet after having his shoulder popped back into its socket, had fallen to his knees after that last shove.  Tears, partially from pain and partially of frustration fell down his cheeks.  Beneath the surface, his old friend began whispering to him of a thousand possible ways he could get revenge.

“Get up Scott.  You and me are going to have a talk.”

Tommy didn’t wait for him to get up so much as he grabbed the back of his denim shirt and yanked.  Scott winced as some of the fabric tore and he felt his face growing hot with anger.  He let himself be led around to the back of the truck, however, and watched as B.J. got out and followed them from around the other side.  

“Have a seat,” he was told, after the truck bed door was lowered.  He did, watching silently as Tommy climbed into the bed of the truck and got a couple of beers from a small cooler near the cab.

“Want one?”

He slowly shook his head back and forth.

“Eh, suit yourself.”

Moments later, he found himself staring out into a cornfield as his most hated enemies sat on either side of him sipping their beers.

“Hey twerp.”

He was startled from his thoughts by his sisters greeting, and for a moment he almost forgot where he was.

“Holy crap Scott, what happened to your bike,” she asked when she saw saw its remains sitting before him.

“It so turns out that the wheel of a bike isn’t designed to withstand the impact from a two ton object,” he answered.  She stared at him blankly for a couple of seconds, during which time he could almost see the connections coming into place.

“You got hit by a car,” she nearly screamed.

“Something like that.”

“Jesus Christ Scott, are you alright?”

“What the hell do you care,” he shot back.

“That’s not fair, Scott.  We may not like each other, but that still doesn’t change the fact that you’re my brother.  Now tell me; what happened?”

“How about I just sit on your chest until you asphyxiate instead?” 

“Y-yeah, sure,” he muttered.

She sat down next to him and for the first time in months, there was genuine concern behind her eyes.