"Gypsum, give the guy some space!" Brian breathed, his heart racing. Gyp glared at Brian.
"You're one to talk, Brian. You're sitting in his fucking lap!" Brian frowned at Gyp before slowly clambering out of Stefan's lap.
"Stefan?" He asked meekly. Stefan shook himself and seemed to see Brian for the first time.
"You just ruined everything!" He said, his face tight with rage. Brian shrank back. "You ruined my life!"
"I--I'm sorry. I didn't mean--I was only joking--" He trailed off and looked away. "I'm really sorry Stefan." He muttered. "I didn't think Ian would react like that--"
"What the hell are you whining about, Brian? Apologizing to that fuck-wit?" Gyp spat towards Stefan who stood up abruptly. "He's just as bad as the rest of them. Don't tell me you've forgotten all the bruises he's given you." Stefan opened his mouth to retort, but Gyp beat him to it. "You're such a selfish prick--the lot of you: strutting about, beating up those smaller than you, just because you're tall and can bounce a stupid ball around. Only you're worse than the rest because now you're a hypocrite as well. Beating up on Brian because he's Bi, while your sitting in your own fucking closet hoping to keep it locked. You make me sick!" True to her nature, Gyp spat at Stefan's feet, taking him completely by surprise.
"I've never beat Molko up for being Gay." Stefan said furiously. "I never beat anyone up for being Gay."
"No but you didn't stop the others, either." Gyp said viciously. "If I recall you're the one that tripped Brian the other day, letting Ben and Marcus catch him." She grabbed Brian's arm and shoved his sleeve down over his shoulder to reveal the vivid bruise blossoming on his milky skin. Stefan didn't move. "You see that, Olsdal? You did that!" The basketball captain swallowed. "So don't you dare accuse Brian of ruining your life--consider yourselves even." Before Stefan could answer, Gyp had ushered a reluctant and crushed Brian away.
*******
Brain collapsed on Gypsum's bed, sobbing into her pillow. "I've ruined everything!" He bawled.
"No Bri." She soothed.
"Yes!" He moaned as Gyp enfolded him in her arms. "There might have been something between us--me and Stefan." Gyp sighed.
"Brian, it would never have worked out. Even before tonight--he's just a selfish bastard and he doesn't care about anyone except himself. He got what he deserved." Brian sniffed loudly.
"What you need to concentrate on right now, is getting through school tomorrow without being murdered by the entire Basketball Team." Brian didn't move.
"I don't care." He said his voice muffled. "Let them kill me."
"Honey, you're being a little too dramatic right now."
"Oh--Sorry."
"No problem, Babe."
******
Stefan Olsdal had never pretended to be sick in his life. He had never found the charade useful. He enjoyed school, and while his Arithmetic grades were slightly less than desirable, Stefan was rather intelligent. Therefore when Stefan declared that he had a terrible headache and was unfit to attend school that day, his parents believed him unconditionally. His sympathetic mother even made him hot tea and chicken broth, bringing it up to him in bed, smoothing his hair affectionately, before returning back downstairs to clean the house.
Huddled under the covers, Stefan didn't even bother to put clothes on. He had no energy to do anything, and his mind was in utter turmoil. On the one hand, there would be no more hiding, no more secretive wanking off to pictures of Freddie Mercury, and no more pretending that Marcus' cruel fag jokes were hilarious. But on the other hand, Stefan had just lost everything. His status on the Educational Hierarchy had been smashed, sending Stefan from the top to the very bottom. By now, Ian, Marcus, and Ben would be telling everyone they could find, that Stefan Olsdal was a Queer, and friends with that Molko kid.
Stefan sighed and pulled the blankets up over his head. There was no way he could face school today. No way in hell. For one of the first times in his life, Stefan felt like crying. There was a distant knock on the front door from downstairs, but Stefan barely stirred. He could hear his mother's muffled voice as she opened the door, but couldn't make out what she was saying. Nearly a minute later, a faint creaking noise alerted Stefan to the fact that his mother was coming up the stairs. There was a small knock and Stefan's mom poked her head around the corner.
"Hey sweetie, how're you doing?"
"Horrible." Stefan said truthfully.
"I'm so sorry, sweetie." She stepped inside. "One of your friends from school just brought these over. Odd--I wonder how he knew you were sick." Frowning, Stefan glanced over and blinked. His mother was holding a vase of pink roses and a small white envelope.
"Who?" He asked, hoping his voice sounded normal enough.
"I didn't recognize him--he was very small with dark hair. Startling green eyes. Quite an adorable child." She smiled fondly. "Must have been a First Former." Stefan shook his head, both from denial and the fact that Brian was far from being a First Former.
"No--he's the same year as me." His mother looked surprised.
"Really? Hmm." She paused. "Well where do you want these, sweetie?"
"Just--just put them on the dresser." Stefan managed.
"Alright." His mother said cheerfully. She sidestepped the mountain of dirty laundry, swept aside his crumpled papers and wrappers and set the vase next to the window. "There you are." She said brightly. "They add so much to your gloomy room don't you think?" Stefan just stared at her. His mother sighed and then turned and made her way back to the door. "Well call me if you need anything Stef." She said before shutting his door behind her.
*******
Brian somehow managed to make it through most of the day without running into any of the Basketball Team. Stefan wasn't at school either, but Brian knew why. Word would have spread by now that the Leader of the Basketball team, their hero, was a fucking fag who had allowed his friend to be molested by a boy.
At first the lack of the Basketball Team's presence made Brian uneasy, but as the day continued with no sight of them, he began to relax. Ian was either too humiliated to approach Brian at all, or too cowardly to share with the rest of them what had really happened. Unfortunately however, they caught up with Brian after the last bell of the day had rung. Gyp, who had received her third detention for the week, had shuffled off to the after school program, and Brian had returned to his locker.
Humming Bowie's Criminal World, Brian grabbed his jacket and after tossing his unwanted books inside, slammed the door. The hall was decidedly empty of students; wandered only by Teachers stuck on after hour duty. "The boys are like baby faced girls." Brian sang quietly to himself. "What a Criminal World, She'll show you where to shoot your gun..." Brian strolled down the hallway and had just exited out into the sun, when he was violently grabbed from behind and yanked off the stairs into the alley next to the garbage cans. Brian never even saw their faces, though there must have been at least five of them, punching and kicking any bit of him they could reach. There was nothing he could do; He tried to fight back, but it only gave them a better opportunity to hit him in his more sensitive areas. Eventually Brian curled in on himself trying to protect his stomach and head.
He should have been able to cry. He should have been able to yell or swear as his body burned with the repeated abuse--he should have been able to, but he couldn't. His throat closed up, and all of his energy poured into the simple task of staying conscious. After a while, Brian found that he could no longer feel the blows. He could feel the blood streaming down his face from his nose and his brow, but beyond that, he was numb. He was just beginning to lose his vital struggle of awareness, when suddenly his body stopped trembling with the force of the beating. No one was moving, no one was yelling, it was just Brian curled up on himself in a pool of blood. For what seemed like ages, Brian merely stayed where he was, not able to move or think. Not able to feel--pain or emotion. He was empty.
*****
Stefan had been sitting in the same position for nearly six hours now: huddled on his bed, merely gazing at the vase on his dresser--or more precisely, the small envelope sitting next to the vase. He was full to the brim with curiosity--what could Molko possibly have to say? If Gypsum was to be believed, Molko should hate him--Stefan shuddered with pent up emotion. His mind had been reeling all day. Every denied act of violence he had partaken in simply to keep his so called friends. The bruise on Molko's arm kept popping up, blurring everything in the room until it all looked black and blue. He had done that...finally after hours, after years even, the first tear slid down Stefan's face and splashed abruptly on his knee. Stefan flinched as if the tear had burnt him, and began to shake with the force of the tears that followed.
He was crying for the bruise on Molko's shoulder and the black eye Ian had given him a month before while Stefan held him down. He was crying and praying for the time he had shoved Molko into the bathroom wall after the shower, allowing Marcus to cruelly carve 'Fag' into the boy's snowy thigh with an exacto-knife. But most of all, Stefan was crying because he knew that Brian was still in love with him.
Stefan tossed off his quilt and stumbled across his room, snatching the envelope from its perch on the dresser. Fingers trembling, Stefan ripped the top off and pulled the thin paper out. Not quite sure why he was having difficulties breathing, Stefan unfolded the paper and scanned the delicate script.
Stefan,
I don't think I'll ever be able to tell you how sorry I am about what happened. I know how hard it's been for you, having gone through the same thing myself several years ago. Except, my friend was accepting where yours aren't. I honestly didn't intend for things to spiral like that---I was only joking when I asked you if you had recognized me, and I didn't realize how Ian would react. I know I've ruined everything for you, and I hope one day you'll be able to forgive me for wrecking your life. I've only ever wanted to be with you, and I guess my feelings got the better of me.
I'm truly very sorry.
With more love than I know what to do with,
Brian**
Stefan stared at the letter, and then at the hearts around his name. For a minute, Stefan couldn't move. His eyes were glued to the way Brian had formed the S in his name--Stefan blinked. He needed to get out--now. Stefan pulled on his jeans, carefully folded up the paper, and slid it in his pocket before stalking out of the house.
Completely unaware of what direction he was headed, or where he was going, Stefan walked along, fists stuffed in the pockets of his faded jeans. It was freezing outside, but he didn't care. Stefan kicked out viciously at a rock and watched it skid away. "Fuck." He growled to himself. "FUCK!" Stefan stopped, and bent down, screaming at his shoes. "FUCK!" It was then when he looked up, that he recognized where he was. Somehow in his turmoil, Stefan had made it to the school. The yard in front of the brick building was deserted, but as Stefan started walking again, he spotted five tall boys walking briskly away from the alley next to the front entryway. Stefan stopped dead again as he recognized them from behind: Ian, Marcus, Ben, Rolphe, and Jean-Michelle. A trickle of cold dread seeped down his back. He stood still a minute, waiting until the five had disappeared around the corner, before booking it towards the alleyway.
Stefan swung around the garbage cans and stopped dead as his eyes landed on the whimpering figure curled up on the ground. "Shit." Stefan swore quietly. There was blood everywhere. Not having the faintest idea of what to do, Stefan inched closer.
"Br--Brian?" He stammered. The boy flinched, his hands jerking up to his head. Stefan crouched down next to him, subconsciously holding his breath. "Brian, it's Stefan."
"Please don't hit me." Brian whispered meekly. Stefan sat back on his heels, guilt washing over him.
"I'm--I'm not going to hit you Brian--C'mon. Let's get you home--" He fell back as Brian jerked away.
"No." He pleaded. "Not home." Stefan frowned.
"Why not?"
"Dad'll kill me." Stefan swallowed.
"Alright." Carefully, he placed his hands on Brian's shoulders, trying to pull him into a sitting position. Brian moaned pitifully, and Stefan winced. "Sorry, but I gotta get you up--" He was talking more to himself, than to Brian. "Do you think you can walk?" Brian shook his head a fraction of an inch to the right.
"I don't know." His voice was shaking, and Stefan knew that if he could see his face, Brian would be crying.
"Right. On the count of three, I'm gonna lift you up, 'kay?" Stefan said. "One--Two--Three." He hoisted Brian up into his arms, and caught a glimpse of his face. Stefan swallowed. His dark hair was matted with blood; his right eye was a violent shade of black, and nearly swollen shut. "How're your legs?" Stefan asked wrapping his arms around Brian's frail body to keep him from falling over.
"My left is okay." Brian wheezed. "But I dunno 'bout my right--it feels like someone took a hammer to it."
Not far off. Stefan thought darkly to himself. "Okay, if I come on this side of you, do you think you can walk a bit?" Stefan shifted to Brian's right side holding him up, while being careful not to hurt him any more.
"I--I think so." Brian said meekly.
"My house isn't too far off--" Stefan said, bending the truth only marginally as to not distress Brian.
They made it several blocks before Brian collapsed entirely, sobbing into Stefan's arms, apologizing profusely for his weakness. "Sssh." Stefan soothed. "It's okay, it's not your fault." He glanced around the empty street and then hoisted Brian up into his arms, carrying him as he would a small child.
