Back to Index Chapter 9

Steve grunted as Brian's foot made contact with his stomach. He opened his eyes and looked around blearily. Sometime in the night, Brian had twisted around so that he was lying horizontally across the bed. His head was hanging over the edge with his mouth wide open, his legs somewhere near Steve's pillow. Grumbling, Steve pushed Brian's foot away. Brian emitted a small snore and his leg twitched making his foot smack Steve in the face. Steve yelped and sat up, clamping a hand to his face. He glared at Brian's prone figure with his remaining good eye before ripping back the covers, fully intent on torturing Brian into consciousness. He paused to mark the hilarity of the situation: Brian fast asleep in Steve's shirt which was three times too big for him, and his tiny boxer shorts which had ridden up exposing the entirety of his pale legs and most of his ass. But then, something caught his eye. Frowning, he leaned over Brian's still body. There was a small pink scar on the back of the guitarist's thigh. Cruelly hacked into the delicate skin of Brian's leg, was the word 'fag.'

Steve stared feeling ill, somehow knowing that Brian hadn't asked for the tattoo. All thoughts of revenge fled, as his fingers gently brushed against the scar. Brian shivered in his sleep, murmuring something incomprehensible. Steve sighed, feeling as if his heart was about to tear. Why some people could be that cruel, Steve didn't understand. The drummer adjusted himself, lying down sideways beside Brian, wrapping his arms around the slumbering princess. Brian stirred slightly cuddling into Steve's embrace, making Steve smile.

****

Making sure his dark sunglasses were firmly in place, Steve shuffled after Brian. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't shuffling fast enough. Sighing in pure exasperation, Brian turned and grabbed Steve's hand as if he were an unruly five-year-old. "Come on!" Groaning, Steve shambled forward a little faster. "Urgh!" Brian put all of his weight forward, forcing Steve to lurch a few feet more. Finally Steve conceded and quickened his pace to match Brian's. "There you go!" Brian said happily.

"So what are these items we're looking for?" Steve grumbled. Brian shrugged, swinging Steve's arm as they walked.

"Just a few odds and ends you know." Steve rolled his eyes and Brian started humming to himself. Steve caught a few of the words, but he didn't recognize the song. "Woman man or modern monkey, I'm a genius I'm a junkie..."

"What song is that?" He looked down just in time to see Brian blush crimson.

"Oh nothing." Brian mumbled.

"No seriously, Bri! It sounds great, what is it?"

"It's nothing really. Just a song stuck in my head."

"But what song?" Steve pressed. He leaned in closer as Brian muttered something unintelligible. "What was that?"

"Just something I wrote."

"You wrote that? Molks, it's brilliant!" Brian rolled his eyes at the nickname, but Steve could tell that he was pleased. "What's it called?" Brian shrugged.

"I don't know yet. I've only got a couple stanzas. But I was thinking something along the lines of Pretty boy or Nancy at heart or something like that." Steve laughed.

"Sounds perfect."

A few odds and ends turned out to be located in half the bloody stores in London. Steve waited impatiently, slouched in a corner, as Brian zoomed into every store they passed. "Oh my God!" Brian dragged Steve into the nearest clothing store, making a beeline for the shoe rack. "Oh my fucking God, Steve! Do you see these?" Dropping Steve's hand for a split second, Brian snatched up the black six-inch thigh high platform boots. "Aren't these just the most fucking amazing shoes you've ever seen in your entire life?" Steve stared at them incredulously.

"Molks, you'd break your fucking neck!"

"No I wouldn't." Brian remarked rolling his eyes. "You might, but that's just because you don't have the proper practice in heels." He smirked. "These would go brilliantly with that red mini." He said elatedly. He turned them over to check the price and his face fell. "Jesus Christ! A hundred thirty pounds!" Steve's eyes widened.

"Fuck me!" Brian laughed sadly as he put the boot back on the rack.

"Damn how I wish I had the money." He sighed. "I hate being a junkie." He said darkly after a minute. Steve was quiet, not quite sure what to say. "If I wasn't, I'd be able to afford them." He sighed again, and then attempted a smile. "Oh well. Who needs gorgeous hooker boots, eh?" Steve hugged Brian lightly.

"Don't worry, babe. You're stunning enough as it is." Brian gave him a small smile.

"Thanks Stevie bean. Well c'mon. We're almost done. Just one more store." Inwardly Steve let out an excited breath of air. Thank God! Brian took Steve's hand again, though this time it was with slightly less enthusiasm. They strolled out of the store, Brian glancing back longingly at the shoes. They walked along in silence for a couple minutes, before Brian ushered Steve down a side street. "Here we are." Steve stared in horror at the store Brian had stopped in front of.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Brian looked at him perplexed.

"What? They've got stuff for straight guys in there too!" He said slightly defensively.

"Brian it's a fucking fetish shop!" Brian beamed.

"I know!" He said happily. "Isn't it great?"

?No!? Brian pouted.

"Oh come on Steve, don't be such a spoil sport." He took the drummer's hand, and nearly dragged him into the store. Brian was immediately off, tittering like a seven-year-old in a candy shop, touching everything, and gasping with delight when he saw something he liked. Steve stared determinedly at the ground, as Brian fairly skipped from shelf to shelf.

There was one particularly tense moment when Steve, averting his gaze from Brian's hands-on exploration of the vibrator shelf, suddenly found himself staring at a display of multi-ethnic dildos. Brian squealed in surprise as Steve nearly jumped out of his skin, forcefully gripping the smaller man's arm. "What the fuck?" Brian turned to find Steve terribly flushed, his eyes fixed on a point between his feet. Brian then discovered the display, realized exactly what had happened, and dissolved into hysterics.

"It's not funny!" Steve hissed, refusing to look up.

"It is too!" Brian wheezed, clutching his side. "Come on Steve! It's not like you haven't seen plenty of cocks before!"

"Yes but not for--for--" Steve struggled to articulate, making Brian laugh even harder. "Stop it!"

Finally after what seemed like ages to Steve, Brian calmed down enough to drag Steve (thankfully) away from the offending display. "Ah, here we go." Brian said happily. Despite himself, Steve's curiosity got the better of him. Knowing he would probably regret it, Steve looked up to see what it was Brian had needed in the first place. Brian had picked up a pair of luridly pink fuzzy handcuffs. Steve stared. Noticing Steve's gaze, Brian beamed. "Gypsum lost hers. We think she left them at some wanker's house, but we're not sure. She asked me to buy her another pair." Brian looked absolutely delighted at the prospect.

"Oh." Steve said faintly. Brian laughed, patting Steve gently on the shoulder.

"If you ever want in, Stevie bean..." Brian winked and headed off for the counter. Steve shuffled after him, trying to not look around, but not being very successful. He had to see where he was going, after all! Else he might run into something very unwanted. Like the blow up doll on display--Steve shuddered. Finally, Steve managed to make it to the counter, where Brian was chatting happily with the cashier. "No, I know! Gyp and I really enjoyed that last video you sent us." The cashier, a tall brunett with twinkling blue eyes, grinned.

"I bet you did, you dirty little whore." Brian smirked. Steve slowed to a halt, not entirely sure he wanted to be privy to this conversation. Unfortunately the cashier spotted him, and nodded his head. "Who's your friend?" Brian looked over at Steve.

"Oh, this is Steve." He waited for Steve to come closer so he could introduce the two. Steve planted his feet making Brian roll his eyes. "He's a tad uncomfortable." Brian said in a stage whisper.

"I am not!" Steve said indignantly.

"Oh?" Brian raised his eyebrows questioningly. Grumbling, Steve stalked over to the counter. Brian hid his smile. "Steve this is Alex, Alex this is my new drummer Steve." Alex's eyes lit up.

"Oooh."

"Not that kind of drummer Alex." The brunet's face fell.

"Oh. I was hoping we could get some threesomes going on." Brian laughed, and leaned over the counter, whispering something in Alex's ear. Alex smirked as Brian pulled back, an equally dirty smile on his face. Steve coughed to re-alert the two men to his presence. It didn't appear to work however as Brian continued to rape Alex with his eyes.

"Brian, have you paid yet?" Steve asked loudly. Brian jumped slightly, and turned to look at Steve, his face slightly flushed.

"Huh? Oh." He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and removed several bills.

"Here you go, baby." He winked at Alex. "Give me a call, yeah? Gyp would just love to see you." Alex laughed.

"Like wise, Bri. I miss that cock of yours." He winked at Steve, making the drummer nearly faint with embarrassment. Grinning, Brian took the handcuffs, grabbed Steve's hand, and strolled out of the shop.

"Please don't ever do that to me again!" Steve exploded the second the door had swung shut. Brian giggled, pressing his head into Steve's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Steve! It was just too good an opportunity to miss!" Steve shook his head.

"I never want to see that many dicks again!" Brian pouted.

"But what about mine? You know I like running around starkers!"  Steve rolled his eyes.

"Alright fine. Just don't--don't go whipping it out whilly nilly." Brian chuckled.

"It's a deal." They walked in silence for several minutes.

"Hey, Molks, can I ask you something?" Steve asked slowly. Brian looked up at him, his eyes bright and curious. "That scar on the back of your leg--" Brian went very still, his eyes widening in horror.  "Where did it come from?"

****

I've been called a lot of names in my life. Most were cruel and scarred me emotionally. I was a target for jocks and bully a like. And their favourite words for me were freak and fag. My mother used to say that I was just delicately built and that I couldn't help it if I was fragile. This made no difference to the boys at school. I usually ignored them however, and sometimes I even managed a jibe of my own. It could be said that I'm cocky. Irritating even, when I want to be. I sometimes played up the roll they'd assigned me--it didn't matter whether or not it was true--mock flirting with the bullies before turning tail and booking it out of there. I may be overconfident, but I'm not stupid. I know when to run, and I know where to draw the line. And that line happens to be in the locker room.

As I said before, it hardly mattered whether I actually like boys or not. To be honest, I wasn't quite sure my self. But the boys at school seemed to think so. So to do something that confirmed their suspicions while in the shower would be suicide. Nothing had changed on that one day half way through the term. Gym (my least favourite class) was over, and I trooped after the other boys into the locker room. I kept my eyes averted--I'm quite intelligent when it comes to self-preservation, you see. I quickly showered, and after wrapping my towel around my waist, I headed back to my locker.

I was only halfway there, when I accidentally bumped into someone. Glancing up, I felt my stomach flip-flop with dread. It was Stefan, the captain of the Basketball team. His face was impassive, but I knew something was up. And then quite suddenly, he grabbed me roughly and slammed me face first into the lockers. I yelped in surprise, my head reeling from being smashed against the metal. I was shivering with more than just cold, and I bit back a sob as Stefan snatched my towel away from my body. I tried to break away, but Stefan pushed me even harder into the cold steel, forcing the air out of my lungs.

I twisted around and then caught sight of Marcus. He was walking towards me, an exacto knife held loosely in his hands. Terror gripped me, and I began to try to wriggle my way out of the jock's grip. But he was at least twice my size. "What the fuck, are you doing?" I yelled. "Let go of me!" I wouldn't beg...I was too proud--But oh God how I was terrified. I had no idea what Marcus planned to do with that knife, but it obviously couldn't be pleasant. Time seemed to slow as my heart thudded frantically, and my eyes began to leak tears. And then Marcus was practically sitting on me, crushing my ribs, and I could see the knife coming closer and closer until...

All my struggling stopped the moment I felt the first sting of the knife. If I moved too much, who knows what Marcus might accidentally do? I scrunched my eyes shut, forcing myself not to make any noise. I wouldn't give them that satisfaction. But tears streaked down my cheeks, as I felt the burning sensation of the knife slicing its way across my leg. I didn't have to look down to know what Marcus was tattooing into my leg. I could feel each letter. One stroke down, two across. I could feel the blood oozing down my leg. The slice of a triangle, and a slash in the middle. I slowed my breathing, trying to remove my mind from my body. A crude box and a jagged sweep downwards.

In the background, I could hear the vague uproar of onlookers, as they shouted their approval. I knew I was unpopular, but I'd never known until that moment, how much they really hated me. Or maybe it was just the thrill of bloodlust taking hold. With a final slice, Marcus pulled back, and Stefan stood up, the weight pinning me against the freezing metal disappeared. Unable to hold myself up, I slumped to the ground. The back of my thigh was on fire, wet with warm blood. There was a general uproar from the crowd before they began to disperse.

I lay prone on the ground, my chest heaving, gasping for breath. Everyone had gone. I was alone. I tried to move my leg, wincing terribly at the pain. I twitched the towel out of the way and stared at the red angry gashes across my leg. I'd been forever branded. Anger began to build up inside of me, filling me with a type of hatred I'd never felt before. Fine. If they thought I was a fag, so be it. I'd live up to my title, and show them what fag really meant.

*****

"Molks? Brian, sweetheart?" Brian shook himself gazing up into Steve's concerned face. "Molks, what's wrong?" Despite him self, Brian's lip began to tremble. "Oh, Bri!" Steve wrapped his arms around the smaller man, feeling his shaking body. "Brian, what happened?"

*****

Staring down at the freshly purchased items on my bed, my heart began to pound faster. Excitement rushed its way through my body, making my fingers tingle with the sensation. A small smirk wound it's way across my lips as I fingered the small bottle of black nail varnish. My eyes then travelled to the clothing I'd bought. The smirk widened. I simply couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces as I waltzed into school on Monday wearing the most unimaginable outfit they'd ever seen. I'd briefly wondered if it was too over the top, but then decided that it wasn't. Gypsum had assured me that I would look simply gorgeous, and that nothing I could do was ever too over the top. I was trying to shock here. Well they'd certainly be shocked all right.

The next morning, my mother took one look at me and burst into tears. I knew she'd been praying that what the neighbours said about me wasn't true. But now, her worst fears were confirmed. She would probably never let Gyp back over. It was a good thing that my father wasn't home however, as his fist probably would have found me before I ever reached the door. Ignoring my mother, I grabbed an apple from the counter and strolled out the door without a word. My mother's reaction was to be expected, but that couldn't be helped now. I was waging a battle against my school: my enemy. And the first casualty had been taken. His name? Brian Molko. The old me was now gone, carefully concealed by layers of meticulously applied makeup.

Nothing would ever compare with the initial high that came from walking through the doors of my school. At first, people didn't seem to recognize me. But then the whispering started, and I knew that someone had spotted me. I swayed my hips seductively to sudden thunderous silence, and approached my locker. I'd barely opened it, dumping my books carelessly inside, when it was slammed shut again. I blinked coolly and gazed up into the leering face of Marcus. Ah, my best friend returns. And then as he realized my state of dress, his face rapidly turned from his stupid sneer into astonishment.

His eyes widened as he took in my thick kohl-rimmed eyes and sparkling glossed lips. He looked rather like a codfish I noted, but refrained from saying so. His ego is bruised quite easily. His incredulous gaze travelled down to my form fitting, curve hugging, black mini dress to the fishnets and combat boots. I batted my eyelashes innocently at him.

"Well hello Marcus." I said sweetly, cocking my head to one side.

"You're--" He couldn't find the words. I just nodded my head sympathetically.

"I know, doll." I paused, my eyes glittering. I inspected my black nails briefly, and then kneed him with all the force I had. The sharp gasp and squealing noise he made as he slumped to the ground was the most satisfying thing I'd ever heard in my entire life. "That fag enough for you?" His eyes watering, he stared up at me in horror. I smirked and patted his head. With a flip of my skirt that allowed him to see the angry scar through my fishnets, I walked away.

****

Brian buried his head in Steve's shoulder; trying to block the unwanted memories he'd been trying to forget for so long. Everything about him, he could pinpoint down to that one incident. He'd never worn makeup or dressed up in girl's clothes until that day. He'd never been a whore until his new persona had called for it. Steve stood quietly, holding his friend, smoothing out his hair.

"Bri, love, will you tell me what happened?" Brian looked away from the drummer, his eyes over bright.

"It was nothing, Steve." He mumbled, trying to move away. Steve caught his wrist, pulling him back into his arms.

"That's shite, and you know it, mate." Brian refused to meet his gaze. "Bri, please?" Brian sighed.

"I--I just--Will you take me home, Stevie?" He asked in a small voice.

"Of course. But you still owe me an explanation when we get there, ok?" Brian nodded glumly. "You promise?"

"I promise."

"Good. C'mon love."

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