Be Somewhere

When the three o'clock dismissal bell rang Ricky was finally permitted to leave the guidance counsellor's office. He glanced around for his friends but found them to be missing. The number that Dr. Marques had forced him to pen onto his hand glistened; the ink was still fresh. People rushed past him in their attempt to exit the building.

A hand gripped his shoulder and alarm bells began to ring in his ears. He ran his fingers down his side in attempt to be subtle when reaching for his phone. Shivers ran down his spine and goosebumps were raised on his skin when another icy hand gripped his wrist.

“Don't even think about it,” His father hissed. Ricky turned to face the man and jutted his chin out defiantly before ripping his arm out of his clutches. Turning on his heel, he began to stalk away. He froze, however, when his father shouted: “It's either me or Richard, take your pick.”

Chills began to creep into Ricky's veins as he discovered how willing his father was to discuss the matter publicly. Some people were looking at him slyly out of the corner of their eyes. A harsh glare from him had some scuttling away, but some weren't frightened of him and continued to stare. The smirks that were displayed on the football team's faces broadened when they muttered: “Faggot.”. It was then that he realized what they were all thinking.

They all thought he was a prostitute.

He chuckled at the faces that eyed him with a mixture of shock and disgust. Girls clutched their boyfriends as he walked past them. Alyssa hissed through her teeth at him as he walked by. His self control wavered for a moment and he found himself winking at her boyfriend; just to spite her. A sharp pain ripped through his side as the older boy punched him.

Sharp curses were thrown; but neither teenagers opened their mouths. To his surprise; Ricky heard his father's voice defending him.

“Need him to save you, you little fag?” Ricky grinned at the other boy before launching himself across the two feet of space separating them and tackling him to the ground. Before he knew it, Ricky had his finger's wrapped around his throat and the boy was gagging and begging for mercy. The world became surreal and Ricky couldn't hear. He was positive that someone was screaming, but he could still feel the boy's heartbeat beneath him and his eyes were still wide open; Ricky wasn't worried.

When the pulsations began to slow he unwound his fingers from the boys jugular vein. He stood and spit on the convulsing body that lay at his feet. When he turned, he saw a circle of dumbstruck faces staring at him. Their expressions were ghostly pale and filled with horror.

“Anyone else want to try their luck?” He screamed at the crowd. They all shook their heads exuberantly and Ricky began to walk towards street. The flock parted at the center to give him a wide berth. All the way to the park near his house, a car followed him closely. As he started to turn the corner the vehicle approached him and he was yanked into the passenger seat.

All the saliva he had dried up with one glance at the hungover form of a woman sitting next to him. His skin started to crawl and the nausea sitting in his stomach made his mind swirl. The rancid stench of Tequila burned in his nostrils. She pulled into their driveway and when her bloodshot eyes glared at him through narrowed slits he cringed and pushed his back closer to the door.

“What were you doing on top of that boy?” Ricky shook his head at her. Even if he did tell her the truth, the consequences would be the same. She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked so that his face was inches from hers. “Don't lie to me, boy. I've been protecting you for how long now? And this is how you repay me?” She screamed at him. Doubt of her sobriety made his stomach clench when he smelled her breath.

“Mommy, what are you doing?”

“Shut up, you little brat!” His mother screeched at the toddler who was watching her with wide eyes. Her bright green eyes started to water and it wasn't long before she was wailing. Ricky grabbed at his mother's hands to try and pry her iron grip from his clothing. When she realized what he was doing an open palmed slap to the face ensued.

Ricky covered his face as best he could while trying to quiet his little sister. She payed little attention and instead attacked his stomach and arms. His sister continued to sob even as he shushed her. He knew his mother well enough to see that the noise was getting on her nerves and she was becoming more violent with each tear that slid down the small girl's face.

“We don't keep faggot's in the house! That's why I got rid of your dad, remember?” Ricky grimaced when a particularly hard blow landed on his already sore ribcage. She grabbed him be the roots of his hair and forced him to look her in the eye. “Is this ever gonna happen again?” He shook his head to and fro. “Good.” Her eyes scanned the marks that she left on his flesh. Her glazed eyes filled with tears when she looked at an especially heinous blow, “Honey, lift up your shirt,”

“No...” She reached cautiously for the hem of his shirt and he placed his hand on hers to try and deter her. “Please don't,” he begged tearfully. Remorse clouded her face and Ricky felt his heart fall into his stomach. When she lifted his shirt up the tears formed steady streams down her cheeks.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered, “I'm so so so sorry.” She slid an arm around her son's midsection and pulled him into a tight hug. He flinched from the pressure. When she felt the contraction of his body from contact with hers she started to stroke his hair and murmur soothingly. “I'm sorry.”

“I-I'm sorry too m-mom. I s-shouldn't have do-done t-that.” She wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and kissed his forehead. “I'm sorry, mommy!” He buried his head in the crook of her neck and let the tears flow. She rubbed his back comfortingly and the hiccups finally ceased.

“I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, mom.”