Be Somewhere

Ricky hated the silence that always enveloped his house. Even in midday the quiet was stifling. As always; when Ricky walked through the doorway, he did so on tip-toe; trying not to wake the monsters that slumbered in the shadows. His mother abandoned the entryway and headed off to his stepfather's den where she would no doubt tell him of the day's adventures.

“I can't believe that you raised such a faggot,” Richard screamed, “I'm gonna go straiten him out!” Feet shuffled in the room at the end of the hall and Ricky winced as the door careened into the wall with a sickening crack. The light wasn't on in the corridor, making Richard seem even more menacing. In seconds his role from earlier that day was reversed; he now had his back flat on the floor while his airway was being constricted.

Once Richard was like this, there wasn't much Ricky could do but lay there and take it. Vile words were screamed accompanied with physical torture, but it had all become his own personal version of monotony by now. Soon the beating would subside; and he would lie there until Richard exited the room; then he would walk to his bedroom.

A cloud covered the sun outside and the golden daylight streaming through the window turned to an icy blue-gray; draping the room in dispassion. Any sense of warmth that his home had once held faded with a slight turn of the hormonal weather.

An overwhelming sense of hatred gripped his stomach and sent chills through his body. He hated that his little sister witnessed this day in and day out. He hated how his house always reeked with the putrid malodor of booze and cigarettes. And more than anything; he hated that they always convinced him that he was wrong and that he deserved it.

“I hate you,” he rasped through clenched teeth. Richard motioned for his wife to come closer as he repositioned himself so that his eyes were level with Ricky's.

“Say it again,” Richard whispered, “Louder. I dare you.”

Ricky grinned at the unfortunate position that his stepfather had placed himself in. With a quick movement of his knee, Ricky had him groping himself in an attempt to protect his genitalia... a reflex that came a few seconds too late. Richard rolled off of the teenager and lay on the floor moaning. Ricky knew that a stroke of luck like this would never happen again and he took the opportunity to run as far as he could as fast as he could.

Ricky looked around at the streets that were still teeming with children. There were very few that were under the age of twelve and the ones that were in his age range nauseated him. A circle had formed in the center of an alleyway and Ricky groaned at the sense of déjà vu. Sharp, familiar cries of pain rang through the air and Ricky recognized the voice instantly

Brad.

Another agonized wail of torment tolled and Ricky made his way over to the crowd. A small puddle of blood had been smeared across the asphalt and Ricky couldn't believe his eyes. It wasn't Brad who was hurt; it was Danny. Ricky rolled his eyes and sighed at the predicament these two had manage to get themselves into. Danny was undoubtably unconscious and Brad was holding him in his lap, sobbing like a heartbroken maiden.

The boys that had gathered in formation around them were all snickering and making sly remarks about sexuality. Ricky couldn't contain his bitterness at their lack of originality.

“Who did this?” He asked flatly. When this elicited no response, he grabbed the nearest boy by the roots of his hair. “Until the fuck-up who did this comes forward, I'm gonna beat the shit out of each and every one of you individually.” No one dared move a muscle; this wasn't the reply Ricky was waiting for, so in one swift blow he broke the kids nose and had him crawling away on his knees. “Whose next?”

A large portion of the group stepped back and there were only three boys remaining. Ricky recognized them as the ones Danny and himself had been fighting with the previous day and his upper lip curled into a fetid snarl. Brad's stopped his mourning for a few moments; only long enough to glance at the three teenagers before choking up again. His friend's devastation at the mere sight of the trio's faces told Ricky that he was under the correct assumption

“You three? Really? I thought that after you got your asses kicked yesterday you would have learned better. I guess some idiots never learn.” They just stood and stared at him with malice. His snarl grew into a mutated smirk. “If you like ganging up on people so much, then come get me. I'm not afraid of you chicken-shits.” Their arrogant smirks made the anger in his stomach swell. His vision blurred and he fought to keep his temper.

Keep your temper, Ricky. They can take anything from you except your emotions. Those are yours to give.

A small flicker of resentment burned for his rationality. He refused to give these people the satisfaction of an emotional outburst. They were not, and never would be, part of the special few who were privileged to that type of information. Instead, he simply leaned back and matched their haughty sneer with one of his own.

“Well?” He sniggered, “What exactly are you waiting for?”

The boys lunged a few steps forward; anticipating that they would instill fear in their so-called victim. But Ricky just stood his ground; with his arms crossed across his chest and an eyebrow raised mockingly. One approached and was quickly thrown to the ground in a heap of blood and scraped skin. The other two, sensing a fair fight, turned and fled with their tails tucked firmly between their legs.

The rest of the crowd melted away under the heat of his scowl. Soon only Brad, Ricky, and the tattered mess that was Danny's body remained in the filthy, blood streaked alley. As Ricky helped Brad to pull Danny to his feet so that they could support him on the way to Danny's home, he couldn't help but chuckle.

“Can't you guys stay out of trouble for five minutes without me?”