That Doesn't Mean I Love You
007
I only made two hundred dollars that night.
It wasn't enough for anything.
I walked home slowly, my feet dragging against the concrete, my body sore and broken.
I came across a gang of boys, all laughing and smoking and causing a big ruckus.
I tried walking around them, trying to blend in and not get noticed. I didn't like large groups of people, they made me nervous. I had to many encounters with groups of boys that turned out bad.
“Hey faggot!” One of the boys yelled and I looked over and tried shrugging away slowly.
“Hey faggot, I'm talking to you,” he yelled again, parting from the boys. He looked at me up and down, chewing on what seemed to look like toothpick. The rest of the group which had gone from shoving each other to becoming still and looking at me fell silent. I realized I had just gotten myself in trouble with the alpha dog.
“You wanna suck my dick pretty boy?” he smirked, a sick grin crossing his face. There was a jagged scar under his left eye, and his hair was ragged and greasy. He was tall, really big. He looked like someone who should be selling hot dogs in New York, not picking on me.
“No thank you,” I muttered, trying to scamper away slowly, turning around. I felt a hand on my shoulder and a shove, and I tripped forward, throwing my arms out to keep my balance. I went silent, still and breathless.
“What, tired of being butt fucked pretty boy?” he barked at me and shoved me again. This time I fell over onto the ground and gasped, the breath being knocked out of me. My face was two inches away from a piece of gum, and I was on my stomach, motionless.
“You're not going to fight me, pretty boy? Afraid you'll break a nail?” he laughed, grabbing my shoulder and whipping me around. He leant down, looking me in the face, watching me slowly.
“Well hot damn, you are a boy,” he said and put his hand on my cheek. Out of the blue he took his hand off my cheek, swung his arm back and socked me in the face. I squeaked, blood coming from my lip and I still didn't move. He spit in my face, bringing his arm down and punching me in the ribs. The next thing I knew I had four guys on me, punching and kicking and spitting. I yelled, I couldn't move, I was coughing up blood.
I passed out, or I thought I passed out. I could feel everything and hear everything but I blacked out. I heard a voice, a voice I knew. Slowly the hands and feet stopped getting me. I came back into conscious state slowly and looked up.
Clyde was punching one of the guys, while the others were tearing him apart. He ducked down, and two of them punched each other and grabbed a knife out of his shoe, then three guys had knives. He cut to of them, and the other one made a swing at him and just grazed his cheek and he stabbed him in the stomach. While the guys were in shock, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet and we ran as fast as we could away. Guys were chasing after us, and Clyde led me down an alley. They kept chasing us, and we ducked into a dead end and they ran right passed us. I fell silent and pressed closed to him, tears coming to my eyes from pain.
“They're gone...” Clyde whispered and brought his hand to his face. He was bleeding, bad. I quickly tore away from him and bent over, throwing my arms around my stomach and coughed, blood coming from my mouth and splattering all over the pavement. Blood dribbled from my lips and I fell to my knees, coughing and splattering blood. Clyde took the leather jacket off and put it around my shoulders, scooping his arms under mine and pulling me up.
“Come on bud, let's go home,” he said and my knees shook and I could hardly walk.
“I can't,” I whispered softly, pushing the hair out of my face, sweat dripping down my cheek. He put his arm around my shoulder and peeked out of the alley way and we started walking home.
Once we got home he helped me to our... room I guess you could say. I layed down on the blankets, shivering. I was cold, and I couldn't stop.
Clyde fell onto his knees next to me and he looked sympathetic.
“I'm sorry Matthew, I wish I came sooner...” he said picking a pillow up off the floor and tearing off the pillow case. He patted my lip with it and I sighed.
“It's not your fault honey, stop worrying,” I said and opened my bright blue eyes and looked at his cheek. There was blood falling down his face from the cut, it looked really bad. I sat up, and he pushed my back down and looked at me sternly.
“You're worse off than I am,” he said and gave a half smile. I nodded, and grabbed the pillow, pulling it to my chest watching him stand up and go to the cracked mirror on the wall. He let out a low gasp and pressed the dirty pillow case to his cheek and shook his head.
He was mad at himself, but it wasn't his fault. On days like these, I just wanted to be dead.
It wasn't enough for anything.
I walked home slowly, my feet dragging against the concrete, my body sore and broken.
I came across a gang of boys, all laughing and smoking and causing a big ruckus.
I tried walking around them, trying to blend in and not get noticed. I didn't like large groups of people, they made me nervous. I had to many encounters with groups of boys that turned out bad.
“Hey faggot!” One of the boys yelled and I looked over and tried shrugging away slowly.
“Hey faggot, I'm talking to you,” he yelled again, parting from the boys. He looked at me up and down, chewing on what seemed to look like toothpick. The rest of the group which had gone from shoving each other to becoming still and looking at me fell silent. I realized I had just gotten myself in trouble with the alpha dog.
“You wanna suck my dick pretty boy?” he smirked, a sick grin crossing his face. There was a jagged scar under his left eye, and his hair was ragged and greasy. He was tall, really big. He looked like someone who should be selling hot dogs in New York, not picking on me.
“No thank you,” I muttered, trying to scamper away slowly, turning around. I felt a hand on my shoulder and a shove, and I tripped forward, throwing my arms out to keep my balance. I went silent, still and breathless.
“What, tired of being butt fucked pretty boy?” he barked at me and shoved me again. This time I fell over onto the ground and gasped, the breath being knocked out of me. My face was two inches away from a piece of gum, and I was on my stomach, motionless.
“You're not going to fight me, pretty boy? Afraid you'll break a nail?” he laughed, grabbing my shoulder and whipping me around. He leant down, looking me in the face, watching me slowly.
“Well hot damn, you are a boy,” he said and put his hand on my cheek. Out of the blue he took his hand off my cheek, swung his arm back and socked me in the face. I squeaked, blood coming from my lip and I still didn't move. He spit in my face, bringing his arm down and punching me in the ribs. The next thing I knew I had four guys on me, punching and kicking and spitting. I yelled, I couldn't move, I was coughing up blood.
I passed out, or I thought I passed out. I could feel everything and hear everything but I blacked out. I heard a voice, a voice I knew. Slowly the hands and feet stopped getting me. I came back into conscious state slowly and looked up.
Clyde was punching one of the guys, while the others were tearing him apart. He ducked down, and two of them punched each other and grabbed a knife out of his shoe, then three guys had knives. He cut to of them, and the other one made a swing at him and just grazed his cheek and he stabbed him in the stomach. While the guys were in shock, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet and we ran as fast as we could away. Guys were chasing after us, and Clyde led me down an alley. They kept chasing us, and we ducked into a dead end and they ran right passed us. I fell silent and pressed closed to him, tears coming to my eyes from pain.
“They're gone...” Clyde whispered and brought his hand to his face. He was bleeding, bad. I quickly tore away from him and bent over, throwing my arms around my stomach and coughed, blood coming from my mouth and splattering all over the pavement. Blood dribbled from my lips and I fell to my knees, coughing and splattering blood. Clyde took the leather jacket off and put it around my shoulders, scooping his arms under mine and pulling me up.
“Come on bud, let's go home,” he said and my knees shook and I could hardly walk.
“I can't,” I whispered softly, pushing the hair out of my face, sweat dripping down my cheek. He put his arm around my shoulder and peeked out of the alley way and we started walking home.
Once we got home he helped me to our... room I guess you could say. I layed down on the blankets, shivering. I was cold, and I couldn't stop.
Clyde fell onto his knees next to me and he looked sympathetic.
“I'm sorry Matthew, I wish I came sooner...” he said picking a pillow up off the floor and tearing off the pillow case. He patted my lip with it and I sighed.
“It's not your fault honey, stop worrying,” I said and opened my bright blue eyes and looked at his cheek. There was blood falling down his face from the cut, it looked really bad. I sat up, and he pushed my back down and looked at me sternly.
“You're worse off than I am,” he said and gave a half smile. I nodded, and grabbed the pillow, pulling it to my chest watching him stand up and go to the cracked mirror on the wall. He let out a low gasp and pressed the dirty pillow case to his cheek and shook his head.
He was mad at himself, but it wasn't his fault. On days like these, I just wanted to be dead.