Twisted

His palms collided with my chest, shoving me back forcefully and momentarily snatching the breath from my lungs. I stumbled, tripping over my own feet, only just managing to regain my balance and keep myself from falling over. I looked down at the ground, unable to stare him in the eye as he stood tall over me. He looked intimidating and frightening; that was exactly the look he was going for.

"What's wrong, fag?" I heard him mock, a harsh laugh escaping his lips. I hunched my shoulders in a protective gesture, feeling my head bow in a submissive fashion. His horrible howls just increased in volume at how meek and pathetic I was. "Aw, poor baby! Be a fucking man!"

I gulped and slowly looked up, raising my head a centimetre at a time. He was directing his awful, smug smirk at me, his eyes squinting, locked on my face. Oh shit. Why did I look up?

I saw his fist raise, as if in slow motion - but I couldn't move. My eyes just widened until they ached, watching his hand flying toward my face. I was frozen, right up until the point where I felt it collide with my nose. I reacted quickly, finally being able to function properly again, propelling myself backwards, throwing my head to the side as my hands flew up to cover the wound. I thought I heard myself swear in the midst of it all, one fleeting word.

I brought my hand away to inspect it, see what damage had been done. The second I saw the blood that smeared my fingers, accentuating the lines and indents on the tips, any courage that I had spared instantly disappeared. I whimpered quietly, out of pain, regret and fear. And I could still see him, coming at me again. I couldn't fathom what enjoyment he got from attacking someone weaker than him. What did that prove, anyway?

But I chose the wrong time to be thinking about such things.

The second I saw him step forward, all thoughts flew from my mind. I cowered away from him, trying to cover every part of my body, but it was impossible. He was laughing again. I felt him punch my stomach next, and my hand instantly moved there as a reflex. I put a bit of pressure on where it hurt to see how bad it was and winced. God damnit.

"Leave me alone!" I cried, "Please! Just leave me alone!"

"I don't take orders from pathetic fags like you," he hissed at me, too close for comfort. "Get down, Ryan."

Get down? That seemed like a fucking deathwish. Instead of obeying, I just looked down to the ground and suddenly began sprinting away as fast as I could, my nose and stomach still aching. I managed to ignore it - the sound of Tom's enraged roar behind me motivated me to move faster and forget the pain.

I lost him quickly, but didn't stop running. My breath was fast, and I couldn't quite seem to catch it. My chest ached and for some reason I found myself on the verge of tears.

Be a man, I told myself. Jesus Christ, you're such a wuss...

I closed my eyes tightly and opened them again before rounding a corner. I saw a flash of colour as someone walked around at that exact moment and I almost crashed into them. I skidded to a stop, bending over and breathing deeply. I looked up and smiled in relief.

"Brendon!"

I straightened up and threw my arms around his neck, eveloping him in a hug. He seemed startled, taking a few seconds to react before I felt his arms sliding around my waist.

"Ryan, what's wrong? Why were you running? Your nose is bleeding!"

"That -- that fucking Tom --" I panted before burying my face in the crook of his neck. I withdrew quickly as I realised I was probably getting blood everywhere. I cringed and took a step back, releasing my grip.

"He did this to you?" he asked, raising his hand to stroke my cheek and looking closely at my nose with his eyes narrowed. I noticed his breathing grow heavier, before quickly being regained under his control. "I'm sorry I wasn't there -- I would have done something."

"It's okay," I reassured him. I swallowed and glanced around for a moment, before settling my eyes back on him.

"I'll be there next time!" he told me, grabbing my hand and pulling me close. I couldn't help but smile. "I'll be there, I'll protect you! I promise he'll never do this to you again!" He looked me in the eye, holding my gaze so long it almost felt awkward. "Ever."

"Thank you..." I mumbled. "You're the best."

***

"I have a surprise for you!"

I stood on Brendon's front doorstep, my mouth falling agape at the way he had suddenly lurched out of the doorway at me, his eyes wide and excited. I tilted my head with a tiny grin and nodded at him, submitting as he grabbed my hand and dragged me inside his house. He was practically bouncing with excitement, a crazed grin on his face. He closed the door behind me, and we stood right next to it. He didn't pull me any further.

"What is it, Brendon?"

He stared at me, his head cocked slightly, his eyes focussed on mine. I felt myself gulp as he took a step forward, completely invading my personal space - but I didn't mind. Our shirts were just touching, our noses were inches apart. I found myself blinking a lot, nervously.

"I love you, Ryan," he whispered, a mysterious smile gracing his lips.

"Love you too," I mumbled happily, my stomach erupting with butterflies. I felt myself leaning forward, almost without my own accord, to kiss him, a lethargic smile on my face.

He pulled away at the last moment, though, not seeming to notice my desire. I sighed as he turned away from me, resuming his excited bopping as I propped myself up against the door with a tiny sigh.

"I still have something for you," he told me, "To show you how much I love you."

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me forward, before gracefully stepping behind me and covering my eyes with his hands. I felt his lips brush my ear. "No peeking."

I shivered.

He pushed me forward and we stepped nearly in rhythm as he helped me through the maze of his house. I almost wanted to stay like that forever, being able to hear his excited breathing on the back of my neck and the occasional murmurs every once in a while. Even if I couldn't see, and I felt myself stumbling, it was still fantastic.

Finally he stopped me, pulling me toward him so my back was up against his chest. He didn't drop his hands, and I felt myself fidgeting anxiously. Then I was granted the gift of sight again.

For the love of God, I wished I hadn't been. I wished that we hadn't even moved from the door. I wished I had never even gone to his house -- then the thought that I wished I had never met Brendon flashed through my mind, so quick and fleeting it frightened me. But not as much as the sight in front of me.

Tom. Tom Bracks.

He perched on a chair, that was the first thing I noticed. His hands were pulled around the back of the chair, and I guessed that they had been bound to keep him from collapsing to the floor. His upper half was attempt to fold over, but the way his hands were tied just made it look like he was leaning forward, with his head bowed down. I could still recognise him though.

His hair was matted and greasy, falling over his face to shield his vacant, staring eyes. His skin was smeared with a number of different substances - there was some dirt intwined with blood. Some of the gore had managed to get into its hair as well. His clothes were all stained, and there were a daunting red marks on the carpet surrounding him.

I had been lost in the sight for a moment. Bile crawled up the back of my throat at the sight of it, and I hurriedly swallowed it back. It wasn't really that bad, was it? I suddenly felt Brendon's presence beside me, and I slowly turned my head to see him grinning. It was the exact same grin as before, but now it seemed more maniacal and insane.

"I love you," he told me, his eyes shining, "and he'll never hurt you again. I told you, I promised."

"Is he dead?" I choked out, though I thought I knew the answer. I doubted anyone could lose that much blood and still be alive.

"Yup. No chance of him coming back, don't worry."

His hands snaked around my waist, pulling me close. His breath in my ear. Whispering words, as he had before. His hand gently running up my back, caressing my neck, hanging off my shoulders. Was he waiting for me to tell him I loved him for it?

"Brendon... You killed him."

"For you," he clarified quickly.

My face contorted in disgust as I saw Tom's corpse out of the corner of my eye again, and squeezed my eyes shut. And when I opened them again, Brendon's face was there, close to mine, like it always was. Mixed in with the sickening feeling making my stomach writhe was some sort of odd, deranged love for him. He seemed so clueless and innocent. He had done it for me. He loved me.

"I love you too, Brendon," I told him finally.

We were some twisted fuckers.