Outsiders

To have John’s gaze turn aside as I searched for it, to see his eyes go back to being fixated to that jackass instead, all while I was dragged out of the cafeteria, through the dirty corridor, and into the boy’s room, it was the worst moment of my life. You might want to convince me that I’m not old enough to be in position to decide what the highs and lows of my life has been, but god I didn’t even care, because it just hurt more than anything I had ever felt. Like my every emotions froze to ice and fell into splinters, punctuating my heart like a dagger, robbing it of its life, leaving me numb again, feeling nothing but the throbbing ache. That fucking ache I had felt so regularly since John had left me, but never as bad at this. This was the last sign I needed from him, my first love, my only friend. He wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I was all alone for real and he had left me to die.

Of course I wouldn’t literally die. I knew these guys. They’d mock me, tell me bullshit, stuff me full of their propaganda, make me humiliate myself, beat me up. But they weren’t brave nor strong enough to kill me. They just obeyed order from their leader. Got off to watching me in pain. I was used to it. The good ole medicine for being stupid. Well, I made a big mistake - I came in the way for Tim’s plan all along - but I can’t help who I like. Not that I knew what his fucking plan even was, but it was as idiotic as it was evil. Everything about Tim was pure evil. And when his thugs dragged me over to force me down in a corner against the cold and dirt stained tile wall, I knew it wasn’t them who did this to me. It was Tim. It was Tim who was the source of my fucking heart ache.

Brian let go of me, and instead grabbed my scarf, oh my lovely scarf that my mother had bought me, and threw it down the toilet. I didn’t do anything to prevent it. I just watched, hoping it would be over soon. He laughed manically, Jeordie joining in with his hysterical giggle, and they both went to stand in front of me.

“Hold him still”, Brian ordered Stephen, who pushed me out with his foot so stand behind me, grabbing my wrists and holding my arms above my head, his blunt finger nails digging into my skin like the claws of a cat. As if this was a game of cat and mouse. But I was already stuck in the trap.

They rose around me, blocking out the buzzing lights in the ceiling behind their black clothed bodies, making their silhouettes dark and obscure, frightening in a way. I remained silent, looking up at them, waiting for their hit, literally. This was just the calm before the storm.

“Let’s just make sure you know why you’re here”, Brian said, tilting his head to the side. “Talk to me, sweet cheeks. Why do we do this?”

I swallowed a thick lump in my throat; I was pretty sure I wasn’t scared, but my body thought something else. The air around me felt like a cage, hard to breathe even though I felt an urge to hyperventilate. I was suddenly aware of the adrenalin pumping in my blood, making me want to scream at them to leave me alone, cry and kick and run away. But I knew there was no use. Nobody would listen because nobody would care.

“Because you follow order.”

“What was that?”

I stared right into his eyes. “Because you’re Tim’s bitches and he fucks with your heads.”

I was interrupted - rewarded - by a kick in the stomach. It almost made me lose my breath, even though I gasped, and I felt tears in my eyes, so I closed them tightly to try to keep them out, as I felt Stephen’s grip around my wrists tighten as I got pushed back against his legs.

“Wrong answer, dick”, Brian spat while Jeordie chanted his giggle again. “It’s because you’re a faggot. Can you say that?”

I didn’t reply. Not only because I could barely breathe, but because it was meaningless. I’d get beaten up no matter what I said or did.

Jeordie jumped down in front of me, staring at me with wide, dark eyes and an insane grin.

“Do it, faggot.”

“I am a faggot. Just say that. Just that. It’s not hard.”

My eyes darted from Jeordie to Brian before Jeordie spat in my face, and I closed my eyes tightly, disgusted and scared. I had no idea what to do. I was so used to having John to rely on. Now I had no one. I was all alone and they were three, all while John had a nice time flirting with Tim out in the cafeteria. I felt the spit run down my face, a gross, warm substance, but before it had time to reach my mouth Jeordie had leaned forward, grabbed my head and traced his tongue up my face, licking it up again. The thugs laughed loudly while making disgusted noises and I didn’t open my eyes again to look but I could tell Jeordie made a childish grin.

“There you go, faggot”, he said happily. “That felt good, didn’t it?” He leaned forward, voice next to my ear, fingers entwined in my hair. I tried to shun away, but he held my still, tugging me back with my hair. “Tell me it felt fucking good.”

“Say I am a faggot”, Brian pushed, softly kicking my leg.

Jeordie shook my head around.

“Look at me.”

I carefully opened my eyes, staring straight into his. I had never been so scared before. I felt vulnerable, which was a horrific feeling. It felt worse than sadness. At least if sad you felt closer to feeling nothing at all, but this was filling my whole body with dread, my only sense existing being fear. They could do whatever they wanted to me and I couldn’t do anything in self defence. He stood back up, smiled briefly, took a breath then kicked me hard in the stomach again. I cried out, the pain unbearable, the wind getting knocked out of me. A tear rolled down my cheek - of fear, panic and ache - and I bit my lip hard, staring down at the floor.

“I am a faggot”, Brian mused in a childlike voice. “Please kill me.”

I tried to breathe but couldn’t. I was panicking. My heart was burning with my eyes and stomach. I had no self control left. They were the ones who controlled me. I was like a puppet attached to strings on their menacing fingers, driven by a sinister urge, craving to hurt me, threatening to not let me make it out of the bathroom alive. I was shaking, trying to make sense of the situation. And even now, all the hopes I had left was the wish that John would all of a sudden burst through the door, alone without Tim, and save me from this nightmare. But I had been punished for loving him, so I assumed having him around would make things worse. Which made me think I’d rather not ever see him again. Because he brought me pain, he brought me misery. And those thoughts made me only feel more fear. A fear of being alone. A fear of dying. A fear of how they’d treat me even after I died. A fear of not knowing what John was up to with Tim. It was pathetic. Yeah, I was pathetic. It was pathetic to even have allowed myself to be dragged into the bathroom in the first place. If I wasn’t pathetic I wouldn’t have fallen for my best friend. If I wasn’t pathetic I wouldn’t be so wound up over him not liking me back. If I wasn’t pathetic I wouldn’t have harmed myself the other day. I wouldn’t have picked up the razor blade, pressed it against my skin, felt that relief, like something heavy getting lifted off my shoulders. Like a drug, coming back as a craving, haunting me, awake and asleep. Like a sigh of relief seeping out with the dripping blood. If I wasn’t pathetic I wouldn’t have liked the pain I caused myself that day. If I wasn’t pathetic I wouldn’t already be planning on doing it again. If I wasn’t pathetic I wouldn’t need the goddamn anti-depressants. Which was something I could really have use of at the moment, but I tried to only focus on gathering my thoughts, catching my breath, and ignoring the pain. But it was so pathetic to even try.

Brian lifted me up by my collar, a certain look on his face. His eyes were dark, but he was smiling. He lifted his hand up, a clenched fist with longing knuckles. Longing for pain, longing for destruction. And of course I was the aim.

“Say you’re a faggot.”

I took a shaking breath - heard Stephen chuckle at my attempt - and looked up at Brian. My eyes were lidded - I was still crying - but I didn’t care. I didn’t fucking care. I didn’t care about my unsteady voice, nor my blurred vision of his grin. I didn’t even care for myself. In this moment I wouldn’t mind if they killed me. I’d rather be dead than be everyone’s victim for the rest of my life.

“I’m not a faggot.”

He cocked an eyebrow, fist twitching. Trying to hold it back and stay calm, even though he was clearly reaching his boiling point, ready to snap. I wasn’t a faggot. I may be pathetic, stupid, nerdy, a fuck-up in other terms, but not a faggot.

“I repeat. Say that you are a faggot.”

“I’m not a faggot.”

My voice got steadier and louder by each word, each sentence building up my courage, making me feel like I had nothing left to lose, nothing left to live for, each sentence making Brian more and more pissed off.

“You’re a faggot.”

“I’m not a faggot.”

“You’re a fucking faggot!”

“I’m not a faggot!” I yelled, pushing myself out for him. “You mother fucking queers!”

As soon as the unexpected words had left my mouth, everything went black for a second.

I heard a cracking sound, a brief silence, then only a low row ringing. Buzzing, pulsating. Comforting. Soothing. Calming. Like everything was over. They were gone. The laughing, the pain, the hatred, everything I thought I could never escape; vanished. I was all alone. Out of harm’s way in a protective void. Like I was peacefully floating in darkness. I felt nothing but hollowness. Emptiness. All safe. Secure. Numb. Maybe dead. Oh how nice it felt to be dead.

Then the pain arrived. Worse than anything I had ever felt. Physically, at least. Right over my eye. A weird stinging sensation. Like someone had placed an ice pack over it, then quickly replaced it with hot iron. Like someone had groped it with a spoon and ripped it out. Like someone had punched me. Brian had punched me.

I tried to look up at him, but my right eye wouldn’t open, and the other one was blurring with my tears. Whining would make no difference, I knew that, but it hurt. It just hurt and I had nothing left to do. I broke down. Hung lose in Stephen’s grip and cried. Hair falling in my face, my eye throbbing swollen, my stomach in pains. They all remained silent, probably watching me suffer, studying my agony. I didn’t even care about it. I didn’t even mind. They could watch me fall apart and I would just sit there and let it happen because I was nothing anymore. I had nothing to protect. I had no pride, no dignity. I wasn’t even sure I was human anymore.

Brian spoke slowly, silently, as if his voice was filled with regret even though I strongly doubted it. “Say you’re a faggot.”

“I am a faggot.”

He sighed, almost laughed.

“Good boy.”

They all grabbed me; Stephen by my arms and Jeordie and Brian by each leg, lifting me over to the toilet. They gently made me sit down on my knees, holding my arms behind my back.

“We didn’t do this to you”, Stephen said.

I wasn’t sure whether he meant I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone, or if he was referring to that this was all Tim’s idea and they only followed order, but before I could think my face was shoved down the toilet, water splashing down over my head as someone had flushed. I didn’t resist or tried to fight against it, I just allowed it to happen, holding my breath and waiting for it to be over. After all, trash got thrown away in the end. I needed my punishment for being such a pathetic faggot.

Before they left they pushed me back into the corner, flushing again to let my scarf plug the pipe, making the stall fill with water pumping up from the toilet. Just a prank, but to me it seemed like another death threat and as soon as they had left the room it made me break into tears again.



I limped my way to my locker, my right eye closed as I tried to cover it with my fringe, my nose somehow bleeding even though I hadn’t felt it getting hit. My hair was still soaked wet after I had tried to wash away the stench of the toilet together with the remains of Jeordie’s spit under the tap of the small sink. I opened my locker, taking out a package, containing the most valuable thing I owned. It wasn’t even mine. It was loosely wrapped up, also including a note I had written last night. I closed my locker and went to look for John. As I didn’t find him in the corridors, in the cafeteria, nor outside where Tim usually hung out to take a smoke or ditch classes, I started making my way home to his house. I needed to give this thing back to him. As he had ended our friendship by turning his head away from me when I needed him the most, this was my part of the deal.

I walked up the street and passed the liquor store. As I sauntered past an alley behind the small building, something strange caught my eye. Two figures standing there. The alley was usually deserted, but as I turned my head, walking up closer, I saw the worst thing I could ever imagine.

Tim on his knees in front of John, pants hanging loose around his waist and with John’s… John’s member, in his hand, yanking it, biting his lip. I was just in time for the big finale, hearing John moaning, groaning, saying Tim’s name before he sunk down against the wall.

I stared, paralyzed, then dropped the package. Both their heads flew to the side, John staring at me wide-eyed, but Tim with a smirk on his face, cum dripping from his hand as he lifted it to wave slightly. John even looked less innocent than that. White and red liquids dropping from his mouth, trousers around his ankles, looking so shocked, so sad… I turned around and quickly walked away. I couldn’t take any more. I couldn’t fucking take it. Everything was wrong, everything was fucked up. No, re-phrasing; I was wrong. I was fucked up. All this was all just my fault. If I wouldn’t have fallen for John, I wouldn’t even be here. I could as well have been dead already because he was my only reason to keep on fighting, every god-awful day. Nothing ever went as planned and it was always my fault. Nothing would ever turn out good for me. I had nothing to live for anymore. I was hopeless and helpless. Damaged beyond repair. Beyond salvation, recovery, revival, and with no one left in this hell but me. I was crying again.

God, how I wished I actually would have died. But I could fix that. It was easy to just fix it and no one would notice until they went to yell at me again. It was so easy to just make it stop.

I left the package on the ground for John to pick up, whenever he felt ready for it. He seemed to be having a good time and I wouldn’t want to interrupt him. I didn’t even think he wanted that old stupid sweater back. My most valuable thing. And I was pretty sure I would actually need it more in this moment.