~Alphabet Soup~

A is for Adultery​

"Spencer?"

Caught off guard, I looked up from the rough draft of an essay I was staring at. So far, I only had a heading that showed off my nonexistent skills at alliteration. Glancing back down, I grimaced at my numerous attempts to start the essay and how it ended up as simple graphite smudges.

The teacher set her careful gaze on me before pursed her lips. Deciding to relay her message to me, she directed her body towards me and leaned in slightly, if only to portray a sense of privacy. Softly, lower than expected, she gently told me, "You don't have to do the paper, if you don't want to. I can give you an alternative assignment."

"No, that's alright," I replied quickly before even realizing what she had said. I looked back at my paper, devoid of any substance, before once more gripping a cheap mechanical pencil. Fingers probably paled because of how I tightened my hold, but my hand was by my side and out of Mrs. P's sight.

Hearing her stiffly move away from me, probably annoyed with me in a manner she couldn't show in class, and onward towards the next student, I gave a calm sigh. The only thing more difficult than sitting around like a silly stupid student had to be doing the work that came along with it. The assignment was for me to write a free response to the idea of parents. The idea of writing about my parents wouldn't be too bad, if I were to compare this assignment to the weekly essays usually given in this sorry excuse of an AP class.

In respect to my mother, it would be easy. She was an alright person, no matter what people said about her, and it wouldn't be too hard on my part to skew several details and bring up old childhood memories that could evoke some sentimentality. On the other hand, my father was a completely different story and a swell subject all at the same time. His story and his life, well imprinted on the back of my mind, was something that… that I wouldn't especially like to bring up in a school environment.

Well, lucky me, apparently every teacher in the school knew of my regular visits to various specialists to help reconnect lost years. Lost years? What lost years? I wouldn't think there were any gaps in my memories, only in my attachment to them. I didn't care for my parents. I never really did. My father was a nice man, if I really thought about it like that, but he was stupid.

He traded his family for a quick hot love. A middle-age crises gone wrong, if it could be stated as such. Hah. Even funnier was how he tried to do take-backs. He traded me once, why wouldn't he do it again? Because he learned his lesson? Because he truly wanted to make amends? Because he was a lonely old man? Because he was pathetic? Yeah. Because he was pathetic.

"Mrs. P," I called, breaking out of my slight stupor.

Turning to me, my English teacher frowned, "Is there anything you, uh, need? Spencer?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, "I think I'll take you up on your alternative assignment." It was only after my words left my mouth did I realize how dirty they could have been interpreted. Mrs. P was kind of pretty, but not my type. But, if I thought about the subject with care, I didn't have a type.

"Okay," she smiled softly with poorly disguised pity, "Just write about something personal to you. Like sports, hobbies, mementos you might have. Even a person. Anything will be nice."

I smiled, attempting a little charm and a little bashfulness at the same time, as I said, "Thank you." It never hurt to be a little ass kisser every once in a while.

As soon as Mrs. P turned around slowly and started to look up on the progress of the rest of the class, I frowned at my own antics. Seriously, my behavior disgusted me. I wasn't, even on my better days, a polite or nice young man.

But I dismissed thoughts about my character (because those types of inner monologues always ended sour) and I began to write about my childhood days spent in my cousin's backyard. Emotional and juvenile. Sentimental and intelligent. I wrote it in a way that made me seem smart. I wrote in a way that made me seem complicated. I wrote in a way that made me seem perfectly well and normal.

Not that I was, anyway. Physically, oh yes, sure I was normal. Normal height, normal weight, normal features. Academically, I was just past the tip of the bell curve. Several supposedly strenuous classes and a whole lot of free time were probably the only two factors that would help me land myself in a decent college, but what kept me afloat kept me afloat. Who was I to complain about my life?

Hello my name is Spencer Danielson, and I am a…

"Motherfucker!" I screamed. Realization, tinted red and burning as harshly as it could, caused me to shake as I stared accusingly at the man who once held my mother so closely.

"Language," my father chastised with a single word as he lifted an eyebrow. It was most likely the irony of my insult. But! There wasn't anything ironic about that slur, because, if there was, I would have noticed it as soon as I said it.

"Fucking. You fucking--! Motherfucking, Goddamned…" I cursed loudly without even thinking of the angry words that haphazardly spewed out of my mouth. Uncontrolled breaths of air burned my windpipe, taking little pieces of sensibility out of my person before I could comprehend it.

So what if I was acting like a little brat again? My father…! My father was the one to start this little war of ours and the continuous string of battles.

Fuck. You. Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you…

Sighing as he often did when he thought I didn't understand something, my father explained to me something I already knew, "Look, Spencer. I know you know why I had to do it. No faking your 'lost years' crap to me. You're big now. I don't want you to even have the chance of meeting with her."

Her? Her!? You're ex-wife? My mother?

"What happens if you have another panic attack, like you did at the supermarket when you were with…" he paused shortly, "Uncle Mike?" Strict eyes told me everything I needed to know, regardless of how I felt about my conscious ignorance, "If he didn't take you far away from her, you'd probably be on antidepressants now."

Antidepressants? I wasn't depressed you fucking… fucking… FUCK!

Moments would occur, yes, in which my mood would take a plummet, but I wasn't depressed. Never depressed. I wasn't some over emotional teenager, spinning my lies and my woes until it made me sick.

"I know you don't like to acknowledge what happened to you, regardless of those little breakthroughs. But Jesus Christ, we know what she made you do when I left. We all know. And I know you do too. Somewhere behind all that denial, you know. If you didn't…"

No, no, no. I didn't. I didn't. I didn't.

"I didn't," I thought continuously in a little mantra, mouthing the final syllable without knowing it.

It didn't happen. It never happened. No recollection in my brain and no scars on my soul, right? Nothing that was accused was true. I didn't and she didn't and we just (Goddamn it) didn't.

"Mom didn't-! Sh-she d-did-didn't rape me!" I yelled, the r-word burning my tongue. "You. You didn't have to lock her up! She's not crazy. She's never tried to, to, to…" I said, no longer yelling but just speaking harshly. Not because my anger was fading, not at all. My throat was just starting to hurt. That was all. My throat hurt.

"We both know she did it. That's why I left. I just thought you'd be safe because you were just a kid. I was wrong," my father said humbly. It was as if he wanted to take some of the blame for how fucked up everyone thought I was. He was doing a horrible job.

Thoughts of that ex-coworker of Father's hit me with such force I couldn't help but shudder. Bronzed, fake skin with makeup so expertly thick she appeared pretty. The suggestive, sly winks and not-so-subtle touches to Father's arm when they thought no one was looking. "You left for that whore. Nothing else," I said, my words coming to a hiss at the end.

Blinking, as if we weren't having such a harsh conversation, my father said, "Yes, if you're talking about Stacy. I did leave with her. Not because of her, if you want to imply anything."

Adultery was a sin. Adultery was a sin. He should go to hell. Hell.

But hey? Would the rape of a twelve year old boy by his mother be a sin? Would it? I was just wondering, since, you know, it sounded like it would be.

Tears blurred my already blurry vision. "You left! You left me all by myself. You left me with her. How could you have done that? We were all alone. Always, always alone."

And what happened when we were all alone?

I choked on my own words.

"I hate her."

 

B is for Backstabbers​

I loved it when my friends gave me blowjobs. I mean… It was hot! It was like, something like, sex. Right? Like, sex through a different orifice. No penetration. No sticking my dick into their vagina, or whatever it was called. The hole in which babies came from?

Something like that.

"You backstabbing bastard," she hissed. God. What a mental picture. Holy cow. I just, really, wowzers. Cow. What kind of self respecting girlie thought love handles were cute? Or could turn a guy on? Put your shirt back on honey. Serious.

Frowning, I stated, "I thought you knew. I mean. You've heard, haven't you? What am I talking about? Everyone's heard."

"Backstabbing bastard," she repeated again.

"Look, Jessica," I said in an exasperated tone, "You knew, right? No, don't answer that. Never mind. I just thought you knew what you were getting into. We're friends. Right? I thought you knew."

"How was I supposed to know that you'd tell everyone what happened?" she hissed again, reminding me of some sort or snake. A cow snake? Weird.

Gasp! Gasp! Oh no, I spilled the metaphorical beans. Woe was me. Woe was you. Woe was us.

"Don't give me your bullshit," I sighed, exasperated with the situation. "My stories are the same thing as gossip. I know you told your friends, or else there wouldn't have been rumors. I just answered them all when they asked me what happened."

Looking at her square in the face, I was almost inclined to apologize. Jessica was a friend. Not a real close friend (I didn't have too many of those nowadays) but a friend nonetheless. I had bunches of friends, acquaintances, and people I barely knew who I hung out with. A lot of them gave me blowjobs along with other sexual favors. It was nothing. Seriously, nothing.

"Vincent… I have a boyfriend," she said, tears starting to form in her eyes as she covered her face.

Staring at her, a little shocked but not enough to give her the satisfaction of seeing it on my face, I started, "You have a boyfriend? Wouldn't that make you the backstabber then?" She had the gall to call me the backstabber? I didn't have a problem screwing girls, as long as they were single or in an open relationship.

Fucking with a girl with a boyfriend was just like asking to have my house burnt down or to have my face beat into a bloody pulpy mass of ugliness. I wasn't all that tough. In my own honest opinion, I didn't think I would have been able to take down anyone bigger than the average nerd.

My skills laid elsewhere.

"You know what, just stop," she sidestepped, ignoring my accusation and tears suddenly gone. "Just stop. Don't sit with us for a week or two. Johnny really wants to kill you. He thinks you corrupted me. He's been telling everyone that you've been sleeping with all their girlfriends."

I smirked, "Nice to know you care about me." I almost decided to just turn and leave, do something else or find a couple of guys who wouldn't mind accepting my presence, but I stopped before I could.

"Whore," I spat.

Jessica the Queen of 'Open Door Policy' Sluts gave me another reason to hate her. She flicked her makeup caked eyes up towards the sky, searching for an insult most likely. "Faggot," she said decisively, as if she thought it would hurt my pride. I was too busy mentally debasing her. Blue eye shadow? Please. Ugh, nastiness hardcore. Shimmering lip gloss? What was she? Ten?

I gave her the finger and took a small step forward. "Cunt bag slut," I insulted with a threatening undertone. Uh… Hey…! I wasn't going to, well, I wasn't planning on doing anything, like, horrible. I just stepped forward because it was an intimidation thing. I had to assert my role as the stronger sex, right?

She glared at me and huffed, proving my point. Turning heel, she sped away to the area my general friends loitered at. Yay. I got the last word. That was almost always a good thing. Right?

Going the opposite direction, I started to really think of my situation. Okay. Okay. How did it go again? I fucked Jessica. She kinda told people. I told everyone. It was apparently my fault. Johnny wanted to kill me and converted everyone else to think the same thing. Damn, what a Hitler… Would that be offensive? I thought Johnny boy was, uh, Jewish.

Never mind. The end result, I had to wait a week out for people to sort themselves out and realize that I had sex with her, yeah, but I thought she was single. That and she's a lying whore who couldn't say the truth. I didn't rape her or anything! Not at all. It was consensual, or, hah, as consensual as sex with a couple of drunks could get.

Letting my feet lead me to the library, the quietest, coolest place in the school this time of year, I mentally listed my to-do list. It was… actually pretty short. I had a couple of worksheets and a book or two to read. I also had a paper or something of the sort in AP English. Parental guidance, parental instincts, parenthood, or whatever, was the topic. How old was I? Sixteen? And I was still doing stuff like that? God be damned. School didn't change a bit since preschool.

My parents guided me in life to do the right thing? Man, was that even in proper grammar? I hoped so. That was probably going to be my thesis statement. Was that even a thesis statement?

Sitting down as a table, somewhere to the edge, far away from the door and the cold wind blowing in, I looked around in an attempt to observe my settings. Library. Check. Books. Check. Computers. Check. Yeah. That was it. There was a librarian behind that huge distant desk, surfing the web. There were a couple a students, doing homework or hanging out, but I didn't pay attention.

Wait, scratch that, I kinda did.

"Do you love me?"

Turning around, I sort of started to freak out. Was there a weirdo there or something? The voice I heard was most definitely not a girl's and whispered low, so it struck me as the question a pervert would ask. But looking behind me, I noticed not a pervert but a fellow student. Or, I hope he wasn't a pervert. But he was on his cell, and he looked pretty upset. His free hand was pressed against the wall and his body looked like it felt heavy. It probably wasn't, considering the guy wasn't all that big. Probably just a bit thicker and taller than me, and that wasn't saying much.

"Sometimes, I just don't think you do," the teen mumbled again. From that, I pulled the conjecture he was talking to an unappreciative girlfriend. I hated those types.

Now stuck on the guy, I turned my body to listen a bit better. His voice wasn't all that loud, and I could barely scrape together the words. But it sounded interesting and drama filled. From the way he was facing the wall, he probably wouldn't notice me listening in on him until he was finished. Ostracized by one more individual wouldn't affect me any more than my entire group of friends.

"You pulled all that stuff about what I did. God. With… with… her. I just want to get pass it." Good grief. A regular tom emo there. Was his girlfriend pissed about a past girlfriend? Was he just trying to forget about it? Way to live with your choices. "Why afterschool? Can't I go during the weekend like normal? I'm not trying to skip out or anything. But I have homework and stuff. It's just too much too soon."

Hey… What kind of guy rejected sex? Wait, was it sex? It could one of those 'let's talk' kind of meetings. But I really wouldn't know, never having been in a 'real' relationship myself.

"I love you… No Father. I'm alright. I'll meet with Doctor Bryant and I'll be truthful. Satisfied? Bye."

Wow, plot twist. No, wait, I shouldn't put it like that. It more like, 'I am such an idiot for assuming everything a person talks about is relationships or sex or girls or sex. Or anything in between. (Like my cock.)'

Fixing myself, so it wouldn't seem as if I was just listening in on a private and probably emotionally draining conversation, I smiled. I loved drama. Well, when it didn't pertain to me. But who did? Really?

Blond hair. I remarked it in my head, looking at the teen who strode by without an inkling of my existence. There were lots of kids with blond hair at the school, but I would probably be able to pull the guy out of a crowd if I wanted to. With a single glance I memorized the entirety of him. Why? I didn't know. Because I was bored? Probably. Boredom killed, didn't you know that? I didn't want to die anytime soon, so I might as well have made little plans to do stuff without my friends.

Like befriend a potential weirdo? Maybe. Only if I was super bored and he was an easy target. But with my people skills, who wasn't?

I wondered what my friends were doing before I could forcibly stop myself.

Fuck it, I was bored.

 

C is for Crazy​

"She didn't rape me! How many times do I have to say it?!" I said so loudly I could feel the tendrils of pain contract my esophagus. I wanted to say it again, but then I realized that I probably screamed like a little baby.

They weren't listening to me at all. Wasn't that their jobs? To listen? Father's and Doctor's?

He stared at me with a sort of level-headed cool that was inversely proportional to my level of calm, "Spencer. Your father told me about last night. He even told me about the call you gave him during school. Why do you deny what you said less than three hours ago?"

No. No. "No!" I said once more. It definitely wasn't a scream that time, but probably above a normal speaking tone. I didn't say anything to my father last night or at lunch. I went home and slept the day off. During school, I was in the library typing my essay because I had nothing better to do. Why did everyone, seriously everyone, think I was saying stuff I never said? Doing things I never ever did? Why?

"Doctor, I don't understand. I seriously don't understand. Why do you keep telling me that I called my mom a rapist? That's just sick. It's sick. Why do you keep lying to me?" I asked with confusion in my voice and on my face, my furious anger all burnt out. Or, well, seeming that way. I had to be honest. Or at least, I had to try and make some hearted attempt. The only question that didn't buzz in my head was why I have to be honest.

Smiling a smile too sad to be faked but too stiff to be personal, Doctor Bryant averted his eyes for a split second before settling it once more on my face. "Spencer, how long have known me?"

What? "Um, I don't know. A couple of years? Since the beginning of high school, so I guess two and some years?" I said calmly but irked nonetheless, my previous spin of emotions long behind me.

"How many sessions have we had?"

Another odd question he probably knew the answer to? Shifting, I mumbled, "I'm not really sure. More than a couple, probably."

"A couple? Probably? So are you saying, in a span of over two years, we have only met four of five times at best?"

I stood with energy and started to rant in a mixture of confusion and frustration, "Doctor, I don't understand. What are you talking about? What are you always talking about? I don't know! I don't even remember. A couple of times? To me that can be three to thirty. All these sessions go the same. Of course I wouldn't remember them."

He looked at me evenly, again. So many times, I could easily think. But, how many times could I seriously recall Doctor Bryant's bifocals?

"Look. I'm trying, Doctor. I'm trying to be honest. I'm finally trying. Isn't that good enough? I don't want to be honest. But I am. I'm being truthful. I don't understand. What the hell are you two always doing? Always trying to tell me?"

"Why are you being honest? According to what you're telling me, you weren't honest before. Why now?" Sidestepping again? Again and again and again. Tell me something Doctor. Tell me anything.

Sitting back down, or more like letting my legs lose control and buckle underneath me, I groaned. "What the fuck is up with all these stupid questions? I have to be honest. I have to be. I said so. I told Father, so I kind of have to live up to my promises, right?"

"When did you make this promise of honesty?"

"I don't know! Last time I spoke to him, maybe. Probably? Probably."

"When was that, Spencer?" he asked as he leaned forward in a hint of interest.

"Not yesterday. But, uh Christ. The day before yesterday, most likely."

"Do you mind telling me in what context did you make your promise?"

"God. It was… I don't know. We were just talking about… about. We were talking about this appointment. I think. He told me to be truthful, as if I weren't, and I said yes."

"Spencer," he said reclining back in his chair as if noticing an inconsistency in my soul, which there were probably millions of. "Do you know when your father made this appointment? Do you even know what kind of appointment this is?"

"It's an emergency appointment for breakthroughs and such. He probably made it, I don't know, when I was in school."

"Why would he make an emergency appointment if he hasn't seen you in two days? What breakthrough could he have thought I would be capable of exploring with you?"

"I don't know, since he's crazy?"

"Crazy? No, no. He's not crazy. He's just a concerned parent. He speaks with you every night, as I am aware. Are you aware?"

"What do you mean? Of course I'm aware he talks to me. Every single night he tries to talk to me about something. Every single fucking night."

"What about last night?"

"Of course," I answered automatically, the vision of my father standing at the foot of the stairs in my mind. He was blocking my way upstairs, I remember, so I got super pissed.

"No," I said immediately after I complied with the Doctor's silly, stupid, and unwarranted accusations.

Why was he trying to trick me into admitting something that never happened? I didn't speak to Father last night. I did not. Didn't. I… didn't think…

"Spencer," he said softly, raising his larger body from his chair. Dropping his notepad and pen, which he constantly scribbled on, noting and keeping track of my ever thought and movement that he could, he started towards me.

"Spencer," he said again, softer, closer. God. Closer? Why closer? Get away from me. Away. I didn't like it when you get close. It reminded me of Mom. She always liked to cuddle. I didn't like it. I don't like it.

Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Fuck. Just. Go. Away.

"Are you alright, son?"

Tightness. That was all that came to my mind. Not the familiar one. Of a certain warm, wet, oh fuck… good tightness. The slick and tantalizing tightness.

No. The tightness was harsh, different. It wasn't surrounding me, engulfing me. This time I was making it. This time I was the one delivering it. It was through my hands. My fingers. The only similarity was the warm quality, nothing else. The feeling that soared up and down my body wasn't anything I felt often enough to recognize. But given the situation, it was probably anger.

Wait, wait. No. What situation?

 

D is for Death​

Hey! The kid!

That was the only comprehensible thought that went through my head as I saw 'the kid,' as I have so graciously dubbed him in my mind. It was the last ten or so minutes of class, so I was freely walking around the class, jumping from person to person. Conversing with one odd individual and the next was easy enough, granted the teacher lost control over us about half an hour prior, but it couldn't ease the boredom I felt so deeply inside.

Oh woe.

But then, in a wonderful little twist that I didn't expect, I saw that blond kid.

I just had this class, like, yesterday and the day before, if I really thought about it. But I didn't see him in either of those classes. Did he skip out? Or did he have a meeting with his doctor person? Doctor Bryant? Oh ho ho, even wondering about the kid's life was getting me excited. For all I knew, chfft, he could be just another make believer just stretching his sob stories out of proportion. Or he could be normal and I was the one taking things too far.

"Hey," I said casually as I slipped into the chair next to him. He didn't even look up. What a weirdo. Or maybe he's just introverted? Nope, weirdo. Screw him. Looking around, I noted how everything looked from this point of view. I had a perfect, unobstructed view of the teacher, door, and clock. Those were the three most important things, or two, not really counting the teacher.

"So," I said, shooting for conversation once more, "What's your name?" Nice way to start a conversation was what I personally thought. But he didn't even move. His head didn't even twitch in recognition of my voice. This guy probably never had another human being speak to him before. How sad. And I! What a great person was I to talk to and befriend this strange creature! Loners, yes, a specific breed of losers.

But I was a people person, so I shouldn't be discouraged. Even if he was a loser slash loner, everyone naturally got along with me. Like, everyone. I had never met a person who didn't even remotely enjoy my presence. It was gift. Or maybe a skill. I practiced since my first day on Earth. MAKE PEOPLE LOVE YOU. That was my first thought, my first long term goal.

Hah. Maybe not.

"So," I said again, shooting for even more conversation, "Do you always sit in the back?"

That was rude. But I was a pretty rude person, so I guess it wasn't all that bad of me. People loved me, anyway. Most of the time, anyway.

God. Was the kid going to ignore me? He better not. All he was doing was looking outside the window. What was so cool outside the window?

Glancing out, I noticed what was that certain what.

I was none for those silly little poetic drabbles of poetic nonsense. Nature, romance, and all that mushy stuff were good and all. It was entertaining and all. But, it wasn't my thing. What was outside that window, now, that was my thing.

Late autumn weather was pretty, with the grayed skies and darkened grass. Almost into winter, most of the leaves have already fallen. It was pretty, to a certain point. But the blood. Now, my dear imaginary friends. That was what topped the cake.

"Holy fuck!" I said loudly. A smile on my face, I watched as two boys knifed the hell out of each other. Now, now. I knew 'knifing the hell out of each other' wasn't a laughing matter. It shouldn't even warrant a smile on my face. But it did. Why? Because to me, all that was occurring was still fantasy. I was inside. They were outside. I was watching them from the other side of a plane of glass.

We were in two different worlds at that moment. And I think, for one sick moment, that was what it felt like to everyone else. We were separate. Death could not reach us. They were there, with death riding on their teeny teenaged shoulders. As long as I was on the other side, I couldn't be touched by death at their stupid hands.

Some girl yelled for Mrs. P to call for the police as I sneaked a look the kid. Why? I didn't know. Here was a question. Why ask me why I did anything? You weren't going to get anywhere. I didn't even know the answer most of the time.

But, I was happy that I did. The first look at the kid's face was, I didn't know, revealing. It was so unfeeling. No, scratch that, it wasn't without one 'feeling.' There was a very distinct emotion on his face, and I could recognize it clearly. I wore it so many times it might've been permanently, to an extent, etched on my good looking face.

My very, very good looking face.

"Oh my God! Jimmy just threw up," the same loud girl who yelled for the cops burst. The spell I was under broke, as I blinked rapidly and turned away.

Looking back outside the window I noticed the two boys weren't knifing each other anymore. They were trying to knife themselves. What a change of events. From homicide to suicide. Goody. But the coppers were there, so nothing could seriously get out of hand. I mean. How could it? Big burly manly men against some depressed and out of their minds teenagers.

As the timed ticked away and the bell rang, signifying the end of the hour long class session, I faced the rising blond.

"Hey," I called on impulse, not even thinking. I simply wanted his attention.

He looked at me, all traces of emotion gone from his face. His eyes were greenish, I noticed then. No, it was more blue-green.

"That was pretty sick, wasn't it?" I asked, letting my words open for interpretation.

He looked at me shortly, and then looked away as he stuffed his belongings into his backpack. "If you think about it like that," he replied without even looking at my facial expression for a hint of my true meaning. Well, if you were wondering. There wasn't one. I just wanted to say something and that came out.

But his words, clipped and almost harsh, made me like my boredom game even more. A mean guy? Hell yeah. Following him out the classroom, I noted to him, "I saw you at library the other day."

"That's nice," he retorted testily. I think I was annoying him, but who cares? I didn't.

We walked like that for a moment more before I said, "My name's Vincent." Was this kid seriously going to disregard me and brush me off with quick phrases? I hoped not.

"Okay." God. This kid. I didn't even know his name, but I was seriously thinking of put him at the top of some sort of hit list. Yeah. Number one was 'The Kid.' Not really ominous, but it fit.

We were walking in the same direction, so there was no way for him to seriously lose me. Well, unless he tried to change his route, but I doubted that he acknowledged my presence long enough to find it worth the trouble. So I continued walking right next to him, close enough to be considered friendly but far enough to be considered polite. I didn't think he'd notice the difference, since he was probably a loner, given his sour and unsociable tone.

"Were you watching them?"

"No," he said sarcastically.

"I mean, did you see it start?"

"Yes."

"How did it start?" I asked, probably getting a bit too excited.

He didn't even glance at me, but he paused before responding. "They were just talking. Then they pulled out these knives and starting going at each other. Not really that exciting," he mumbled, indirectly backhanding on my odd interest in it.

But hey? Who wouldn't be interested? For all I knew, the kid was the only one to see it from beginning to end.

"So," I said again, "What's your name?"

For a while, I didn't really think the kid would tell me. I mean, I was just some guy who decided to talk to him. That was probably more attention he ever got from another peer in his high school life. I was really charismatic, naturally, but I wasn't very nice.

I must have made some sort of positive impact on him, though. When we reached a door I remembered to be part of the math building, he replied, "Spencer," before leaving me to walk on my on.

Spencer?

What a nerdy name.

 

E is for Eventually​

I hated math. Decently good at the tedious subject, it was probably a wonder why I hated it so. Was it the numbers? The postulates and theorems and theories and principles and fucking so many other Goddamn things? Maybe that was why. Just maybe.

"Spencer," the girl next to me whispered under her breath, the warmth of her body invading my senses just the slightest. With a small hand and a questioning gaze, she pushed her book towards me, "Do you understand the example?"

Looking at the problem with a sort of attentiveness that should have been numb, I nodded slightly. Wendy smiled shyly, blue blue blue eyes lowering in timid appreciation. That wasn't normal, but regardless of that mental note I lightly underlined key phrases with a mechanical pencil I was spinning in my fingers seconds prior.

Speaking lowly, careful not to let my voice carry to the front of the room, I noticed how her blonde hair fell across her shoulders. Her bare shoulders, or, nearly bare. It was only marred by the appearance of a thin white strap, but I could still peripherally see the little freckles that lightly spotted her pale shoulders. Her soft shoulders. Her pretty, milky, and exposed shoulder.

Leading from there I noticed her thin arms crossed in front of her in poorly hidden frustration. The placement of the arms, thin and girlish and soft, could only barely hide the almost illicit opening of her top. Exposing her…

Her…

God.

"Do you see now?" I asked quietly. As good as I was at the stupid subject, I wasn't particularly adept at explaining it. Maybe it was my terse words. Or maybe it was my lack of enthusiasm.

Wendy's face turned towards me, pretty to an extent but more innocent seeming than anything else, a careful frown evident. "No. Well, kinda… I think I'll just ask the teacher." She licked her lips subconsciously. Just a simple, quick, subconscious darting of her pink tongue, it was. Pink tongue tonguing pink lips. Pink lips glossed a faded artificial red and fully jutted out.

She raised her hand, rising a bit in her chair in the meanwhile. I moved a little in the opposite direction subconsciously, if only to suit my lack of comfort with such proximity. But even so, even if I felt the goose bumps rise on my forearms in uneasiness, I left my eyes on their own. Really, I was simply inconspicuously trailing all over that lithe little body with a carefully disguised gaze trained on the distance.

Thin waist curving in and then curving out made that nice little shape that just made my blood boil. Places to put my hand, if I ever dared to place my hand… Hips made for movement, small and sharp minute twists or pronounced writhes…

Oh Wendy… I needed to stop.

Standing up, I decided to leave the classroom. Only pausing to make eye contact with the teacher, I walked as briskly as I could without seeming as if I was rushing. I needed to stop. I needed to calm myself down. I never did stuff like that before. I'd never, God, perverted over her like that before. It was disgusting, wrong. I was disgusting, wrong.

Wendy was a nice girl. She had a pale complexion, similar to my own, and wavy blonde hair. Her face was pleasing, I guess, but only somewhat. It wasn't as if she was hot (I hated that phrase I simply hated it). It didn't make sense for me to notice her like that. For the past several years, I almost convinced myself I simply didn't find people attractive in general.

(liar liar liar)

I didn't have dirty dreams; I only touched myself every so often in order to relieve tension in my body. I never fantasized or imagined specific others when in the mood, it was only sensations and situations.

Maybe it had to do with my 'odd' behavior I'd been supposedly plagued with. It was happening more often then any other time. What odd behavior? My supposed lost conversations, confessions, and moments in my life. There weren't any gaps, really, or even inconsistencies. It was a load of crap. Father told me I attacked Doctor Bryant. Why? I didn't know. He just took me aside yesterday and calmly told me that I was acting stranger than usual. Something about how my problems usually surfaced twice or trice in a month came out of his insincere mouth.

I would think… if I was lying about something as disgusting or vile as… as… as that I'd remember at least vaguely. But there was nothing. I could remember my childhood, I could remember my younger schooldays, and I could remember what happened to me on a daily basis. Well, mostly remember. But who noted and marked every event in their life?

Splashing water on my face, I calmly began to put thought on my situation. Maybe I should rephrase that? I tried to think of my situation. But the words were too horrendous, so horrendous, that even in my mind I couldn't derive ways to compose a general idea of what Father thought was happening to me or what Doctor Bryant was helping me for.

Mommy didn't touch me.

Mommy didn't rape me.

Mommy didn't sexually abuse me.

Mommy didn't make me do this. Mommy didn't make me do that.

"Mom didn't. Mom didn't. Mom didn't," I repeated to myself in a mindless mantra. Over and over again, I would repeat those words. Until it became true, I'd recite it in my head. Until it was the obvious truth, I'd replay it.

Eventually, my brain lost sight of the purpose. My mouth moved. Words pushed outward. My hands gripped and fisted. Body bent over the sink. I was loosing it. I was seriously loosing it.

Was I getting worse? I could be, if there was any 'better' to worsen from. But I somehow doubted it, given that I haven't been particularly well since I was a silly little preteen.

Why? Because Father left? Because he abandoned me and Mommy? Because he had sex with a whore? Because he cheated on Mommy? Because he left me all alone? Because he left Mommy all alone? Because… Because… Because.

There were so many reasons I could have been unwell. So many. But when I thought of it, they were all the same things just reworded differently. All that stood was Father. When I thought about it clearly, that was the only thing. The only logical reason I could have been so messed up, fucked up. Father. If he hadn't done what he did, I'd probably be normal. Probably. Maybe. Perchance.

Taking out my cell phone, I checked the time. Ten minutes in the bathroom and I already had a new resolve. But I shouldn't really call it a resolve, it wasn't as if I was making plans or scheming anything in particular against my father. I was just coming to a conclusion, a justly made and logical conclusion. All of it was his fault. That was what it came down to. In the untimely end, that was everything would ever come to. Everything.

But seriously, I wasn't thinking properly at all. My father never did anything malicious on purpose. Maybe he was blind to the effect he had on me? If he was, than it would be cruel of me to hate him in any way. Even I, in my stupidly broken manner, couldn't truly hate another person. It was unlike me, in more ways than one.

God… It was also unlike me to look at such a good person in such a disgustingly perverse manner, but did that stop me? No. The thought came, even if I didn't want it there. In my head, so sick, so sick, so fucking sick.

I didn't know the girl particularly well, anymore, but I still knew her body. Not in the disturbing way, in which I had to have either fantasized about or actually touched her body. But I've seen her without proper clothes on, which wasn't odd at all. Everyone ran around carelessly in the bathing suits all but a few scattered weeks a year.

Two piece swim suits didn't leave anything to the imagination, I learned a while back.

But did that spur on my behavior? The memory of Wendy in a pool when we were still in acquaintance with one another? I hoped not. If something as trivial as that was enough to destroy my perception of my entire persona I was doomed.

"Doctor Bryant," I thought aloud suddenly. Shouldn't I tell him about this?

Yeah, probably. He was a trained professional, even if he was trying to help me overcome something that never happened. He could help me, just not with that. If the thought that I might be aroused fucked that much with my head, it would only be logical to assume something wasn't correct with me.

Yeah, something wasn't correct with me.

…

In another impulse (funny I was having quite of few of those lately), I flipped open my cell. Seventeen messages. Four missed calls.

I deleted all of them, not even bothering to view any of that crap my 'friends' wanted to throw at me.

 

F is for Forever​

I wanted pizza. I didn't know why, because most of the time pizza disgusted me, but I had a craving for oily cheese covered slabs of overcooked bread. School lunch wasn't my preferred meal, but it wasn't all that bad. It was like overpriced fast food with really bad service and horrible quality. Not all that bad.

Okay, okay. You caught me. I lied.

Looking at my cell phone, I noted the time. If lunch was forty five minutes long, did that give me enough time to drive to a pizza place? Five minutes to find my car, five minutes to drive, ten minutes waiting, ten minutes eating, and another ten to get back to class. Exactly forty minutes, if I hurried. Yeah, I had enough time.

Running my hand through my hair, I wondered how long it was since I actually ate lunch alone. I'd never really been ostracized before, well, excluding that one time. But who was I kidding? That was, like, one hour. Every guy I knew secretly wanted to know how good another guy can actually be. I mean, to most of them, as long as they were the one receiving head they weren't gay. Silly questions like, "Is it good because the guy knows what feels good?" surrounded me as soon as everyone got over the shock that I really was the king of sex among them.

This time, I really fucked up by fucking with the teen Jew version of Hitler. If I was lucky, my car wasn't keyed already. What was the worse he could scratch into it? "BiTcH" was probably a bit too girly of an insult for him. But anything with more than five letters would most likely overpower his brain and give him hemorrhaging.

Circling my car, I checked for inconsistencies from this morning. The same ugly black paint, no longer sleek and shiny as it may have been ten years ago, evenly covered the vehicle. No cracks, no ugly messages, no nothing. Now that I really thought about it, I doubted that John even knew which car out of the hundreds that parked at the school was mine.

Or maybe he did, given that was where his girlfriend gave me one of her many blowjobs. But enough drama, I thought to myself. It was fun and all, but only when it didn't involve me. It often got really messy with me in the middle, considering my past relations with people. Oh yeah, and because of my family. But I liked to ignore them for what they did to me as a child.

No, not like that. Freak. Ew, I could only imagine the thoughts that ran due to that one sentence of mine. My family was just super embarrassing and scary. Mom and Dad would coddle and protect me in the sickly sweet and sticky way. My brothers? They were worse, only because they chose not to show their love the normal way. Brotherly man hugs and sips of beer were a no no.

I used to be sick. It wasn't some big illness that would haunt me for the rest of my life or some hereditary disease that my parents passed onto me. It was just a simple sickness. Maybe I was downplaying the severity? If I really wanted to think about, which I didn't, I was close to dying when I was a baby.

I was no medical miracle, but it still surprised the doctors that I was in such perfect health. Well, not perfect. I was still underweight for my age, which was another way to say 'too short too skinny.' But other than that, there wasn't all that much to complain about. I was in an adequate shape.

Unlike that kid over there, look at him hacking away his guts. Whoa, talk about unwell. On his knees, that was how bad he looked. Sheesh, should I stop?

In a hurry, caused my some sort of flitting twitch in my gut, I pulled over and yanked my keys out the ignition as fast as I could. I practically stumbled out of the car in my haste to reach the coughing guy.

"Hey," I said awkwardly, feeling him convulse under my hand. He was shaking so badly I halfhearted wondered if I should call 911. The way his blond hair started to drip from sweat sort of worried me, since it was decently cool out.

Blond hair?

"Uh, Spencer, right?" I mumbled, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. I probably looked like some sort of stalker. First talking to him in class when I'd never noticed him before and now helping him out when he was having some sort of near seizure.

Jeez, what was I doing? I shouldn't be worried about whatever image I may have had in the guy's mind. I should be worried about the actual guy.

His bluish green (or was it greenish blue?) eyes were shut tightly. His breath was labored. His face was red. If I hadn't noticed his cell phone on the sidewalk and the voice shouting out of it, I would have made some pretty dirty jokes. Thank God I didn't.

"Spencey? Spencey?!" the female voice from the phone called out. Impatient. Strict. "Spencer, answer me right now. Answer right now, son."

I looked over at Spencer, hunched over and biting his lip so hard I could see it start to bleed. No longer shaking, he stared at the phone not even two feet away from his face with such, I didn't know, fear that I couldn't help but shut it.

What kind of mother could scare her child so badly and not even notice?

"911," I chanted to myself quietly as I took the cell and dialed the only number engraved so clearly in my mind.

I didn't remember well what happened between the phone call and the arrival of the ambulance, but it seemed to take forever. Rushed words fell from my mouth and were delivered to the other line. Questions I couldn't understand hit me, and replies admitting my ignorance answered.

All that I really noticed was the expression on Spencer's face. It turned blank as soon as I closed his cell. His teeth no longer unconsciously mutilated his bottom lip, but it was still red from the agitation and bloody from the force of his bite. There wasn't enough blood to drip onto the sidewalk, but enough to make his cuts noticeable.

His eyes. Fuck. They scared me a bit. I could easily admit that the lack of emotion in them at school was kinda cool. In a weird, stony brick wall kind of way. But how his eyes looked at that moment sent shivers down my spine. Not the good kind. The bad kind. It wasn't as if he chose to not flaunt his emotions. It was as if he couldn't.

That very thought sent shivers down my spine once more. And at that, I consciously acknowledged that I wanted to know. I wanted to know about the phone call to his father, his lack of attendance the day before, his cold behavior towards me, his spastic attack in the middle of the day outside of school, his mother and why her phone call freaked him out so much…

Above all, I just wanted to know him.

I was such a faggot.

 

G is for Grotesque​

"Louder." Mommy…

"Did you not hear me, baby? I said to be louder." Mommy. Mom. Mom.

"Louder. I mean it, Spence. Louder."

I woke up screaming. I woke up crying. I woke up terrified out of my messed up little mind.

God. I woke up chanting the name of the one person I didn't want to see.

"Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy." I screamed for him so loudly I wondered if I could be sent to the happy house for all the noise I was making.

But the weight that threw itself on me was enough to shut me up. Heavy, heavier than I remember the weight of another being, than most other beings, but it felt too good at the moment for me to care. My father. The one who gave life to me. Even if it was in some sad attempt at rebellion against my grandparents, my father did make me. And as easily as that, he could break me. I was so glad he loved me enough not to.

Unlike…

"Daddy," I cried quietly. There was wetness on my cheeks that I would normally swear wasn't caused by tears, but I was too distressed to think about anything. Especially after that.

What was that? Never mind. I didn't want to know. I was safe. That was all that could matter to me at the moment. I was safe here with my father. I was safe. There was no one else.

It didn't matter that my father was silent when I was in this sort of helpless state. It didn't matter that I couldn't see a thing. He would speak to me as soon as I recover. I would be able to see as soon as I was composed enough to reach for my glasses.

Yes. That was it. As soon as I could compose myself, I would. I would. I knew I wasn't the bests of individuals, but an attempt would be made. Reaching out, with my right hand, to try to find glasses I haven't… seen in years…

I… didn't wear glasses… anymore.

"Father," I mumbled. At the sound of my voice calling him by the only title I allowed of myself when I was sane, he stiffened. It was like a ripple. Although not comfortable, it was soothing to have him care about me and show it in a fatherly touch. In one second, with one word, my father was back to normal.

He released me from his hold and looked at me with even eyes. Level headed, emotionless father… His eyes were like Doctor Bryant's. Although caring, there was something about it that made me hate it. Hate him. God. I hated him.

"Where am I?" I demanded harshly. My voiced cracked with each word, but it wasn't because I was crying only seconds prior. It was because I was so pissed off. Pissed off, yeah.

"At the hospital," my father replied smoothly. I hated how smooth his voice was while mine was scratchy and worn. Our voices were almost identical, with only the passage of time and the touch of cruelty to differ us. The similarities between my father and I ran far and deep. The same hair. The same eyes. The same body. I knew when I finally matured into an adult that I was going to be a carbon copy of my father. The same blood, I could only say to myself. The same blood.

I scoffed at my own stupidity. I wasn't my father. He wasn't me, either. We were two different people, no matter how apposed my silly logic was to that idea.

"Why?" I drawled annoyingly, hoping to sound at least a little like myself. Even with the shake in my left hand and the tight grip to the sheets with my right, I wanted to seem normal.

He sighed, "You tell me." I almost felt my left hand shake harder.

"I wanted to skip school," I said immediately. That was the truth, wasn't it? I wasn't feeling too good. I wasn't sick in any way. I was just tired and bored. Oh yeah, and there was that one guy who bothered me on my way to math. Math. Math class. And there was. That thing. Yes. That thing.

"But," I mumbled almost to myself after a few seconds, "I fainted?" That had to be right. I was walking home, which wasn't more than a fifteen minute walk away, and then nothing. I must have fainted. But I couldn't feel any pain, so I must have not fallen on the sidewalk or the street. Maybe I tilted and fell on grass?

That would explain the lack of bruises I was so prone to, I thought to myself as I looked at my arms. There wasn't any pain either… or at least any pain that I could immediately feel.

I looked back up to meet my father's gaze. The look in his eyes made my stomach burn. "You had another panic attack, apparently. You were found by a passing student. He called 911."

A cool hand shook my burning shoulder. A concerned voice said my name.

Looking down at myself and then back up at my father, I took note of the time. School would have ended twenty minutes ago. Work wouldn't have ended until another three and a half hours.

"Who?" I asked, not kindly but not as harsh as I would have liked. I liked it when my voice came out angry and unrestraint. Then, and only then, could my father notice my emotions apposed to my words.

"The boy? He said his name was Vincent. I saw him pacing in the halls," he answered calmly.

The words passed over me like a flood of water. Or maybe a tidal wave? I think the expression had some large body of water in it, but it wasn't harsh, cold, or drastically stunning. It was just like when I stepped into a shower. The water over me and my brain working out the grotesque kinks in my soul, and all I can remember is a single sentence.

"I saw you at library the other day."

Who said that to me? Oh yeah. That guy who talked to me in English. Or at least he tried to talk to me. I was a bit distracted at the time. With what? I didn't know. Life, maybe?

The knock at the door interrupted my thinking as I angrily snapped my head up. Who in hell was putting a pause to my thinking? Apparently some teenager. Wavy dark brown hair and worried brown eyes peered at me.

He opened his mouth, eyes flickering across the room, "Hello…?"

I felt my body tense. I felt my lungs exhale. I felt my hands, both of them, grip my cheap hospital blankets harder. Licking my lips, tasting old blood, I let my face fall into anger. Before I could tell my father to get out, he stood and left me with the new guest.

My eyes looked back onto the brunet teen. I watched him lick his own lips in some sort of nervousness, as if finally aware how stupid he looked. Or maybe aware of how angry I looked.

Then he smiled cheekily, eyes still confused and worried, and spoke again with a boyish voice but a knowing tone.

"Hi. How are you?"

 

H is for Hell​

I really wanted to comfort him. Err, well, not really.

Too bad he would probably kill me if I even tried to. I mean, who knew how messed up Spencer really was? For all I knew, he could be some sort of necromancy-happy cult leader with a plan to stir the punch. I put my hand on his shoulder when he had his, uh, incident. But any touch outside of a breakdown could seriously land me in a hospital.

I was a fucking weakling and a coward. Sue me, biyatches.

But that was where I was anyway, a hospital. Yeah. Seriously. No jokes or anything. I, with my hatred of hospitals, willingly went into one just to see the poor fellow.

How sappily romantic would that sound? A boy I never cared to notice before suddenly catches my attention. Then, in a horribly, ha ha, horribly coincidental incident including me as a savior he lands himself in a hospital. In, what, maybe just over an hour since I actually learned his name I had him in a life debt.

Really good for some sort of sappy romance novel, but it probably wasn't at all that impressive for real life.

Who was I trying to kid? That was exactly what happened. Well, maybe there were more details to the pretty, witty, and gay scene that was my life, but who cared? Not me. Well, maybe I did. Drama was so much fun.

"What happened at the library, the day before yesterday?" Wow, talk about jumping in. No little distracting and polite chit chat for this 'ere fella, it was all about business.

Wait. "Huh?" I answered intelligently. Decorum, we all must remember decorum.

Facial expressions were enough to send anyone running, I noticed as I let my attention become consumed. But his eyes, which I was glued to, were awful. The anger in them wasn't normal. Normal anger was something hot and suffocating. It looked like anger, in Spencer's world, was a chilling and deathly force. It seemed as if the shear amount of anger he felt completely froze him as a person but cleared his mind to the point of scariness.

Ooh, scary. I was so-oh-so scared.

"The library," he said. His voice should have been clipped and steady (or at least I thought it should have been), but instead it sounded harsh and grated. It as almost sounded like the voice of a person who had recently cried his heart out. Breaking eye contact and gazing at his cheeks, I confirmed my suspicions. His cheeks were still wet and his eyes were so red rimmed I found it simply amazing that he acted so, umm, adult in my presence. Tears were a child thing.

"Oh, like, the day before yesterday?" I asked with a smile even when I knew exactly what I was talking about. I was becoming more and more slightly obsessed with the conversation ever since I overheard it. Well, not like some freako weirdo. I didn't mull over every word like some drama whore. Um, maybe a bit like a drama whore, but not some sort of freako weirdo.

It was the idea of it. The idea of someone suffering from something horrible, even if the something wasn't all that horrible, gave me a special thrill.

"Well," I said before Spencer could murder me with the power of his mind, "I, ahem, was in the library and I just happened to overhear you speaking. That's it."

"What did I say?" I blinked steadily. What? I thought the kid just wanted to know if I was stalking him or something. Asking about the contents of his tom-emo moment was almost like tricking me into admitting I was at the edge of my seat the entire time.

"I don't know," I easily replied, deciding to keep it simple. I knew, sort of, but what would it make me look like if I recalled it? A stalker? A freak genius with a horribly good memory? More like a stalker, if I were to seriously judge.

But instead of looking relieved, like I would expect any one to look after realizing his secret was safe, Spencer instead dropped his lips to a slight frown. Aw, how cute. The boy could show emotion.

God, I was a jerk. He was showing plenty of emotion a couple of hours ago.

His eyes sharpened once more as he prepared to speak, "No, I'm serious. I need to know what I said."

"Umm," I said, playing the role of a fool, "You were talking to your father about something personal. That's all I really remember."

My cheeky smile, which usually charmed people and kept them close to me, helped me not. I thought, if I ever truly did, that it only made me more suspicious. But I was nervous! I couldn't be blamed, seriously. People smiled oddly when they got nervous. It was like an automatic reaction against awkwardness. Smile for the crowd and everything would be all right.

But I dropped my fake smile, my utterly cute and irresistible smile, in favor of something more like me and less like a whore. I wanted to know about his, Spencer's, life. Did I really need to hide my curiosity? Maybe, since, well, most people tended to be super secretive about their personal matters.

Oh well.

"What happened to you?" I asked, flipping the table on the question and answer session we were apparently having. Back to the main topic, I'd say, the main topic.

"You tell me," he demanded snappishly. His eyes broke from mine for a split moment, as if perturbed by his own response.

Okay? "Well, I was on my way to get some pizza." I walked closer to occupy the seat that was occupied before by Mr. Danielson. "I saw you on the way. It was kind of hard not to. You were seriously sick. Hacking and coughing, then shaking and sweating. Pretty scary, if you really want to know."

"Where's my cell phone?" he asked quietly. Talk about change of character. One moment he was all hard ass jerk off on me, and then in another he was all sullen and almost depressed. Why? That was what I wanted to know.

Pulling it out of my pocket, I smirked. I really did forget to give it to the paramedics as they drove off with the kid and Mr. Danielson as I greeted him politely in the halls, but it kind of worked for my favor.

"Ooh, this?" I asked, my teasing voice on. Waving it front of his face, I cooed, "Does Spency Wency want his cell back?" I leaned in a bit closer, just to check to see if his stoic face could truly hold no emotions. Yeah, that was the only reason why. But God be damned, I saw nothing.

He stared at me with such a blank face I couldn't help but tease him further.

"Gimme a kiss?"

…

FUCKING HELL!

Oh shitty shits. Going to cry. Going. To. Cry. Ouch. That really hurt! I didn't mean anything of it. Seriously, man! Oh my God. Oh, em, gee. Fucking shit. Motherfucker. Motherfucking son of a bitch.

I was only joking. No need to take me so seriously. I was only, fucking only joking.

"Fucking hell! Why in fucking hell did you punch me for?!" I groaned. My face! My beautiful boyish face that often sends girlies moaning would no longer work. He completely destroyed it. No more free sex for me. I'd have to settle with sluts and whores and prostitutes. Oh wait, I always settled for sluts. Would whores and prostitutes make much of a difference?

Aahhh. No matter, no matter. It didn't make a difference when I was in so much PAIN.

Ow. Ow. Fade away pain. Fade away, please?

"Get the fuck off of me, faggot."

Faggot? Faggot?! I'll show you faggot you… ow…

"Faggot? I was only fucking joking you fucking cock sucking, oh shit, shit, shit… Bitch! That hurt."

Hearing the door click open, I looked up in joy. Yay, someone to save me from the insane motherfucking, cock sucking, violent, homicidal blond kid. I should sue.

"Spencer." Mr. Danielson, thank goodness. Spank your stupid son for me.

"Father." What? No spanking? What kind of pussy father was that? He hit me! Hit him back!

"Did you hit him?" Uh? Duh… Did you not see me on the floor? Covering my nose? In so much pain? Well, the pain mostly faded away by now, but it would probably be an ugly bruise in a while! Just you all wait!

"Yes." Did he have no guilt? He just punched me to the floor! Wouldn't any normal person feel at least a little sorry? Considering it was an unjust punishment for a silly little joke, I thought he should.

If he weren't just so interesting, I'd be at home right now watching television or getting head from some slut in the back of my car. Spencer Danielson, fuck you. Fuck you. Punching me, this was just not worth it anymore. Fuckity fuckity fuck fuck. You weren't even that interesting! All I had was one conversation and a breakdown. That was definitely not enough to warrant my attention after your little punching stunt.

"I'm going to call Doctor Bryant."

Did I just say that? Well, I changed my mind.

I wanted to know. Again.

 

I is for Injustice​

He got on me and no one expected me to be at least a little disturbed? Disturbed enough to lash out at him? Yeah. What sort of guy asked for a kiss in exchange for a cell phone? It wasn't as if I lost it or anything. He just decided it would be a good idea to keep it after he so stupidly called 911.

"Did you hear me, Spencer?" I tried to burn a hole through my father with a glare. God. Father just couldn't shut up, could he?

"Of course I heard you," I said while trying to bite back any insults that may have accidently poured out. I was a bad son, I knew that, but he was a bad father. That had to account to something.

Hearing a groaning noise, I looked to my left. The guy kept looking at his hands as he pressed it to his face and removed it. Was he looking for blood? I didn't punch that hard. I didn't even punch at all. At worse, he'd have a bruise in the morning. If he hadn't indecently propositioned me, I wouldn't have hit him.

I didn't even ask for him to shut the cell, either. He just shot out his arm and closed it. Then, without my consent, he used it to dial emergency.

Wait…

Emergency?

Where was I?

I panicked. "Where am I?" I asked slowly. My father's eyes widened. I could still see that well. My sight was just a bit blurry. I could still see him reach for his cell phone, and instinctively I knew he was contemplating calling Doctor Bryant.

"Where am I?" I repeated, my voice higher than before. My breathing came out harsher as I tried to search my father's face for an answer.

Oh God. Thoughts didn't simply race through my head. Thoughts exploded. Where the fuck was I? Where in hell were my friends? Who the fuck was that? Why…? Why wasn't Father saying anything?

"Spencer. Jesus Christ. Calm down," said the boy on the floor. His voice, although sounding strained, was light on my ears. I was almost relieved to hear him apposed to the silence of the room and the sound of my own shaky voice.

Who was he?

Looking at him, full on the face, I calmed. Oh yeah. I remembered. Who could forget? I mean, the guy tried to fucking kiss me. Faggot. A bruise could be seen blossoming, turning a dark red soon to be purple, but it served him right. He had to be so fucking annoying. What was his name again?

"Vincent." The way the name came out of my mouth sounded more like a statement than a question, but he answered nonetheless.

"Yeah," he said while letting a small smile come to his face. It was completely unlike his cheeky annoying grin from earlier. That one stretched across his face, and although it may have made any normal person smile back in some sort of contagious urge… I didn't. But then again, I wasn't exactly normal.

This one was almost surreptitious. It was small, almost insignificant, and almost unconscious.

I wanted to know why.

"What the fuck are you smiling at, faggot?" I spat, my words harsher than normal. What was my normal voice? I didn't have one, except for the flat monotone I used at school with teachers.

Innocently dropping his smile, however small it was, he instead took on the cheerful grin he had on before. The stupid silly smile. Look at him grimace, serves him right for smiling so stupidly after I punched him. "Aw, and here I thought we established names? Hello, my name is Vincent and I'm an alcoholic. Would that be nicer for you?"

Hello, my name is Spencer and I'm a… I'm a…

Father interrupted before I could insult the other boy, Vincent, further. "I think you ought to leave, uh, Vincent was it?" He sounded so accommodating, so almost kind, that I nearly told him to shut the fuck up because I wasn't done talking to Vincent. But cowardice took over me for a moment and I hesitated to anger my father.

Who knew what he would do to me? I fucked up my entire week. Not even a days rest for Father, no, he had to deal with me, his crazy son.

The injustice would probably get to him sooner or later. Then he would most likely leave and dump me with those relatives that neither of us were comfortable with anymore. And then it would be just like before when it was still so Goddamned horribly horrible.

"Yeah," Vincent stood, "I just need to give Spencer his phone back." He got up from the floor, taking the cell phone I didn't notice before with him. That was why he got so close to me in the first place. Wasn't it? Yeah, it was. He wanted a kiss in exchange for my phone. Fucking homo. Fag.

The way his eyes shone with mischief should have made me wonder, but it didn't. I just wanted my fucking phone. I had to delete some messages. But Vincent couldn't let me do what I needed to do that easily.

He just had to face me with a little smirk on his face.

He just had to kiss the palm of his right hand.

He just had to FUCKING slap me so hard I could barely feel my face until seconds after the initial impact.

AND, above all else, he did it in front of my father.

Did he have to put all of his strength behind that slap? Wasn't he offended by my faggot comments? I would think he'd punch me or something manly like that. Slaps were for gay guys and women. But no, he slapped me and it stung like a bitch. Did bitches sting? I didn't think so… But it hurt. A lot.

"Faggot enough for you?" he inquired so casually, so happily, I was almost shocked to silence.

The pain from the hit started to spread, but I paid it no mind. No, no. I was too busy, too preoccupied with looking at Vincent. The smile on his face made me think he was laughing. But it was the look in his eyes as he stared at me that made me tingle. Tingle? How gay did I sound?

It was as if he was waiting for my reaction. My reaction? My reaction?! But before I could think up a proper reaction, one that would blow him away and shock him more than he shocked me, I started to smile.

It wasn't a happy smile, like the jubilant ones I wore as a child. It was smaller. I could only imagine how weird I looked at that moment. But I didn't care. I, for once, found myself caring about nothing but one thing. The light in Vincent's eyes, at seeing my screwed smile, brightened. He was delighted, so fucking delight. It was as if I gave him the best possible reaction in the world.

I think I liked him.

…

God, I needed to talk to Doctor Bryant.

I had to be really messed up.

Truly, truly fucked up…

 

J is for Jail
​

I dropped the phone on Spencer's lap and walked away happier than I'd been in such a long time. No, no. Not even being in a stupid God forsaken hospital could have made a downer on my natural high. But it wasn't really natural, was it? No, it wasn't. My happy time, my high, was caused by a hardly safe meeting with "the kid."

He punched me. I slapped him. Sure, there were more details, as in I kidded around with kissing him and then I gave him an indirect one via the palm of my hand, but who cared? I sure didn't. I was happy. Bursting with such an unexplainable happiness, I just leaned on my car door, unable to truly comprehend the feelings jumping up and down my nerves.

Something was in my chest, below my heart but above my guts. And it felt horribly wonderful, so much that I halfheartedly wondered if I could preserve the feeling. Just to feel it again. Yeah. Just to feel it again.

He smiled! He actually fucking smiled. I fucking slapped his face as hard as I could without visibly looking at if I was making too much of an effort. But no, he just let his lips twitch upward in a little smile. At me or at the fact I had the gall to slap a guy who punched me for acting gay, I didn't really care.

His mouth just sorta, not even sorta. He just more, like, did. Up and curved, to make that familiar shape. But he just… Well. It wasn't happy, oh no. It was more, like, just a bit more demented. Not evil. Lord Almighty no. No ill intentions or facades could have helped forge that smile. His smile was almost so subconscious, so uncontrolled. He didn't even think to do it, I would think. Almost… thoughtless.

It was the best possible thing to do. I didn't know what I really expected as I stared so hard at his face, but I got it. I got it. The it I wanted. The reaction was just too perfect. He must have read my mind or something, because I was going to die. I was going to die happy.

I was going to die happy. I was going to die happy. I had never felt this happy before. I must have really wanted that smile.

I let more of my weight escape control as I rested my cheek against the window. Feeling a little stretch of my face, I wondered how often this happened to me in the past. Well, not too often if I thought about it.

I have had joyous experiences in the past. Like. Losing my virginity. Punching the manager as I was fired from Jamba Juice. Killing that damn bird with Donny and David's paintball gun. Being student of the month in the fourth grade. Getting the PSP for my birthday.

Letting my smile widen, I started to tug at the lapels of my button down shirt.

Seriously, was I some sort of girl? Shaking that rhetorical question away, I unlocked my car and shuffled inside. Oh me, oh my. I was acting faggot-like again.

Maybe it was because I was still basking in the glorious joy that I thought to myself Spencer was a pretty cool guy. I mean, if he managed to make me feel this good, when dozens of girls could barely make me feel satisfied…

No.

Uh.

That. Um.

That was wrong.

Fuck.

No.

I… I didn't.

Starting my car and pulling out the small hospital parking lot, I grimaced in sadness. How pitiful. As soon as I got my high I was brought straight back down. After every ultimate high there was an ultimate low. Fuck that low. It hurt, and not in the good way the happiness did.

Thinking about it, I supposed a feeling of accomplishment in my gutty innards. I did get what I wanted, or at least some of it. I wanted to know about him. I learned a bit. Not a lot, but a bit.

Spencer Danielson. He had a father. He had a doctor, Doctor Brian? No, Doctor Bryant. Not that much, but it was still something. Spencer, he was a weirdo. Stone cold to me at school, but then he was in such a state at lunch that it spurred my interest so deeply. He spoke so tired at the library to his father, but at the hospital he gave off that 'I hate my parents' vibe so strongly I felt bad for Mr. Danielson.

Then there was his short skip in memory, in personality. That moment should have made me wonder about his sanity. First the question about the library, and then he couldn't even remember where he was? When I told him to calm himself, because he looked close to having a stroke, I didn't actually expect him to calm down.

He took one look at me and then it was like he remembered where he was and what he was doing. It was kind of freaky, but at the same time I was buzzing with a pre-happy high. He remembered my name.

Pulling into the driveway at home, I sighed to myself. Oh woe! My brothers were home from college. David's car right next Donny's car right next to my parent's shared vehicle. The whole family. Yay.

A thought came to me quite suddenly as I shut and locked the door, ready to walk up the short path that led the front door. I should be glad the family was all together. Yeah, most of the time I liked avoiding the prospect of getting smothered with love, because as the baby of the family I was often 'showed' generous amounts of love. They were just too suffocating. But usually I was excited when we were all together. Since my brothers went to college it was rare for them to be home at the same time, even if they skipped more than anyone I knew.

I must have been suffering from the high to low drop. Bad for your health, many doctors say, bad for your health.

"Vincent! Where did you go?" Mom asked, silently chiding me for irresponsible behavior. I should have told them I wasn't going to be home until later, sue me. Or better yet, sue yourself. Yeah, you should have stuck a warning label on yourself before you decided to think. Warning: product may be stupid.

Fuckers.

I brushed Mom off as flippantly as I could as I shrugged and headed into the living room. There was nothing better than a little television before dinner. Kill some brain cells. Replenish some nutrients. Awesome.

My brothers must have seen something on my face that Mom didn't, because as soon as they saw me they stood up angrily.

I didn't listen to what they said and only stood at attention to comply with what Donny expected of me. I knew David would urge me to respond and try to weasel revealing little responses out of me, but I was smarter than that. Well, if anything.

Donny waved his hand in my face, snapped his fingers pretentiously and pushed my shoulder. Testosterone much? I grimaced when he pushed my shoulder, at the same spot again that bastard, and mumbled a retort that couldn't have done much to restore my standing.

David stood at the side, blabbing away with his arms crossed. I refused to register what he was saying, on account that he was probably going on about some conjecture or whatnot that had nothing to do with me. All worldly shit and higher understanding, my brothers tried to be. Fuck them.

Instead, only listening to news Dad was watching, I tried to block out all the stupid little aggravations they tried to throw at me.

Something about teenage boys. Okay. Knives and weapons at school. All right. Stabbing each other then themselves. Mm hmm. Local high school. Yeah. Jail time expected for the eighteen year old. Gotcha. One of them pled insanity. Yeppers.

Wait. Didn't that just happen today? I mean, the boys? Those two guys who were having a knifing party? I could not believe I forgot about it. They were all going at it during English. I looked over Spencer's shoulder to see it. Just because there was a fight going on, he paid next to no attention to me. I couldn't really help but become engrossed in it. There was nothing else to distract me. As soon as I got interested, I lost my concentration.

Well. Spencer was much more interesting than those silly little emo kids. Spencer, I would think, must have been a bit emotional himself. All self-pity and the like, because he gave off that weird sort of vibe.

Fuck, was I thinking about him again? Obsession or not, I should stop.

Turning away from my brothers, the twins David and Donny, I walked to my room upstairs. Donny snapped and cursed at me while David broke his cool and started yelling, but I doubted any word they could say could make me feel worse or better.

Sighing like the little teenie-bopper-boy I pretended to be at times, I barricaded myself in my room. I was just like the French now.

I grinned at my lame mental attempt at a joke. Oh me, oh Vincent Morris me. Was I not the most hilarious creature out there? The bestest, greatest, most amazing individual to currently inhabit the world?

My grin shrunk, just the slightest. I could have sworn that it remained stiff and wide and stretch across my face, but even I couldn't lie to myself that blatantly.

There was just this stupid empty discontent spot covering over the once happy spot.

Jesus Fucking Christ. Help me oh savior. I must be the emo one here.

 

K is for Kill​

My cheeks hurt. My mouth hurt. My entire face hurt. My chest hurt. It wasn't too painful, though. It felt almost good. Almost good enough to want again, even with the accompanying sting of a slap riding on its shoulders. The smile on my face just made it worse, but I couldn't really help it. It just stuck there like some sticky icky glue.

"Hi Spencer," Laura gently spoke to me. Her voice was a little cautious, a little wary, but it still held the same kindly helpful tone I always heard from her.

"Hello," I answered back easily without even looking up. The painful sting of Vincent should have faded away days ago, but it simply didn't. I think some part of me liked it a bit. Well, the more masochistic part. Someone hit me. How freaky did that sound? Someone hit me and I wanted to savor the pain, the simple elation that rose out of my chest and stuck onto my face in the form of a smile.

It should have made me angry, but it made me happy. I was fucked up. It was fucked up. I was fucking fucked up.

But I already knew that, didn't I?

"Spence? Honey? Doctor Bryant is ready to see you." I rose at the sound of her voice, which was comforting in a weird way. Father and Doctor sounded detached when they spoke directly to me. It was comforting to hear at least a bit of emotion in a voice.

Following that mentally ingrained path, I shuffled my feet in a lazy manner unlike me until I heard Laura close the door behind me. Keeping my head down, studying my shoes as I went along, and quietly sitting in that familiar setting was all I could hold enough attention to do.

I looked up once, only to glance at Doctor Bryant sitting in his plushy chair far away from me. I couldn't help but feel a slight sting, unlike the good one I was obsessing with, which struck me as something I should have expected but didn't. I did choke him, didn't I? Even if I couldn't even recall doing such a stupidly violent thing, the fact still remained that my hands made red rings around his fleshy neck. Those red rings later turned purple, as I saw from my seat on the other side of the room.

A decent distance separated us. It was close enough to seem unsuspicious, but it was far enough that it would take me a great deal of effort to cross if Doctor thought I was going to attack him again. This time he would have a chance to scream for me to be apprehended instead of croaking for help.

"I went to the hospital two days ago." I spoke so childishly, so excitedly, that I almost wanted to stop my self and ask what the hell I was doing. But I couldn't stop, my legs kept bouncing and my smile just froze my face as I tried as hard as I could to keep 'the feeling' there.

Doctor was writing so quickly and rapidly that he didn't even look up to me as he hummed in acknowledgment and asked me to continue.

"A classmate found me and called emergency for me," an afterthought, "His name was Vincent."

He nodded again, finishing a few jot downs before asking conversationally, "Did you thank him?"

"No."

Why would I, really? I knew I was rude to the point of shame, yes, but why would I thank such a person for 'saving' my life? Because he 'saved' my life?

"Why not?" Doctor Bryant chided softly, pausing in his writing as if he thought my lack of manners abysmal.

The reason left my mouth before I could comprehend it, but I supposed certainty as I spoke anyway. "He's not a friend. I don't like him."

"Hmmm…" Doctor murmured a few broken words to himself, "What else happened?"

I shrugged noncommittally and dismissed the question with a simple, "Nothing really." Because, really, if I thought about it with clarity I almost always lacked, nothing important did happen. There wasn't anything of pertinence to share with the good Doctor.

"Nothing? At all?" he said with a smooth voice that sounded less suspicious than it really was.

The goodness was overshadowed, just for a moment, by a little anger. Doctor Bryant. Fuck. That nosy fat ass kept staring at me as if he thought I would suddenly crack under the pressure of his gaze. If I were any less prepared, maybe I would have. I knew I did it many times in the past.

I shook my head in one easy, practiced motion.

"Are you sure?"

I was breaking. Damn it. "Nothing important…" I mumbled, looking down at my legs. Perchance, well, maybe it was perchance, that, well, I wasn't really spilling. But anyway. What was there to say? There wasn't anything.

I started to smile. Impulsively? Not particularly. I didn't just do it out of whim. It was more… a feeling. That feeling of happiness was starting to leak back in.

"I see." He didn't see. He couldn't have seen. "Why don't you tell me about this? You seem pretty happy."

"Yeah…" I absentmindedly rubbed my cheek. "Vincent… at the hospital… He slapped me."

Paper crinkled just a bit and I heard more rapid scratches. Nonetheless, I kept my head down and my smile wide. "He hit you?"

"He slapped me," I corrected immediately, as if it mattered. But, it did. Suppose this. After being insulted for acting homo, that guy slapped me. It was different that simply being hit or struck at. It was a slap.

A slap. There had to be some connotation on that action, or at least a vague stereotype to be drawn.

Doctor Bryant gave a few tut sounds, "Why would he slap you?" Trust the Doctor to try to root a problem.

My smile twitched, not due to a shortage of happiness but just because of a sharp spike in enjoyment. "Because I punched him," I reasoned, saying it as I would any other statement. Matter of fact. Of course. What other reason was there?

He looked at my thoughtfully, studying me as much as he used to. That was before I leveled out to become the little brat I was. "Hmm… Why did you punch him Spencer? It's quite unlike you to be so violent when unprovoked."

Before I could think I responded in a happily airy tone, "I choked you." No, I didn't. I seriously didn't. Why did I say that? I was so stupid. Now he was going to think that I thought that I did it. The choking wasn't me. I didn't do it. Even if I felt, for one short second, for one stupid moment, that I did.

"Let me rephrase that, Spencer." I wanted to see you try. "You're usually not violent with your peers, with those of your own age group." He reached up to touch the frame of his glasses.

I almost thought he was forgetting the topic, as he sometimes did in favor of chasing me into verbal circles. But he started again, before I couldn't let my demeanor fall into some sort of hazy-dazy. "Again with the question, though. Why did you punch the other boy?" he said with that Goddamn reserve in his voice and mannerisms.

"He deserved it," I said at first, "He was being stupid."

"So, are you saying that you hit another person simply on the basis of being 'stupid'?" he almost prevaricated, not-so-hidden implications unraveling. I saw the reasons for the question, and I instinctively thought of several responses that would deter him from further dissecting me.

Yet, I didn't say a thing. My face felt as if it was twitching, although I knew it was probably unperceivable.

"Spencer-"

I cut him off without meaning to.

"No," I fingered the edge of my pants pocket, "He wouldn't give me back my cell phone. Then he had to go and…" ask for a kiss.

Shit. There went my happiness. My smile. All dropped in a split second all because of some thought that shouldn't have even ran through my head in the first place. I was trying to forget about that. As good as it felt to have his palm to make impact across my cheek the thought of his lips touching anywhere on my person brought disgusted shivers down my spine.

Way to go Doctor. I was having a swell time at home, with father gone at work and myself just reading old books. Thinking about it more acutely, I would say I was trying to read the books. The feelings and sensations were just too enticing to let go of, and I spent most of my time simply trying to hold onto them. I lasted the rest of Friday and the entirety of Saturday.

I was happy because he slapped me because I punched him because he asked for a kiss because he had my cell phone because I dropped my cell phone because I was having a situation because…

Because…

Because…

Because I wasn't well. Yeah. I wasn't feeling well.

Doctor hummed in appreciation, happy that I was cooperating more than I did usually. Because, well, usually, I would simply sit here with a dry frown.

Over and over again in my head I would heed the advice of those people I used to call my friends. "He doesn't want to help you. It's all money to him" "Don't fucking listen to some fucking fat ass shrink. You're better than that, you motherfucker." "Just ignore the guy if he wants you to talk." "Trust me, Spence. Talk only to me."

I smiled again, a little more elated than I was a few seconds ago.

"… ask for a kiss."

Doctor Bryant scribbled twice as fast as he usually did. A relieved air surrounded him, permeating the room and almost affecting me to the extent that it was exuding off of him.

I glanced at the silver wristwatch I rarely wore and noted that I only had another forty five plus minutes before I could leave. My temperament dropped drastically at that realization.

Joy.

 

L is for Lying​

I was better, now, I thought to myself. It was, let me see, four days since I last saw or thought of the kid. Yes, four days and not a single thought of him in my mind. My head was completely clear even as I sat in the seat I occupied since the beginning of the week, and stared out the same window I looked out after properly meeting Spencer. Hah, that wasn't even a proper meeting. He nearly completely just brushed me off. I was snubbed by him, all in favor of a little site seeing.

Talk about sight seeing, there was a whole lot of cops out today. Well, considering last week there was a horrific and violent fight that scarred the entire student body I didn't find it too annoying. I mean, who knew who was going to flip out and start shooting everyone just because he or she saw some bloodshed? Excluding Spencer of course, but who knew how crazy he was?

I just couldn't stop thinking about fucking Spencer. Well, not exactly fucking him. Just, 'cause, well, him. Because! Gosh! Fucking. Uh, heh. That was just a bit too weird. Err, too weird. I didn't like guys… because I~ was not gay. Not gay. I acted gay sometimes, but it was just to be funny. Girls loved the gay act, especially when they knew I was more than happy to have their heads between my legs and their tongue attached to my penis.

Penis. Penis. I was not gay. Penises should scare me. Well, not really. I have one. It was there. Attached to my body. Sticking out like it was supposed to and serving its two purposes like it was supposed to. Pissing and fucking. Great, wasn't it?

Great, great.

Great like pie.

Cream pies. Yummy. They were delicious. The face girls would make when I presented it to them was great too. They'd stare in shock for a short while, kind of not understanding, but then a slutty smirk would settle and we'd have some serious fun. I got a bit sticky in the end, but hey! Girls seriously liked stuff like that. I never really cared. I would have easily preferred to eat, apposed to having it slathered on my cock then licked off by some silly girl.

But I liked the licking part! The girl part too! The girl part was the best part. It was the best part. No. No. No. I was lying. I was a liar. The part where I would close my eyes and ignore the silly girlie between my legs was the best. If I could close my eyes, I could turn off the volume. Their whines and groans, so fake and too phony, could be shut out if I tried hard enough. And then I would concentrate on the sensations.

The mouth. The tongue. The hand. Any girl would usually do for me.

I simply liked it. If I was with some inexperienced first timer, it was a bit fun. I'd have a chuckle. I'd give simple directions. If I was with someone who knew what they were doing, as much as a girl could know what they were doing, it was better. I could stay silent, ignore the annoying mass of flesh in front of me, and concentrate on my own sweet gratification. All at once. Yay.

But it didn't mean anything, really. Even if I truly thought hard about it and realized that what I really liked to do was ignore the girl and concentrate on the pleasure, it didn't mean anything.

It didn't mean anything at all. Nothing. It didn't mean anything, even as I watched a blond haired boy with blue-green eyes enter the room, or even as I kept my eyes steady on his face as he walked towards his usual desk without a glance towards me or a care of my existence. It didn't. It couldn't.

Even with my mouth drying and watering, my eyes dragging up and down while observing the shape of his body, and my face allowing a smile so obtuse I should have just… Gah! Jumped out a window or something…! It didn't matter.

I didn't find girls attractive a good chuck of the time. Sue me. I didn't find guys attractive. I was serious. I just liked the sensations that ran with the blissful activities sex allowed for. It didn't matter that the feeling I got, just after I violently visited with Spencer, made me feel more satisfied and happy than I have ever felt before. Better than sex, I'd begrudgingly admit, but not because I was gay. It was because I was a bit of a weirdo. That had to be it. I was just weird.

He ignored the entire period. It wasn't as if I made an effort to attract his attention, but he ignored me! Me! He just completely brushed me off and did his work like the bipolar student he probably was.

I glanced at him all through out class, every couple of minutes, just to see what he was doing. I was obsessed. I admit it. But it didn't mean I was freaky for him, I just wanted to keep tabs.

When class ended and we all stood to leave, I waited for Spencer. He was so not going to ignore me. It was preposterous. He just couldn't. No one could.

His head lifted up to reach mine only because I blocked his direct exit out of the hellhole of a boring classroom. I expected a blank stare, a confused frown, or even an angry snarl. He was an unemotional, short-term memory loss, and violent kid. It wouldn't surprise me if he pulled any of those expressions on me.

What he did do, though, was quite unexpected. He smiled. It wasn't happy, like a smile should have been. It wasn't smug like his smile at the hospital, when I smacked him, was. No, it was if he found something funny. The upturning of his lips was like he did it only to hold back dry laughter at a dry joke.

My stomach turned upside down as a small grin started to take form on my face. I hope he wasn't inwardly laughing at me. But, even if he was, it would be okay.

That had to mean that the thought of me crossed his mind during some point in time, like he crossed my mind so many times since I first noticed him.

"Hi," I said smartly. I was so smart. Hi. What kind of greeting was that? I was stupid. Fucking dim-witted. Retard. I was retarded. No, political correctness, we all must remember. Mentally challenged. Special. Handicapped. Stupid as shit.

Spencer responded, nonetheless, not taking notice of my oh-so draining inner turmoil. "Hey."

My heart was going to stop.

And like that, we became the best friends in the whole world. BFF. Best Friends Forever. We were ready to skip in a green meadow bursting with colorful flowers of every shape and size imaginable. Tra, la, la, di, da. Fucking best friends, we were. No. Not quite, but I could tell we were getting to that point. Yeah. We were getting there, even if the logical part of my brain was telling me I was delusional.

I walked with him to his next class and asked what could have been interpreted as prying questions. I knew what I wanted most was the answer to those numerous questions, but I couldn't keep any of them in my mind. One after another, they just tumbled. Out of my mouth and into Spencer's ear. What I really noticed, what really drove me on, was the civil tone and behavior.

Before, Spencer sounded annoyed when I tried to make his acquaintance at school. This time, it sounded as if he didn't mind in the least. He wasn't open or naïve with me. He didn't truthfully answer all my prying questions. Most of them he simply sidestepped in a flippant manner. But it was so, I didn't really know why, oh fuck, I just didn't know why, pleasing to hear his voice answering every one of my questions.

His attention was on me, although not completely. But it was still on me. On me! Even as he went to class and my legs led me towards mine, which was quite a way down, I couldn't help but think back on him.

I liked his eyes. The blue-green color was amazing. What should that be called? All colors have a name, I was pretty sure. The shades and tints of every basic hue practically have an attached name. But I'd never seen eyes the color of Spencer's. Maybe because it wasn't one solid color? Yeah. It was varying shades of blue. Mostly, I could tell. But there was this greenish hint and splashed speck of color in it that made it look pretty, like him.

He wasn't pretty. That wasn't what I was saying. Not at all. He was a guy. When you looked at him, up and down, as I did several times already, fuck yes, no one would or could say he was pretty. It was just pieces of him that where pretty. Only when taken apart from the whole and examined like one would a bug, did his features become pretty.

His eyes, most definitely. The color. It was a rare color; it was common enough that I saw it all the time, every day really. But there was a certain way that it matched him. His appearance just really summed up and gave meaning to his eyes. Pretty. Yeah. I could admit, easily, to anyone, that they were pretty. Though, I wouldn't use that word. Fuck no. I'd simply say something smart and live up to that little image.

Uh, his hair, sorta. Blond hair was so freaking common here, but I liked his hair. It was light, but also had some strands of darker hair. It was almost in that surfer, skater, slightly outgrown style girls thought was completely adorable. It wasn't, heh, naturally that way. I was sure of it. No way. I'd seen guys with hair that naturally impressive, and they were not a dime a dozen.

My foot scuffed the linoleum floor as I entered the classroom.

His face was cute. Not pretty, because he didn't have those weird effeminate traits that plagued a few guys. But. His face. Baby face. Spencer had a baby face, once that would look young for years and would, in twenty years time, would be the envy of every other male. His features. They just fit. Was there any other way to describe it? No, there couldn't be, because if there was I would have been able to find it. Spencer's face just fit. He looked nice. Good.

I high-lowed a couple of guys as I passed their desks and smiled somewhat suggestively at a few girls that were in my good book. I moved towards the middle, where my inconspicuous seat was. A guy, Kenny, I thought his name was, joked about the predicament with friends to me. I didn't listen. Laughing good naturedly, I shrugged away whatever remarks he may have made.

Spencer. His… mouth…

It was… I didn't know.

Uh…?

Several minutes passed.

God! Fuck!

Fuckity fuckity fuck fuck. REALIZATION. I hated it. Oh lord, it should just die and take a place next to 'awareness.' The epiphany, the final grasp on a revelation was so hateful. It just attacks without warning. There it comes. Ouch that hurt. There it goes. It was like that.

I should have been surprised. I should have been disgusted. I should have been a lot of things. Moreover, I should have been confused. I wasn't though. Revelations were like that. The thought in my mind could never, ever again, be erased. It was there to stay. It existed. I thought it. I felt it. Therefore it existed. In my head, in my heart, in my fucking icky guts, it existed.

I, Vincent Morris, liked Spencer Danielson.

…

…

…

Ahh shiiiiit…

 

M is for Monsters​

I was in a strangely pleasant mood. My head was almost literally in the clouds. How did it all start? The contentment sitting in my stomach wasn't a natural feeling, but I didn't feel drugged three ways from hell. No, it was almost as if blissful delight in every passing fancy was coursing through my veins and allowing me to see the world in a truly different light.

I was even polite to other students. Big shocker, it most definitely was. Most of the time, I chose to ignore my classmates in preference to actually doing what we were supposed to do at school. Learn. Not too many understood that, regardless of the number of 'high achievers' I was stationed with. I wasn't top of the class, but I was in the brightest of classes.

After English, there was this guy who spoke to me. I didn't know who he was, but just seeing him made me damper for a bit. The urge to just laugh at him bubbled in my form, and I almost did. Instead, I bit it back and made a weird expression.

Weirder than that, was how he smiled so asininely back at me. I didn't intentionally want him to think of that as an invitation to make nice with me, but he took it as such. Asking such odd questions and smiling such a dreamy smile, I almost wondered if he was high. He didn't really smell like smoke and I didn't think he was the type to smoke during passing periods, but what did I know?

I didn't know him, for one.

But I think he knew me. He asked how my father was doing. How I was doing. How everything was doing. He asked me about my incident. He asked about my cell phone. He asked about my face.

"So… How's Mr. Danielson?" "You know, it's been a while since you know. But. Err. Are you okay now?" "Is everything all right? Um, is everyone all right? Since, you know. Ah. You know." "When, out there during lunch, what, like, happened?" "Did you remember to check you cell?" "Hah. Uh. Jesus. How's your face? Feeling the sting still? I still am. You fucking punched me hard."

I didn't think he really knew what he was saying. I sure as hell didn't. What kind of questions was he asking? I was in the hospital last week. That much I knew. Complications that were mental in nature affected my blood pressure, which for some reason arose while I was dipping, and almost gave me a panic attack.

After that, I took it easy. I read books. I studied. I read some more books. I visited Doctor Bryant shortly. It was boring, but pleasant. Just like my mood, I was content.

Did I happen upon him during my stay at the hospital? I could have. I was drugged with feel-good goods nearly the entire time, and spent most of my time sleeping. I couldn't recall most of it. Except for my father, I was pretty sure I didn't encounter anyone else.

Jesus Christ. He was so fucking annoying. Father just kept staring at me and mouthing the same old words over and over. What happened? What happened? What in hell happened?

I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't fucking know.

Leave it be, would you?

"Spencer, where were you yesterday? Sick?" Oh. Wendy.

"Yeah," I said slowly, looking upwards at the ceiling for no apparent reason. It must have been my disposition. Airy and happy. Gay, kinda like that one guy.

She smiled. I knew she smiled. I didn't look at her, but I knew she did. She tended to smile when she spoke to others. Automatically, as if it was her default facial expression, she'd smile. And at me, even if I didn't really deserve it, Wendy would smile.

She leaned just a tad bit closer in a subconscious movement. It was another one of her tendencies. "You don't look really sick. Did you get better?" Wendy inquired with such kindness that I couldn't help but reply.

Truthful? No. Believable. Yes. "Yeah," I said, tilting my head back and facing her.

The only class we shared was math and we sat right next to each other because of those desks that demanded two people. She was the one to sit next to me, I remembered. Wendy smiled at me, like she did to everyone else, and sat down.

"What did you have? You were out Friday too, weren't you? Had to be something bad, right?" Although her little talks and attempts at conversation usually ended with silence on both of our parts, this time I decided to humor her.

I shrugged.

She hummed in acknowledgement as I shifted my attention back to the teacher. I didn't need to look at her to know her smile fell. I knew she couldn't smile at me for too long. No one ever really could without faltering.

Out of frustration. Out of embarrassment. Out of… well. Point was, goodness, no one smiled at me too often with sincerity that could last.

She dropped her voice lower when the teacher swept his eyes over our side of the room, "I didn't hear about… what had happened… until. Fudge, afterwards…"

I shook my head, fakeness attached to my face. "Don't be," I started, "Don't worry about it."

Blonde hair that resembled mine so much started to shift as she shook her head. I knew she was giving me some sort of stumble. Some sort of apology or whatnot, just in an attempt to comfort me. The fact she cared enough to try, really, truthfully, almost touched me. It almost made me want to smile and tell her that I never once doubted her goodwill, but almost was almost.

I instead opened my mouth, vague in the ways I loved to be, "Everything's fine really, Wendy. You know how it goes. Everything's fine. Going to be fine."

My avoidance and my omissions were probably evident enough for any eavesdropper to hear without a trouble. All I knew was that Wendy didn't deserve my crap any more than she deserved… the bullshit that exuded off of my words.

Wendy didn't need truth or simply spoken words. She needed pretty, empty statements and the gentle lulls of her old dreams.

"I spoke to, um, Cakey and Bethany," her pale cheeks flushed the most adorable (sexy) shade of pink I'd ever seen, "They told me about your talk and everything just started to make sense. I'm so sorry I didn't notice sooner, Spencer. I should have been able to see it." God damn. Her voice was so apologetic, so sweet.

My lips, dry. My gaze, appreciating.

I turned to the front of the room before letting my traitorous set of eyes trail back towards Wendy's red dusted face. "No," I stated as firmly as I could without fearing that I was going to offend her, "Don't think about it like that."

I was regurgitating again, "You know how it goes, Wendy. You know, don't you?"

Her eyes flicked up and then back down to me before she started to talk faster, in a whisper that didn't do anything to disguise the contents of our conversation. "But I talked to Text and Mitch," her face was beautiful to me, "Th-they told me not to worry. But then. Spencer. He just had to, he just, Andr--"

"Wendy," I said. Her name tasted odd. I really didn't want it any more, that flavor, that name. Although I felt for her, in a way that should have made me shiver and chill, I was losing it.

And oh how quickly I could lose 'it.'

The smile hurt not my face but my head. I was giving me a headache that I couldn't comprehend or be tried to comprehend. All I wanted then was for the talk stop and for us to politely ignore each other. She did do that, and so did I, in the past.

"I'm serious," I grinned at her without choking on the bullshit, "Everything's fine. Everything's okay. Don't worry about it. It was nothing."

I looked over her and saw her stance deflate. Although perturbed, I didn't find it in me to take anything other than the barest of concern for her. Maybe the 'life' was starting to get to me?

She smiled at me in a way I could only interpret as sincere, before turning her head back to face the whiteboard. Our teacher didn't give a damn that we spoke during class, and that usually suited us fine. It was just, fucking God, some days it was simply a little tense to have an invisible barrier between people.

Of course, I'd my own share of such unpleasantness. I could ignore it with the best of them. And, so I did. I ignored the awkwardness and the discomfort.

Class slid by without me noticing it. Bliss, maybe.

"Hey Spencer," her voice was too shy and too quiet for my liking, "Are you doing anything after school? I'm going to the movies with some friends. Do you want to come, with me?" I would have liked something a bit louder, with more character to it. Something I could listen to. Something that would have allowed me to feel the emotions in it would have been nice.

"I'm sorry." I really was. I liked you. You were such a nice girl, if my memory served me right.

Wendy has been in my classes for, how many, ten years? Since we were little kids, I remembered. Somewhere, somehow, she faded to the background. Like the monsters underneath my bed or the shadows that resided in my dreams, Wendy simply disappeared one day.

And I supposed I no longer thought of her as my best friend, in that weird span of time. But in front of me, with developments I liked to ignore (because I knew what they did to me) and changes to character that I refused to acknowledge, I knew I didn't like her like that.

"It's okay." God. You were almost a stranger now. You were a stranger now.

"I'm sorry."

It was not okay.

…

Damn it. Goddamn it. I wanted to talk to Butter, anything to get out of this.

 

N is for Nicotine​

Fuck me… Not like that. Get your sick head out of the gutter.

"I'm really sorry man. We cool now?" Yeah we're 'cool' now, Johnny boy. You tried to manipulate the masses into hating me, realized it was all for naught, and then are now trying to make it all right.

"Yeah, we're cool. It's all right," I replied back easily. Yeah, it was all right. All right of you to make me a social pariah, but who was really paying attention to those silly little details? Hmm?

He ran his hand through thick blond hair, and looked at me with hard blue eyes. "Look, man. We seriously cool? I'm not getting the forgiveness vibe from you. I know I was an ass, but I thought you slept with my girlfriend knowing she was, yeah, my girlfriend."

I titled my head up a bit. It wasn't a decided action, done to show my pompousness, but I supposed a holier than thou feeling anyway. I couldn't understand why Jessica was such a dumb bitch. Compared to me, aesthetically, John was a better catch. I appealed to a wider range of females, because of my personality. But John was the stereotypical atypical American dream boy. Stereotypically handsome. Atypically smart. Well, not smart enough.

"I'm just pissed at Jessica, you know," saying my words comfortably as if we were truly friends, "I didn't know she was dating you. If I knew, I wouldn't have let her go down on me. You understand, right? Considering, you know."

Of course you understood. Everyone in my circle understood me. Of course you knew. Hah. Everyone knew.

"Yeah man," John said with his nicotine scratched voice and punched me lightly on the shoulder before running off to find the whore. He was probably itching for a cock sucking. I sure as hell knew he wasn't that impressive. Kinda small, truthfully. That was what drugs did to him, heh, but genetics probably had a part in it too. Poor, stupid punk.

I was getting bored of my crowd. In, seriously, a couple of days…? I already found that the presence of the 'popular' kids, as my parents called it, was wearing me thin.

Who cared about parties and cars and drugs and bad sex? The guys I hung out with did. If I had it my way we'd be in a twenty four seven orgy. A really good one too. With lots of girls and guys and toys and alcohol and drugs and sloppy sex and stuff like that…

… I was joking.

But… seriously… yeah.

I needed a distraction. Something fun but interesting but sharp but still fun at the same time… God, I sounded as if I was describing my dream girl.

Let me imitate. Uh, hi! I, like, really, really want a girlfriend who is, uh, I don't know, hot? And smart! Yeah, smart. And, um, really good at giving head? But, not a whore! No, I don't do whores. But I don't want some prude… I just want… Hey! Look! Pie!

I wasn't some random stupid, stupid boy. I was a hot stupid, stupid boy. If I wanted I could pull the strings and play the games to get any girlie I wanted.

I started walking over to a group of people that I wasn't too close to. I knew all of them, but I couldn't say I was friends with too many of them. Really, I knew I could just stick to a few of the nicer guys and be polite to a couple of the friendlier ones. I'd done it before, just sort of assimilate myself into a group and makes friends with everyone.

It was never a problem; no one talked shit about me for doing it.

People just tended to assume that I was, if not an easily distracted individual, just one that took to people. I stuck to people, and somehow, they stuck back onto me. Or, yeah… Bad way to put it. It was more like this. People just liked me! Especially girls. I'd work my charm for a bit and BAM. Easy little legs spread apart for me like no tomorrow.

I wondered if it was the same for guys…?

Hey! Look! Spencer!

I wasn't planning on sauntering over, like some faggot. He already thought I was a faggot, if the comments at the hospital were anything to go by. I just wanted to say HI! Kinda like the in-the-closet-homosexual I pretended to be at times.

"Hi," I said. Shit. I did saunter over and say hi. Like, what kind of a weirdo was I? He was just walking, probably on his way to the library, that loser, and I stopped him simply because I was a lovesick puppy.

That was wrong. I wasn't lovesick. I just liked him. See here, in my world that just meant I wanted in his pants. Maybe I shouldn't have phrased it like that… It was more like this. I wanted him to get on his knees, all nervous because he probably had no experience doing anything remotely sexual with another person, and put his warm hands on my dick.

And then! Then… Spencer would go down on me…

I needed to stop. Seriously.

He looked up at me with clear blue-green eyes that made me want to just punch him. His stance was not guarded and his face neutral. And oh Lord. I just wanted to punch him.

Could I have a little more recognition? Uh, recognition? Did he not recognize me…? Well, that would explain his polite and civil nature earlier.

It should have made me worried that Spencer forgot me. I mean, I wasn't trying to sound all condescending and the like. It was simply weird for someone to forget such a distinct and amazing individual, such as myself, so quickly.

I wasn't going to even get into the weirdness of his other forgotten stuffs, because in all probability it could be properly explained if I ever got a chance to hear Spencer's life story. So, I was just going to assume that he forgot me.

I spent a few quick seconds pondering that one thought.

He forgot me?

Fuck no! No one forgot me! I was Vincent MORRIS. No one forgot a Morris. It was absurd. If not due to my brother's reputation at least, my name flitting in and out of various rumors should have made me just the slightest bit notorious. No one could forget me. No one should! Spencer, well, I just had to assume he just had a little problem.

I knew how to fix it, though.

"Ow?" he asked as if he wasn't sure if he should be saying that. I just slapped him! I didn't put a lot of vigor into it, yeah, but it was still a slap. He didn't even look affected beyond some indignation.

I smiled widely, "Hey, I thought you liked it rough. You were smiling last time, you know."

His light blond hair covered his eyes just the slightest as he looked down in what I discerned to be confusion. When he looked back up, I saw that smile I saw from before. Falling in love all over again, I was. But I wasn't in love, because that would be weird. I was in 'like' or whatever they call the emotion nowadays. Lust? Affection? Hard boner inducing want and need?

And like that, I did it! I brought the Spencer I wanted back from the dead. Hallelujah.

"Hey. Faggot." Was that my new nickname? I liked the way he said it, with the special little stretch of the first syllable and the rough finish. Sounded like sex without the sex. I was gutter-ized. Permanently gutter-ized.

"Me? The faggot?" I laughed, "No man, I think you're the gay. Who gets off on being slapped?"

He didn't laugh back with me, but I could see some sort of dry amusement one his face and a wry smile on his lips. If I was lucky, he did get off. If I wasn't, he was just being cynical over nothing more than a joke.

He didn't immediately turn away and stalk off, far away from me and my oh-so-brilliant presence, but rather tilted his head patiently for me.

I took it as an invitation, and started what could have been called a beautiful friendship. Well, haha, yeah, 'cept I wanted his mouth around my cock and, haha, and, yeah, such… stuff…

Damn, he had a nice ass.

 

O is for Overtime.​

The first time it really happened… I still have a blurry, blurry image of the hours before that night. It didn't help me one bit that I wrote it all down. It didn't help me that as soon as I remembered I burned it in my backyard. And it sure as hell didn't help me either when as soon as I remembered the second time I was already too far in my very own personal hell to find a proper way out.

I hated how I remembered everything in short intervals. The short time before. The short time after. It was then that I could recall everything, and I knew I could recall everything. Afterwards I just forgot again. Even funnier was the fact that even though I knew I was going to forget… I also knew I wouldn't try to help myself.

I wasn't twelve, like Dad or Doctor thought. I was nine.

And it didn't happen after my Dad left… That sad preconception my Dad held refused to believe that his wife ever cheated on him. In his mind, he explained to the good Doctor, they were equally faithful to each other. Although the relationship was long dead and long exhausted, they continued to respect each other not to actively cheat. The fact that my father succumbed under the pressure of a marriage meant nothing. Oh, no. Oh, no. 'Annie wasn't like that. She wasn't like that. She wouldn't do that to me, to him. She was a good mother until I left. Annie wasn't like that.'

It happened whenever she saw me and whenever she saw a chance. How 'bout that Dad? How did that sound? Huh? Business trips to the East Coast, to the Midwest, and all around the world? What did it feel like to not even suspect something? From the glossed hotel lobbies of New York to the large corporations of Japan to the poorly air conditioned buildings of the backwater states? What was it like not knowing? Even now. Who, what, when, where, why, how?

The first chance came when I was nine. God. Nine. I was only nine.

Dad worked overtime often. It wasn't because we needed the money, because we were well off, but because he always seemed to find fault with Mom. Whenever they were alone, they fought. Most of the time, they were alone. I didn't count as a person; I was too small to be counted.

I learned a lot of names to call others when I was relatively young. Bad, bad, bad names. I used to repeat them when I was little and ask my teacher what they really meant. Somewhere in me I assumed my parents didn't know what those horrible words meant, and that the only reason they said them was because of the reaction it always brought out.

My teacher gasped and asked me who said those dirty, dirty words. I shook my head. I didn't want Mom or Dad to get in trouble. From the way the teacher looked at me, I could tell even at the youthful age of six that something was wrong.

She asked if they were directed at me. I snorted and said obnoxiously, "No. They're icky words. Only icky people say icky words." She nodded, her graying hair and wrinkled forehead aging before my eyes, and told me to tell her if I heard any students ever saying them again.

The teacher assumed I heard it on the playground.

I didn't correct her.

Dad said he loved me. I knew he loved me. Mom said she loved me more. I didn't know about that.

Mom always liked to ask me, when we were sitting down and snacking on crackers and cheese, if my Dad loved me. I would always frown.

Why would she ask that? I would always think that. Although the thought now only causes wry smiles, I would 'always' a lot of things back then.

But I didn't understand much those days, and would brag to her how much Dad loved me. I never said it, but I wanted to. Dad loved me lots more than he ever could have loved Mom. I knew that. Because a love like the one Dad had for me could never fade and blacken to a hate he had for Mom. It couldn't and wouldn't and shouldn't. It was wrong.

So I never said it, and instead just recalled all the love filled moments and tender hugs.

Mom would sigh and hug me harder than Dad would. Dad did it with love and care. He was soft, in a way. He was firm, in another. He knew how to properly hug me. Mom didn't know. She hugged too hard. She didn't care she was suffocating me or that I didn't like her hugs. I liked Mom because she was my Mom. I didn't like her hugs.

Mom would say, "Well, I'm just showing you how much I love you."

"I love you, Spencer. I love you much more than your father."

I would nod into her chest, large and overpowering me, and mumbled back practiced words of love. She was my Mom. I loved my Mom. Mommies deserved to be loved, even if the daddies didn't love them. I knew I would try to love Mom, because Dad didn't.

Everyone needed someone to love them and love back.

She wanted my love in a very different way…

God. I was just nine… Just nine…

Dad was working out of town. He went to another city for business reasons. I never knew why he had to go. Sometimes, he just had to leave. He never liked to leave, either. I could tell. That was why I was so sad to see him go. I could see him unhappily doing work he hated, and didn't understand why he didn't just stay home with me. Life didn't work that way, I figured out later.

It was late at night, later than I usually stayed up. Mom said it was alright for me to stay up later for only that day. I was happy. I slept between eight and nine, depending on my level of jumpiness, so it was weird to be wide awake after ten.

It was nearing eleven when it happened.

Touching.

That was all I cared to write. I didn't feel anything worth mentioning. So, why would I write it down? I was confused. I was nervous. I was worried. What happened to me? What was going to happen to me? What was going to happen to us?

Us? My family? It didn't matter how broken we were. Dad and Mom hated each other. Oh my God, they hated each other. They loved me, though. They loved me. They stayed together for me. I didn't care for a normal functional happy family because I was normal and functional and happy.

If Dad heard about what happened then we'd cease to be a family. I didn't want that to happen. So the next time I saw the piece of paper, the one I scribbled and wrote on, I burned it. In my backyard, I ruined the only confirmation of my abuse.

Mom yelled at me for playing with fire. Dad spanked me on my bottom for misbehaving.

I pushed the event as far out of my mind as possible. I strove, with every ounce of my being, to forget the way Mom made me do things I knew was wrong. I knew it! I wasn't smart, but I wasn't stupid. What happened was not a normal secretive little game that mothers played with their sons, I knew.

By the time I was twelve, three years later, I had successfully convinced myself that such an event had never happened. I couldn't even recall Father ever leaving for that one night only. I couldn't recall Mom ever letting me stay up. I couldn't even recall the reprimands I received for destroying the only substantial piece of evidence there was.

But when I was twelve… I was not stupid, but I was not smart.

The wrongness of it all…

I was fourteen when Father found me naked and crying and screaming and nearly dying. My words were so simple but so full of cuts, "I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her…"

That was when I started calling him 'Father' and started forgetting about my life altogether.

Goddamn it… I just wanted to… Everything. Everything. Forget it all.

"I want to see Jake again." The saltwater that further blurred my soapy, bubbling, tearing eyes made no sense to me.

But Doctor Bryant, a regretful frown on his face, simply looked at me without any noticeable worry. Even if two years ago he would hurriedly list a million and one reasons I couldn't, Doctor Bryant still maintained his calm.

"That's not possible… yet," he said with certain emphasis, promising something to me that he couldn't ever give. Because, well, because they forbid it. My other doctors, my past doctors. Each and every one of them, the ones I simply hated beyond all reason, one by one dropped off my to-see list, told me that I couldn't see Jacob until I was fixed.

I stumbled over my words like the child I remained to be, even after years of having it forced away from me, "I just r-really want to see Jake again."

"We can't allow that."

"I want to see Jake."

"Not now."

"I want to see Jake."

"You have to get to get better."

"I want to see Jake."

I. Wanted. To. See. Jake.

The wheels turned and the bulb lit. Various mental knobs turned, just enough to let me see what I needed to see.

I looked at Doctor Bryant as evenly as I could without letting him see the sheer amount of desperation in me. His grey hair and his large form appeared so regal almost, so distinguished. The ever present calm that wafted about him irked me in ways I wish it didn't.

Okay. This was it. I was going to get better. If anything, because there wasn't much…

I was going to get better. I was going to lose the craziness, forget the way the world around me work, and finally get better.

Fuck the relationships. My relationships. They all were, after all, just a façade for something else, something that was self serving on both sides. Weren't they? Mutualism, parasitism, mutual parasitism? Father. Deborah. Mitchell. Dexter. Emily. Butter. And let us not forget, the 'most important' relationship I had at the moment with another person. Andrew.

My face and gut twisted, the thought of him churning my insides more than was healthy. I wanted to hide again. Hide with Butter, preferably, but anyone else would have sufficed for this level of self hatred.

There was another person, though. There was another person who could be amassed in that group and be labeled a 'friend.' Although different in ways the label didn't distinguish, Vincent could be considered an acquaintance. At the very least, if I wanted to consider the time he invested in my company.

How long was it since he first adhered himself to me, in some pathetic attempt that I knew more than I wanted to about? Not too long, if I thought about it with OCD tendencies that I usually didn't have. He didn't know a damn thing about me, didn't even know about the superficial rumors, didn't even know the obvious.

The sharp pangs of distress shot through me, memories I'd rather bury surfacing. Snapshots of my childhood and slideshows of my recent past blurred together as I tried to ignore what was staring me right in front of the face. My own lack of control.

And what did that lead to? What did that all add up to?

I was fucked up, crazy. I wasn't getting better. In two sum years, I had only managed a cyclical up and down. Never an improvement. Not even going to become better.

In my head, I chanted over and over again the words to settle me. I was going to get better. I was going to see Jake again. He would help me more than anyone, not because he was a good person but because he cared. If I could pass this first little test, the same test that stared me down for over two years…

Screw the mistake he made and the outburst I had. Screw that dark red tinge to Father's face as he found out.

Jacob. I just really missed Jake.

 

P is for Parasite​

"You know what?" I asked with a whisper.

The girl I was with that night smiled shyly. She had blond hair, blue eyes, and looked like the perfect little angel. Her name was… Kathy? Katie? Casey? Macy?

The nameless girl mumbled, "Hmm?" Her body was placed expertly next to mine, just barely leaning. I knew the tactic. Hell, I even used the tactic to the extent. Making myself look smaller, in the face of large and drunk belligerent a-holes, was a skill to be proud of. All it took was a slight twist to how I presented myself. Now this girl? She did the same, but only in a sad little attempt at turning me on.

I wasn't getting into her, if you know what I mean. My brain wasn't up to it and my libido wasn't feeling like it. She was too surreptitious, almost. Shy and quiet, she appeared…! But, that sure wasn't as hell her purse pressing against my dick.

My body turned towards her slut corpse, whispering sweetly, "We should stop." I was almost surprised when she just smiled. Almost, though, because sluts often came without a brain.

"Stop…" she giggled at me or my words, "What?" God. Whore!

"Uh," I sighed, not nervous, simply agitated, "This?" I waved my hand lazily and most definitely not faggishly, motioning towards her sad attempts at making me horny.

She sighed with a breath on my neck as she dipped her head low. Before I could realize what she was doing, 'cause some girls were really slick like that, she was in between my legs. On a normal day, I would have been impressed. Slightly, probably, because uber one three three seven type skills were rare among her breed. Sure some were better with their mouth and some knew how to use their hand well, but furtive? Sly, slick, furtive movement? That usually deserved snaps of sorts, kudos at the very least.

It just wasn't the time. I just wasn't feeling it.

"Define 'this,' please?" she moaned softly. Her hands went to unzip my pants. Pink polish covering nails of thin, delicate fingers. Softly, she pressed them above my stomach. She must have thought it pleasant for me, because she started me smile. I surmised then, because I didn't know her at all, that she must have been one of the many spoilt brats-slash-sluts to occupy my school. Well, considering I found her to be the host of a party thrown in the richer neighborhoods, my assumption may have been correct.

"Gee," I started as I shook her hand off, "When a guy makes a big hint like that, most girls know to stop." Gah, germies. Disgusting little girls getting too many ideas, ew, might infect me.

When I started to scoot away, she said, "… What?" Guiltily, I noticed that she was seriously starting to look confused. I felt sorry for the girlie, even when I didn't want to. I meant, I usually took anyone. Just because I wasn't feeling like it, she was probably wondering if she was butt ugly or something.

Wah, wah, I'm a fattie. Wah, wah, I'm not a pretty pink princess. Wah, wah, wah… Or, hah. Something like that. All 'em girlies were usually the same, right?

"I'm going to pull the 'it's not you, it's me' line right now, so be prepared," I told her, pulling her back up to sit next to me. God, we were in her basement. How nasty does that get? For all I knew, this was where her parents were hiding the large stashed pile of cocaine and pot.

Running my hand through my hair, I thought of ways to appease the girl next to me. I didn't want any nasty rumors directed towards me, and this girl seemed liked she was the popular type. Cheerleader, probably, or ASB, maybe.

"Oh, I understand. You want another girl, don't you?" she said, nodding sagely at me. Her dark green eye shadow looked like shit, in my opinion, when she was not one minute ago making bedroom eyes at me. Yet, geez, now that she wasn't whoring herself I could think that she would be pretty. Well, if she tried harder.

But, but.. Gah! Did she just? Did she just… What in hell did she think she was insinuating? "Um. No. But way to be blunt with it," I shot back at her. Fuck me if a little pretty little… little… thing like her understood me. I was complex, maybe. No open book, damn straight.

The blonde just stared at me amusement and jokingly slapped me on the arm. She giggled out, "Duh, stupid boy. I understand these sorts of things."

I watched her adjust her skirt and smooth over any appearances of being disheveled. Scoffing, all interest in maintaining charm gone, I inquired sarcastically, "And what sort of thing do I have?"

"You obviously want another girl. You were just making due with me, but are feeling guilty now. Right?" Did she get that out of a fucking magazine? Oh yes, Cosmo says, 'when guys like girls they sex up other girls.' Genius, really. Absolute genius.

"How did you know?" I asked acerbically. This girl was getting on my nerves. I didn't even want people. People wanted me! I just wanted their service.

Yet she didn't get the hint. If she knew of me or of my reputation, she would have gone straight for the cock. Conversation was never something I liked to keep up with these blonde types, only good for a couple of blowjobs. "So," she continued, unaware of my annoyance, "Who is it?"

It too me a moment to backtrack out of my self absorbed insults against all blonde girls, "What? Who is what?" My eyes flickered down her shirt, and I wondered what would happen if I demanded a titty fuck, right then, right there. Eh. She probably would agree. Aaah. Blondes were so hot. Why did they have to be so damn hot all the time?

"The person you like, silly!" She slapped my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts once again. God. I frowned in annoyance, thinking to myself that she was probably high or something. Ecstasy made some people giddier than horny, but it wasn't as if I knew from personal experience. I usually bolted when people started to dish out some random gropes…

Hehehe… My head started to spin again. Hehe. There was… fuck yes… one person I would mind being fondled by… But that guy was probably installed with built in anti-party radars. When in a one mile radius, Spencer probably gets a substantial urge to study or read or something else intelligent seeming.

The nameless blue eyed blonde giggled some more, "Come on, Vincent." Oh, she probably did know me. "You're thinking about her right now, aren't you? Tell me, tell me. It'll just be our little secret."

Now she's going to be the straight best friend for the… gay guy. Great. I wasn't even gay. And she sure as hell wasn't a friend. She was just a little toy for me, to pass the time with not so good, not so clean fun. Whatever…

"The girl I want to bang?" I asked, keeping in mind that I might as well skew the details…

She bounced a little, tight breasts jiggling just enough to be noteworthy, "Yeah!"

"I'm not going to tell. If she knew, she'd, I don't know, cut off my balls and feed it to me. If I was lucky fellow." If I did tell the girl I wanted Spencer-flavored fucks, and it got to him… Yeah. He would probably castrate me. Then he would roast my balls, perhaps, and then shove it down my throat. And… Why in hell wasn't I disgusted or scared of my own threatening thoughts?!

Laughter erupted in a manner that wasn't delicate or ladylike at all, "What? Everyone likes you, Vincent. Like, seriously. Everyone."

"Tell that to the girl. She thinks I'm gay." Well, I wasn't exactly lying with the gay part. I could tell some truth.

"You are anything but gay…" Thanks for the support, Honey.

My smile twitched, "The only reason she probably lets me talk to her is because she thinks I'm gay." That was a complete lie. If anything, Spencer would want to keep me away for acting like a homo. But he didn't, so that might have been good enough for me. Well, if it weren't for the fact his mouth… hehe… would look so good wrapped around… my… Uh. Yeah. Go away, bad thoughts. If I got horny, all of the sudden, it probably wouldn't bode well for me.

She slid a little closer to me, blue eyes imploring me, "Just describe her to me, if you're too embarrassed. I won't tell her you like her, I'll just give you props or something. Come on, tell."

Truthfully, I didn't want to tell her. Some girls, although stupid and slutty and all that jazz, could pull implications up like no other. If it, in anyway, linked back to a real person… Well. I would be screwed. But I spoke anyway, starting slow then gaining that inevitable verbal momentum, "She... is… quiet at school. Polite, I think, almost, you know. The whole shy without the 'shy' bit. But out of school, damn, she's different." Yeah. My thoughts turned giddy again, spinning fantasies and reality together in a way that was only detrimental to me. He was a total bitch ass motherfucking violent blond boy who made me high with his presence.

She may have spent a few scant seconds pondering my off description, but I didn't really expect her to respond. It came as a surprise when she inquired, "… Is it Wendy Hatchel?"

"… Who?"

"Oh my God! It is Wendy!" she exclaimed. Bouncing around again, titties matching the motion, she probably congratulated her self for 'good' detective work. I was, all of the sudden, debating whether or not I should really screw her. Guh. She seemed hot enough earlier, even though my libido and head wasn't up to it. But! It might make her shut up, and that was good enough for at that point. Could ya' say it? An-noy-ing.

"Who is that?" I asked without too much care. The name probably wouldn't be remember by the end of the hour.

"Don't try to save yourself, Vincent. I so saw that little look of panic in your eye. Oh my God. When did you meet her? Like, she's quiet and polite at school, so it wouldn't be there. But she's a completely different person drunk, according to Johnny. Did you meet her through Johnny?"

The fact she started to get excited began to worry me. "Who is Wendy?" I asked again, actually wanting to know if I was going to be thought in conjunction to her.

"… God. I just told you not to save yourself. I'm a girl. I understand. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. It's just so funny. Wendy? She's cute and all, but it's just a little weird."

"Um. Who is Wendy? Again?"

"Like, I thought you liked the wild type, I was so wrong. Everyone was so wrong. Wait until I tell Jessica. Only her, though. She's my best friend, so don't worry. Oh my God… This is so funny!"

Before I knew it, I was pulled into another rumor… I hated those things. I mean, some of them were pretty funny. Don't get me wrong, I didn't support it. Even when it didn't concern me, I just wasn't one to like the idea of lies being spread. But hearing them, seeing reactions, and being able to sit in the sidelines to a drama, sometimes it was pretty damn fun.

It was like a parasite, almost. Parasitically sucking the joy out of individuals and watching them squirm and squint. Trying to find the people or thing responsible but in the end only finding branches of truths and lies and skewed reasoning…

"Haha, Wendy… You know, too bad. She likes someone else."

As fun as it was, it was horrible. Especially when I was going to be stuck in the middle. God, I hoped this 'Wendy' rumor was going to turn out to be a short lived one hour thing…

Bloodsucking, freeloading, scrounging little bastards.

 

Q is for Quiet​

"Sick…" I mumbled as the woman Father was dating giggled. She had just fed him a piece of cake she made for him. And yeah, since I was the 'kid' I got a piece too.

Not as if I really wanted it… but she was Father's girlfriend. I had to be remotely civil. Just. God. Just as long as they kept it in their rooms and at an appropriate sound level. Only the holy, holy, fucking holy Lord knew how much trauma a kid could get from sex. Well, not that I believed in God or anything.

I wondered how she made the cake so soft… Alcohol? A bit, it was only enough to give a little extra taste on my tongue. The chocolate flavor was a bit too much. I never preferred cake, as apposed to other desserts, but I liked the chocolate above most other flavors. The frosting was thick, but not too overpowering. I hated it when it got like that. Then, the only thing I tasted was a sugary mess and the actual cake part would go unnoticed to my taste buds. And the raspberry? It was okay but a little too much. It kind of differed from my usual tastes but it wasn't horrible. It was more than good but not great. It had a special little quality to it though…

"Spencer?" she asked with a smile as I looked up. The lady sounded nice enough and she always acted with a kind bearing. She wasn't young, like some of the girls Father tried to establish a relationship with, but she wasn't as old as my father.

Father was forty two. This girlfriend of his couldn't be any older than her mid-thirties. She appeared young, pretty almost, but had maturity in her looks.

Keeping my head up obediently, I noticed the way her hand slipped into my father's. 'Eww' was the first thought to slip into my head. 'Icky older people PDA' was the second. None of those immature words left my mouth, though. Instead, I deigned to be presentable, polite. I simply asked back with an upturning meant to look like a smile, "Yes?"

She smiled softly, just the barest twist of her lips to show her delight. I liked her smile. This was the fourth or fifth time I met her, but she was always so reserved. Even when giggling like something naughty was going on, she was gentle in her mannerisms. If she turned out to be one of those sex-based relationships that Father went through sometimes I was seriously going to feel a bit sorry for her.

What was her name again? Darlene. Yeah. Darlene.

Well, Darlene began to play with the edges of her napkin. I only noted it because although she didn't tear it up, she twisted it again and again. It was probably a match to the emotions whirling her inside, but I wouldn't know. Her black hair covered her eyes just barely as she looked down, only obscuring her vision for a split moment before bringing her head back up. "Do you like the cake?" she inquired, not fishing for compliments but probably searching for a way to engage me in a conversation.

I didn't need to think, "Yes."

"Oh," she smiled a little brighter, her green eyes almost squinting. It reminded me of how a child would smile when complimented, but I dismissed the thought. Darlene was an adult. "That's good."

I turned my head away and directed my attention to the dessert once more, thinking she was done and over with. Hmm. I liked the little pieces of shaved chocolate. It melted in my mouth and didn't have such a bitter aftertaste, like chocolate tended to have. Was it milk chocolate? Most likely. With it being that shade it was easy to question, but had the definite taste.

I poked it and spun my fork slightly, toying with it before eating.

"Spencer?" she said again after a few moments. When my gaze met hers, something about her struck me as embarrassed. It could have been the light pink tinge to her cheeks, further emphasized by makeup blush, or the uneasy way her expression began to waver.

"Yes?" I answered back after I properly chewed and swallowed. Proper manners, of course, I had to exercise around her. Although I couldn't pull it off well, with most of my responses in resemblance to reluctant one syllable responses, but table manners I could do. It was all about saving face, and Father's was not the only one that mattered. Shame could be reached on many levels, from many different places.

"Your father and I… We… We've decided… because…" What? I couldn't help but lift and eyebrow at how nervous and red she was getting. Darlene, although striking me as a sweet older lady (but not old lady), didn't strike me as someone easily flustered. Maybe discomfited, but not flustered. That connoted something about her that wouldn't suit my father's taste at all. He hated weak women, but delicate he had a fondness for.

"We've decided that-" Father started saying before Darlene finally burst.

"We're getting married!"

…

Um. Okay?

I answered easily, not even pausing in my action or changing my stance, "That's wonderful. Congratulations." My voice sounded flat and monotonous. But it was often that way when speaking to adults… I couldn't really alter it without making a conscious effort. There was no point. Any word out of my mouth always sounded how it was wanted to be heard, not how it was meant.

Darlene's eyes were lit so brightly that it reminded me of another person. That Vincent guy. He looked pretty damn happy like that once. I remembered, sort of remembered. My Father looked happy too. He actually had this smile on his face, a really small but different one. I've never seen him look like that. It was good, I supposed, that he looked happy.

I couldn't really care less, but I didn't tell them that. Daniel and Darlene Danielson. All D's. Really cute. Real, real cute.

"I know there are all these things I should say right now, but I'm sorry…" she babbled, that tension in her beforehand dissolving away faster than I could keep up with, "I just can't really think of anything."

"Our family is expanding, that's one," my father added, his eyes not on me but on the new love of his life to begin his second marriage with. No, no. I had to think about this. First loving marriage. His first marriage was a loveless affair of convenience. It was because of me that it ever happened. I almost wanted to ask it this new marriage was due to the baby, but restrained myself.

"That's nice. I always wondered what it was like to have a sibling." That was true. I always liked children, to an extent. It was a small curiosity in me that never went or strayed. The fact that Butter had seven interested me in ways other subjects could not. What would it be like, truthfully be like to be a 'big' brother?

The silence permeated the dining room. It wasn't awkward for me, I was busy enjoying cake, but I think they found it unnerving.

"Spencer? You're a bit quiet… You're happy for us, right?" she sounded so sweet at that moment, so sweet, "You know that as much as I want a relationship with your father, I also want to start a relationship with you. It doesn't have to be automatic, no. But, after time…"

"Don't worry," I replied, "I know. You're going to be Father's new wife and my new step-…"

What? Mother? Stepmother?

"…mother…" I finished neatly before it was too obvious that I had started to trail and lose my concentration. My eyes flickered left and right, absorbing the reactions at the table.

Father stared at me with a careful expression. Lips were flat and eyes were guarded, but I knew something was lurking and crawling around behind the way he regarded me.

Darlene, because I seriously could think she was as sweet as she seemed, began to smile widely. Her pretty, red lipstick covered lips didn't pull at my metaphorical heartstrings, but it did make me feel bashful for an instant. That changed quickly.

What had she wanted for me to say or do? What did she expect from me before she gave the news?

Nails, glossy and shiny, with white French tips reached for me. "You're such a good young man," she was touching me. Oh fuck.

"You're such a good little boy."

I strained to keep myself devoid of anything detrimental to the moment I was sure we were having. But who could blame me if my face slipped and I started to grimace as she gently squeezed my hand?

"You…" she giggled in a way that surprisingly didn't come off as childish, "… are going to be a great older brother. I can tell."

I wanted to pull away and run away. Into my room, most desirably, but anywhere would have sufficed well enough. Calling Butter up would probably have been my first action once alone, and even if stuck in the confines of my head, no one knew how to pull me out like he did. But I didn't, and that was a good sign. To do so would have suggested, to my father and to Darlene, that something was wrong with me.

If anything was wrong, I'd probably be locked up in some little ten by ten hell hole of an asylum. So, I kept that reminder firmly in my head as I shakily smiled again. I was trying to be polite and I was trying to be normal. It probably wasn't enough of an effort, but if I could feel the tendrils of sanity slowly lose its grip then no one could complain.

Her thumb began to move across the back of my hand, in a way she may have thought comforting.

The suddenly added weight of Father's gauging gaze kept me from visibly shaking in trepidation.

It was then that my cell phone began to vibrate annoyingly, as if trying to give a hint as to who would call me. Sheepishly, probably worrying that she was being too touchy and more affectionate than was acceptable, Darlene daintily withdrew her hand.

I looked up, waiting for the permission that I needed to excuse myself from the table. Father nodded, once, eyes identical to my own flickering towards his new fiancée.

"You may leave," he dismissed flatly before squishing me out of even the peripherals of his attention.

I murmured a 'thanks' of sorts and quickly walked away. Picking up my cell, I flipped it open just in time before it would have gone to voicemail.

"Spencer! Fucking hell. You would not believe what happened to me."

Facial motions I didn't feel stretched across my face.

"Hello, Vincent."

 

R is for Revenge​

I uneasily chuckled, not entirely sure how to answer the question Spencer threw at me. Any other time, I would have had a stupid smile on my face and affirmed it in a manner that gave me a safe way out.

"Spencer?" I asked, "Are you okay?"

I didn't know how I would think that something was wrong with Spencer. He simply answered my loud and abrasive words with a simple, 'Hello.' Then, in another perfectly normal response to more of my words, he asked a question. That wasn't enough for me to think that he was going to die or anything.

But there was something about how he said it. His voice was nice on my ears, most of the time, even when he was insulting me. Sitting with his ass for the past week or so haven't been any more enlightening than trying to stare him down into spilling his guts, which I did not do. It was more like a direct one on one conversation. Yeah.

His voice, though, sounded raspy and physically pained. Maybe, if it were anyone else, I would have made a joke about him being in the middle of masturbation, but that thought didn't even pop in my mind. It was absurd to think of him in that way. Even if I was some pervert who needed sex to function, Spencer didn't seem like that sort of guy.

It was only natural of me to think he was hurt or panicking or something. Anything really. God. After I made the mistake, it was stupid of me to assume he was having his thing. The thing? That was a weird way to label it.

"Of course," the buzzes of his voice translated to me.

I could imagine him that very moment, face twisted in a little annoyance, clicking his tongue subconsciously before answering me.

"All right. Gotcha. Yeah, I gotta go now. Later," I rushed, suddenly embarrassed of my thoughts. So what if I was avoiding the question? It wasn't as if it was any secret, really. What I did during my free time, or private time, was on the airwaves of gossip and conduits of Myspace, Facebook, and Twitter. Well, to name a few.

What in hell was I saying?

I hung up as soon as Spencer gave his goodbye.

I had my own cell phone, but I rarely used it. Too many people I didn't like could get a hold of my number, and where would that lead me? To a shitload of calls from girls I only liked during sex and guys I only liked when drunk. I didn't get drunk often enough to offer them my number, though.

I was in the kitchen, sitting and eating ice cream like some fat whore drowning her sorrows. Wah hah. Boohoo… Strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate. Neapolitan. Yummy.

"You okay? You were pretty loud," David asked carefully. He looked like he just woke up. Knowing him, he probably did.

"Eh?" I asked intelligently scooping more cold delight into my mouth, "What?"

He frowned and tried to think of a better way to phrase his words. God, I loved David. If it were Donny here, he'd have a bitch fit. Screaming and yelling like a little girl, he'd try to force every answer he wanted out of me. It was nice, yeah, but overbearing.

David wasn't much better, but at least he tried, "Who were you talking to…?"

Oh. "Oh." Look at me Mommy! I was so smart!

I tried to pull a 'David' but I didn't succeed, "One time, I saw a friend have a panic attack thing. I think he just had another because he sounded… weird? But I know he didn't, err, wasn't?" I sounded like a retard, but I hoped David understood me. I meant, I didn't have details. All I had were little conjectures and general ideas.

I went back to eating my ice cream. Jeez… I didn't understand a thing. It would be weird if I did, because I barely even knew Spencer. It would be weirder to expect another person to understand.

"Oh," he replied just as intelligently back at me. Wow! Look Mommy, David was a regular genius!

I almost expected him to simply start stuttering awkward questions and relay misinterpreted information. That was how it usually went. The twins, David and Donny, didn't exactly approve of my life as a pimp-master-3000.

Jealousy, I'd say. Danger, they'd say.

"Is he one of your friends I don't like?" From the way he said that, I could tell we might be in some sort of situation. See here. David and Donny were two regular geniuses. Their intelligence level, blah, blah, smarty pants, blah… They never seemed to be all that above and beyond. Apparently, through tests and the sort, my brothers were in some percentile of some category that included them in some group in which they were classified as nearly fucking prodigies. Or something like that.

Wowzers…

So, they hung out with the right crowd and got the right grades. They earned the right scholarships and got accepted into the right Ivy League colleges.

I was not like them.

I was the cute younger brother, for most of my life. 'OH! YOU! Are you David and Donny's younger brother! OMG! That is too tizzight! Wassup my new BRUDDER!'

Or maybe I was exaggerating? Again?

My brothers were liked because of their achievements and such. I was liked because of my charm and natural charisma. I wasn't as popular as they were. God, never would I ever be as well known to as them. They were the WONDER MORRIS TWINS! Drop dead sexy. Hilariously smart. Fucking, fucking, fucking hot.

I was… Well, me? The great and wonderfully awesome me? I was… I was more… was… Aw fuck. I was jealous. I only started having sex to prove to myself that I could be as badass with the good nature as my brothers were. They didn't screw around, but they were never lonely.

They did it because they did. I got, uh, sorta, kinda, maybe, just a wee bit, haha, too addicted to the fun of the nightlife. Not the drugs, because frankly that stuff freaked the hell out of me. Have you ever read the books they have at school?! They were filled with nasty pictures and disgustingly descriptive sections that just sort of gave me the fucking shivers for days whenever I thought back about it.

I could never touch drugs. I think it was sort of like a revenge for the writers. They couldn't touch drugs because of their stuck up mommies and daddies, so, they made it impossible for any person who opened their books to do so.

"Vincent?" Oh shit. My brother. David. Was he still talking to me?

I broke from my little day dream easily and dropped my bowl into the sink. Walking over to the living room, where Donny was probably watching television, I started replying with an easy, "Nope."

Short, sweet, simple. Three S words. So smart, Vincent, so fucking smart.

"I don't like most of your friends," David said as he watched me plop on the couch. So what? Did I need his approval?

I smiled because I knew Spencer wasn't one of the friends David was referring to. But, in all probability, David and Donny would probably hate him all the same. Who would want their preciously barely surviving stupid brother to be around a nutcase? A nutcase who was almost too fucking mouth watering to be true…

"Spencer isn't one of my normal friends," I responded with a happy note. So what if I put emphasis on 'normal' as if it were something dirty? My thoughts were dirty. Did it really matter?

Well, I guess it really didn't help that I made an obscene gesture. Maybe moving my fist back and forth in front of my mouth, imitating sucking someone off, wasn't the smartest thing to do.

I smugly stared at Donny sleeping on the other couch as David struggled to find reality. "What?!" He found it. Damn. I hoped he would at least take a bit longer.

"Y-y-you! Gay!" Couldn't David learn how to form proper sentences?

Wait. Did he just? Oh my fucking God. David called me-! Did he just…! OMG-ness, GAY?! No one was allowed to do that! That was like a, a, a f-fucking stab at my masculinity.

It didn't matter that I wanted a guy to suck my cock. That wasn't all too gay. That was more, Jesus Christ, bi-curious or something. To call me gay… Fuck. That was almost Spencer-like.

Oh. Spencer.

Damn that Spencer. He may have been asexual, as I kind of thought, but he sure as hell was attractive. Even more attractive than he was just sitting there in the library, across from me like it has been for the past several days, he would be orgasmic if he were…

"Spencer and I aren't gay! I may want to try screwing him, but he sure as hell is asexual," I complained before I knew it.

What the fuck was I doing?

Hey, when did Donny wake up? On his face was a look of surprise. Maybe anger. At me? Well. Fuckity fuck.

"You," he groggily began, sleep still in his voice, "What?"

"Uh. Nothing?" I asked cheekily. I didn't smile too wide, that would have made them hemorrhage on the spot, but rather conducted it in a smirking way.

David was the first to recover, "You're gay! Why didn't you tell us?"

Stupid. David wasn't smart. He was stupid. "I'm not gay, David. Lord. Don't you understand? I'm curious. Like, you know, I want to know?"

Donny was next, "Spencer? Who is this Spencer kid?"

What? Were we having a Q and A? I looked at the ceiling in exasperation before answering the question. "Spencer is a friend from school. David, the one I was talking to a minute ago."

David still couldn't let it go. "You're gay?"

He sounded as if he was hyperventilating. Like, being gay wasn't that bad. Well, not that I was gay. But anyway! We lived in southern California! Right next to the beaches! Hot men and women lie in the sand all day long and enjoy having either sex staring at them in wonder. Coastal areas were supposed to be more tolerant, right?

No one here was seriously homophobic. Like, some people didn't like it, but no one seriously got lynched here anymore. It was almost trendy to be able to admit having fun with the same sex.

"Uhh… No? I'm straight, mostly." Mostly, because I wanted to fuck Spencer. Damn. Something must have been seriously messed up in my brain for me to have thought that. I meant, like, it was only several days ago that I actually found out that I'd rather Spencer than any girl at my school.

Did that make me gay? Bisexual, maybe? Just plain old weird? Yeah. Weird. I'd rather have the stigma of a 'weird' label on me than 'bisexual' or 'homo.' Classifications to my sexual orientation just wouldn't bode too well for me if anyone tried to… well… confirm it.

"Mostly? What in hell does mostly mean?" Donny asked this time, the sleep completely out of his head. They were both in front of me, blocking my view from the television. I felt like I was supposed to feel nervous but wasn't. Understandable?

"I don't like guys. That's weird," but I was weird, "I just want to have sex with another boy. Like me. With a dick. Weird, huh?"

None of us were really super religious, although we attended church years back, so I wasn't afraid that they'd go pull out the good old Bible and try to cleanse my soul. But when the silence stretched out too long, I started getting peeved. Well?

"That's wrong," one of them said softly. I couldn't tell. Their voices were alike, so when they whispered it was oftentimes very difficult to differentiate them. But I simply assumed it was David, because his words were always phrased a little more pleasantly. Donny would probably tell me… tell me that I was wrong.

"You shouldn't have sex with many people so openly." Umm. Did they forget about the gay part? Or was that coming up next?

"We don't approve of you screwing around, Vincent. It's wrong and disgusting and dangerous." Oh. So that was what this was about. I knew all those homophobic media driven squabble in the conservative states tended to exaggerate about the dangers of anal sex, but seriously. Heterosexual couples did it all the time! It was so normal it wasn't even considered kinky anymore.

"I'm not going to sodomize him, that's just weird. I don't think I'll be able to get the guy interested enough to even consider sodomizing me. So you two don't have to worry. I'll remember to bring a condom," I said with a snarky undertone.

The pause was awkward. It was definitely David who spoke, I noticed, "We aren't talking about that anymore, Vincent. We're talking about you having sex with so many people. Can't you at least put in a small effort to find anyone who interests you? For at least a little while? No jumping from bed to bed with different, uh, people every weekend."

I didn't even think when I said, "Spencer interests me." My voice was small. Not because I was nervous or relaying some big and deep inner desire of mine. I knew Spencer was interesting. Hell, I wouldn't have wanted him if he weren't. The way I said it, though, was like I was simply stating a fact. And a fact it truly was.

Spencer was… interesting. I… I… wanted him. To know him, to screw him. Fuck if I knew which.

And, well. Well.

Well…

I liked him.

 

S is for Sex​

"You miss a lot of school, Spencer," Vincent told me with a silly smile on his face.

Ugh. Faggot.

Somewhere in me I kind of suspected he was into me. Hell. I heard the rumors. Most of them weren't rumors; they were just little tales of a sexually insatiable teenager with a bit too much time on his hands. I even heard the one with the college guy who dressed up as a girl, to make it a bit of kinky role play, before sucking him off.

Disgusting really, because who would want to have another guy's dick in their mouth? Wait, wait. A lot of people did. Never mind.

I looked up in annoyance. Vincent peered at me with interest in his excited brown eyes behind his math textbook. Sometimes, with Vincent, because I'd only known him for a short while, he reminded me of a girl.

By girl, I meant Wendy. She used to be my best friend, back when I was little. Things kind of fell apart when we were in middle school. It was probably the basic girl versus boy thing and the whole idea of sex that drove us apart. She faded from the forefront my life. I faded from the forefront of her life. Although we spoke to each other on occasion, there wasn't anything more than our pasts linking us.

But she was always sort of giggly, for some unknown reason. It didn't dawn on me that she may have liked me until… Well, until she almost asked me out last week. That was awkward.

"Spencer?" he sounded again, his inflection indicating worry. I looked back up again at annoyance. Did he want an answer or something?

"Yes?" I asked. If I was going to humor him I might as well have finished my homework in the meanwhile. I started on math before Vincent began to blab like the troublesome guy he was.

"So…" he always began like that, "What happened the other day? I mean, because I was pretty sure what happened did happen, what really happened?"

I didn't even look up as I answered. It felt as if I had a prepared answer. But that would have been odd, considering I didn't miss school all that much. I was just ill every now and then. Nothing too bad.

"Sick."

It didn't take another moment for a little smirk to be planted on Vincent's face. "Oh, 'sick' hmm?"

I felt the urge, for one split moment. I wanted to launch myself across the table and do something to Vincent.

Bash his head into the table? Repeatedly? Wring my hands around his neck? Stab him with any pointed object near me? Maybe I just wanted to wipe that fucking mischievous smirk off his fucking face and force his gaze that spoke more than the words he said away from my direction. Maybe I just wanted to hurt him.

But… really… Hurt him? Why would I want to do anything like that?

"I was just kidding. No need to get so… you about it." His words broke me from my spell as quickly as I was placed under it. His voice was so weird. Something about it simply made me itch with something in my gut.

God. Fucking idiot.

I worked the next problem. "What do you mean by that?" I asked lazily, letting my drawl tell him I was only speaking to occupy him.

"I don't know," he said so excitedly that I wondered what the hell his fucking problem was, "You're just so. You get kinda. Aw God. You know."

His eyes lost the metaphorical 'sparkle'. It was gay and more than unsettling. So, I was almost glad when it left. But then he adopted sheen in his glassy orbs that made me almost shrink back.

Vincent looked, for a lack of a better word, drugged. More unusual than that, his ogling stare was on me.

"Are you high or something?" I asked before I really thought it out.

He evaded the question with a couple of blinks and an obnoxiously fake upturning of his lips. "Guess what?"

"What?" Flatness in my voice, I decided to just retire from work and let Vincent's voice wash over me.

"There's that girl, uh, Kathy? Katy? Casey? Macy? Something…?" I looked at him in annoyance again. He shrugged and resumed as if he was putting a decent attempt into his story telling. "Remember the rumor I told you about? She was the one who started that horrible thing about me being in love with this one girl. Wendy… Winny… Winny Hatch? Hatchel?"

"Wendy Hatchel?" I scooted closer and leaned a bit forward. This rumor didn't sound familiar at all.

He snapped his fingers, "Yes! Some Wendy girl. It's been getting to be a real long and complicated rumor too. Since I first told you about it the whole thing just sort of exploded. Different people have been telling me the weirdest of things."

"Okay it starts like this…" He turned to note the time before playing with his fingers like some jumpy child. And I heard that he was supposed to be a charming little bastard…

He took a moderately deep breath, "Apparently, because next to none of this is true, I'm in love with Wendy. I'm pining over her. She doesn't like me back. I tried to have sex with other girls to replace her. Guilt, or something like that, consumed my horrible soul. Now, I'm counting down the days she won't acknowledge my existence. Funny, eh?"

I sighed, "Wendy likes me."

"But apparently, because this still is all rumor stuff you know, she's head over heals in love with some other poor fellow. And she's listing the ways to cut off my balls. And… uh… What did you say again?" He looked so confused I almost wanted to play coy and just mumble an excuse as I looked away.

But I didn't.

"Wendy likes me," I said. I said. I said. God. That sounded so difficult. How could she like me? I was near unlikable.

I only said 'near' because of a few choice individuals, including the sad teenager in front of me. He appeared to like me to some extent. But only appeared, because frankly I didn't even know why he still sat with me when I did nothing but entertain him with grumbles and retorts most of the time. There the inkling came in. Gah, uhh… Faggot.

"Oh…" Vincent said with a slight tone of surprise. Was he surprised because I actually spoke to him without some note of distaste? Or maybe he was surprised that I revealed the long time crush of a girl I couldn't even remember very well?

"Is she hot?" he asked as soon as he realized I wasn't going to push the conversation along.

I frowned with disgust, "She's not ugly or plain, but she isn't exactly hot." Even the thought of considering Wendy in that sort of manner made me feel sick. Like that one day, in the bathroom. Mumbling and mumbling and repeating and repeating and telling myself over and over again…

No. Wait. That never happened. Nope. It didn't happen.

Fuck.

Fuck…

"Hm. I was just wondering, in case, if, only if, she'd be worth the time." He talked about it so casually that I didn't immediately grab onto his words as they were meant to be interpreted.

I felt my hand clench and my face frown. "Don't have sex with her." To think about Wendy in some manner like that was wrong and disgusting and awful because Wendy was good and pure and wonderful. If I remembered. If I really remembered.

"Hmm? Why? Were you planning on losing your virginity with her or something?"

This time I actually sprung across the table. It wasn't horribly big, the space linking us, but it was enough that I had to lean as I fisted his shirt.

"Say that one more time," I demanded without harshness. No, no. It was rather different, how I sounded. My tone was arrogant, daring. I was daring Vincent to make another fucking retarded dumb assed shit for brains comment.

The look in his eyes was glassy and drugged again.

He gave me a crooked half smile that enlightened me wonders about his opinion on whatever matter I was bringing up.

The delighted redness of his cheeks, which made him look as if he was thinking dirty thoughts, could be felt through the inches between us.

The grip I had on his shirt tightened as I watched his face flush even further in enchantment as I closed in on him.

"You aren't really a virgin, are you?"

I pushed him away and watched him stumble as I collected my things.

"What do you fucking think?"

He licked his lips as he smiled softly to himself. I noted purely because it made him look like even gayer than he acted. It wasn't due to the fact that I could feel the warmth from his heated cheeks, because that would be like admitting I was gay. And I was not gay.

I bit bottom lip, a sad and difficult habit to break, as I watched Vincent look at my face. He didn't even touch my eyes in his sweeping gaze. It just strayed a tad below, and settled on my reddening mouth.

He wasn't aware of the look I was giving him as he stared so simple-mindedly at me. His lips were wet with saliva and parted just slightly. I knew, God, knew that his inhales and exhales were just a smidgen more rushed… just a minuscule bit more labored.

But it was better that he didn't notice. Much, much better.

 

T is for Touching​

I didn't know how I managed to do it, with my lack of superpowers, but I got Spencer to invite me over. Hah, yes. I did it! Or as the Japanese said, 'yatta.'

Maybe I was putting too much credit on myself? Because in all actuality, all I did was ask him to please take me to your home every day since, um, haha, that, damn, silly little incident until he finally cracked. I didn't think he would, but hey, he did. That had to count for something if anything at all.

It took, possibly, two weeks? Not even…

"Why in hell do you want to come to my house?" Spencer asked when he dropped his backpack and turned to face me. His stare was somewhat accusing, as if he knew what my less than noble intentions were.

But his pretty eyes were just so distracting… Blues and greens… I forgot to answer.

Snap, snap. He snapped his fingers in my face. "Vincent?"

Blinking quicker than I should, I let a miniature beam adorn my face. Fuck. I was beaming at the guy. If Spencer didn't know why, Christ, than he was either completely stupid or ignorant of what I was known for.

And I was known for being, because sometimes the rumors and the truths blended, a sexually insatiable teenager with a bit too much time on hand.

I was not, this time at least, planning to rape him. Nope. That just screamed desperate. And I was not desperate. I was more like the kinda guy who had everything I could reasonably want in the palm of my hand.

Or in my pants! Because! You know… Spencer… In my pants… Yeah… Touching my… Haha…

My face was turning red again. Not in embarrassment. I think Spencer pretty much had to know something was up with my sudden interest in him. So, if I logically thought everything out, it wouldn't be odd of me to be so into him.

Because that was what it was, I was into him.

I think my smile must have been mischievous as I sat on the edge of his bed. Spencer just regarded me as one would a dangerous criminal. I was to be watched. Closely. No chance of escape, no sir, no chance for escape.

I didn't want escape, so that didn't bother me as much as it should have.

"What time is it?" Spencer asked carefully as he sat in the chair at his desk.

I looked down to my watch and answered easily enough. "Three, um, seventeen." What did the time matter?

He just hummed in acknowledgment and then proceeded to ignore me. What? He was the one who asked me? Oh, oh. Opening up his laptop, why didn't he just check the time there?

Pay attention to me. The thought kept swirling in my head until I said exasperatedly, "What are you doing?"

He didn't spare me a single glance, "What do you fucking think I'm doing?"

"Porn," I didn't even have to think about it. The internet was for porn, everyone knew that.

His blond hair flipped as he shook his head disappointedly, "Get your mind out of the fucking gutter. I don't want your germs to infest my room."

"Especially your bed?"

"Especially my bed. God. You are such a faggot."

I didn't find offense when Spencer insulted me so openly. I mean, like, I did act pretty faggy in front of him.

I smirked, "Only for you."

He hummed in acknowledgement of my words but probably didn't even hear them. I didn't expect him to, because frankly, Spencer pretty much let everything I said come in one ear and go out the other. All over his head, my everyday confessions of devotion were.

"If you were a girl, I'd seriously rape you. Or at least I'd try," I confessed, the thought coming to me faster than I could comprehend it.

"That's nice."

Did he seriously not even listen to me? Like, I seriously just told him that I'd rape him. On the spot. If he was a girl. Did that not strike him as wrong? Or if anything, weird?

"I'm gay for you."

"I know."

"I think Mr. Danielson is some hot older version of you."

"True that."

"I fucked your mom last night."

"I fucked yours."

"I masturbate to your yearbook picture."

"Me too."

He was invincible! Spencer the Invincible! Nothing could faze him. I wasn't very creative in my remarks, but they were pretty harsh for someone with the sensitivity level of Spencer. Well, I didn't exactly know the sensitivity level… but it couldn't be high enough for me to compose long bizarre descriptions of my nonexistent kinky desires.

"Did you listen to word I said? Do you even listen to anything I say?" I asked, throwing up the white flag in surrender. This guy, I wanted him and all, but if he was such an unfeeling brick all the time it wasn't even worth it. I would like at least some emotion on his face, every once in a while.

He turned towards me and partially smiled. I forgot during that moment why I was pissed. I forgot I was pissed. "Of course." His eyes flickered down and away from my face.

Ah. That giddy feeling was in my chest again.

"But sometimes you are just so fucking annoying I choose to ignore you."

Never mind.

"But then again, you keep me amused. I like listening to whatever you decide to spew."

Never mind that never mind. Spencer, fuck. He was mouth-watering. I think I could orgasm if he complimented me enough.

It wasn't really a compliment, but I could dream. Dream of Spencer…

He shifted away to do whatever he was doing on his laptop. Just like that, I was chopped liver again. But somehow, I didn't feel too bad about it. Spencer was too good at what he did. I didn't even know what he was doing, but whatever it was, he was fucking good.

"God, get that gay look off your face. It's irritating." I let my face fall and looked at my hands. I've been twisting my fingers and playing with the hem of my shirt like a little virgin with a crush for the past couple of minutes.

I am so gay.

"Can't really help it, you know," I smiled. I looked at him square in the face when he turned back to raise an eyebrow at me.

I had such homosexual-gay and happy-gay thoughts around Spencer since, well, since I acknowledged that I wanted him more than I wanted anyone else. Too bad, really too bad, I got the feeling Spencer was anything but interested in me. He was asexual, almost.

There was genuine concern in my person for Spencer. I mean, I saw some freaky stuff. Only some, though. And that was what first drew me towards him. His sad sighs when he spoke to his father. His cold responses when I tried to befriend him. His shaking shoulders when he had his incident. His angry glare when I saw him at the hospital. His surprisingly civil tone when I spoke to him with interest.

And the small friendship I managed to build with him. That too. It was weird, most definitely. But it was also freaky, because things like this and like that only happened in the mind of a dreamer.

Spencer dismissed me with a wave of his hand and a nod of his head. He chose to ignore what I was saying, again.

"If you weren't so fucking…" he looked as if he was searching for an adequate word or phrase, "… like a bad but cute little kid sometimes… I would have stabbed you until dead so long ago…"

Oh my God. He just… He just called me… Damn it…

Cute.

Oh Lord. Oh my naked and pinned to a stick fucking Lord.