So, ever since spending lunch with William yesterday, I feel like I've entered another world. It's difficult to explain, but it's like everything has taken on a deeper meaning. I can't stop looking at people or listening to others' conversation without my brain going into overdrive. William's words keep repeating through my head whenever I do, making me wonder why they act the way they do, or what they're running from. And they are running from something; it's so obvious to see now that I'm looking, even though I can't tell what it is exactly.
But it's strange, too. It doesn't feel like reality anymore; I feel as if I'm walking through a dream, having one outer-body experience after another. Everything's surreal, yet I'm unusually aware of my surroundings. I'm not exactly sure I like it. I'm constantly on edge because seeing everyone like this is downright sickening. A part of me wants to just scream at all of them to get them to stop, but I won't since another part of me is fascinated by all of this. I don't know what to do. I really don't.
The only time I was able to relax and wake up from that bizarre daze I've been was when I was in study hall and lunch with William. Which is kind of odd when you think about it, he's basically the reason this is happening to me in the first place. Him and his profound perspective on things. It's his fault I'm thinking the things I am, or how I am. But I don't blame him. Not really.
And I think the only reason it's different when I'm around him is because I'm too busy staring at him and listening to him to care about anything else. Seriously. I could do it for hours without getting bored. His eyes and his voice are hypnotic. I love being around him.
Which brings me to the other thing I've been thinking about: I just found out he existed on Tuesday, started talking to him only yesterday, yet I'm pretty sure I'm in love with him. Or at least something pretty damn closes to it.
I know, I know. It's ridiculous, stupid, and pretty much impossible. But I'm telling you, that's how I feel. And trust me; I think I know my own feelings. I've dated other guys before (on the down low, of course, and always from other schools), and I've never felt like this with them. God, I wish I could explain it better, but I can't. I just know that there's something about William that I can't help but be drawn to. There's something about him that's...special.
Among other things.
I sigh, and continue to walk down the hallway, towards my locker. Technically, I'm supposed to be going to the bathroom, but the walk to there from the English room is too short, and the route to my locker is much better for clearing my head. If only five hundred different thoughts would stop racing through my head at once.
And it's for that reason right there that it takes me about six seconds after turning the corner to see and comprehend the scene in front of me:
Three stoner/skaters spray-painting the word "FAGGOT" on my locker in big red letters.
Unlike you would think upon seeing this, my first reaction isn't anger. Ironically, it's to stop dead in my tracks and blink at them in a sort of stupor, while the thought It took them long enough (which is completely true, since I haven't really been harassed at all since coming out, and that's just not normal coming from this school) drifts lazily through my mind. And it's only after that, do I start to get angry.
Really angry.
Glowering, I let my bag drop to the floor and stalk over to them. And maybe because I'm lucky (or unlucky, depending on your point of view), they're too busy snickering over what they're doing to notice me. That is, until I shove the one with the paint-can, making him stumble into the guy wearing a beanie hat on his right. For a moment, all three of them are taken by surprise, and I use the chance to raise my fist, getting ready to punch Spray-Paint in the face. But the third guy (whose face is covered with acne scars) grabs me from behind and holds me back before I can, giving Spray-Paint and Beanie time to right themselves. Pissed off even more now, I elbow Crater-Face in the solar plexus then launch myself at the other two.
And from then on, it's pretty much a blur of fists, feet, elbows, and knees that ends just as quickly as it began. I collapse to the floor, on my hands and knees, after Beanie knocks the wind out of me by shoving me hard into my locker (smearing the still-wet paint onto my shirt), only to have him and Crater-Face haul me back up to my feet. They pin my arms behind my back, bending them to the point where I think my shoulders are going to pop out of their sockets. I wince, and Spray-Paint leers at me. However, it's not as impressive as it could have been with bleeding cut in his lip caused by my elbow.
I make the stupid mistake of telling him that, and he punches me in the stomach for it. Coughing and groaning (a painful thing to do at the same time right after getting hit), I double over, which only makes the hold the other two stooges have on my arms tighter, causing me even more pain. I wait until the majority of it has subsided before saying:
"Get the hell off me!"
"Not a chance, faggot. I think you need to learn a lesson in minding your business."
I glare at him incredulously.
"You were vandalizing my locker! I think that's my business!"
"Yeah, well...If you don't like it, then maybe you shouldn't be a queer. That would solve all of our problems, wouldn't it?"
Sometimes, the stupidity of some people's logic absolutely amazes me. And really pisses me off.
"I'd rather be gay than be a punk-bitch pothead like you." I answered darkly.
Spray-Paint's eyes narrow and he grabs a hold of the collar of my shirt. Beanie and Crater-Face obediently let go of me so he can thrust his knee into my gut without a problem. I promptly fall back to the floor, clutching my stomach and groaning. Beanie and Crater-Face laugh while Spray-Paint sneers at me one last time before turning to walk away, his two goons in tow. I hear him mutter "Fucking Fag," just as he turns the corner, leaving me completely alone in the hallway.
Now, you're probably wondering where the hell the teachers are, and how all of that just happened without one of them coming to break it up. Well, as it so happens that my locker isn't anywhere near a classroom. (Convenient, eh?) And besides, it wouldn't have matter much. The teachers are about just as bad as the kids when it comes to gays.
Damn it. I don't think I can stand up, and I'm not even going to try. So, that means I'm stuck here, lying on the floor, staring up at my locker. I smeared the paint when I got shoved into it, so instead of reading "FAGGOT", it looks more like "FA—insert big red blotch here—T". To be honest with you, I really don't know what's worse: Having my locker say FAGGOT, or having it say FAT.
I'd say it's pretty even at the moment.
Though, that might just be whatever that chemical is that your brain releases to numb pain talking. If it is, then it's not really doing a good job, since I'm still in pain. I mean, it's not excruciating, but still... Pain is pain; I'd rather not have any. And I'm kind of longing for someone to come along to help me. I really don't want to be lying on the floor for the rest of the day.
God grants my wish about a minute later, but how He does it makes me think He has a sick sense of humor.
"Michael? Oh, my god, are you okay?"
I hear him rush over to me. And despite being happy he's here, this isn't exactly the most flattering of circumstances. It's actually quite embarrassing. In an attempt to regain some of my lost dignity, I try to sit up, only to get lightheaded. William manages to catch me before my head hits the tiled floor.
"Whoa. Take it easy. You look pretty rough."
"Thanks. But, relax. I'm fine. Really." I answered sarcastically.
I prove this to him by going to sit up again, only wincing a bit as I settle myself against my locker. He makes himself comfortable next to me, his expression nothing but concerned. It's amazing how much better just that makes me feel.
"So, are you going to tell me what happened?"
He frowns and then leans closer to me to get a better look at the red pain on my shirt.
"And is that...paint?"
"Mhm." I nod, pointing up at my locker.
"Caught a few stoners doing that to my locker and tried to stop them, but ended up getting my ass handed to me. A piece of advice, never go into a fight that's three to one, especially if you're the one."
William spends a moment staring thoughtfully at the red letters and blotches on my locker; probably trying to figure out what it said since he's smart enough to realize "FAT" wasn't it.
At least, I hope he is.
"Faggot?"
I nod.
He scowls then goes back to glaring at the red paint on my locker. I watch him, seeing a blazing fire in his eyes. It's not the first time I've seen it, most of the time I'm around him I feel as if I'm playing with fire, though it's the first time I've seen it because he's angry. A part of me is captivated by the passion in his expression, but I don't really like it. I don't want him needlessly angry or upset because of something that happened to me.
"Hey. I'm the one who decided to take a ride to where no one ever goes by coming out in this school; I knew stuff like this was going to happen. Besides, there is nothing we can do about it now."
"Why'd you come out, anyway?" he said turning back to face me with that serious, soul-searching expression of his.
Well, I think to myself, you can blame it on me, or you can blame it on you. Either way works since I kind of came out because of you.
But of course, I can't tell him that. So, I shrug and say:
"Just felt like it."
William nods slowly, his blue eyes still staring intensely into mine. I keep eye contact for as long as I can then look away. Despite how much I like him, that doesn't keep me from feeling uneasy when it honestly looks like he's reading your thoughts right out of your head.
Suddenly, his expression changes to curiosity, so fast that I'm momentarily stunned, and then a bit confused when he asks:
"Are you scared?"
"Of what?"
"Of what's going to happen now."
I open my mouth to tell him no, but then stop myself and really think about it.
I suppose I am, just a little bit. I mean, I really don't want to get beaten up again, but I'm not going to say that it's as if I'm terrified. If someone starts saying shit to me, I'm not going to take it lying down. And if someone wants to see if the 'faggot' can fight, I'll show them that, yeah, I can. (As long as it's not three on one again, at least.)
So...am I scared? I don't know. That really depends on what the situation is, and since it hasn't happen yet or know what they are, I don't know if I'll be scared or not. I'll just have to take things as they come.
I tell William this.
"That's probably the wisest way to look at it. Just remember: There is an answer to everything, even the darkest times."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He keeps saying vague stuff like that. And even though I really like that about him, it doesn't exactly mean as much as it could when I don't understand it.
William shrugs, but smiles that mysterious smile of his, which is basically his way of telling me that I have to figure it out by myself. Figures. I sigh. He grins at me, laughing a little bit, and then stands up.
"Come on! It's clear that we don't understand why people do this, but the last thing on my mind is to leave you here to find out, just in case they come back." He said holding out his hand to me.
"Where are we going?" I asked taking his hand.
He helps me to my feet, and I grit my teeth against the pain in my abdomen.
"To the nurse's, of course."
"Oh. Of course."
He smiles and takes my arm, draping it over his shoulder. I look at him in surprise, but all he does is smile wider at me, even though we both know that I don't really need his support to walk (I'm not that beaten up). Still, that knowledge doesn't keep him from wrapping his arm around my back before he starts to lead me down the hallway. My face is burning. So are the places where he's touching me. Like my lower back.
Um...
I clear my throat awkwardly.
"Uh...William?"
"Hmm?"
"Um... What are you...? I mean...why are you...?"
William gives me an amused look.
"Michael. If someone wants to help you, just let them without question. Have you ever thought that maybe it's just to reassure them that you're okay, and to make them feel better for not being there to stop you from getting hurt in the first place?"
"Oh..."
God, my face feels like it's on fire.
He hums, nodding and smiling.
"And what's more, I believe we're in this together now."
I look at him questioningly.
"What do you mean?"
Could it possibly be what I think, and hope, it does?
"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I don't exactly fit in here. Not that I mind, of course. So if they're going to be hostile towards you for just being gay, they might as well be twice as hostile towards me."
"You're gay?" I asked hope in my voice.
He shakes his head.
"Not exactly. But I'm not exactly heterosexual, either."
"So...bisexual?"
"I suppose you could call it that..."
And that's where the conversation ends. That's okay with me, though, since now I know for certain that there is a possibility that I could be with him. Obviously I know that just because I'm gay and he's bisexual doesn't mean that we will get together, but at least I know that I'm not just wasting my time with pointless fantasies about him.
Still, the knowledge that it could happen is enough to make me grin like a fool for the rest of day.
Or...at least until the nurse decides to poke at my bruised ribs, which then causes me to grimace in pain.
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