Nobodies

I go to school the next day to discover something that Frank was terrified of when we first started dating: the entire school has somehow discovered that we’re boyfriends.
Jamia is the one to break the news to us. “I don’t know who did it, but someone told.”
It’s not like we hadn’t figured it out; when I walked into the school, Frank in toe wearing one of my shirts, eyes flickered, tongues danced, and snickers crawled.
“Good luck to you two boys,” Jamia wishes.
“Well, as long as we don’t let them bother us, we’ll be fine, right?” I question.
Frank scoffs, replying, “Obviously you’ve never heard of these things called ‘fists’.”
I suddenly get nervous, my stomach clenching and throat tightening. “You don’t think anyone would actually pick on us over this, do you?”
“Of course they would!” Frank answers.
“Do you even go here?” Jamia adds.
“Fuck!” I curse. I run some hands through my hair, remarking, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”
“Gerard, calm down,” Frank coaxes, taking my hand.
I snatch it away, retorting, “I can’t fucking calm down when I know that every jock in this shit hole is looking to beat the snot out of me!”
“Gerard, come on,” Jamia pleads. “Just… just avoid them. Okay?”
“They’ll come to me,” I point out.
“Please?” Jamia begs. Her brown eyes show a mixture of sympathy and desperation. She pouts out her lower lip, batting her lashes persuasively.
“Fine,” I agree. “I can get through today.”
Boy, am I going to eat those words.
In my very first class, I’m lucky enough to have 2 of the jocks that beat us up the other day in there. I go to hand in my spelling sentences, and on my walk back to my desk, one of those gorillas sticks his big foot out into the aisle.
I bite the bait, tripping over the big oaf and face planting.
“Jeez, kid, walk much?” the boy who tripped me smirks. The class begins to laugh, the sound bouncing in my ears.
He offers me his hand, which I take without thinking. He pulls me to my feet and growls in my ear,
“Suck any good dicks lately, faggot?”
“Your mom’s, yeah,” I snarl without thinking, yanking my arm from his grip. I hurry back to my seat, glancing back at the ape’s desk to see him glaring furiously at me. I turn back to the front of the room, my heart pacing wildly in my chest.
On my way to lunch, I’m walking down an empty hallway when suddenly; I’m scooped up from under my upper arms and carried into a vacant locker room. One of the three boys pins me to the floor on my back, holding my wrists next to each ear, while the others decide what to do with me.
“Why not beat the living shit out of him?” the one who’d tripped me asks.
My eyes visibly widen, and the boy who’d tripped me in class clearly sees that. He grins a bit at my fear. His friend, whom I’ve never seen before, shakes his head, reminding,
“No, no, you guys just beat him up a while ago and he about passed out, remember? You told me that.”
“Let’s stick his head in a toilet,” the boy pinning me suggests.
“Come on, that’s disgusting!” the unrecognizable boy reasons.
“I know,” the boy who’d tripped me declares. He starts to unzip his pants, and my chest tightens in fright.
“What are you doing?” his friend questions, nerves prickled in his voice.
“This faggot likes to suck dicks, right?” the boy asks. He pulls his penis out from the slot in his boxers, and takes a step towards me. “Let’s have him suck mine.”
“Dude, no!” the kid pinning me protests. He shoves his friend back, whose member is hard.
“Why not?!” he snarls, cock still out.
“We’re trying to teach this kid a lesson, not ruin his life!” the third boy points out.
“Besides, rape, that’s prison time. I’m not going to jail!” the one pinning me yells.
“Fine!” he hisses, tucking his dick back into his pants. His boner still presses through his zipped jeans.
“I know what to do,” the boy pinning me realizes. He takes off his shoe and presses it to my face, ordering, “Lick it.”
“No!” I reply, stomach churning. The shoe has something that looks like shit stuck to the bottom of it, and it’s about an inch away from my nose.
“He won’t do it,” the boy pouts, dejectedly slipping his shoe back on.
“Let’s just stuff him in a locker and get it over with,” one sighs.
“N-n-no, you can’t do that,” I stammer.
The boy who tripped me ears perk up, a malicious grin sliding onto his lips. “The little freak’s afraid. Let’s do it.”
They pick me up once again. I cry out, struggling against them. I try to kick them as they carry me, and bite the wrist of one of them. “Help!”
“He’s squealing now!” one exclaims.
They open an empty locker, and start to put me in feet first. I plant my feet against the back, screaming, “Help me! Help!”
“No one can hear you, fag!” a boy tells. He kicks the back to my knee, making my leg momentarily bend. In that moment, they manage to fold my legs like a chair and shove me into the locker, closing the door. They stand against it so I can’t get out, no matter how much I bang on the door and struggle with the inner workings of the handle.
“Please let me out!” I beg, tears forming in my eyes. I… I can’t breathe. I’m going to suffocate in here! “I think I’m dying, please!!”
I curl to my knees and sob, the only light streaming in through the three slots towards the top of the locker. My breathing becomes heavy, and before I know it, I’m hyperventilating. I cry out again, tears rushing down my cheeks. I hear the boys’ footsteps leave the room. I’m about to stand and try to open the locker when it opens itself, one of the boys standing there. It’s not the boy who had pinned me, or the boy who had tried to rape me. It’s the boy who had warned them not to beat me up, that I might pass out. He holds out his hand, which I gingerly take. He pulls me to the feet, asking,
“Are you okay, Gerard? I… I think you’re having a panic attack.”
I can’t speak, only cry. The boy lays me down on the floor and presses my hand to my stomach, comforting,
“See? You can breathe. You’re not dying, Gerard. Everything’s okay.”
“How do you know my name?” I question.
The boy is hesitant, and then tells, “I’m Jamia’s step brother. My name’s Christian.”
I’m quiet for a long time. Jamia has a step brother? She never told me. What’s he doing hanging out with such shitty kids?
“Please don’t tell Jamia,” Christian pleads. “She can’t know that my friends are the ones to beat up you and Frank.”
“How do you know Frank?” I ask cautiously, pointedly ignoring his groveling.
“Well, Jamia talks about you guys all the time,” Christian explains. “How can I not know who you two are?”
“What are you doing hanging out with dick bags like that?” I wonder aloud.
“I know they’re jerks,” Christian admits. “But… no one else cares about me. Even Jamia can’t stand me.”
I abruptly feel bad for Christian. I hug him, telling, “You can sit with us at lunch. I won’t tell what happened. Okay?”
“Okay,” Christian smiles, standing. He helps me to my feet and leads me out the door.

Notes

Thanks so much for reading! Please comment; I'm glad you guys like the story! I'll try to update soon, but in the meantime, check out some of my other fics.

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