

DISSECTING SEAN CONNOR

Written by R.J. Hamilton

Copyright © 2012 by R.J. Hamilton

ISBN-13: 978-1475176551

ISBN-10: 1475176554

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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A Personal Hell: Don't Ask, Don't Tell

I dedicate this book to anyone who has been, is currently being, or will be bullied at some point in their lifetime (I think that's almost everyone).

I also dedicate it to Dr. Danny Wade, Head Chair of the English Department at Washburn University, enthusiastic teacher of Young Adult Literature, and the planter of the seed of the idea now known as Dissecting Sean Connor.

PART I:

THE VICTIM

WELCOME TO MY LOVELY LIFE

That all-too-common feeling of dread attacks my belly as I step out the front door and walk down the sidewalk. The feeling hadn't really ever left me, but it gets stronger whenever I leave the house, especially when I'm on my way to school. My house is only a couple of blocks from my town's high school. There are only about 10,000 people in my village, which is about 50 miles from Colorado Springs. It's called Evansville. The spring air is warm against my face, I notice as I walk grudgingly down the sidewalk toward the school. Luckily my junior year is almost over and I can't wait to get away from this place. Cars buzz by on the street beside me, kicking up dust, probably on their way to work. Ants line up, scurrying in and out of the cracks in the cement. I look up, knowing it's close. The large, cement and brick building also known as my high school, stands a short distance ahead of me. A tall flagpole casts a shadow onto the school. The flag flaps gently above me. Random students walk inside as their parents drop them at the arc-shaped driveway in front. They skip up the front steps as I traipse across the grass, dew gently kissing my shoes. Beyond the steps are two large, red doors, the doors of death and suffering. They pull my emotions from me as I enter them, sucking my life from my body. A little bit of Sean disappears each time I enter.

The hallway echoes with the slamming of metal lockers, adolescent voices and laughter, and squeaky shoes. The clip-clop of a teacher wearing dress shoes is heard somewhere in the distance, muffled beneath the other sounds. The lockers wall the hallway as far as I can see on both sides. They are the tall kind that any kid skinny enough can be shoved into. I know because I've seen it several times. The lockers match the life-sucking front doors. Our school colors are red and white. We are the Panthers, like I give a shit. Kids gather in groups, chatting and gossiping about weekend happenings and other kids. None of them look at me, the depressed Gothic kid with all the black and the make-up. They've gotten used to the way I look. Almost everyone ignores me. Well, I shouldn't say they ignore me. They just don't talk to me. I hate them all and it's not their fault. They hate me and I hate him too.

"Hey," my thoughts are suddenly invaded by a girl's voice.

"Hey," I answer while continuing toward my locker, ignoring the ignorers. I feel her head against my right shoulder as we stroll along. The sounds of a few squeaky sneakers tear through the air, hurting my ears a little. I shrug Courtney's head from my upper arm as if she's annoying me. Honestly, she's not bugging me at all, but he has an image to uphold. I reach my locker with her leaning against the locker to my left.

"I know this is probably a stupid question, Sean, but did you do anything exciting this weekend?" She asks.

Courtney and I have known each other since the third grade, and she knows me pretty well. I would have to say, if I do have a best friend, she is it. Actually, she's my only friend. I think the only reason why she even talks to me is because she doesn't have anyone else to talk to. I'm an outcast because I'm me and she's one because she's a Wiccan and not afraid to let people know it. Everyone thinks we're both weird, so whatever.

"If you already know the answer, why bother asking, Court?" I twist the knob on my combination lock, finally managing to get it right on the second time around. The lock falls free from the catch and I pull it out of the hole.

"You don't have to be a dick about it," she scolds. "You know, someday you might want to think about trying to be normal." I stop what I'm doing and look at her.

"You should talk," my face starts to feel hot. "Dressing in normal clothes and taking off make-up isn't going to make me any more normal than you are," I utter the words under my breath. "I'll still be me and you'll still be a bitchy witch."

I go back into my locker, grabbing my History and Algebra books. I join the loud locker slammers from everywhere when I shut mine just as hard. The metal echoing makes my skin crawl with irritation. Courtney is staring up at me, being only about 5'4", with large, brown, puppy-dog eyes.

"What?" I ask her even though I know I was mean to her.

"You're a dick," she turns to walk away, long hair waving back and forth as she goes.

"I'm sorry, Court," I tell her. She acknowledges me with a middle finger wave behind her back. I know I'm in the clear. I remove my 'talking to a friend' face and put on the 'Sean is a Goth asshole who doesn't give a shit about anyone' face. It's the only protection I've got. My high school was built in a large square with little mini-hallways jutting out on three sides. The gym that doubles as a cafeteria, with a partition in the middle, is located in the center of the square. I start walking down the corridor behind me, the backside of the square. History is on the opposite side of the hallway. Just before I pass the gym doors, I see them. Mike Hamlin, the pitcher for the baseball team, Scott Johnson, the catcher, and Randy Miggs, the first baseman. They are all serious jocks and they all hate my guts. Mike and Scott are both shorter than me, but what they lack in height, I lack in muscle. Randy is about the same height. They always wear their letterman jackets, just so everyone knows what they are.

"Hey, faggot!" Mike begins the immediate taunting as I try to look downward in an attempt to ignore them.

I count the tiles, avoiding each crack where tile meets tile. One, two, three...

"I said 'hey, faggot,'" he repeats himself as if I didn't hear him. His voice is close.

I hug my books tightly, not daring to look up. Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, unlucky number thirteen as the impact hits me in the side, slamming my shoulder against the cement wall that runs along the outside hallway of the gym.

"I said 'hey, faggot' you freak," he tries to say the words into my ear, leaning in as close as he can.

My shoulder aches with pain, but I pretend it doesn't. I don't say a word, stopping dead in my tracks. Each of the muscle-head jocks stands around me, cornering me against the wall.

"You probably think I'm cute don't you," Mike continues to taunt me. "Huh, you do don't you? Answer me, queer." His breath brushes across the hairs on my neck.

My stomach hurts so bad that I want to throw up, right here, right now.

"What's the problem out here?" A deep voice of authority echoes into my ears, replacing the Neanderthal breathing. They break away from me, allowing me to breathe.

"Nothing, Sir, just talking to, Sean," Mike explains.

"Well get to class, Mr. Hamlin," the teacher says. I don't remember his name right now, almost pissing in my pants from a combination of anger and fear has that effect. "You too, Mr. Connor," he tells me, completely ignoring the obvious fact that I was just being picked on. It doesn't matter. I'm not important.

"Yes, Sir," I say to him quietly. I look up long enough to see a look of 'I'll get you later' on Mike's face as he walks away. I check the hallway with my eyes before ducking into the bathroom. As I swing the door open, I listen for any potential intruders. I clear the stalls by checking beneath each of them for feet. Once the coast is clear, I let the tears flow. The aching in the pit of my stomach is intense. I hate those jocks so bad! I pull my t-shirt sleeve up, checking my shoulder in the mirror for bruising. It looks okay besides a little redness. Black streaks flow down my face, eyeliner dribbling. I should know better than to wear the stuff that's not waterproof by now. I control the stream and choke back the tears, forcing the lump in my throat to be pushed down. I run a little water, dab a bit of toilet paper, clean my face, and reapply. I stare at the guy in the mirror for a few moments in order to ensure his composure and presentation. I leave the restroom and continue along the hall until I go into History. I squeeze past everyone to my seat at the back of the room, staring at the tiled floor the entire time.

I don't see Mike Hamlin or his drones again that day, thankfully. I wasn't really in the mood. Random thoughts flood my mind as I stroll along the sidewalk toward my house. I'm not happy by any means, just content with the fact that I'm not in school anymore.

So, later that afternoon I see it on the news. I'm not one to watch the news regularly, but my mother has the television on above the counter. It's the kind of TV that attaches to the underside of the cabinets. I'm sitting at the dining room table, eating a bowl of Corn Pops as an afterschool snack. A handsome, young newscaster with deep brown eyes, the sort of eyes that look like they can see into your soul, stares at me from the screen. His perfectly polished teeth glisten brightly as he talks. His dark hair waves at me, brilliantly combed and styled.

"Yesterday, in professional baseball, there was a fight in the Chiefs' locker room," a picture flashes beside his seated body, partially hidden behind a table as he handles a bunch of papers.

"Openly homosexual player, Richard Moss, was severely beaten by teammates after Sunday's game. The players involved in the incident have yet to be openly identified by police. Moss is currently in ICU at an undisclosed location. Further details as they become available," he moves on to another story. My mother scoffs as the story ends.

I swear I hear the words serves him right mumbled under her breath as she reaches into the fridge for something. There's a sudden ache in the pit of my stomach. I reluctantly swallow the few Pops that have been swimming in my mouth in a pool of 2% milk, my tongue acting as their life preserver. Combinations of frustration, anger, and sadness flow through me, quickly taking their turns in the emotional lineup. I'm left with the depression of sadness, knowing there's no way to talk to her when it comes to me and my feelings.

I don't feel like finishing the remaining bits of cereal, so I pick up my bowl and walk over to the sink, behind my mother. I turn on the faucet and begin dumping the bowl.

"Geez, Sean, your father and I aren't made of money," her words come from over my right shoulder.

"I know. Put it on my tab," I say as I watch the white liquid flow into the running water.

Individual Pops fall against the stainless-steel sink, impeding the swirl of the combining liquids like rocks jutting up from a riverbed. The milk circles its way around the whirlpool until it finds its way down into the garbage disposal. I fill my bowl with water, rinsing and refilling, washing the Pops to their doomed fate. They are soon to be ground into mulch by the sharp, metal blades below. I reach for the disposal switch, screaming for the Pops inside my brain. Their death is quick and silent. I turn off the switch, open the dishwasher, and place it into the appropriate rack. My mother has spent hours bitching about my not loading the dishwasher right. Every once-in-awhile, I do it wrong intentionally just to piss her off. But, at this point in my life, I'd rather be left alone. My mother continues to scurry about the kitchen. I go to my room for the rest of the night, escaping my parents. This is my life.

OFF TO SCHOOL WE GO...AGAIN

"You'd better hurry, Sean, I don't have time to give you a ride to school today," my mother tells me as she enters the kitchen from the hall.

"A simple 'good morning' would probably do, Mom," I say while leaving the kitchen and going into the bathroom, "It's not like I need a ride anyway," I mumble under my breath. I close the door and stand in front of the mirror, looking at a stranger who stares back at me. I don't know the blue-eyed guy with the dyed, black hair standing in front of me. I look at him for a moment, trying to recognize myself. I reach up and touch my face, black painted fingernails flashing at me from the mirror. A stainless-steel lip ring glints from the overhead lighting above the sink. I dip my finger down into a container on the counter and pull open my eyes with a free hand. I place a contact lens on each of the eyeballs. I haven't worn glasses since the ninth grade, two years ago. I blink crazily for a moment, adjusting the lenses and then exposing the eyes that have now been capped in black. I worked hard last summer in order to get new contacts to replace the old, boring ones. I open the medicine cabinet, moving the reflection into the wall. I imagine the image inside the mirror gazing at the white tile just inches from his face while I retrieve the black eyeliner from the shelf. The magnetic strip clicks as it grabs the door when I close it. He looks back at me once again. I carefully draw on my face, placing lines of black beneath and above my dark-brown lashes. Satisfied with my appearance, I put the liner away and leave the bathroom, taking him with me. I don't know him, but he is me and I am him. We have been together for less than a year.

I enter my bedroom, black sheets hanging in place of the curtains my mother once had up. I shoved them into a trash bag and tossed them to the back of my closet, forgotten. The sunlight stays out of my room now, trying to peek through beneath the sheets, only managing to touch an inch of the carpeting. I toss the shorts and shirt I've been wearing onto my bed as I peel them off. I slip on my black, skinny jeans, matching t-shirt, and shoes, grab my backpack and leave the room. I pull the door closed behind me, locking the inside twist-lock beforehand. I know how to open the door with a piece of wiring I have sitting on the frame above it. I don't need my parents snooping around. I have things inside they don't need to see. Things I don't want them to see.

I make the short trek back to the place I dread most in this world. It's always the same old flagpole, same old life-sucking red doors, same old shitty kids and teachers inside the brick and cement prison walls. The random sneakers' squeaks make me cringe, violating my eardrums like fingernails against a chalkboard. I walk past all of them, the jocks, the preps, the burn-outs, the nerds, all in their own little factions. For being in such a small town, this school is really cliqued-out. Courtney and I make our own class of student. Neither of us fit anywhere and I'm fine with it. Speak of the devil. She comes bouncing down the hallway toward me, boobs flailing.

"You know, you could try wearing a bra to school," I tell her teasingly as I continue in the direction of my locker.

She punches me in the arm, hitting the spot where Mike smashed me against the wall yesterday. I cringe without making it obvious. The spot on my shoulder is now black-and-blue. I'd checked it when I'd gotten home from school.

"For your information, I am and always do wear a bra to school. I can't have these things flopping around for all the boys to be gawking at," she looks down at her chest while we walk and talk.

"Well, I think it's time for a better one," even though I'm teasing her, I don't crack a smile.

"Okay, I think that's enough talk about my chest for one day," she remarks. "Katie Adams is having a party Friday night, you in?"

We arrive at my locker and I do the double-twist access again. Nothing's ever different.

"Yeah, no, I won't be going," I answer her ignorant question with a dash of sarcasm, not leaving the 'yeah' in place long enough to get her hopes up.

"Geez, Sean, couldn't you at least give it a try? My God, you don't do anything anymore," she tongue-lashes me. "All you do is lay around your bedroom feeling sorry for yourself all weekend."

I stop rifling for my books for a second, but I don't make eye contact with her.

"I didn't say you couldn't go. I just don't feel like it." I grab Math and History texts, the usual.

"Whatever," she exhales a deep breath. "I don't give a shit what you do. Rot alone in your room for all I care." She spins off the heel of her shoe, heading in the opposite direction.

I don't bother saying anything this time. I'm better off alone anyway, even though I'm never really alone. He's always with me, whether I hate him or not. I shut my locker and walk in the same direction as Courtney. I walk the long way around the square of the building, avoiding the gym doors. Some things do change I guess, sometimes.

I eat lunch alone, sitting away from the cliques in the farthest corner possible. The meatloaf tastes mostly of warm ketchup, the mashed potatoes completely lack flavor, and the corn is like chewing on little bits of rubber. It's hard to eat knowing P.E. is my fourth period, following lunch. I hate physical education just as much as I despise most everything else. I can't stand sports in general actually. But the sports aren't even the worst part of the class. I scoop another bunch of bouncy ball bits onto my fork and swipe them into my mouth. The worst part about gym class is the locker room. My mind goes back to the news story from last night momentarily. I hate feeling so vulnerable and naked, changing in front of everyone else, trying to find a secluded place to hide myself but never being completely successful. The process itself is cruel and humiliating. I get up from the table; chattering continues in all directions. Nobody looks at me. I whack the tray against the side of the trashcan, placing it into the window where an elderly woman takes it. She sprays the stuck-on mashed potatoes free.

I walk along the wall and leave through a small door in the folding, collapsible partition, entering the gym. The boys' and girls' locker room doors are just to my right. The basketball court floor is shiny, looking as though it's just been waxed the night before. A large stage decorated by huge, velvety red curtains, dangling down on both sides and dressed along the top with a shorter version of the same fabric, is built into the opposite wall. The school uses the stage for everything from pep-rallies to theatrical performances. I'd been in a couple of musicals, one my freshman year, Bye-Bye Birdie, and the other my sophomore year, Grease. I was in the chorus, of course. I sluggishly traipse into the boys' locker room, hearing the giddy laughter of guys who are already preparing for whatever joyous activity Coach Jenkins has in store for us today. I can feel the rubber roughage gurgling in my gut, stewing in ketchup juice with a tiny bit of bland hamburger. I feel like I want to puke. I sneak past the snickering guys, peeking from the corner of my right eye. One snaps another sharply with a towel that's probably never been washed. He gets him in his upper thigh, nearly his butt cheek. The snapped one retaliates with the winding of his towel. I walk by just in time to hear another snap and a pained groan. I continue to the end of the line of lockers with benches located between each until I get to mine. I'm hidden in the deepest, darkest corner I could find. I turn the combination lock, two tries of course, and dig out my white t-shirt and red shorts. These are two colors I've grown to hate. My stomach gurgles and a small burp slips out. A distasteful smell of corn and ketchup goes up my nose as I swallow it back down. I change my clothes as quickly as possible while the noises around me get stronger with more male banter.

"Let's go, guys," Coach Jenkins' mature voice bellows inside the locker room.

Sneakers squeak their way out to the gym floor and I follow quietly, awkwardly behind them. Everyone gathers in the center of the gymnasium in front of the Coach. I go to the back of the group of guys. He's an older man with whitish hair, beady eyes, and a bulbous nose. His hair pokes out of the red cap on his head. His white t-shirt is tucked into his red shorts, a whistle dangles in front of his beer gut, and his red-striped tube socks rest just below the knees. "Okay, men, today we're going to play full-court basketball."

My stomach drops. Would it be possible to play something that doesn't involve person-to-person contact just once? That dreadful feeling gets stronger as the Coach picks the team captains. He kicks a cardboard box filled with raggedy, red jerseys toward one of them. They each pick their teammates and I'm last, of course. Let the games begin! Despite my feelings about the sport, I stay on my guy as the ball bounces quickly around the court. I watch as the basketball is dribbled, placing myself just below the basket. My opponent stands beside me, hands dangerously close to touching. The ball smacks against the wood floor loudly and I watch intently. The dribbling stops. There's nowhere for him to go. He looks around as hands reach in front of his face. His eyes suddenly meet mine and then the unexpected happens. The ball comes hurling in my direction. My hands are ready for it, though I don't want it.

"Queer," the words enter my left ear, whispered by the guy next to me. He shoves me hard just as the ball nears my fingertips.

My right shoulder hits the floor, bruising the already black-and-blue flesh even more. My head bounces off the wood because I wasn't ready, leaving a sweaty splattered forehead print on the wax. The ball flies off into nowhere land. I lie there breathless. A tear threatens to poke itself from my eye, but I don't let it come.

"Foul, Johnson," the Coach yells. "That's enough anyway. Hit the showers, boys!"

Nobody offers to help me up. The soles of squeaky feet pass me, mumbling to each other, staring at the worthless nothing lying on the floor like a baby. I wait to get up until their voices echo from inside the locker room, my arms pushing and my body aching, I'm pathetic. I drag myself into the locker room. The sound of shower water sprays from across the room. Mocking laughter bellows from everywhere, it seems. I find my corner, removing my t-shirt and my shorts carefully beneath my waist-wrapped towel. I wait for the water activity to minimize before making my way over. Only a couple of the boys are finishing up when I go in. I avoid eye contact with them as I slip over to the furthest showerhead, removing my towel and quickly rinsing my body.

"Hey, you guys might want to get out so the fag doesn't get off staring at your junk," the kid, Eric Johnson, who'd spiked my head into the floor stands near the edge of the shower room fully dressed.

The two guys turn off their showers and wrap themselves quickly, going to their lockers. The others have already filed out of the locker room in order to get to their classes. I look into Eric's eyes unintentionally. He flashes an evil smirk and then sticks up his middle finger, biting his lower lip in order to add dramatic effect. He leaves with the others directly behind him. They each look at me quickly before going as I wrap the towel around my waist and return to my locker. The warning bell rings and I throw my clothes back on, hanging my wet clothing and towel on the interior hooks of the locker. I rush to my locker for my Biology book and make it to class just before the tardy bell sounds.

Seventh hour, my Honors English class, finally arrives. It's one of my favorite subjects, actually the only one I like. Mrs. Moss peers around the room over her rectangular glasses. Her short, light brown, highly permed hair sticks up like an afro from the top of her head. The sides are cut shorter than the rest, all the way around. A silver chain dangles lazily from her glasses frame on either side of her head. The bridge balances atop the tip of her narrow, thin nose. She's not much taller than Courtney, lacking certain endowments. I think the reason I like this class so much is that there aren't any idiots in it. All the kids in here are here because they're smart, maybe a little on the geeky side. I don't care though. I feel calmer here and Mrs. Moss helps, obviously loving her job more than any of my other teachers.

"We're going to try something new today, class," she announces with her soft-spoken yet commanding tone. She begins setting piles of the same book onto each desk at the front of each of the rows for the kid in front to pass back. As usual, I'm seated near the rear. "I've recently finished The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and, though it is a murderous book, I think it can be an identifiable read for a teen," she looks back at me over the black rims of her glasses. "Now, I know there are only a few weeks left of school, but since we've already finished our syllabus, this will be a pleasure read. Don't think you can get away without reading it though; there will be a short quiz," she scolds.

The books crawl back, making the pile gradually depletes by one with each passing. I grab my copy from the girl in front of me. The title stares back at me in a violently thick red lettering as I flip it over for inspection. The words look like blood dripping from the paper. Mrs. Moss discusses some details about the book and, before I know it, the final bell rings, dismissing us.

I try to make myself invisible as I skirt along the halls to my locker. Apparently it works because nobody messes with me. I arrive at my locker, double-twist, open it, and drop Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde into my backpack. I put on my mental invisibility paint, and successfully make it to the front doors without drawing attention. I don't get any pleasures in life, so books are what I've got. They help me to get lost, escaping the shitty reality of my existence. The heat from the sun soaks into the black material of my clothes, making me a little uncomfortable.

"Faggot," a guy's voice from a passing car yells as he drives past me, faster than he should be. I ignore him, though the word cuts me deep. I'm getting used to it, not hurting quite as much as it used to. Of course, I'd much rather be called a faggot than getting hit. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me, isn't that how it goes? I wish I could believe it. My eyes stay focused on the cracks in the cement, watching my own shadow, hoping he doesn't come back. I make it home in one piece and quietly slip into my bedroom with my book. I find myself and the guy in the mirror I no longer know, relating to the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde characters as the story unfolds. I am a stranger to myself now but I haven't always been this way. I don't know who I am anymore. I'm alone in a depressing world where I'm Sean Connor, the Goth faggot, to everyone. I wish I was stronger. I feel my eyes hazing over with sleepiness and before I can do anything about it, the book falls onto my chest. I fall into dreamland where I am Sean Hyde. Mike and the others corner me in the hallway against my locker. The transformation happens as soon as I down the potion I've taken from my locker. My arms grow big and out of proportion and then the rest of my body follows. I beat the shit out of them, tossing their bodies halfway down the halls. Bones crack against the bricks and blood pours over the floor tiles. It is Sean Hyde who is guilty of the crimes, not Sean Jekyll. I laugh while watching them writhe in pain on the floor. I feel rejuvenated and refreshed, satisfied while asleep. I wake up the next morning, realizing it was only a dream. I'm back to being the weak, Goth, pussy I was before I'd fallen asleep. I hate my life.

FRIDAY...FINALLY

As I'm rifling through my locker, Courtney comes bouncing up to me.

"So, you're still not coming tonight I assume?" She asks. I don't even bother looking at her.

"You already know the answer to that question. I don't even know why you bother asking," I shut my locker, hoisting my backpack over my shoulder, and start walking toward the door.

"Geez, Sean, are you going to die in your room staring at internet porn and rotting away like a corpse?" I walk ahead of her. "These are supposed to be the best years of our lives and I'm not going to stop going to the parties. Even if everyone ignores me while I'm there, I don't give a shit," she stops in the middle of the hallway, kids staring at her ranting like she's a lunatic.

I wish I had Courtney's brave attitude about things. I know she stands in the corner when she goes to their parties. I know she's never invited, but she doesn't care. I wish I could be more like her.

I hate them all, but I do care what they think. If I didn't, I wouldn't hate them so much.

I keep walking, hearing her voice as I exit the doors, "Screw you, Sean! You can rot in hell!" I know she doesn't mean it. Maybe she does. I don't know. I don't care. I have to get out of here before someone sees me. I have to get to the only safe place that I know.

I finish the book Mrs. Moss assigned us way ahead of schedule. I feel a certain level of strength inside myself. It's like I'm Hyde, like the dream. I imagine myself taking control of him and using him against everyone who dares defy me. I develop a brave, new attitude, inherited from Hyde. I am Hyde. I convince myself of these things, using the imagination a book can fuel. I go to the bathroom and look at him again in the mirror. I stare back at me with his dark, sinister appearance. I add more color to the lining of his eyes and fix his hair, empowering the darkness inside me. I feel powerful, strong, worthy of a party that I haven't been invited to. I take a deep breath and go back into my room for a different shirt. I don't say anything to my parents as I walk out the front door. They are smoking off the back deck. I notice the cigarette cherries glowing in the evening's darkness as they puff from their chairs. Sometimes I wonder if they think I'm stupid. I slip out, easing the door quietly shut behind me. They never check on me and I can force my way into my bedroom window without them noticing. The screen comes off easily and the window latch is broken.

The streetlights glow brightly up and down the road. Vehicles are settled in their driveways for the evening. Nothing ever happens in this town. Katie's house is only about five blocks away from mine, on the other side of the city park. The park is dedicated to some Iraqi War veteran who died a couple of years ago. I don't remember his name. He was five years older than me. They say he was blown up or something. Like I said, I don't remember.

I walk briskly through some yards, around fences, ensuring there aren't any dogs left out as I go. The park is not too far ahead. The areas between the houses are pretty dark, making it easier to go unseen.

Hopefully nobody calls the cops, thinking I'm a burglar dressed all in black. I try to hold on to the mentality of Sean Hyde for as long as I can.

I want to go to the party for Court, supporting her, showing her that I'm not some piece of crap hiding out in his room all night long. I get to the edge of the park, looking all around to make sure there's nobody jogging or walking around. The coast is clear. I run to the other side sneakily, edging into the thick wood line on the other side.

I go between the trees, almost getting tripped by some vines hidden under fallen leaves. Fear sets in the moment I get to the edge of the trees. I stop behind one of the last oaks just before the road. Katie's house is directly across the street.

The lights are bright and there's muffled music coming out from inside. Several cars line the street on both sides, obviously there's a party going on inside. I can't do it. I'm frozen.

I can see their silhouettes as they pass the drawn, sheer curtains. I can't move. I rest against the oak tree, searching for Sean Hyde, but he's gone. Depression surges back into my worthless, boring body. I continue to look toward Heidi's house, wishing and trying to bring myself to take another step. You are going to rot in hell, Sean, I tell myself as I reach for something, anything to make my feet move forward. Nothing works.

"What are you doing, homo?" A voice scratches my soul from behind. I jump, startled by the sudden human invasion. I turn toward the voice, knowing who's going to be standing there.

"So, you weren't invited so you thought you'd just hide in the bushes with your sissy self, peeping on us?" Mike's words grind into me.

My mind goes back to the dream as I face him. Randy stands behind him, huge, with a shit-eating grin on his face. His right elbow rests on his muscular arm, fingers just below his lower lip. Mike stares at me like a bull getting ready to charge. My back is against the tree I was once beside, cornering myself. "What do you have to say for yourself, faggot?"

I can't make any words come out of my mouth. I know it doesn't matter what I say anyway. Everything happens so fast. Randy is behind me, on the other side of the tree with my wrists in each of his hands. I look into Mike's crazy eyes as he rears back with his right fist. It slams into my gut like a battering ram, crushing my stomach. The wind is immediately forced out of my body. I can't breathe. Another blow hits me in the side.

"I'll teach you to spy on parties you weren't invited to, queer," his words come out angry and brutal. He hits me again and again, ensuring every blow is where a shirt can cover. The bark tears into my back as Randy's muscular arms pull my body tighter and tighter. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. One last powerful hit and Randy's release causes me to fall to the moist ground.

"Get the hell out of here," a kick to the left side of my ribcage hits just before the muffled footsteps walk toward Katie's house.

I curl-up on my knees, holding my whole body as best I can. It takes forever before I'm able to breathe again. I pull myself up with help from the oak tree, leaning for a few more minutes before stumbling home like a drunken teenager. Everything hurts so badly. It hurts to inhale. It hurts to exhale.

When I finally make it home, I manage to pull myself into my bedroom. My parents are in bed. I slip off my clothes and go into the bathroom.

You didn't help me, I tell him as I stare into the mirror. I run a hot bath and ease my aching body into the water. Bruises decorate my ribs, chest, stomach, and back.

I hate them so much! I want to kill them, but I'm the faggot who doesn't deserve to live. I slip from the bath, muscles feeling far from better. I dry myself off and slip on a pair of shorts I've laid out on top of the toilet seat. I pull the handle on the tub, allowing the bathwater to swirl down the pipes in a swirling whirlpool exit. I sit on the toilet seat for a moment, contemplating on how I'm going to do it. I watch the liquid turn and gurgle its way out of the tub.

I ease the door open and sneak into my bedroom, sitting at my desk with a tablet and pen. I scribble my feelings onto the paper with a purpose. I know that my feelings don't matter, not even to me. My ribs shoot a pain for a second, causing me to lessen my breathing long enough for the pain to ease a little. The bruises on my back make me lean forward in order to avoid the rough material of the chair from rubbing against the raw flesh. I hate myself. I hate him for not helping me. I hate the baseball bastards for what they did. I sign the note simply 'Sean,' no 'your loving son,' no 'love,' no 'I'm sorry,' just 'Sean.' I set the pen on the pad and slide out of my room.

I don't want to wake them up. I go to the attached garage door, sliding the deadbolt lock free and go inside. I walk in bare feet across the cold cement and skirt my way around the front of my father's car. I find one of the flashlights he keeps on top of his workbench and click it on. The cabinet stares at me from the far corner of the garage, paint shining against the flashing beam of light. I walk over to it and grab the key from the nail poking out just within arm's reach for me now. When I was younger this would've been too hard to do, but now I can reach the key easily. I place it into the keyhole, swinging the cabinet door open. The Colt 45 Legacy, a pistol my father bought at a gun show last year, looks up at me. I reach in and pull it out, wiping off the dustiness and grabbing a bullet as well. When I was little, my father and I used to do everything together. We would fish, hunt, and shoot together on the weekends. I don't think he thought I'd be using what he'd taught me like this. I close the garage door, sit on the steps, and load the pistol. I think about Mike Hamlin's fists pounding against me over and over again. I think about the boys' locker room. I think about all the names I've been called over the last few months. I say that I don't care. I do care. I care way too much. I want to be someone. I want to have friends. I turn the barrel of the pistol toward my face. The end is hollow and black. A steel bullet waits at the end, depending on one simple finger pushing against the trigger. I hate everyone. I hate everything. I hate myself. I hate. Tears flow from my eyes like a river. Breathing is hard. I hurt so badly. Oh my God, I hurt so badly. My hand begins to tremble and the dark hole at the end of the pistol wavers inches from my eyes. I'm such a pussy I can't even kill myself. I'm worthless. The salty liquid wets my cheeks and dribbles down my jaw line. My nose runs uncontrollably with my salty tears. I tense my arms up for another attempt. Come on you pussy faggot, I scream inside my head. I stare into the barrel, bringing it to my forehead. The trembling continues, becoming more and more violent the harder I try to push the trigger back. I can't do it. I'm a failure. I allow the pistol to drop to my side. Everything about me aches. I shake, nearly convulsing as the droplets from my eyes wet the steps by my feet.

I sit in the darkness of the garage, sitting on the steps. The flashlight batteries failed a while ago. The pistol dangles, my nose runs, and the tears dry on my skin. I ponder a plan, getting up to relock the gun cabinet, grabbing my father's box of bullets. I walk back to my room as silently as I can. If my parents have any idea what is going on, my father's snore doesn't say so. I slip back into my room, pushing the pistol and the box of bullets into a compartment of my backpack. I go into the bathroom to wash my face, staring at him for a moment, smiling. Things will be better on Monday. Things will be better. I go back to my room and go to bed, recalling every vivid nightmare known as my life.

THINGS WILL BE BETTER

I wake up in a pool of my own sweat, dreaming of last night's ass kicking. I look at the clock on my dresser, 1:30 in the afternoon. I sit up and glance over the end of my bed, seeing the sun peeking in below the curtains. The anger and failure from last night still loom inside my head. Daydreams about Mike punching me over and over again continue to flash. I hate him. I can't wait until Monday. I'll show those bastards who's the faggot, sissy, homo.

I get out of bed and open the door to my bedroom, chest glistening. I listen for a bit before stepping into the bathroom. There aren't any noises inside the house. My parents work some Saturdays. Other times, when they're not working, I don't know what they're doing. I've fallen out of touch with them over the last few months. They'd never understand anyway, so what's the point? I peel my sleeping shorts off, set them on top of the toilet, and step into the shower. The cool water feels almost too cold against my hot skin. I taste the leftover salt from caked-on tears as the water washes over my face. The reminder of my unsuccessful suicide attempt makes my brain burn even more. My new plan is better anyway. I turn my back to the showerhead, standing silently beneath its cool flow. The fire inside my belly doesn't go away. I look down at my ribs and stomach, noticing the marks of dark flesh where fists and a foot branded me. I reach down to touch the biggest bruise, which is on my side. I wince as a sharp pain shoots from the marking that shouldn't be there. I turn my side toward the cool water, hoping the raging pain will settle. It kind of works, making me feel a little bit better. I try to stand still so the water can work its magic on my sore body. My blood continues to boil the more I stand in one place. Even the tiny pressure from the showerhead's streams seems to cause pain. I try not to cry, but I still feel that odd feeling of pressure behind my eyes and my throat swells up. The saltiness comes back, so I know I'm crying. It hurts so badly. I can't help it. It makes me feel like even more of a pussy. I painfully reach down, turning off the shower, unable to take anymore. I don't even bother washing myself at all. I don't care. I just don't give a shit. Grabbing my towel from the rod, I dry off and get out. I wrap myself up as tightly as I can without causing pain. I pick my shorts off the toilet and go into my bedroom.

I close the door tightly, pushing in the button to lock it. I roll the chair away from the desk and open my laptop. As the computer starts up, I realize that the note I'd written my parents last night is still sitting on the desk. I crumple it up and toss it into the trash next to the desk. There's no point in reading it; I know what it says. I have to do something to take my mind off the events I have planned for Monday. I look over to my dresser, 2:15. That's it! I have to find something to do. I'll find a game to play online, look at my virtually friendless Facebook page, or maybe find something adult to look at. I sit nearly naked at my desk, surfing the internet, wasting time the best way I know how. My parents finally get back home around dinnertime and my mother comes knocking at my door. I quickly slam the laptop closed as her fist raps against the wood.

"Sean," she calls through the door, "we're having pizza for dinner. Your dad and I picked it up on our way home."

"Okay," I answer her, fidgeting to rewrap the towel around my hips. I hadn't bothered to get dressed yet. "I'll be out there in a minute," I call as I stand up and go to my dresser for a different pair of shorts and closet for a shirt. After sitting for so long, my sore muscles don't agree with the quickness of my standing. I hold back a pained yell by biting my lower lip and inhaling deeply. I hear her leave, apparently satisfied by my answer. Oh my God, I think as I try to breath. My side feels like he's kicking me all over again. I take short, tiny breaths until the pain goes away.

Once I feel a little better, I carefully get dressed and go into the dining room. Neither of them is sitting at the table. The pizza sits all alone, just as I am about to do. I go into the kitchen, grab a plate, and sit back at the table. I only manage to eat two pieces. I look out the back patio glass to see them smoking, sitting in their chairs. The sun slowly lowers on the horizon.

The rays are warm and bright, unlike my future. There's only one more day before I can carry out what I've planned. A feeling of excited anxiety rushes through me along with visions of the fantasy I desperately want to fulfill. I smile to myself for a moment, staring out the large, sliding glass, patio door. I look beyond my parents who have their backs to me. Their blurry silhouettes are underlying as my vision goes past them, beyond the landscape, much further than the horizon itself. My mind finds a momentary place of darkness somewhere in nowhere. I visualize Mike's face exploding as the .45 bullet smashes through his forehead, after begging me to let him live. He doesn't deserve to live. He doesn't deserve to breathe. He doesn't deserve shit! As his brains push out the back of his skull my mind slams back to reality, making me nauseous. I get up as quickly as I can, placing my plate in the dishwasher and going back to my room. I have to sleep the weekend away. I don't want to think anymore, not right now.

I waste most of Sunday between sleeping, surfing the internet, and fantasizing about tomorrow. I toss and turn Sunday night, thinking about the morning. The anger in my belly hasn't left me all weekend. The bruises are starting to turn that weird yellowish color with a greenish mix. The aching hasn't gone away much either. I wake up and look at the clock over and over again, falling asleep just enough for the hours to pass in half-hour increments. I sweat, not from the heat, just from anxiousness, nervousness, and anticipation. Finally, my alarm goes off before actually realizing I'd fallen asleep. I get up from the bed and hit the button, silencing the annoying talk radio banter. People are too giddy for their own good. Today is the day. Today is my day, my last day.

I go into the bathroom to stare at Sean Hyde and prepare myself and him. We look at each other for a long time. I talk to him, mentally psyching him up, absorbing what darkness he can bring me. I grab the eyeliner from the medicine cabinet, breaking eye contact for as short as possible. I need his strength right now and I don't want to lose it again. I apply the make-up thicker than normal, bringing the place where my eyelids meet to a point that extends beyond the normal stopping spot. The eyeliner makes him look like an Egyptian pharaoh. I fix his hair, our hair, and go back to my room to grab my backpack. I avoid my mother as I leave the house earlier than usual. My father's already gone, as usual. I don't want to see either one of them. They don't need to see me either. I won't miss them and they won't miss me. It's already like they don't have a son anyway. I don't care. I only need him and he only needs me.

The bullets shift a little in my backpack as I walk off the steps in front of my house to the sidewalk. I don't care about anything around me. There's only one place I want to be and I stay focused. Look out world, Sean Hyde is on his way! Those bastards are going to pay for what they've done to me. After I'm done with them, I won't have a choice but to finish what I tried to do on Friday night. I won't go to jail. When I die, they're coming with me. They deserve what's coming. There is no doubt in my mind about that. The Strange Adventures of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde smacks against my back as I stroll along. This is the best I've felt going to school in a long time. I feel invincible and strong. I see the flagpole poking up into the sky. The red doors welcome me inside. Nobody's here yet, I notice as I get closer. I don't even know what time it is right now. Luckily, the doors are unlocked. Apparently the janitors are already here. There wasn't the usual line of cars dropping kids off. I look at a clock as I walk toward my locker, telling me it's only 7:15. I've still got a few minutes to get ready before they'll be here. I roll the combination around, dialing the right numbers. The lock falls free on the first try, shocking me a little. I pull it from the hole and open the door, setting my backpack inside on the metal hook. I clear the hallway, unzip the bag, and pull the pistol out. The gun's clip is fully loaded with a few extras to spare. I put the bullets in my pocket just in case and slip the pistol into my back waistband as deep as it can go.

I shut the locker, going to the nearest restroom to check my appearance. He looks like the Devil himself in the mirror, wearing a smug scowl that's nothing but serious. I'm ready for this. We're ready for this. I walk down the hall, past the gym, to wait in front of Mike's first period classroom. I wait against the wall of lockers, only a few feet from the door. I stand and wait. I feel myself sweating, like my armpits are going to fall down my sides into my pant pockets. I wipe my face several times on my shirt sleeve, mopping up moisture each time. Kids start coming in, trickling into the halls. I try to look normal, well normal for me anyway. I think about my dream of smashing Mike and his friends' faces in, crushing their bodies. I wait and wait. He doesn't come.

"What are you doing?" Her voice sneaks up on me from my left. It makes me jump a little. My heart beats faster than it already had been, causing a possible mini-heart attack.

"Shit, Court, don't do that!" I tell her in a whisper. My throat is dry and I can hardly make the words come out.

"What are you doing, Sean?" She calls for an answer again.

"Nothing, please go away," I tell her. If she had any idea what I'd been planning all weekend. If she had any idea there was a pistol sticking to my ass cheeks and lower back. I turn toward her slightly, looking directly into her puppy-dog, brown eyes. "Please, Court, just go to class." She stares at me like she knows something's wrong. She looks worried and scared, not for her, but for me. I can't stand it when she looks at me this way. I glance away, looking down the hall toward Mike's classroom door, hoping I haven't missed him. Something's wrong with me. I look back at Courtney to see that she hasn't budged and her eyes are still the same. A single tear starts to glisten from her left eye. "What do you want?"

"Sean, you know I love you, right?" She asks me quietly, as though she doesn't want anyone else to hear. Her words cut me. They cut me in a different way than when I'm called a 'faggot' or a 'queer.' There is a tender genuine delivery that only a friend can give. I reach up and wipe a forming droplet from my own eye. I can't do this and I don't feel bad about it like I've failed again. I just can't leave her. She doesn't deserve my hatred to cause her more loneliness. I'm all she's got and she's all I've got. I can't do this.

"I know you do, Court." We've known each other since the third grade. I am the only one who knows that her father used to beat the shit out of her mother. I'm the only one who knows that one of her mother's boyfriends raped her when she was 12. The warning bell rings. I can't leave her alone.

"I love you too. I have to do something. We'll talk later okay?" I leave her standing alone, but not completely. I'm still here. I briskly return to my locker, opening it (first try again!), clearing the halls before turning my back to the door. I slip the piece out of my sweaty waistband and maneuver it back into the open backpack. I pivot, reaching into my pocket for the bullets and put them inside as well. I zip the bag and grab my books, nearly running to class with a lingering tear still floating in my eye. I haven't failed. I've actually won. The fact that I even came this far tells me that there is a strength in there. There's a Sean Hyde begging to come out, but not right now, Sean, not right now. I slide into History class just as the tardy bell rings over the speaker system.

"Cutting it a little close today aren't you, Mr. Connor?" The teacher asks.

"You have no idea, Sir," I respond while stepping passed the full desks to the back of the classroom. I sit in my desk, secretly wiping any potential strays from my eyes as I lower myself into the chair.

SUMMER LOVIN'

The rest of the school year goes by without too many problems, aside from the usual shit. I get called names, but Mike and his minions don't beat my ass again. I avoid them like the plague, taking a different route every day when I go to my classes. This newfound strength makes it easier to face the day. I manage to get one 'C', three 'B's, and two 'A's. My parents don't say 'good job' or anything like that. They just nod in approval when I show them my report card. I should know better than to expect much from them anymore. I spend a lot of time in my bedroom as usual, alone.

A couple of weeks into the summer, I notice something out my window. I'd decided a few days ago that the natural light was easier to read in, so I moved the black sheet off to the side. The buzzing of a lawnmower is rattling like crazy next door, making it hard for me to concentrate on my book. The place has been for sale for a couple years now and it was nice not having neighbors to annoy me. I get up from my bed to look out the window, shocked by what I see. There's a guy, tall, dark-brown hair, defined biceps coming out of his muscle t-shirt, tight blue jeans, the heat causing the shirt to stick to his toned body. His back muscles are almost visible to me as he turns to make another pass over the long grass, flexing. I duck down to hide just in case he notices me looking. He can't be much older than me, if at all. I admire him for a little while, until he finishes with the side-yard and moves to where I can't really see him. I back away from the window, going back to my bed, dreaming about the guy next door. I find it hard to concentrate on the words of my book. I can't believe my luck, someone like him moving in next door to me.

I become a little stalker-like over the next couple of days, making it a point to venture outside for no reason. It even gets so bad that I find myself riding bike up and down the street, hoping he'll come out. I know I won't be able to talk to him anyway, but that doesn't stop me. When I was little, my father and I built a tree house in the backyard. I figure it'll be a good place to catch random glimpses of my new neighbor. I slip one of my books into the back pocket of my shorts. The summer sun is hotter than usual and I'm never really comfortable in the heat. I look up the thick oak tree as it looms over me like a giant. Some of the branches have fallen to the ground and been removed from the yard by my father over the years. There are a couple blank spots where broken limbs stick out like nubs. I approach the first two-by-four nailed to the base of the tree. I haven't been upstairs in a few years and don't know how well the wood has held up. I try to wiggle the board and it stays solid. I step up, pulling myself to the next one. I test all eight of the boards in the ladder as I climb, each one as sturdy as the last. I make it to the top, waiting for a rabid squirrel to come charging at my face as it peers above the floor. The tree house is empty aside from a small table and with two chairs sitting in the middle. Next I test the floor, having a 10-year-old boy's weight is way different than supporting someone who's a couple of weeks away from 18. I gingerly step all around the flooring, checking every inch before settling in. I have to partially bend over while inspecting due to the height of the walls, but it's not too uncomfortable. There is a gentle breeze flowing through the two windows one each side of the tree fort and it feels much better up here. There is a little dust that'll need to be removed, but it'll do. I find a corner, ignoring the dust, and go back to my book. I listen for outside voices while the words travel past my eyes.

A couple of hours later, I hear him along with a female. They seem to be arguing. I waddle on my knees over the wood planks to the window facing their yard and I peek out. The teenage girl is reaming his ass about something. The words aren't clearly audible with the wind blowing into my ears. He seems to ignore her as he gets into the black Mustang GT parked in the grass next to the driveway. She continues to talk to him while he backs out. She stomps her foot and goes further to the front yard. Beyond the wall of the garage, I can't see anything. Sometimes I wish I had someone else in the house to argue with, assuming they are brother and sister. I make my way back over to my corner. Then again, I wish my parents didn't ignore me all the time. Being away from school has helped me. After nearly making the biggest mistake of my life, I'm feeling better about myself. The blacks in my wardrobe are to a minimum as is the blackness around my eyes. I just feel stronger and I don't really know how to explain it. I feel better. I sit and read for a couple of hours before making my way out of the tree hideaway. It's starting to get dark out and hard to see the words on the pages. As I make my way across the yard, lightning strikes in the distance and the wind picks up. Lights glow from the rear sliding glass door off the back deck. I check the door, which is unlocked, and slide it open.

"Where have you been," my mother asks from the kitchen. She startles me, half expecting her to be in the living room.

"I was outside reading," I respond as the heartbeats settle in my chest. I set the book on the table like I'm showing the court the evidence.

"Since when do you go outside?" She asks with a laugh, fidgeting with something on the stove. I can tell she isn't meaning it as an insult. I laugh with her slightly. I want to talk to them so badly, but I don't remember how. At some point, I destroyed our communication and I'm not really sure when or how I managed to do that. Of course, they didn't stop it, but it took all of our efforts either way.

"I don't know," I try. "I just felt like going outside to read. It is summertime." She dumps the contents of the pot on the stove into a cake pan filled with noodles. The red sauce falls gently overtop the pasta, rolling like hot lava down a hill. The steam rises violently toward the ceiling, missing her face by inches as she backs it away.

"It's good to know you're getting out, Sean." She scrapes the side of the pot with a spatula, sliding the remaining sauce into the pan. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes." She reaches into a bag, pulling out a handful of white cheese and sprinkling it over the noodle concoction. "Why not go into the living room and sit with your dad?" That actually sounds like a pretty good idea. I've distanced myself so much from them and I really don't feel like being alone anymore, even if it means hanging out with my parents. Court was right about me feeling sorry for myself and it needs to stop.

"Okay," I answer her. She pops the dish into the oven and begins rinsing out the pot as I walk out of the kitchen.

My father sits quietly, watching a sitcom on TV.

"Hey," I say to him. He lies on the couch, relaxing after a rough day of construction work.

"Well, look who it is." He has a look of surprise on his face.

"Yeah," I sit down in one of the two chairs. We don't say much, enjoying the show and laughing to ourselves. I glance in his direction for a moment. His fingers are interlocked on top of his trim stomach. I don't remember his hands being so dirty before. The fingernails are caked with dirt and oils like a tattoo of stain that can never be removed with soap and water. I've never really thought about how much my parents go through to make sure we're okay financially. I keep my thoughts to myself and go back to the TV. It isn't long before Mom tells us dinner's ready and we go to eat as a family. Maybe things will get better. Maybe if I would've just tried before instead of sitting around. I don't know for sure, but dinner together is a start anyway.

A couple days later, my parents are at work and I'm taking the trash to the curb because Mom asked me to. I wheel the bin to the edge of the road, ensuring it's not going to roll off and dump everywhere. I turn to go back inside.

"Hey," I hear a man's voice from my right ear. I quickly look in his direction. It's him! He's wearing a different muscle shirt, perfectly fitting, and cargo shorts. I feel myself getting nervous immediately. He jogs toward me as though he doesn't want to make me wait since he's the one who called me. He's within a few feet and my palms start to sweat. I don't remember the last time a stranger started a conversation with me. He reaches out his hand for a shake. I try to wipe mine on my shorts quickly before returning the handshake.

"I've noticed you around. I thought I'd introduce myself." His voice is deep. He smiles brightly with perfectly white teeth. "My name's Jonathan, but everyone calls me Jon." Our hands drop away. I hope I didn't sweaty-up his hand too much. I look down in order to avoid over-the-top eye contact. I know I look awkward. I feel awkward.

"Hey, Jon, mine's Sean." The two names come out of my mouth naturally, rhyming together. I feel myself blushing, the heat flashing through my cheeks. He laughs a little, finding our names together humorous as well, I guess.

"Good to meet you, Sean. Hey, do you go to school here?" He asks me.

"Yeah," I answer.

"Cool, I'm a senior this year. It kind of sucks moving the last year of high school, but our dad got transferred so we didn't really have a choice."

"I'm a senior too." My eyes go back to his face, green eyes. I'm excited by the fact that he's my age. I had no idea, thinking he was at least a couple years into college by his look.

"Very cool, we should hang out sometime," he suggests. "I have a twin sister, Jessica, and we don't really know anybody around here."

"That would be fun," I tell him.

"Tomorrow's Saturday. Think of something to do." He begins backing away toward his yard the same way he came. "Can you come over around seven or so?"

"Cool, sounds good," I stumble over what to say. Everything seems to be whirling around me. I turn toward my house. "I'll see you then."

"Good to meet you," he replies as he turns completely to his house, jogging back across the yard to the front door.

"You too," I holler back as his door begins to close. Now he's not that strange boy living next door. The mystery is gone and...oh my God, I have to tell someone! I run to the house, going directly to the telephone. I nearly rip the mount off the wall and begin dialing Courtney's number. It takes a couple of rings before she answers it.

"What do you want, spazz?" She greets me in that loving way that only she can.

"Remember that guy I told you about? The one that moved in next door," I ask her without wasting any time.

"Geez, Sean, breathe for a sec," she stops me. "Did he ask you out or something?"

"Well, not exactly, but he wants me to go out with him and his sister tonight!"

"So go," Court says.

"Well...I don't think I can go by myself." Even with this newfound braveness, there is no way. There's silence on the other end. I was hoping she'd fill in the blank for me. "Can you come over?" She doesn't say anything for a while.

"Fine, what time?" She asks like she's annoyed, but I know she's not. She probably didn't have anything going on anyway.

"Seven, thank you, thank you," I tell her.

"Whatever," she says. "I'll be there around 6:30." She hangs up the phone and I do the same. I feel a little better knowing that she's coming too. After all, she's saved my life before.

After being officially introduced to Jessica, a tall, skinny girl with beautiful, dark-brown hair and a smile just like her brother's, we go to Jonathan's car.

"Boys in front, girls in back," he announces as we get close, catching me a little off-guard. After the girls get in, I look over at him. "So, you're going to have to give the directions to this place 'cause I still get turned around even though there's not much around here."

"Just head toward downtown," I direct my eyes forward. I still can't believe I'm in this guy's car. The girls chat in the backseat, well, mostly Jessica chats. I think Courtney has finally met her match. "So, where'd you guys move from?" I direct Jon with my hands by pointing the directions.

"Well, we've lived a lot of different places, but for the last five years or so we've been living in Austin, Texas," he tells me.

"That sucks," I mumble.

"What," he asks.

"Well, moving around all the time has to be kind of shitty," I tell him what I think.

"Naw, I've got to meet a lot of new people and see a lot of new things." The streetlights glimmer off the whites of his teeth. His profile is perfect, gently sloping forehead and nose, lips thin on top and fuller on the bottom. His chin is masculine with a defined jaw line, dimpled in the center.

"I guess. I just wouldn't want to move so much is all," I tell him. I honestly don't know what it would be like. Maybe moving away from here would've kept me from falling into this social drop-off where nobody cares about me but Court. Of course, moving could've made things even worse.

"It's not as bad as it seems is all I'm saying."

"It's over there." I point at the bowling alley parking lot. I couldn't think of anything else to do in Evansville. Bowling seemed like a fairly neutral thing to do, not knowing anything about Jon's likes and dislikes yet.

"Cool, bowling's kind of fun." I feel a little better about my choice.

"After we're done here, I did some looking online and found a place not too far from here. That's where we're going next," he says as we all get out of the car and walk toward the entrance.

"Where," I ask him.

"Hey, did I ask you where we were going?" he asks playfully.

"No," I answer.

"Well, you'll just have to wait and see." He looks back at Jessica and she smiles. She grins back. I don't think I like this. We go inside the bowling alley.

Bowling is fun, more fun than I've had in a long time to be totally honest.

"So, you're not even eighteen yet?" Jon asks me.

"Not for a couple more weeks," I answer him.

"Well, I guess my plans for later are off than," he says while looking at Jessica. "No big deal. We'll go after your birthday."

"So, are you going to tell me now?" I ask him.

"Nope, I'm still going to keep it a surprise."

"Courtney, it's your turn," I tell her. While I'm looking in her direction, I see something I'd rather not have seen. Mike Hamlin walks in the door. A rush of fear and anger flows through me. I hadn't thought about him at all this summer and seeing his face makes everything he's done to me come flying into my brain. I drop my head into my hands. Courtney notices my reaction and looks back, seeing him. She places a hand on my shoulder.

"Just ignore him, Sean," she pats me with friendly support.

"Yeah," I speak the words through my hands, to the floor.

"What's wrong?" I hear Jessica ask.

"One of Sean's mortal enemies just walked in. Don't worry about it," Court goes to bowl. I look up between my fingers, seeing Mike with his father at a lane that's six down from ours. His father looks messed up, eyes red. He has a clear cup of beer in his hand. Mike looks embarrassed and upset. I'm glad for that. He doesn't even look in my direction. I decide to pretend he isn't there, looking over periodically to enjoy the way he looks. Apparently I go home to escape him and he goes to school to escape his father. I don't care. I have no sympathy for him after the way he's treated me. I go back to bowling, reveling in the fact that I have some new friends and neighbors. We chat back and forth for hours, bowling four games total. Jon wins all of them, but the company is what makes it fun, even though I didn't win. Mike eventually leaves with his messed-up father, stumbling and fingering the bowling ball until one of the attendants asks him to leave. He'd gotten so pissed that he was swearing loudly at one of his gutter balls. I smile inside as they walk out the door with the escort. We go home about a half-an-hour later. I fall asleep and, for the first time in a long time, I dream good dreams.

BIRTHDAY SURPRISE

After a couple of weeks of Jon, Jessica, me, and sometimes Courtney, hanging out, my birthday finally comes. Things with my parents are going better than it has in what seems like forever. There are still certain things that I can't tell them, but now is not the time. I'm not ready to destroy the relationships that are just starting to be rebuilt. My infatuation with Jon has faltered a little. I don't want to be going after someone that isn't interested, and besides, he's a great guy to talk to. I'll tell him eventually. Much to my surprise, my parents get me a car for my birthday! I've had my driver's license for two years, but I've never had a job. It's not because I didn't want to work. They want me to focus on school. The car is a 3-year-old model Chevy Cavalier, nothing fancy, but I love it. My jaw drops when Dad opens the garage door, exposing the black car inside. I hug both of them, Dad hands me the keys, and I get inside. I place the key in the ignition and roll backward down the driveway. I am careful not to mess around. I head toward the highway which is a few miles outside of town. I roll the two front windows down as I drive down the onramp. The wind whips through the interior of the car, wafting around that new car scent. I am in heaven. I drive about ten miles and then turn around toward home. I pull into the driveway, going inside to thank them again and again. There's a knock at the door. I go to answer. Jonathan stands on the other side, dressed up more than usual.

"Remember the birthday surprise I mentioned a couple weeks ago?" he asks.

"Yeah," I reply.

"Well, let's go, man," he tells me with a smile. "Change your clothes though, something a little dressed-up but not too dressed-up."

"Ummm...ok?" I don't know what he has in store for the evening, but I go inside to ask my parents if going out will be alright anyway and they say it is. I go into my room and change into my least faded pair of blue jeans and a button-down shirt. I go outside, looking for Jonathan. His car engine is running next door, so I go and get in. I shut the door and buckle my seatbelt.

"Hey," Jessica lurches forward from the backseat. I jump, not expecting anyone else to be in the car with us.

"Damn, you scared me," I tell her, a little embarrassed. She laughs.

"Are you ready?" she asks.

"Sure, I still have no idea what the hell's going on."

"You'll find out when we get there," Jonathan says as the car backs out of the driveway and we head toward the highway. It takes about a half-an-hour before we get to the next city. This one's much bigger than Evansville, though my parents don't really come here much. The lights from the tall buildings are noticeable as Jon drives his car closer and closer to the center of the metropolis. We pull into a parking garage, get out, and walk across the street. A sign flashes above a door in bright rainbow colors; NoH8 is what it says as the variations of coloring fade into each other.

"What the hell is this place?" I ask Jessica.

"You'll find out." Though I'm pretty sure I already know what it is.

"Why would you bring me here?" I ask Jonathan this time.

"I've lived a lot of places and had a lot of friends. I figure, if you can't be open-minded enough to like people for who they are, you aren't a friend worth having," he explains. Oh my God, so it's true! "She's my sister and these are the kinds of places she likes to go." My heart drops. I look over at Jessica who's blushing. I smile at her, playing-off the fact that they don't know about me and giving her an affirmation of approval. Honestly, I'm curious about what goes on in places like this, have my whole life.

"Can we even get in?" I ask.

"It's an 18-and-over kind of place. They don't serve booze here," Jon informs me. A bouncer checks our IDs at the door and we go inside. My stomach is all kinds of crazy right now, nerves, excitement, and paranoid. I've been called 'faggot' and 'homo' so many times at school. I haven't even met anyone else.

As we go inside, the lights flicker in multiple colors throughout the entire place. The music is so loud that it makes my lungs feel like they're pulsating. I look around, feeling a little out of place by all the Goth kids in here. My make-up has completely disappeared, not feeling the need to hide behind it anymore. I also feel a little overdressed. I'm surrounded by cutoff shirts without sleeves, short shorts, and some with several facial piercings. There are guys and girls dancing everywhere. It's like what I see then I think about what a rave looks like. Jessica pulls me by the hand with Jon in the lead, weaving through the crowded club. We finally find a corner to observe from.

"So, how long have you known you were gay?" I yell to Jessica, right next to her ear, at the top of my lungs.

"For as long as I can remember," she responds in a yelling whisper. The music is obnoxious and it's really hard to hear or speak. I want to tell her right now because of the vulnerability of the situation. I mean, she and her brother just told me that she's gay. It makes me feel good in knowing that they trust me enough to tell me and I want to return the favor. I search for the words but they've been buried for so long that I can't find them. I open my mouth, trying to push them out without any luck. I'll get to it someday. I continue to look around the room, watching boys and girls, men and women, as they dance together without fear of what someone's going to say or do to them. There is a freedom inside this place that I've never felt before. It feels so good that I find myself dancing in place. Soon after noticing, Jessica grabs my hand and pulls me to the dance floor. Jonathan watches from the corner. We enjoy the music and the freedom, not caring about anything in the world. It's the best birthday I've ever had, but all good things must come to an end.

SEAN THE SENIOR

Jon, Jessica, and I go back to NoH8 a couple more times before the school year starts. Courtney tags along once. The four of us hang out as much as we can. I don't want to go back to school, but at least I've got friends. Well, I do until they find out how much of a loser I am at school and they find themselves a replacement.

No more walking to school for me, though I live only a few blocks away, I'd rather drive. I pull into the back parking lot behind the school, finding a spot that's close enough to get inside quickly, but not so close that it'll be hard to get out later. I lock my car and walk toward the school. I'm not excited about my first day, remembering all the crappy things that have happened to me, especially last year. Luckily, my Gothic phase of black eyeliner and contacts is over. I try to conjure the strength I'd found after the incident, but it gets harder and harder as I get closer to the back doors. My locker hasn't changed since last year, only my classes. Kids look at me as I walk by them. I'm no longer being ignored. Maybe it's the clean-cut look of my preppyness that's got them fooled. I get over to my locker and the tumblers drop with the first attempt. Maybe it is going to be a better year.

"Hey, faggot," an all-too-familiar voice hits me from behind. I look out from my locker, seeing Mike as he walks away. My heart drops inside my chest with a snide look from over his shoulder at me. At least he didn't touch me as he went by, but his verbal slap seems to have just as good an effect on me. I inhale deeply as his new, squeaky sneakers screech their way down the hallway in the opposite direction. I feel myself wishing I'd have gone through with killing him, but only for a moment. I breathe in again and let it out, coming out of my locker. I poke my chest out and turn up my chin, not willing to admit defeat.

"Hey, Sean," her voice makes me jump as usual.

"Courtney, do you think maybe just once you could announce the fact that you're right behind me?" I ask her with a little annoyance in my voice. She stares up at me.

"Now, what fun would that be?" She laughs at my frustration. "Have you gone to Homeroom for your schedule yet?" I notice the piece of paper in her hand, which tells me that she already has.

"No, I'm on my way there now." I begin walking toward Mrs. Moss' classroom, not only is she my Honors English teacher, she's also my Homeroom teacher. I really like her. Court walks beside me.

"So, what do you think of Jess?" she asks me. At some point, Jessica's name had gotten shorter in Courtney's vocabulary.

"I like her. It's cool having neighbors like those two," I answer her.

"Yeah, I'll bet it is," she replies with an unsettling undertone.

"Whatever, I gave up on Jonathan days after meeting him," I explain with some frustration.

"Whatever," she adds, "I have to get to class. Talk to you later." As she's walking away, I notice Courtney's undergone a little transformation herself over the summer. We hadn't really spent that much time together, and being the self-absorbed asshole that I am, I hadn't taken notice to how she was looking. Apparently she's given up on her Wiccan ways, adding some color to her wardrobe. In some way, a little too much color actually. She's wearing a short black skirt with multicolored, striped socks that nearly touch her knees, and a tight, pink t-shirt that's just a tad bit too tight. I don't know who she's trying to impress.

I get to Mrs. Moss' classroom.

"Welcome back, Mr. Connor," she announces as soon as she sees me, grabbing a piece of paper from her desk. "It's nice to actually see you again. Hiding behind that make-up, fake hair and eyes was so unbecoming of your character." I'm sure she's making me blush by the heat flushing my cheeks.

"Thanks, Mrs. Moss, I think maybe Jekyll and Hyde helped me a little," I tell her as I go back toward the door to check my schedule.

"I thought they might," she says while peeking at me over the top of her frames. I smile and walk out into the hall.

"Queer," the words hit me in a near whisper as I'm looking over my schedule. I look up to see that it's one of Mike Hamlin's cronies. I ignore him, trying not to let the shit bother me. I wish they'd just stop. I don't deserve it. My schedule's not that bad considering it's my last year here. I can't wait to get the hell away from this place because I don't know how much more of this I can take.

"What's up, Sean?" I hear his voice coming from behind me as I walk toward my first class.

"Not much," I tell him, reading and trying to memorize the list before I get to where I'm going.

"Can you point in the right direction for Mr. Jenkins' classroom? I've got Health class with him. Apparently taking it my sophomore year in Texas wasn't good enough." I look up, satisfied that I've got my classes down, for now anyway.

"You just go down this hall and take a left," pointing out ahead of us, left around the square. "Once you get toward the end of the hall, there's a small corridor that goes right. His class is back there. Lucky you don't have him for gym. He's an asshole."

"Thanks," Jonathan tells me as he expands his strides quickly in the right direction. "Later," he adds over his shoulder.

"Later," I respond and the warning bell rings. Shit, I think. I've got to get all the way to the other side of the building to Trigonometry. Mr. Fleming will have a conniption if I'm late. I pick up my speed, pencil and notebook in-hand. Mr. Fleming is notorious for bitching out an entire class full of students for no reason, taking the whole hour to do. I had him for a math class my freshman year and it wasn't full at all. Luckily I took the class before my Goth days or I would've made an easy target. A sudden shove slams my shoulder into the nearby row of lockers. The metal clang rings throughout the halls, bouncing off the walls like crash cymbals smashing together. My face is pushed against one of the doors, the grating against my cheek. A large hand pins me against the cool metal.

"Don't think just 'cause you don't wear make-up anymore that you're less of a faggot." Mike's voice enters my left ear in a malicious whisper. His lips are so close I can feel his breath coming from his mouth. Spittle spatters me from his angry lips. I grunt as I try to resist him, searching for that strength that seems to leave me every time that I need it. He gives my face another shove as if he's trying to mold it into the locker. I get an urge to stab him in the side with my pencil, defending myself the only way that I can. My notebook falls to the ground, leaving the wooden tool all alone. Just as I grip the pencil tightly he drops his hand from the side of my face and quickly walks away. I pull myself from the grating and look in his direction. He looks back, pointing at me aggressively. He mouths something to the effect of 'you're dead,' but I immediately look away. I want to chase him down the hallway and stab him in the neck so badly. I reach down to pick up my notebook. Now I have to hurry even more. I rub the side of my face as I rush down the hall toward Mr. Fleming's classroom. I make it just in time. Even though I feel like the lowest of the low, I find an empty chair in the middle of the classroom. A Trigonometry book waits for me on my desk. The effects of Mike's assault wear-off about halfway through the class.

I manage to eat lunch with Jessica. Courtney and Jon have the second lunch period according to Jessica. She seems to know everything for not having been here even a full day yet. She tells me a bunch of crap about people and what they did over the summer. Someone's brother got arrested, about a family camping trip that ended badly, she goes on and on. Some of the names she mentions I haven't even heard of and I've been living here my whole life, though I have been out of the loop for a little while.

"So, is it true?" She blurts it out in the middle of our one-sided conversation.

"Is what true?" I ask her. She's said so much that I have no idea what she's talking about now. She leans in from across the table to me, covering her mouth on both sides to hide what she's about to say from the rest of the diners.

"Is it true that you're gay?" She asks me like it's nothing. I'm in shock for a minute.

"Why would you ask me that?" I answer her with curiosity. There's nobody that actually knows about me besides Courtney, not that I am aware of anyway. I'm not even sure the guys that screw with me know. They just do it because I'm an easy target, making it even easier when I went all Goth last year.

"Well, I heard Katie Adams say something about a party she had last year." She manages to keep her words quiet. "She said that Mike Hamlin, that baseball jock, caught you spying and kicked the shit out of you because you're gay?"

"Why would anyone still be talking about that?" She sparks my curiosity.

"I don't know. I'm just telling you what I heard," Jessica explains as she sits back on her seat, resuming picking at her Jell-O. "You could have told us. I mean, you already know about me. It doesn't seem fair is all I'm saying."

"Well, I'm not admitting anything and I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself please?" I get up and grab my tray from the table. I'm embarrassed and ashamed, not only have I betrayed my new friends, people are talking about me. Last year, the only people who'd even talk to me were the jocks who beat my ass and now there are people randomly mentioning my name. I don't like what's going on and it really sucks.

"I'll talk to you later, Jessica," I tell her as I walk away. A girl whose name I can't remember comes over to sit with her as soon as I leave. Even with friends, I'm still feeling lonely as hell. I don't know what to do anymore. I go to find a place to hide until lunch is over.

I manage to make it through the rest of the day with nothing all that notable happening, that is, until I go out to the parking lot. As I get closer to my car, I notice the shiny, black paint glimmering against the sunlight. The vision is broken by white lettering sprayed across the passenger side. 'Homo' is painted in huge letters all down the side. The white invades the side windows and dresses the entire center doors of the car. My heart falls painfully into my gut. I walk up to touch the word with my fingertips. The paint is dry. I scratch at it with my fingernail, scraping at the branding of evidence and trying to remove the scar. I get bits underneath my nails and the letters stay strong and vibrant against the car's black paint. I have to get out of here before anyone sees, I think to myself as I dart around the back, fumbling with my keys as I try to fit the right one in the lock. I open the door and throw my backpack inside. It bounces off the passenger side, flopping onto the floor with a thud. My heart is beating a thousand miles a minute in my gut. There is a blaze of stored heat that comes pouring out on me. Ignoring it, I lower myself down inside. I turn the key and pull out as quickly as I can, but it's too late. I see other kids pointing at my poor Cavalier, etched with hate. Some of them are laughing, others seem shocked. I don't know what to think. All I know is that I can't think straight, heading for home as quickly as possible. I hadn't even thinking about what I was going to tell my parents when they got home. My mother arrives at the house after the streetlights are already on.

"Why would someone do that to you, Sean?" my mother asks me while we're sitting at the table in the dining room. My face is hiding the tears streaming from my eyes, covering it with my hands. I'm sure she can tell by my breathing that I'm crying like a baby.

"I don't know," I tell her, knowing that I'm lying.

"There has to be a reason. People don't just do that to other people for no reason," she tries to make sense of it all.

"Mom," I uncover my eyes, reddened and drippy, "I told you I don't know! Just leave me alone!" I note how perfect the timing is as my father comes in the front door.

"What the hell happened to your car, Sean," he asks with full hands.

"I can't do this right now!" I yell and leave the room, going to by bedroom to hide, just like the old days. I hear them talking so I turn on my radio. My mother comes to my door, muffled words sound through the wood.

"Sean, we need to talk about this," she says, demanding but adjusted to make it seem like a plea.

"Please, Mom, not right now," I tell her. "I will talk about it later. Just not right now please?"

"Okay," she agrees to allow me to myself for a little while anyway. I see her shadow leaving from beneath the door. I flop down on my bed, crying even more than I was before. Why can't those assholes just leave me alone? I ask into my pillow, knowing there's no real answer to the question. I'm going to have to tell my parents. I'll give them a little time to think about it, hopefully figuring it out on their own so it's not such a shock. I didn't want things to be like this. This is something I should've been able to do on my own time. Mike Hamlin shouldn't have been the one to make me. I really want to leave, but where am I going to go? I get up and push the screen on my window free, slipping out into the darkness of the night. I walk sneakily across the lawn to the neighbors' house and knock on the door. I notice the light in the upstairs left bedroom, Jonathan's room, goes off after my fist set of knocks. The door opens after I pound in a panic for the second time. Jessica looks at me with wide eyes and her dark-brown hair in a red ribbon, tied to the back of her head.

"What is your problem, Sean?" she asks, slipping outside and closing the door behind her. Her slippers coast out onto the stoop. She's wearing a noodle-strapped shirt with short shorts. She immediately goes into 'mother mode' when the motion-detecting light flashes on above the garage door as I step back and sideways off the steps. I'm sure she can see the panic on my face, along with the drying tears and red eyes. "What's the matter?"

"Where's Jon?" I ask her.

"I think he went to bed already," she says as she looks upward toward his bedroom window.

I think for a moment before making the request, "Jess, is there somewhere we can go to talk? Somewhere where nobody can hear?" She looks at me a little longer with a look of question on her face.

"Sure, come on." She takes my hand, pulling me around the house to the backyard. I can smell the humidity in the air as she tugs me along. I think some of her excitement is due to the fact that she's really gossipy and just wants more dirt to go with. At the same time, she is my friend and that's what I need right now. I don't need Courtney. I need someone who knows what I'm talking about and can understand what I'm going through. The solid, wooden privacy fence bordering its edges intensifies the darkness of the backyard. She pulls me through the dusk to a set of chairs and a table in the middle of the yard. The only light seeps gently through a crack in the dark, thick curtains that hang in front of the sliding, patio door. She guides me to the shadow of the chair and flops down in another closest to me.

"What's up?" she asks. Her face is barely a shadow only a few feet in front of mine. Maybe it'll make the conversation easier.

"When did you know you were gay?" I ask her, cutting straight to the point.

"Ummmm...okay," she stumbles, "you caught me a little off-guard, but...when I was probably eight or so, I guess."

"Did you see my car?" I inquire.

"Yeah, it was kind of hard not to notice."

"You know why they did that, right?"

"No, tell me." I see the outline of her body as she leans in closer to me as if she's searching for a whispered sweet nothing.

"Well," I don't know how to say the words. Knowing that the person I'm about to tell is also gay makes it a little easier saying the words.

"I'm gay, Jessica." There, I finally said it. I told Courtney a while ago, but that was totally different because of all the shit she's been through. I had dirt on her so telling the secret wasn't a worry. Not that I'd ever tell any of Court's secrets. Surprisingly, Jessica starts giggling. I feel myself getting angry, more in a frustrated way.

"What the hell's so funny?"

"Sean, poor, poor, Sean," she says as she pats my knee between snickers. "I already know you're gay." I'm in shock.

"How did you know?" I ask her.

"Well, for one thing. Have you ever heard of gaydar?" I nod, still confused. "We also share a certain friend." Now I feel a little anger rushing in. I've never spoken a word about Courtney's mom's boyfriend and what he did to her.

"Why the hell is she telling people?" My voice gets louder. I almost scare myself due to the quiet of the night. The only other noises are crickets and a random dog barking in the distance.

"Don't get mad," she explains. "Courtney only told me because she felt like she needed to help me feel comfortable, it's not like there are a lot of gay people in this Podunk town." I try to process the information she's telling me, the betrayal of my best friend. We sit in silence for a bit, me reconsidering my friendship with Courtney.

"Seriously, Sean, you don't have anything to be mad about." Her once-patting hand is now sitting still on my leg for comfort. It makes me feel a little more comfortable, but not completely.

"She shouldn't have told you though," I tell her.

"I know, but don't worry about it." Her hand starts patting again, than goes away, disappearing in the shadows. "You didn't come over to talk about Courtney. Sean, what's the matter?" I'd almost forgotten the purpose for my visit.

"When you told your parents, how did they take it," I ask.

"Well, mine are going to be different than yours. My parents are pretty accepting of things. But, you're kind of to the point where you don't have much of a choice. Plus, you might find out they're more supportive than you thought they would be. If all else fails, you can come live with us." Though she seems to understand the seriousness of the situation, she still manages to joke. I don't find her comment very funny, but it does lighten things a little. It doesn't last long. The butterflies in my stomach start fluttering like there are a thousand of them shoved into a tiny birdcage. I think about my parents freaking out and my dad possibly shoving me out the door. We sit for a few minutes, talking more about the situation. Jessica tells me different stories about friends she's known to come out to their parents. Some of the stories are heartwarming while some others nearly bring me to tears again. We hug each other as we get up, nearly knocking our heads together in the darkness. My notice my eyes starting to adjust as we go back toward the house. The shadows disappear with the corner of the garage, blocking the streetlights from shining between the fence and the yard. Jessica goes to the door and the motion light flicks back on. It's almost blindingly different from the blackness of the yard I've just come from.

I don't bother going to my bedroom window to reenter the house. I go to the front door and open it. There is no reason for me to hide anything from them anymore after tonight. This is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. The both look up at me, surprised by the opening of their front door. I think my dad nearly jumps from his laying position off the couch. Mom just stares at me with huge eyes. I think her heart stopped for a second. That's nothing compared to the news they're about to get.

"Sorry," I tell them apologetically.

"What the hell, Sean, you were supposed to be in your room," my mother says angrily.

"I'm sorry," I tell them again as I find a chair. "Can you turn the TV off please? I've got something I need to talk to you guys about." Dad picks the remote from the top of the coffee table running parallel the couch. It's just the three of us, alone in the living room.

"Are you ready to tell us about your car?" Mom starts the conversation.

"Well, kind of. I've got something to say and it has something to do with why they did that to my car." I start to tear-up. My dad sits up on the couch, knowing something is important. Mom leans in toward me, her chin on her hand, resting on the arm of the chair she's sitting in. They both look at me like I'm on the stand at a murder trial. I feel like I'm sitting in a spotlight, beaming brightly and making me sweat like it's a hundred degrees. I can feel the beads forming on my forehead. I don't know how to say the words. I can hear them inside my head, but it's hard allowing them to fall from my lips. I take a deep breath of refreshing, stale, humid, not refreshing air. Nothing seems to calm me down. My finger-interweaved hands are clammy and feel like they're oozing. I just have to say it. I have to just come out and say it. There's no turning back now.

"Mom, Dad, I'm gay." The words finally find their way out. My heart feels like it's going to explode in my chest. I can't look at them after I say the words, fearing their responses. Nothing is said for a really long time. I envision their faces, jaws literally laying on the carpet, eyes bulging like the wolf in the cartoons when he sees some good-looking woman he wants. The only difference is that this person just found out their son is a faggot. Something finally comes out of a mouth.

"Sean," it's my mother, "look at me." Tears drip from my cheeks again. I'm so scared of what she's going to say. "Please, look at me," she repeats herself, my being unable to cooperate right away. I still have a hard time doing it. I wipe my face with the back of my bare hand, sniffling.

"Sean, please," she speaks softly to me. My father doesn't say anything. I hear the squeak of the chair she's sitting in, feet approach over the carpeting, and her hand appears in front of my drippy eyes. She drops to her knees in front of me. She grabs my hand in hers even though there is a trail of tears spattered across the backs of them from wiping. One of her hands goes to my chin, lifting my eyes to hers. I see her blurry face in front of me.

"It's okay," is all she says. There are unmistakable tears in her eyes as well. I lunge toward her with both arms, hugging her as hard as I can. I know everything that's kept us apart is because of this secret I've hidden from them. I open my eyes, looking over at Dad. I can tell that he's crying too, but he doesn't stay in the room. He gets up from the couch and leaves the living room with an exhale. I've never seen my Dad cry in my life. The reality of things doesn't fully set in right away. I've lived with this for so long. Mom and I sit and talk for a little while before Dad finally comes back into the room. She tells me 'he just needs some time' under her breath. I give her another hug and then look over at Dad, avoiding eye contact. I'll give him some time. I shouldn't expect they'd both accept me. At least one of them has. I can't ask for much more. I go to bed, feeling literally a little bit lighter than I had an hour ago. It's like some of the bricks have lifted off of my shoulders, but not all of them.

WE WERE FRIENDS

The next morning, I get up at the usual time. My eyes still feel a little puffy from the crying the night before. I walk into the kitchen where Mom is doing her usual running around like a chicken with its head cut off. She stops for a second, looking at me.

"Sean, if you want a ride to school, you'll need to get ready," she tells me.

"I can walk," I reply as I grab a bowl from the cupboard.

"I'll take you. Your father's bringing your car in to get fixed today on his way to work." The news catches me off-guard.

"Why?" I ask her.

"Honey, you can't be driving around with something that hateful written on it." She continues to get her stuff together. I pour the cereal into the bowl, following it with the milk and I sit down to eat. She looks over the counter bar at me.

"You know you could've told us you were having problems at school. We aren't so ignorant and narrow-minded that we wouldn't help you out you know." Her words are in and out as my teeth crunch at the cereal, but I hear what she's saying.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not completely used to the fact that you are what you are, but you're still my son and I love you no matter what. I just can't understand how you've been dealing with this alone all this time." She tosses a sandwich and fruit cup into her lunch bag. I notice she doesn't use the word 'gay' when she mentions my sexuality.

"Courtney knows about it." I deliver the words just after swallowing down a spoonful. Hopefully they aren't words to upset her, knowing I went to my friend before her.

"Well, does she know that you're being ridiculed at school?" she asks.

"No, I keep things like that to myself," I reply. She comes to sit across the table from me, grabbing the hand that's cradling the bowl on the table.

"Sean, make me a promise, don't keep stuff like this inside again?" She pleads with me, eyes tearing up slightly.

"I promise," I respond, nearly tearing up again myself. "Now leave me alone if you want me to hurry up." I smile at her, letting her know that things are fine and that I'm only joking. As I chew, I think about the fact that Dad's not taking it well, but he's trying to show his support in his own way. The fact that he's getting my car taken care of is a huge step for him and me. I know now that he isn't ready to say it. He's never been much for words anyway. When we'd go on our fishing trips, there was little talk. It was a comfortably shared silence though, and it was pleasant. He has his own way of dealing with things and I accept it, understandably.

I quickly get ready and we're at the school in a matter of seconds.

"Have a good day, Sean," Mom says just before I close the door. I don't want her feeling sorry for me, those puppy-dog eyes that could spurt out tears at any moment. I wave at her as she sits, staring at me for too long of a time. I then wave her off as though I'm telling her to 'get the hell out of here before people see the little queer with his mommy' as they point and laugh. I quickly go inside, bringing with me a new sense of me. I feel better, lighter, and maybe even happier. The doors of the school don't seem to drain bits of my soul as I walk through them. Things just feel different. I'm glad I've finally told my parents my secret. The irony of the whole things is the fact that Mike Hamlin or one of his followers is the reason why I was forced into it. For once, I'm not feeling like a complete piece of crap. I walk toward my locker and complete the one-attempt open, grabbing my books.

"Hey," Courtney's bubbly voice gets me from behind again.

"Hey," I answer her. "You know, you could've told me you already told Jessica about certain things?" I make sure not to say the words in the school. I hear them enough without saying them myself.

"Oh, well, I didn't do it to piss you off. I'm sorry if it did. She didn't tell anyone about it right?" She asks me as her eyes get all needy and sorrowful. I can't be mad at her and she knows it.

"No, she didn't tell anyone," I tell her as I close my locker, clanging loudly on accident.

"So, what's the problem?" She says the words as we walk down the hallway together.

"Nothing, I just wish you would've warned me before I went to tell her."

"Wait," she stops me by the shoulder, keeping her voice down, "you told her?"

"Well, I had to talk to someone. My parents weren't exactly going to not notice my car." We continue down the hallway, ensuring our conversation goes to silence as we pass groups of people.

"Oh my God, you finally told them? How did that go?" She seems to be more excited than I am about the situation.

"It went fine, Courtney. My dad's dealing in his own way and Mom is supportive. Can we talk more about this later please? I don't need everyone knowing about it."

"I'm proud of you, Sean. I just want you to know that." She leaves me, blowing a kiss as she goes down the hall. I see Mike walking toward me. He isn't heading exactly at me, but he's coming my way. Something suddenly comes over me while I look at him in his red and white letterman jacket. I get this newfound feeling of freedom and rebellion. I don't know where it comes from. Maybe it's the fact that I've just come out to my parents. Maybe it's the fact that Courtney and I are doing good. I don't know why I am about to do what I'm about to do, but as Mike walks by me with a hateful sneer on his face, I wink at him. Like I said, I don't know what I was thinking. I smile big and I wink at him with my right eye. I don't keep eye contact long enough to know what his reaction is. I feel like I may have just tormented the beast and for some reason I don't care. Then, the reality of my actions slams me hard into the lockers I'm walking beside. He grabs my arm, my books fall to the ground, and he wrenches my wrist upward behind my back.

"I don't know who you think you are, faggot, but don't you ever, so much as look in my direction again," he growls into my ear. I immediately regret the wink, the smartass I thought I could get away with it wink. Between the grinding of my wrist against my back and the stretching of my shoulder muscles, I don't know which hurts worse. A tear comes to my eye and threatens to fall, teetering on the edge of my eyelid like a jumper about to leap. Just as it does, he lets go as quickly as he'd darted in at me. The whole incident is over in seconds, but it seems like an eternity. I don't dare look back, hearing his shoes as they scream against the flooring. I stand there against the locker for a few minutes. The tears subside and I rub my wrist. The bones feel like they're about to snap. I don't know what I was thinking. There goes that oh-so-good mood for the moment, but it was my fault. I get to Trig before the warning bell rings, safe.

I manage to brush away my defeat and the pain goes away by the time lunch rolls around. Jessica waits for me across the cafeteria, waving me over to her. I sit down on the other side of the table.

"So, how'd it go with the parents last night?" She doesn't waste any time. "Courtney caught me in the hall earlier, so I already know. I just want to see your eyes light up." She smiles at me.

"Court really has a gigantic mouth these days," I say, displaying my disappointment in not being able to tell my own news.

"Well how do you feel," she asks. "I remember when I first told my mom. I felt so much better." She puts a long added emphasis on the 'so' part of her sentence, making the 'o' carry on for a long time.

"I feel good," I answer her simply. "Actually, I feel better than I have in a really long time." I mockingly mimic her 'so' over-exaggeration with my own on the 'really' part, making a long 'eeeelllllleeeee' sound. We laugh, talk a little bit more, and then get up to leave together, taking our conversation into the hallway. I enjoy having someone like Jessica to talk to, someone like me. By the end of our talk, we agree that we should go to NoH8 together on Friday night. She tells me that Jonathan has something else going on this weekend, so he won't be going. Knowing that my car will be back to normal by then, we agree that I should drive.

I get home to see that Dad's already got the Cavalier in the driveway and it's good as new, maybe better. I admire the sheen of the paintjob and the way the car sparkles in the light. Apparently he had it washed and waxed as well. I'm glad he's managing to deal with the fact that I am who I am. I smile and go inside.

"Thanks, Dad," I tell him as I walk through the living room. I don't want to put the conversation too much.

"No problem," he says with a grunt. I go into the kitchen for a snack, tossing my book bag onto the floor by the table. I pull an apple from the refrigerator storage bin, pick up my backpack, and go to my room for homework. Mom calls me for dinner. I didn't realize it was so late, I think as I'm looking at the clock. I then notice the drool on my paper. I didn't even know I'd fallen asleep. I jump up with a smaller piece of paper stuck to my cheek. I wipe it off and leave my room.

"What happened to your face?" my mom asks as I enter the dining room. I rub my eyes, looking at the both of them through cloudiness.

"I must've fallen asleep," I tell her as I sit in my chair. She begins handing the food around.

"Did you get your homework done?"

"I think so, I mean, I think I was writing the last couple sentences. So, it'll be done in like five minutes anyway." I begin eating quickly. For some reason, I'm starving. I finish, clean up my dishes, and go back to my homework. I have to reread a little before remembering the last few bits. Once I finish, I put it away and go to the front door, slipping on some flip flops.

"I'll be back in a few," they are watching TV as they usually do in the evenings. "I'm just going next door for a minute." With a nod of Mom's head, I walk out the door. I step down the front stairs and walk across the driveway to the neighbors' yard. Jessica answers the door after a couple of knocks.

"Where's Jon?" is the first question out of my mouth.

"Why?" she asks, answering the door in basically the same outfit she'd been wearing on the night before.

"I just wanted to talk to him is all."

"I think he's doing homework or something, up in his room." I look up to see that his bedroom light isn't on.

"Well, would it be alright if I come in?"

"Sean," she closes the door behind her as she comes out onto the stoop. "I don't think he wants to talk to you right now." The words kind of hit me in a weird way.

"Why wouldn't he want to talk to me?"

"I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but there were some issues at our last school. It's kind of the reason why we moved," she explains.

"What kind of issues?" I ask.

"Jon had a lot of enemies. He got into a lot of fights. He doesn't talk about it much, but I think, after seeing your car like that the other day. I just don't think it's a good idea is all. Not right now." She finishes, her words confusing me even more than the fact that he doesn't want to talk to me. "That's all I'm going to say. If he wants to talk to you about it, than he can when he's ready. For right now, let's just leave him alone. I'll see you Friday night though. Goodnight, Sean." She leaves me standing on the stoop, dumbfounded and confused. Why would someone like Jon have a lot of enemies? Who could hate that perfect smile? I don't understand. Stricken, I go back to my house with a thousand questions burning through my mind.

The next few days seem weird. Jessica doesn't say much at lunch as though she's trying to avoid all conversations regarding her twin brother. We stick to small talk mostly, but she assures me that she isn't upset with me. Jon's putting her in a position that's kind of awkward, one where she's in the middle of something she'd rather not be sandwiched between. I understand her discomfort. I just don't get Jon's. I leave it alone in order to make her less uncomfortable. Before long, Friday night has arrived and the three of us, Jessica, Courtney, and me, are jumping into my car. I notice Jonathan's handsome face poking out of the curtains slyly as I back away from my house. I disregard the vision, destined to have a good time with the girls tonight.

The drive takes us a little more than a half-an-hour because of the fact that I don't and won't speed. We arrive and I park in the garage across the street. As we cross, I realize that this is the first time I've been here since coming out and it fills me with a certain level of excitement that I can't explain. I notice a flash as we near the doors and look up toward the sky. The clouds are dark and ominous above the tall buildings. It looks like there could be a storm coming. I shrug it off because we're here to have fun and nothing's going to stand in the way of that. The club is packed as usual. By now I've become so accustomed to the crowd, I don't worry about anything. I get nods from some of the Goth guys and girls, remembering what Sean used to look like. I think they relate to the pain I was once experiencing and admire the fact that I've been able to overcome it. They will someday too I'm sure. We all need our own time and I hope others don't have to get to the point I did before realizing it. Or, God forbid, even further like it happens so often in today's society. I don't wish the depression that I had on anyone. I still struggle with it, but being able to come out to my parents and having the supportive friends that I do, though it's only two, is enough for me to deal. I sometimes wonder what took me so long. Maybe I needed to come as far as I did. Maybe I had to see how bad things can actually get before realizing what has to happen. I don't know the answers. These are the questions that pop into my head all the time, even as I'm walking through a group of sweaty people. Nobody stares at me, but they do look at me. I feel wonderful as the beat of the bass from the speakers drives itself through my body. The waves are intense, yet they are invigorating. I love this place. I fit in, I can be me, and there are no secrets here. It is my safe haven and my freedom. No sooner do we find our corner, do the girls pull me onto the dance floor. We dance for hours, sweating all over each other. Eventually, I make my way back to the corner while Courtney and Jessica dance together. Their dancing becomes more intense than I'd ever expected it would. The next thing I know, the two of them are kissing! I don't know if it's just the heat of the moment that gets the better of them, but I'm blown away by the fact that my best friend of many years is making out with a lesbian. I look away quickly, trying not to make a big deal out of it, but both of them will definitely hear about it on the way home. It gets really late before we head out, that being the only conversation had on our way back. They don't explain themselves, but who am I to judge.

ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE

Monday morning comes quickly after a long, relaxing weekend. I drive myself to school in my newly painted car and enter through the back doors just as I had on the first day of school. I go inside, staring and whispering is directed at me while I pass people in the hallway. This is odd and it makes my skin crawl because it's so out of the ordinary, causing me physical discomfort. There are some random snickers that sound behind female hands as they gather like hens in a henhouse. What the hell is going on, I shout inside my head. Courtney comes running toward me from the direction of my locker, stopping in front of me with both hands on my arms.

"Don't go down there, Sean," she pleads with me with a worried look on her face.

"What do you mean 'don't go down there,' it's my locker, I have to go down there," I push past her. I hear her following after me. I notice a huge piece of paper high above the row of lockers. It covers most of the corner, spanning at least four feet in width and height. The image is blurry at first, but it quickly becomes clear. The neon sign shines brightly over the heads of our bodies, NoH8. It wasn't lightening after all. It was a camera flashing. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to think. I get angry, really, really angry. I turn toward the students who are glancing in my direction. "Who the hell did this," I scream at the top of my lungs. I do it without thought, anger taking me over entirely. "I said, 'who the hell did this,'" I repeat myself.

"I did it," he says from the hallway to my left. Mike stands just down the hall with Scott and Randy in tow. "What the hell are you going to do about it, queer?" I feel my face getting flush with heat. I am so sick of Mike messing with me, hurting me, always waiting to bully me. I ball both of my fists in anger and then it happens, I charge him without another pondering or anymore thoughts. I don't think. I act. Everything turns black as I rush in. The next thing I remember is Courtney helping me up from the floor. I know I've failed. Apparently, according to Court, Mike stepped aside and shoved me against the wall, knocking me out without touching me. So much for my revenge, I probably deserve it for jumping the gun like that. I feel dumb, but the poster on the wall is basically a tell-all. At least I tried taking Mike out for what he did, embarrassing me at school. I know the rest of the student body saw that at least. Maybe they won't look at me as though I'm some weak, gay, sissy-boy. I shrug my shoulders, keeping the origin of the poster to myself when the principle asks me later that day, after the janitor rips it from the wall of course. I get the usual glances and mocking grins throughout the day, but it's not any worse than I'm used to. At least they aren't ignoring me.

The week passes as probably one of the longest weeks of my life. I see Jon in the hallway, I try to acknowledge him, and I am ignored. What the hell happened in Texas exactly? I do as Jessica said at lunch and I leave him alone. He'll come around eventually, I hope. When Friday evening comes, I decide I need to get away. Since all the kids in school already know that I'm gay and Mike decided to make it known, NoH8 seems like the perfect place to go. Courtney isn't feeling well, so she stays home. Jess agrees to go with me, knowing I can use the company. It's not like she's totally uncomfortable at the club anyway.

We arrive and everything's just as it usually is on a Friday night. After dancing with Jessica for about an hour, she pushes me onto another guy who's close to my age. We dance, but it's not at all uplifting. There's nothing there and I don't like dancing with random people just because they show an interest. There's a reason why I haven't danced with anyone but Jess and Court up to now. The guy makes me feel weird and creepy, hands moving in places I don't approve of. I push him away and go back to my corner like a child being punished, though I feel dirty like I should be reprimanded. For the first time at NoH8, I feel like I don't want to be here. I give Jessica a dirty look when she glances over at me. She walks over, sweat glistening on her forehead.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"I'm ready to go," I tell her.

"Seriously, we've only been here for a little over an hour," she stresses the time because we're usually here for a lot longer.

"You can stay. I'm going to wait in the car," I reply, pissed off. I'm not mad at her, at the situation.

"I'll be out in a few minutes. I need to tell some people that I'll see them later," she says as she kisses me on the cheek. I nod and walk away. There is a looming stickiness in the air that quickly mixes with the sweatiness of my body. It makes me feel strange. I walk across the street toward the parking garage, noticing how clear the sky is and how bright the moon is also. The shadow of the tall parking garage drowns-out the light of the moon. The interior lights are a creepy yellow through their caged dome protectors. I've walked this way several times before. I go up the stairwell and come out the door on the third floor. My car is parked about halfway across the building. As I get closer, I hear footsteps rushing toward my back.

BEAT DOWN

The first one plows into my back, tackling me to the asphalt. My face hits the pavement hard. I can taste the blood as it pours over my tongue. I don't know if I've lost teeth or what the hell's going on.

"We'll teach the little faggot to try to get the better of us," his voice says from behind me. The weight on top of my body is something I can't push off.

"You think your queer-ass can make us look bad in front of all those people?" He reaches in, grabbing a handful of my hair. He pulls my head in an unnatural direction to the back.

"I don't think so, faggot," he snarls into my right ear. Mike shoves my face into the cement and the pressure on my back lessens. I turn onto my side as foot kicks me in the back. I lie helpless on the cold, dark cement. My hands wrap around my head, protecting my face with my forearms. I hold tufts of my hair with my own hands in order to keep them from pounding at my face anymore. Another foot boots me in the stomach, causing me to exhale forcibly. I feel nausea rising inside my gut immediately. Their words are muffled as if I'm bleeding from my ears, the internal liquid stopping-up the vibrations from their voices. A stomp from another foot to my arms, but they protect what they are meant to. My own flesh pushes against my nose as the guy makes another attempt to break the barrier in front of my eyes. I squeeze them shut as hard as I can, hoping they'll go away. If I just lie here, they'll leave me alone, I think to myself as another shoe bashes against my thigh. My curled knee bones bounce off of each other painfully. Before I can fully absorb the reality of one pain inflicted, another replaces it, causing me to mentally jump from one up-and-coming bruise to the next. Blood drips from my nose like a waterfall. I can feel it running down the side of my cheek. If I could hear, there would probably be some sort of a splashing sound as it hits the cement of the parking garage. It seems like it's coming out so fast. A shoe, a boot, another shoe, they come in waves. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I cough and choke as the liquid pools in my mouth, a combination of vomit and blood. Stop, please stop! I can hear the words forming inside my head, but I can't make my lips, tongue, vocal cords, and lungs cooperate. Then it finally comes, a boot to the side of my neck and head. It meets at the spot where the two body parts connect. I feel my eyes fluttering violently while stars sparkle inside them. My arms drop down to my sides and I can't see anything, but the rapidly blurring figures of the red and white letterman jackets. Laughter suddenly invades my ears and a dark storm cloud floats into my mind. Numbness takes over my entire body as I slip into shock. I can't see anything anymore. I can't feel anything anymore. I float away into the darkness of my own mind.

When I wake up, I don't know where I am. Bright lights flood into my eyes, making them burn with their intensity. There are beeping sounds nearby, unfamiliar noises. Sunlight pours in on me through the sheer curtains to my right next to the bed. Everything is white and strange to my eyes.

"Oh my God, he's waking up!" I hear my mom's voice from my left side. I try to move. My head is swimming. "Honey, don't," I hear her say as she puts an undetermined amount of pressure on my shoulder. My entire body is numb and it's hard to think straight. I see my dad's face come into view. My eyes are clear enough to see the tears in his. The clarity doesn't last long though, whatever painkillers I'm on take hold again. Everything is hazy and broken, so broken in fact, that I don't say anything. As the painkillers are taken down in dosage, I assume, I feel someone take hold of my hand.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Sean." It's the voice of someone that I haven't heard in a while. "I know you can't hear me right now." I keep my eyes closed, listening intently to his deep tone. "Jess told me what you said. She told me everything...and I'm really...sorry I couldn't be there...I couldn't stop this...from happening." His voice wavers over and over as he tries to speak the words. He squeezes my hand, but carefully. "The reason I couldn't be there is that...I didn't want them to know. I can't go through the...the same thing I did in Texas. I can't go back to fighting every day...defending myself like I'm some...some piece of shit." He sniffles multiple times. I want to answer him, but I don't even know if I can speak right now. There is an odd pressure against my lips. "I'm...I'm gay, Sean," he nearly whispers the words, but I hear them plain-as-day. "I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner. I'm sorry I left you to them." I turn my hand to him, aching as I spin it around. He doesn't remove it as I grab his hand in mine. I squeeze his even though it hurts like hell. I hear him burst into tears, uncontrollable sobs beside my bed. I squeeze harder, consoling him as best I can, considering my current condition.

As it turns out, they broke three of my ribs, one of my arms, chipped a couple of teeth, and bruised me all over. I was in the hospital for two weeks. The police came for me to identify my attackers, since Jessica was the one who found my beaten and battered body she'd already told the authorities who they were. All they needed was my confirmation. I knew there was no way of keeping it in anymore. If I wanted to ever feel safe, they had to be put away. I watched the arrest on the news that night in the hospital. Seeing Mike Hamlin's hatefully homophobic, pathetic head being pushed down into the police car was like nothing I've ever felt before. I felt a bitter feeling of rebirth. Nobody deserves to be treated the way I've been treated. Nobody should be threatened day in and day out at school, or anywhere for that matter. I know that now, but I didn't before. A few weeks later, my attackers are sent to jail for months after they are found guilty of a hate crime against me.

The months pass, Jon and I hangout more often. I help him through his struggle and worry. Just like me, he hid from himself for so long. Things don't turn out as badly as he'd expected. After having accepted Jess, the news isn't that terribly shocking to his parents. They are twins after all. Some of the kids in school ignore us, while others seem not to care. Considering Jon's magnetic personality, people aren't repelled by his homosexuality. It isn't long before our Senior Prom rolls around. Jon and I decide to take one of the most daring steps we possibly can, but if we're not going to prom together, we aren't going at all. That wouldn't be fair.

The four of us rent a limousine to add to the corniness of the prom itself. This is our last big hurrah before we go off to college after all. Courtney and Jessica go as a couple in order to support Jon and I. I decide to bring a little piece of old Sean Hyde back. I stand in front of the mirror and smile at myself. I know that guy in the mirror now and I like him, a lot. His blue eyes look back into mine. His hair is a dark-brown. His cheekbones, though an underlying scar marks the right side now, are perfectly sculpted. His chin with a small, inlaid dimple in the middle of it is masculine. There is nothing wrong with him. The guy in the mirror is the person I've always been, but haven't been able to see. He is Sean the faggot, the homo, the queer, and the sissy. He is all of those things, but mostly he's just Sean Connor. I reach into the medicine cabinet for something that hasn't touched my face in a long time. I take the cap off and carefully run the black eyeliner along the tops and bottoms of my eyelids. For old time's sake, I tell myself. Satisfied, we meet in the front of the house, smiling at each other. The limo pulls up to beside the driveway and the four of us pile inside. It almost may not have been worth renting a limo for, considering the prom is just down the street, but none of us care. It is worth it.

Our entrance is dramatic, eyes penetrating our presence when we arrive. We all join hands as we go inside. The gym's folding wall has been removed, forming into an accordion behind a false wall, collapsed completely. Red and white balloons, streamers, and other decorations fill the huge room. Lights roll around from a ball attached to the ceiling. The place is dim and perfect for a final high school dance. Everyone continues to stare at Court, Jess, Jon, and me, but nobody is laughing. We are the center of attention, which is something I'd normally hate, but not anymore. We get our pictures taken as couples, shocking the photographer the school's hired. He doesn't say anything except an uncomfortable 'smile' while Jon and I stand side-by-side in the bright light. He has less of a reaction when Jessica and Courtney step in front of the screen. Shortly after we arrive, the music begins to play. The four of us dance in the middle of the dance floor, ignoring any possibility of rudeness from the other students. This is our night and nothing's going to ruin it. The time finally comes when the lights dim and slow music resonates from the sound system. We've discussed this moment prior to the prom, but now it's here and I'm having second thoughts. Jon and I look at each other. Jess and Court look at us. Courtney shrugs her shoulders, taking hold of Jess around the waist in a slow dance. I glance around the room. Others are lost in their own little worlds. Some look at me, one girl in particular, giving me a 'what are you waiting for' type of look over her date's shoulder. Screw it, I think to myself. I place both arms on Jonathan's shoulders and he grabs the sides of my waist. I look into his eyes and he looks into mine. I notice Jessica staring at me from over his shoulder.

"Thanks," I tell her silently. She is the reason for my still being alive. She is the reason I was able to come out to my parents. If it weren't for all three of them, I wouldn't be here right now. Though I've only got three of them, they are the most perfect three in the world. I am Sean Connor, the faggot, the homo, and the sissy-boy. I am Sean Connor and I like who I am.

PART II:

THE FRIEND

I USED TO KNOW ME

I watch as the razor slices gently across my leg, relieving the pain from inside my heart. The blood dripping out of the wound a little bit, but not so much that it makes a mess in the bathroom. I stand by the bathtub with my right leg up on the lip of it and the other flat on the floor. I stare at it for a little bit, gawking at my intentional wound. The fresh cut will soon look like the others, sealed and scarring my upper thigh. I break my thoughts from the liquid, the stresses of my daily life flowing from my skin.

Quickly, I tear a small piece of toilet paper from the roll and place it on the wound. Redness absorbs quickly into the paper, staining it forever, taking my negative emotions with it. After applying pressure for only about a minute, I remove the makeshift bandage to ensure the bleeding has stopped. I snap out of it, realizing the time. I open the toilet lid quickly and allow the tissue to float down into the water. It doesn't really float, it more or less falls, landing with a plop. I flush my unhappiness away to the sewer system. It can have it because I don't want it.

I didn't used to be like this, self-destructive. Something happened a couple years ago and it changed me. I don't like thinking about it. I get dressed, apply a little make-up, and head out the door for school, keeping to myself.

The morning sun shines just above the horizon, as I ride down the street from my house to Evansville's high school. It's a small town where everyone knows everyone but nobody pays attention. My red Vespa glimmers with a sparkle in front of my eyes, causing a glare that I'm unable to ignore comfortably. Little flashes blind me partially from inside my eyeballs, not so badly that I can't drive, but enough to get my attention. My brown hair flails lazily behind from beneath my matching helmet, just big enough to protect the top of my skull in case of an accident. I wear goggles to protect the huge, homely, brown eyes that I think are too big for my face. I don't want a stray bug getting in there because that sucks.

I only live about a mile from school and less than a couple miles from my best friend, Sean Connor, well, my only friend actually. We're both juniors this year and I'm scared about what I'm going to do once school is over. School is my safe haven, along with Sean. My name's Courtney Berg, at least that's what my mother calls me, Courtney Jean Berg if I'm being technical. I hate my middle name, but it was my grandma's so I don't hate it exactly. I just hate hearing it out loud.

I pull my motorized bicycle into the spot reserved for motorcycles at the back of the school. Kicking the kickstand down, I remove the helmet and hang it from my forearm. I turn toward the big, brick building, preparing myself for what waits inside, friendlessness.

As I walk inside, I adjust my t-shirt which has somehow made its way up toward my chest, as usual. I secretly wish I wasn't given the chest that I have. Being 5'4" tall, it's bothersome. I walk down the hallway with a smile of overexcited fakeness on my face. I go to my locker, tossing the sparkly, red helmet into the bottom and grabbing the book for my first class. I close it as delicately as a young woman should, ensuring the sound is minimal.

My heart jumps lightly in my chest as a black figure in skinny jeans and a tight t-shirt walks by inconspicuously.

"Hey," I say to Sean as I walk beside him, placing my head on his arm as we stroll along. It meets him somewhere between the elbow and his bicep.

"Hey," he tells me in his drab little way. I continue my showing of cheeriness, my fake happiness, but he's the only one I've got and I want him to know it.

Sean's become a Gothic mess over the last few months. We don't talk as much as we used to and it hurts. I'm the only one who knows his secret, but even knowing that hurts. I don't want him to be this depressing Goth freak who wears black clothes and eyeliner all the time. I want him to be mine, but I know I can't have him. He's always been there for me. He's told me his secrets and I've told him mine as well. I've never gone into the details of my ordeals with him though, they're too painful.

He looked so normal then, plaid shirts and shorts with flip flops. He would ride his bike to my house and I'd do the same. We'd talk for hours and were inseparable. We sat in his tree house one day a couple years ago, the summer before our ninth grade year of school. I remember the wind as its warmth flowed through the windows high in the tree. A distorted rectangular, cut-out of the sun flowed inside from the window opening onto the wood floor. Sean sat in one corner and I sat a few feet from him.

We'd kissed each other on several occasions, experimenting. It just never felt right no matter how much I wanted it to. Something was always 'off', as they say, about the situation. Something had been obviously bothering him for about a week. I knew it was just a matter of time before he'd spill his guts, or start completely ignoring me. As I went in to try and kiss him, he pushed me away abruptly, not forcefully or in a mean way, just quickly. He stared me dead in the eyes with a mysterious, almost puzzled look on his face.

"Court," he started, "I've got to tell you something." That was how it began. It was the end of our love life as I knew it.

"What?" I asked him. He stumbled for a few seconds before the words finally came. His mouth was open, but his eyes wandered in all directions, coming back to me for a moment and then darting off again. I could tell it was important, so I tried hard not to be silly or interrupt him. It finally came.

"There's something wrong with me," he said. I didn't know what that meant. I looked at him, obviously appearing as puzzled as he'd looked when he'd been searching for the words. He evidently realized my confusion immediately because, before I could ask him any stupid questions, he continued. "I think I'm attracted to guys." The words are like a jolt to my soul. I was just making out with him and he suddenly blurts out something like that! I didn't know what to think or say. All I knew was that I couldn't stick around, feeling a potential tear in my eye because it felt like I was the reason. I just didn't understand it then.

"Okay," I answered him simply as I stood up.

I made my way down the ladder of the tree house as quickly and carefully as I could. He didn't call after me or say anything.

It only took a couple hours before I knew I'd made a mistake by leaving him like that. I met him at his door later that night and we talked some more. Even though we were little kids at the time, I understood what he was saying. That moment was the turning point in our lives as they once were. Also, it seemed that moment was when everything changed for Sean, not in a good way. There was nothing I could do to stop it. There was nothing I could do to stop what happened to me, so how could I have helped him? We did what we knew to do, we stayed friends. Alone but together, helping each other.

I love him and he loves me. Although, I'm pretty sure I'm the one doing the loving these days. He's lost in a shell of depression, being messed with every time they get the chance. I hate them, especially one in particular, their leader, Mike Hamlin.

Mike, a muscle-bound baseball jock who seems to survive his everyday life by making Sean's a living hell. I've seen the bruises him and his two buddies have left on Sean, but he's sworn me to secrecy. Not only do I live with my secrets, I have to deal with his.

As we walk toward his locker, we don't say anything more. I rest my head against his arm, trying to make him feel loved for what few seconds I can give him. Even though he doesn't return the gesture, maybe by giving me a hug or a little motion of kindness, it makes me feel a little better about myself. Instead, he shrugs his shoulder, brushing me off of him.

I walk on my own and we get to his locker. He tries twice before the lock falls free from the latch. Despite the seriousness of his attitude, I think it's kind of funny that he never gets the lock unlocked on the first try, ever. I keep the thought to myself, knowing how much he's hurting inside. Why does he have to be so selfish, I ask myself, doesn't he know that I'm in pain too? If he only knew the fact that my upper thighs look like tiny cornfields of scarred flesh, would he be so thoughtless?

"I know this is probably a stupid question, Sean, but did you do anything exciting this weekend?" I make an attempt to change the subject as it's running through my head.

"If you already know the answer, why bother asking, Court?" He answers me while pulling the lock from the hole. He doesn't even look at me.

"You don't have to be a dick about it." I want to say so much more to him right now. "You know, someday you might want to think about trying to be normal." That gets his attention. He stops and stares straight into my eyes. His black contact lenses glare at me, empty. I miss the gorgeous blue eyes beneath those masks.

"You should talk," he says. "Dressing in normal clothes and taking off make-up isn't going to make me any more normal than you are. I'll still be me and you'll still be a bitchy witch." His words are hateful, but I take them as more self-hate than hate toward me. It's true though, I am a witch. Well, I want to be. He's got his dark thing and I've got mine. There is something about the secrecy of witchcraft that intrigues me, the mystery and unknown. I put on a sad, puppy-dog face, making my eyes all pouty and sad, looking for remorse from Sean.

"What," He says in a tone that's not really a question.

"You're a dick," I respond when he doesn't give me what I'm looking for. I turn down the hall toward my first class.

"I'm sorry, Court," echoes down the hall after me. I know he's sorry and so am I. I don't make it obvious though, flashing a middle finger to him behind my back as I walk away with my nose in the air, poking my chest out.

When lunchtime finally comes, I get my tray and sit down like always. I don't sit alone, but I don't exactly sit with anyone. I find a place that's only a couple of seats away from a group of people, trying to not be entirely secluded. There's a pack of preppy girls sitting nearby.

Evansville, for being so small there are a lot of cliques. Population 10,028 and not far from Colorado Springs, but still really segregated. The Panthers, our school mascot, with red and white as our school colors, are comprised of Preps, Burn-outs, Jocks, Nerds, we have a little of everything. And then there's me and Sean, a clique all our own. I really want people to like me.

"Slut," I hear the word hissing from one of the mouths of the preppy girls sitting down the table from me. I can't see beyond the piles of faces going this way and that, lips flapping like hens in a henhouse. The one word cuts through the voices like a piece of glass sliding across my throat. I get angry, but I keep my composure. What happened to me doesn't make me a slut. I didn't want it or ask for it.

My appetite goes away immediately, setting the half-eaten apple down on my tray. I feel like I might cry, so I get up and walk out, going to the bathroom to feel sorry for myself. I sit on top of the toilet seat in the last stall. I just sit there and breathe, wasting the last few minutes of lunch. I pout alone in an empty stall, smelling the stench that comes with teenage girls. Sometimes the smells are masked by a gaggle coming in to gossip and spray perfume. The mixture of the scents is also sickening because it's overwhelming.

I remain silent in my lonely stall until the warning bell rings. I slink out to my locker and get my books, not feeling very good about myself. I put on an excellent 'I don't care' face while letting the tension in my forehead relax, even raising my eyebrows beyond normal. I make sure that my mouth isn't pouty or even in the middle, grinning slightly. I walk to my next class.

Later that afternoon, I see Sean walking to his locker. This time I've got some news and I'm hoping he'll accept. I put on my most annoying obnoxious face and go bounding beside him.

"You know, you could try wearing a bra to school," he tells me. At least he's managed to maintain a little humor throughout the day. I ball my fist up and punch him. I notice his eye wince more than normal. I feel bad for hurting him and immediately go to rubbing it gently. He cowers away from my hand. I never know what's going on with him. I don't know what to do anymore. I continue the conversation.

"For your information, I am and always do wear a bra to school. I can't have these things flopping around for all the boys to be gawking at," I joke. I display them like a showgirl on a game show showing off the merchandise. I try to lighten the mood from whatever it was that I just hurt. He looks at me, no better off.

"Well, I think it's time for a better one," he says. His tone kind of ticks me off.

"Okay, I think that's enough talk about my chest for one day," I tell him sternly. "Katie Adams is having a party Friday night, you in?" I change the subject. I know he won't come, but I'd really like him to reconsider, if not for himself, for me.

We get to his locker and he works the combination two times before getting it, as usual. He pulls the lock free and opens it.

"Yeah, no, I won't be going," he says as if he's going to, getting my hopes up and then crashing them back down.

"Geez, Sean, couldn't you at least five it a try? My God, you don't do anything anymore." I'm pissed. "All you do is lay around your bedroom feeling sorry for yourself all weekend!" He keeps digging in his locker like he's trying to ignore me.

"I didn't say you couldn't go. I just don't feel like it." His words echo from inside the metal book coffin.

"Whatever," I tell him. "I don't give a shit what you do. Rot alone in your room for all I care!" I storm off in the opposite direction. He doesn't call after me like the last time. I take that as a hint that he really doesn't care. I can feel the tears coming again and I hate it.

OMG...NOT THE WEEKEND

I walk to my Vespa in the parking lot, thinking about the fact that home is worse than school. I try to do as I usually do by pushing the cruel thoughts of home away. I look up into the sky, seeing a bald eagle flying overhead. He floats carelessly on the breeze, riding the wind like an animated kite. I wish I could be that free. Free to fly away from this place and all its hatred.

I start my scooter and slip on my helmet. Kicking up the stand, I back from my spot, having to stop abruptly. Several cars are pulling out of the parking lot at the same time. The rush of after school traffic is seriously annoying. I wait patiently, smiling as if it doesn't bother me. Of course, nobody offers me to go ahead of them. Eventually, I find a break in the traffic and rush to my freedom.

I enjoy the wind in my hair as I motor along the streets, taking an extra-long way home. I take a scenic route along the city park, absorbing the rays of the sun and gathering nature wherever I can. The motor path circles the wooded area. I watch the squirrels scurrying around the ground, chasing each other's tails through the bushes.

As I come around the backside, I notice Katie Adams' house around the corner. The yard is perfectly landscaped. The hedges are cut like the ones you see on television, flawless. I'm sure her parents have a gardener or something. It doesn't look like the type of place where the occupants actually do the work themselves.

I feel myself getting jealous inside, longing for something like she has. Everything looks so perfect on the outside. I feel like I could deal with exterior perfection. Even if the interior has family problems and fighting, at least the outside is welcoming. I wish I had something, anything close to that. I notice a shiny black Mercedes Benz in the driveway as I ride past.

I leave Katie's perfections and ride toward my lowly existence of a home. A few blocks pass and a feeling of dread flows into me as I get closer. There won't be any surprises when I walk in the front door, there never are.

I get home. The house is gray like I feel when I go inside. I park my Vespa; its color contrasts the house. I walk up the cement steps to the door, opening the metal screen with a broken screech. When I open the inside door, darkness flows outward. It engulfs my soul with emptiness. Even though it's light outside, the interior is drab and dark. All of the curtains are closed and the all-too-familiar scent of stale beer flows into my nostrils.

Her white hand stands out in the darkness like a florescent bulb. It dangles down from the couch toward the floor. Her fingers balance delicately just above the dirty carpeting. An empty beer bottle sits next to her hand, tipped onto its side. I'm sure she's already thrown the others in the trashcan. She always buries them under the garbage as if I'm too stupid and young know she's an alcoholic.

"Mom," I call to her, "I'm home." There's no response. There's never a response.

I walk over to her and look down. Her face is angelic and innocent. Considering all the things she's done, I shouldn't be able to look at her with love, but she's my mom. I reach over the top of the couch, pulling a draped blanket down over her. I hate seeing her like this and it makes me want to cry. I walk away, going to my room.

I finish my homework and then go to the kitchen to make something to eat for the both of us. I know that she won't eat, but I have to at least try. I dig some Hamburger Helper out of the cupboard and go to the freezer for the ground beef. There isn't any. There isn't even something I can use as a substitute. I search for turkey burger, tuna, or canned chicken and find nothing. I make the Hamburger-less Helper anyway. Something is better than nothing I guess.

I set the table and try to wake her. My mom sits up groggily, slumping back over. She's wasted. Her breath reeks of stale beer and cigarettes. I hate it when she's like this. I cover her back up and go into the breakfast nook where there's a small table and two chairs that I've got set. The meal steams from our plates. I sit and slowly eat, remembering the times when she'd sit across from me and we'd share laughs and goodness. I miss those times. They seem so long ago. It's my fault she's this way and it's my job to take care of her.

I finish the 'meal' and clean-up, shower, and go into my room to read a book about witchcraft I'd picked up at the library. Music from a local radio station plays softly in the background as I get lost in the words of the book. My mind drifts from school, to the living room, and back before I fall asleep with the book still open.

Nightmares invade my mind while I'm sleeping. It happens almost every night and I don't know what to do to stop them from coming. I see his disgusting face over me, sweating like a pig. He tries to kiss me and I let him. It's not because I want him to, it's because I don't know what else to do. I don't kiss him back. The saltiness from the sweaty upper lip, stale beer, and cigarettes makes it even more horrific. It hurts so badly, no account for the fact that I'm just a child. The pain shoots up into my body.

I lurch awake in my bed. Sweat beads on my forehead, the smells and taste of him linger inside my head. I don't know what to do anymore. I can't take much more of this!

I push the thoughts from my head, going into the bathroom to wash my face. It's almost time to get ready for school anyway, I'm up. The pain continues to flow through my mind. It makes my body ache too and I need to let it go. I open one of the drawers beneath the sink, pulling out one of the blades. I have to let the pain out. I pull the left leg of my shorts up, exposing the cornfield beneath. Taking a deep breath, I slide the sharp edge against my skin. The blood comes like usual, making me feel a little better inside. I dress the wound.

After I'm dressed and prepped, I walk out into the living room. I notice she isn't on the couch anymore. I go back down the hallway. Her door is cracked slightly, enough that I can see her arm dangling. She must've made into her bed last night. Most nights she doesn't get up from the couch. She probably enjoyed another binge during the night and went in there a little bit ago.

I notice smoke rising from her fingers. An ashtray sits quietly on the floor near her fingers, nearly full of old dosed butts. I go inside and carefully remove the smoke from her fingers. She doesn't even move a muscle as I snuff the cigarette out amongst the others.

I look down at her face, trying to see the old Abbey, my mom. Dark circles have replaced what was once smooth, perfect skin. Even in her sleep the blemishes stay. Her blonde hair is all ratty and messed. It used to be smooth and beautiful. Her breaths are rattled and broken as the snores start coming out. I wonder what she's dreaming about. I wonder if she's hurting as bad as I am. I wish I hadn't done this to her. I can't look at her anymore, feeling potential tears brewing inside my eyes. I leave the room quickly and quietly, easing the door closed behind.

I grab my bag, keys, and helmet and go to school. My moped glides smoothly along the asphalt, allowing me to think about other things. I have a party to go to tonight. Normally I hate Fridays because of what I have to go home to, but tonight might be different. Before I know it, I'm at the school.

The day is normal and seems to last forever. I only talk to Sean because nobody wants to talk to the weird witch girl. It doesn't keep me from putting on my smiley face as I walk from class to class. Having just confirmed the fact that Katie's party is still on through eavesdropper passing, I notice Sean at his locker.

"So, you're still not coming tonight I assume," I say to him while he's gathering stuff for home. He doesn't look at me.

"You already know the answer to that question. I don't even know why you bother asking," Sean answers as he slams his locker. He throws his backpack on and starts walking away.

"Geez, Sean, are you going to die in your room, staring at internet porn, rotting like a corpse?" I ask him. I hate that he doesn't do anything. I'm scared for him actually. He's my best friend and without him I don't know what I'd do. I can't stand the fact that he hates himself so much.

"These are supposed to be the best years of our lives and I'm not going to stop going to parties. Even if everyone ignores me while I'm there, I don't give a shit," I tell him. I'm trying to use a little tough love and convince him that things don't matter as much as he's making them out to. I can't feel other kids staring at me. I really don't care. He doesn't stop walking away. I have to get his attention.

"Screw you, Sean! You can rot in hell!" I yell at him. I don't know what else to do and he knows I love him. I hurt for him and he knows that too. I just wish he'd hurt for me sometimes. Sean, just hurt for me, please!

He walks out the doors and I stand there, alone in the hall. Most of the others have gone back to minding their own business. One of the girls gives me a look like 'you're a crazy bitch' with an upturned lip and a scowl. I don't pay acknowledge her disapproval. I walk outside to my scooter and ride home, taking the route around the city park again to clear my mind.

When I walk in the door, I see her right away, sitting on the couch with that glazed look in her eyes. It's the look where you know someone's looking at something but they're seeing nothing. The television flickers from the entertainment center. I don't even pay attention to what's on as I walk into the living room and plop down in the chair near her.

"What are you watching?" I ask, trying to start a conversation with someone who's so lost they don't even know what's going on.

"Nothing," she answers hoarsely.

"I'm going to a party tonight," I tell her.

"Okay," Abbey answers plainly.

"Mom," I look over at her zombie-like face, "I love you." I know the tears are going to come, so I leave the room. I know she doesn't answer anyway. I was lucky to have gotten the 'okay' out from her.

I go into the kitchen and go to the trashcan. I know her tricks, but I also know I can't stop her because it's my fault. I sift through the trash gingerly. A couple sheets of paper towel lay across the top of the beer bottles. She hadn't even bothered to ball them up or anything. It was like she was covering her baby in its bassinette. I count the cans inside, finding ten in all. She's just begun at this rate. I cover her babies back up and go into my room. I feel helpless and lost, thinking about the thing I hate most.

Mom and Dad divorced when I was still little. I don't remember him and he never comes around. I'm sure he's found a new family by now.

I was twelve, almost thirteen, when they first met. His name is Dan and he's the most disgusting thing that's ever walked this earth. Everything was perfect in the beginning, the usual story. At first, they'd go out on dates. Mom was so pretty then, hardly needing to wear any make-up. She cared about herself and she was flawless. I found myself wanting to grow up looking just like her. It's funny how things change in a few years.

She had a good job working as a paralegal at one of the law offices in the nearby city. She said the drive was annoying but the money was worth it.

Then he changed and so did she. They'd sit out in the backyard. I may have been young, but I wasn't stupid. They'd smoke pot and giggle like little kids. I didn't like it. Pretty soon, she was missing work and waking up late. The next thing I knew, she was drinking all the time. I didn't know what was going on. One day I went to give her a hug and she pushed me away as she grabbed her side. I wish I'd known so I could've tried to stop it.

Dan started coming around a lot more, sleeping at our house. They'd drink and smoke pot, not even bothering to hide it from me. He'd brought his son, Mike, over to our house, but he only did that once. I hated them both. Mike I hated because of how he was in school, nothing but trouble, and his dad because of the way he was screwing up our lives.

They went on for a few months before things starting getting really bad. I would listen to them fighting from my room. I didn't know what to do, so I covered my head with a pillow. I never thought he'd start hitting her. The first time I knew for sure was when she wore sunglasses, even inside the house. When I asked her about it, she made up excuses for the bruises. I eventually got to see it happen for myself. It's amazing how a look can turn someone into submissive Jell-O. He'd give her that look and she'd stop like a cowering dog with its ears folded back against its head. He owned her and there was nothing I could do about it.

Once he finally had her where he wanted, it was my turn. Though I don't want to, I remember the first time it happened. It was dark in my room. They'd just finished arguing a couple of hours before. I'd gotten so used to it that I found ways to block it out. I had the sheets tucked under my chin and the pillow around my face. Half asleep, I heard the door open, but I didn't want to look. I didn't know who I'd see, a stoned, bruised Abbey, or a white-trash Dan. Either way I didn't want to know. That's when it happened. My sheets were ripped from my body. I could hear him breathing above me. One hand held the pillow steadily over my face. He took my shorts off and felt up my shirt. His rough hands hurt as they touched me. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to scream but who would hear me? Nobody had helped my mom when she'd screamed. Nobody came running when Dan yelled at her. Who would've helped me? There was no one. The pain was so bad when he forced himself on me. The tears rolled down my face, soaking into my sheets. I don't remember much after that. I think I went into shock or was in such disbelief that...I just don't know.

I could smell him on me still, his sweat and stench. It made me sick to my stomach. I waited until I was sure he was gone before sneaking out of my room and into the bathroom. It hurt to walk. My entire body ached. As soon as I got the door to the bathroom shut and locked, I puked my guts out. I was both disgusted and horrified by what had just happened. I threw up over and over again. I did it until I couldn't do it anymore.

I flushed the toilet and then went to the sink. Tears continued to flow from my eyes. I stared at myself, pissed at everything. I wanted to smash anything I could in there. I grabbed the edge of the sink, squeezing my fingers around it in anger. It felt like my fingertips were going to bleed I'd clutched so hard.

I grabbed my toothbrush and brushed over and over again. I just couldn't get clean no matter what I did.

I showered, scrubbing every inch of myself. I washed several times and still didn't feel right. Why did he do this to me? What did I do? I'd sat off in the sidelines, not doing anything for so long and this is what I get!

Dan's rapes happened a few more times. I'd approached my mom about it once, but her drunken and drugged mind didn't believe me. She called me a 'lying whore' and other names I'd rather not repeat. I had no one to go to. It was my fault. I hadn't done anything and it had gone too far. There was no turning back. Everything I had was gone.

I eventually found out that the only way I could make the pain go away was through cutting and I've been doing it ever since. It takes my mind off of things for the moment. I can control that pain and I'd rather be the one doing it than letting someone else.

Dan finally got sick of my alcoholic mother and me, so he stopped coming around. It was too late; the damage had already been done to both of us. I hate him more than I've ever hated anyone in my life. My mom blamed me for him going, telling me how I was trying to steal him from her. I was so numb by then, her words didn't matter anymore.

I leave my room, sick of thinking of the 'good ole days'. I go into the kitchen while Mom sits lethargically on the couch. She snaps out of it for a second and sips on a beer as I walk through into the kitchen.

"Do you want something to eat?" I ask her from the refrigerator. She doesn't respond to me, so I make food anyway. The only things I can think to make with what's in the house are egg sandwiches. I fry the eggs and slap them each onto plain pieces of bread. I set the plates on the table.

"Come on," I tell her, "These things are really gross when they're cold." She doesn't answer. I eat anyway, leaving hers. I feel helpless and I just don't know what to do. I eat alone and then go back into my room, turning on the radio. I waste time before Katie's party. Alone. Alone. Alone.

I leave my mom laying on the couch. I drive around the park to Katie's house. There are already several cars parked along the street. I find a quiet place in the shadows for my scooter and go inside.

People stare at me as I walk in, wondering 'what the hell she's doing here' and 'who invited the freak' I'm sure. I go further inside, smiling as I do. I hear them whispering about me, not caring. I would rather not be alone, even if it means being around people that don't really like me.

As I stand in the far corner of the house, near a sliding glass door that leads out to a deck, I see him walk inside. People cheer when he enters and it catches my attention. Randy Miggs' head appears above most of the others. There's a break in the crowd as they come further inside. And that's when I see him, Mike Hamlin. Hate flows through my veins, hate and anger. The feelings are quickly replaced by fear. I can't stay here! I have to leave! I should've known he'd be coming.

I quickly turn toward the screen door, sliding it open just enough for me to slip out. I jump on my bike and ride around the park to my house. My heart doesn't stop beating hard until I'm almost in the driveway. I go to bed still thinking about it. Seeing his son is almost as bad as seeing him.

LIFE SUCKS

I sit in solitude with my radio and my books through the weekend. Mom and I say about two things to each other between Saturday and Sunday. She spends most of the time passed out on the couch or in her room.

Monday comes and I go to school with a bad feeling in my gut. I feel awful for getting pissed at Sean on Friday. I don't blame him for not wanting to go to Katie's party. I shouldn't have gone either, but I was too stupid to realize it was a bad idea.

I go to my locker, grabbing my books and then I walk down the hallway. A few other students wander the halls, talking about how cool Katie's party was probably.

I see him standing against the wall, Sean. Something doesn't seem right about him. He's never just standing in the hall either. Usually he's by his locker or darting down the hall. He looks pale and off. I don't know how else to say it, off.

"What are you doing?" I ask him from his left side. He jumps a little like I freaked him out, making me wonder even more.

"Shit, court, don't do that," he tells me.

"What are you doing, Sean?"

"Nothing, please go away," he says. His words seem rushed and he's obviously preoccupied with something else. There's something not right, something seriously not right. Sweat beads balance on his forehead slightly, on top of the clammy-looking skin. Seeing him like this makes me sad. I'm sorry for being such a bitch is what I want to say, but the words don't come out.

"Please, Court, just go to class," Sean looks at me with seriousness on his face. I really need him right now and it hurts that he's blowing me off like this. What the hell is wrong with him! I can feel the tears welling-up. "What do you want?"

"Sean, you know I love you, right?" I can't think of anything else to say to him, feeling as if I've killed our friendship with my selfishness. He stares at me for a bit. I don't know what to do or say to him.

"I know you do, Court," he tells me with sincerity in his voice, making me feel better about us. The warning bell goes off. "I love you too. I have to do something. We'll talk later okay?" He walks off. I know that I haven't lost him and it makes me feel better. I dry my eye and walk briskly down the hallway to class.

The end of my junior year finally comes. My mom is starting to get better, but she's not completely better. Something between us sparked a couple of weeks ago, just before the end of the school year. I majorly blew up at her. I couldn't take it anymore and I told her how I really felt about her drinking and about how she's laying around all the time. I took all of her beer during my fit and dumped it down the sink. She tried to fight me, but I fought back. I had to stand up for myself and her. I couldn't watch her kill herself anymore and I told her all of it. She's gotten beyond the shaking and mood swings now. Everything seems to be getting better, but I still have my doubts, watching her every move like a hawk.

Sean and I talk on the phone a lot. One day he calls to tell me about some new neighbor he's infatuated with, lately it seems like all he talks to me about.

The telephone rings. I look at the caller ID before picking it up.

"What do you want, spazz," I greet my friend.

"Remember that guy I told you about? The one that moved in next door," he says in a frantic spilling. God, like I wouldn't remember the guy Sean hasn't stopped talking about and spying on.

"Geez, Sean, breathe for a sec," I tell him. "Did he ask you out or something?"

"Well, not exactly, but he wants me to go out with him and his sister tonight!"

"So go," I reply.

"Well...I don't think I can go by myself," he tells me. "Can you come over?" I can't believe he's calling to ask me this. I think about my mom for a minute. I think she's good enough to be alone. I'm sure if I talk to her, getting some reassurance. I don't want to go back to babysitting her all the time. I'll talk to her beforehand.

"Fine, what time?"

"Seven, thank you, thank you," he says graciously even though I know he's thinking I've just saved his life or something.

"Whatever, I'll be there around 6:30," I tell him as I hang up the phone. I want him to know how much of a favor I'm doing him. I talk to my mom, making sure everything won't fall apart by me going out. She reassures me and I feel better about the situation.

Jessica turns out to be one of the coolest girls I've even met. She's so warm and welcoming, unlike anyone I've come across in school. She makes me feel good about myself by not looking down her nose at me. We chat like we've known each other for forever, ignoring the guys' conversation in the front seats of Jonathan's car. Sean was right about Jon though, he's gorgeous. They are the first twins I've met too.

We end up at the bowling alley. There's not a lot to do in Evansville, so choices are limited.

"Courtney, it's your turn," I hear Sean tell me while Jess and I are still talking. I don't even remember the last time I talked to someone this much. It feels really good. As I get up from the seat, I see them come in the doors on the far side of the bowling alley, Mike and his dad. A sudden feeling of nausea and disgust flows through me, but I push it away, knowing I've got people nearby to help me if I need it. I've never had that before. I put a hand on Sean's shoulder, looking away from my former attacker.

"Just ignore him, Sean," I say as the rigidity in his shoulder is obvious against my hand.

"Yeah," he replies awkwardly.

"What's wrong," Jess asks.

"One of Sean's mortal enemies just walked in. Don't worry about it," I tell her without letting my new friend know the complete reality of things. Mike's not even the worst of the two. I grab my bowling ball from the holder and step-up to the lane. I concentrate on those pins like they're Dan and I throw the ball as hard as I can. I knock all but one down, feeling a little better about myself. I notice Dan glance in our direction, but he doesn't make a motion or gesture to me. He's wasted as usual. Dan stumbles quite a few times, highly noticeably. He starts swearing at Mike, embarrassing the guy beyond belief. I want to go over and deck the guy right in the face, definitely not for Mike's sake. I keep my thoughts inside. We continue to chat, ignoring them until they finally leave. Relief returns to me as I see him stumbling out the door. His son's head hangs as he follows behind.

A couple days later the phone calls start. When I answer, there's nobody on the other end. I shrug it off as a wrong number.

Jessica and I hang out here and there. She sits down with my mom and me, talking about some people from the past who've had the same issue with drugs and alcohol that she's had. She includes herself in her stories, having been to rehab a couple of years ago. I don't know if I've ever had anyone like her in my life and I welcome her into it.

Mom and I are sitting at home watching TV when there's a knock at the door. Without thinking, I open it. He's standing there with a wild look on his face. I haven't seen him since the night at the bowling alley a few weeks ago and, due to Jess, I hadn't thought about his existence at all lately.

My heart slams into my throat and my mouth goes dry immediately.

"Hey there, Courtney," he talks with sloppy speech like he's drunk off his ass. I put my hand on the handle of the screen door, flipping the latch to lock it. Luckily, he hadn't bothered to open it before knocking. Just seeing him makes me want to puke.

"What do you want, Dan?" I ask him with demand behind my voice. I'm not afraid of him as much as I used to be.

"I want to come in. I miss you guys," he slurs through the screen.

"Get the hell away from us!" My mother yells from behind me. I hadn't even noticed her there. She places a hand on my shoulder.

"Ah, come on Abbey. Let me in!" His voice changes from calm to commanding. The yelling makes me jump and my mother's hand grips my shoulder.

She pulls me backward, moving me away from the main door while she goes to close it. Everything happens so quickly. Dan's hand drives through the bottom of the screen. The rubber that keeps it around the frame partially falls away. He blocks the door from closing and pulls the screen door open. There is rage in his eyes as he busts in toward us. My mom stumbles backward, catching the arm of the chair behind her. I don't even think, bolting from the room and toward the kitchen.

"Stop it, Dan!" I hear her yell with the sound of flesh being slapped ringing from the living room. I go to the shelf in the kitchen, grabbing the only weapon that won't kill him. I grab the cast iron skillet in my hand and return to the living room. Dan stands over my mom as she shields her face from his fists. She lies on the floor with fear in her eyes. Not anymore, I think as I shoot in behind him. I cock the pan back with both hands and hit him in the back of the head. It only takes one solid hit and he falls to the ground unconscious. My mom gets up shakily. I notice my hands are shaking too. I stand there with a feeling of disbelief. I didn't even think about it, it just happened. She grabs me, hugging me tightly.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she whispers into my ear with tears dripping onto my shoulder. I look down at him and realize that he's not the big tough guy I remember him being. He's just an evil monster who takes advantage of little girls. I break away from her.

"I'm not a little girl anymore you piece of shit!" I yell. I kick him in the side. I feel years of pain flowing from my body. I kick him three times before she stops me, grabbing me from behind and pulling me back.

"Go call the police, Courtney," she tells me calmly. He moans on the floor without moving. I go to the telephone, dialing 911. They are there in a matter of minutes to haul him away. The only thing reported is his attempt to break into our house. We file a protection order against him, hoping that will be enough to keep Dan out of our lives. I feel better and would rather not relive the moments when he came into my room so long ago. My mom and I spend as much time together as we can, connecting in a way I don't recall ever being. I decide she's a good enough reason to miss Sean's birthday.

Since I missed Sean's birthday surprise, they pick me up the week afterward. The place they take me to is called NoH8 and, considering the stigma that follows gay people around, it's highly appropriate. I have so much fun! I feel like I fit in here. Not because I'm gay, but because there's nobody that judges you. Everyone in here is different and nobody cares about what you look like. They're all here to have fun.

I've found a freedom now that I've never had. I feel wonderful and perfect. Jess and I dance together. The fact that she's a lesbian doesn't bother me. She's my friend.

I give up on the whole Wicca thing, realizing it was just a fascination and a phase. Dan doesn't come around again. I don't even know if he knows what happened to him that night. I do and that's all that matters. Jess and I go shopping the week before school starts. Our senior year comes, only this time I've got friends.

I show up to school wearing a short black skirt with high striped socks with lots of colors. Jess picked out a tight, pink t-shirt that's form-fitting and I feel gorgeous. I get looks as I enter the school; these seem more like ones in admiration. The guys even pay attention to me, but it's my turn to ignore them. I walk by with my head held high.

Most of my lunches are spent with Jonathan because we have a different lunch period than Jess and Sean do. I lay it on thick when talking to Jon. He's so hot with his big muscles and beautiful eyes. He just smiles at me as if I'm embarrassing him and changes the subject every time.

Jessica calls me at home that night, telling me that Sean's car was spray-painted with something like 'homo' on the side in huge letters. It doesn't surprise me. We talk for a few minutes and it's then that I finally tell her. I know Sean needs someone right now and I don't think I'm the one he needs. He needs Jessica, someone like him. She's someone who understands what he's going through and she can relate. She tells me there's a knock at her door and that we'll talk later.

When I get to school the next morning, I see Sean by his locker.

"Hey," I say to him with the liveliest voice I can make.

"Hey," he answers back. "You know, you could've told me you already told Jessica about certain things."

"Oh, well, I didn't do it to piss you off. I'm sorry if it did." I honestly don't care. I know he needed her and he obviously did. "She didn't tell anyone about it?" I ask him. I already know she hasn't because she isn't that type of person.

"No, she didn't tell anyone."

"So, what's the problem?" We step away from his locker, walking down the hall.

"Nothing, I just wish you would've warned me before I went to tell her."

"Wait, you told her?" I hadn't realized he'd gone that far. I just thought by telling Jessica she'd be more understanding in hearing him out.

"Well, I had to talk to someone. My parents weren't exactly going to not notice my car."

"Oh my God, you finally told them?" I'm really excited by the fact, yet I'm a little scared at how they took it. "How did that go?"

"It went fine, Courtney. My dad's dealing in his own way and Mom is supportive. Can we talk more about this later please? I don't need everyone knowing about it."

"I'm proud of you, Sean, I just want you to know that," I pat him on the back and blow him a kiss as I walk away. I'm so happy he's finally managed to be true to himself.

As the weeks pass, I notice that Jonathan has become less and less visible to the trio. When I ask Jessica about it on one of our trips to NoH8, she tells me why. As it turns out, Jonathan is gay. The reason for this last family move is because of all the fights he was getting into. Guys in the school wouldn't leave him alone so he took things into his own hands. Because of the fame Sean has, Jon doesn't feel comfortable being around him. I understand, but wouldn't strength in numbers be better?

Jessica and I enjoy dancing with each other while we're at the club. She's helped me so much with things in my life and she's given me a strength I don't think I could've found without her.

Monday morning comes and I go to school, finding a huge poster of us going into the club. I have to find Sean! I run down the hall toward the back doors, holding up my arms in front of him.

"Don't go down there, Sean," I tell him. I really don't want him being ridiculed any more than he already has.

"What do you mean 'don't go down there,' it's my locker, I have to go down there," he says as he pushes me to the side. As he gets closer to his locker, I can see his anger building up. His fists become tight balls of flesh and brighten with redness.

"Who the hell did this?" He yells the question like a command. "I said, 'who the hell did this,'" he says again, louder this time. His voice echoes from the walls.

"I did it," he says as he walks from behind a wall where I hadn't seen him before. Mike is there with Scott and Randy.

"What the hell are you going to do about it, queer?" He asks Sean with hate filling his voice. This is the first time I've actually seen Mike mess with Sean and it ignites a fire inside my body. Sean suddenly charges at Mike. The baseball jock, molester's son moves a little to one side and shoves Sean toward the wall. My best friend falls to the floor. I run to him, making sure he's alright. He wakes up with fluttering eyes. I'm so sorry, Sean, I think as I look down at him.

Weeks pass before the worst thing that could ever happen happens. I walk into the room where my best friend is lying on a hospital bed. His leg is in a cast, along with an arm, and several other bandages. For hours I sit beside him, crying. I get a tap on my shoulder.

"Can we be alone for a minute?" Jonathan asks me as I look up at him. I am shocked to see him here.

"Sure," I tell him, "I need some water anyway." I leave them alone together. Shortly afterward, Sean is awake. Those bastards are lucky they didn't kill him!

Mike and his buddies are arrested and hauled off to jail. It takes weeks before Sean's finally healed enough to do anything.

Our Senior Prom finally comes and Jonathan and Sean decide to go together, with a lot of pushing from Jess and I. We decide to be their support, going as a couple ourselves. If all else, we'll shock the hell out of our school!

I love Sean, he's my best friend and he deserves only the best. Without Jess, Jon, and Sean, I don't know what would've happened to me or where I'd be right now. He's Sean Connor, the victim, the homo, the best friend in the world and I love him to death.

PART III:

THE BULLY

MIKE

He hit me in the gut with one of his drunken fists, taking the breath out of me.

"I won't have my only son turning out to be a faggot!" He yelled at me until I was on the floor in tears. I covered my face with my arms until the hands stopped flying. All I said was that I didn't want to join the baseball team. I didn't want to be a faggot either, so I decided right then and there that I'd join the team.

He'd hit me any time he was in a drunken rage. I tried to avoid him when he was like that, but it didn't work. I had to be at home sometimes. But, when I was at school the tables were turned. I had friends there and I was in control. I got to be the one who made fun of other people, especially the boy named Sean Connor.

That gay Goth freak was an easy target. He made me so mad just looking at him. He walked around with make-up on, prancing like a fairy princess. He is the exact thing my father hates and it made me feel better when I messed with him. I liked watching him cry, even though he didn't do it in front of me, I knew he was going to when I left. He's a faggot and I hate his guts!

My father's too big for me to handle, but I knew I could get my aggressions out on that kid. I made his life hell, just like mine is.

The funny thing about the whole situation is that nobody paid attention to Sean. Teachers knew what was going on, but they didn't do anything. How could they not have known?

I was popular and he wasn't. I was strong and he was weak.

When he decided to try and stand up to me, I pushed him aside like a piece of trash. That was the last straw. He thought he'd get the better of me, but I got the better of him in the parking garage by his gay hangout.

Now I'm in here rotting. I hear guys all around me crying every day. I cry myself to sleep at night knowing freedom isn't anytime soon.

I know what I did was wrong, but it's what I thought was right. I thought all fags should be punished. I hated him and now I'm paying the consequences for it.

I have to ask permission to do everything in here. I don't even get to go to the bathroom by myself. There are cameras everywhere, staring at my every move.

Popularity doesn't get me anywhere in here. Being a smartass doesn't either. The second day in, a huge guy beat me senseless for looking at him the wrong way. I didn't even look at him.

I made a huge mistake and maybe someday I'll get to make things right, but now I'm stuck.

I cry myself to sleep at night and nobody even comes to see me. I'm an embarrassment. All I have now is time to think and I hate it.

I write a letter for the victim, my victim:

"I'm sorry, Sean Connor, for doing what I did. I'm not sorry just because of how I'm paying for my mistake. I realize, with all the time I have to think now, it wasn't me. I'm not excusing my actions. I'm simply admitting my faults. I learned my hate from my father and, rather than realizing the wrong in it and making better choices, I took the bad path. I'm sorry for what I've done and I hope you have a good life." ~ Mike Hamlin

Author's Note

Sean Connor is a boy who's dealing with a number of issues in his life. As a teen, I remember trying to fit in and knowing a lot of others who were also in the same predicament. There are so many teens who think taking their lives is a way to deal with the pain associated with being young. It's not the answer. Though Sean Connor is a fictional character, he exists in many of us. We've all gone through times when we didn't recognize ourselves, we've been depressed, or we didn't feel like there was anyone around to talk to. We are never truly alone even when we think we are. There's always someone like Courtney or Jessica around to help us out. There's always someone who will miss you dearly if you're gone. You can deny it all day long, but it is the complete and honest truth.

Many issues associated with homosexuality in youth are because of the lacked sense of belonging. You don't understand yourself, feel like an outsider, or just don't know what to do anymore. Remember, above all else, you are important. Everyone was put on this Earth for a reason and, though you might not find out why right away, eventually you will. People may bully you and things may seem like they'll never get better. Trust me, things will get better. How will you ever find out if you don't wait around long enough for it to happen?

Courtney Berg is a girl who's had a rough life. The fact is that one in four women in the United States has been molested or raped in their lifetime. Just like with Sean, know that you're not alone. Look around the room and realize the company you keep has or is possibly going to go through the exact thing you have. Find someone to confide in. Don't keep these things to yourself.

Mike Hamlin is a character we all know or have known. I wrote him in an extreme form of bullying. The fact of the matter is that all bullies have a story as well. People aren't born into the world as evil beings looking for a reason to make someone's life hell. These mannerisms are learned.

If you happen to be someone like Mike, stop and think for a moment. Who was it who made you who you are today? The trick is realizing where you come from. Consider what you're doing to the person you're bullying. What are you gaining from being the way you are? To be honest, you're gaining nothing and you're showing people how weak-minded you actually are. The power you get from treating other people badly isn't power. It's an illusion. It's an illusion that is only temporary. Do yourself and everyone around you a favor, stop. Stop for them and for yourself. Power is being able to recognize your actions and to make them positive. It's harder to be nice than to be mean and that's REAL power.

Just remember, you might feel like you need to run away, but you're only running away from yourself. Your SELF is always going to be there no matter where you go. Find someone to talk to. Believe me when I tell you again, you are not the first person to go through what you're going through and you won't be the last. Don't keep these things inside because they only get easier when you're not alone in the dealing. Take care and love yourselves no matter what!

Sincerely,

R.J. Hamilton

About the Author

R.J. Hamilton is originally from Minnesota. He resided in his hometown until joining the United States Army as an Infantryman. During his Army career he served 2 tours in the Balkans and another 2 in Iraq in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. He ended his military career after 12 years of service to his country in 2009.

R.J. is a father of four wonderful kids and is currently pursuing his Bachelor's degree in English Creative Writing, graduating in 2013. R.J. understands the pain teens go through and wishes them nothing but the best in their lives. There is always something better and nothing is ever as big a deal as we think it is at the time.

R.J. is the author of Self Convictions, Self Consciousness, Self Conclusions, Self Consequences, And the Hand of God, Because It Feels Good, & A Personal Hell: Don't Ask, Don't Tell.

