Content/trigger warning: This series contains bullying, homophobic language, and non-consensual sexual acts, but they are integral to the plot and character development so please take them in context.
Author's note: This is where the real story finally begins! Thanks to anyone who had enough patience to get this far!
4. DUSTY
The kid is looking groggy and dazed, trying to sit up. Jesus, this little fag just doesn't know when to quit. What's he think he's gonna get from trying to be a tough guy? A medal? Who's he trying to impress? I never really noticed before, but in his birthday suit he's got a trim runner's build and he's clearly not a complete weakling. But he definitely ain't no match for a guy who can bench press twice his scrawny weight. Even now he looks like he's miles away, who knows what he's thinking, when he should be freaking out about how much I could kick his ass.
I feel myself getting dangerously close to really blowing my fuse. Used to happen a lot when daddy and momma were arguing so much, before they got divorced. Really used to act out, pick fights with kids at school, even punched a telephone pole once hard, my fist was covered with blood, thought I might have broken it. It hasn't been nearly so bad since then, but it still happens. And when it does it sure ain't pretty. I usually end up breaking something. Joe and Misty could tell you stories for sure. Now when they see the signs they sure as hell make sure to high-tail it and get far, far away from me.
Right now I can feel that same pressure building up, looking for an exit, the heat rising in my face, my voice getting louder and more wild.
"Yeah, yeah," that naked little fag is mumbling. "Uh, yes, I want my clothes back."
I pull him up by his hair with my left hand so hard that he winces, and I pull my right arm back.
"Yes, what?" I say, putting a lid on my anger, keeping my voice low. Dangerously low.
"Huh?" he says looking up at me. Playing dumb.
"Yes, what?" I say louder, my voice almost cracking from the strain of holding back.
"What are you talking about?" he says, and for a moment I almost have a doubt and think he might actually be serious, but of course I know he's just trying to be a heroic little bitch. If he's not careful, he is really gonna get it.
"Didn't your daddy raise you right? Where's your respect, boy? It's yes, sir!" I emphasize the last word with a rough shake making him wince again from the hair pulling. I push him down to the ground hard and smack him across the face with my hand again, once, twice, raise my hand for a third hit and even start to lower it... but pull back just in time before I lose control. Usually Joe, he's a real mean son of a bitch, usually Joe is the one who takes it too far and I have to pull him off and let the fag run away. Without Joe here, fuck if I ain't really goin' to wreck this kid to hell if he keeps on like this.
The kid is trying to sit up again, and he ends up sort of hunched over facing down. I barely notice it, but my face feels like it's burning hot and I'm breathing hard. I try to count to ten in my head before continuing. But I haven't even got to two when I hear a strange sound. I look over at the kid, who's still facing the ground.
"Are you... laughing?" I sputter. I swear, I can't even believe what I'm hearing. I must have knocked a cog loose, this kid has just gone off his rocker, he's really gone off the deep end. His quiet chuckles get louder and louder until he's laughing out loud, laughin' long and loud. This little fucker's almost slappin' his knee like a grade A idiot.
The kid finally looks up, and right away I notice there's something different in his eyes. It's like a light switch has flipped on, and all the bits of defiance that I'd ever caught glimpses of before from him, glimpses that maybe I even admired kind of, deep down, have all risen to the surface of his eyes at once.
"What's so funny, you pussy, you weak ass worthless piece of shit?" I can't resist from asking. My anger had slowed to a simmer momentarily from the surprise of him laughing. But that lit up look in his eyes is so infuriating that I feel it rising again.
In between his not quite hysterical laughing the fag finally manages to speak.
"What are you playing at?" he gets out. More of that idiotic laughter. "Sir? You?" he says.
"You will respect your betters!" I shout back at him, a little too loudly.
"Your betters?! Good Lord!" he says, and the way he says "Good Lord", that ridiculous superiority in his tone, that stupid dismissiveness, the open scorn, from him, that worthless little fag, the kid I've beat up on for more than three years. I can barely speak, my rage threatening to take me over completely.
"Stop laughing!" is all I can sputter out, tryin' without a snowball's chance in hell to keep my emotions clamped down.
And the stupid little shit just keeps going. Baiting me. Still laughin', that son of a bitch.
"Respect?" he spits out. "Who? You? Someone who beats on people to make himself feel bigger? You, the redneck who has to surround himself with people who don't even like him, just fear him? Just there to do your bidding? Even your so-called girlfriend hates you. That girl's afraid of you, and you think she's in love with you? What a joke! Pigs in shit have got more smarts than you. Chickens with their heads cut off got more smarts! You've never earned a damn thing in your life. Everything handed to you on a silver plate by your idiot daddy, hoo boy, he's a real winner. A real buffoon, more like, a real bully, beat his wife 'til she finally up and left, causin' a scandal, and he still keeps on throwin' his weight around all over town. A prize know-it-all? A prize idiot more like! Everyone laughin' at him behind his back. And you, you're just like him. A real daddy's boy, good for you. You're the one who's weak. You're the one who's worthless."
I see an electricity crackling in his hazel eyes as he speaks, punctuating his every word. And with a cold clarity I see that moment as the line in the sand. There it is, he's done it to himself, he's just went and gone too far. This, oh Lord, this is the straw that broke the camel's goddamn back. It wasn't my fault, dear Jesus. You saw it. He's done it to himself.
All these thoughts rush through me on a wild wave of pure raw red hot anger. The anger rushes through me, and my entire body is consumed by the raw heat of it, like walking through the middle of a wildfire. In my mind I'm screaming, "You think I don't know that??", but out loud I'm exploding with:
"You fuckin' little pussy! You worthless little piece of shit! You dirty cunt! You're nothin' but poor white trash. No friends, livin' in a trailer on the edge of town in a shitty trailer. Your daddy the town drunk. Kids runnin' 'round barefoot, can't even afford shoes, eatin' welfare food, real great use of our tax dollars, all you little shits muckin' around in the dirt! Your family is a joke! You're a joke, puttin' on prancin' little faggy airs, actin' like you're too good to be livin' in this town, like gettin' good grades is worth jack shit! You're trash, fuckin' poor white trash, that's all you are, all you'll ever be. And you will respect your betters. I'm gonna teach you, and you're gonna learn all right. Learn to respect me!"
And the wave of rage crests and I don't give a shit about not leaving marks and how much trouble I'm goin' to get in later, I punch that little fag straight in his fuckin' smug white trash fag face full force.
A fountain of blood immediately spurts from his nose, and yep, that shuts the little fucker up finally. I hope I broke his goddamn nose.
...
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