by Victor Thomas

Chapter 9

"Hey! Scott!" someone yelled from behind me in the hallway.

I turned to see three football players, several yards away. One of them, Brent, was the one who called out my name over the heads of dozens of our classmates.

"You wanna suck my dick after school? I've heard you're giving blow jobs to any guy who wants one."

Him and his friends guffawed loudly. They thought they were funny as hell.

I was pissed. I took a couple of steps forward, but then thought better of it. There were three of them and one of me. instead of confronting them, I turned and walked away.

"You sure, Scott?" yelled Brent. "I hear you really, really like cock! Come on! I'll make you my little bitch! I hear you get into that shit too!"

The three of them laughed some more at my expense.

Brian was sick with worry about me. He had commented that he never saw me smile or laugh anymore, and that my once sparkling eyes were dull, my spirit crushed by continual abuse.

I was on the verge of a break down. Everything I had once enjoyed were no longer fun. Everything was gone. I just went through the motions, joyless, emotionless. It was as if someone had come along and sucked the life right out of me.

Brian tried to help me, tried to ease my pain, but it didn't help. Even when he kissed me it wasn't the same. I knew he still loved me, but his heart was heavy with worry. I couldn't break free of the sadness and brutality of my life. He watched helpless as I slipped further and further into darkness. I was dying a little at a time. He feared for me, and wanted desperately to help, but he was powerless.

My troubles were beating me into the ground, crushing my will to fight. My life hit a new low one afternoon during football practice. I actually walked off the field in the middle of a practice game. Ryan called out to me, but I didn't answer. I just walked away.

My heart just wasn't in the game anymore, but I had tried to stick it out, just as I had been determined to keep going with my life in general. I lingered on the field before going in for a shower. I knew I wasn't welcome there and I waited for the crowd to clear out. When I finally went in, the place was deserted. I showered, then went to the locker room to dress.

I'd just pulled on my boxers when I heard someone enter the locker room. I looked up. It was Ashton and three of his Nazis. The color drained from my face. I wished I was anywhere but there. He smiled at me, but it was a cold, wicked smile, steeped in spite and hatred.

"I've been waiting for a chance like this, faggot! I told you I was gonna get you. Now, I'm gonna fuck you up bad!"

He pounced on me. Before I could even raise my arms to defend myself, he slammed me back against the locker doors, his forearm crushing my throat. I couldn't breathe. I fought to break free but two of his friends each held one of my arms in place, while the third just stood back and laughed at me. I couldn't get over how chicken shit they were, four of them to beat up one little faggot.

He pulled his fist back and doubled me over with a sharp punch to my stomach. As I doubled over, he kneed me in the face, busting my lip, loosening my teeth. I tasted blood. Before I could even begin to recover, he kicked me in the nuts, full force. I groaned in pain and hit the floor. He savagely kicked me in the ribs.

"Stand up, fucker! Get up, faggot, so I can give you some more!"

He kept kicking me. I thought I'd pass out from the pain. I wanted to do so desperately. It was unbelievable. His friends pulled me to my feet. They had to hold me upright since I couldn't stand on my own. My head was spinning, my stomach felt like it was being ripped apart, and my balls felt like they were crushed.

"You wanna suck my dick, Scott?" he taunted. "I bet you do, don't you, queer?"

He nodded to his friends and they forced me down on my knees. I struggled but it was useless. There was one of them on each arm. In my weakened state, I didn't stand a chance.

"Come on, Scott, suck me," he said.

He unfastened his belt and pulled it off. He popped the button on his jeans and unzipped them. It was a nightmare.

"You wanna show me what you do for your boyfriend? Do you, Scott?"

He pushed down his jeans. He was wearing only boxers. I felt sick. I knew him and his friends could make me do anything they wanted. They had me. I struggled, but there were too many of them. He stepped nearer. He slugged me hard in the face.

"I bet you'd fucking do it, wouldn't you, fag?"

I was pulled to my feet again. His friends whipped me around and slammed me into the lockers. I fought like mad, but it was no use. In seconds he had my right arm twisted behind my back.

"Stop struggling or I'll fucking break it! I swear I will!"

He twisted it harder and I cried out in pain.

He tied my hands behind my back with his belt. When my wrists were secured, he ripped me back around and smiled at me wickedly.

"Maybe you'd like something better than blowing me. I bet you take it up the ass, don't you, Scott? Maybe all of us should take turns fucking you. Oh, wait, you can't rape the willing, can you, faggot? Or in your case, you can't rape the eager. I bet you'd get off on it, wouldn't you, queer? I guess we'll find out real fast."

Him and his friends laughed.

I was more terrified at that moment than I had ever been in my entire life. Ashton and his thugs gathered around me in a tight circle. They weren't just going to beat me; they were going to rape me. I fought not to let my fear show, but I was trembling.

Alex and Jeremy each grabbed one of my arms and dragged me over to the bench between the lockers. They forced me down on my knees and bent me over the bench. I tried to stand, but Jeremy pounded me in the back whenever I tried to move.

"It'll only get worse if you struggle, queer boy," said Jeremy.

Ashton ripped down my boxers. I could hear him behind me. Oh, god, I thought. They're really going to do it. They're really going to rape me!

"I guess you're a fag too, huh Ashton?" I said.

Alex nailed me in the back for that and I cried out in pain.

My voice trembled as I said, "only a fag would rape another boy. You know it's true."

"Shut up, bitch!" he yelled.

"If you do it, these guys will know you're a fag. You'll know it too!"

Ashton grabbed me by the hair and ripped me up off the bench. He slugged me in the face again, then again. The pain was unbearable, but better than what almost happened. He punched me in the gut, then nailed me in the nuts. Jeremy and Alex held me as he went crazy slugging me.

"Beg me to stop, fag, and maybe I will. Beg me!"

I looked into his eyes, my own filled with scorn. I'd never beg him, no matter what he did to me. I'd never give him that satisfaction. My eyes were filled with hate and defiance. I knew he'd make me pay for it, but I didn't care. I was as good as dead already. I'd never bow down to him. He could beat me to death, but I'd never humiliate myself in front of him.

"Never," I croaked.

I gathered up all my courage and spat at him.

He went berserk. He didn't just want to hurt me, he wanted to break me. His fists smashed into my face, my stomach, my chest, and my groin. He hit me again and again in his fury. I struggled to get away. I'd have done anything to get away, but my body wouldn't function. Even if my hands weren't tied behind my back, I wouldn't have stood a chance. My strength drained away. The searing pain made it impossible to even stand. Ashton grabbed me by the chin and spit into my face.

"I should just kill you, faggot! Then there'd be one less of you."

I didn't say anything. It wasn't just defiance anymore. I couldn't speak; I couldn't make my mouth function. I couldn't think. My vision was blurred, my mind clouded by pain. I really thought he was going to kill me. Dying suddenly didn't seem like such a bad thing. At least that way I could escape from the pain. The only reason I wanted to live was so that he wouldn't have the pleasure of watching me die. That and revenge! You can best believe that if I somehow manage to survive, paybacks gonna be a motherfucker!

He took out a marker and scrawled something on my face as his friends held my head still. He stepped back to admire his handiwork when he was done, and laughed. His friends pushed me to a mirror and made me look. There, in big bold letters, he had written 'FAG' on my cheek in bright red ink.

"No way are you going to state finals with us, asshole," he whispered in my ear.

Suddenly, he grabbed my hair and pulled it painfully back. He slugged me once again in the face and his friends let me fall to the floor. They stood around me, kicking me savagely.

"This is for looking at me in the showers!" said Alex as his foot slammed into my ribs.

"This is for being a cocksucker," said Jeremy as he kicked the side of my head.

"You should have the decency to kill yourself," said Ashton as his foot slammed repeatedly into my chest. "You're a worthless, no good, fucking faggot, and you should be dead!"

He kicked me with each word he spoke. The others were kicking me, too. The pain was unbearable; my vision burst into a bright explosion of red with every kick, and I was sure that bones were breaking. The sounds of their attack echoed through the empty locker room, but there was nobody else there to hear it. I was completely alone. I'd never experienced such pain in all my life.

When they stopped, I lay face down on the floor, my body broken, too weak to move. Ashton pulled my head up by the hair and put his mouth right next to my ear.

"You tell anyone about this and I'll kill you, faggot," he whispered. "I promise you I will."

With a sudden cry, he smashed my face into the concrete floor. I went out cold and remembered nothing more.

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