A Very Queer Reality

(Chapter 2) Him & the Event

I'd seen a boy around. The boy I wanted to be friends with more than anyone else. The boy with the deep voice that blended like rocky mountains and golden silk all at once.

He was about half a foot taller than me, if not more. He had deep brown eyes, and brown hair, darker than my own, sticking out from under the Supernatural flat-bull he always seemed to wear when class was not in session. His skin was a much tanner than mine, and his jaw more chiseled. His cheekbones were more elegantly defined, like the muscles in his biceps. Not the "buff" kind of muscles, but you could tell he regularly worked out.

He dressed like the an indie high school boy: some color of skinny jeans, tank tops, flannels, button ups, or patterned tees with his brown suede jacket. Variations of  vans made up his shoes every day, switching between three (or maybe four) pairs.

He had splotches of freckles on his cheeks, less than me though, and some above his collarbone, but just a few. 

His name was Casey, as I'd heard some other kids call him.

He'd never talked to me; at least not until the Friday it happened.

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After school on this dreadful Friday, I found out that the quarterback had found out I was gay, and naturally told the rest of the jocks, and his cheerleader girlfriend (who probably spread it further). The boys sought me out before I got the news for myself, and beat me severely; but their words hurt more than their fists and their feet. They taunted me, calling me worse names than almost anyone had in Texas, and kicked my legs out from under me, leaving me outside the west door where everyone else was already gone. 

Casey, being the nephew of the ninth grade history teacher (Mrs. Clare), came out the doors later than most, for he helped his aunt every Tuesday and Friday. He headed out the west door, which faced the direction of his house, and found me at the base of the stairs with a bloody nose and a wrist bent in a way it shouldn't. I was shaking and sobbing, it was all I could do not to scream. I heard his gasp and glanced up to see him hurrying down the stairs toward me. He picked me up with ease, and helped me stand on my feet, holding my upright by my shoulders, which hurt a little but it was nothing in comparison to everything else.

"Who did this to you?" He seemed shocked beyond measure, and I felt his eyes scan my broken body (my cheeks turned almost as red as my gushing blood).

I tried to get the words out of my mouth, but all I could do was stammer "Th- t- the-."

Casey pulled me against him before I could react, but I managed to wrap my aching arms around his waist and practically clung to his back for support as he pulled out his phone and dialed his aunt's number. My bleeding nose got blood all over his Of Mice and Men tank top, yet he didn't seem to care. The seconds felt like centuries, but I found myself completely okay with it.

But the centuries ended, and he backed away momentarily and knelt to pick up my bag and put its scattered contents back inside. He slung it over his right shoulder, casually, yet with urgency. I realized I was staring, and also starting to fall, with an exploding pain in both of my knees. In the moment I looked down, I saw that my shirt was ripped and I was bleeding from around my ribcage, and my pants were ripped at the knees, one of them (on the right) down to mid-shin, blood spilling from those holes as well. 

"Oh God," I muttered, feeling lightheaded at the sight of my own blood.

He looked back over at me as I started to collapse, "Oh shit," and quite literally dove to catch me and bring me back upright. When I groaned and it was evident I wouldn't exactly be able to move, he moved quickly to pick me up, bridal or lifeguard style, which was awkward, but I liked it.

Casey's aunt rushed out the West door and down the stairs to us with wide eyes and explicit muttering. Mrs. Clare dug through the Walmart bag that hung from her arm and quickly removed several packets of graze, band-aids, ace bandages, Neosporin, cotton balls, a wash rag, and hydrogen-peroxide. She shoved it all back in, nodding in assurance that everything was there and the two of them ran to the parking lot, to her car.

My head rolled to the side, resting awkwardly comfortably on Casey's shoulder as he ran and gracefully opened the back car door and slid in, setting me down on the seat beside him. He reached over me to buckle me, but when it wasn't going to work, he cursed and let the belt go. Mrs. Clare shut all the doors and started the car, beginning the drive to the nearest CareNow, as I learned, which was forty minutes away.

Casey pulled my feet over his lap, and began attending to the wounds on my legs with the supplies from his aunt's bag, giving me a napkin to hold to my nose. It stung, but he shushed me and somehow made it tolerable. Soon my legs were wrapped in gauze and ace bandaging. He worked quickly, shifting me and taking my bent hand, being ever so careful not to put me in more pain as he cleaned it and wrapped it in an ace bandage as well.
Next was my chest.
Before I knew what was happening, my shirt was lifted over my head, and a damp cloth was held to my chest, stinging me with hydrogen-peroxide. I let out a small squeak as Casey's hands moved delicately, cleaning every inch of my battered chest, which was awkward, but I liked it. I looked up at him, working with determination written in his furrowed eyebrows and the way part of his tongue stuck out when he was focusing. His melted chocolate eyes met mine for a second and I swear I saw him smirk, but then it was gone and he was back to working the first-aid. He fetched the last ace bandage from the bag, and began wrapping my chest, around to my back, bringing him closer to me.

Awkward. But I liked it.

I liked it.

I liked him.

Oh God.