Looking for Heaven

Chapter Five

Maybe he'd leave him alone today. It was rare, but some days passed by without any attack. Usually when he was out or at a football match. What a lousy excuse for a person. Possibly scientific proof that apes are our ancestors.

A star football player, George King was tall, with broad, slightly sloping shoulders, large muscles and a face that was both wide and sort of brutish, but handsome in a cocky, bad boy way. If he hadn't been the worst bully of the school, Justin would have had a crush on him.

He had always tried to be so careful about what he said and did in the school. But over time, little ways of moving, talking, expressing himself, absentminded slips in conversation and accidentally being caught looking at a guy in a certain way. When that happened he always pretended to be looking past the person. He never knew if he got away with it. These had all accumulated together like a snowball rolling down a slope covered with fresh crisp snow. They had grown and gained momentum, until they resulted in a whispered rumour being heard through the grapevine of the school: That Justin Riggs guy is gay.

No one had ever acted like they heard this rumour and though he knew it was passing around he never addressed it. Why draw attention to himself, potentially face bullying and hatred. His efforts didn't work out.

Once the rumour took hold, he could practically hear the whispers about him, hear their thoughts as he passed, always felt eyes on him, even if there weren't any. The more Justin tried to blend in the more he seemed to stand out. Then it started, with a cry from that deep voice: "Hey faggot!"

Justin saw it every night in his dreams - George pushing him against the wall, his nose inches from Justin's. His breath smelled like beer and cheese and onion crisps. There was a sneer on his lips and a malevolent gleam in his eyes.

"So, I heard you're a little cocksucking faggot? Is that right?" When Justin didn't answer he slammed him off the wall. "That's right isn't it? You like guys don't you, ya little freak?!"

Blow after blow landed in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him repeatedly. The pain was sharp and spread all across his abdomen. He tried not to yell out or make any sound. If George got a reaction he'd carry on this brutality. He'd get bored eventually and move on to another victim. How wrong he was.

Something about the rumour of Justin's sexual orientation kept drawing George back to him, over and over, for more and more beatings, each more increasingly violent than the last. The verbal abuse got worse as well. Justin would be walking down the hall to his locker when that voice made his skin crawl.

"Hey! Loser! Where're you going? Come back, I wanna talk to you!" The pack of dense rat bastards that followed him like love-sick puppies always laughed and guffawed at George's "witty" insults. Justin always walked as fast as he could. Sometimes the fear would force him to start running.

"Come back you lousy bastard! Oh, you're gonna run? Fine, I like a chase!" But he could never outrun George's toned football legs. He always knocked him to the ground and clambered over his waist, knees at either side, staring down his nose at the trapped Justin. "Did you think you could get away, you piece of shit? Oh, are you crying? Yeah, cry you little faggot!" He never punched him in the face, only where it wouldn't be seen. His chest, ribs, stomach, arms were all fair game. He twisted the skin on his forearms in what George proudly claimed were "the best Chinese burns in the country". Justin hoped that someone would finally step in and say something to help him.

No one ever did. He didn't know if they were scared, whether they just chose to ignore it or a combination of these and/or other reasons. No one ever helped. No one even paid any attention. Even if he caught someone's eyes and pleaded visually with them, they looked away. They all looked away.

The teachers were just as useless. George always managed to get him when there were none around. He doubted that even if they saw, they wouldn't do much. George was the star player after all. He held the team together and brought the school win after win. He'd like to hope that things would get better - but he couldn't see how they would. He just went along, keeping his head down, doing his work. The only times teachers noticed him was when he wasn't working.

The beatings got steadily worse. The blows that landed were sometimes so severe that the skin would break. The open skin felt like a thousand paper cuts all over his body, making his eyes water.

Justin started crying himself to sleep. He started pretending to be sick to avoid school. He started hiding in the toilets, empty classrooms, using lesser used hallways. Sometimes he could avoid George, but never for long. The beating always came.

"You thought you could hide from me?"

"I-I... don't..."

"What?!"

"I-I-I..."

"Are you talking back?! Are you- talking back- To me!"

Justin shook his head until it felt like it was going to fall off. "No, no."

George turned to one of his Neanderthals. "Was he talking back to me?"

The brutish evolutional throwback smirked. "Yeah man, he totally talked back."

"Tell the little bitch what I do to people who talk back to me."

"They get fucked up."

George gave a snorting laugh. His face was more twisted and malevolent than it had ever been. His eyes stared into Justin's and he licked his lips a bit, as though salivating at the thought of what he was about to do.

"That's right," he whispers. "They get fucked up." Justin saw him reach in his pocket and pull out something small in the palm of his hand. He heard a slight flick. Before George punched him in his face for the first time, he saw the shining gleam of a silver blade.