The Impossible is Possible (Ryden)

Chapter 10

"We'd stop, but I really don't think you'll have learnt your lesson from a simple beating," he informs the boy, crumpled and bleeding at his feet, sounding ironically concerned. "We have to make this different, or you'll never lose your filthy habits."

"Just leave me alone," Brendon pleads, tears of pain and resignation and anger rising in his eyes. He knows that even if they do leave, he's not likely to stand up any time soon. Even the thought of movement makes his body fire up with pain in protest.

"Not likely," Timothy snorts, dismissively. "Oh, I've got an idea. How about we give you some time to think about how you need to change?"

He grabs a fistful of Brendon's dark, blood-matted hair and lifts him to his feet by it. Brendon lets of a cry of pain, and tries to push him away, but it's useless. One of the others grabs Brendon's shoulders and pushes him forward – straight into his open locker. He squirms and struggles as much as possible, but it's to no avail – in a matter of seconds he's stuffed upright in his locker, one of his arms twisted painfully behind his back, fighting to even keep his eyes open against the agony.

"I wonder how long it'll be before somebody gets you out," Timothy ponders, aloud, as though commenting on what might be served for lunch today. He smirks, then, giving Brendon one last, gleeful look. "See you later, fairy-boy."

With that, he shuts the locker with a metallic clang of the lock, and Brendon is left in the darkness.

Fears begin to prey upon him the moment the door is shut, and, if he had enough energy, he'd begin to hyperventilate or something. Though he knows he's battered and bruised all over, he worries mostly about his head – the threat of internal bleeding, brain damage, concussion runs through him. He's also pretty worried about the arm twisted behind his back; it's already going numb, and he can't see that changing any time soon.

"Help," he tries to say, for anybody to hear him, but his voice is merely the tiniest whisper that nobody would be able to hear from the corridor. He swears, mentally, and closes his eyes, resting his forehead on the cool metal in front of him. He knows that, however drowsy he's feeling, he has to keep himself awake. If he's concussed, he can't allow himself to pass out whilst alone and cramped in here. The thought is terrifying.

He can't believe that this has happened, again. He's never been locked in a locker before, but he's been beaten up to this extent, and it makes him feel sick and ashamed, along with the taste of blood thick in his mouth. What is his mom going to say? What will the school do? If this happens again, he knows he'll have to leave. He just can't live his life being torn to pieces anymore.

And it's all just because he's grown up being attracted to boys rather than girls.

Angry, bitter, hot tears run down his cheeks as he thinks about it, and he attempts to move, to make some kind of noise against the locker to alert somebody to what's happened, but he can't. The space around him is too tight, and anyway, he's too weak to do it. The first class won't be over for another forty minutes or so, and he's not sure if he can stay awake for that long.

He heaves a small, shaky sigh, wondering what the hell he's going to do. However, just as he thinks this, he hears footsteps in the corridor, and they stop by his locker. He tries to move or shout out or do anything that will attract the person's attention, but it's impossible. He gives up, with a heavy heart.

But then, in the small grate in front of him, with it's downward slant that stops him from seeing out, something is pushed, and it hits him square in the eye. He lets out a startled, loud sound, and whatever it is – it seems to be paper – stops, and pulls out again.

There's silence, in which Brendon hopes against hope that he's been heard, and then a curious voice asks, "Is somebody in there?"

"Yes," Brendon wheezes, weakly, and he tries to explain what's happened. His voice is small and tired, though, and before he can finish his story, the voice interrupts.