Little seven year old Ben Braeden let out a small cry as his shoulder broke his fall on the school basketball court. He tried to ignore the steady trickle of blood seeping from his knee and looked up to see that he was completely surrounded by five boys twice his size. The bullying started when some kid in his class saw him drawing at recess instead of playing sports on the little team that they made. He ran up to Ben and called him a faggot, not even knowing what the word means. Of course, though, it hurt Ben's feelings, so he cried and told a teacher. That's what his mom always told him to do.

"You go see a teacher if you have any problems, and then you tell me as soon as you get home."

Of course, the tears turned the little spark into a wildfire. Simple name-calling turned into serious verbal abuse, which turned into beatings, and poor little Ben had to go home and explain to Lisa why he had so many bruise, and why the black eye just wouldn't get better. How could it if it never had a chance to heal?

Somehow, Ben always managed to ignore the bullies enough that he could focus on school, and when he got home he would be able to lose all his problems in his artwork. That was his secret sanity; he was never any good at writing or playing instruments, so he expressed himself through the colored pencils that Lisa bought for him a few weeks earlier after seeing his unbelievable grades in art class. Ben found a passion in drawing, and it became habit every day after school. The pictures got more complex and detailed, and there was no more room on the refrigerator. Lisa started bringing them to work to show off her talented son, who gladly supplied her with new masterpieces daily. This was the case for a few months, until Brian, the leader of the group who was giving Ben so much trouble, saw one of Ben's sketchbooks sticking out of his backpack and decided he couldn't be seen within ten feet of a boy who would do something so...so gay. Ben didn't even try to fight as the little brat snatched the book and started tearing the pages, excessively mocking each one before shredding it and letting the pieces fall to the ground. Brian slammed his chubby fist into Ben's nose, spitting on his face as he warned him, "don't be such a faggot or we're gonna have more problems." Ben quickly nodded and got up, running down the street so he could explain to his mother what happened to his prized possession.

What Ben didn't know was Lisa called the school, and Brian got in trouble with the teachers as well as his parents. Of course, he would have none of this. The next Monday, after the final bell rang and everyone was out of the teachers' care, Brian found Ben on the swing and pushed him off from behind. Ben looked up with a face full of woodchips.

"You wanna explain?" Brian asked, fuming. Ben was too afraid to say anything and simply flinched as knuckles met cartilage, then cheek, chest, and finally Brian's foot landed where no boy ever wants a foot to land. Ben lay there writing on the ground and after a final kick at the vulnerable boy's stomach, Brian walked away, speaking without turning around.

"Go home to your mommy and your gay-ass drawings. Faggot."

Lisa wasn't home when Ben got there, so he went up to his room to think about what Brian had said. Ben wasn't gay, was he? There had never been any girls he was particularly attracted to, but he was young and probably wouldn't recognize love anyway. And he surely didn't have those feelings for boys. Did he?

Lisa walked in and Ben didn't even have to say anything, he just walked up to her with tears in his eyes and fell into his mother's arms. She sat down right there on the floor, not even bothering to close the door, and pulled her bruised and broken son into her lap.

"Mom?" he shuddered.

"What is it, baby?"

"Do you think I'm gay?" Lisa's facial expression turned from concerned to confused in a matter of seconds.

"What do you mean?"

"Brian called me a faggot and I think maybe he's right." He looked down in shame, afraid that Lisa would be upset with him. Instead, she ran a hand through his short hair.

"Don't be silly. Ben, you've loved girls since before Pre-K." She kissed his forehead and pulled him up, then closed the front door and headed towards the kitchen. "Come on, let's get some ice on that eye and then I'll start dinner." It wasn't the response he was hoping for, but she didn't seem to be mad at him. He followed her to the freezer and took an ice pack.

After a while, Ben started thinking about what his mom told him, possibly a little too seriously. He encouraged himself that he couldn't be gay; he started playing on the school sports teams, and he was one of the best at baseball. By the time his eighth birthday came around, he had stopped drawing completely, started listening to 80s rock music (which Lisa wasn't exactly complaining about, and Ben honestly really liked it too), and he turned into a little lady's man. He flirted with everyone as well as he could, considering his age.

This was around the time Dean came around. Ben was excited to have a father figure in his life, and figured he could learn a few things from such a cool grown up. Dean taught him how to stand up for himself, and when Brian took the new DS that Ben had spent his own allowance money on, Dean told him how to get his game, as well as revenge. With a solid kick to Brian's groin, Ben walked away proudly, system in hand, and felt so proud of himself after turning around and seeing the look in Dean's eyes, like he had done well. Like he was tough, badass. Not gay.

Not gay.