Warnings (general- will only be posted once): Swearing, gore, homosexuality, drugs, alcohol, death, sexual themes, and violence.

Disclaimers: I own nothing but my words.

Chapter One:

I could hear him sigh heavily from across the hall. I could tell he thought no one was around because I saw his body slump and a dark, depressed look cross his face. He never did that, he always stood erect and the light bouncing off of his smile was dangerous if stared at. I could understand why he would be upset right now, though. Someone had shoved a bunch of tampons and pads in his locker and when he opened it they all fell on him. The pads were out of their wrappers and some even stuck on him as they tumbled out.

People have been doing that ever since someone found out he was gay. They called him a fag and a girl for a while, and then someone had the bright idea to take the girl joke to another level. Every now and then they'd do this and I heard in a rumor once that some of them were used. People took the task of picking on him to another level. They pick on me every so often, calling me a cheap whore or a poor fag, but never to the level that they tortured him.

I feel sorry for him. He was just standing there, staring at the intestines of his locker, and I could tell he was trembling softly. I had the compulsion to go and console him and tell him that everyone at this school is just a bunch of jerks and that everything was going to be all right, but I knew that was a lie. I stood there, peeking out of the threshold of the bathroom. He started to move and I figured now was the time to go back and hide.

I went back in the bathroom and into the cripple stall, locking it behind me. Normally I would sit on the toilet Indian style so no one would see me and report me, but today it looked like the janitors hadn't cleaned the toilet. I might be treated like shit, but I wasn't about to sit in it. I sat on the floor in a corner and lit up a cigarette. Most people thought they would get caught if they did that in the school bathroom, but surprisingly I never was. The hall monitors and teachers usually kept their eyes on the lookout near the sides of the buildings. That was where the Goth kids sat around and smoked and the teachers were more preoccupied with the large number of kids than the one poor, dirty, stoner kid. They felt there was hope for the Goths who were only into cigs, coffee, and the occasional pot, but not for me. I was just a useless sac of shit and a waste of air.

I took a long drag and put my cig out on the tile floor. I grabbed at my pocket and then sighed when I remember that was my last one. I threw my used cigarette in the toilet and decided I could skip my afternoon classes and go buy a new pack. I was about to stand when I heard the bathroom door open and slam shut. The lock on the door then clicked and I knew whoever came in didn't know I was here. I didn't move or say anything. I was interested in seeing who was skipping now. Usually I was able to hide in here without any interruption because of some new "no bathroom breaks during class" rule that the principle had instituted.

The sound of soft crying wafted over to me and my interest was piqued. I leaned down and saw a pair of black sneakers and blue jeans standing in front of the sink. I recognized those shoes and pants, but from where eluded me. Was it from one of my many clients? The crying intensified to sobbing and I could tell that the guy in here wasn't a very manly man; his voice was too soft and higher pitched. My mental catalog of clients was cut by two-thirds. Surprisingly many of my clients were jocks or burly men seeking more than what their whore girlfriend could ever give them. That's why they came to me. I was blonde, blue eyed, and would do things no self-respecting woman would ever do.

I heard the poor guy make a gurgling gasp sound and then a pad fell to the ground. I jumped up and unlocked the door. I heard him gasp again when he saw me through the mirror. Our eyes locked and I saw shame consume him. A pain shot through what little was left of my heart. Poor guy. He turned around and eyed me warily.

"Y-you aren't going to hurt me, a-are you?" He was trembling and snot was running down to his top lip.

"No." I'm not some bully. I know how he feels.

I saw relief lift some weight off of his shoulders as he got a paper towel and wiped off the gathering mucus. "Thanks."

"Are you going to be alright?" His light blue eyes shot at me and I saw confusion and wariness was held in them. I just stood there stoically.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." He gave me that blinding smile of his, but I could tell he was pretending.

I nodded, "No problem." He splashed water on his face and then dried off. He moved towards the door and I towards my stall when I heard him speak up.

"Kenny," I spun around, surprised at hearing my name being called by him. "Are your services open?" He was facing the door, with his hand on the lock and his head drooping.

"What?" There is no way someone like him would want something like that.

I saw him droop even more and then unlock the door. "Never mind…" He walked out.

I can't believe he just did that. He always seemed to have an air of regal innocence, like he always held his head high and smiled kindly even as someone punched the teeth out of it. He never retaliated or spoke ill of someone. I knew he was gay and everything, signaling he had some sort of sexuality, but I guess my mind automatically inserted a halo over his head, like he was some kind of high and innocent angel. I could totally see him standing next to God in one of the visits to the afterlife that I used to have as a child. I never really even thought about him that way, and believe me, anyone who was good looking in the least ran through my head at least once in some sort of fantasy. I always imagined them when I had to service the ugly ones. It was like he was some unattainable martyr and that it would be a sin to even think of him that way. Like if you did the literal halo around his head from the shine of his blonde hair would dim and the radiance that seeped out of his pores would dry up.

"I hope he's okay…" I whispered to myself. I should go check on him. I walked out of the bathroom and looked both ways, hoping to see his trailing figure, but he was gone. I looked over at his locker and all the pads and tampons were gone. He must've cleaned them up, being the helpful and nice guy he is. I turned to go back in the bathroom when I saw that one pad was stuck to bottom locker near his. I went over and picked it up and was about to throw it away when I heard a voice behind me.

"Hey! What are you doing out of class, McCormick?" I whirled around on my heel and found Mr. Simmons, the principal, behind me.

"Uhh…"

"What is that, McCormick? Is that a pad? What are you doing with a pad?"

"I was just-"

"Shut it. I don't want to hear about whatever sick thing you are doing with that feminine product. Just come on down to the office."

I sighed and threw it away in the trash can I was standing next to. I followed him to the office and sat in one of the chairs inside. I got comfortable and decided I would take a nap. He always made you wait outside forever. It was another one of his crack pot ideas. He thought if you didn't go to the bathroom during class that you could get more done and learn more, when, in actuality, you were concentrating on not pissing yourself the whole time. This sitting outside business was meant to shame you as people walked by the glass walls of the office and to make you sit there and squirm in your guilt. Too bad that most of the people, including me, didn't care if anyone saw and were already desensitized to guilt already. I yawned and was about to lay my head back when I heard Mrs. Hatchett talking loudly.

"It's okay, hunny. Don't sweat it! I understand completely. Just don't make a habit of it."

"Okay. Thank you Mrs. Hatchett, I appreciate it. And I don't plan on making a habit of it either."

It was him. I didn't realize he had this period as an office aid. He flashed a huge, white smile and she nodded. He looked like he hadn't just had a breakdown in the bathroom. He looked damned happy, like he always did. He would be a great actor one day.

She sat her hefty self down in her office chair and then pointed to something on her desk and then to me. "Be a dear and write his referral slip, will you, Pip?"

"Yes, Ma'am." He gave her an enthusiastic smile and then looked to see which hooligan got in trouble this time. He glanced over at me with some of that happy crinkle left under his eyes. It went away though when we locked eyes and I could've sworn I saw pain replace it before he quickly looked away. He hesitated until she gave him a look. He grabbed one of the slips and a pen before he came and sat down by me.

"Kenny," he looked up from the form, "How do you spell your last name?"

"M-little C- big C-O-R-M-I-C-K."

He scribbled my name on it and filled out some other fields before he spoke again. "What did you get in trouble for?"

"Simmons caught me in the hallway… throwing away a pad."

He went tense in his seat and just gazed at the paper for a few moments. "I'm sorry," he finally whispered.

"It's all good." He relaxed and I heard him breathe in relief. "What, did you think I'd beat you up for something that isn't even your fault?"

"I never know what anyone is going to do anymore," there was a morbid tone to his voice that surprised me. I was expecting his cheery voice to return and for him to deny he even thought that. He was acting strange.

"Are you sure you are all right? You're not acting like your normal self."

"I didn't realize you knew me well enough to know what my normal is," he had an insolent tone mixed in, but I could hear the alarm laced in his voice that he was trying to hide. I knew the human race enough to tell when people were lying.

"What are you trying to hide?" I don't know why I'm pursuing this. Usually when people are around me I just answer curtly or they aren't there to talk.

He looked shocked and quit writing. The color drained out of his face and he grimaced. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"I think you do."

"What class are you missing right now?"

"What?"

"What class are you missing right now? I need to know so we can excuse you from it."

I felt a little anger spark in the back of head, but it wasn't able to set fire. The stoic barrier I have isn't easily penetrated; it's like the gates of Troy, invincible. I decided that if he was so determined on not talking to me that I might as well give up. He's probably afraid he'll catch some STD from me if we talk. I sighed, "History four with Mr. Hunter." He wrote it down and then left to go turn it in.

"McCormick! Get in here!" Mr. Simmons yelled at me through his open door. I sighed again and got up. So much for my nap.

A.N. Yay crack pairings?

I have actually finished this fic. I wanted to do so before posting because I didn't want it to take up a span of years like Outcasting English. I've probably worked on this off and on for more than a year. It was originally going to be a one shot, but it kind of took on a life of its own.

I will update it most likely every other Sunday or so until all 12 chapters have been posted.

Finally, please review and tell me what you think! Constructive criticism is very much appreciated.