A gentleman is always polite.
Always gentle, always kind. Never outwardly angry nor shows spite.
A gentleman respects his fellow man and always offers out a hand.
He never curses or spits, physical reactions the last possible option on his list.
These words echo in my mind as I give a false cheery smile, successfully hiding the anger that twists and knots inside. The sharp words that sit at the edge of my tongue held back by a mixture of will power and the instinctive act to preserve my health.
"Quit smiling ya fucking fag," my project partner Eric Cartman hisses, "or I'll punch your crooked teeth in."
The ends of my lips twitch at his words, but obediently I close my mouth into a curved line and cheerily reply, "Eh, sorry chap."
Out of all the people to be paired up with for a final school project…
Turning my gaze back to the floor where my backpack sits, I pull out my marine biology book and flip over to the chapter on ecosystems. The assignment is not a difficult one—just merely creating an ocean ecosystem poster—but unfortunately I wasn't given the opportunity to choose a partner for this. I'd even take the bloke who moans and complains about the 'darkness of life' that sits in the back over this monstrous youth, but I suppose that my luck has never been good. Honestly though, it baffles me that such a simple project is given to us seniors, let alone us having to do the project in pairs.
My false smile falters into a neutral line as my green eyes scan across the room, noting all the lost potential of whom I could have had instead. There's Stan and Kenny in the back, both huddled over a textbook as if participating in the lesson at hand. Though, from the uncouth gestures Kenny is making and how Stan's shoulders shake with contained laughter I know their doing everything but that.
Craig and Tweek sit just a few seats away from them, both openly ignoring the textbooks on their desks. Their lips move but I can't hear what they say, but just from their gestures I know the conversation to be more savory than that of the previous pair. Though I don't know Craig that well—and don't exactly wish to—I know Tweek has always avoided such vulgar topics of conversation whenever spoken to; instead often rambling about secret plans or about human life instead.
The last two I recognize in the small class are the two gothics in our year. Their names escape my memory, but I never converse with them so it doesn't bother me that much. Still, any of these people would have been better partner than the one assigned to me by our teacher Ms. Filly—a woman who's more interested in her books on fish than her students.
"This'll be an easy A," Eric states, throwing his own book into his backpack before pulling out a handheld PSP, "I'll let you take care of it, fag."
Of course.
"But, it's a partner project," I reply with a frown, "That means we have to work together." His brown eyes narrow and shift from his game to me. I immediately look down from the intense gaze.
Should have kept my mouth shut.
"How about this," the brunette says, his voice hard as ice, "You take care of the project and, while you do that, I'll be kind enough to not punch your lights out in or after school."
I look back up at the burly young man and nod, fingers digging into the fabric of my jeans. "Right-o! Sounds splendid!"
Anger sparks in the back of my mind but I keep it under a tight hold. While no one has actively bullied me since 10th grade, there are still a few that will roughhouse with me when bored. Though Eric Cartman is one of these few, he's thankfully not the worse. His interest in bullying me watered down to taunting and a verbal punching bag—usually anyway. Still, it's nice to have his word that he won't bully me till this project is done. One less problem to deal with and I don't have to worry about him lying. Eric is known for keeping his word. No matter how outrageous the threat or idea is.
The rest of the class passes in quiet mutters and to the sound effects of Eric's game. I myself, pushing aside the project as well and instead begin to read "The Two Towers" by Charles Dickens until the lunch bell rings.
Perhaps its out of habit, or because of the simple fact that I always look for a place that ensures a quick escape but I always sit at the far table beside the emergency exit door during lunch. A tray of mash potatoes and Salisbury steak lie messily on the white foam tray before me and I poke it cautiously with my fork. My usual lunch crowd—Butters, Gregory, Christophe, and Tweek—sit around me. Each wrapped up in their own conversation while simultaneously trying to eat this meal. I'll admit it's an odd assortment of peers, but I'm not one to complain.
"Hey Pip," Butters says, turning in his seat to face me, "How's that marine class going? Tweek is freaking out about it."
"It's going very well chap," I reply, "We just have a simple ecosystem project to finish in our last two weeks to worry about. All my other classes are easy to breeze through honestly." With a smile I turn my gaze over to the twitching blond, trying to think of some words to calm the lad. "It won't be hard. Just follow the chapter and you'll be fine." Tweek squeaks from across the table, his eye twitching in a most disturbing fashion.
"Errgh, I hate that project!" he cries, "Urk! Too many sh-sharks and fish, man! All in two weeks?! Too much pressure!"
"Zhut up ya twitchy baztard!" Christophe suddenly hisses, causing Tweek to screech. A few heads turn towards the commotion but their attention isn't captured for long, quite use to these outbursts. Butters is the first to try and soothe the pale blond with gentle words and a smile. The motion slowly calms the twitchy young man, but no one else makes a move to help. Christophe reading something in a worn leather bound book while Gregory sits silently through the whole thing, his brown eyes fogged over in thought. I move my gaze back down to the meal, resting my head in my left palm as I debate on whether or not I should risk eating it.
Just two more weeks then graduation, I tell myself, Just hold out till then.
"Erk! Pip!" Tweek calls, a whimper following his voice. Out of habit, a smile grows on my face and I look up at the paranoid fellow. He gulps and darts his eyes over to my right, mouthing, "You're being watched."
My smile falls and I slightly turn my head in my palm to glance behind. Eyes as black as ebony stare at me, pupils like dimming coals.
My face snaps back to the twitching blond, the blood pulsing in my ears. Anger rustles in my heart and I ball the hand holding the plastic fork into a fist, a forced smile forming on my face. I don't need to see anything else to known who's staring at me. His name is imprinted forever in my memory. My skin marred by his hands and flames, all for the acceptance of our 3rd grade class.
Damien Thorn.
The plastic fork in my grasp snaps, it's head clattering against the table. Tweek squeaks at the action and Butter places his hand comfortingly on my arm. I ignore them and shove my tray away, appetite ruined. With narrowed eyes, I open my book and begin to read where I left off. Anger boils in my chest, it's warmth branching out into my veins. Filling me from head to toe. But, like a gentleman I don't let it show. Allowing it to fester inside.
By his gaze I know this won't be the last time he singles me out today. However, I must hold out on my anger. A gentleman never lets his anger control his actions, no matter how much in the right he's in.
After breezing through Chemistry and a short suffering of American History, I make my way to the library for my last hour of the school day. If I were like any other boy in this school I would be forced to go to gym and do mindless activities to keep 'healthy'. But, my scars keep me from such activities. Limiting my movements in twisting my body to play sports. As such, I work beside the librarian and help to keep the rarely used books organized on the shelves.
Mrs. Tibbles barely give me a glance as I walk over to the counter and sign in. The madam too indulged in the thick book held in her hands. Pictures of her grandchildren sit beside her, all happy and well. I frown and feel a spike of envy shoot through me.
Both of my parents died shortly after my birth, leaving me in the care of my sister and her now ex-husband. But, when my sister also passed away back in 10th grade, God rest her soul, I had to start living on her life insurance and food stamps. It's not much but it's enough for now. It's finding a part-time job that's tough however. I don't own a car and most of the family-owned places around here are put off by my accent—ridiculous really but true. No body ever came and tried to take me away to an orphanage after she passed. No one seemed to care that I was left on my own. Only a few 'I'm sorry for your lost' were said and nothing more.
Shaking away the depressing thoughts, I pull a cart from the wall over to the 'return' box and begin to stack them. Only around ten are put into my care today and I don't know whether to smile or frown. Either some people really love to read or just got bored with the subjects and have no taste.
After placing the books up, I spend the next forty minutes dusting the shelves and straightening out the checkout records. Once done with that, I move on to waxing the wooden table and vacuuming the worn out red carpet floor. Then to end the hour, I spend the last few minutes reading from my book.
But just as I open up to my marked page, a pale hand snatches it from my grasp. Looking up my green eyes meet black and my anger reawakens. Damien looks down at me with a smug expression, his pale pink lips curved sadistically.
"'Ello Damien," I greet, forcing myself to smile, "Can I have my book back please?" He snorts and places the book under his arm before turning to walk away.
"Senior parking. Ten minutes," are the only words I get from him before he walks out the library door.
Anger changes to rage and my hands ball up into fists. I know what waits for me out there, and if I don't go then I'll be out of another book. He always takes them from me just because he can. Only giving them back when I meet him outside and let him humiliate me in front of his friends. It's always been this way since 8th grade. The only difference now is that he's more verbal than physical. Using mind tactics and my things against me in order to get me to sit still as he kicks me to the ground. Taking a few deep breaths, I retain my composure and head outside. Steeling myself for what awaits.
Five figures sit out by the black sports car, Damien leaning against the hood; my book held securely under his arm. Kenny and Craig sit on either side of him. The blond busy laughing at some unknown joke while the noirette stares into the distance. Stan stands adjacent from Kenny, laughing along while Kyle stands at his side; the redhead looking thoroughly bored and tapping his foot.
I slowly make my way towards them, hating how all their eyes land on me. Damien gives me a cruel smile and holds up the book.
"Right on time," he says, handing the book to Craig, "Now, I've had a bad day Pippers. A very bad day."
I flinch at the nickname and his smile grows. Pushing away from the hood, Damien walks over to me till we're face-to-face. Our eyes at the same level, his smoke scented breath making me want to gag. But, it is then that I'm hit by another smell. It's…sweet and musky. Very faint but there, clinging to him; calling my attention into a hazy focus. My eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.
Cologne?
A fist hits me in the side of the face, tearing me from my thoughts and causing my muscles to become tense as adrenaline begins to pump through my veins. My heart picks up in speed as I fall to the ground, my hand clenching my injured jaw as the other catches my fall. Hastily, I stand back up and face the devil-child. Noting how his knuckles are a slight red from the impact. The four behind him stand in silence, not daring to make eye contact with me.
"You are pathetic," Damien hisses as he marches my way, reeling back his fist before slamming it into the other side of my face, "Weak, sad. All of this for a simple book."
I cough and stagger back up, keeping my eyes level with his. My anger rises and I want so desperately to hit back but can't. If I even try he might call the others over to beat me too, like he's threatened to so many times before. The book in Craig's hold will never be given back to me if I retaliate—these factors reducing me to a punching bag. All of these not even bring in the fact that it's not gentlemanly to fight into play.
"I worked for the book," I calmly explain, wincing as pain shots through my cheeks, "May I please have it back?"
I hold a hand for it but Damien instead grabs my outstretched wrist and twists it behind my back, his other arm wrapping around my chest. With a cry, I struggle and claw at his arm. The bones in my arm creaking as they twist in an unusual angle, my nerves screaming.
"Let me go!" I shout, "Let me go! Let me go!"
"You didn't work for anything," Damien snarls, "You bought it with your sister's death money didn't you, you little whore? Always living off of others. Doing what you can to survive. Pathetic."
Anger flares in my chest and I growl, "Let me go!"
Damien tsks and tightens his hold. I give a silence cry and slowly he says, "Say please."
Gritting my teeth, I glare at him out of the corner of my eye. He twists my arm further and I scream. "Say please, Pippers."
Gritting my teeth and swallowing my pride I choke out, "P-please."
With that, he lets go of my arm and I stumble forward, cradling the pained limb. His throaty laugh echoes in my ears, making my blood boil. After a few moments of peace, the book is shoved back into my arms and I sigh in relief.
I look back at the group and relax when their attention is no longer me, each chatting away as if nothing had happened. Holding my book tightly I walk by them towards the sidewalk lining the streets. But, as I do I pause when I smell that scent again—sweet, musky, and slightly alluring. With a shake of my head, I pick up my speed and walk home. It's probably just my imagination.
I grimace at my reflection, noting the two huge bruises on each side of my face and the finger marks on my wrist. My peach colored skin shines in sharp comparison to the white burn scar tissue that wraps around my right side and slighter down my hip—the edges around the damaged tissue a light pink. My thin, long fingers brush against the large scar but I can't feel it. I can't feel anything in that area.
Green eyes in the mirror glance back up to my sharp-featured face. Following the flow of my ash blond hair as it curves around my face and tickles the lower part of my neck. Dark freckles dot the area under my eyes and over the bridge of my nose, a few spots of acne visible as small red bumps. Pulling my lips into a toothy smile, I sigh at my crooked teeth. The two front chompers twisted inward, creating a hole between them as my bottom row piles on top of one another in a need to be seen.
Without the scarring I could be considered normal looking. Average.
Turning away from the mirror, I walk over to my closet and pull out a pair of blue jeans and a long sleeve blue shirt, quickly discarding the towel to pull on the articles of clothing. I grab a pair of socks from my dresser drawer on the way out, sitting down at the table in my one roomed kitchen and den to pull the socks over my bare feet before grabbing an apple from the bowl of fruit on the counter top. Holding the fruit between my jaw I pull on my loafers left beside the door on the floor, and grab my trench coat and newsy cap from the coat rack. Throwing my backpack over my shoulder I do a once over of the nearly bare room before heading out the front door to head to school—pausing only to securely lock it behind me.
I race down the sidewalk towards the school, only having fifteen minutes to get there before the tardy bell rings. Turning the corner, my feet carry me pass the church and towards the park. Without breaking my pace, I push through the thin foliage and across the wide field—the school lying just on the other side. But, I nearly trip when I see an odd scene in the distance in the senior parking lot.
Dozens of dogs of all shapes and sizes bark and roam along the asphalt ground, yelping in excitement and rushing towards a familiar black car. My pace slows as I cross the street to the parking lot, recognizing it to be Damien's car.
Why are all those dogs around it?
Then the door pops open and like a bat out of hell, the devil-boy runs inside, disheveled and quicker than I've ever seen him. The dogs give chase, nipping at his heels. With a pitched voice, Damien lets out a string of curses and bursts through the school's entrance, slamming the door behind him. The mongrels seem to care not and crash into the metal door, pawing at it and letting out unharmonized whimpers and howls. I pause and stare. Not quite believing what I just saw. But, the ring of the bell yanks me from my thoughts and I run towards the door, push the dogs aside, and walk inside—the hounds howling in discontent behind me.
As the school day goes on things get…stranger. In study hall, a large group of students, including the teacher, hung outside the doorway for the entire class period. Then in Marine Biology the only ones present were one of the Goth kids, the teacher, and myself. Lunch was no better. While it was packed to the max as usual, an undeniable buzz echoed through the student body. My usual group eats in an eerie, tension filled silence and I can't help but wonder if something's wrong. But, seeing how it doesn't affect me I stay quiet. I ignore the oddities in both Chemistry and American History before it's time for me to head to the library—slightly running to get there and away from the excited whispers and giggles that litter the hallways.
Gently closing the door behind me, I set to work organizing the books and cleaning the shelves. While setting up a ladder to reach the top shelf I can't help but find the oddest thing today to be that no one's picked on me even a little. Not one sneer, jeer, or crude remark made my way. Climbing up the steps with a swifter in my hand I think, Maybe my luck is finally changing?
A bang resounds through the library and I sharply turn to see the library double doors swinging on their hinges. My brow frowns in confusion and I dart my eyes around to try and spot who came in. No one's in sight but I smell something. It's…sweet and…musky? I wrinkle my noise in discontent despite the alluring scent. Something is definitely off in South Park today, but then again when is it ever normal.
The library doors give another large bang and four young men run in. Two I can 't make out but I can definitely make out the bulky form of Eric and the twitchy form of Tweek.
"Where is he?" I hear Eric scream, marching forward into the room. Tweek gives a small shriek but follows the football quarter back, the other two unidentifiable students following behind them.
"Hey, Frenchy!" the brunette yells up at me, "Frenchy!" I sigh and place the duster down, turning to face the four students.
"Yes Eric?" I cheerfully ask, "How may I help you?"
"Have you seen Damien?"
My eyes widen in surprise at the question. What can they possibly want with that prick?
"I'm sorry Eric," I honestly reply, "I haven't seen him. Why do you need him?"
Eric's eyes narrow and a cruel smile forms on his face. "It would not be 'gentlemanly' of me to say," he mocks, "If you see him don't talk to him and just come tell me where you've seen him, or I'll knock your fucking teeth out."
I resist the urge to huff and instead merely smile and give a nod. The four students swiftly exit out of the library and I watch them leave in confusion.
What could have Damien done to get on Eric's nerves? I wonder, As far as I know they get along very swimmingly. Especially when it's to pick on others.
Then out of the corner of my eye I see a movement of black. Turning, I see Damien crawling out from one of the many tables in here. His black eyes land on my green ones and his face scrunches up in anger. Holding up a finger to his lips he signals for me to keep quiet before rushing out from under the table and through the library door.
I stand there completely dumbfounded and shocked. With a sigh I turn back to dusting the shelves. Not even bothering to linger on the scene. There's no way I'm getting involved in whatever is going on between them, even if Eric threated to knock out my crooked teeth.
With a skip in my step I jog home through the snow. No one picked on me at all today, a victory in my case. Even after school there was no one making jeers at me. Then I halt.
I need to get supplies for the Marine Biology Ecosystem project…fiddlesticks.
With a groan of discontent, I turn back down the street and run towards the Dollar Store that lines on the most heavily trafficked street in this small hick town. If only I had thought of this before jogging home I wouldn't have to be out in the cold for more than thirty minutes.
One dreadful run later, I burst through the front door of the store. My clothes and head covered in a cold sweat. The cashier behind the counter ignores me as I walk over to the project center of the store and grab black poster paper, a pen, tape, colored pencils, and a ruler. Returning to the front of the store, I quickly place them as neatly as I can on the small register space. Slowly, the employee scans the items till she comes to the ruler.
"Hold on," she huffs, "I need to get one with a scan bar." I nod and turn my gaze out the window and, for the countless time today, am left baffled.
Damien's car sits on the other side of the street, the front of it embedded into a pole with a crowd of people around it. The driver's door has been torn open and I see a blond lifeless body lying inside. An ambulance wails in the distance and a resounding beep echoes in my ears.
I turn to the sound and see the employee scanning the ruler. Gruffing out, "$10.25" she places it into the bag and hands it to me when I pay exact change. The ambulance pulls into view as I walk outside. A stretch being set up as two people pull out the body inside. A sweep of relief washes over me when I see it's the Kenny boy. While painful, death is not an absolute for him. Though I don't care much for the people in this town, death is the last thing I'd want for anyone.
Without a word to anyone, I walk back down the sidewalk to my house. Even if I were to inquire on what happened I'd get around three to five different answers from the spectators. Besides, I'll hear about it in school via the rumor mill soon enough.
With a click of a key the lock on my door releases and I swiftly walk in. Closing the door behind with my foot, I set the project supplies on the kitchen counter, take off my trench coat and newsy hat, and place the articles of clothing on the coat rack. I pause for a moment and kick my shoes off by the sidewall before walking behind the counter and delve into the nearly bare fridge. Pulling out a half-empty half-gallon carton of milk, I reach back into the cabinet with my other hand and wrench out a box of Frosted Flakes. Setting both items on the counter top beside my supplies, I pull out a white bowl and fill it up with my dinner of cereal and milk.
My stomach growls grow silent as I eat. Taking another spoonful of the sugary corn bits I glance back into the still open cabinet and sigh. All I have left is what's left in this cereal box, a box of pasta, and three cans of chicken noodle soup—milk and butter being the only thing I keep in the fridge.
I'll have to make a run to the food market soon, I bitterly think.
Finishing up my meal and placing the bowl in the sink, I grab the receipt from the Dollar Store bag and walking over to my coffee table where my balancing checkbook sits. Grimacing I write down the amount I spent and subtract it from my funds for the month. Only $304.78 left. Should be enough to pay the bills if I'm careful about how much water I use and don't leave the lights on.
Grabbing the quilted blanket folded on top of my couch, I wrap it around my form and pull my legs to my chest, my socks still on my feet. I don't turn on the heat anymore if I can help it. Its just power I can't afford at times. Luckily it's late April and winter's hold is fading fast. A smile forms on my face and I pull the blankets closer.
Just two more weeks, I think, Just two more weeks and then I can graduate and move away from this hick town.
My eyes begin to droop in exhaustion but as I become comfortably situated on the couch cushions, a loud banging starts on my front door; making me jump in surprise. With an irritated groan, I stand up and pull the blanket with me as I walk towards the front door. The banging increases dramatically as I approach and without thinking I pull it open saying, "Can I help…you…"
My words become quiet as I stare at the devil-child before me. With a heave, he pushes past me and into my house. I know I should probably push him back out but in my bewildered state all I can do is stare out the doorway. Warm fingers grip the scruff of blanket on my neck and pull me inside, making me land harshly on my back with a thud. The door slams close and I sit up with a groan.
"If anyone comes asking, I'm not here," Damien hisses. My green eyes shoot open and I stubble to my feet, leaving the blanket on the floor.
"And, why are you here?" I inquire, feeling my annoyance rise, "How rude of you to enter my house without permission."
The noirette huffs at my words. "I need to hide," he bitterly explains, "Hide me and I promise to give you anything you desire."
My eyebrows quirk at his offer, my mind beginning to reel. "Hide you? Why would I need—" I pause as that scent from early attacks my nose. Without thinking my mouth starts to water and I feel my blood boil in the best sort of way. Rational thoughts diminishes from my mind, the anger I once felt melting away to something I can only describe as longing. My gaze falls and eyebrows scrunch together. "What kind of cologne are you wearing?"
He curses and stomps pass me into the small den, his eyes scanning the area. "Fuck, you can smell it too can't you?" he growls, "That damn scent. Fucking thing."
"Scent?"
"Yes human. Scent." His teeth grid together as he speaks and I feel my heart freeze in fear at the sharp canine protruding from his lower pink lips. "I can explain better later," he rushes, "But right now I need to fucking hide or they'll find me." Waving a hand in my face to thin out his cologne, my eyes widen in confusion and slight fear.
"Who'll find you?"
Then the doorbell rings and the sound of a dozen fists pound at my door. "Fuck," Damien softly curses before running off to my room, "Don't let them known I'm here or I will rip out your tongue."
I stand in shock as the beating on my door persists. Out of habit, I walk over and open it saying, "'Ello. How may I help you?"
"Hello Frenchy," Eric sneers, his brown eyes scanning the room behind me, "You haven't seen Damien around have you?"
I shake my head and glance behind the bulky young man, surprised when I see four other figures at his back: Stan, Wendy, Tweek, and Clyde. What an odd arrangement.
Eric grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me nose-to-nose with him, and I flinch, letting out an undignified squeak at the action. "You aren't lying to me are you?" he whispers with a hiss, his atrocious breathe making me gag, "Cause me and the rest of them will happily punish you if you are."
I gulp and glance at the other four, shocked when I find their narrowed eyes on me. "I-I heard someone run past here a few minutes ago," I lie, "I'm sorry but I haven't actually seen him."
The giant of a man holds me for a few more moments before throwing me back into onto my houses hardwood floor. I groan and stay down, hoping they'll take this sign of defeat and leave me in peace. Without another word the group of classmates continue step away from my door and run down the streets, not even having the courtesy to close the front door.
I stay on the floor for a while before finally standing back up and closing the door. Picking up the blanket from the floor, I wrap it around my form before walking back to my bedroom. Damien is nowhere in sight in the tiny room and I call out, "It's safe Damien."
My closet doors rattle before slowly sliding open, the demon peeking out. With a smirk, he flings the door open and walks out into the open and I for the first time note his disheveled appearance.
His black locks stand up in the back, bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat. The usual plain gray hoodie he wears is torn along the bottom and the arms, maroon specks dotting along the cloth. His black jeans are torn on his right leg, a rip splitting the clothe all the way up to his pale mid-thigh—the other leg side covered up completely. His tennis shoes are the only piece of clothing seemingly untouched by whatever he got himself into.
"What happened to you?" I ask, pointing to his clothes. Damien lifts an eyebrow in confusion before looking down, a scowl growing on his face.
"I got into a car accident shit-head," he replies, looking back up at me, "Now, to important things. As promised for keeping me hidden I will grant you one thing you desire. No strings attached. But…"
I'm almost scared to ask. "But?"
"I need a place to lay low for a while, just until this fucking thing blows over."
My curiosity grows at the statement and without thinking I straighten up and lean in to hear what the young man has to say. "Perhaps, I'll follow your fucking stupid house rules while here," he continues. And, my curiosity is replaced with irritation.
"And, why do you need to stay here?" I ask, my eyes narrowed and lips frowned. With a sigh and a growl, he slowly replies.
"Because I'm fucking in heat."
A/N: Yes, I know it's a theme that's been used over and over again, but stick with me here. It's not going down the road you believe it will. I have something much bigger planned in mind. The 'heat' thing is just to get the ball rolling and create some conflict. This is a slow build-up romance story.
Also, I will try to update as often as I can. I have up to 12 chapters throughly written out, but I don't like having to feel rushed to type. So, I'll probably only update a few as I write more to take their places on the waiting list.
South Park (c) Trey Parker and Matt Stone