Matthew Ashton had always been a talented little boy. Perfect attendance, perfect manners, and overly perfect grades. His parents realized his astounding intelligence at the age of nine, when he had inadvertently done his elder brother's math homework for an entire term of school. His parents hadn't realized it at first—they noticed when their eldest son's grade went for a C- to an A. Oddly enough, his brother was fourteen. When asked why he did it, he simply responded, with an unknowing smile on his face, "It's just another gift the Lord has given me to enjoy."
The Ashton household was, at best, the poster family for Christians. They were highly religious, and went to their neighbourhood Church every Sunday. Matthew's parents had praised him for being their little smarty-pants, immediately sending him to a higher grade, two grades ahead of his own. By the time he had finished his high school education, he had skipped three more grades, now in his brother's class, and was five years younger than the rest of his graduating class. He wasn't exactly a genius, but he certainly did learn things faster than other children. Alot faster. As in, speed-of-light faster.
The graduated Matthew, age thirteen, had decided to wait a few years before going into a college or university. Not so long that he was with people his own age, but not too short of time that he was still a prepubescent teenager. He had described the ideal age as sixteen.
Matthew's brother, Jordan, had lived in the shadow of his brother since age fourteen. He constantly lived with regrets about showing him that homework. If only I hadn't let him do it, he thought, then I wouldn't be the unwanted one. Jordan knew that they would have found out somehow, and that it wasn't his fault, but he still couldn't get the thought out of his head.
When Matthew had come back from high school with Jordan, they had instantly started talking collage. Matthew, of course, was having trouble—the first trouble in his life—about which Ivy League to go into. Matthew described this as being the normal choice for a boy his age. Jordan on the other hand, got to choose between which community college he wanted to choose. The boys' mother apologized to Jordan, with actual sadness on her face, saying that they couldn't send him into a normal collage because all of the family funds were going to Matthew. Jordan, being the bigger man, had accepted his fate and went to bed.
And schemed.
Jordan knew that Matthew always got out of bed at eleven o'clock sharp for a midnight snack. Brain food. He called it. Because my brain never stops thinking. At half past ten, Jordan snuck up out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen. He snuck deftly behind the pantry—a tall, wardrobe-like piece of furniture used to store cans and boxes of food. It was tucked away in the corner, so that anyone who went into the fridge could quickly get what they wanted from the pantry. When Jordan had heard the muffled sound of the fridge opening, he pushed forward with all his strength, not giving up until the giant wooden closet was falling through the air. Matthew gawked as it fell towards him, frozen with shock. So scared, in fact, that he did not see Jordan, nimble as he is not, stumble out of the kitchen. He ran to his room, and when he heard his parents scream, he knew it was time to put on an act and play dumb. He came out of his room, clad in pyjamas, rubbing his eyes and asking what happened.
His parents were standing in front of the tipped over pantry, and under it, resided Matthew. He was not screaming. He was not moving. But he was bleeding. Alot. And he was alive. While his father quickly called an ambulance, his mother knelt down and stroked her little boy's hair. His face was turned away from them.
"You're such a brave little boy," she cooed, "not even screaming for help."
So much blood, Jordan thought, Oh God... What if he dies from lack of blood? I never wanted this to happen. Why did I do it? I never meant for this... All the grief poured out of him. All the years of teaching his little brother to play sports and to ride a bike—because their father was always at work—came back to him, and he cried out, not in an act, but in real, genuine pain.
From the wreckage, Matthew slowly turned his head towards them. He was smiling. "Pain is just another sensation that the Lord has given me to enjoy." he said. Those were almost the exact lines he had said about math.
The Ashton parents, as religious as they were, could not stand such a thought. They had shipped Matthew off to Coates Academy, blaming it on the fact that he had never been around kids his own age. Matthew didn't mind. He actually liked the idea of going back to school. Coates was about a two hour drive from where they lived, so he could visit a lot. This wasn't punishment for him, this was actually a paradise.
And then he met Drake Merwin.
Drake Merwin took pleasure in the fact that he could make anyone scream, at basically anytime he wanted. When the new kid came, Drake pounced on him. He had to show the kid whose boss, and that if he even so much as looks at him, he should run. It was standard policy with him. Drake sauntered on up to where the new kid sat, idly reading a book before the morning bell rang. He had grabbed the new kid up, without a word, by his collar. He then set off about his rules, and how he should obey him. Nobody so much as looked his way, because it was just that normal.
Matthew did not smile. He did not frown. He just stayed silent as the bully gave his speech.
"You got that, kid?" He sneered.
"Yup." he said, with no emotion whatsoever.
Drake had dealt with this kind of kids before. They just sat there and listened, and thought, oh, just another bully. Drake hated these types, but at the same time, he loved them. As soon as he let them go, they would just go and not take him seriously. This meant he got to put them in their place, with force.
"Well, sometimes I gotta enforce the rules, y'know?" He dropped the kid and took hold of his arm, squeezing his grip like a vice. It wasn't the worst he could do. After all, he was using his left hand, much weaker than his right.
The kid did not so much as move from where he was. He did not flinch.
"Think you're tough, kid?" Drake was getting angry. Well, angrier than he usually was.
"No, not really." Matthew said with a smile. Drake tightened his grip, pissed. This kid annoyed the hell out of him. He wasn't trying to get on Drake's bad side. He just wasn't smart enough to get that he should start crying already.
"Really? Then stop actin' like one" Drake pulled back his right arm, and snapped it forward. It hit Matthew in the nose with a sickening crunch. Blood started spurting immediately. To Drake's surprise, the boy kept smiling. So this is what the councillor meant. Drake thought. I always wondered what he meant when he said something about meeting a masocrist... wait, no. A 'masochist.' I better teach this little bitch a lesson.
He took out the switchblade that he always kept in his pocket, and flicked it open. Standard issue for him, a fine blade. One of Drake's best. "Sometimes, I have to show people that the rules are meant to be followed." He put it to the boy's forehead, and then slowly put force on it as he dragged it across the boy's skull. Not deep enough to harm the skull, but deep enough to leave a scar.
Drake finally got the satisfaction he was looking for as the boy screamed out in pain. The boy has his eyes closed, since blood was dripping from the four inch gash onto his eyelids. He was still smiling, but Drake knew that would happen. All Drake wanted was to show this kid, and anybody who looked at this kid, that Drake Merwin was not to be messed with.
When the head administrator had come to sort things out, Drake had blamed it all on Matthew. He said it was because of his masochism. "Very well, Mr. Merwin, you may go to your dorm." The principal had said, exasperated and tired from the day's events.
As Drake was walking down the long halls of Coates Academy, he only had one thought. What a freak. Seriously, who in their right mind gets so much pleasure out of pain?