Sorry for the late chapter, but school isn't exactly being kind right now. Niether is soccer. Or life. But even if you're down, or having a rough night, you need to hold your head up and say to yourself, "I can do this!" So, yeah, enjoy this one, as they come slow.

Chapter Three – Fiction Meets Fact

- - -

Derby was avoiding him subtly...

That was pure bullshit!(Do excuse the language)

Who seriously wouldn't notice the head leader of the clique without his infamous best friend? They'd have to be as blind as a nerd to miss that. Bif scowled as he walked around campus, absent mindlessly. It was no use going to Harrington House – the preps would just bombard him with pointless questions.

Just thinking of Derby reminded him of Johnny. Johnny fucking Vincent was the leader of the Greasers, and was often seen hanging both a cigarette from his lips and a girl (named Lola) on his arm. He was brutally violent, and liked things done his way. Bif hesitated as he was about to cross the bridge from the town, into Bullworth Vale. The streets brought up painful memories; all of the shops tempting him forward. His feet stayed solidly on the borderline between both of the different worlds, but his eyes went mad and scanned the area. Any sign of him would give Bif enough reason not to cross. Just as the town looked empty from afar and Bif took a few steps in, he noticed Derby laughing gaily with Gord at his side. Every time Bif saw the traitorous blonde, he laughed inside because he knew he wasn't there anymore. He had been replaced by a deceitful, snapping snake, who wouldn't even give a second glance to his former best friend.

It's not the Bif was whining at all...

Well, just a little. But seriously, who wouldn't?

Bif turned around, hoping Derby hadn't spotted him (even if the chances were pretty low), and headed towards Bullworth town. His strides were strong and confident – and he nearly knocked down several people – until he realised he was going absolutely nowhere. His throat became tight and he began to fight the tears that were welling up in his misty eyes. Clenching his fists, he walked faster, anywhere in mind. The buildings blurred as he strode past them, his eyes on the open space in front of him. He past a large sign that read: Welcome to New Coventry.

He couldn't help grunt out loud as he walked under the dingy bridge. In all of his six years living in Bullworth, he hadn't explored much of this deprived area. It looked as if a tornado had come through, leaving the city in ruins, and nobody even bothered to clean up. Eventually, his quickened pace slowed to a gradual walk, and he found all eyes on him. It was wrong for him to be here, in enemy territory. Already, he could feel the regret building up to something that would allow him to beat the life out of anybody at boxing club later and show Derby what he was made of.

Show Derby that he was worth keeping - much better then Gord slutty Vendome.

So much better...

He past a group of staring Greasers, keeping his eyes on the ground, as he heard all the crude remarks about his choice of wear. It was still winter, just about time for spring, so all he wore was a plain Aquaberry sweater with grey slacks and beautiful silk scarf tight around his neck. Of course, you couldn't forget the expensive, Italian shoes clicking along the cold concrete. Their stares meant nothing to him as he walked around mindlessly, keeping his cold, loathing eyes on the ground. The Greaser's taunts merely bounced off him as he quickened his stride once again and found himself in front of a tall, old run down building. It looked absolutely disgusting – a place that Derby Harrington would steer clear of. But then again...

He wasn't Derby Harrington.

Looking around the building, he couldn't find an opening that he could easily open. Just as he was about to give up, he noticed a slightly opened window on the side of building, practically calling his name. Swiftly, he jumped through the window, being careful not to tear his pants. The place was most definitely run down. There were large smashed holes in the wall and the wallpaper was peeling off at the top. The floor was an unorganized mess, stands of wood tossed off to the side. The furniture was a whole different story – not in a good way either. The silence was eerie as all Bif could hear was his own, loud steps. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was enough to push him further into the building, instead of turning around and jumping out the window, and help him find out a little more about Johnny Vincent. To think that he lived in a place like this; with abusive parents (well, there was no difference there between the two), and sadly, no money. The boy had to live on hand-me-downs, something none of the Preps had touched in their whole life.

Slowly, Bif toured through the building. It was like entering a completely different universe, which of course, sounded ridiculous but it was true. Slowly, the cuts from the past two week came back, taking stabs at his racing heart. Johnny Vincent had torn him up, shown him reality in a cruel, but pleasing way. It had been completely wrong, for two different cliques to do a thing - especially if it was two adolescent boys. He could hear the taunts coming up already. They hurt - the words that they would call him. Queer, homo, faggot and the list would go on and on. Even just thinking of those disgraceful words caused him to find a nearby chair and sit. If anyone ever figured out, he would be done in. The local police wouldn't let him slide from trouble anymore, the parents would give him strange looks, and the rumours would fly all over town. His family would be disgraced, and they'd have to move and start fresh.

Bif looked up and examined the room from floor to ceiling with his distorted vision.

It was a bedroom. A small, quaint little area that looked like it would fit one person or two, if neither of them had many personal belongings. The golden yellow sunlight filtered through a window with broken blinds, just barely illuminating the old, hardwood floor. The walls were a light brown, with chipped pieces that revealed the white drywall behind it. The bed in the center wasn't done up, and looked as if it had been used just last night. This of course was impossible, considering the place was neglected, and certainly didn't look like it held any evidence human life. The bedside tables beside it were looked as if they were made of oak (the same material that the bed frame was done in), along with the matching dresser. It looked as if everything was handmade – which is probably was – and out of curiosity, Bif crossed the small room to rummage through the dressers. To his surprise, his fingers connected with a fresh smelling, plain grey t-shirt. Shocked, he found a new pair of black slacks and old torn up leather jacket. This stuff was clean, not dusty or anything – as if it had been washed or worn just recently.

"What are you doing?" A gruff voice questioned behind him. Bif slammed the drawer shut and turned around to find no one but Johnny damned Vincent.

"Oh," Bif's jaw dropped. It had only been maybe a half an hour ago he was about to go into Bullworth Vale and face Derby, but here he was in New Coventry, face to face with Johnny. "Hi," Bif muttered, looking down at his feet. He had noticed that Johnny had a towel tight around his waist, his wet hair plastered to his face and black eyes questioning his presence with his lips turning up in an amused smile.

"Well I'll be damned. It's Bif Taylor in the blood – again! Just couldn't keep away from me, huh?" Johnny teased as he pushed past Bif, opening his drawers. "Didn't figure you'd come back for more. Thought Derby would keep you on your leash and pull you away from this dump. Ah well, I'm the bigger and better dog, aren't I? Always have been. He even gave in faster than you," Johnny laughed. In a second, Bif's fist connected with the back of Johnny's head, smashing him into the dresser. His towel fluttered to the floor as Bif grabbed his arms and twisted them around his back in an agonizing position.

"What the fuck... y-you asshole!" He groaned in pain as the prep tossed him on the bed, hitting his head on the banister. He buried his face in the pillow and grunted as the blood leaked onto the white cover case. Bif grabbed his wrist and with all his strength, he managed to flip him over on his back. His body was scarred and damaged, clearly not as beautiful as Derby's, but there was a certain feeling to see it. He knew that Johnny was loyal – that he would never cheat on his slut, Lola. He knew that only one person had ever gripped his hips, screamed at him for more. Bif never screamed, or gripped him. He should have. He should have made the Greaser King a slut. Just like...

It was too much.

Bif immediately jumped off of Johnny and exited the room, ignoring the Greaser's confused shouts. He was lost in this damned building – there were too many doors and windows that lead nowhere. He could hear Johnny's rushed footsteps, trying to find him. He was going to beat him to a bloody pulp, or possibly, kill him. Either way, Bif didn't mind. Derby was a slut – a god forsaken slut. He could be compared to Lola, the lowest of the low. It disgusted him more than anything. Running up the stairs, Bif's throat tightened and his eyes began to haze over. Not here, please God, not where he was vulnerable.

Outside, he could hear the rain attempting to demolish the unstable roof. The pounding of his heart grew louder as he reached the top floor and found four doors. Going through the third door, he slammed it shut and managed to lock it. He looked over the room and found it quite bare, with white sheets draped over the furniture. At the very end of the room, there was a large window, showing the gloomy outside. The sky was dark and the thunder angrily groaned outside with the rain pounding on the window. Just a while ago, it was a cloudy day – but now it had turned into a full on storm.

A flash of lighting broke through the darkness of the sky, leaving Bif to cower in a corner.

As a child, thunder and lightning storms had been Bif's main fear. Firstly, because whenever he whined about one and hid under a desk, terrified, his father would drag him into the dreary basement and hit him hard. His mother wouldn't even acknowledge his cries of agony, and wouldn't even question the quick forming bruises as he emerged with his scowling father. Then, his dad would lock him in his room and forbid him to leave, or tell anyone about it. That's when he would sneak his mother's 'long lost' cell phone from under his pillow, phone Derby and quietly whisper to him everything that had just happened. Their calls would fall into endless chats until his mother or father would call him for dinner – that's when he had to hang up and return to his unforgivable family. Derby had been the only one to know about his silly fears.

But he couldn't phone Derby anymore. He couldn't phone anyone.

In the battered hallway, he could hear the creaks of shoes on the wood flooring. Bif tried to fall away into the nearest crack, to disappear forever, but he couldn't. A part of him wanted to see Johnny Vincent and to see him smile that wide, grin of his. He held back a sob as Johnny attempted to turn the doorknob, but failed due to it being bolted and locked shut.

"Bif Taylor? You in there, you god damn girl?!" His voice was calm, but had a small touch of impatience. The red head bit down on his lip, wanting so badly to shout his existence, but he just couldn't. It would feel like betrayal to his clique – as he knew if Johnny came into this room, it wouldn't end in a helpful manner. The pounding on the door made his throat tighten. He knew he was going to cry just like a baby. He couldn't help it. Every unpleasant memory came rushing up at him, as if this was the moment that would test his selfish being. The banging on the door continued as Bif raised his sleeve to his mouth, attempting to muffle the sobs.

"Go away!" Bif managed to scream, choking back a sob on the last syllable. The banging immediately stopped, giving Bif a bit of hope that he had left, and a bit of remorse for wanting him to leave. He had wanted someone with him... He wanted-

Then all of a sudden, Johnny Vincent broke the door down, wearing a smug expression. Terrified, Bif cringed tightly against the wall, keeping his eyes on his knees as he remained in the fetal position. His body shivered with fear as Johnny quickly sat by his side, not making an attempt to touch him – or even speak. He sat still, as if nothing was wrong. He was waiting for the larger, cowering prep to make the move – and damn, he wanted to so badly. Bif took in a long breath, allowing his body to slowly calm it's self. The harsh thunder storm, with rain pouring over the roof, and lightning striking every few minutes made it harder to remain composed and collected.

"Never knew a man as big as you could be afraid of a little thunder storm," Johnny whispered, ignoring Bif's small whimpers. Groaning, Bif rolled over on his side, looking at Johnny's amused expression. His hair was still damp, but this time he was fully dressed. Slowly, he turned his head and their gazes met. For just one second, Bif felt as if he could see Johnny right down to the very core, see his true emotions and motives, and could really connect to his complete opposite. But Johnny blushed, causing Bif to look away and stare at an interesting crack in the wall. He just couldn't help the way he felt about certain issues.

Sure, in the beginning, he had his eyes set on gorgeous, classy girls. Most boys did, (well actually, most of them stared at the large breasted women) and Bif thought he was brilliant for having only a few, but long lasting, girlfriends. After he had hit age fifteen, he had lost all interest in women. Boys looked more compelling, in their 'too tight' uniforms, parading around campus – seeking girls. He'd heard rumours of certain boys who had the same orientation of him, but each time he looked at them, it did nothing. No one seemed right for him – it was as if he was a cactus, trying to fall in love with a balloon, it just wasn't going to work. That was, until he had seen Derby in the halls halfway between the year. Within the next month, they had become close. Derby never questioned the longing glances, or the subtle touches, or even the shyness of the topic, Homosexuality, in health class.

"It's odd, seeing you crying like a baby. You had this whole tough boy reputation set up, and now I think you're just a big softie. Jeez, what's with that?" Johnny laughed, and looked over at Bif, whose sparkling eyes were watering uncontrollably. Without a moment's hesitation, Johnny slid closer and pulled Bif into his arms, attempting to cradle him as softly as he could as the thunder boomed in the background. The Greaser's warm arms made him feel secure, as if nothing in the world could harm him now. The sight would be appalling to anyone else, who wasn't the two, and it must have been odd for Johnny, but it felt so right that it made Bif begin to sniffle again. Johnny laughed softly, running his fingers through Bif's hair.

All of a sudden, Bif felt like he had announced his existence to a significant someone.

***

"So, Bif... uh, where have you been the past couple of weeks?" Tad asked as he took a swig of his champagne. He didn't sound suspicious – that was a good sign.

"Just out and about. Need to stretch my legs and get ready for boxing season," he flashed a grin, causing Tad to blush slightly. Bif opened the large, glass window and leaned on his elbows to admire the beauty of spring. The tulips in the garden were trying to push past the layer of soil, and soak up as much of the beautiful sun as they could. The green grass swayed in the gentle, warm breeze, uplifting a sweet scent. He looked across the well kept lawn to see Derby walking towards the Harrington House – Gord at his side, laughing like he always was. Instantly, Bif stood up and hit his head on the window seal, and cursed under his breath.

"What's wrong with you, Taylor?" Tad smiled as he took a larger gulp of his glass. Bif scowled as Derby and Gord pushed through the doors, giving both of the preps a look over. Derby's nose sniffed at the air, and his gaze fell on Bif. Gord immediately stopped looking and joined the stare down, giving Bif the most conceited look ever seen. The tension didn't even seem to affect Tad, who was now trying to wash away the white marks on the black and white marble counter.

"Something smells like cigarette smoke. Would that be you, Taylor?" Derby sneered, his eyes cold as stone. Gord merely smirked and turned his focus on the tall red head.

"Why would that be me? Only disgusting low lives like Greasers smoke, Harrington," Bif spat, causing Derby to flinch slightly, "and if you haven't noticed – I'm not exactly a Greaser, am I?"

Derby's lips twitched, a trace of irritation flicked over his face, but then it resumed back to his calm, collected expression. He hadn't expected that reply, and it had clearly showed. Even Gord had picked up on this, and began to tug at Derby's shirt. Normally, Derby would've slapped the brunette silly until he bled, but he merely ignored him as he glared at Bif. He turned around on his heel and headed toward the dorm doors. Gord trailed behind, but bumped into his back as Derby stopped quickly. He turned his head, not bothering to make eye contact.

"Just don't make it into an everyday thing, alright?" With that final closure, Derby opened the door and began to climb the large, grand staircase. Bif propped himself up against the window again, his eyes scanning the yard, and fell onto the Greaser's territory entrance.

Cravings were hard to steer away, but addictions are nearly impossible.