AN: Guys. Hi. Can I just say something that I have neglected to mention throughout the entire process of writing I'm A Loser? YOU PEOPLE ARE FUCKING AWESOME! Like, no joke, your reviews make my day. And usually, my days are the lowest form of shitty that you can get. So you really make a difference. ALSO! To address a certain matter I think I saw referred to in one of the reviews…John didn't have a poem. Now…what would that be? Think about that.
P.S…RIP John Lennon, this one's for you. You psycho homophobe.
FLASHBACK (ONE WEEK PREVIOUSLY):
The boy sat peacefully at his desk in the art room, shading his artwork masterfully. Just by looking at him, you couldn't tell what was going on inside his head. But if you knew him—REALLY knew him, like his good friend Paul—then you would know that he wasn't very happy. There were the slight showings; the gentle flare of his nostrils, the hard way his nearly black eyes gleamed, how he tapped his foot rapidly and kept glancing around him.
John Lennon was agitated, to say the least.
He heard the door creak slowly, but he barely looked up. The steady tap, tap, tap of his shoe on the cold tile floor was putting thudding beats throughout his head, and he was creating melodies for his beats. He was quite content with this; drawing and composing were two of his favorite things.
Suddenly, something was thrown down on the open desk in front of him. The fleshy thwap of a hand against hard plastic made him jump, and he glanced up in front of him with supreme irritation. His eyes traveled the length of a long, long, LONG, thin body, finally making their way up to piercing blue eyes and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of a nose.
"Well, hello there, Liam. What brings you to this side of town?" He gestured around him, a slight smirk playing on his thin lips.
Liam leaned forward, his face flushed and his eyes on fire. "You stay the FUCK away from her, Lennon."
This, of course, surprised John. He was not one to be ambushed, and he didn't take such things lightly. He scoffed, standing up slowly and leaving his abandoned notebook on the desk. "I can't help it if she wants me; your mother's a very sexual lady, what can I say?"
"Shut up, you fucking prick."
"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" John taunted leaning back causally on the desk. "'Cause I know I do."
Liam rushed forward, knocking John back and forcing him into the wall. He pinned him with his strong, thick forearm, nearly cutting off his circulation completely. John gasped for breath, struggling against the weight of Liam's fury.
He licked his lips fast as lightening, a frenzied look in his eyes. "I'm telling you for the last time; stay the fuck away from my girlfriend. She doesn't even like you."
John rolled his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock."
"Just stay away from her," Liam repeated, shaking his head menacingly. "Or I swear to God—"
"What if I don't?" John interrupted. "What if I told you that I couldn't stay away from her? Or, I should say, that I won't."
Liam's nostrils flared, and he pushed John even harder in the throat with his arm. A gust of banana floated away from his body, and the other boy gagged. "If you so much as lay a hand on her, I would hurt you so bad you'd wish you'd stayed home and fucked your mother."
Now John was angry.
"I'm not going to do ANYTHING because a big, over-rated, ugly, MEAT HEAD like you TOLD ME TO!" He pushed Liam backwards, and he staggered into the desk where John's notebook lay open.
"Take it back," Liam nearly whispered, his eyes looking dangerous.
John didn't even blink. "I'm in love with her, and quite frankly, there's nothing you can do about it. I WILL win."
With a roar, the bigger boy lunged forward, crushing John against the wall again. He pushed and struggled, but there was no use. Liam was just too fucking strong.
"I gave you a chance. Don't say I didn't." Liam looked down into John's eyes, aiming his fist near his gut and preparing to strike. "Cara hates you."
Those words did more damage to John's stomach than Liam's words ever could. The banana smell was nearly suffocating at this point. Liam's gaze was penetrating, and John found himself looking up, staring into the impossibly blue eyes. He felt a sudden wash of hatred; blinding, unadulterated hatred. This guy, whom he had hated since the age of five, was stealing his love away.
"She hates you," Liam muttered again, softer this time. He was still staring John down, though now his gaze had softened. There was almost something…long, John thought, about the way his eyes watched his. Needless to say, John was extremely uncomfortable.
Then, without warning, Liam's lips descended down onto John's. The reaction was immediate. With a powerful thrust, John threw Liam's body off of his. The disgust was evident on his face, as was the tomato-bright blush on Liam's.
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" John bellowed, his eyes wide and disbelieving. He couldn't wrap his head around it…did that SERIOUSLY just happen? No, it couldn't have, because this motherfucking DILDO was the one who stole Cara away, so it wouldn't make any SENSE that he was fucking GAY!
Liam blinked rapidly, looking just as shell shocked as John. He said nothing, however, just standing there. He clutched at the desk behind him to hold himself up because his legs were shaking so badly.
"YOU FUCKING KISSED ME!" John hollered, pointing his finger accusingly at Liam.
To his surprise, Liam didn't say anything back to this. Instead, he just turned around, speeding out the door like lightening. John stood there, a creeping feeling in his stomach. It was that feeling that you get RIGHT before you throw up all over the place; you know it's coming, yet you're too paralyzed (or too stupid) to move.
A guy had kissed him.
John turned around and puked out the entire content of his stomach. Twice.
….
That night, John found a note taped to his front door.
"I HAVE THE NOTEBOOK. TELL ANYBODY AND I WILL TELL HER."
AN: I just want to make something clear: I have absolutely NOTHING against gays, lesbians, bisexuals, or anything like that. It's just…lmfao…the EARLY John did. Very much so. Hence all the jokes with Brian.