Gordo sat on the cold tile of the bathroom floor. He hugged his knees to his chest, and rocked himself, back and forth, back and forth, forcing himself to recall the days of his infancy. He would lie in his crib, his large blue eyes blinking sleepily. His mother would walk into the room and peek over the side. When she saw he wasn't asleep yet, she would lift him up into her arms, whispering a sweet lullaby, as she rocked him gently, back and forth, back and forth...

But who knows if this really happened? Perhaps it was just a soothing tale his mother would tell him when he was younger, to settle his nerves. Even if it was true, these memories of childhood innocence only came to belittle him in his time of sorrow. Sorrow, anger, confusion...all twisted into one knot, strangling his mind from thinking rational thoughts. Temptation toyed with his head, beckoning him to run. To run away, and to never come home. To even change his identity, to change his way of life, to leave it all behind. Did he have it in him to desert his own family, and the families of his friends for his own selfish reasons? To abolish everything he'd ever known in his life, and start anew?

Amidst his own thoughts, he failed to realize that someone else had entered the bathroom. A voice, unrecognizable at first, but obviously not an adult.

Gordo? Gordo, are you in here? The voice called.

He wasn't sure what to do. Respond? Ignore it? His heartbeat raced. He couldn't bear to have anyone see him like this, so weak, and vulnerable. Especially one of his own peers. Especially when he didn't even know who the person was.

But he couldn't hide out here all day. Or could he? No, no, stop it, Gordo. You don't know what you're saying.

Gordo said, his voice, raspy, and his throat, hurting with every word that he spoke.

Gordo, is that you? Where are you?

It was because of these questions that he figured out whose voice it was. If I'm in a bathroom and I'm not in plain view, where do you THINK i am?

His throat still itched like hell, but there was nothing he could do about it.

The stall door flung open.

Hey, Gordo, man...what are you doin' down there?

Yes, maybe Ethan had changed. Maybe he wasn't the same mean, conceited boy that he was in 9th grade, and sort of was in junior high. But this was Gordo's competition, in the fight for Lizzie's affections. But no one knew. Not Ethan, not Lizzie, not even Miranda. Well, there was one person he told, but that was just an accident...

Gor-do? You aight, man? Gordo shook his head. Here, lemme help you up, Ethan said, putting out his right hand.

Gordo accepted the assistance, but it pained him to be so forgiving to this boy he had never liked. And he doubted he would ever like.

But somehow, walking back to the ER waiting room with Ethan proved to be at least an okay experience for him.

After 3 minutes of absolute silence, Ethan decided something should be said.

Hey, man, I know this is sort of a touchy subject, but I'm guessing you just found out about... he paused, Lizzie and Miranda?

Gordo hated him. He hated him for bringing it up. He tried to keep it in the back of his mind, but he brought it up. And there was no escaping it now.

Yeah, I did, he said, coldly. But Ethan didn't take the hint.

I mean...can you believe it? Lizzie and Miranda. They didn't deserve to..

Can we drop this subject, Ethan? Gordo tried to control his temper, but all the pain showed through.

Yo, I'm sorry, Gordo. I didn't mean to...

Drop it, Ethan, Gordo whispered, tears once again rolling down his cheeks.

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[A/N: I know this is really short. I apologize. I'm trying to create some consistency in the number of words in each chapter. So far, the average for this story is about 700 words, which is kind of pathetic, but I don't care about patheticness, just about consistency.

My oldest cat, Fuzzball (7 years old), is dying. I'm um, trying to incorporate some of what I'm feeling into this story. Plus, one of my dad's friends is dying. I think they pulled the plug today. Yeah, my dad's been really sad lately.

Do you think it's really psychotic of me to be writing this kind of stuff? I'm only 13. Most normal 13 year olds on this site are writing happy L/G stories. I think it sort of shows that I am a mental case. Oh well.

Please let me know if you think this story sucks. I don't think it sucks, but I don't like it much. So yes, please review. Thanks.]