Johnny went around school all the next day with the knife in his pocket, the light, deadly weight reassuring him at every turn. He didn't get lost. His teachers seemed to call on him less. He even got an answer right in Spanish. It was a brilliant feeling. He thought about telling Abbey he had it when she sat by him at lunch, but he didn't. She might have gotten freaked.
Johnny didn't know much about girls, but he had heard that they got freaked easily. So the knife stayed silently waiting. Well, silent except for the voice of Eff, that was.
Mr. Eff was Johnny had taken to calling the voice that popped up every now and then in his head. Johnny quickly learned that Eff was paranoid. Every glance Eff took to be threatening, mocking, every whisper Eff told him was someone laughing at him. Eff told him that he could use the knife, make sure they never laughed again, not ever. But Johnny knew better.
He knew better.
At least he did until after school. Abbey was getting picked up by her Dad, she had an 'appointment,' was all she would say. Johnny walked home by himself. About halfway home, however, the blue car pulled up next to him again. Johnny ignored it, thinking that it was just the guys again, looking to impress their girlfriends by messing with some nobody.
But when he looked over at the car, there weren't any girls. There were five guys, now. And they looked pissed. Johnny quickly saw why. A long white scratch went the full length of the car. It looked like someone had done it on purpose, no other way a gash could be that bad.
As if reassured by his glance, the car stopped. Johnny picked up his pace again, trying not to hear the car doors opening behind him. This became impossible when he got shoved from behind, sending him flying to the pavement.
"H-hey, freak," said the guy who had pushed him. He sounded like he had a stutter, but the jacket he wore, the jacket all five of the advancing guys wore, showed he was on the football team. This saved him the social outcast status most people would suffer.
"Where's your girlfriend, freak?"
"She's not my girlfriend. And she got picked up, so what?"
Johnny started to get up, a problem because he was surrounded now. Someone kicked him back down. His hand strayed to his pocket, but he pushed it back down. This might blow over.
"Your girlfriend and her fucking curse. Look what she did to my CAR!" said a guy with dark hair and a bad case of acne.
"I saw, but I don't think it was because of Abbey. I think most likely you were too busy talking to somebody and hit something."
"No way, man," said another boy. He gave Johnny another kick as he spoke. Johnny looked at his face. He had angel hair surrounding a face full of hate. "I saw it happen. We were at Jessica's party, that car swerved all by itself. Weirdest fucking thing I've ever seen."
"Fine, whatever, it was witchcraft, can I go now?"
Johnny's mind reeled. He couldn't believe he had just said that. He was gonna get the shit kicked out of him.
'not if you fight back, you're not.'
"Shut up, SHUT UP!" Johnny said, grabbing at his head. He realized with a flood of terror that he had said that out loud.
"You just tell me to shut up, faggot-boy?" said the owner of the car. Johnny totally lost control of his mouth, it went spewing off all on it's own.
"Yeah, I told you to shut up. All Abbey did was curse you out in Spanish. You crashed your own car because you probably got drunk at your stupid party. And how can you, in the same conversation tease me about my girlfriend and call me a faggot?"
The five guys stared for one second, enough time for Johnny to get to his feet, and then one, the guy who had pushed him down in the first place, put a fist right in Johnny's face. Johnny clutched at his nose, feeling blood gush onto his hands.
"Holy shi" he started, but someone else kicked him on the stomach. He doubled over, trying to get away from the rain of blows the came down at him now.
'you can stop this, Johnny-boy,'
Johnny finally agreed with Eff. He fumbled with the zipper on the pocket of his cargo pants, it stuck, and then popped open. The knife seemed to fly into his waiting hand. And then if flew somewhere else.
The blond clutched at his stomach. His hands wavered around the blade of the knife. His eyes followed the path of Johnny's hand, up his arm, finally to his face. The look he found there scared him more than the pain.
Johnny stared into the panic filled face of the boy he had killed. In his head, Eff was clapping with the hands of a thousand joyous fans. Johnny pulled the blade out, marveling for a bit at the silken red sheen on the blade, how delicate, like a gem. Then he slashed around again, catching two others in the face. They would have scars that would last their whole lives, provided the lives didn't end here.
"I'll kill you all!" Johnny screamed, but the others were already frozen, ready to flee. "If you ever tell it was me, I'll kill you all. JUST LIKE THIS FUCKER HERE!"
He waved his knife at the body. A slick of red flew off, spattering the shirt of the dead man. The others fled. Johnny wiped off the blade on the already stained shirt of the dead boy, making sure to get all the blood off before he folded the knife up again and put it away.
'well done, Johnny-boy! Well done indeed. Feel the lift? Do you feel the power? And this is only the beginning. This, Johnny, is the high that doesn't wear off!'
And Johnny felt it. He walked home on a cloud. Upon approaching his front door, however, the cloud stopped being solid, and turned back into millions of water vapor molecules. Johnny was hit with the true reality of what he had just done.
"Oh, fuck…" he said, sinking to his knees. He realized he had blood on him, and wondered how the hell he was going to get back to his room without being caught.
He decided to risk it. He pushed open his front door, sneaking easily through soundlessly. He was used to being silent, but this time, silent wasn't enough. His mother was waiting for him.
"Oh," he started, but his mother stopped all noise with a glare. She took in his bloody lip and busted nose, the blood on his shirt.
"Been fighting, have you?" she said. Her voice was icy, cruel. "Well. We'll see how your father feels about that."
"No, mom, don't tell him… please?" Johnny begged. It made him feel smaller than he was, and he hated it. His mother smirked down at him, he was somehow reminded of Nurse Rachett, from One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. It filled him with a cold horror.
His father came into the entryway, Johnny hadn't even heard his mother calling. His father did not look pleased. He didn't look drunk, though, and that helped Johnny's chances a good deal.
"You startin' fights, boy?" his dad asked. Johnny thought it sounded so much like the cliché of a drunk father that he was unable to stifle a giggle. That stopped, though, when his father, an enraged look on his face, started unthreading his belt. Johnny looked at the buckle fearfully, knowing his father had never spared it before, and certainly would not now.
I leave you here, pondering Johnny's horrible fate. Yes, he is getting beaten, no I'm not wring about it because I love him too much. There may be a time gap here, but I solemnly swear that I will finish this, soon.