This chapter is the climax of the story. As such, it contains many, many crude words and sexual harassment. Some vomit as well. You have been warned.

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Time slowed to a crawl, then stopped entirely.

Michel stared up at Thomas, eyes wide, mouth gaping open. He swore his heart had leapt into his throat. He could feel it beating there; threatening to close off his throat and suffocate him. His hands were clenched tightly around the Edgar Allen Poe book, his grip so strong his knuckles were white. He had an incredible urge to tug the skirt down lower so not so much of his legs were exposed. To throw what was left of his tea in the larger boy's face, hopefully scalding him so he could make a getaway.

He glanced away. Yuki and Haku had vanished; the table the long-haired boy had been at was empty. There was no way to alert Yuki and get aid. No way he could pull out his phone and alert Free of his troubles. Besides, stubborn pride would have kept him from doing so anyway. He had never bothered to tell any of his teammates what happened to him at school and he didn't particularly want to spill the beans now.

He was on his own.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!"

At the harsh tone of Thomas' voice, Michel forced himself to focus. Forced his heart rate to slow; his breathing to return to normal. He was playing the role of a girl already; he could feign ignorance as well, pretend he didn't know Thomas. Pretend nothing had ever happened between them.

He hitched up his chin, looking back up into watery brown eyes. "I'm sorry." He uttered, "I hadn't realized." He tried to keep a bored tone. He blinked and he could feel his lashes fluttering, aware of them for the first time. Chloé had put something…Mascara. It was supposed to make them longer. And now was a silly time to be thinking of that, but Michel simply couldn't help it.

Thomas studied him, brown gaze relentless. For a moment, he thought the other boy recognized and was trying to place him. He thought perhaps his eyes would give him away; there weren't too many people in London with the same green-grey eyes as he had. But no; Thomas wasn't quite that intelligent.

"Are you new here?" The taller boy asked, sliding uninvited into the other side of the booth.

Michel nodded. "I've never been here before." He said plainly, fingers twirling the near-empty tea cup absently.

Thomas scrutinized him a moment longer and Michel found himself fighting to keep from squirming. Instead, he stared at the larger boy, looking at him, really, for the first time. Thomas wasn't exactly ugly, nor was he handsome. He had a thatch of dark hair, some color between brown and black, and watery brown eyes. His skin was pale and freckled; he looked like there might have been a bit of Irish in him somewhere. Michel remembered Brandon and their father having the same fair-skinned, befreckled appearance. He vaguely recalled that Brandon burned easily and for this reason hated being out in the sun for long periods of time. Michel didn't question his own tan skin and fair hair; it was probably better not knowing where it came from. But he was getting sidetracked.

Thomas had expensive clothes. It showed in the quality of his uniform and now in his casual clothes. Everything was designer; Chloé would be proud. Although…Thomas didn't wear it nearly as well as Chloé did. He just looked like a kid trying to wear his father's clothes. Overall, he wasn't unattractive, but he certainly wasn't some one Michel would ever find himself attracted to. Period.

"You're pretty cute."

Thomas' voice dragged him back into the here and now and he found himself blushing involuntarily. Cute? Thomas thought he was cute! Even though he was supposed to be a girl at the moment, it was still creepy. Knowing your worst enemy thinks you're cute is probably the most horrible thing in the world, even if said enemy currently has no idea who you are. He tried not to gape. It would be worse for him if Thomas thought he was some kind of staring idiot.

"Th-thanks." He managed to stammer, though it made his skin crawl to accept the wayward compliment. This was not happening. This couldn't be happening. Thomas Kenyon did not just tell he, Michel, that he was cute, no matter the capacity in which it was said.

"I'm Thomas." Here it was; this was going to be the most humiliating part of the whole ordeal. Michel knew the next thing out of the bastard's mouth was going to be to ask him what his name was and he was not looking forwards to sharing a girl's name with his tormentor. "What's your name?"

Inwardly, Michel rolled his eyes. People like Thomas and his cronies were just too predictable. "Nora." He muttered, more to remind himself than to inform Thomas, "My name is Nora."

"Well, Nora…" Thomas paused to drag a hand through his hair, rumpling it, "Since you're here all alone, how'd you like to come sit with me and the boys?" He jerked a thumb towards the cluster of boys he'd come in with. "We could use some company, ya know."

For a moment, Michel had the urge to laugh. How funny it would be, were Thomas to realize he was coming onto a boy when he so steadfastly claimed heterosexuality. Funny, perhaps, in retrospect; but the little blond was positively terrified if Thomas realized that the girl he had just invited to his table were really a boy in drag.

"No." He said softly, "No; thank you. I'm quite alright here. I like being alone."

One of Thomas' thick brows rose. "It wasn't a suggestion. We come here for more than just the tea, if you know what I mean." The taller teen's voice had grown cold, his tone no-nonsense, "So you'd better get your cute little ass over there."

There was a moment of silence as Michel stared at him, green eyes wide. How could any one possibly treat another human being like that? Especially a girl…He wondered if this was how Thomas regarded all women; like they were his property and he could boss them around. What of his mother? Was she treated with the same disrespect? Did he have a sister? He felt his stomach turn once. Thomas really was a sick bastard.

And he wasn't going to take it any more.

"Get the hell away from me!" He hissed, eyes uncharacteristically narrowing, "I'm not some little toy for you! Mother o' Christ; I'm so sick of you." He began gathering his things, intent on hunting down Yuki, and pushed his way past Thomas, who looked a little stunned at the wiry girl's boldness.

In his haste to be rid of Thomas, Michel forgot an important rule. Never turn your back on an enemy. Regret came swiftly as a large hand caught him by the wrist, twisting his arm.

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Yuki was socially awkward, to say the least.

He had shuffled nervously over to the table where Haku sat, hands crammed in his pockets. Haku was happily oblivious, sipping his tea, small hands wrapped around the cup, hair cascading over his shoulders and down his back. A small, peaceful smile lit his face and he hummed softly to himself.

Yuki paused a foot or so away from the table, enchanted, just watching. His mouth felt dry; as if it was stuffed full of cotton balls. He swallowed. God, what the hell was he doing? This was such a stupid idea; he had no clue what he was supposed to say to Haku or how he would get his mouth working again so he even could say it, were he confident in what to say.

He blushed as Haku suddenly looked up, brown gaze meeting his own. The other boy's cheeks pinked slightly and he lowered his head, face hidden behind a curtain of silky hair.

"You are Yuki, ne?" A soft voice came from behind the waterfall of hair.

"Y…yeah." Somehow, Yuki managed to get his voice unstuck from his throat, "Can…Can I sit down?" He asked hesitantly.

Haku nodded and Yuki slid into the seat across from him. The slightly-smaller boy's dark head rose and they looked at one another for a moment, silent. Haku was rather beautiful; all dark hair and contrasting pale skin, cheeks tinged pale pink, lips parted slightly. Yuki didn't think there was any way he could possibly have a chance with some one so attractive; just being near Haku made him feel plain and boring.

"Would you like something to drink?" Haku asked politely, slowly twirling his near-empty cup between his fingers. Yuki's friend had said he was nice and Haku usually wasn't so awkward around other people, but for some reason he felt particularly jumpy and nervous.

"No thanks." Yuki stared awkwardly at the tabletop, trying to think of something intelligent to say. "I hope Michel didn't bother you too much the other day."

"Bother me?" The brown-eyed boy smiled softly, "Iie; it was nice to have some company. Usually, no one speaks to me, and if they do, they always comment on my accent." He sighed softly, "Or how polite my English is."

It was then that Yuki noticed how pronounced and deliberate Haku's English was, as if he was trying very hard to make a conscious effort to say each word correctly. It reminded him vaguely of Ken, who's English was still rather atrocious. Or maybe Michel, who's English, on the other hand, was prim and proper. He still referred to Yuki's Americanized English as "gutter talk" from time to time and chided him for teaching Ken improper language. "Do you miss being able to speak in Japanese all the time?" He asked curiously.

Haku nodded. "Only my mother and father and I can have a conversation in Japanese. I do not know any one else here who can speak it." He paused, looking hopeful, "Do you?"

Yuki shook his head softly. "Not very well…" He frowned for a moment, wishing he could be more helpful, then grinned as a thought occurred to him, "You should come visit me at work sometime. I bet Ken'd be happy to have some one to speak in Japanese with. His English is terrible."

A shy smile crossed the other boy's face. "Where do you work?" He fiddled with the teacup some more, "And who is Ken?"

Yuki felt his heart skip a beat at that smile and he blushed a little. Haku was cute. And not as hard to talk to as he thought he'd be. He wasn't quite as tongue-tied any more and he'd managed to sound somewhat like he knew what he was talking about. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

-----

Michel was not quite as big of a pushover as every one thought he was. Even though he panicked for a moment when Thomas' hand closed around his arm, he wasn't about to stand there passively and do as the larger boy told him to. Thomas might have been bigger than him, but he was a trained assassin, dammit, and if he couldn't get away from a stupid bully, he didn't deserve to be an assassin.

He started to squirm out of the older boy's grasp, but Thomas tightened his grip, twisting Michel's arm around behind his back and causing him to whimper in pain as he heard something pop. It didn't hurt quite like it was broken -or even dislocated- but people's appendages simply weren't meant to be in such a position. Thomas had an iron grip around his forearm and his fingers only tightened more as Michel looked up at him, eyes wide.

Don't cry, he ordered himself, Don't let him see your fear. That was rule number two. An adversary can never see your emotions; don't make yourself appear more vulnerable. He scowled at the taller teen, trying again to tug away from his captor and wincing as beefy fingers dug firmly into his arm. "Let me go." He hitched up his chin, glaring right into hard brown eyes as if daring Thomas to try something.

"I don't think so, bitch." The other boy spat out cruelly, "You've pissed me off and the boys and I are going to have to teach you a lesson now." He lumbered towards his cronies, tugging Michel after him, and the smaller boy was forced to stumble along in his wake, unwilling to try to free himself for fear of his arm being torn from its socket.

Of Thomas' four friends, only two of them looked vaguely familiar to Michel. There was Daniel, a tall, wiry boy with sandy hair, dark brown eyes and a rather sadistic sense of humor. He was the one who most often joined Thomas in tormenting Michel and the sight of him made the smaller boy even more nervous. Nathan he knew as well; Yuki had picked a fight with him once or twice while defending Michel from verbal attacks. The other two he didn't know; one was short and stocky with sticking up reddish hair and the other was average everything, right down to his brown hair and eyes.

Michel couldn't help feeling a bit like a lamb being thrown to the wolves.

"This fucking little bitch was mouthing off to me."

He snapped to attention at the sound of Thomas' voice. He stared defiantly at all the boys as they murmured amongst themselves about women not knowing their place in the world, his anger mounting at their cruel, uncalled for words. These were terrible, terrible people and he didn't understand how any one could live like that.

They're like your parents, A little voice in the back of his mind reminded him, These are the kind of people your parents were. And Brandon. They were hateful for no real reason other than differences. And, God, you could have grown up to be just like them. The thought made him shiver. His throat tightened. He remembered his parents as loving and kind, but he was older now. He knew better; his parents had not been quite so wonderful. They were no better than Thomas and his friends.

"So, boys, what should we do with her?" Thomas leered at Michel, who refused to wilt under the gaze. He stared back, eyes storming grey, free hand clenched in a fist at his side. He knew what he must have looked like to them, a short little wanna-be goth girl who couldn't get away when trouble came calling. Michel had never hated anybody in his life, but at that moment he hated Thomas Kenyon more than anything in the world.

One of the boys Michel didn't know arched a brow, gazing intently at him, expression shrewd and calculating. "I can think of a few things to do with a little tart like this." He smirked, "I mean, what did she expect, wearing a skirt like that?" His brown gaze slid down Michel's body, coming to a stop somewhere near the hem of the skirt, and the smaller boy blushed, fingers itching to tug the bottom of it down again. Chloé would pay for this.

He was so busy being annoyed with Chloé over the damn skirt that the implication of the unknown boy's suggestion took a moment to fully sink in. As it dawned on him what the larger boy meant -he wanted to violate him!- his face flushed crimson and he shrank back. Oh God, what would he do when they realized he was a boy? Would they carry out this course of action anyway and sodomize him? He felt ill at the thought.

He wanted to stop them, but he was paralyzed with fear. The logical part of his brain was -again- telling him that he could take them, but the rest of his mind wasn't listening. Fight-or-Flight was kicking in and his mind was screaming at him to run. Not only were they bigger than him, there were five of them and he was just one tiny little being. They seemed to tower over him as the surrounded him, glaring down at him, and Michel prayed that the ground would open and swallow him up. Hell would be better than this.

"I like the way you think, Andrew." Thomas smirked, "We should make the little whore do what she's best at. I'd like to see what that saucy mouth can do besides back-talk." He grabbed a hold of Michel's arm again, that iron grip clamping down and leaving the smaller boy wondering how much harder Thomas could squeeze and if his arm would break if he found out.

Michel's heart was pounding in his throat as they hustled him off towards the bathroom, Thomas hissing threats and telling him to keep his mouth shut the whole while. Where the hell had Yuki gone? He was nowhere to be seen. Several times Michel's hand strayed towards his bag; he wanted desperately to pull out his cell phone and get help. To hell with pride; he was in over his head and he wanted some one to come save him. But he knew if they spotted the phone now it would be taken away or trashed and he would have no opportunity to use it.

As nice as the Autumn Café was, the bathroom was grungy and dimly lit. It was the kind of place Michel never would have set foot under normal circumstances; it was just too disgusting. And yet, he was jostled into the stall furthest from the door -the larger, handicapped one- and they circled round him, forcing him into a corner. His fate seemed inescapable when the boy who's name Michel still did not know slide the lock firmly in place.

They stood facing him in a semicircle, Thomas in the middle. Michel looked at them all from where he stood, back pressed up into a corner. He was trying not to tremble, but his thin body shook anyway and his legs felt a bit weak. It was all going to be over the second they realized he had something between his legs that girls didn't and, God, what would they do then, kill him?

Thomas stepped forward. There was no denying that he was the alpha male here; the other four hung on his every word. He glared disdainfully at Michel, a sadistic smile on his face. "Get on your knees, bitch."

Michel stared back at Thomas for a moment, then glanced down at the dirty floor, nose wrinkling in disgust. There was no way he was willingly going to put any part of his body down on that floor. Besides, why should he comply with their demands? They could force him, but he wouldn't make it easy. He looked back up at Thomas, steeling himself against that cruel gaze. "No."

The taller boy's hand shot out so fast he didn't have time to react. Michel's head jerked backwards and tears sprang to his eyes as Thomas' palm connected with his cheek. "I said 'on your knees'!" He grabbed a fistful of Michel's hair, forcing him down roughly.

The Irish boy's teeth clattered together with the force of the shove and he fought for a moment to catch his breath. Pain spiraled up from somewhere in his legs when his knees collided with the tiled floor. Thomas' fingers tightened in his hair, preventing him from moving. He raised his head, wincing at the feel of his hair being pulled. Thomas was fumbling with his zipper with his other hand and Michel jerked his head away when the other boy took it out, ignoring the pain in his scalp as his hair was yanked again.

"Lick it, bitch." Thomas shoved Michel's face down further and he struggled, turning his face away and squeezing his eyes shut. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't do it, no matter what Thomas and company would do to him. It didn't matter; they could do anything they wanted. There was no way in hell he would go down on Thomas.

Another rough shove forced him closer, but he kept his mouth clamped shut and his eyes closed. He could hear Thomas laughing; could hear him commenting to his friends. "Just like that little fag at school. I bet I could force him to give me head too." He laughed again and his cronies snickered, the harsh sounds ringing through Michel's head.

He flushed with shame. It wasn't bad enough that they tormented him at school; they had to talk about him as if he was a worthless piece of rubbish as well. Tears filled his eyes. What had he ever done to deserve this? Wasn't his life hard enough already? Who had he angered for this to be justified? A little part of his mind was nagging at him to just do as they asked so he could get the hell out of there and go die of shame somewhere. At this point, it probably would have been easier. But the rest of him wasn't quite so ready to give up; the very thought of taking Thomas in his mouth made his stomach turn over.

"I gave you an order, you little shit!" Thomas snapped at him, jerking his head up by the hair and forcing Michel to look at him. Dark eyes met frightened green ones and Michel could easily seem the fury in the other boy's gaze. A vein was throbbing in his captor's neck and his lips were drawn back over his teeth in a snarl; Michel wouldn't have been surprised if he started foaming at the mouth. He was angrier than Michel had ever seen him.

"Looks like you can't control the bitch, Thom. Let me have a go at her." Daniel commented, prowling towards the smaller boy and running a hand over part of the pale, exposed leg of their captive, his long fingers traveling dangerously close to the hem of the little plaid skirt. Michel shuddered, trying to escape the touch, but the hand wandered further. Daniel watched in fascination as his hand moved beneath the skirt. He was stroking Michel's underwear-clad ass and the smaller boy prayed to God that he wouldn't try going round the front because then he'd be in deep trouble.

Thomas still had his fingers tangled in Michel's straightened hair. The black spray Chloé had put in his hair was not meant to withstand such abuse and was showering out in tiny flakes. He was crying now and his nose was running. He was sure his face must have been a black-streaked mess. His stomach was still threatening to rebel and when Daniel's fingers ventured beneath his underwear, it was all over.

He tried to swallow, but he couldn't help himself, and before he knew it, he'd thrown up all over Thomas.

"You bitch!" Thomas shrieked, "You fucking bitch!" He sprang back, finally releasing Michel's hair. The other boys were laughing as Michel crumpled to the ground, tears still streaming down his face. Thomas was going to be angry. Thomas was going to kill him.

Ha was dragged back up from the floor by his collar; Thomas was furious and Michel simply didn't have the strength to fight back. He remained limp as Thomas shook him, trying to swallow the bile that was rising again in his throat. The taller boy was screaming obscenities at him and jerking him; he could feel his head snapping back and forth. But he was beginning to turn it all off; the pain and panic were being replaced with the same numb, empty feeling he always experienced when they harassed him at school. It was so much easier this way; why hadn't he done it sooner? It was almost as if he was drifting away…

Feeling returned in an explosion of pain as the back of his skull collided with the bathroom wall. His eyes opened wide for a moment and he blinked, then winced. The lights in the bathroom suddenly seemed entirely too bright and he let his eyes fall shut as Thomas released him and he slid to the floor. He could still hear them talking -"Shit Thomas…I think you really hurt her."- but their voices soon became nothing but a droning buzz. Michel's head swam and he tried to move, but his limbs weren't obeying his brain. Some one gave him one last kick and then there was silence as everything faded to black.