DISCLAIMER: I don't own Degrassi.
AN: Words go here. I don't really know which ones I wanted to say anymore. Eh.
Thanks again to my betas drevil99 and TwistedRaver. They're good people.
So, here's the second (and final) part of chapter 2.
Recreation, he thought bitterly. Oh, how I loathe you.
Granted, the logical part of him knew that the undiluted awfulness of Recreation was still a thousand times better than the logistical nightmare of dressing out for regular Phys. Ed, but still.
"Okay," began their teacher, clapping his hands for their attention. "You guys know the drill. Darts again today, we pick up where we left off tomorrow! Move to your groups! Go!"
Adam sighed, tossing his backpack on the growing pile near the door and trudging reluctantly over to the corner where his group gathered.
At the beginning of the Darts unit, his teacher had split the class into five groups at random.
"Hey," Adam mumbled, twisting his hoodie nervously. The greeting was a polite gesture, he knew, but a futile one. The kids in Rec were usually either incapable of normal social interaction or flat out unwilling.
Wendy Shoemaker looked over at him shyly. She was in grade 10, like him. Her long, mousy brown hair was tied back in a long braid. She came to school every day in the same black hoodie and never seemed to speak to anyone but teachers.
He smiled gently at her, hoping for once that someone would acknowledge his presence.
She turned her face from him quickly, pushing her glasses up her nose and walking to the center of the room – presumably to collect darts.
He sighed disappointed and turned to assess the rest of the group.
Nick Barnum was there; absorbed in the mp3 player he'd managed to sneak in(Adam was fairly sure that it was less skill and more the fact that their teacher didn't seem to give a shit). He was a freakishly tall grade 9 student that only seemed to wear an assortment of band shirts and one pair of tattered jeans. The only time he'd spoken to Adam in the entire time they'd known each other was the time he laughed when Adam got beaned in the back of the head by Clarence Dewey during dodgeball (laughter was like speaking, right?)
Speaking of Clarence...
The lunkheaded idiot was nowhere to be seen. Cautiously, Adam scanned the room again but was happily met with the same conclusion.
Clarence Dewey was a real son of a bitch. Some grade 12 burnout who, apparently, had nothing better to do during class than rip on Adam. He'd made it very clear from the first day that there was something about Adam that offended him. Something about Adam that he hated.
Adam was no stranger to the scorn of others, but the kind of hate Clarence Dewey held for him was unfamiliar. It stung in an entirely different way. He picked at him mercilessly in class, but didn't even glance twice at him in the halls.
Adam had asked once – demanded to know, really – in a fit of stupidity and hurt feelings why, why did he restrict his torment to one class period of the day.
Clarence Dewey's response had been simple.
Brutal.
You're just not fucking worth any more of my time, Torres.
The memory left a bad taste in his mouth. He shivered and tried to stuff it down in that steel-coated part of his gut where the volatile emotional cocktail of shame and fury was left to ferment.
"Anyone seen Clarence?" he asked, hating the anxious timbre of his own voice.
Bianca De Sousa glared up at him from her perch atop an empty AV cart. She pursed her lips, as if she'd tasted something sour and unpleasant before rolling her eyes and turning her attention back to filing her long, red nails.
Adam shrank back a bit, and leaned into the wall behind him. He let his head tip down to the ground and counted to 12 before sneaking a long glance at Bianca through his bangs.
She was wearing impossibly tight jeans and a low cut blouse. Her coffee-colored eyes were bored as she tried to distract herself through class. Most of the time she sat around looking pissed off and bored and refused to interact with anyone. Sometimes she laughed at Clarence's jokes or gossiped with a girl in another group.
Adam remembered the first time he saw her.
The first thing he thought was Holy Damn, that is one mean glare.
The second thing was that she was, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen in real life.
No fucking joke.
He walked up to her. His legs had been on auto-pilot and the words were on the very tip of his tongue. H opened his mouth and then-
"Hey, special ed is across the hall, retard," Clarence sneered, pushing past Adam roughly, almost knocking him off balance.
Bianca had laughed. Clarence had introduced himself. Adam slunk back to the darkest corner of the room.
And although that first bitter rejection had set the trend for the rest of their relationship, Adam couldn't quite shake the crush he'd developed on her.
Sure, she probably regarded him with the same amount of affection she reserved for the gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Sure, she hadn't spared him a single kind word, well, ever. Sure, there was that rumor that she'd given Clarence Dewey a handjob in the boiler room. Sure, she was known to hang out with Fitz and Owen.
Sure, he was a complete and total idiot for even bothering to try to have a conversation with her any longer.
But sometimes...
Sometimes when it was quiet, when Clarence wasn't buzzing in her ear, and when she felt like no one was looking at her she'd... drift off.
There would be this look in her eye.
This look that said that maybe she was like him.
Broken and hurt and fucking tired of it and that maybe she was lonely too.
And maybe all she needed was someone.
To talk to. Or to listen to her. Or to just be there.
And Adam thought about her sometimes and thought about how much he wanted to be someone for her and that's why he held on.
It was completely idiotic. But that was why he bothered with the lame attempts at conversations, even though she brutally tore him down every time.
Wendy returned with the darts. She set them wordlessly on the ground and hung up the dartboard, walking into the proper place to begin the activity. For several minutes she was the only one playing before Adam, wary of attracting the teacher's attention (he usually didn't care who was doing what – seeming to have almost less enthusiasm for the sport than most of his students) moved forward to join her.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of class Adam waited against the wall until the classroom was mostly empty. When he moved forward to collect his bag something caught his eye.
Resting forgotten under one wheel of the AV cart lay a notebook. Adam knelt down and picked it up, flipping the front cover open.
Bianca De Sousa
Perrino
Per. 5
He glanced at it cautiously, finding it full of notes (and not a few vulgar doodles) apparently taken in Mr. Perrino's fifth period class.
Perrino was a notorious hard-ass, he probably wouldn't take kindly to a student missing their notes. Adam felt his breath catch in his throat a bit. He shoved the notebook into his backpack and hurried out of the room.
X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X
Adam had always considered himself a righteous dude. Polite. Thoughtful. Decent.
So when the lunch bell rang and he set about navigating the crowded halls of Degrassi he knew what he had to do.
Oh Christ.
His stomach was twisting itself into knots. His palms were sweating.
The tattered red notebook in his backpack felt like a two ton weight.
He bypassed his locker completely, heading resolutely for the cafeteria.
Oh wait. Oh shit. Slow down. THINK.
He slipped out of the stream of hungry teens filtering into the Caf and paced against the wall by the bathrooms.
Deep breaths, Adam.
For the love of God get a hold of yourself you fucking pussy.
He clenched his hands at his sides and let out slow even breaths through his nose.
Fitz, Owen, Bianca and a couple others ate lunch in the Caf every day. He knew, because their table was tragically close to the salad bar and Adam usually had to endure some taunt or another if he decided he wanted fresh(ish) fruit with whatever slop the lunchworkers deemed edible.
He needed a plan of attack.
He decided to wait a couple minutes. If Fitz and Owen were already eating there was the chance that they'd be distracted enough for him to drop the notebook off without attracting their attention. Alternatively, if they already had their food they could throw it at him – but so far, they'd kept to more low-key (or at least less public) attacks so it wasn't too significant a risk.
He had to approach it the right way. He couldn't just run up, throw the notebook on the table and run away (no matter how badly he wanted to). That might be interpreted wrong. Maybe Bianca would think he stole it or something. That would be a disaster of epic proportions. He had to make it clear that he was pulling a good Samaritan and hope that she'd be grateful – or at least merciful.
Okay. He would go in. Casually approach the table (don't let them see you're scared, don't give them an opening), let Bianca know that he found the notebook in class after she left and just wanted to make sure she got it back, and walk away shortly thereafter (ignore any instance of teasing or threats).
You got this, Torres.
He shook his shoulders out and stepped into the cafeteria.
You got this.
He took a quick glance around the room when he walked in.
Connor, Dave, and Wes were at the usual table. Nothing special.
Drew was sitting with the rest of the football team, very obviously trying to see down some girl's shirt.
A couple kids he recognized from different classes were all about where they should be. Clare and Eli were nowhere to be seen – probably already at their table outside, waiting for him.
Okay. Cool. Not interference. Get in, get out.
His eyes swept over to Bianca's table. She was there – as were Fitz and Owen.
He swallowed.
Right. Let's do this, then.
"Hey," he called as he approached.
All three of them looked up. Owen looked confused. Fitz irritated. Bianca bored.
"You, uh, youleftthisinclasstoday," the words stumbled out of his mouth, sliding on top of each other and spilling clumsily into the air. He reached into his backpack and grabbed the notebook, shoving it uneasily in Bianca's direction.
Fitz leaned across the table before anyone could react and snatched it from his hands.
"Fuck, Bee, he's got your notes," Fitz observed, leaning back and flipping through the pages casually. "What's up, skidmark, you stalking her or something?"
"What? N-no," Adam protested weakly, cursing himself even as the words left his mouth.
You broke the fuckin' rule. What happened to "don't respond to taunts?"
"Aw, dude, I bet he, like, jerked off on it or something," Owen chimed in.
"Ew," Fitz laughed, dropping the notebook as if it burned him. "Haha, watch out, Bee. If any of the pages stick together you better fuckin' burn the thing."
"Oh, oh Bianca," Owen moaned, pantomiming masturbation vigorously. "Uhn."
Adam ground his teeth together, fists clenching at his sides. He glanced at Bianca from the corner of his eye but she was just staring at him blankly.
"Fuck it," he scowled, letting his temper catch up to him. "Whatever."
He turned to leave before a painful grip on his elbow stopped him.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Fitz's tone was quiet and even but his words resonated in Adam's skull as clearly as if he'd screamed them.
Bianca was still staring at him.
He hated this. He hated looking like an idiot in front of her. He was just trying to do something nice and, dammit, this shit always happened.
"I asked you a question," Fitz's voice was louder this time. His grip tightened.
Adam closed his eyes.
"I gotta... I gotta get to my friends," Adam spoke, voice softer than he'd intended.
Fitz laughed. "You expect us to believe you have friends?"
Adam felt his face go red, from the back of his neck to the tips of his ears. He felt Bianca's eyes burning into him.
"C'mon, man," he hated the pleading note in his voice.
Fitz smiled widely. "Sit down," his tone was friendly, but his intent was anything but.
"I..." Adam began, but then Fitz yanked his elbow hard and Adam felt himself losing his balance until his palms were flat on the table. He looked over at Fitz, saw that awful vengeful look in his eyes, and sank down onto the bench.
"That's better," Fitz proclaimed. "You hungry Adam?"
Adam shook his head wordlessly, eyes trained to the table in front of him.
"Aw, c'mon," Fitz goaded. "You must be hungry."
Adam didn't reply, praying for death or the end of lunch.
Whichever comes quicker, he thought darkly.
Suddenly a tray was slid into his line of vision.
"Eat up," came Fitz's voice. Low and hard.
The tray was an awful pile of mush. Jello and broccoli and chocolate milk and whatever was left of the Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes that had been served as lunch today. It was mixed together in the center of the tray – a pinkbrownwhite smear of pure humiliation.
"Wh-what?" he asked, looking up at Fitz in shock and horror.
Oh please. Fuck. Please no.
Owen was giggling furiously, pounding his fist into the table. Bianca looked incredulous and disgusted. Fitz was just staring at him with that awful smirk.
"Go ahead, Adam." Fitz commanded. "Eat your fucking lunch, bro."
"No," Adam shook his head, resolutely, ignoring the mounting fear in his stomach. "No way."
"I don't remember asking, faggot," Fitz's shouted, rising up from his seat and leaning across the table to push the tray at him again. "Fucking dig in, shitstain."
Adam looked up at him. He glanced back at the tray, his stomach flopping in disgust.
Oh my god. Why am I even considering this?
There was no good outcome. He could refuse and get his ass kicked. It would piss them off and he'd be a target.
If he did it, though, Fitz would know. He would know just what he could get away with and this would never stop. He would be a target.
It's too late, he thought dolefully. It's too fucking late. It's all ruined.
He picked up the spork that was embedded in the middle of the unholy mess.
Shitshitshit.
Frantically he looked around the Caf for help. He spotted Drew at his table. Not too far.
Drew was on the football team with Owen. He could probably – no, he could absolutely call this shit off.
No. Nonono, you can't do that to him again, Adam.
He licked his lips and shot another desperate look at Fitz.
The older boy smirked coldly, "You better clean your plate, Torres. You know what happens to bad little boys who don't clean their plates. There are kids starving in Africa right now..."
Adam threw a pleading glance at Bianca. She looked back at him, repulsion clear on her face.
He closed his eyes and breathed rapidly, counting backwards from ten.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
"Don't tell me you have to be fuckin' spoonfed, Adam."
Sevensixfivefourthreetwo...
A deep exhale through his mouth.
One.
He shoved the spoonful into his mouth.
The taste was fucking atrocious.
The moment the concoction hit his tongue he felt bile rising in his throat. His eyes shot open, tearing up. They put something else in here. Hot sauce? Salt, sugar – too many things.
Owen was laughing out loud, making exaggerated chewing noises, and rubbing his stomach obscenely.
Fitz was just staring with that cold, awful smirk. "Swallow it."
Adam groaned helplessly, the awful mush filling his mouth. Fitz leaned forward menacingly and Adam swallowed dutifully, flinching away from Fitz as he clapped him on the shoulder and laughed.
"Fucking disgusting," he heard Bianca mutter as she collected her notebook and stood up from the table.
Adam bolted from the cafeteria and ran out to the hallway, bracing himself on a trashcan and retching violently. He heaved once, twice, his body aching before slipping a finger to the back of his throat to help the process along. He vomited into the trashcan until his stomach was empty and the shameangerhatred had filled his lungs.
He spent the rest of the lunch period crouched low in a dark corner of the library, shaking and fingering the scar that disappeared into his hairline.
X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X
Five minutes into the last class of the day his phone buzzes in his pocket.
Eli.
Come meet me at The Dot.
A week ago, Adam would have slipped his phone under his desk and text back to ask if Eli meant for Adam to meet him after school. As it was, Adam had spent enough time around Eli to know that the boy meant now because skipping class was almost more natural than showing up for him.
It was the last class of the day. His name had already been placed on the attendance sheet and taken to the office. He had a killer headache and despite having chewed half a pack of gum his mouth still tasted like a garbage bin. He was already a chapter a head of class and-
Fuck it.
His hand was in the air almost before he realized what he was doing.
"Mr. Bince?"
Bince looked up, brows furrowing.
"Yes, Adam?"
Adam swallowed, "I, uh, I'm not... feeling well. Can I have a pass to the nurse?"
"Of course," Bince assured him, looking worried.
Adam felt a twinge of guilt in his chest when Bince pressed the note into his palm, but he bit it back and slipped out of class quietly.
C'mon. You're not the first kid to light out from school like this.
Still, it felt sort of wrong taking advantage of Bince like that. He was a cool teacher.
Eli was waiting for him outside The Dot, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, cigarette dangling from between his lips. His eyes drifted towards Adam, locking on the younger boy's face as he took another long drag from the cigarette, shaking the ashes off onto the ground between two long fingers.
Adam's legs stopped working. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, his arms dangling at his sides, his throat working to call out a greeting but finding himself empty of words.
Eli's gaze was intense. Speculative. Adam shifted uncomfortably, feeling utterly exposed for all the layers he wore.
Most of the time they spent together was easy. They talked about music, or comics, or class. Or they joked and messed around. Or they were quiet and didn't look at each other.
But sometimes it was like this; with Eli staring straight through him, looking for something that Adam wasn't sure he had. It made his head swim, and his palms itch, and his stomach twist.
Eli's mouth twisted into that slow, sideways smirk and Adam felt the air rush back into his lungs.
He jerked his head toward the door and flicked his cigarette into the gutter and Adam jogged to catch up to him.
The air inside The Dot was warm. It smelled like coffee beans and grease. It was mostly empty except for a couple college students studying near the front.
They found a booth off to the side and settled in. Adam pressed his back against the wall and stretched his legs out over the seat.
It was quiet for several long moments. Adam scanned the cafe, idly messing with the iPod in his hands until the silence between he and Eli grew uncomfortable.
He opened his mouth turning to speak.
Eli was watching him again.
Adam swallowed nervously. "Uh – where's Clare?"
Eli's brows furrowed and he scoffed. "I don't know. In class, I guess."
"Oh," Adam licked his lips and shifted in his seat.
"Why?" Eli demanded quietly, gaze unwavering.
Christ, doesn't he blink?
"I-I dunno," Adam admitted. "It's just – you know, you guys are always together, I just thought..."
Eli rolled his eyes.
Adam was incredibly grateful when the handsome blonde kid brought their food over. He slipped his hand around the mug of root beer possessively and shoved a handful of fries into his mouth immediately.
"For the love of God, man, do you even chew?" Eli asked sarcastically, but there was a lightness to his tone that eased the fervent thumping of Adam's heart.
They slipped into a more companionable silence as they ate. Adam felt himself relaxing and was glad he'd left school early.
"I know you," Eli's voice was quiet but it shattered the fragile peace of mind Adam had been building since the food arrived.
He froze.
Oh my god. Oh my god NO.
He looked up frantically but Eli once again appeared to be looking through him.
Somehow it had got out. Somehow word had traveled all the way up from his old school, all the way up from St. Catherines and now Eli knew and if Eli knew who else knew? Who else would know?
Adam's entire body seized up. He felt his hands begin to tremble on the table and realized with rising panic that he didn't feel in control of his own body any more. His breaths were coming on quicker and his eyes itched – felt like they would explode out of his head.
He brought me here, Adam realized, horror splashed across his face, he brought me here to.. to...
I don't know.
Fuck.
He's going to take me outside and he's going to beat the shit out of me. He's going to split my head open with a fucking pipe. He's going to knock out all my teeth. He's going to hack me to pieces and throw me in the back of his fucking hearse. He's going to-
"I was you," Eli continued in that same quiet, serious tone.
… What?
Eli's gaze shifted and he locked eyes with Adam, placing his hands palm-flat against the table.
"I was everyone's favorite punching bag. I was the fucking bitch. I was a victim – and it was my fault as much as anyone else's because I allowed myself to be the victim."
"What?" Adam heard the words – knew they must have been his own because Eli's mouth had stopped moving – but felt no connection to them.
"What happened with Fitz today," Eli continued, his voice growing stronger, harsher. "That wasn't the first time, Adam."
What the fuck is going on?
"I don't..." Adam shook his head slowly, trying to make sense of what was going on.
"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," Eli growled, slamming his fist into the table and leaning forward threateningly.
Adam's breath caught in his throat and he flinched back.
Eli's eyes softened a bit. "How long have they been fucking with you, Adam?"
Adam exhaled slowly ran a hand through his hair. "Wait. Wait. So... this has all been about Fitz and Owen giving me shit at school?"
Eli nodded slightly, his features growing increasingly annoyed.
"Seriously?" Adam laughed despite the distinct lack of humor in the situation. He felt himself growing giddy with the volatile mix of immense relief and lingering anxiety.
"What's so fucking funny about it, Adam?" Eli bit, a sharpness in his voice Adam had never really heard.
His laughter ceased immediately.
"I... nothing, Eli," he scratched his neck nervously and pushed himself up from the booth, reaching into his pocket and throwing a few bills on the table. "Look, I don't really want to talk about that right now."
"And I don't really want to see those fucking bastards get off on humiliating you anymore!" Eli exploded.
"Hey! Guys?" the kid at the counter called to them, looking concerned.
Adam shook his head and turned around, walking swiftly out of the cafe.
"Adam!" Eli barked out behind him.
He heard the quickening of footsteps behind him and for a brief terrible second he was right back on the floor of that alley with a mouthful of dirt and blood. He felt the muscles in his legs seize painfully as he fought back his body's natural reaction to bolt.
Few people ever experience a true, full on life or death flight reaction.
Once you did, though, it was really damn hard to un-train yourself.
He felt a hand close around his shoulder and couldn't stop his body's reaction. He whirled around, arm flying out frantically, knocking Eli's grip loose and causing the larger boy to stumble back slightly.
"Adam...?" Eli's features registered shock, then concern.
Adam exhaled slowly through his mouth, mentally counting to ten and forcing his body to relax.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
Eli frowned, biting his lip pensively and staring intently into Adam's eyes. He took a tentative step forward. "What did they do to you?"
Adam was surprised to find himself blinking back tears, and turned from Eli quickly. He tilted his head back, looking up at the sky and running his hands over his face.
"I think I left my skateboard in my locker," he admitted after a few long moments.
Eli blinked, taking another step forward. "Um. Do you want to go get it?"
Adam shrugged, turning back to Eli. "That's okay. I'll, uh, I'll text Drew and ask him to grab it or something."
Eli nodded.
They were silent for several minutes. A bell rang in the distance.
"Guess school's out now," Eli noted. Adam nodded mutely, chewing the inside of his cheek. "We should probably get out of here before it fills up."
Honestly, Adam didn't want to go anywhere with Eli.
He wanted to be at home, in the dark, with his head buried under his pillow.
But he found himself following Eli silently back to the hearse.
They pulled up to Eli's house, a pretty ratty looking townhouse in an okay neighborhood. Eli silently lead Adam around the side of the house and popped open a window.
"Um," Adam blinked nervously. "Sure this is your house, Elijah?" he tried to smile, but was rather positive it came out more of a grimace.
Eli sighed. "Yeah. Positive. Just get inside."
Against his better judgment he found himself scrambling through the window and hauling himself into the strange house.
"Uh," Adam mumbled, looking around. "Some room."
It was tiny and cluttered. A bed covered in books and clothes and a dresser in the corner the only discernible pieces of furniture. The floor was covered in trash and clothing. Loose papers scattered everywhere. His eyes caught the latch and rather impressive door chain dangling that apparently kept the room secure.
"Yeah," Eli said shortly, tone clipped, shutting down any possible avenue of conversation.
Adam wandered uneasily over to the bed and sat down, slipping his phone out of his pocket and sending Drew a quick text explaining he was with Eli and asking his brother to retrieve his skateboard and his math book from his locker.
Eli crossed the room and knelt in front of the dresser. After a moment he turned around, a bottle of vodka in his hands.
"Drink?" he asked, voice soft, not meeting Adam's eyes.
Adam shook his head wordlessly, but Eli didn't seem to care. He grabbed a glass from a box near the foot of the bed and filled it with a generous amount of alcohol. He set the glass next to Adam and sank into the bed, lifting the bottle to his lips.
Adam winced, watching Eli knock back the harsh liquor and awkwardly ran his finger around the rim of the glass in his hand.
"When I was a kid," Eli began quietly, gesturing restlessly to the spot next to him on the bed; an invitation for Adam to sit, "I got my ass kicked every fucking day at school."
Adam sat silently, shifting uncomfortably as a magazine crinkled underneath him. He fished it out and set it gently on the floor.
"I hated my life, Adam," Eli admitted, voice full of emotion. "I wanted to die. Or I wanted them to die. Something, you know?"
Adam nodded raising the glass to his mouth and sniffing tentatively. He'd had alcohol before, but only beer – and rum and coke that time at Danny's party.
"I was scared. And ashamed. They did some fucked up shit, you know? One time they pushed my face into a toilet and told me to drink. Because I was a dog get it? Fuck."
He sat up violently, rubbing his face and taking another long pull from the bottle.
"One time, they punched me so hard in the kidneys that I pissed blood for a week," he whispered.
"Jesus," Adam whispered, taking a quick nervous gulp of the vodka. It burned his throat and he coughed. Eli either had the good grace to ignore him or was too wrapped up in his own memories to notice.
"This went on for years, man," Eli told him. "And then one day... I just got so fed up...
"We were playing flag football one day. They kept getting really rough. It wasn't supposed to be tackle but one of the little bastards was the gym teacher's nephew, so..."
Eli lit a cigarette.
Adam took another sip of vodka, prepared for the bite this time.
"They busted my lip against my teeth. My mouth was all bloody and my knees and my elbows were all scraped up. I asked the teacher to stop playing but he told me to stick it out. They tackled me again – facefirst in to pile of dog shit. Oh, God, the smell."
Eli's face wrinkled in disgust. He twisted his body so that he and Adam were eye-to-eye.
"I completely freaked out. I had it in my mouth, man. I just... lunged at the first guy I could. Kicking, screaming, biting – I think I really actually scared them. I got to wail on him for a bit before anyone did anything. I kicked the shit out of this kid, Adam."
He kept looking at Adam like he expected him to say something. Adam blinked slowly and licked his lips.
"That's the day," Eli continued, voice low and serious; eyes smoldering, "That's the day I figured out the game. I'd begged with them before. I'd made trades, I'd offered them things. I was willing to do whatever they wanted to get them to lay off but none of it worked. Guys like that? They only respond to one thing."
Eli stood up from the bed and began pacing, flipping the cigarette through his fingers restlessly.
"Violence. You gotta give 'em the violence. You gotta give them what they're givin' you. You gotta give it better. Here's the thing," he spun around, looking almost frantic. "They're nothing but a bunch of fucking cowards. They're weak as hell. They're shit. And, ready for the kicker? They know it. They know that they're shit. It drives them fucking crazy. So, they find someone else – someone smaller, someone weaker and they do their fucking best to ruin you. They want to knock you down, just so that they feel a bit taller. Get it?"
Eli ground the burning red tip of the cigarette against a wall and rubbed his face with his hand.
"They never expect you to turn on them. They never expect you to fight back. Truth is, Adam, fuckers like that can't handle a fight. That's why you gotta give it to them. That's why you gotta make 'em sorry they ever fucking saw your face. That's why you gotta say 'know what, fuck you, I'm not taking your shit anymore.' That's why you gotta defend yourself and that's why you gotta give 'em that violence – because the second you do they're gonna know just what kind of mistake they've been making."
"I..." Adam's voice betrayed the fear that was beginning to creep up on him. "What are you planning, Eli?"
"Nothing," Eli held his hands out, palms open, conciliatory. "No plan. Just..."
He stepped forward quickly, dropping to his knees in front of Adam, looking him directly in the eye. It was oddly intimate, and Adam found himself growing uncomfortable. "Eli...?"
"I want you," Eli began, licking his lips, "to let me help you put an end to this shit. No plan, no big gesture. We're just... we're just not going to let them keep getting away with this. With hurting you. We don't deserve that, Adam."
Adam nodded, inching away from Eli slightly.
"I was you. I was the victim. But then I decided not to let that happen any more," Eli spoke, eyes boring straight through him. "Do you understand?"
There was a pregnant pause. Adam felt the weight of Eli's gaze and wanted to flinch away, but couldn't bring himself to break eye contact.
"Yeah," Adam spoke, voice raw.
Eli stared at him a moment longer before picking himself up off the floor and throwing himself on the bed next to him. He reached out and grabbed Adam by the back of his hoodie, pulling the smaller boy down on the bed.
"So, what's all this about you teaching Clare how to skate?"
AN: You took the time to read this - and I'm grateful, really. Think you could take an extra minute and a half to tell me what you thought? I'm very interested in your feelings! Seriously, though, it's a good motivator to keep me writing, and the more I write the faster the updates come.
-Orange