Un-beta'd.
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Hidden Homicide
CHAPTER ONE
My name is Pip. My Christian name is Philip, but due to the coming hate of my name from both myself and my peers - if you could call them that - I have decided Pip is a simple and carefree name, nothing to insult or degrade about such a name. But of course, there is always one person who can find a way.
My full name isn't just Philip, it's Philip Pirrup. An odd combination of names; you can see why I don't like them, right? My parents are sadly passed on, leaving me with my sister and her husband Joe. She, of course changed her name to his last one - and I kept mine as respect for my father. But, hardly knowing him I just decided to use it to remind myself of a family I once had.
And a reason to hate them just that smallest bit.
I concider myself a proper boy. Proper in the meaning of politeness, manners and the joy that is myself. I hide the negatives aspects of myself away from the people of the world - allowing them to believe there is everything of happiness running a riot inside of my body. But that is the complete opposite of what I feel when I sink into lonliness every night - or every moment of being surrounded by nothing, and nobody.
I dress as an English boy should, not as an American - because I do stride to become one. I am proud of my heritige and the way I was raised to believe being an English boy was a pride to my family. So I grew on my accent, and I still have it - even after sixteen years of living in Colorado, South Park.
I dress in a normal fabricated jacket; keeping me warm in the winter and guarding away the bruises and bumps on my skin. Under my jacket is a normal blouse - not a woman's - with a bow tie properly adjusted on the collar for presentation. I wear shorts - regardless of the continuously cold weather, I enjoy wearing them - with either long white, or purple - occasionally red - socks that rise past my knees. Then simply, a pair of black shoes that most would expect a female to wear. But they are very much masculine.
I live on my own, as my sister and her husband left quite some time ago when I was ten - by, leaving me with them as I stated previously, I mean they are my only family, even if they don't visit.
They were sick of the constant hospital bills they had to pay - well, my sister was, Joe was more than happy to help - leaving me behind to 'defend myself'. But I was never raised to fight back, nor was I raised to be a bad person and sin with other's blood on my hands. So I don't fight; and I don't defend myself with words nor violence. I let them beat me, it's the closest thing to defending myself as I can, I suppose - until I can run.
"'Ello Pip, old chap." I turn in my seat to see the mocking face of Eric Cartman. My eyes widen in the fear he wants to see. Eric's lips curl into an obnoxious smile and a small snarl escapes them as they part to show pearly white teeth - after all the junk food he eats, this suprises me quite a lot.
"Oh, hello Eric." I reply politely, though there is a shake in my voice that he notices. His friends aren't behind him so I wonder why he's acting like the tough person he isn't. I could castrate him if I wanted to - but of course that would send me into the layers of Hell where he will be - and an eternity of bullying isn't really my cup of tea.
A girl comes behind Eric with the same smile he has. I recognise her as Bebe Stevens, I assume she's Eric's current girlfriend - so I realise this is his reason to impress. "How are you doing, Frenchy?" He asks as if he cares.
I shrug softly. "Fine, Eric. How are you doing?" I ask. I realise what he's going to do, act sickeningly sweet and then beat me into Hell himself. His smile falls from his face. I'm not quite sure why.
After a long fight with the other people he used to be with - Stanley, Kyle and Kenneth - he now wanders alone with anyone who has the courage to be with him. Because they're all scared of him; or just the way he can act. He's never done anything particually bad to anyone, except for that Scott boy.. But now, it's me who takes his blows.
"Why are you so happy all the time!?" He snaps, pulling me up by my jacket. I resist the urge to laugh at him. Instead I shake - because I feel it's the only thing I can do; and wish for symapthy. "You don't deserve happiness you fucking orphan!" He screams, throwing me onto the floor.
Sticks and stones, Eric. Sticks and stones.
"Every person has the right to be happy, Eric." I speak up in a small whisper. Bebe laughs from in front of me as I sit up. I can feel everybodies eyes on me - some shocked at my words and some laughing because they know what my behaviour brings.
Eric laughs bitterly, "Everyone but you, Pip." He snarls. I shiver slightly at the way he spits my nickname. Strolling to my side he kicks me in the side and I have to pretend that it doesn't hurt. I close my eyes and imagine myself somewhere else - but his kicking only makes it worse, and all I can see is stars; before my hip goes numb.
"E-Eric, please.." I whisper, struggling to stand as he walks away. He laughs and walks back, kicking me in the stomach as I fall onto my hands and knees, coughing. No words escape my parted lips and I scream inwardly. My throat goes dry as he picks me up by it. I cough in his face out of pure accident, but he takes it as something else and hurls me into a wall.
Laughter echoes around me, never ending the humilation I stand through. But this time it's worse because I stood up for myself. I listened and defended my right of happiness. I snarl in pain and sit on my backside, back against the wall. Nobody helps.
"You're not worth life, Pip. You're not worthy of happiness." He mutters, taking a fork from the nearest person to him and kneeling in front of me. He sighs softly, as if in pity. "Don't you see it, Pip? Nobody loves you - or even cares.. Everybody left you, so we're only doing you a favour." He stabs the fork into my shoulder, not enough to pierce fully into my skin - but just barely it goes through. He tugs it out and repeats the process down my arm, blood spilling over as I scream and write. But then he punches me to quieten me down.
"Why don't you see it!?" He yells, punching me again in the stomach. But I can't see it, I can't see anything. Because my whole world turns back.
But Eric just continues hoping to kill me.
Sometimes.. I hope too.
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"How are you doing, son?" The nurse speaks up, looking down on me with a sympathetic look. I shake slightly at her voice and force myself to shuffle back. She understands my hesitation and backs away from the bed, holding a file in her hand. "I apologize, it must be very painful to take in such light hair?" She laughs slightly and pets her pink hair. I nod - but that isn't it.
"I- I'm ever so sorry.." I pipe up. She turns to me, enough to welcome the fetus on her head to dance as she does so. I smile weakly as she smiles and shakes her head. It's the only thing I can do when I've made people work - is apologize. "I'm not that worth caring for, Miss." I say.
She laughs softly and walks forward, but I flinch as she reaches toward my face. She drops her hand and sighs. "Philip, you're going to have to relax. I'm not going to hurt you - just examine this bruise, alright?" She asks in her American accent.
I nod hesitantly and close my eyes so I don't know when her hand will come. I open my eyes when her fingers run over the bruise and bump on my face. She tuts slowly and takes her hand away, jotting something down on a piece of paper clipped onto the clipboard.
"What are you writing?" I ask.
She smiles and places the clipboard onto the table behind her, reaching for a small white piece of cotton and a small bottle of alcohol or some sort of antiseptic. She places the burning liquid onto my face and watches as I hiss - she doesn't help, just like nobody else did. "I was just writing down your injuries, Philip.."
I nod slightly. It's quite funny, because I've been here so many times that she learns my name and I learn hers. Ms. Gollum lets the cotton fall onto my lap as she unbuttons my jacket, removes my bow tie and rides of my blouse - carefully unbuttoning each button. She picks back up the cotton and places it on each cut running down my arm. I close my eyes because I know she'll see them; I know she'll ask.
"Philip," She speaks up, stopping the cotton from travelling over the dry blood and falling. I open my eyes slowly and look onto her disapointed face. She shakes her head in a small sigh. "Please, don't say these are your work?" She says, running her finger over an old cut. I gulp and shake my head.
"The usual, Miss.." I lie, "Just another day in the life of Pip."
She laughs, but I don't find it any humourous. She then lets her laughter die down before she sighs again - and this time I resist the urge to scold her, because those annoying little air brushes on my face are frustrating. "When are you ever going to defend yourself?" She asks.
I frown, "When people begin to care."
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After being treated in the nurse's office I continue on with my day, my arms and my hips bandaged up and carefully treated. Several plasters and bandages are wrapped around my neck and over my face. Several people look with pitying eyes - I know they would help if I were someone different; I know those looks.
I know they pity my lonliness. But I don't care, after third grade I stopped caring about lonliness. Because when I was eight, I had the first friend - even if for the shortests of times, I had one. His name was Damien, and he was quite the character.
Being the son of Satan, he wasn't the nicest of people. But he sat with me, he stuck up for me and then be betray me. But it was his plan; he informed me - and I didn't object to it, because at the time I was so used to betrayal.. But, Damien was different.
Damien didn't care about the population - even if he made it seem like he did. He came back, not as soon as he left, but a couple of years before. He came back and he apologized and well.. things led to other things and I believe my innocence faded after I was - I would say, joined - with the Devil's son himself.
"How are you feeling?" I glance up from my thoughts to come face to face with my old teacher, from third grade - Mr. Garrison. He smiles down at me, and I smile back; because I feel safe in the confides of my teacher.
"I feel better, thank you, sir.. How have you been, Mr. Garrison?" I ask in a polite way, even though it hurts my jaw when I speak. Politeness is key - as my sister would say. Mr. Garrison shrugs and takes me to the side by the lockers. I stumble slightly but catch myself.
"Listen, Pip.. I may not be the most expectant person you can meet - really, I know that.." Mr. Garrison sighs as he looks at me. I'm the same height as him, but he stills look down on me - it's frustrating the way he does it. "But, you need to talk to someone, Philip."
He uses my full name, and somewhere inside it hurts, because I don't like my name - I don't like anything about myself. Instead I smile and tilt my head to him. "Thank you for your worry, but I'll be fine.. really.." I lie.
He sighs, because like everyone else he knows I won't be fine. He knows my once innocence has changed into something else. Deadly, I would suppose.. but it's okay. Because somewhere along the way I'll stand up for myself.
Somehow, and somewhere. I will. Alone, I doubt it - but I've done that so far. I've struggled through life alone and I've lived it, regardless of the hate plummered onto me. Because I'm waiting for that help; for Him to fly to me and give me his hand.