When Gary talks about errands, he is not refering to the normal types of errands that normal people have. When Gary talks about errands, he is actuallyrefering to sneaking into the porn shop to steal skin mags, punching an unsuspecting prep off of their bike ( forcing me to ride the pegs as we sped away), and making me an accomplice as he throws stink bombs through windows of an abandoned apartment building the greasers call home.

We're running like our lives depend on it (they probably do) and I can hear shouts in strong accents close on our heels. Gary turns a corner and disappears, the death threats gaining on me. I feel funny, like I might pass out, but I also don't want to get the crap beat out of me, so I run. I take off down a dark alley, sprinting faster than my doctor would recommend. I almost give up before I take another right and find a dumpster sitting against the brick wall like a gift from some higher being. I jog over, lifting the lid, and I flinch.

I stare at my smelly fate, deliberating if the possibility of puking all over myself in the cramped space is really worth it, but then I hear "I will fucking kill you, punk!" from around the corner and decide to take my chances. I hop over the metal rim and close the lid behind me, nearly losing my footing. I crouch down and hold my breath.

Thanks a lot, Gary.

He's probably hiding out somewhere, snickering at my misfortune. This must have been his game plan all along. I almost liked this, well, whatever it was.

But I need to focus on getting out of here alive. Footsteps draw closer, and I clamp a hand over my mouth so I don't cry out.

"Where the hell did he go?" The voice booms.

"I don't know but if I find him I'm gonna beat his ass." Comes another.

Their indignant conversation fades off and soon I am clambering out of the large dumpster, breathing in the semi-fresh air. I don't have both feet on the ground before I topple over, landing awkwardly on my knee. I scream in agony, falling face first. The the voices draw closer again. I pull myself to my feet as quickly as I can, limping down the alley.

I pay no attention to where I'm running, only on mustering the strength to keep going. Tears are streaking paths down the dirt on my face. I didn't think I could make it this far, but the footsteps are getting louder, they are all I can hear. I am hyperventilating and lost, so when I see a break in the top of a concrete wall up ahead, pulling myself up and over it is my first impulse. I land hard on my feet and muffle a sob, sinking to the ground. I bring my knees into my chest, heart hammering as I listen. The gang runs toward, and past, the wall I jumped.

For the moment I am safe but I also have no idea where I am, though even I can tell this is not the part of town I want to be wandering around in. I give myself a moment to steel my nerves and wipe my face somewhat clean.

The wall acts as leverage for me to pull myself up, and I take careful footsteps down this new alley way. There are a few miserable souls scattered down this long stretch, some with minor possesions, all without a home. I am careful not to disturb them as I hobble by.

I don't know how long I spend weaving between these narrow stretches of road. I move toward the sounds of life, and medical attention for my knee.

What will Mr. Crabblesnitch do? The townies aren't exactly excited to see the students from Bullworth Academy at all, let alone help them while they're skipping school. The principal is going to find out. I'll get detention or even worse, a call home.

I'll handle that when it happens. In the mean time, I need to find help.

A door a few feet ahead of me busts open and a man is tossed out. His attacker yells some profanities at him that I don't quite understand, and slams the door shut. The stranger is clearly inebriated, it's easy to tell from the way he trips and sways, and the way his gaze is undressing me in the filthiest ways possible.

I feel uneasy, not sure if I should run onward or back. The last thing I need right now is trouble, but I take a few cautious steps around him before he opens his mouth.

"You're pretty..." He slurs out. "Wanna fuck?"

I sputter out a refusal and move to limp past him but suddenly my head is hitting concrete, the wall he has shoved me into. I am assaulted by an onslaught of hands and mouth but the throbbing in my head is taking away to much of my ability to keep my eyes open, so I protest with weak shoves and disapproving mumbles. It almost feels good, hot breath that stinks of alcohol on my throat, and I hate myself for thinking so, but it's not enough to stop my poor attempts at a fight.

I manage a halfway decent blow to the side of his face and in turn he slams be back against the concrete and punches me in the jaw. I whimper and slump into his clutches, unable to continue fending him off. "Too easy." The blonde says while shoving a rough hand down my pants.

"Stop." I plead, my heart sinking.

Before I slip into unconsciousness, my attacker hits the ground and so do I. A sickening crunch keeps me awake and I look to find Gary on top of the townie. He is beating him non-stop with a loose brick, hitting his face again and again and I can see a glimpse of the rage that has never been directed at me like this. The once handsome face is now stained red.

"Gary, G-" I choke out before gagging violently, my stomach immensely upset my the pain in my body and the blood gurgling out of the strangers mouth.

Gary stops after giving him one last kick in the side.

"Can you stand?" He says to me.

When I nod slowly he extends a hand that I take with a grateful smile. He pulls too fast and too hard and I can't tell when I make it to my feet because I immediately fall forward again, the world spinning. "Come on, Femme Boy. Up and at 'em." And I try to blink away the feeling of cotton being stuffed into my skull but I can't so I sag against him and cry some more.

Gary lets out a long sigh. "This better not become a habit, Petey."

I black out.

I awake to the coldest water I can remember feeling. I lay fully clothed in the shower of our small bathroom in the dorms. Gary is cleaning the cuts on his knuckles. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing more scars. I clear my throat and his head snaps up. He looks almost relieved. Almost.

"Not dead, I see. It's a shame."

"Thanks for that I guess."

"I didn't do it for you, Peter." His look of displeasure remains. "I don't want to train a new room mate."

The apathy only hurts a little.

He pools water into his hands and brings it to rinse some of the blood from the injury on my head. I hiss loudly and flinch away.

"Look, dipshit, you've probably got a concussion, okay?" He tells me testily and it makes sense but I don't understand it. "Now if you'll fucking hold still..."

His fingers feel good in my hair. I may have moaned but the voice sounds so unlike myself that I chose not to believe it. I hear him mutter something about me being a depraved human being.

He tells me I'm going to be fine and to stop being a baby, then leaves me to get cleaned up. I strip the soaked clothes off of my body and change into dry ones I can find scattered around the bathroom. I manage to get my own boxers and pants but the shirt is Gary's and I look like a child in it. I fold the sleeves back in an attempt to look more dignified but I give up.

My knee still aches, but I can walk if I focus on where my feet are supposed to go. When I limp back into our dorm I realize I must have taken longer than I thought, because my room mate has already made it to the cafeteria and back with food and left some strewn about on my bed.

"I think I'm going to try and get some sleep." I say.

"No, you're not." Gary spits at me.

I stop in my tracks, glaring back at him. "But I'm tired."

"Yeah, and keeping your sorry ass from slipping into a coma is precisely what I want to do with my evening."

I stood there, staring. I imagined all the creative ways Gary could wake me up if I ignored his warning. Like ripping the blankets away. Or blasting that damn whistle from his Halloween costume in my ear. Or dipping my hand in warm water. On second thought, sleeping didn't sound so good anymore.

"Maybe later."

He begins flipping through a magazine as I sit and begin nibbling on what the cafeteria calls "food".

It's going to be a long night.