2 weeks ago Alfred felt normal.
Of course, he still feels normal.
Well, at least the most he can feel at the moment.
All he remembers is being harshly pulled behind some trashcans and around a corner. Jeans down, jacket unzipped, shirt up.
Then pain pain pain.
Alfred didn't bother catching who did it. What would be the moment? Yeah, like people would believe him. A star football GUY player getting raped in an alleyway? Sure. Real believable.
Today, he decided to tell his twin brother Matthew.
They didn't have the closest...Or really at all good relationship, but Alfred was sure sweet Matthew would understand. Matthew understands stuff like that, he's a bit of loner himself. Understanding harsh stuff is his thing!
Mrs. and Mr. Jones not at home, and both on business trips, Alfred decided home was the best place.
Matthew sat at his desk doing his homework, headphones on so loud Alfred could hear the faint guitar and singing through the speakers. As soon as Alfred closed the door behind him, Matthew set his pencil down, however didn't take off his headphones.
"Hey Mattie," Shakily began Alfred. His legs turned to jelly. Why was this so hard?
Matthew paused his song and took off his headphones. He silently turned to Alfred, eyebrows furrowed. "Excuse you? You never talk to me? I'm doing homework-" He gestured to his math homework, that was just doodled all over. "-What? Need money or something? Tough luck. Get a job."
Alfred choked back a sharp retort, and shifted his gaze to the suddenly interesting bed in the corner of Matthew's room.
Matthew was a simple boy. His walls were a milky white, a freshly vacuumed carpet, furniture that was so clean looking. His bedspread was the canadian flag, and that's basically all the decoration he had besides the two hockey sticks that he hung over his bed and the multiple hockey trophies in a display case by his closet.
Alfred deeply breathed in. It smelled like lavender. A bit of honey, too.
"N-no! Not at all," answered Alfred. He slowly walked to Matthew's bed and sat on it. It bounced slightly under his weight.
Matthew crossed his legs and sighed.
They both stared at eachother in silence before Matthew rolled his eyes. "Well? I don't have all day?"
Alfred blinked, not realising he spaced out. This was harder than he thought.
Before he walked in, he had the entire conversation they'd have planned out in his head.
However for once in his life Alfred had nothing to say. But he always has something to say.
"I was..." Alfred gulped. "R-Raped?" It came out as a question.
Matthew growled in his throat. "That's why you disrupted me Alfred? To tell a lie?" Matthew put his headphones back on. "Alfred, everyone knows men can't get raped. I knew you were an attention whore but this is ridiculous." As Matthew turned his music back on, he pointed to the door.
Alfred choked on his on breath as he searched for something to say. Anything at all. But Matthew just kept his finger at the exit as his other hand wrote down equations.
Tears stung at his usually bright blue eyes, now dull and lifeless. "T-Thanks for listening," offered Alfred before quietly closing the door behind him as he exited.
Not knowing what to do, Alfred slumped downstairs, tiredly pulling his red converse on and slipping in his bomber jacket.
When Alfred was around hmm...6. Yes. About 6, Alfred's grandfather gave him a bomber jacket. On the back it had a large 50 on the back. Why it had a 50? He wasn't told. Just his grandfather told him his dad gave it to him, and he wanted Alfred to have it, saying Mr. Jones refused it. The jacket was large and dangled to his ankles, but now (even though it still was a bit large!) it was more snug, and he almost always wore it when he went out.
It had the smell and oil, and even faint blood on it. Maybe donuts and grease, too. It was never washed. But Alfred loved the smell, even if it smelled worse than a field of shit, he would never let it go..Or wash it.
Cold air hit his cheeks, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked down the sidewalk. He was afraid. What if it happens again?
No. He firmly told himself. You're a hero! Heroes aren't afraid, and heroes certainly don't get raped either!
Suddenly, a French accent called out to him.
French? Alfred pondered to himself as he whirled around. Running up to him...Was Francis? Francis Bonnefoy? French kid who was constantly bullied?
Francis' hair was pulled in a ponytail that bounced as he bounded up to Alfred. He wore a long, fluffy pink coat that went to his knees and black leggings and Ugg boots. A long scarf went down to his waist was wrapped around his neck.
"Dude, you look like a girl!" Alfred rudely commented.
Francis looked down at himself, and quietly murmured to himself before scratching his chin. "It's more comfortable and cuter than men's clothes! Though some of it is quite fashionable," the last part was quietly added to himself. He thought for a moment before adding, "You are so tacky! What's with zat jacket?"
Francis was tugging at Alfred's sleeve before he pulled it away. "It's a jacket from World War II. My grandfather gave it to me," he defencively replied.
Shuffling his feet awkwardly, Francis apologised. "Well, why are you out?" He asked as he kicked at some frozen ice on the ground.
Alfred tugged at his collar, realising he had tears slowly dripping down his cheeks. "T-thinking," he coughed out.
Francis frowned and took a small step towards Alfred. "Alfred?"
"Go away," Alfred growled. "You're an outcast. Nobody likes you Francis. So please humour me: why are you talking to me?"
"So defencive!" Sighed out Francis dramatically. "I saw you. I know you. Why not talk to you?"
Alfred started to walk away. Francis stayed put. "I don't feel like talking!" He called over his shoulder and hurried his pace.