Reaching into his pocket, he pulls something out, my stomach dropping as I get a glimpse of the shiny metal. “What are you doing, Charles?” I try to yank my finger back, to no avail. “Let go of me,” I plead, voice cracking as he flips open the butterfly knife.
“Hush, you little fucking baby,” he sneers. “If you cry over a teeny-tiny cut like this, I wonder how many tears I can get out of you for something bigger.”
My heart thuds in my chest. I can’t breathe. Surely, he wouldn’t actually cut me, would he? That’s insane, even for Charles. Except, as the blood roars in my ears, I watch as he brings the blade to my palm. I squirm, my fight-or-flight kicking up as the cool touch of the metal brushes my skin. He presses down, digging into the flesh, a cry sounding from my throat.
“Charles, ow. Stop, please.”
He drags the blade across the length of my palm, blood beading as he goes. Tears stream down my cheeks despite my every effort to make them stop.
“Come on, Bodhi. Let me hear those pathetic fucking cries.” The grin on his face is malevolent and has my blood running ice cold. “Look at you… What a fucking pussy. It’s no wonder you’ve never had a girlfriend.”
“Charles, let me go. Please!”
“On second thought, you’re probably a fucking faggot, and that’s why you’ve never had a girlfriend.” His nearly black, threatening eyes stare straight into my soul. “Is that what it is? You like cock, brother?”
“No! What the fuck, Charles. Let me fucking go!”
“Let’s be fucking real, though. Not even a flaming queer would want your disgusting fat ass.” He finally releases my hand, and I stumble back, falling on my ass. Snickering, he towers over me before squatting down. “Relax, Bo. I’m just messing with you,” he muses, slapping me roughly on my cheek before standing and walking away.
I scurry back, standing quickly, and running to my room. Shutting the door, I beeline for the bathroom, locking myself in before washing my hand off and grabbing a few Band-Aids. I can’t stop the tears from falling, no matter how hard I try. I really am as pathetic as he says I am. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I dial the only number I can think to call, thankful it only rings a few times.
“Bodhi.” Ryan’s voice is deep. Much deeper than mine—like a real man. “What’s up?”
“Can I come over? Please.” I hate how broken my voice comes out. Cowardly.
“Of course, you can. Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine. I’ll see you soon.” Hanging up quickly before I can break down even further in front of him, I splash cold water on my face, then slip on my shoes in my room. Climbing out the window, I scale along the house until I reach the tree, which I use to shimmy my way to the ground. The walk over to his house takes about ten minutes, my brother’s words ringing loud in my head.
Faggot.
I’m not fucking gay. Who cares if I’ve never had a girlfriend. I’m only in my second year of high school. Lots of people choose to focus on their studies instead of the opposite sex. That doesn’t make them gay. My mind immediately goes to the times he’s forced his poker buddies on me. It’s happened a total of three times since it first happened during spring break. The last guy knew it was me, knew how old I was, and did it anyway. This world is such a fucked-up place.
Fat ass. His insults scream in my mind.
If I’m being honest, it’s that term that cuts me much deeper than the other. Despite having lost over thirty pounds since last year, I’m still nothing but a pathetic, fat fuck to him. And my father. I’ll never be special in their eyes. Never be enough.
As soon as I reach Ryan’s house, I cross through the lawn, unlocking the fence. They have a multi-level house, but Ryan lives in the entire downstairs. There’s a door to his living room that can be accessed in the backyard. Knocking softly in case his parents are up, I wait a minute until he turns on the light and unlocks the door, letting me in.
“Man, are you okay?” he asks, stepping aside as I pass him.
It’s like the pep talk I gave myself on the way over here, the talking myself down, the promises that I wouldn’t cry, all goes out the window when he looks at me with such strong concern in his eyes as his tall body crowds me. The flood gates burst open, and before I can even process what’s happening, the tears are flowing yet again, and I’m mumbling about this or that, not making any sense.
Without even thinking twice, he pulls me into him, wrapping his arms around me in a tight bear hug. Something about his fresh, manly scent calms me. My arms circle around his middle, and it’s like I can breathe deeply for the first time all day. As I find myself not wanting to let go of Ryan, Charles’s words come back to haunt me.
“Fag.”
“You like cock, brother?”
I pull away from him suddenly. He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and truthfully, I probably have. Thankfully, he doesn’t call me on my shit. Instead, he puts on a movie for us, and we spend the rest of the night like that. Even though I sit on the opposite end of the couch to him, I can’t help but wish I could somehow inch closer. Find myself in his arms again, where I feel safe.
Chapter Fifteen
Bodhi King
I saw a therapist when I was about seventeen. Dr. Ashburn. She told me I had big emotions and a heart that I wore on my sleeve. She also told me a lot of kids felt the way I did. Felt lonely and unseen. It was“normal”to wonder who you were or what your place in the world was.
Dr. Ashburn asked me about my eating, or lack thereof. She fished around, trying to get me to admit I starved myself. She went through all the side effects of an eating disorder with me—cardiovascular damage, tooth decay, death—in hopes to, I don’t know, scare me into fessing up, maybe. What she didn’t seem to understand at the time, but would soon figure out, is that I didn’t give a shit about any of that.
