Bad Cupid (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 1- ?Introduction ?

This chapter is dedicated to mileysmuffins for making my new cover. It's amazing and I absolutely love it. Thank you so much. Please go check her out, she won't disappoint. I'm so in love with the comments of times, locations, and dates, it's refreshing to see my book reaching so far around the world.

Adien POV

"Hello, again" David spoke menacingly, striding towards me, cornering me in the bathroom against the cold, merciless tiles. Lessons have started so no one will hear me scream and no one will come. It was practically crickets out there, you'd think teachers would check bathrooms after lunch ended. It was almost ironic, the place where students were supposed to be the safest is literally my hell, it's my undoing. "You nearly missed your daily beating! Thank goodness I saw you coming into the bathroom"

I gulp, fear freezing me to my spot and exasperating the growing feeling of an anxiety attack. It feels as though I am spiraling into infinite darkness, my palpitations threatening to escape my cheat. I know it will be bad today, I see it in the gleam of his eyes and feel the previous bruise on my back throb with indignation. Like fate, a cyclical routine,  I will always, always be a victim. 

"David, please don't do this, not today" I stutter realizing I'm shaking uncontrollably, rooted to my spot against the wall. Like an animal cornered by prey,  I can do nothing but shake. Struggling to control my racing heart, I breathe deeply under my breath, almost in silent preparation for battle. It will not be much of a fight. 

"Because you've asked nicely... I won't" he sneered sarcastically, yet not loud enough to attract any outside attention. His smile oddly reminded me of Robbie Rotten from Lazytown, all he needed was an atrocious, slick-back haircut and an extremely unflattering red and purple two-piece with gold pinstripes. Had I been under different circumstances, I may have laughed.

Note to self** Laugh about this later 

David was big. Tall and muscular like an average bully, the type you see in the movies, and most likely have the IQ of a rock - perhaps an insult to rocks. He was quiet in class, had no friends, and wore clothes similar to that of a drunk lumberjack who had been asked to pick his clothes in complete darkness - though I cannot claim any fashion expertise. 

He had dark brown hair and shocking, pale, blue eyes, which in the grand scheme of things could have made him very attractive, but it seemed years of hate had distorted his features into an ugly growl. That's what hate does to you, contaminates you from the inside out. He held himself proudly and occasionally resorted from a grimace to a scowl, true range. But his facial expressions didn't stretch any further. 

"Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?" I ask timidly trying my best not to stutter or stammer, egotistical men love to see you scared. He pauses as if thinking of the reason why he uses me as a punching bag, it was painful to watch, I could practically see the clogs in his brain move. 

"It's because you're a worthless, piece of garbage that should end his life" He spat, smirking with the satisfaction of seeing the words cut deep into my soul. "Cause I hate faggots. All of 'em should end their lives, no one will ever love them"

"Well, I guess we have something in common" I reply daringly at first, before instantaneous regret settled in. You know that moment you watch yourself say something in slow motion, but you're simply unable to do anything to stop it? 

"You finally grew some balls, shame it's going to get you in more trouble." David laughed, after the long shocked pause, I've never stood up for myself in the 3 months that I've been at this school and this was definitely not the right time to do it. He lunges forward abruptly grabbing a lock of my hair with his fist clenching. For a moment all I can hear is the ominous pull of the strands in my head being tugged out, he revelled in it. 

I gasp subconsciously but don't give him the satisfaction of hearing me screaming in pain. It'll only provoke him. Although my efforts are wasted as a power-hungry punch lands on my stomach, winding me irrevocably. I can't breathe, I feel an oncoming panic attack and the walls are closing in. It's moments like this I feel closest to death. 

He continues to kick and punch me elsewhere, knowing full well he's leaving marks and bruises like he's marking his territory, or more accurately marking a map of all the places I am worthless. This is the worst it's been in a while, usually he just punches me and leaves. The pain almost vibrates in every corner of my body, rendering me partially numb: unfeeling, blind, and deaf. I wish to float into nothingness, to cease existence and fall into a voidless dream state, because no amount of physical violence could exceed the pain I feel in my soul. I don't want to be here anymore, but I don't want to die. 

"Please, stop" I stutter still trying to catch my breath. I'm heaving now, feeling the sick, metallic taste of blood touching my tongue. It is a taste I am familiar with. In a strange way, I don't want him to stop, this is the first time in a long time that I've really felt something other than soul-crushing resignation. 

"I hate it when you stutter!" He yells clenching his fist one last time before it collides onto my jaw. For a second everything slowed. It took a moment for the darkness to settle in. I see the blue and white tiled bathroom walls and the empty cubicles, it smells like piss and failure in here. And despite the bright, fluorescent lighting that seems to plague all secondary school bathrooms, it's the light from the window I fixate on. And as I welcome the warm embrace of sleep, I imagine I was a bird, free to escape, free as the wind and the summer breeze. 

Darkness.....