Chapter 5: Lachlan

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Boys like Brady think I haven't heard any of it.

You know, the names.

The degrading insults that he is now spitting at me.

Homo. Faggot. Fag. Weirdo. Freak. Spastic. Retard. Pussy.

All of them.

Words are these boys best friend. They know they can hurt harder than punches.

It's like these boys are straddled with a responsibility to let me know I'm not one of them. That I'm different.

What the idiots don't realise is that I've heard it all before. Been though it all before. I get the message.

I can't really blame them. The carbon-copied types aren't exactly original.

Still he persists.

He hurls the words with so much anger towards me, so much spite. It collects on his furrowed brow, the fire in his eyes and the firm clench of his fists.

Naked anger.

Did I offend him that much just by existing?

Clearly I had.

All of them took the fact that I breathed air as an insult. A direct attack on them.

Then the golden boy steps in. I see him, the blue eyes occupied with responsibility and anger, strike at Brady.

They engage in a fight. I watch as it happens. All of the other boys do too.

What do I do?

I stand still and let it play out until the coach comes in and splits them apart.

As I make my way to my locker, I recall what Brady spat at Lachlan as they were pulled apart:

"Are you fucking in love with the skitzo?"

How odd.

Why would Brady think that?

The golden boy is full of integrity, one of those do-gooders who feel the need to make a fuss when they see injustice.

Well, at least his heart is in the right place. Not that I really care about morality. The perfect boy is perfect, how surprising.

It kind of felt nice for him to want to stick up for me. No one does that.

I open my locker and stare. I forget what I was doing. What class do I have?

The golden boy occupies my mind.

Odd.

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⏰ Last updated: May 27, 2015 ⏰

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