Chapter 40

Chapter 40

I ran that night.

I ran from Margaret, from the hate, from the pain of seeing Rob so defeated like that, from Dan and Beth who I just couldn't face, and from myself – from the shame and the humiliation and my dirty, perverted mind.

Except … it wasn't my mind, was it? I didn't think that about myself, or about Rob. It was just Margaret. And the air of confidence she had because so many people agreed with her. It reignited my anger. And that's why, when Beth phoned on Sunday, she didn't need to talk me round. I had fighting spirit. I was going to face whatever waited for me at school. I just hoped to hell I would be facing it with Rob, because the only thing that really scared me was what had happened to him. Had Margaret told his dad everything? Was he about to be shipped off and "cured"?

I probably shouldn't have told Beth that everything was fine. It felt fine, but in reality I had a target on my head, of course. Anger can give you a false sense of security.

If the symbolism of the weather in Wuthering Heightshad taught me anything, it was that storms are bad news. The rain bucketed down on Monday, the skies dark and churning, rumbles of thunder in the distance. The bad weather meant everyone was cooped up inside all day. Students teemed in every corner of the school, the air humid, damp, stinking – B.O. and testosterone, a tinderbox atmosphere; just one spark was all it would take. The tension was building, too much energy, nowhere for it all to go.

They found me at the start of lunch.

Like a pre-planned sting operation, I realized too late that Jason was in front of me, and Scott behind, and I was trapped. Panicked, I tried to swerve to avoid Jason, but he anticipated the move and barred my way.

"Not avoiding us, are you, Jamie?" he said, his smile dangerous and cold. "You've been gone so long – we've missed you."

I froze, staring at him, straight into the abyss.

Scott was behind me. His arm suddenly crooked around my neck, breathing hard. "Are you the top or the bottom, then?" he hissed. He pressed himself into me so I could feel his cock. "The bottom, I bet. 'Course you are. Oh, are you shaking? Don't worry, Jamie – I'll be so gentle."

"I like your earring," Jason said.

"Hmm, yeah, it's nice," Scott added.

"Makes you look more queer – is that why you got it?"

"So hot, Jamie!"

Jason reached out, fondling my earlobe, fingers dancing over the stud, while Scott held me tight, his arm still around my neck, stopping me from moving, and gripping just enough that breathing was difficult.

"Don't cry, Jamie," Jason said. "This won't hurt a bit."

I made eye contact with him – I knew what was coming – begging him not to. "Please."

Scott laughed. "I think he's pleading, Jase. I think he … wants it."

"Do you want it, Jamie?"

"Give the little queer what he fucking wants!"

"Do you want it, queer?"

"Do you, queer?"

"Queer fucking gay faggot!"

When positive and negative charges meet, you get lightning. And in a sharp flash, white-hot pain splintered through me as Jason ripped the stud out of my ear, before landing a heavy punch straight in my stomach. I doubled over, winded, choked, as blood cascaded down my neck, the lads laughing, kicking me to the floor of the corridor. I couldn't breathe, couldn't suck in any air, like my lungs just wouldn't work, and the panic of that was worse than the searing pain right then because in spite of everything I did not want to die I wanted to live because I wanted to see Rob and I wanted to love him I just wanted to love him so why did everyone have to hate that so much—

The world blurred as Scott swung his leg back and delivered a hard kick to my stomach, and I think they would have finished me off were it not for Mr Haskins, the PE teacher, who happened to be walking by, because I heard him say, "Lads! That's enough!" and voices, and talking, and I don't know what happened to Jason and Scott, but then Mr Haskins was in front of me.

"All right," he said. "Go and see the nurse and get cleaned up."

"It was Jason and Scott," I gasped.

"Don't be a grass, Jamie. It's pathetic."

For a moment, I forgot the pain, and the blood, because did I hear him correctly?

"Well, you don't help yourself, do you?" he told me.

I blinked through the tears at his cold face, also full of hate.

"Stop crying and man up," he said. "It's just a bit of blood, and if you wear women's jewellery, what do you expect?"

I stared at him. I just wanted some help.

"Are you seventeen or seven?" He shook his head and walked off.

A small crowd of students had formed around me – staring, whispering, like I was a museum curiosity. I hauled myself upright, everyone watching, and staggered down the corridor, head spinning, ears ringing, legs like jelly, guiding myself along the wall with my hands.

Minutes later, I was sitting outside the office, overhearing one of the reception staff hiss, "I'm not going anywhere near him – all that blood? What if he's got AIDS?"

I couldn't stop the tears. I was in so much pain. I just wanted someone to help me. I was shaking, scared, lonely, afraid, hurt and there was no one to turn to, not an adult, not a friend, because I was scum, I was dirty, and I deserved it. So, broken and wrecked, I got up again and used my last bit of strength to hobble to the only place left for me, the only place at school where I would ever truly be welcome.

The library.