HE COULD SEE THEM COMING from the corner of his eye, and the toothy grip of fear sank it’s fangs deep within his stomach. Why won’t they just leave us alone, James thought. Just beside James sat Michael Holmes. He was but a boy of sixteen, though he stood a full9 foot taller than James at the height of six and seven. Where Michael had long and silky chestnut hair, James had two-inch long hair done in a dark, soil brown mess.
James craned his head towards Michael, “How fast you think you can finish your food?”
Michael put down his milk and one of his eyebrow’s rose, “Fast as I want to, Why?”
“Because those assholes are coming our way.”
“Tyler and Nick?” James nodded his head, and Michael chuckled to himself. “I’m not scared of them,” he affirmed. “They’re pussies. If it wasn’t for their parents, they wouldn’t even be able to get away with half of the shit they pull.”
“Yeah, well,” James watched the two Football Jocks continue their way through the crowd of students, all of them vying for their favorite spots and cliques within the lunchroom. “They look pissed.”
“They shouldn’t be.”
“Trust me,” James continued, wagging his chin for emphasis. “They are.”
The Jocks tossed their empty blue trays onto the long white table. The both of them were wearing a red varsity jacket with the school’s football team logo in gold across the middle. “Why’d you do it?” Nick asked, looking towards Michael.
Tyler didn’t speak, but instead look to James.
Michael brought the box of milk up to his lips, tilted it, and had a long drink. A stiff drink would have done the boys better. “Why’d I do what?”
Nick’s lips curled into a contemptuous smirk. He walked behind James and sat on the vacant spot to Michael’s right. “You know what you did you little faggot,” he said with a quiet seething.
James craned his head towards Nick, “Look we don’t need any trouble.”
Michael laughed, “Yeah I saved your asses. You guys were too busy blowing each other to want to study.”
Tyler pushed out a hard breath through his nose.
Nick scowled, “She failed us, but you still got an A. You ratted on us.”
Michael shook his head, “I didn’t do anything like that. You’re the ones that got caught, somehow.”
James had known their reputation for violence more so than his friend, and he picked himself up from his seat at the table. He moved over to Nick, causing the young jock to look up at him. “He didn’t do it,” James affirmed, “but I know you’re not going to believe that. So let’s just take a second and try and make this right.”
Nick got up and stood a foot taller over James. “I know exactly how we’re going to make this right,” he pushed at James’s chest. Ah yes, physical violence, James thought. What a foregone conclusion. “This doesn’t concern you,” the jock continued, “so fuck off before you make this your problem too, Fletcher.” It’d taken James a good long while to go from ‘nerd’ to last name basis.
"His problems are my problems," James assured, the thought of Nurse Espinoza's long, olive toned legs turning between the thoughts of his mind. There's no way they're going to send us on a medical trip over their own stupid mistake, surely.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
AFTER A BRIEF ENCOUNTER with the Miss Espinoza, and a longer trip to detention with Mr. Stahl, James and Michael were permitted to leave after Nick and Tyler. The both of them walked through the empty class halls leading to the school’s entrance with black eyes, bruises and bloodied noses.
It hurts to breathe, and all I can seem to taste is blood. Who would even want to actually be a vampire?
Michael stepped forward ahead of James to push open the entrance door, letting orange sunlight wash over their clothes. When James passed him, Michael said, “Thanks for having my back.”
“Always."
“My mom should be waiting for me, you should let her give you a lift.” Michael let the door close behind him and gave a pained smile as they descended the cracked grey steps, “you could stay the night, too. For your birthday tomorrow.”
That’ll cost them gas money that they just don’t have. “No,” James said, “I think I’ll walk.”
“You sure? It’s no trouble man.”
“Yeah,” James said flatly, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mike.”
AFTER AN HOUR OF WALKING in the sweltering sun, James was back on his home turf of 17th Avenue with a twenty-four pack of Perfect Hills water and a copy of The Miranda Herald. He made his way down the sidewalk with the sun fading behind him. Past the abandoned and decrepit homes, he made his way to the one old house that was still in it’s pristine condition from the 70’s. There were sentinels through the man’s front yard. Guardians. Nimble little demons, all orange fur and green eyes. One such cat, though black of hair, perched itself up on one of the stone statues that guarded the front door’s archway. James strode up the thin grey steps and placed both water and paper on the side of the doorstep. He then swept a hand through his sweat-stained hair, pressed forward and rang his Uncle’s doorbell.
Uncle Preston was a peculiar type. To know his mood, his whim, his next word, it was not often possible.
Seconds passed by and James could only focus on the feeling of his chest slowly expanding in a breath. Eloise the Cat slinked over to his feet, and rubbed against his legs, purring with much enthusiasm for attention now.
Guess you’re not coming out today. Turning on his heel, James gave a last look to Preston’s house before walking across the street to his father’s dismal home. Shitheads knocked out another pane. James’s eyes lingered on the large, rectangular front window of his parent’s place as he sauntered to the scratched up and busted front door. Fishing out a silver key from his pocket, he opened the door, locked it behind him, and kicked his worn shoes off to the side.
James looked for his father, but the house was silent. No doubt getting high in one of his many drug dens. The quiet of the place was enveloping, all consuming. Time didn’t seem to matter here, nor anything else for that matter; if misery were measured in minutes, this place – so affectionately called home by others – would still be standing a hundred years from now.
With his dirtied black socks, James walked down the dimly lit hall. Soft, soft orange light washed onto the walls from the two light fixtures on either side of the wall. Roaches, both big and small, scurried along the base of the wall. Slipped into the cracks and crevices of the once well-aligned wooden floor. It didn’t seem to matter how much he tried to seal, or spray, or dust, or place down black little motels. They just kept coming back.
Moving from the hall and into the kitchen, James moved past the white top island and into the den, which was joined by the master bedroom and his father’s study. Really his father’s bedroom and place where he gets high in relative peace. Stepping over to the master bedroom door, James opened it slowly, pulling out his phone from his pocket and flipping it open. Faint blue light painted the room, revealing his mother sleeping peacefully in bed.
One side of his mouth curled into a smile that showed sadness more so than joy.
Sleep peacefully.
He moved quiet as a ghost, haunting a living place that needed no more demons; stepping to his mother’s bedside, he brought the light of his phone to the blue night-time medicine box. Good, she’s taken it. He brought his eyes to his mother’s closed eyes and took in a breath before leaving to fetch her a glass of ice water. Satisfied with checking up on her, James went back to the fridge, opened it, and stood there while the yellow light hit him. The refrigerator hummed loud and consistent while he internally debated with himself on taking one of his father’s beers. Studying seemed to come easier this way, and being sober didn’t help so much with the misery of living.
Of course that could’ve just been liquor logic.