Behind My Reputation

01: Behind My Perks

TW: Behind My Reputation is a novel about abuse and contains scenes that could be triggering to those who go through it. There's also plenty of mention of emotional abuse as well, drug abuse, mentions/suggestions of sexual assault, bullying, homophobia, and alcoholism.

Something else that I can't stress enough, the main character is not someone whose thoughts and actions I don't condone in any way. Don't feel bad if you don't like him as a person, because I know I don't. Please don't forget to vote if you think the chapter is deserving by the end, and maybe even leave a comment? Really helps my need to press on and what you think really matters to me! That being said . . . happy reading!

~  ~ ~

The moon gives us just enough light to not lose our footing as we trudge in the mud. Our shadows dance across the deserted football field, the chill in the air giving me goosebumps.

If I were acting alone, I would not have even had the guts to go out and do this tonight, but with my teammates watching me, I have to put on a tough front.

Everyone seems eager to get started, their hushed voices and pumped laughter being the proof. I, on the other hand, have the fear of getting caught eating away at me. Rodney, the team captain, tells me I'm just being paranoid and that I need to relax. We've done this many times before, but tonight, something feels off.

When we get to the center of the field, Cole Atlass starts dealing out our ammunition.

We're all handed a small plastic bag of balloons filled with paint and gets into position, just as we discussed at the diner earlier tonight. Once I receive my share, Cole and I run to our assigned spot. Hooking his arm around my neck, he puts me in a playful headlock before letting out a chuckle. He's incredibly
wired - the thrill of our little prank has obviously gotten to him.

"Loosen up a bit, man," Cole says, patting my back. "Have some fun with this."

He reaches into his collection of ammo and lets out a 'whoo!' before slamming the chosen one into the dirt. Paint splatters all over the grass and scatters a few feet in every direction, a few drops hitting my cheek in the process. I try to shut him up by shushing him, but his enthusiasm is so contagious that I end up bursting out in laughter.

I take out a balloon of my own and chuck it on the ground. "Good luck playing your damn game on this mess, assholes."

Cole smirks wickedly. "Nixon High's Homecoming is ruined for sure after this."

"And they damn deserve it, too." I hear Brett say just a few yards down, looking over the mess he made as if he were a proud artist.

Pulling a typical Brett Larson move, he pulls out a handful all at once. Using what looks to be all his strength, he launches them like fireworks. His rations scatter to different parts of the field, and when an enraged grunt comes from nearby, I can only assume someone felt the wrath of friendly fire.

A fuming Rodney tackles his best friend to the ground, holding a bundle of balloons right above his head. Brett pleads for mercy, but it's no use. The whole supply comes down and the top half of his body is coated in paint. For a second, he lays there dumbfounded, but he quickly regains his composure.

An all-out war has broken out on both sides, and more join in to defend the honor of their preferred victor.

If Rodney's cousin, Bradley Stuart, were here, he'd have kept us on track, but we lost sight of our goal, and all Hell's breaking loose.

Ten minutes later, the field is completely drenched in different colors and we are down to our last balloons. Most of us are covered from head to toe and the slippery mess is making it hard to stay on our feet, almost as if we're standing on an ice rink. That, or the fumes are finally getting to our heads.

I'm the first to lose my footing, but I don't let that take me out of the game. An unused balloon lays to my right and I snatch it, throwing it at the closest target I can find. Cole turns around, identifying me as the culprit.

In a flash, he's on me, the two of us wrestling in the emulsion of mud and paint.

The breath gets caught in my lungs when sirens ring in my ears. Through all the commotion, I completely forgot that we are trespassing and let my guard down. Flashing lights illuminate the entrance of the stadium as cop cars pull up in front.

"Shit!" I panic, shoving Cole off of me.

When I look around, a good chunk of the team go for the 'every man for himself' rule, and have already made a run for it.

I jump to my feet, almost slipping on the slick grass in the process. Stretching out my hand, Cole gratefully takes it and I help him up. He laughs nervously when we struggle to find traction, but I'm just about to start hyperventilating.

Cops start to swarm onto the field, vastly outnumbering our small group of vandals. The state of the grass stops them in their tracks for a moment, but they recover quickly. I hear them struggle in the slippery paint, but it doesn't take them long to catch up. Brett's strangled cry belts out after a loud thud and I try to pick up my pace in the realization that they got him.

My brisk run turns into a home run sprint when I reach paint-free grass. If I'm caught, my father will kill me. It's that very thought that pushes me forward, even when the muscles in my legs start to burn. Panic reaches new levels when I hear heavy steps pounding behind me. A cop is right at my heels, warning me to stop, but I refuse to listen.

The fence surrounding the field is the only thing standing in the way of my freedom, but all hope is lost when I can't get good a grip on the barbed wire. A firm grip takes hold of my shoulders and I fall hard on my back. I'm turned onto my stomach while distracted by a fit of coughs and I seethe while I'm read my rights.

~ ~ ~

Rodney and I are the last ones at the police station, along with his stepfather. Everyone else had been picked up already, but since Rodney was the ringleader, and I supplied them with an ungodly amount of paint-filled balloons, we are the only ones who weren't allowed to leave with our parents. In fact, my father hasn't even bothered to show up yet.

He is probably taking his time to calm down a bit before coming in. No doubt I'll come home to a smashed bottle or a black-eyed mother for my wrongdoings.

A half hour passes and Andrew finally shows up. He's wearing a suit, as he always does, but he's freshly shaven, unlike this morning. When his piercing eyes land on me, I shrink in my chair.

"Mr. Griffin, always a pleasure to see you," Rodney's stepdad says, shaking my father's hand. "Such a shame it has to be under such circumstances. Again. Our sons do seem to have a knack for getting themselves into trouble."

I sink down further in my chair when Andrew's eyes darken significantly. "They sure do. Severe consequences are definitely in order here."

Consequences. The word fills me with dread.

Andrew and Mr. Reid slip away into the other room with one of the police who reprimanded us, leaving Rodney and me behind under the supervision of a younger cop.

It takes a lot of effort to hide my anxiety, while Rodney practically radiates calm. He probably knows his step-dad will take care of it and then he'll just end up with some lost privileges, but I won't get away with this by just getting grounded. I'll definitely get an earful the moment I get home about how big of a disappointment I am and how I'm lucky I'm 'getting off so easily'.

Words are the least of my worries, though.

"Fuck." Rodney laughs, nudging my shoulder. "It's a good thing both our fathers got this whole city by the balls, huh?"

That's a bold statement, no matter how true it is. "You think that matters?"

"Austin, c'mon. You know we're gonna be let off easy." He shrugs, an over-confident smirk tugging at his lips. "Perks of having parents with power and money."

Rodney's words rang a bit of truth, but what he doesn't know is, when I get home, I'll be getting a lot more than just a simple slap on the wrist.