Fucking emo

A fucking rush

It was bright and early on Monday morning, and to my surprise, he was waiting for me in the corner where our routes to school intersected, a block or two away from the empty house. As I walked past him, he shadowed me, walking a few steps behind.

"Do you hate me?" I asked, knowing he could hear me.

He didn't answer. This was why he was bullied, why he was degraded. It was such a simple thing, but it was his only rebellious act. He would not answer. I could save him. I could love him if he answered, but he wouldn't cave.

I turned around and saw him wearing a white hoodie and black ripped jeans. On his knees, I noticed his scrapes. I turned around and blocked him. He stopped and stood firm in front of me, looking down at my shoes.

"Pull your pants down," I ordered. He looked up, and I stared right back into his eyes. He looked away and obeyed, unbuckling his already saggy jeans and letting them fall down his knees, revealing his red boxer briefs.

As I continued walking, he walked behind me. "Every time you fail to answer, you're going to pay for it," I said.

"Ok," he mumbled.

"I can do pretty much what I want with you, right?"

"Pretty much," he replied, smiling.

Then we passed the empty house, and I stopped and stared. He stopped too. "You know what happened here?" I asked him. He nodded.

"Were you here when it happened?" I looked at him, but he did not answer. I gut-punched him, and he bent over in pain, gasping for air. He stumbled a bit, and before I knew it, I had him in a headlock. I was never this physical, not with anyone. I could barely stand talking to people. Why was I hitting him?

Disgusted with myself, I tripped him and shoved him to the ground. I saw him lie there and kind of roll around - pathetic. I went over to him, and with my feet, rolled him over until he was on his back. Then I sat on him, on his chest, feeling him have a hard time breathing.

"Answer me, you little fuck," I demanded, but he didn't. I grabbed a handful of long, unkept grass from the front lawn of the house and shoved it in his mouth, wanting to ask him more questions. I knew the answer to that one, but now I was determined to make him eat grass and dirt.

Eventually, when he stopped squirming and his mouth was full and gagged, tears rolling down his dirty cheeks amid his whimpers, I managed to get up and off him.

Seeing him there, with his pants down, I wanted to slap him, knee him, wedgie him, strip him, drown him. "Yes. I was..." he answered, sobbing.

"I'm going to degrade you today," I said, and it was a fucking rush seeing how he just seemed to accept it.

"Ok..." he whimpered.

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