Reese's Complex

Bully

Nobody could ever love a bully. The boy with torn-up fists, colored vividly by the blood of his victims. Perhaps an idiot, one that despises having their face in one piece, would take that bet.

Reese Wilkerson sat at his usual lunch table, surrounded by all of his friends. It was empty except for him. He poked at the remains of his breakfast (lovingly thrown into a paper bag by his mother) which were now, also, his lunch. Not that he had much of an appetite that day.

His normally empty skull had become infested with questions. He wished he could shake them out. Maybe plug his nose and blow them out through his ears like in the Saturday morning cartoons.

Among these intrusive, little beetles was a monstrous and vicious tarantula. It rattled and tore at everything around it.

Why am I like this?

And what a tough question it was. Harder than any of the ones on his math tests. Those tests that made him press his face real close to the sheet, pretending to understand the numbers and formulas. Because, unlike with those, he couldn't just glance over at the work of others and squint hard in hopes of stealing the right answer.

Maybe the answer to this question would reward him with something better than the Fs he had learned to expect. Hopefully, it would teach him how to stop everyone's eyes from dissecting him.

He would never admit it, not even to his own family (hell, especially not to his own family), but those looks scared him. Their unfair judgment.

They judged his hand-me-down, discount bin clothing. And the fact that all of his stuff was held together with duct tape. They judged his hygiene and how his clothes never seemed fully washed.

It hurt. Maybe not in the same way a knee to the stomach does, but he would try anything to make them feel his pain.

"Hey. Reese. Are you gonna stop drooling soon? You said you would help me move the lab equipment, remember?" A blue-eyed, bushy-browed dork stood to his right. He had several beakers held to his chest, trying his best to keep them steady with both arms. "My arm still hurts. And the sooner we get this done, the sooner I can start on my experiment."

Despite being brothers, he and Malcolm shared very few qualities. Reese was fit with green eyes and black hair. Malcolm was on the scrawny side and a brunette.

While the younger one was a smart-ass that excelled at everything academic, the older one was a thug that had a hard time spelling 'TV.' It was like Malcolm had somehow received every brain cell that Reese lacked.

And, although neither was a social butterfly, so to speak, Malcolm still had him beat in the friendship department. If it weren't for their shared penchant for pulling pranks, being destructive, and disobeying their mother, they might as well have been strangers.

"Get lost, Malcolm. Can't you see I'm busy here?" The voice that left Reese didn't have his trademark bite to it. It came out more like a plea than a command.

"With what? It's not like you're waiting for anyone." Malcolm could be dense at times and often threw his words around carelessly. "It'll be quicker with three people. Plus, Stevie can't hold the chemicals and roll his wheelchair at the same time."

Reese's shoulders stiffened. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Move along, or you'll be doing your experiment from a hospital bed, asswipe." That sounded more like him.

That was the voice that got Johnny from the year below him to roll around on the floor like a dog. With it, and a ruthless punch here and there, he had ruled his middle school. He'd been the apex predator that kept it running smoothly. A notion that was proven true when anarchy broke out in his absence, as everyone tried to claim the crown and title of Biggest Bully.