Knockout Boys

Chapter 19: Broken

         "That boy Kevin is a bad influence on you," said my Mom, hands on her hips. My parents sat me down on the living room couch for a lecture. Dad was sitting beside me as Mom paced in front of us, tugging at her hair, her stress polluting the air around us. "Violence is not the answer, Rocky."

I rolled my eyes. "Not like I have a choice, Mom."

"You always have a choice!" she exclaimed, her face pinched.

"Son, I'm all for you standing up for yourself," Dad said, concern wrinkling his brow, "but this suspension is going on your permanent record." He put a hand on my shoulder and sighed. "Trust me, I've been there. But high school is temporary. Think about your future."

I ground my teeth. "My future?" I spat. "I'm trying to make it to tomorrow."

"Are things really that bad, Rocky?" Mom demanded. My jaw dropped, but she continued. "If it was really bad, you would've transferred or been home-schooled." She shook her head. "I think you're being melodramatic."

I stood up. "I can't," I choked out. "I'm done." I turned on my heel and ran from the house, ignoring my parents yelling for me to come back. I ran until I was out of breath, hands on my knees and gasping for air. I was too far to see my house. Then I sat down on the pavement and buried my face in my hands. I wiped the dampness from my eyes. An old lady walking her dog gave me a funny look, but kept on going. I sniffed. No one cared about me. I couldn't rely on anyone. Not my parents, and not even Kevin. Scowling, I pulled my phone from my pocket and pressed the phone icon for Kevin's number. I chewed on my lip, the phone pressed to my ear, ringing, and I waited.

"Rocky?" His voice was hoarse.

"I don't get you," I hissed into the phone. "What's the point of training me if you're just gonna throw me under the bus?" My fingernails dug into the soft skin of my palms. I held my breath.

There was a cough. "What the fuck?"

"I th-thought I could trust you!" My voice shook, and I waited for his response. I heard ragged breathing, and the silence. I looked at my phone, and saw it had disconnected. "You jerk!" I sniffed. My heart pounded, and I stood up. I tried his number again, but he did not pick up. Ignoring me again? I messaged him, my stomach churning. I couldn't deal with another month of silent treatment. Some friend you are.

One agonizing minute later, he responded. Bad time. Talk later. Still your friend.

I let out a sigh of relief. Okay, I texted him. I lay down in the grass, dropping my phone on my chest. Of course, Kevin had his own life. I was just a small, very small part of it.

My phone buzzed over my chest, and I checked the caller ID. Kevin. "Hello?" I squeaked into my phone.

"Hey, Rocky," said Kevin, his breath uneven. "I actually... uh... need your help."

"What is it?"

"I think I," he laughed, then choked, and I heard the nauseating noise of hocking and spitting. "I think I broke something. A few things."

"What?" I gasped. "Are you okay?"

"Obviously not," he snapped, then was overcome with a hacking cough. "Can you drive?"

"Yeah," I said, getting to my feet. "Not legally, but yeah."

He coughed again. "I pulled over by the McDonald's. Remember the one," he gasped. "The one we went to? Ah, shit." He coughed again.

"Be right there," I said, starting to run. I raced home, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. Skidding to a stop outside my door, I turned and pushed it open.

"Rocky!" Mom yelled, eyes wide with surprise.

"Hi Mom!" I grabbed my Dad's car keys and wallet, and leapt out the door. "Bye Mom!" I ran to the car, her angry yelling becoming background noise. I stuck the keys in the ignition just as both my parents ran onto the front porch. Without a second glance, I backed up the car out of our driveway and abruptly turned it to drive onto the road. I drove at the speed limit, which was agonizingly slow in our small town. I had one hand on the wheel, and the other on my phone calling Kevin, breaking pretty much every safety rule in the books. But I couldn't help think something truly horrible must have happened.

"I'm almost there," I practically shouted in the phone, approaching the large yellow M. I saw his motorcycle in an empty parking space nearby, and I turned on my right light.

I heard a chuckle. "Calm down," he said, "I'm all right." But his breathing was shallow.

I drove the car into the lot, parked it haphazardly, and jumped out. Kevin was on the ground, leaning against his bike. His arm hung bandaged with the bloody remains of his shirt, his skin pale and eyes clouded. I ran to his side, kneeling next to him. He gave me a faint smile, and a warm feeling bloomed in my chest, turning to an ache as I was overcome with worry. I took a deep breath to calm myself. "Can you stand?" I asked gently.

"They fucked up my knee," he panted. He averted his gaze. "Could you, uh, help me up?"

"Of course!" I slid my arm under his non-bandaged arm, causing him to wince. I bit my lip, realizing I was pressing on the shoulder that druggie stabbed not long ago, and the wound had not fully healed. "Come on," I said because we didn't have a choice. Kevin hissed but got to his feet, leaning on me heavily. To my surprise, my body supported his weight. Just a month ago, I would've collapsed under him.

"You're getting strong," Kevin breathed. I half carried, half dragged him to my Dad's car, and pushed him into the passengers seat, taking as much care as I could. Blood streaked the sides of the leather chair and window.

"Wait," he croaked, as I moved to shut the door. "My bike."

I gaped at him. "Are you fucking serious right now?" I shut the door before he could protest and dashed to the driver's seat, starting the car and driving off in seconds. "I'm taking you to the hospital," I said. He grunted in response, leaning against the window. I reached out to brush hair from his eyes, his forehead sticky with sweat and hot to the touch. "You'll be okay, Kev," I whispered.