Callum's Colours

Rule One: Revenge

That evening I log back onto Poems For Poets.

I have hundreds of unread notifications, but their not my priority. Instead my heads shake, sweating as I flick through my inbox.

Samiscool123. The name flashes up and I sigh in relief.

Sam. British, straight and a poet.

We both first met on this website in 2009. Now our accounts are both practically famous but we still keep in touch.

Although we've been talking on here for years it's still been nine years without us meeting. My cheeks flush at the thought.

I ignore the message, feeling to emotionally drained to think about him. I never envisage Sam romantically but our friendship means so much too me that some days it can be exhausting just considering a reply.

I click off the emails and return to the home page.

Most evenings I write another poem and it to my collection.

But tonight I have no inspiration.

I'm not sure why, but all I can think about is Ryan.

After he dropped me off home, I ran straight upstairs, convinced I would be immediately inspired to write about friendship and kindness.

Instead, I have nothing.

I check who's viewed my most recent poem, "Callum's Colours".

I'm never quite sure how people will react to each of my poems, but this one seems to be doing well.

Really well.

I click through the list of readers to see if Caleb's seen it.

Sure enough, his names highlighted on the list.

I shiver.

He must know it's about him.

I briefly check my notifications before returning to private messages. One catches my eye immediately.

Cal_Cool11

Caleb.

He always told me he made his username when he was 11- hence the numbers.

I always used to like to imagine younger Caleb, a more vulnerable one. Now I feel sick at the thought.

I debate whether to open it, after all only a few hours ago I agreed with Ryan to get revenge on this man, but I know I need to find out what he's said.

I open it.

Why r u still mad about the other nite?
Wanna catch up soon?

I feel sick.

That's all he has to say.

After raping me, releasing a tape of the rape and then reading a poem about the pain he inflicted and this is what he says.

My phone vibrates in the bag kicked under my bed.

I fly off the chair and scramble towards it.

Ryan

"Hey, sup gay boy," Ryan answers cockily, not even waiting for me to speak.

"You've got to stop calling me that.." I begin to speak, but Ryan speaks over me.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever! Cal, do you mind if I call you cal, whatever I'm gonna call you cal now," Ryan interrupts. I try to but in but he doesn't leave time to speak.

"Rule one," Ryan continues, "Revenge. I've got a plan, but we need to do it now."

I smile.

Even on the phone, Ryan doesn't give me a second to speak.