Bloody Texas

*Looks into Camera Like I'm on The Office* Poor Highschool Lance.

The blunt shoe brought a sharp pain to Lance's ribs. He coughed and clutched his chest. Tears had welled up in his eyes and fallen to the chilly concrete. He wheezed and cried out to his brother. "Mark!"

Tyler's shoe came down on him again, "Shut up, faggot!"

Harry knelt down into his sight, blocking his view of Mark. Dangling from his hand was Lance's cherry blossom brooch. "Is this important to you?"

"Please," Lance whined, "It was a gift from my father." He lifted a shaky hand toward it, "Please give it back."

"Ah," Harry pulled it away with a cocky smile.

"Please!" Lance sobbed, "Do whatever you want with me, but give that back!" He tried to call out again, "Mark!"

"Guys," Mark put his hand on Harry's shoulder and snatched the brooch out of his hand.

A hopeful breath hitched in Lance's throat. He stared up at Mark with wide eyes. Mark lifted the brooch to his eyes and inspected it. His eyes shot down to Lance's. Slowly, he lowered it down to his hand. Right when it tapped Lance's palm, Mark snatched it back and threw it as far as he could into the neighboring field.

Lance's face scrunched up in heartbreak and anger, "Mark!"

Tyler yanked Lance up by the hair and shoved him away. Lance stumbled, but found his unsteady footing. His rose skirt was frayed, black tights torn, and black shirt covered in mud. He held his arm across his stomach. A tear fell down his cheek.

"Oh, look!" Harry twisted his fists on his cheeks in mockery. "He's crying!"

Tyler laughed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Aww! Do you need a tampon?"

Lance's white tennis shoes scraped the cracked road as he spun around and started running. He didn't know where he was going, but all he wanted was to be far away from them. From Tyler. From Harry. From Mark.

Mark. How could he let them do this?

When Lance looked up, he found himself at a tall parking garage. He pushed through the tearing pain in his joints and ran all the way to the top. The wind hit him like a wave as he looked across the sky. He ran to the edge and started to climb onto the solid railing, scraping his palms and knees in the process.

"Lance!" Mark's voice pierced his ears.

Lance ignored him and brought his knees onto the concrete. Arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him off. Lance hit and scratched at them as he screamed.

Mark tossed him down away from the edge, "What the fuck are you doing?!"

Lance screamed at him from the ground, "Why do you care?!"

Mark reached down and grabbed his arm, "Come on, let's go."

Lance yanked his arm away, "Leave me alone!"

Mark glared down at him. "Lance," he tried to grab his arm again, "Stop fucking around. Let's go home."

Lance frantically slapped his hands away, "Why won't you just let me die?!"

Mark flinched and leaned back. His face dropped the anger, but stayed stern.

"Just go away!" Lance was sobbing, but his heart was full of anger. "Leave me and let me die by my own hand!"

Mark stared at him for a while, then huffed and reached into his pocket. He knelt down and held out his hand. Placed in his palm was the cherry blossom brooch. Lance quickly snatched it from his hand and clutched it against his chest.

Mark leaned forward and forced Lance into a hug. He sighed, "I don't want you to die." Lance fought against his grip, but he squeezed tighter. "I never wanted you to die."

"Then why?!" Lance wiggled out of his grasp. "Why do you treat me like this?!"

Mark's eyes went hard. His lips pushed together in a thin line. He adjusted his collar with a loose finger, then shrugged. "Because I want to."