Teens with guns (Short Story)

Hour 1

Patroclus had wanted to get up early. Of course the beat up alarm clock on his worn nightstand didn't go off at the right time when he needed it ever, as a rule. All he wanted was to sneak out and go to Achilles place, where he knew Achilles would be waiting.

His best friend was the rock he clung to in life, the only anchor he could hold onto, the only one who was there day by day, without fail. But instead of the shrill pinging of his alarm clock he was awoken by the deep roar of his father, booming with obscenities.

"Get up! You lazy slob of a boy! Up! UP!" And then came the punch. It being roughly six in the morning, Patroclus was not as agile as he had thought himself to be. Instead of dodging the fist, it collided with his cheekbone. He groaned and curled up to cover his face, but before he could fully shield himself another knuckle sank into the soft skin surrounding his eyeball.

Pat howled in pain and stumbled to his feet, lurching to put on clothes and get out of the house before any more vital parts of his body were severely damaged. He held onto his Jansport with both hands as he fled out the front door, with a shove as he went.

He tripped and fell down the four steps leading to their home, scraping his bruises and everything else in the process. His father called after him,"And don't bother coming back tonight either! Or else you get another round! You hear me boy?" Patroclus scrambled to his feet and bolted for Achilles' house, holding the damaged side of his face gingerly with one hand.

Form the way it hurt, he was sure it would bruise. And badly. Just great. The last thing Pat needed was another trip to the guidance counselor who was "concerned" about his many bruises. Fortunately Patroclus was clumsy enough that his many blemishes were easy to explain away, but the entire right side of his face? Not as breezy.

As he rounded the turn to get to Achilles' house, he saw just the boy standing there. He was looking impatient and was tapping his foot on the ground, but as he saw Pat rounding the corner, his mask of annoyance morphed into one of concern.

"Good god, Pat! What happened to you? Holy shit, you look terrible!" Pat crossed his arms and sassed back weakly,"Thanks for being nice, Achilles." Achilles looked guilty, and grabbed the taller boy by the shoulders, inspecting his face."Pat, who did this?" Noticing the look on Patroclus' face, he grimaced.

"It was your dad, wasn't it? That no-good son of a bitch! How dare he!" Pat had to hold Achilles back to keep him from storming off and murdering his father with his bare hands."Achilles! I'm fine! I'm just... not the best way to wake up, y'know?" Achilles grabbed Patroclus' hand and yanked him into his ugly green Ford Pickup. It was a nauseating shade, the seats were cracked and peeling, and his blinkers were known to be unreliable, but to Pat it was basically home.

Achilles started up the engine with a sound not unlike a cat coughing up an unpleasant hairball."Can I stay at your place tonight? Uh... my dad said not to come back." Achilles grinned,"Of course, Pat. Who do you think I am?" Patroclus smiled down at his hastily thrown on jeans and winced when it pulled the right side of his face uncomfortably.

   Achilles glanced down at him from the drivers seat, meeting Pats' eyes."It's not that bad, really." He lied, trying to cover his untruths with a blinding smile. Patroclus rolled his eyes and pulled down the makeup mirror from the roof of the truck.

   "Oh my shit, Achilles! Not bad my ass!" The entire side of his face was rapidly bruising, a purple patchwork quilt blooming on his light caramel skin. Pat groaned and flipped up the mirror up again, staring out of the windshield
with his arms crossed."How am I gonna hide this from counselor Dite? Last time I came to school with a bruise on my arm she almost called child protective services!"

   Achilles frowned and kept his eyes on the road, pulling into the school parking lot. After the car was in park, he leaned back against the peeling seat and closed his eyes."We have to go inside now, Achilles!" The boy in question groaned and swung the door of the truck open, stepping out onto the asphalt.

As they headed inside, Odysseus caught up with them."Sup, losers. Woah, Pat, what happened to your face?" Achilles kicked him in the shin and retorted,"If you want one of your own, keep asking." Odysseus rolled his eyes and kept on walking with the duo, talking all the way."Y'know, Hector's in town."

Hector was the classic high school dropout, who just so happened to hate Achilles, Patroclus, Odysseus, and everybody else. He was a homophobe, and just a major asshole. Achilles raised and eyebrow and set his bag down at his locker, fiddling with the lock,"And why am I -Pat could you get this I can't manage right now- Why am I supposed to care? He's never done anything to me."

He handed the lock off to Pat and leaned against the lockers, chatting with Odysseus. After books were collected, they headed off to Advanced literature together, Pat gaining some sideways looks because of the massive bruise covering the right side of his face. Other than the purple splotch marring his features, it was a pretty normal day for Patroclus.

How wrong he was.