Regrets

Chapter 10 - Die Like A Rich Boy

Song: Die Like A Rich Boy - Frightened Rabbit

"Hey Tommy, what did the nigger want from you?"

There were five of them this time. Of course, their leader was the only one talking. As always.

Thomas didn't know any of them. He didn't know their names or why they were always set on picking on him, but they seemed to have their reasons. Otherwise, they surely wouldn't be this persistent. Then again, it had been almost a week since he last saw them, which seemed like a miracle in itself.

"Who?", Thomas asked as if he didn't know what they were talking about. Like hell would he snitch on someone who bought him food. It wasn't like he could spill a name anyway. Or anything about the guy, really. The black dude was a stranger to him, not someone he would usually cover for. And yet he felt as if he should.

"You know who I'm talking about, son of a bitch. Who is he, and what did you tell him about me?"
Thomas felt as if he was being purposefully spat on with each word that left the boy's mouth, as if he was trying extra hard to make Thomas feel like the dirt under his shoes. Not that he would've needed to try, Thomas' self-esteem already was like the fucks he used to give about these people: non-existent.

Just, today it felt like the words weighed heavy on him. As if, for the first time, he was actually listening to them instead of ignoring them.
Although, their insults had more truth to them than he would've liked. After all, the truth often hurt more than plain insults could.

"Who?"

Thomas had seen the hit coming, seen how the muscles moved to prepare it, but he couldn't dodge it. The fist landed on his lower jaw, pushing it in a way it shouldn't be moving. His head moved along with his jaw to relieve the pressure put on the bones and a sickening cracking sound could be heard. Whether it was from the other boy's fingers or from his jawbone, Thomas couldn't tell in the first few moments as he stumbled backwards from the sheer force inflicted upon him.

"Fuck!"

Maybe it would've been better if it had been his jaw instead of the boy's knuckles. Just maybe.

The streetlights that illuminated the dark sky, and hid all the stars from view, blurred around him as he took a hit straight to the face, from another boy. This time, it was his face that made a crunching sound. Thomas couldn't feel the pain yet, but once the fear and adrenaline subsided, he surely would. It was just a matter of time until the numbness would be replaced by inevitable pain.

Warm blood ran down from his nose to his chin, down his neck and soaked into his collar. He looked back up to see a satisfied grin on the boy's face. His build was on the stronger side, it was obvious Thomas wouldn't stand a chance.

"I don't know him", Thomas spat, wiping the blood from under his nose. Even he himself was surprised how well he was holding up until now. His newfound confidence was quickly shattered, however, the second another fist hit his already blood smeared face, causing Thomas to land on the ground with a thud as a strangled noise left his throat.

"I'm telling you I don't-"

A kick to the stomach pushed all the air out of his lungs as he fell over to the side. There was no way Thomas could convince them of his innocence. Thomas was guilty in their eyes. Thomas was the reason the guy had done to them whatever he had.

More kicks and hits. More blood and coughs and tears.

Too many.

About ten minutes later Thomas was at his limit. His vision was blurry from tiredness and tears and the blood he was losing made him weak. Not long after, and a few more kicks to the parts of his body that he couldn't protect in time, the world blacked out around him.

"That showed him", the tallest of the five boys sneered. Ironically enough, he had done the least of the beating.

"Well now what?", another questioned, much more quietly. There was an awkward tension around them as they stared down at their prey, who laid all bloodied and bruised up on the dirty ground. None of the wounds seemed severe, mostly just superficial ones, but there were many of them to compensate for the lack of severity.

"Let's get out of here!", their leader growled before turning around and walking away, as if the beaten boy to his feet was none of his business. To be fair, Thomas' wellbeing really wasn't any of his concern.

It wasn't until much later that night, at about 2:30 in the morning, that another shadow hovered over the boy.

Drunk yet again, Michael stared at the figure of the little boy, at a loss of what to do. He had no recollection of what he was doing about an hour from his apartment or how he got there, but somehow, he was glad he did.

Despite his intoxicated state, he was still able to assess the situation at least partly. Beaten kid in alleyway, no one around to care except for Michael himself. The following course of action seemed very obvious. It should have, at least.

"Kid?", Michael crouched down in front of the small boy, his hair falling forward as he leaned over the body to inspect it. Thomas wasn't moving an inch, he was completely passed out. Even if he was awake, he probably wouldn't lift a finger in fear of pain.

"Hey kid", Michael called again, this time nudging the boy a bit, causing him to roll on his back. A faint groan of pain escaped Thomas' lips as Michael continued to poke his shoulder, as if it was going to heal him magically. With a sigh, heavy from alcohol and emotions, Michael sat down next to the kid.

"What are we gonna do?"