Fucking emo

The fucking responsibility of it all

Getting out the door was always a drag for me. It wasn't that I loved being home either, but the burden of meeting and talking to people was too much. The fake polite smiles, small talk, and commitment to each person's interests and memories were not my cup of tea. I did not care for anyone, until him. The emo kid was on my mind.

Today, he wore a hoodie with a ghostly skull print, which was too big for him, making him look even younger and more vulnerable. I saw him sitting alone at a lunch table, so I decided to join him.

"Hey," I said.

He removed his headphones and looked at me. His blue eyes really popped under the jet black hair, mascara, and hoodie.

"Hey," he replied.

His voice was hoarser than I expected for someone his size.

"He speaks," I said, attempting a smile. He saw it and weirdly smiled back.

Suddenly, I got the urge to reach into his plate and grab some of the French fries, and he just let me. I munched on them. I still had plenty on my plate, but his fries were there for the taking. It was kind of like an offering. Why was I doing this?

"Why aren't you hitting me?" he asked.

A question from him was more than I expected to get.

"I never have," I answered, meaning to say that it was never my intention, but it didn't come out as sincere. It was more like I was mocking him.

"I guess you haven't earned it," I continued, meaning to say he had done nothing wrong, but it came out as if he wasn't worth it. Speaking to him was hard.

"How would I earn it?" he asked.

"You asking shit like that," I answered, resigning myself to the impossibility of changing the tone this conversation had taken.

He now openly smiled.

"I get it," he said. "You just want to see me destroyed."

I thought he wasn't entirely wrong, but I never wanted to see him destroyed. I just found him arrogant and in need of a put-down. Why did he have to be everywhere? Why couldn't he give a shit like everyone else? Why did he behave as if he was good enough when he wasn't?

"By the way, what is your na..." I started to ask, but I never got to finish as the varsity group suddenly showed up at our table.

Is this creep bothering you?" the tallest one asked me.

"Yeah," I answered before I knew what I was saying. The varsity boys smirked.

"You're Nicholas, right?" another varsity guy asked me. I nodded, and he introduced himself, but his name escaped my memory. Other guys introduced themselves, and I said hi to all of them. Suddenly, they were at our table with us, the tallest one and the one who knew my name on each side of the emo kid, who seemed to be trying very hard to stay still.

"We see you met our friend here," tall varsity guy said, pulling the emo kid's hoodie over his eyes and pushing him over, almost as if he were his little brother. "He is our school mascot," he continued. "Kinda embarrassing, like all mascots." I laughed half-heartedly, but they didn't mind. In truth, they were fixated on the emo boy.

I was engaged in a conversation now. They asked me about my hobbies and if I was joining any teams. I diffused the questions as coolly and politely as I could. They weren't really paying attention anyway. They wanted to play with him.

"...just like our pet here, I guess," one of the varsity boys interjected and threw a spoonful of his dessert flan right into the emo kid's face.

"Right in the eye!" they cheered their friend. The emo kid didn't really say anything and tried to get the stuff out. Once he did, another one hit. They laughed, I laughed, and he kinda twitched his lips.

"You better eat, bitch," said the boy on his left, still laughing. "We've seen you. You look like a fucking skeleton." He proceeded to grab the front of the emo kid's shirt and pull it up over his face. Indeed, his dangerously skinny, underdeveloped complexion was on display. His jeans had two belts, but they were clearly not enough to hold anything tight. His jeans sagged very low, You could see his hip bones and most of his boxers.

They laughed and kept him like that for more time than anyone would be comfortable. They asked him about what he ate, and he tried to reply through the shirt, muffling his voice. His beautiful hoarse boyish voice.

After a few questions, during which I learned that he was vegan, the guys insisted that the emo boy should eat. So they all got their plates and scraped off their leftovers into his plate.

The tall guy held him by his hair from the back of the head and pulled it until the emo kid opened his mouth. The other guy started shoving the food into his mouth. They laughed and, when he was unable to swallow or choked, the tall guy punched him in the gut.

"He must be thirsty," said the varsity boy on my right. He then handed the tall one a full bottle of Gatorade he had brought with him.

"Drink, drink, drink!" the guys chanted. As the emo boy was poured the entire contents of the Gatorade into his mouth, he gagged and spilled most of it.

It became a spectacle, and people started to gather around. I admit I was in a trance watching all of it.

They force-fed him everything on the table. They even asked my permission to feed him my leftovers, which seemed very considerate.

He looked really sick by the end, and I feared he would vomit. But the guys enjoyed every second of it. Once everything was gone, one of them mentioned how dirty he looked.

"Shame he doesn't have a napkin," he said. But the tall one got an idea right then, and I saw it in the sudden gleam in his eyes. He pulled the emo boy's shirt and hoodie up from the front and grabbed the front of his underwear.

"Here, you can use this to clean yourself up," he said mockingly and pulled them in one quick motion from the front.

There was a deep "ouch" muttered from everyone around. The emo kid's gray and black boxers stretched upwards surprisingly fast and high. In a matter of seconds, they ripped and reached his face. The tall guy finally gave a second pull and lodged them on the back of his head.

"There, clean yourself with it," he said.

The guys laughed and began to pick up their trays to leave.

He just stayed in his seat, with his underwear fabric covering his face.

"You coming, Nicholas?" one of the varsity boys asked me.

"Yeah," I answered and got up.

As I crossed the door with the rest of the guys, I glanced back at the table and saw him still sitting there completely exhausted, with his boxers over his head.

☆