Fucking emo

Don't you come fucking crying to me.

"Why are you so pathetic?" I asked, looking down at him. He remained silent, appearing small in his oversized hoodie, but it was chilly out. I wore a hoodie too, but his looked cozier.

"It's a curse," he replied quietly.

I didn't say anything back, enjoying the moment of not having to respond. Maybe that's why he always left me hanging.

"Like a literal curse. I mean. Like magic," he continued.

"Like a witch cursed you?" I replied with a mocking tone.

He smiled, showing that he actually smiled quite often like in his pictures. He turned hyper and said, "Yes, like a witch or demon."

"And what is the curse?" I asked. "Getting your fucking underwear pulled up and over your head every single day?"

He giggled and returned to his shy walk. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe I'm just supposed to be... less."

We continued walking quietly for a bit. What did he mean by less? Less as in dead? Less as in humiliated? Less than what? What was he talking about?

"Do you want to fucking kill yourself?" I blurted out.

He stopped, and I stopped. He never said it, but I knew. It was loud and clear in his silence.

I thought I would panic, but I didn't. I felt like saying, "No, don't do it," but I didn't. Who was I to tell this kid to live? He was just the school pariah, alone, and I didn't know anything about his parents or where he lived. Why should I care?

"You should do it then," I said.

I froze at my own words and saw him in the pale moonlight. And when I saw him, I saw him hurt. I had seen him being tortured and in pain, debased and hit, mocked and alone, but not hurt. Now he was hurt.

His eyes, visible under the bangs, got watery.

"Don't go fucking crying on me, emo boy," I said. After that, I kept walking, and it felt like a relief. I couldn't stand looking at him any longer. I didn't even know his name.

I kept walking, hoping he would go home and never speak again. But after a while, he caught up and finally spoke.

"Hey, Nicholas, how about you pull my underwear over my head?" he said, looking at the floor as he walked. He was smiling, but I couldn't see his eyes.

"What? Why?" I replied, puzzled.

"It's my curse, remember?"

"Fuck you."

He was mocking me, wasn't he?

"Come on, do it."

"Fuck off."

"Please."

"Dude...what's your problem?"

"Just like you had the guys do it in the showers," he said. "It was your idea, wasn't it? Pleeease..."

I ignored him, trying not to think of the showers, but his raspy voice kept at it.

"Look, it's easy," he said and lifted his hoodie from the side and started pulling his boxers as we walked.

"Do you go around begging people for wedgies?" I asked.

"I do!" He exclaimed. "I just go to Travis and Mark and everyone begging for it. Hehe."

I rolled my eyes. I had no idea who those people were.

"Please," he timidly grabbed my arm.

I stopped and turned to him. I saw his mascara and a big smile.

"Fine...turn around," I said.

He obeyed and lifted his hoodie and shirt up to almost his neck. I saw his waist, his back dimples. I'd seen them before, held them. The plunge was inevitable.

I grabbed the white waistband of his already stretched-out boxers and pulled. He grunted, and I lifted him up. The underwear wouldn't go any further, so I bounced him easily. I had no idea a person could be this light. Finally, they ripped, and I stretched them past his shoulder and over his head.

I spun him around to face me.

He had a stupid grin.

"You happy?" I asked.

He smirked. "I can do whatever I want with you, can't I?"

He stopped for a minute, actually considering the question. "Yup, pretty much," he replied.

"I can make you walk all the way back home like that," I said with a chuckle.

"Fuck," he muttered.

I smiled even though he couldn't see it. "Okay, let's go. Show me where you live."

☆