"Roberts told me that you think I've got a problem with you. Now, why would she think that?" He took a step toward me. "Better yet, why did you tell her that?"
"You need to get away from me," I said.
"I need to do what?"
"You need to get away from me. Trust me. You need to step off."
"Or what? You'll run to Roberts? You'll tell her that we were...what? Having a little conversation?"
I could feel the amulet heating up against my chest.
"That I was nice enough to stop by and address you by your God-given name: Faggot? Is that what you'll tell her?"
Again, he looked around him. He knew we were alone. I knew it. He could do whatever he wanted to do to me and it would be his word against mine. I'd lose because I wouldn't have any proof. Unfortunately, I didn't have Jennifer's iPhone, though even if I did, he’d probably smash it.
Think.
I needed to do something that would scare him. I needed to prove to him that he couldn't touch me. I needed to create a diversion or do something else. It needed to freak him out. It needed to be enough of a show that he wouldn’t come near me again.
"You know," he said. "I’ve got a problem with what you said to Roberts. You got me into trouble for nothing. I think you should pay for that. I think you and I need to have a little understanding of how it works around here because apparently you forgot."
He took another step toward me. And another. His mouth was pressed into a tight line of hate. I could see him balling up his right fist. Again, he looked around us. Just a few birds flying above, the wind in the trees. Satisfied, he saw his moment and took it.
In a flash, he came toward me, pulled his right arm back and swung it down hard toward my face. As it came, I quickly held up my pinky finger and pushed all of my hatred of him into it. My finger either was going to break, or it was going to break him.
You work it with your heart and with your head.
It broke him. His fist collided with it and you'd think by the agonized look on his face that he had punched his hand straight through a concrete wall. He yelped and staggered back, toward the center of the path. My pinky was still raised. It was untouched. He stared openly at it and then looked down at his hand, which was smashed. "What the fuck!" he yelled.
I got off the rock.
"I told you to stay away from me,” I said. “You don't know who you're dealing with anymore. I will protect myself against you and all of your friends. I've had enough. And here's a warning--I will win every time."
"The hell you will."
He was doubled over, massaging his hand. His head was crooked to the side and he was staring up at me. Now it was my turn to look around--nobody. And so, with my heart still rocking in my chest and my hatred of him still fueling every cell in my body, I decided to give him a show he'd never forget.
I held out my arms at my sides and rose in the air above him.
Frozen, he watched me ascend twenty feet in the air. I turned my eyes into bright spheres of red light and glared down at him like a beast from a nightmare. I made the wind pick up and whip around me. Leaves lifted off the ground and funneled around me like a tornado, turning me into some kind of hornet's nest while he just stood there, paralyzed by what he saw.
And then I saw it. For the first time since we'd known each other, back in first grade when he decided that I'd be his punching bag for life, I saw it--he was afraid of me. He was terrified of me. He backed away from me.
"What the hell are you?"
I looked up at one of the large tree limbs just behind him, waved my arm in its direction and cracked my wrist down. The limb snapped off and fell hard, crashing just feet away from him.
He let out a little squeak and then I lowered my hand down toward him. It was easy--too easy. I lifted him off the ground and let him linger in the air. I waved a finger across his mouth to silence him. His tried to speak, but there was no sound. I drew him near me so we were face-to-face. My ruby-red eyes burned into his. Beneath him, his legs were scissoring. His arms were flailing. And so I paralyzed him and he went still.
I leached myself into his mind.
"This is how it's going to work," I said to him. "You're going to back off me. You're going to ignore me. You're going to remember everything that just happened, but you're going to tell no one about it. I'm forbidding you. Each time you try to tell someone, the words won't come. They'll never come, not even if you try to write them down. You'll never be able to explain what’s happening between us now."
The leaves were spinning around us, swiping across our faces, knocking against our bodies before joining the storm of wind that was kicking up our hair. I looked down at his hand and then snapped my eyes back to his. "Looks like you broke it," I said. "I could fix it for you, but I won't. You were going to hit me with that hand. You were going to punch me in the face for no reason. So, it should be broken. But here's how it happened. You fell over a tree root on your way home. You went down hard and broke your hand. If I were you, I'd get home and have someone take you to the hospital. You're going to need a cast."
I lowered us both to the ground. I waved my finger across his mouth and I released his muscles so he was free to move. The wind stopped, the leaves fell around us like over-sized confetti and my eyes returned to normal. "Do you understand me now, Mike?"
He nodded.
"You're going to stay away from me, aren't you?"
He nodded.
"Good," I said. "Because if you ever do come for me again, I can promise you this. Next time won't be so easy. You treat me and others with respect from now on, or I really will hurt you."
"What are you?"
I shrugged. There was only one reply. "I'm not you. And for your sake, that's good news. Because if I was as ugly as you are on the inside, this would have gone differently. You wouldn't be walking out of here. If I had your soul, I would have ripped you apart for every rotten, humiliating thing you’ve ever done to me. I would have torn off your limbs, severed your head. I would have made your dirt grave and thrown you in it.”
This time it was me cocking my head at him. “So, aren't you happy that I'm better than that? That I’m better than you?"
I stepped aside. "Go see a doctor."
He started to walk past me and as he did, I left him with an undercurrent of a threat.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Mike. Either at school or here again in the woods. Doesn’t make a difference to me. Choice is yours. I can take you down here or I can take you down there. Now, get the hell home."
~~~~
CHAPTER TEN
Before I went home, I needed to see creepy Jim. Since he didn’t work, there was a good chance he’d be home. If he wasn’t, he probably was downtown at Judy’s, likely drinking with my father. And there was no way I was going there.
But Jim was home.
He was sitting outside his trailer in a metal chair on his dirt lawn. All around him were his cats, who were rubbing up against his legs and purring. They loved him. He was kind to them. Watching him like this gave me a different view of him. Was Jim so creepy? I took a long look at his weathered, sunken face and decided that at least on the surface he was.
He looked up at me as I approached and took it all in--my face and my hair. He couldn’t see the new tooth, but I’d tell him about it.
“Couldn’t even wait an hour, huh?”
I shook my head.
“Well, if you had to do it, at least your face and your hair look better. What else did you do to yourself.”
“The tooth Dad knocked out? It’s back.”
He ran his hand up the length of one of the cat’s tails. “Probably smart about the tooth. Not sure about the rest.”
“It was stupid,” I said. “People noticed. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“They'll forget.”
“No, they won’t. I’ve had that face since puberty.”
“Maybe you’re no longer in puberty.”
I hadn’t thought of that, b
ut I still should have been more subtle with the changes.
“Why are you out of school? They kick you out?”
“They didn’t.” I told him the story. And then I told him what had just happened with Hastings.
“You flew?”
“I kind of hovered.”
“Shit. Even I never thought of that. It’s a powerful kick, isn’t it?”
“Too powerful.” I told him about killing the flowers.
“Well, at least you didn’t knock off Hastings. That could have been a real mess. The red eyes were a nice touch, though--he won’t soon forget that. I like the leaves and the wind, too.” He reached down for the beer at his side and finished it. “Want one?”
“I’m seventeen.”
“So, what?”
“I’ll pass.”
“Jesus, you’re uptight.”
“When the world is coming after you, you think there’s an option?”
“Probably not.” He eyed me. “But already you’re different.”
“How so?”
“You’re standing up straight. Got some confidence. You don’t look like such a pussy.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s a compliment. Take it. With those pimples gone, you’re actually not a bad good looking boy. And that’s what the amulet is for--provided you don’t become one of them.”
“What does that mean?”
He lifted one of the cats into his arms. It was a fat, happy cat, probably loaded with fleas and filled with all the mice it could eat. The cat batted at creepy Jim’s nose and then it licked it. “You know what I mean. You’ve got to control that thing. You’ve got to pick your battles. Not everyone should go down just because you have the power to bring them down. You can use it for good, too, you know?”
“I’ve thought about that.”
“That’s the thing,” he said. “How you use it is up to you. Some situations call for violence and they’ll be necessary. But if you’re a thinking person--and I’m pretty sure you’re probably one of those--most situations can be dealt with without anyone getting hurt.” He scratched beneath the cat’s chin and flicked his eyes up to meet mine. “And without you turning into a bully yourself.”
“Isn’t being a bully going after someone for no reason?”
“I’d agree with that.”
“Then I wouldn’t do that. It’s not me.”
“Hope not. You’ve always been a good kid. It’s why I gave it to you--I was tired of seeing you get beat up. But people change, Seth. There’s light and darkness in that amulet. The darkness is stronger--it will come for you. And you’ll like what it does for you. You’ll get a rush out of it. You’ll feel invincible. Power is intoxicating. And that's right, power corrupts. You need to be careful with it.”
“How?”
“By not giving in to it. By controlling it. You need to decide how to use it best.” The cat jumped off his lap and another leaped up to take its place. This one was small and white, with a black mark between its eyes and dainty feet.
“What if I can’t? You know how they’ve been to me. You know what I’ve been through--at least part of it. I think I’ve taken care of Hastings, but there are dozens more like him. My biggest fear is that someone is going to jump me and my reflex will be what it’s always been. I’ll wish they were dead. And it’ll happen. How am I supposed to make sure that won’t happen?”
“Through training. Over and over in your head, you’re going to have to imagine that scenario happening and then figure out your go-to response for it. Needs to be like second nature. You’re going to have to train yourself to think of something else when that happens. And you need to start today. You’re going to have to train yourself for every situation you can think of--kids spitting on you, someone punching you when you’re not expecting it, someone calling you a name. You’re going to have to master how you behave within the element of surprise. Does that make sense?”
“I still could kill someone.”
He nudged the cat down and leaned back in his chair. He studied me. “The bitch of it all is that you probably will.”
“Then I don’t want anything to do with this.”
“Don’t be stupid--you need it.”
“I don’t need it.”
“You won’t get through this year without it.”
“I’ve managed so far without it.”
“And had what kind of life?”
I didn’t say anything.
"Look, Seth. You wouldn’t be the first person to accidentally kill someone with that thing. It happened to me when I was your age and it’s happened with others. It’ll probably happen to you--and then we’re just going to have to deal with it. We’ll clean up the mess and move on. You’ll learn from it.”
“You’re saying I’ll learn from killing someone?”
“I’m saying you’ll learn what not to do so it won’t happen again. That’s why I want you to train. Today, you’ve had a taste. He’ll, you’ve had a damn meal. Now, you need to find time to train. If you don’t, then you’re screwed.”
“Alright," I said.
“And one other thing. I know how you’re tapping into it, but there are other ways. You don’t have to get all pissed off for it to work. You can actually be in a good mood and it will work. You need to create a relationship with it so it responds quickly to your needs. Remember, I told you to use it with your heart and with your head. I never said that you need to be ready to chop off someone’s head for it to work. When you master it, it will work as an extension of your thoughts.”
“How?”
Jim reached down to pick up another cat. “Figure it out.”
~~~~
CHAPTER ELEVEN
But I didn’t want to figure it out that day. I went home, had a quick bite to eat, which in this case meant finishing off the bag of chips I found in my parents’ booze-ridden pantry, and then I went to my room and stayed there. As day stretched into night, I could hear my parents pass by my door as if I didn’t exist.
Sometime after nightfall, they turned on the television and cranked the volume to the point that it was blaring.
They were watching “Dancing with the Stars,” likely at the demand of my mother, who once thought she’d have a career as a dancer even though she couldn’t dance to save her ass.
Sometimes, when I was bored and watched the show with them, I’d see on her face a sense of excitement clouded by a kind of sad longing for what never was. My mother once worked at as a bank manager and she was good--fastidious, polite, accurate. But then the recession hit, she lost her job and somehow found a way to claim disability in an effort to keep the money coming in.
I will give her this--there isn’t a week that goes by when she doesn’t call her old boss at the bank to see if they are hiring again. At least there is a part of her that knows she can’t live like this forever. My father? Ever since he lost his job and gave himself over to the lower calling of the bottle, I’ve never held out much hope for him. Maybe he’d prove me wrong one day, but I doubted it.
I went to my door, locked it and then stood in front of the cheap full-length mirror that hung on the wall next to my closet.
I took off my shirt, my pants, everything but my underwear, and just stood there, looking at my joke of a body.
I was like a piece of thread, only thinner. There was nothing to me. I turned in front of the mirror and hated what I saw. I wondered what I’d look like if I had even a trace of muscle on me. If I had abs, stronger legs, bigger arms. I wore loose-fitting hoodies at school, so no one really knew what I looked like beneath the folds of fabric, though there was no question that I was skinny.
Still, if I was subtle enough over the next several days, I might be able to create a positive change.
In my mind’s eye, I pictured what that body might look like. I never wore T-shirts because they really showed how slight I was, but the idea of filling out one like so many of the other guys at school was tempting.
I looke
d at my chest and remembered what creepy Jim told me. I didn’t need to be angry for the amulet to work. I just needed to feel what I wanted, see it and then channel it.
I went to my computer and went to the one website where I knew I’d find somebody who I’d like to resemble--Abercrombie & Fitch. I clicked through the links and found a guy who was tall like me, had the same angular, chiseled face as me, but who was built a hell of a lot better than me. He probably lived his life at the gym, working out for hours each day to get a build I’d never be able to achieve without a little help.
I looked at him and wondered if he was Jennifer’s type. Looking at the guy, I had to face it--he was flawless. Strong chest, toned arms, an eight-pack. I couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t be her type. He was paid to be perfect. And guess what? He had achieved something close to it.
I stood in front of the mirror and thought hard of what I wanted. When I could picture it in my head and in my heart, I went to work.
* * *
Next morning, I did something I’d never done. I pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. No hoodie. No clothes that would conceal my body.
Now, there was no need to.
I showered and looked at my face in the bathroom mirror. It still was something of a shock. I had no acne and no scars--they were gone.
I ran the palm of my hand over my face and was surprised by how sharp my jaw line was in the absence of the boulders that once consumed my skin. And my complexion was different--my face didn’t look raw. It was no longer red but instead reminded me of my father’s olive complexion.
When I shaved, I did something different and left a line of stubble from my lower lip to my chin. I stared at it for a moment and decided to make it a bit fuller, like one of the guys did on the Abercrombie site I saw. It worked. It gave me an edge.
I shook my wet hair and watched it fall naturally into place. I dried it with a towel and ran my fingers through it.
Bullied: Book One in the Bullied Series Page 5
