Sometimes I know, even before I’m fully awake, that it’s going to be bad. When it's quiet, and there's nothing to distract me -

Laughter.

I don’t want to remember, but I can't force myself to forget. I can't force them to forget me, so I try to ignore -

Pain.

If only I could understand, then maybe I wouldn't feel so helpless. What rules I keep breaking, because there must be, because I'd never choose to feel this -

*Knock Knock*

“Cody, it’s time to get up. You’re going to miss the bus, dear.”

“I don’t want to.” I mumble.

“Do I need to get him up?” My father? He’s home!?

I throw off the covers and dive for my closet, my clothes, grabbing for any shirt, pants -

“No, Charles.” My mother, my savior! ”Last week, it was hard…”

I look down, and already hot tears threaten but I shut myself against them, against the -

*Slap Slap*

Laughter.

Pain.

Shame.

I don’t need to hear the word, through the solid wood of my door it's only reverberation, whatever he said, the meanings the same, and it's not a revelation.

“…pussy.”

I already know, I have a mirror. The loose clothes I’ve piled on that's almost enough, with the extra padding in my shoes and my hat rested just right on top of my head, I don't look that much smaller. You wouldn't know that I'm -

Weak.

I reach for my backpack to swing it over my shoulder, it nearly pulls me off my feet. It's light compared to what's crushing me.

I move down the hallway, keeping my feet on the edges where the hard wood won’t squeal. I listen past my berating heart, I slow my breath and wait. Wait. The flicker of newspaper.

He's distracted! I sag in a moment of relief before I inch to the entry, slide around the corner, reach the front door -

“I made you breakfast.” Damn it!

“Thanks, Mom. I’m not hungry though.” I hold my breath and turn the -

“Letting good food go to waste?” The rustle of paper, and I feel my shoulders tense against what's coming, wishing he'd just hit me and get it over with - “You need protein if you don’t want to be a wuss.”

It'd be so much easier if it was a punch. Then I could heal, there'd be a bruise and I'd know it was real. Words don't go away, not when you care, it's a weight you can't shrug off.

The hardest part about looking up to someone is having them look down on you, but there's nobody else I want to be. I don't have to turn and meet his eyes, not to know the crushing weight of his disappointment, I have my father's eyes. I have a mirror.

The rest I get from -

“Listen to your father, Cody.” In my mother's hazel eyes I see her roses reflected as she implores me, even as she purses her lips. And there's so much kindness I don't deserve. even early in the morning she's radiant. Why I've never understood the 50’s housewife jokes, “You do need to eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I nod, before holding my breath, but the paper just rustles imperceptibly. I hurry to the breakfast table, waiting, and rest my backpack before pulling out a chair, and stuffing the fixings of breakfast between two slices of toast.

She’s just as industrious, adjusting the zippers on my bag. Refolding my collar, and trying to smooth my hair - even as she stares balefully at the cap resting on my knee.

Breakfast secured, I scoop the escaped bits into a final mouthful and turn to wash the dish, she pulls it from me, trading me for a quick kiss of appreciation.

“Thanks, Mom.” And I’m jolting out the front door, freedom already forgotten as dread is trundling toward me, bright yellow and filled with reasons I'd rather stay home. But with my father -

I look up, as though hope exists within the clouds, or an answer. It's the flag pole, the flags I see...

Old Glory flies highest, and I know that should be good enough. That I have no right to hope, to ask for anything more. My prayers have already been answered. He's in there, instead of this flag, folded up in a windowed box on the mantle.

But he's just as hard to understand as his flag, those words... As a child I knew one day I’d grow up to become a Marine. I didn’t know what it meant, Marine was just another word for Man in the Abbot house, and now I can't even say I know what that is. Every day it’s harder for me to understand those ambivalent words. Harder for me to grasp what it means -

Semper Fidelis.

Not under the shadow of the third flag. The Black Flag that hangs in-between. The only one I understand and wish I didn't. Because even though he’s right there. Through that door, reading a newspaper and drinking coffee, it still feels like he's Missing in Action when I need him most. Every day I feel like a prisoner of his disappointment, of my failures.

I want to rip that flag down and scream, "I'm here! Fix me! Make me your son! Make me a man! Make me like you!”

I want to rip that flag down and hide beneath it, because what if he did?

I shiver in my sprint up through the open doors of the bus, reaching my hand out to grab the rail, slowing my momentum before I can crash into the driver. She looks at me with an expression as crumpled as the pack of cigarettes poking out of her pocket, “Come on now, Abbot.” And I feel the slap of her words at the name, the way she uses it, like every other extra thumb in this backwater town.

Like she’s reminding me. Like I could forget.

It hangs around my neck, as though I’d grabbed one of my father’s medals and pinned it to my chest and went parading down Main Street. I turn to my peers - people that don’t bother to learn my last name, and now probably will forget my first -

*Slap Slap*

Laughter.

Pain.

I shake my head at the memory.

Cody Abbot.

The ‘little guy.’

I stuff a bite of sandwich in my mouth to have something nourishing to chew over for a change, I march over sprawled legs and tangled bags. Past cheerleaders with all the glamour of an artificial garden, I watch the jocks that grasp for their plastic petals.

I move through the center of the bus, where all the groups seemed to meet - revolve, I chew, to have a reason not to speak. So that when they fire off insults I can point at my mouth - it’s jammed. So they won’t know I’m out of ammunition. That I’ve lost this war I didn’t even know I was fighting, didn’t even know I was losing because the weapons they use -

Laughter.

You don't even know it can hurt you, you think it’s just noise. Blanks. I look down for a wound, for blood, and it's hard to see where I've been hit, I wouldn't even know that it was aimed at me, if not for the sting -

Pain.

Derek, that Beiber toothed class clown - the only guy my size and instead of being cool, he torments me. Does anything he can to make the others laugh, then crouches in their cover - making sure it isn't aimed back at him. I feel the rage boil and force it down again, keep moving past -

Jason, how he lounges back in his seat like the world is his hammock, with burnished skin and curled hair ripped from a magazine. What it would be like to have an easy life like that, with a pod dangling from one ear, new yeezys each week, maybe then she'd notice me -

Hannah.

My anger fades as she smiles, not at me, but the words in her book - it makes me want to write, even though I could sleep through English if she weren't there. That barrier she keeps between her and the world, her shy beauty. I can only imagine how wonderful those snowflake eyes could be if I could only catch them, what it would feel like to have them land on my lashes, if they would melt for me.

I followed those eyes as she turned the page on my troubles, standing as high as 5’3 would allow on the chance I could get her to see me, my head didn't hit the roof, though I nearly ran into -

Brandon.

Thick and muscled enough to bulge out into the aisle, he sat alone. I was cut as her eyes honed in on his jaw, shaved smooth and already sporting a shadow. The flecks of tobacco that specked the shiny corner of his lip, the bulge that pushed it into a half-grin again reminded me what I was up against. That I was -

Weak

Before I collided, I was pulled off my feat. I reached, my hands slipping as I tried to grab something that could help me, the added weight on my forgotten burden too much to bear, it overbalanced -

*Smack*

Laughter.

Pain.

I blinked, shaking my head from the floor, blinking away confusion. I’d fallen? I was tripped, pulled off my feet. Heads popped into my view around me as I struggled to get up.

“Turtle, Turtle!” Derek’s jeer, the others added their attention, but it was her's that I couldn't turn away from -

Hannah.

Those beautiful eyes finally found mine, filled with all the kindness and compassion I had dreamed to be there, it had me mesmerized. But it was pity that hit me like an avalanche. That had me reaching past her sweetly offered hand and grabbing Brandon’s muscled leg and pulling myself back up to my feet.

I looked down - feeling the shame. Knowing that it was my fault, seeing what my parents had made. Dirty now. Useless. A mess. Because of a prank. Another joke -

I knelt and picked up the sandwich. I let them stare, I didn't let them see my shame. I made room for a little bit more more deep inside. Wondering why it made me feel so empty. Why the laughter echoed.

Because. It's just a joke.

Laughter.

I'm just a joke.

Pain.

I walked to the very back and sat down, alone. Telling myself it's just another bad day. Not even the worst day. Not even the worst day this week.

“Alright, class. Enough chatting.” Mrs. Bertie interrupted the morning buzz when the last echoes of the bell faded, “Get out your assignments and pass them to the right. Yes. Just like always. Yes, Ashley, you may borrow a pencil, just leave your name on the board until it’s returned.”

Shoot.

“Come on, Cody. We don’t have all day. Close your mouth and get out your assignment. This is mathematics, not choir.”

“I don’t have it, Mrs. Bertie.” I admitted.

“You don’t? You mean to say you didn’t do it, correct?”

The class was silent. Mrs Bertie, she was sweet. She cared. About me, about all of us. Teaching was more than a job to her. If anything that could make her more terrifying.

“I didn’t do it.”

“See me after class. Move to the back of the room so the students that did invest in their education won’t be impacted.”

Abbot. Of course I sat in the front.

I stood up, grabbing my stuff and turned around, for a walk of shame, even still - grateful, of Mrs. Bertie's discipline, enough to keep even Derek occupied.

Everybody, except for Brandon.

He half-grinned at me and I wondered if it was the dip, or if he was being a dip-shit, when he wiggled his eyebrows. I was forced to sit in the only available desk - right next to him. Was he excited that he wouldn’t be the class idiot today?

I ignored him as I dropped my bag, taking the seat -

“Ahp!”

I shouted as I felt the sharp pain on my left cheek. Bouncing out of the chair, I spun around, seeing the rest of the class turning back to me, as surprised as I was.

I’d been pinched! On my ass!

“Cody.” Mrs Bertie frowned, “It’s one thing for you to not take advantage of the learning offered here, and quite another to deprive the rest of the class from doing so.”

My tongue spasmed to explain, even as I saw Brandon’s face darken to laughter, the veins of his neck bulging as he fought to keep it in -

My eyes bulged as I realized what I'd almost said, what had almost escaped. I’d nearly tattled on accident, just to explain. Like a -

Pussy.

“Apologies, Mrs. Bertie. Class.” I nodded at them, “I left something in my pocket, it surprised me when I sat down. Please excuse the interruption.”

With that I threw myself down, slamming into my seat.

“You liked that, didn’t you.” Brandon whispered once the class had moved on with the assignment. I saw the 100% on his paper as I looked over to see what he wanted, wondering who’s homework he’d copied. Aren't I the only ace in this class? Or use to be...

I turned to him, with the same expression I always wore when I didn't know what somebody wanted from me. Blank. Empty. Unaffected.

Like when my father asked me with that same, serious voice who the strongest pokeman was...

I ignored Brandon until we had gym, and I couldn’t -

*Whistle*

Slam.

Wrestling.

Greco Roman.

And for once, just about everybody is happy to see me. It was the second week, and I was doing better, but I still didn’t have a chance against the team. Or Eddy.

*Whistle*

Slam.

Wrestling him was like trying to stop a car from crushing you after it slipped its clutch. He just slowly rolled over you -

“Alright, new partners!” Coach Clyde shouted as I lost the last of our five matches. I couldn’t even be mad, nobody tossed Eddy.

“Zelinsky and Abbot.”

My heart dropped. I knew it was coming at some point, but today? Now?

As I turned and saw that leering half grin, the stubble already scratching out before lunch and what had to be steroids. I forced myself to walk toward an open ring to meet him.

Brandon Zelinsky. State Wrestler.

Vs.

Cody Abbot. The ‘little guy.’

I saw the way his arms stretched the limits of his gym shirt, the way they were bigger then my legs. I looked down at legs bigger then my waist and remembered how easily he’d torn through the others. The way the floor shook as he took down Eddy.

The whistle blew and I charged the ring, aiming to throw my shoulder into his chest as I leaned forward. He had nearly a foot over me so even if I hadn't - his hand came down across my shoulder like a basketball, sending me plunging, too fast for me to reach his hip. I slapped the ground and tensed against the weight I knew was about to slam on top-

His hand palmed me - I was still in his grip as the weight bridged my shoulders before his chest slipped over me, I felt the bunching of my shirt as he spun around the top of me, I put my arms down like a push-up to throw - his went under my arm-pit like he'd been waiting, cupping my neck -

The Half-Nelson.

Impossible to escape, I went limp. I'd lost, and I waited for him to roll me and cinch the pin. But he didn’t -

His free hand followed my waist and I thought he was going for the Full-Nelson, even though it was banned - but his fingers hovered at my chest and stopped. And he pinched me. Again.

I grunted more in surprise than pain, as his thumb and middle found my nipple.

And I hated him. Hated him because I could feel his breath, the pumping of his lungs and heart as he rested on top of me, crushed me as much from weight and size alone, and still he used all his skill. Every advantage.

Even then he wasn't satisfied with his victory. He had to rub it in. He wasn't breathing hard from exertion. That was me. For him it was excitement.

He was having fun.

Humiliating me.

The whistle blew and he rolled off me,

“What are you doing?”

“Wrastlin.” Brandon chuckled, speaking the word like he could taste it, bloody and raw as a steak.

The whistle blew, and this time I came high throwing myself up at his chest like a cannonball, keeping my back from his palm, but he moved like a glove over a slow pitch and caught me, his arms closing around my momentum as I slapped into the palm of his chest. He squeezed me -

Out.

Lifted me up, crushing me tight to his chest, I was completely engulfed, hardly able to breath past his musky b.o and the bear hug he had me in. Before he lowered me - I struggled harder, furious when he didn't throw me, once more he stretched out my failure.

Lowering me down to the mat, my feet, then my ass hit it before he continued to push me back with his slow drive. He held me there before pulling his grip apart, his hands dragged out from behind my back, allowing my shoulders to square the mat. Allowing me to lose.

I felt his size over me. Felt his strength. At that moment I wanted his body more than anything. I wanted to know what it would feel like to be inside, to have that much power over another person, that much control.

“That’s what you like, Cody.” He whispered as the whistle blew, letting me go, “Being on the bottom.”

“What?” I asked, “Are you g-”

I woke up to the paramedics, a mild concussion, a blackening eye. And my parents picking me up, as my mom worried over me and my father made small talk with Coach Clyde.

“You don’t need to be a doctor to see that he’s fine, Jane.”

I was still in a daze as I picked up my clothes, shoving them in my gym bag, I climbed up into the back of my father’s pickup and he started driving home. Still trying to understand what exactly -

“You can’t win them all, Son.”

It was the only words he said to me the whole way home.

And for the first time, in I don’t know how long -

I was smiling. And I knew today wasn’t going to be the worst day. That it wasn’t even really that bad. As we made it home.

“I’ll get lunch started in a moment. You better put some peas on that, Cody.”

“He’s going to be -”

“Half-blind if he doesn’t ice it.” My mother interrupted with a tone that reminded us both that in a Marine’s life, there is a rank between God and General.

I went to the kitchen as my father turned on the TV, I opened the freezer just as I heard the Barr-Beep of a tornado warning that was so common around here, but the weather had looked fine this morning.

“Fuck.” My father said, causing me to swing my head.

“Charles!” My mother accused.

I said nothing, as I reached for a bag of frozen peas and instead found myself in a jungle.