I looked right and left. Breathing hard, feeling a bruise forming on my cheek as I walked down the dark street. Pulling my hood over my head, I tried to cover what was developing. Taking a deep breath to gather myself, I walked faster down the street.

Taking a few turns down the winding blocks, I eventually got close enough to hear a faint sound. Internally sighing in relief, I picked up my pace, almost jogging towards the house. After hearing nothing but occasional passing cars, the party music was welcome.

All those annoying, stupid emotions without words could finally slip away into the music. I plastered a smile on my face and walked through the door of the house. Teenagers crowded the single-story house. Music I didn't know blasted from seemingly everywhere, the smell of alcohol and smoke hit me like a truck. I struggled not to step back outside and get fresh air.

I came here for this. To get away from all the silence and constant darkness that accompanied my every move.

I walked through the clusters of kids trying to find the punch stand. Even though I'm at a party doesn't mean I'll dance or talk to anyone. Seeing the punch bowl, I carefully took a small drink to be sure it wasn't spiked. Seeing that it was, I threw my cup away and walked around, searching for the kitchen.

Thankfully, most teenagers decided that being closer to the speakers in the living room was a better plan, so only a handful of people were in the kitchen. Grabbing a disposable cup, I tried ignoring the other kids in the room. Unfortunately, I noticed some of them were jocks.

Why couldn't they just go out and dance like all the other kids at the party?

Probably trying to find someone to beat up.

I inwardly sighed when I realized that the perfect person to beat up would be me: the loner, friendless kid in the back. I just wished they would allow me a few seconds to get a drink of water before they made me spit out blood.

I'm a pretty unlucky guy, so they chose the exact moment that they realized I wouldn't be missed or cared about to come up to me.

I groaned, internally of course, why me? I came to this party to get away from all the beatings, not go and get another one. But I resigned myself to the inevitable as they got in my personal space.

"Hey kid, come with anyone tonight?" Jock #1 asked. He was tall, muscly, and had brown hair that stood straight up like an upside-down broom. His clothes were all wrinkly, and his blue t-shirt had some punch stains.

"Nope," I nonchalantly responded. Trying not to show my exasperation to Leave. Me. Alone.

Jock #1 looked at his friend in the yellow t-shirt, grinning at each other. I sighed and decided to feed into whatever game they wanted to play so I could get this over with.

"Why? Did you need something?" I tried my best to sound like I cared, maybe a bit happy go lucky if these guys were stupid enough.

Jock #2 nodded, his amber hair flopping around his head in curls. " Yep, if you would follow us."

Gods, they must think I'm stupid.

," Actually no, I was taught not to go to random places with strangers. And I think Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum both classify as strangers," Shit, I didn't mean to say that so snarkily. Oh well, now this means I'll just be extra bloody and probably be roughhoused out to the back.

The two jocks' faces turned sour. Jock #1 grabbed my arm roughly. I almost yelped in pain as he pressed on the new cuts I received last night. He dragged me out of the kitchen and weaved us through the hallways. Jock #2 kept an eye on me, following close behind.

When we reached the back door, Jock #1 opened it, letting in the fresh night air. I took a deep breath, probably the last good one I'll get for a while. Then I was pulled hard out the door, and I slammed onto the concrete, knocking the wind out of me.

I lay there, gaping like a fish as I tried to catch my breath. I heard the door shut behind me. As I slowly inhaled a small breath, a kick sent it right back out. Someone grabbed my hair and pulled me up. I sucked in a breath and gritted my teeth as he threw my head back against the brick wall behind me.

I felt myself sliding down the wall as two rough hands grabbed me by my armpits. Hoisting me up, my head lolled to the side as I tried my hardest to focus on what was happening. Suddenly I felt it, punches directed at my torso and face as I slowly tried to concentrate on staying conscious and breathing. Thankfully the two jocks must've realized how hard it was to beat someone up with two people and went back into the house.

I grinned to myself. I stayed conscious, my breathing isn't too labored, and I can still move," Amateurs," I said softly to myself.

Unfortunately, I spoke too soon.

The two jocks came back out with three other guys, more jocks, I'm guessing. They all stink of alcohol or smoke, or both.

At least, I was able to breathe a bit.

Then once they had gotten all situated, by this, I mean two people holding me still and upright, the beating started again. However, this third guy had a much better punch than the other two. I could feel the blood in my mouth after just one of his fists.

Bad thing, he liked punching—a lot.

Good thing I came late to the party, so they only had around an hour to beat me up.

Bad thing, jocks don't care how late it gets.

Good thing, the three that came out to help had girlfriends, and they wanted to go home after the party ended.

The two jocks remaining scowled at me as I laid as a heap on the floor. After the other three left, they had taken to either slamming me into the wall repeatedly or kicking me while they switched off.

As they gave a few more kicks into my bruising ribs, they turned and walked off. I laid there, wheezing. At least it's not quiet. But sadly, the thing making the noise is my ragged breathing.

Alright, stop being a baby, you got beat up, so what, get over it.

I chuckled to myself, which just sounded like a strangling noise as I tried to stand up. Assessing where the pain was as I stood.

Ok arms, legs, torso, and a killer headache. Great now, I don't have to remember what hurts because everything does. Always got to look on the bright side, right? Wrong, now I'm going to go home and most likely be subjugated to another beating.

Oh well, that's the life.

I leaned against the wall as I dragged myself out to the side of the house down an alleyway beside it. Once I got to the street, I stood up as straight as possible and walked towards my house. Trying not to wince every time my feet hit the floor.

Eventually, and I mean, eventually, I got to my house. I tried the knob. Seeing that it was locked and I left my house key in my room in my haste to leave, I was stuck.

I took a deep, shuddering breath. Gabe was probably waiting for me right inside the door. There was no escaping this. However, there was a chance that he was asleep, drunk. No, my luck doesn't work like that; it never has. No use getting my hopes up.

I looked at the door, steeled myself, and just before I could rap my knuckles, the door swung open, and a meaty hand grabbed me by the neck, pulling me inside. I heard the door slam, but I didn't acknowledge it, seeing that Gabe was clutching my throat so hard I knew there would be bruises in the morning.

That is if there is a morning.

My eyes bulged as Gabe slammed me against the wall. Still unable to breathe, my vision started to dance. I clawed at his hand desperately, though I knew my attempts were becoming sluggish. Black spots danced through my eyes as I struggled to take in oxygen. Suddenly I was slammed to the floor, knocking out anything that was left in my lungs.

Good thing, this caused Gabe to let go of my neck.

Bad thing, I got the wind knocked out of me for the second time tonight and couldn't bring oxygen in even though I was completely able now.

It took a few more precious seconds for my lungs to work again. I took a few breaths coughing a bit to hide the yelps of pain that would have escaped from using my bruising ribs. Then fear made my throat clench. Where was Gabe?

He never left this early in the beating.

Then I saw him. Guzzling down a beer bottle. In the kitchen. A mere ten feet away.

I almost couldn't breathe again. But I forced myself to take breaths, enjoy the oxygen when it came freely.

I leaned my back up painfully against the wall. I knew that if I left now, things would be transferred to my mom. I couldn't allow that. I had to continue this dangerous dance however long it took.

I took one last deep breath as I saw Gabe walk up to me. His walk was fast for a drunk and instantly filled me with dread and fear. I stood up shakily; showing weakness was a sure-fire way of getting worse treatment.

I looked at Gabe and tried to swallow all my emotions raging inside of me. Then he swung his bottle up and broke it against my left shoulder. I bit my lip to keep the scream of pain in, drawing blood. Then taking the rest of the unbroken bottle, he pushed it up against my torso, right underneath my ribs. You know that section people say your diaphragm is, and there's this really lovely curve up in your ribs right there. Yeah, that's where he put the bottle.

But there's no such thing as the BandAid treatment with Gabe when he does something like this. No, he takes the Slow-and-Steady-Wins-the-Race approach. So instead of shoving the bottle into my skin, maybe an inch or two deep. He takes the liberty to push me against the wall and slowly press it further into my body. I was biting my tongue now. I couldn't hold my scream in as he continued. He grinned evilly, and after what felt like an eternity of feeling the bottle slowly enter where it wasn't supposed to go, he gave it one last push and walked back into the kitchen.

I gasped. Not a good idea.

I looked around for any sign of Gabe. I almost sighed in relief when I saw in the next room that he had laid on the couch and wasn't moving. But then I remembered the bottle, literally constricting my breathing.

I took the hoodie I had tied around my waist and out a sleeve in my mouth. Then I grabbed the top part of the bottle and closed my eyes. Unlike Gabe, I knew that the only way to get things over and done with was to stop being a baby and do the BandAid treatment.

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't wrap my head around it. So I tried to stand back up. Pushing against the wall for support, I staggered down the hallway to the bathroom. Opening the door, I closed and locked it behind me.

I walked over to the toilet and sat down. Then placing the hoodie back into my mouth, I took as deep of a breath as I could, held it, and quickly grasped the bottle, ripping it out. A strangled cry erupted from my mouth, thankfully muffled by the jacket.

Blood started running down my stomach in heaps. I carefully took off my shirt, wincing as my ribs and everything else moved. I pulled open the nearest drawer and took out the first aid kit.

Before placing the bandages, I quickly wet my shirt and whipped my bloody spots. Then I wrapped the bandages as best I could around my torso. Then taking a pair of tweezers, I got to work on my shoulder. Thankfully, Gabe was right-handed, so he hit my left shoulder with the bottle instead of my right. Which would have been inconvenient because then I'd have to take the glass out with my non-dominant hand.

Compared to the half-sized bottle in my gut, these tiny ones were not nearly as bad. By the time I got a large majority of them out, I had wrapped my entire shoulder. I decided not to take the tiny ones out; they would come out when they were ready.

I put my wet, bloody shirt back on, put the first aid kit away, and trudged to my room across the way. Closing my door behind me, I breathed a painful sigh of relief as I hit the pillows. When I realized I have school tomorrow, I groaned, don't get me wrong, I love anytime away from Gabe. But school was still school, and just like tonight, I get bullied there.

Thankfully the jocks can't hit or think of anything as twisted as Gabe, so I get only around a 5 on the pain scale at school. But if that other jock starts being a regular, it might amp up to a 7. I sighed. I really hoped I didn't have weekend homework.