Silence was a negatable sentence for Ace, a product of both malicious and benevolent intent. It harrowed from danger- from safety- and although sometimes difficult to deduce from which direction the permeating deafen was approaching, the teen considered himself relatively smart in his inferences. Yet, back uncomfortably tense against the dying bark of a secluded tree, fingers twitching with anticipation and freshly spurred adrenaline, he found himself conflicted. To his right sat a boy, a peer of similar age as he, with a smirk of bliss crossing his lips and hair tousled from the slight gusts that blew. The two had not spoken a word after Ace's introduction, ending their verbal communications and instead leaving a heavy silence to envelop the vicinity. It was this noiselessness that raised the hackles upon Ace's neck. He cursed himself, regretting the decision not to alienate himself further, mind conjuring scenarios of ill intent.
Certainly an ambush was oncoming- it always came. No one willingly enacted a conversation with him, the school outcast, unless there was an ulterior motive planned. Yet at the same time, no-one had ever gone so far as to request his name, and with such eagerness in their gaze to attend. Ace's eyes scoured the courtyard. Other students would have by now noticed his company, and if the boy's story was true, that he was in fact new to the area, would not appreciate Ace's involvement. There would be punishment for his actions. It did not help that the new student was male. Rumors had already accumulated in the small conservative town, attracting more attention than desired. Ultimately, the current situation was pushing the limits, dangerous beyond measure.
"So," Ace flinched, fingernails digging into the skin of his palm, the grounding method instinctual, yet if his peer noticed his actions, he did not comment. "Are you a senior?"
"Yes."
"Me too. Who's your first class with?"
"Johnson."
"He's the English professor, right?" Ace nodded, lips tightening as he noticed a girl in the distance glance his way, before twisting and whispering to the group that surrounded her. Zayn followed his gaze, a slight furrow forming between his brow. The question forming on his lips died, however, as Ace's head shook a negative. With a slight frown, Zayn slouched against the bark, the bag thrown beside him acting as a cushion against the damp trails of the early morning. "Do I even want to know?"
Ace ducked his head, a scowl twisting his features. "No."
The other teen nodded, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. He lightly cussed beneath his breath, letting out an exclamation of exhaustion. Ace chuckled, the sound foreign and dark. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, and as a means of easing the unease, he lightly ran a finger over the seam of his notebook, still hidden beneath his bag, reminding himself of its presence and security. He glanced over as the breaths emanating from his side tempered, evening into a slow, methodical pace. An eyebrow raised, surprised. Falling asleep at school had been a mistake he'd only made once, yet here was this newcomer, comfortable enough in his company to pass out with haste. Observing the hue of orange still ladening the sky, Ace reasoned that there was still a half hour before classes began, and so, in good faith, he left his peer undisturbed, choosing to instead observe the other.
Zayn was a sight of intense contentment, his features visually appealing to the eyes, of that Ace was undoubting. He assuredly could have chosen any clique to partake in, to converse and appropriate friends- yet here he sat, his presence satisfied and non-demeaning. Ace could not comprehend it, mentally, at least. His heart appeared to have conclusively reached a decision already. The teen had known crushes before, and was well aware of his sexuality, yet never before had he so desired to make something of his emotions. Perhaps it was, with all past circumstances, none of his crushes had ever expressed a sentiment of consolace back. Or perhaps he was acting too quickly, jumping to conclusions with no evidence to support. Zayn, for all intents and purposes, could merely be acting with good-intent, yet soon he too would realize the destruction and pain that followed Ace, and would leave, as had all the others. A deep exhale raced from his lungs.
Lowering his eyes, Ace allowed his vision to roam over the other. If his time was limited, then whilst able, he would relish in the scene. Wealth was blatantly not an issue for Zayn, nor his family, if the clothes he was wearing were any indication- the scent of a floral, almost feminine, detergent, had brisked the air as soon as the teen had sat, and the articles were relatively new, unscarred with tears and stains. Skin-tight blue jeans encased his lower half, highlighting the lean musculature beneath. Ace's hands tightened over the bag in his lap, an unfamiliar warmth pooling in his gut. Black, leather hiking boots ran appraisingly up to the midpoint of Zayn's calves, securely double-knotted to remain form fitting, whilst a sky-blue, oversized cotton-neck drowned his upper half. A black choker wrapped loosely around the tanned skin of his neck. The other teen's chest expanded as he sighed, and Ace moved his eyes northward.
Brown curls draped over defined cheekbones, red highlights hinted in the peaking rays of the rapidly rising sun. A pink tongue darted out to dampen chapped lips, and a light blush decorated sun-kissed skin. Ace felt his own tongue tingle, eager for a taste. Freckles dotted the space beneath Zayn's eyelids, ending in a curl beneath the creases of his sharp nose. Already he was aware of the begging golden gaze that remained hidden from his sight.
"Like what you see, faggot?"
Ace immediately stiffened, shooting up such that his back was no longer pressed against the trunk of the tree, twisting to face his approaching antagonist. Instincts called to him to stand, to meet his opponent at an even level, yet a pressing concern in his nether regions kept him seated, and, despite his harrowed nature, he was not selfish-enough to leave another teen defenseless in sleep.
"What do you want?" This time his tone was not so placid- he knew what was coming. His gaze lingered for a second on Zayn, who had twitched slightly at the noise, yet quickly resettled.
"Trying to drag the new kid down with you?" Ace didn't bother to respond- it was a waste of energy anyways. His opposition sneered at his lack, and in a swift flurry, kicked a loose pile of gravel directly into Ace's face. He flinched, scrubbing frantically at his eyes to return his vision, but an arm wrapped around his neck from behind, dragging his blind form quickly in a direction he could only assume was deeper into the trees. He grunted, letting an elbow throw backwards in hopes of striking his assailant, but Ace was instead greeted with open air, and a gut-wrenching blow to his stomach. He gagged, saliva catching in his throat. His internal monologue was cussing his momentary lapse in judgement, his willful ignorance of the truth of what could only come from his decision. Hopeful had been he, the fool.
Darkness rooted at the edges of Ace's vision as the bar of an arm around his throat tightened considerably. His feet kicked uselessly at the ground.
"Let… me go.." His growl was hoarse, pitiful, yet no more could he conjure. A dark chuckle was the only reply. Seconds later, Ace's wish was granted, his limp form tossed into damp earth. Harriedly, he scrambled to his feet, gaze blurry, but unwilling to sit whilst surrounded. And hedged was he, three silhouettes barricading his escape from all directions. Ace let a low growl build within his chest. He inhaled, words building on his lips, prepared to acquisition the trio, however, before he could utter but a syllable, a swift hook clobbed his jaw from the right. He ricocheted back, tailbone crying out as he landed upon his backside. Two pairs of hands tackled him, holding his fighting frame upon the dirt. Ace refused to go down without effort- another gut-bruising blow rendered him stagnant. In the distance, the school-bell chimed.
"Fuck-" He gagged, spluttering through a glob of blood that had trickled from his nose. No hope built in his chest of rescue- long ago had Ace realized that his survival was limited to his own ability to withstand abuse. He spurned, twisting each way and that in an attempt at escaping, societal alignment the only factor keeping him from retaliating with his own fists. Regardless of what occurred, he was never to throw a hand of his own- it was his only condition.
Words of antagonism pounded against his head, skull crushed into the splatter of debris beneath it. A roaring was building up in Ace's ears, the echo of flesh battering flesh brutal and numbing; his mind instinctively sought retreat. Escape was growing increasingly necessary.
"Oi! What do you boys think you're doing out here?" The shout sliced through the thick air, barely audible, however, to Ace's static-riddled eardrums. He stumbled onto his knees as the hands released, yet collapsed only seconds later, jaw clicking as it slammed into the dirt. A mumbled curse escaped his lips. Briefly, he heard the other teens respond to the approaching professor, their words unintelligible, before their footsteps hastened in the opposite direction, clambering up concrete stairs into the schoolhouse without a backward glance. Ace grunted.
"Davidson, that means you too!" The teen staggered as he rose, disdainfully eyeing the man before him. A slight hunch accompanied his frame, a dark bruise certainly compounding across the tender flesh of his stomach. The metallic taste of blood smeared across his lips. Indifference was his only companion.
Treading forward, a limp to his gait, Ace passed by the impassive elder, wavering by the tree where he had previously occupied a position, before hobbling up the steep entrance stairwell and ducking into the hall. His backpack had disappeared, its body absent from the tall grass, yet it was not what gave him concern. Despite the few pages stuck within the enclosed tangles of the overgrown shrubbery, the body of his notebook was nowhere to be found. A heavy lump settled in Ace's chest, fists clenching at his sides. How dearly he wished to express the collected gathering of pain that burned within his chest- the sorrow, the ire- yet future course dictated his hand, and prevented such occurrences. Screams of agony terrified the inner workings of his thorax, threatening to escape, and still Ace held them within, his face empty of all emotion. Hell hath no fury like a man miscrossed.
~~~
Students dodged from his path as Ace hobbled through the nearly empty corridors, repressing the urge within that edged him to harm and accuse. His control was, in retrospect, phenomenal, although at this school, there were few who respected such a feat, and many, who, blissfully ignorant of the danger, desired to abuse. Briefly, Ace considered Zayn, the other teen absent upon his return to the tree, and stiffened as a foreign pang pressed itself upon his chest. He hoped, with knowing falsehood, that Zayn had perhaps not witnessed his beating- for such an accusation would mean that, just as had all the others, the teen had left him alone to defend himself. Ace scrubbed at a drop of blood that trickled down his upper lip. Glancing into the reflective glass of a trophy case, pausing momentarily to gaze at the horrific, yet prevalent, reflection that greeted his focus, he shunned into the confines of a rarely-used teachers' restroom.
The sink soon stained red and brown, clumps of leaf litter and mud smearing across the marbled surface, only to seconds later wash down the drain out of sight. Ace peered at himself in the mirror. Already a purplish-hue was circling the skin of his left eye, blackening in the crevices of his socket, and a cut across his left cheek, probably the result of a nail crossing his flesh, was halting in its flow of sanguine fluids. He groaned, knowing he would have to sneak into the nurse's office later for some bandages, lest he desire an infection to settle. The pain had only just begun to make its presence known, adrenaline settling, and Ace stumbled as his chest burned with each passing breath.
Tenderly, movements sluggish and careful, Ace stripped the fabric of his shirt from his torso, throwing the clothing into the sink and letting the tap water wash through its knitting.
With a flat palm, he pressed against the lower side of his ribcage, wincing when a flare spurred at the action, and grunted as the pain settled into a minor burn. There was no method of telling as to the condition of his bones without seeking out medical advice, and, knowing that that was in no way a possibility, Ace strung out his shirt over the air vent, letting it dry with the heat, and switching off the water.
Bare-backed, the teen let himself collapse against the tiled floor, eyes drifting to a close as the ceiling spun sickeningly above. His ears had yet to cease their ringing, and Ace was decidedly conclusive about the possibility of a concussion. He would need to be extra careful from here on out, lest any others grow bold in his harrowed state.
The late bell would have most assuredly rung by now, allocating the punishment of any students caught outside of classrooms without hallpasses, but Ace could not bring himself to give any care. Instead, he relaxed, body unstiffening slowly as it recognized the signs of safety. Teens would be hard pressed to commit such pain whilst in the presence of professors, who, even though they were lame at stepping in, were construed to documents that gave them retribution if they did not act accordingly in the face of bullying. Mind running on high alert, Ace chuckled humorlessly.
"What a shit world…"
Half an hour passed in such a way, the teen undisturbed from his position upon the ground. How dearly he would have loved to spend the day there, alone with his own thoughts, free from the cruel glares and harshly spoken words of his peers. For a second, he considered skipping the day, yet such an action would raise too many degrees of suspicion; Ace would not have been surprised if the principal had not already noted his absence- although, for him, missing the first hour was not uncommon, to date. Although, who they would call…
Memories crashed down upon Ace, and he groaned as his eyes dampened significantly, rubbing at his face with a single forearm. An orphan, made so only hours after his birth due to the ill-will of an all-promising god, the teen had grown up passed between foster families, each content to provide for him only so much as their stipend deemed necessary. Ace was no stranger to hand-me-downs and cast-away donations. It had been two and a half years to date from when he had first run from the Washingtons, his last and longest-lasting family- if such a title could suit such people.
The Washington household had been quite lovely at first, and whilst the government had entertained weekly and monthly visits to assume the wellbeing of Ace, things had progressed without complaint. It was when the visits ceased that a true nature was revealed. Bill Washington, comfortably in his forties, had been a struggling lawyer since the 60s, his sole purpose for employment the idea of substantial wealth and degree- a point for which his wife was highly invested. Yet depression had onset quickly, after the loss of their first child through miscarriage, and the failures of two intermediate cases which would have prompted reputable characteristics. The romantic, gold-digging duo soon found themselves without a sourceable income. In desperate hopes, disparaging over the idea of losing their upper-classed lodgings, the two had decided to foster, keeping up the act of doting caregivers until absolutely necessary. Food and clothes had been provided to Ace in much larger quantities than ever previously noted, and the agency responsible for his care, deciding that this was a sign of good intent, had left him to defend for himself rather quickly. How wrong they had been in their assumptions.
Shaking his head, Ace sat up. He no-longer lived with the Washington family, yet their address and phone numbers were stored securely in the school's administrative facility, offered as make-shift substitutes to satisfy records. As it seemed, both parties were content to keep the notion that Ace no longer lived upon their premises quiet.
Throwing his shirt, still slightly damp, yet comfortably heated now, over his head, Ace stood, running a hand through the dripping locks of his hair. A final check in the mirror assured him that his features, while not quite clean, were presentable enough for the school not to raise complaint. He winced as he neared the door, deciding that now was as good a time as any to join his peers in their learning. Unhinging the bolt, Ace stepped out of the restroom, stiffening as a towering silhouette awaited his exit..
Before him, head hunched, stood Zayn, an appearance of equal shock gracing his features as he took in the teen. At his full height, standing heel to heel, it was obvious that Zayn maintained a sturdy foot above Ace, and with the ways in which his eyes narrowed, the figure was imposing himself impressively. Certain that, at this point, Zayn would have been made aware of his reputation and sexual alienator, Ace twisted upon his heel, swiftly limping in the direction of his class. He had no desire to listen to more abuse. The shouts that followed Ace's exit were ignored, their volume decreasing the further away he moved. It was a surprise then when, without notice, a hand spun his body around, desperate and pleading eyes begging him not to run.
"Ace, wait."
The teen gaited back, confused and cautious, and, without a word of farewell, fled. He only subconsciously realized, as he slowed to a halt in front of his homeroom door, the presence of a familiar looking backpack and notebook, clutched with the slender fingers of Zayn, that had been staring ominously up at him.