Broken Bully

Length: Short story
Rating: PG-13 (swearing, underaged drinking)
Tags: one-shot, boyxboy, gay, romance, teenagers, high school, sweet

Description:
Bruce Randol is a bully who terrorizes gays. But what no one knows is that he's broken—until one boy sees him at his most vulnerable and discovers he's not broken: he's beautiful.

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I stood in front of the bar my brother worked at, feeling a little apprehensive. I hated places like this, and besides, at 15 I didn’t really belong here, but my brother Clive took my house key this morning and if I didn’t get it back I was doomed to sleep on the sidewalk or some similarly inappropriate place tonight.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the noisy, smoke-filled interior. My eyes needed a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness, but all I could think of was how to get in and out as quickly as possible, so I plunged ahead, assuming that the space in front of a door should be clear of obstacles.

I realised the flaw in my logic a split second too late when I crashed into something that didn’t seem too steady to begin with, and stumbled into a table.

“Ouch! Shit! Fuckin–”

I heard prolific swearing and the sounds of a struggle, and saw that I had inadvertently pushed a guy into a stash of furniture. I reached out to help him up, but he was too busy fighting off chairs and tablecloths to notice, so I waited for him to right himself with considerable effort. The girl that stood on his other side, who had on too much make-up and not enough clothes, seemed more than happy to let him struggle through his misfortunes alone.

When he finally got vertical again, my heart sank into my shoes. It was Bruce Randol, a jock and bully who went to my school. He was two years my senior, which was probably the only reason I’ve managed to mostly avoid his personal brand of harassment. He hated, as he so eloquently put it, geeks, freaks and fairies, and took great pleasure in making their lives a living hell. Since I definitely fell in at least two of those categories, it was in my best interest to get out of here now.

I mumbled an apology to no one in particular and hurried past the girl. She had already resumed her argument with him, yelling obscenities and stomping her feet. Apparently she was breaking up with him, and within minutes she stormed off and left him shellshocked and close to tears in his drunken state.

Well, whatever. I wanted nothing to do with Bruce, so I promptly forgot about him and hurried to where I could see Clive pouring drinks behind the bar.

Two club sodas and a generous helping of peppermint schnapps later (Clive insisted!) I finally managed to get my key from him and hurried outside to my car. Where I almost tripped over Bruce for the second time in one night.

He sat with his back against my front tyre, a beer dangling between two fingers, staring unseeingly into the distance. He appeared to be lost in some kind of drunken sorrow. As much as I’d like to avoid him, talking to him has suddenly become a necessary evil.

“Uh, hi, Bruce. Can you get up please? I need to leave.”

Either he didn’t hear me, or he ignored me. I walked up to him and waved my hand a few times in front of his face.

“Bruce, I’m sorry that your life sucks right now, but I need to get home. There are plenty of other cars you can lean against…”

“I was so fucking close,” he mumbled and swung his beer sideways, spilling half of it on his leg.

“Oh-kay, that’s my cue,” I said hurriedly, but he grabbed my hand before I could move away.

“She left me. I’m broken, that’s why everyone leaves.” A heart wrenching sob tore through his body and I hesitated. He didn’t look like an asshole right now. On the contrary, he looked like a sad, lost boy who needed someone to save him.

I shook my head hard to dislodge those thoughts, but they wouldn’t go away. Clive called it my Mother Theresa complex, this inexplicable need to take care of strays, orphans and lost causes. I couldn’t help it. Even now, despite knowing what an abhorrent human being he was, I found myself kneeling down next to him.

“Let me take you home,” I said and held out my hand. He just stared at it, then at me.

“I don’t know where you live,” he slurred. I snorted despite myself.

“I’m taking you to your home, not mine silly. Come on, I don’t have all night.”

I heaved his frame up and staggered under the weight as I helped him into my car, making sure the beer bottle stayed outside. Bruce didn’t seem too perturbed that a stranger was loading him into a car; in fact, he didn’t seem to be aware of anything. He was muttering voicelessly to himself, tugging at his shirt every few minutes.

“So, where do you live?”

Nothing.

“Bruce, I need your address. Bruce?”

He was completely unresponsive. That posed a bit of a problem.

“God dammit Bruce!”

Sigh. Why was I helping this asshole again?

I snapped my fingers in front of his face, and he slowly turned tear-filled eyes towards me. Oh man, talk about a secret weapon. Suddenly all my anger evaporated at the sight of those saline drops running down his cheeks. I pulled off the road and used a handkerchief to wipe his face, then grossed out a little when he also took the liberty to blow his nose in it.

“Where do you live Bruce?” I asked gently. He stared at me for a moment like he didn’t understand the question.

“In a house. No, in a flat. Wait,” he suddenly giggled, then grew somber. “In a box. I live in a giant box.” He held his pose for a second before he burst out in more giggles. I was on the verge of getting angry again, but you know what? He was actually quite cute when he was drunk. I think I really liked this side of Bruce Randol.

“Okay Bruce, lets go home.” I checked his safety belt, then drove home. My home.

I quickly opened the front door before going back to the car to help him out. By now he was practically catatonic, and it took all of my strength and a good dose of stubborn to drag him into my bedroom. Thank god the house I shared with my brother was a small single-story, and he won’t be home till tomorrow afternoon.

I stared at the boy who was now sleeping peacefully on my bed. He reeked of beer, looked like shit and had dried tear stains on his face and shirt. It was a beautiful sight.

I tenderly wiped his hair back from his face, then took off his shoes and shirt. I considered removing his pants, but decided against it, just in case the old Bruce returned in the morning. Anyway, he was considerably bigger than I was, so none of my clothes would fit him.

His face was smoothed out and relaxed for a change, and it made him look so innocent. I felt the strangest feeling in the pit of my stomach as I pulled a blanket over him. My fingers brushed against his bare skin, and the feeling in my stomach spread till all I could do was stare at this beautiful creature, my hands resting softly on his neck as I felt the strong pulse under my fingers.

After a few minutes of just drinking him in, I quickly undressed myself, brushed my teeth and settled in the chair in the corner of my room. It was by no means comfortable, but I quickly drifted off to sleep anyway.

* * *

Some loud noise woke me and I sat up with a start. My eyes slowly focused on the large shape on my bed that was covered by a blanket and the events of last night slowly started to trickled back.

Bruce was still out cold, and every now and then he gave a loud snore—that was probably the sound that woke me.

I got up stiffly and took a shower before going to the kitchen. He would probably be dehydrated and hungry when he finally woke up, not to mention hung over.

An hour later I heard feet shuffle down the hall before he appeared in the doorframe, disheveled and disorientated. His hair stood up in all directions and his face was shadowed by morning stubble. He looked absolutely delectable.

“Good morning,” I said softly and pushed a glass of water and two aspirin towards him. He took it without a word, then slumped into a chair where he cradled his head forlornly.

I put a plate with eggs, bacon, sausage and baked beans in front of him. He took it, but instead of eating he just frowned at me.

“I don’t remember much,” he said, his voice still husky from sleep. “I remember fighting with Angela, but…” He hesitated and I swear he blushed. “Did we… You and I, did we…” He struggled with that thought for a few moments before he looked at me helplessly.

I was speechless. He thought we had sex! This was revealing on so many levels, so I decided to see where it will go.

“You and I? Yes, yes indeed. Eat your food, it’s getting cold.”

He blanched a little, then speared a small piece of sausage that he chewed slowly.

“Fuuuck.” He drew out the word into one long, dark syllable as he considered my answer. I carefully watched as different emotions flitted across his face. After what felt like a decade, he seemed to finally settle on resignation before he looked at me.

“Was I any good?”

I choked on my bacon and grabbed the closest glass of water which happened to be his. He waited while I laboriously swallowed down my surprise. Wow, talk about unexpected.

“Yes you were.”

He looked momentarily relieved, but that quickly turned into discomfort.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t remember anything. I guess…” he shuffled on his seat and glanced nervously around the kitchen. “I guess I could make sure I’m sober next time.”

I gaped at him with my mouth open. “I thought you hated geeks, freaks and fairies,” I finally managed.

He cringed a little. “Yeah. About that. I thought Angela would cure me, but I guess it’s too late now. I’m already broken.” He slumped in his chair where he looked so sad that I was by his side within seconds, cradling his face gently.

“Bruce, homosexuality is not a disease,” I said softly, “and you’re not broken. If anything,” I looked intently into his eyes so he could see how serious I was, “last night I saw you for the first time as a real, whole human being.”

He tried to pull back from my touch, but I wouldn’t let him. He clearly needed to hear this. “Last night you were beautiful. You still are beautiful, right now, right here.” I swallowed when I saw his eyes start to shimmer. “And, we didn’t sleep together. You were too drunk to tell me where you live, so I let you sleep in my bed while I slept on a chair. Nothing happened.”

He frowned and jerked away. “You lied to me?”

I sighed loudly and put my hand on my hip. “Bruce, before last night, you were an obnoxious, selfish, bullying bastard who derived pleasure from the suffering of others, especially gays. Can you honestly say that my small lie is even a drop in the ocean compared to your reign of terror?”

He glared at me for a moment before he looked away. “I guess…” He swallowed audibly and fidgeted. “So… you think I’m beautiful?” he asked shyly.

I smiled. “Yes, most definitely.”

“Can we change that to something more masculine? Like, handsome?”

I rolled my eyes indulgently. “You are also very handsome, Bruce, but those two things aren’t the same thing.”

“You think I’m handsome?” he smirked and took a step towards me.

I lifted one eyebrow, then the other when he closed the gap and pinned me against the counter.

“Yesss,” I said distractedly as his lips slowly descended towards mine.

Then he kissed me long and hard and all I can say is that this time he definitely remembered everything.

<<< THE END >>>

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