Categories > Celebrities > The Used > Tales About God (Or The Closest Thing)

Chapter 4

by IeroMyHero 5 Reviews

“Don’t waste your time with that freak. He's a loser, man. He's got no friends. He’s not cool, he’s a faggot."

Category: The Used - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama,Humor,Romance - Characters:  - Warnings: [?] - Published: 2008/04/06 - Updated: 2008/04/06 - 1947 words

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Chapter 4

I was at home, on the front porch, staring blankly at the dull, white door. Blinking my eyes, I attempted to remember how I got here. Had I walked, in a shocked daze? Had I ran at top speed, feeling all the joy in the world? Had I fucking fallen off the tree? My memory refused to give up these answers. Placing a hand on my forehead and shaking my head slightly, I approached the doorbell. I pressed a finger onto it and stood, awaiting. Nobody answered immediately, but I knew for a fact that someone was home. My backpack was no longer on the ground, where I had thrown it earlier; somebody had obviously taken it indoors. Soon, that very somebody opened the door and gave me a greeting which called any happy symptoms to drain away.

It was a short nod, nothing more. No hello’s or how-are-you’s or any sort of a sound made. Just one nod which somehow held heaven’s worth of hatred...or maybe it was dismay that he felt, it sure seemed like the same thing to me. Staring into the face of my father usually caused a certain to spew out from my brain, throughout my body; humiliation. It made me feel so embarrassed to look in his eyes and realize that he thought of me as a complete failure. It was not the mere fact that he was my father, though. He wasn’t just that to me. He was my hero. Sure, some of his beliefs struck me as absurd, but nevertheless, he was a good man. I remembered wanting to be exactly like him when I was smaller. I even used to try to dress like him, stealing his shirts every now and then. Smiling slightly at the tarnished memory, I made my way inside, keeping my eyes away from my dad’s.

Quickly grabbing my backpack on the way, I darted upstairs to my room. Before flopping back-first onto the bed, I locked the door shut. Warmth welcomed me as I wrapped the sheets around my body. Thoughts of my father were soon replaced by those of Quinn. My body involuntarily shuddered, in a state of complete and utter uncertainty. I sat up, still cocooned in the bed sheets. Should I have been happy because his parents were gay? Did that mean he was gay? Did that mean there was a slight chance of him liking me? Or maybe I should have been feeling sympathetic; if the kids at school found out about his parents, he would be better off dead. But that made me feel a lot better because that way, he’d have no choice but to hang out with me. And then, I’d use my seductive skills to cast a spell over his heart and make him fall in love with me! I snorted at how far my mind was wandering. Nevertheless, I kept going; what would happen next? Would he actually...kiss me? A pleasant chill ran down my spine. It contorted into displeasure when a thought hit my mind; what if my parents caught us? I’d be bombarded with questions, called a sinner, hated even more than I already was. But at least I’d have Quinn... he’d love me. My eyes closed as I fell backwards onto the mattress, letting out a groan. This weird obsession with that blond boy was a lot more than just annoying. It was torture. I knew as I fantasized that that was all it was; a fantasy. Snuggling my face into a pillow, I shed a tear or two. No more than that though, because weariness overwhelmed the gloominess. I yawned into sleep mode.

“Robert! Open the door right now! You’re late, you’re late, you’re late!”

I moaned at the loud pounding which met my ears and swooped the covers over my head. Good fucking Lord, who the hell would have this wicked, wicked idea of interrupting my beauty sleep? I made a serious attempt to drone out the irritating voice, but ended up screaming out to oppose it.

“Five more minutes!”

I thought this was a pretty arguable bargain, considering how short five minutes were compared to how old the Earth was. Apparently, my human alarm clock begged to differ. Its shouting grew louder and louder, yelling that I was late until I was forced to unroll myself from the bed sheets. With half closed eyes, I stumbled to the door. Fumbling around with uncoordinated hands, it took a while to find the lock. Meanwhile, the pounding was becoming harsher, more anger being put into it. Muttering a few annoyed curses under my breath, I swung the door open. There stood my dear mother, face bright red with fury. I honestly worried for her health sometimes. Her stress level couldn’t possibly be good for her.

“How many times have I told you not to lock the door, Robert?” she barked.

“69,” I mumbled groggily. It was only after the number left my mouth that I found something wrong with it. If sleep hadn’t been haunting me, a laugh probably would have left my mouth.

“Don’t get smart with me, young man!” Mommy snapped, unable to find the joke, “Go get ready, you’re gonna be late for school.”

Tomorrow already? Time really did fly. I rubbed the crust out of my eyes before waddling to the bathroom, feeling like a penguin the whole time. Once at the sink, I splashed water onto my face. My face tilted upwards to stare at the mirror. I grimaced at the reflection. It failed to satisfy me every single time I looked. Quinn on the other hand—uh-oh. Something in the mirror suddenly scared the shit out of me. I squinted, trying to prove my eyesight wrong. Unfortunately, it was correct. Where had it come from? I didn’t know. It wasn’t there yesterday, but somehow...on my cheek, right there, where everyone could see it, was a red, mountainous pimple.

“No, no, no!” I chanted while washing that area of my face over and over again.

Most people could afford to have a few zits because the rest of their bodies or faces were beautiful. However, I was not like most people. The only thing I had to show off was my near-flawless skin, and if that was damaged, well...I was freaking worthless. I was nearly in tears by the time I figured out that the blemish was going nowhere. What would Quinn think of me now? My shoulders were sagged low as I continued with my morning routines. I hardly noticed what hoodie I grabbed, or if I even put on any pants. It didn’t matter. Call me overdramatic, but my life was fucking ruined.

I took heavy steps down the stairs, to the kitchen. My father sat at the table, face hidden by a newspaper. He didn’t notice, but I wished him good morning. Eyeing the clock, I saw that there was no way I’d get to school walking. Which meant one thing; I’d have to take the bus. On the inside, I was screaming, but looking towards my dad, I figured it would upset him if I did the same out loud. I’d have to distract myself. I stared at the box of oatmeal which stood proudly on the counter. My stomach did a flip, telling me that its appetite was gone. I’d have to ditch breakfast today. I left the room the grab a pair of sneakers. In a matter of minutes, I was out the door. One hand clutched the strap of my backpack while the other covered my imperfect cheek. I was determined to not let anyone see that... thing on my face.

My eyes trailed along the ground as I walked towards the bus stop. Two or three kids whom I recognized stood there, but none of them gave me a passing glance. Retreating into my hood, I waited silently for the bus to arrive. The yellow vehicle pulled up soon enough and I stepped in. The bus driver gave me a cheery smile, her green eyes twinkling. I felt like flipping her off, but I controlled myself. No need to be jealous of others’ happiness; I should have been used to it by now. I slid into a two seater and squished my face against the window. The sights soon began to blur and whiz by and I was enjoying myself until the bus came to a halt. The annoying thing about school buses was that they had to stop, like, every two seconds. However, this was not the reason why my joy was sucked away. The reason was much more predictable. Into the bus stepped Quinn. Right behind him was Chase. My palm pressed down on my cheek even harder when the two of them sat down in the seat across from me.

“Hey, it’s Bert! Hi, Bert!” Quinn greeted me merrily.

I looked his way, scowling. I hoped he would understand that if he was sitting next to Chase, he had no right to talk to me. He didn’t seem to comprehend the message I was so clearly shouting. He moved to the edge of his seat in order to speak.

“Do you remember me? It’s Quinn Allman, I met you yesterday when you were...dancing,” he flashed me a grin.

It faded away when Chase spoke, instead of me, “Quinn, why are you talking to that loser?”

I rolled my eyes at his preppy, pretty tone. I guessed Quinn understood now that he wasn’t supposed to be talking to me. I turned my head towards the window again. My attention, however, stayed with the pair across from me.

“’Cause he seems like a cool guy, do you have a problem?”

Chase didn’t seem to have a retort, “Whatever.”

The two of them started some sort of an awkward conversation about hot girls, while I sat, frozen in place. My heart was doing joyous flips. The object of my affection had just called me a “cool guy”! The corner of my mouth stretched into a smile and my hand slipped away from my face. Over confidence was probably what I was feeling, but that was good, right? Haha. Wrong.

“Are you kidding me? Jessica Alba is so much—ew, look! What’s that on his face?” Chase’s voice dripped with disgust.

My face turned hot as I hurriedly covered my zit up once more. Out of the corner of my eye, I stole a glimpse of Quinn. While his friend so rudely told him how gross I was, he was laughing. My eyebrows furrowed. He was fucking laughing at me. I sank down in my seat, trying to make myself invisible. The effort was pathetically unsuccessful. Unseen or not, I could still hear quite clearly what Chase was saying.

“Don’t waste your time with that freak. He's got no friends. He’s not cool, he’s a faggot."

My head jolted up at the derogatory term. I looked to Quinn, awaiting some sort of an angry response. Surely, he wouldn’t approve of his new friend calling somebody —anybody— a faggot. Chase was gonna get it. Quite contrarily, he stayed scornful towards me and unabashed; Quinn's expression remained amused. My heart glided up into my throat as I stared at him miserably. I felt like puking all my insides out. He was still laughing at me.


Aww, isn't Quinn being a total douche? Poor Bertie. Got any reviews for me?
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