He doesn't know whether he was taken advantage of because he
was beautiful, sensual and attractive.

Or because they could sense his frailty, insecurity and
weaknesses.

He wasn't sure it was what he wanted, after all.

"I'M NOT MYSELF!" he screams into the night air, legs not
quite dangling off the bridge; he's too much of a coward to
stand up and let the wind push him off, of course. He's not
that delusional.

He still loves him and it drives him mad because it's
unrequited and he doesn't know what to do or how to live his
life. He can't play that role for long periods of time
without wanting to hide in his room and curl up in that
fetal, soft position and cry his heart out. 

Hoping that one day his other half will fall down on his
knees and announce his undying love and adoration and, "No,
James, I never meant to snub you, I was hiding, I was afraid
of your father, I did'nt know if you felt the same way..."

They didn't get what they wanted, though. Too afraid to
throttle his attacker to death, because yes, James scared
half of them away and bashed the one underneath him
unconscious with a rock to his skull. So he left that one
lying there, bleeding in that alleyway; just like how they
would have left him there, bleeding in the alleyway if they
had gotten their way, bleeding but from a different wound. 

A wound that would have scarred him for life.

It's after midnight and his parents would be awake and sick
with worry; he's never been out this late without their
consent. They already know something is wrong, he can tell.

But he's not returning, just not yet. He's on the bridge,
too scared to hurtle himself over, but sickened enough to
dangle over the edge until his eyes blurred from the tears
and he couldn't see straight.

Tears that are not entirely his own. He longs for so much
and wishes this never happened to him, but

WE ARE YOUNG

WE ARE STRONG

WE'RE NOT LOOKING FOR WHERE WE BELONG

echoes in his mind and he knows he has to get through this,
knows that his parents think he is stronger than that, know
that he will get help if he chooses to accept it.

They don't know that their son thinks he's sick in the head,
that he pines for someone he shouldn't, that he just
narrowly missed getting gang-raped by the boys who spit out,
"Fag!" and "Pussy!" and left one of them lying in the alley,
the rate of his heart-rate unknown, and that's why he's not
home yet.

After a while (he doesn't know how long it has been, it
could've been days for all he knew, if it hadnt been for the
darkness that still lingered) he gets up, numbly grabbing
his shoes by the laces and hikes them over his shoulder.

His lips are blue and he has goosebumps all over his bare
arms. A split lip and what feels like a broken nose has
already stopped bleeding long ago but he can still feel the
soreness. 

He walks barefoot down the road, toes dirty but heart pure
although he knows it not.

When he sees the lights on in the kitchen, he quickly makes
a detour and cuts round the back of the house to where the
grape vines are snaking up towards his sister's window.

Climbing is easy; he's been doing it since he was 13. The
only hindrance are his tired muscles, ache-y from being
yanked and punched at before, ache-y from wrestling his way
out of malicious fingers and swinging his fists at anything
that moved, heart in his throat and the knowledge that he
might not survive this night.

The window opens before he has a chance to knock on it, and
warm hands pull him in. He's cradled in his little sister's
arms before he can even mumble an apology for getting her
plain white night shirt dirty and bloody.

She knows without asking, and together they curl up on her
bed, his head in her lap, her fingers in his hair and around
his back, holding him down while he wails like a baby, soft
but full of anguish, shoulders trembling uncontrollably.

"Early morning, steady breathes..."

In the morning, there are police cars and ambulance
surrounding the house. James is escorted out on a stretcher,
to be taken in for physical and emotional examination, and
to be questioned about the incident. 

He does not speak a word, cannot look at his parents worried
but knowing gazes, or his brothers confused frown, only hold
onto his sisters clenched hand and close his eyes.

He can't even begin to swallow the shame that burns in his
throat when he sees ~him~ there, frantic and confused and
worried beyond belief, shouting for answers, trying to get
to James, panic in his eyes.

Even though they are best friends, despite their age
differences, he knows he cant tell him. 

Not unless a miracle happens. Not unless he is healed from
his believed sickness and has the decency to look him in the
eyes and say,

"I've been in love with you since I was 15, yet I don't
expect you to love me back anymore. I'm healed."

His thighs tremble in fear and exhaustion, he hasn't really
slept that night, terrified from his parents finding him
eventually curled up in his sisters room, terrified of the
press and his whole family knowing, terrified of what the
doctors will find when they finally examine him, terrified
of the change and what will come in the future.

He can only open his mouth and

BREATHE.