Hooing the Hocey Player

Howdy, this is the fifth chapter of a story between consenting male adults who do not resemble anyone that I know of either living or deceased. I, Artie, retain all rights to the story. Again, there is some violence in this chapter, not gratuitous but present. Please do not follow examples set by these characters. This chapter is a little different in tone. A simple reminder that each chapter is written in one night when I can't sleep so there is no editing to be seen. I love your comments and private feedback, Artie.

Running five miles through blinding tears is not a fun activity. Racking sobs threw off my breathing rhythm and deep sadness made each step away from Owen painful. I felt the weight of my decision and the weight of my running bag and my back pack all making lying on the ground in sorrow seem more appealing.

I could see from the street that my house was empty, no lights illuminated the windows. I got no further than the entryway collapsing on the floor of the hallway against my front door. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I gave in to the sadness that threatened to overtake me.

I knew that I could have abated my misery, this was self-imposed. I had made this decision and now I would have to live with it. Five long years of being alone had not prepared me for this, two weeks of smiles, affection, and intimacy had made the loss all the more powerful.

People could say that teenagers are melodramatic and I'm sure we are, but I hadn't just lost a piece of myself; I had to carve it out myself. Worse still Owen didn't even know that we were done; I would have to break that to him as it was breaking me.

I heard my phone buzz twice, a text. No one else would text me, my parents would have left me a note or sent me an email. Neither of them were exactly tech-savvy. Matt would have been either asleep or blazed so he wouldn't text me. I was sad to note that no one else really had reason to be in touch with me—except him.

I stared at the glowing display, it mocking me that I would have to be strong when weakness would be easier. I had two unread messages. The first from 6:34 read: Forgot I was skating this morning. Didn't want to wake you. I'll be back around 9:30.

I wanted to smile at the difference between grouchy Owen and the one that had just texted me now fully awake and in a much better mood but smiles seemed far from feasible. The second message read: I was hoping you would still be in bed when I got back. I had all sorts of plans... Did my dad take you home?

I slid my phone away from me, not responding. I don't know how long I sat in the foyer but when my back started cramping I finally got up. I spent the day in bed doing homework. The silence was only punctuated by two more texts spaced throughout the day. I didn't respond to either: What are you up to? Want to hang out? Or his later text: Just checking in... Want to chat later?

I had just gotten back from a long run on Sunday when my music cut off in lieu of a phone call. Owen. I knew that I was being a jerk, just not responding to his texts wouldn't solve anything. I had not responded to a good morning text or a suggestion that we do homework together. It seemed that Owen was done being ignored and yet, that's what happened.

I let the call go to voicemail but realized that he would be over to pick me up for school the next day so I shot him a text: I'm going to drive myself tomorrow.

His response was almost immediate: Okay... Why? His message did not receive an answer. I knew that Owen would not be dissuaded by me not answering text messages. He was far too willful for that to be the case.

In truth I felt awful, I knew I was being rude by not responding to him but I couldn't tell him we were done over the phone or worse in a text. And texting him all weekend just to break up with him in person seemed unnecessarily cruel.

I felt even worse on Monday when I walked into English class a little late and chose a seat in the front between two girls who looked at me like I had a contagious disease. My usual seat beside Owen sat empty.

I couldn't shake off the feeling that Owen was staring at the back of my head all class. I had difficulty paying attention all class as well. I practiced what I would say to him, something about us both being too busy for anything and I couldn't be just friends so we should just be nothing. My speech all rehearsed, I wimped out the second the bell rang. I was out the door like a light, using my considerable speed to my advantage I raced through the halls ahead of him.

I avoided him for the rest of the day, ducking around corners when I thought I saw him. He was such a big presence on campus that hiding from him was relatively easy especially because I had a history of blending in.

My diversion tactics worked up until Tuesday after cross country practice. Hauling my bags over my still sweaty form, planning on just showering at home, I stopped dead in my tracks when I got to the parking lot. Arms crossed over his chest, Owen leaned against my car. No evasions would work this time. I was going to have to talk to him. Deep steadying breaths weren't enough to stop the panic and sadness that came from seeing him, also the deep longing.

"Are you going to talk to me?"

"Owen, I have to go." I was being a pussy but talking to him hurt. Everything about him looked good. He was still the man I would dream up for myself. His musky smell reached me and I just wanted to collapse into his arms. Being in his presence just made me want to be weak but I had to be strong for him.

"Wanna tell me why you're ignoring me?" He pulled out one of his Owen-isms scrubbing his hand through his hair scattering the thick waves. "Did I do something wrong?"

He looked so desolate that I forgot myself, "No, you didn't do anything wrong," I exclaimed emphatically.

"Then what's happening? I came home expecting you to still be in my bed, which you had just fucked me on if you remember. You weren't there, I go ask my dad if he dropped you off. No, you literally ran away." He spoke harshly, seething in my betrayal. I reddened at his accurate summation of just ditching him. "And now you're just icing me, I don't understand."

This was the time. Just ignoring him, hoping he would go away had been cowardly, "I can't do this Owen. We can't be in a relationship." His face looked disbelieving so I bolstered myself on the fact that it was for him, "I don't want to be in a relationship. We're both too busy and too different. I don't want you, so just leave me alone."

He looked like I had sucker punched him, pain welled in his eyes and he looked smaller like pain was pushing him low. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and said quietly, "I don't know what I did but I'm sorry for it. I'll leave you alone." Owen turned away, shoulders hunched.

I felt a literal pain in my chest as my heart broke watching him walk away. I had been deluding myself that if we just fizzled out not talking it would be easier. No way of losing Owen would be easy.

The intermittent week was lifeless. I had experienced friendship, and affection and maybe though I was loathe to admit it maybe a little bit of love and now it was all gone. I spoke to nearly no one, had little interaction with my parents. I was sure that people could see the metaphorical rain cloud hovering over me and knew to stay away.

Everyone stayed away, much to my surprise I saw Liam and Kyle several times but all they did was mutter a slur or two and walk away. I noted Gregory's eyes tracking me a few times but he never came over to me. In that sense it was an easy week, a blissful oasis of not getting beaten up.

But even without physical violence, I wasn't doing well. I wasn't sleeping well, blue circles started to emerge from beneath my puffy blood-shot eyes. I wasn't doing anything well really. Running had been a valve for me, but I had been running so hard that my shins were starting to feel like I had shin splints. I was pushing myself to the brink of exhaustion but then would lie awake at night with my brain still not exhausted enough to wonder what Owen was doing. Was he missing me as much as I was missing him?

He moved away from our usual spot in English, he now sat in the back with the popular kids and the athletes. He looked better there, though I saw that he wasn't looking at peak condition. I felt his eyes on me several times and we seemed to trade baleful gazes but nothing was said. There was nothing to say.

I was even having a hard time jerking off, knowing how amazing sex was made relief with my hand so meager. I mean, I still jerked it: male teen with raging hormones and all, but I was not pleased about it.

It was Wednesday, a week and two days after ending things with Owen when my reprieve from harassment ended. I ascribe all the guilt to my sleeplessness, my usual level of alertness for danger was exceedingly low when I get tired. My exhaustion allowed for Kyle and Gregory to sneak up on me—well it was more of a strutting walk but for the sake of my feelings, I'll pretend they were sneaky about it. In any event, they were upon me before I could even think of evading.

Seeing Gregory's stupid, ugly face only made me feel bone tired. When were they going to be over this shit? Five years of abuse hadn't been enough for them, it just blew my mind they weren't bored of this yet. I was.

Kyle grabbed my back pack and my running duffle from my shoulders and threw them aside. I groaned when I imagined the bill if my laptop screen had cracked. My parents really did think I had two left feet and just dropped my computer all the time. Kyle's deep sensuous voice could have been put to so many better uses but instead he crowed, "Where's your bodyguard faggot?"

Fear for Owen burst through me, of course they had drawn the connection between us. I could only hope that these assholes fell for the just friends act. They weren't Nobel laureates so I had a little hope. No way that Owen Holt, veritable hockey god, was a fag.

Anxiously ruminating over the bodyguard comment I missed their no doubt witty banter. I did, however catch the punch to my eye. Agony spread from my eye, swelling closed almost immediately. The force of the blow knocked me on my ass, my head cracking to the side. Tears started to well up on my non-injured eye from the pain but I blinked them back. I doubted they would be moved by my tears and I certainly wasn't going to indulge them.

I knew that I was going to be sporting one hell of a shiner for several days. Feeling blessed that Kyle wasn't wearing a ring when he punched me, I laid on the ground looking small hoping that they would take their victory and leave me to lick my wounds. No such luck.

Gregory's greasy hand yanked my head up by the front of my hair; I could almost hear my follicles scream. His fist collided with my mouth like a freight train. I was again knocked to the ground.

Gregory wasn't satisfied with that; I'm sure his adolescent days were spent burning ants with magnifying glasses. Through my good eye, I saw his ridiculous wind up. There's no way to tense your muscles to minimize damage when someone is kicking your ribs. I was glad I had been lifting, at least then something was covering my ribs. Over and over again Gregory kicked me, covering my entire torso. Throbbing pain encapsulated my body but I didn't give in.

This was who I was to them, a victim. That's all they saw me as, some person to beat up. This was nothing. I smiled at how impotent this all was. What could they take from me that I had not already lost? Eventually I would graduate and move away but they would still be the same bullies they always were.

I grinned. Blood from where my lip had been cut stained my teeth red; this was nothing. They were nothing. This was my

Fight Club

moment. I wasn't going to do the whole maniacal laughing and shaking blood thing but I was above their bullshit. Anything they threw was going to be nothing compared to the misery I was already feeling. Kyle's face dropped into astonishment as he saw my taunting smirk as the blows continued to fall. As I woozily smiled, pure fear passed over Kyle's face.

Kyle shot a hand out and grabbed Gregory's shoulder pulling him away from me. Adrenaline coursed through me but the icy tendrils of pain warred with it and I feared I would pass out. My vision grew hazy around the edges and I hoped they wouldn't continue if I did black out.

I came back fully to myself slowly and blissfully alone. My adrenaline rush had left my body cold, carefully pushing to a stand. I crept over to my duffle and found my water bottle. I swished the water around my mouth and spat onto the grass repeating until the water ran mostly clear.

I felt different as I carefully walked down to the locker rooms, like somehow I had won that battle. I'm sure any boxing tournament wouldn't have lauded me as the winner but I outlasted them and more than that, Kyle looked scared.

Matt's easy smile dropped when he saw me, "Fuck dude. You look really not okay."

I smiled half-heartedly through my swollen lip, "I'm fine Matt." I threw my stuff into an open locker, grimacing at the agony of my chest. I clearly wasn't going to be running but going home to an empty house wasn't appealing. I could use something to deaden the pain and honestly I was at the end of my rope, "Got your vape on you?"

Matt's normally cherubic face held a mix of uncertainty and discomfort, "I think you need some real medicine bro. Have you seen your face?"

Dutifully, I swung around to the wall of mirrors. I'd looked better that's for sure. My eye was already staining and on top of the fat lip, there was a bleeding cut running alongside my mouth. They had never targeted my face before, so the damage was more obvious but this wasn't worse than the dislocated shoulder. That had actually required medical attention. I peeled up my shirt and Matt audibly gasped.

"Jake, I think you should go to the nurse's office or like the hospital." Objectively, I could see his point, my skin looked mottled. Gregory's shoes had broken the skin in a few places and blood dripped down my chest. Deep red blotches crisscrossed my torso but I could breathe without much difficulty. I was used to body shots, a few bruised ribs and some scrapes were not worthy of a trip to the hospital. A school nurse would just hand me an Advil and a slip for a trip to the counselor's office.

With the most convincing smile I had, I assured Matt that I was fine, "C'mon Matt, you've wanted me to smoke with you for years. Are you really going to pass up your opportunity?"

I knew I was being a little manipulative but I can never deal with people's concern. Matt hesitated but pulled out his little pen. I noted that he didn't have to warm it up before placing it to his lips, always prepared that's what Matt was: a regular Boy Scout. A few deep inhales and the worry had faded on his face to a hint of uncertainty, "Are you sure about this Jake?"

I didn't have an above the influence tattoo but I had never come close to doing drugs before. I recognize that it's a pretty harmless thing but this was the most reckless thing I could imagine doing—I'm no Evel Knievel. I took the vape from him and mimicked the action I had seen him do for years.

My lungs burned as I coughed and wheezed around the hot air and my abused flesh didn't like all the motion either. When I had stopped coughing Matt quietly piped up, "Smooth." I got slightly better as the afternoon wore on and had a pretty fine buzz by the time practice would have gotten out.

My reckless mood and the buzz maybe weren't the best combination. Driving while high was terrifying but also exhilarating. I could see out of only the one eye, my mental faculties were definitely slower but I was driving like I was out of

Mad Max

.

Getting called for dinner pulled me out of my chill time where I had been staring at the ceiling for lord knows how long. My father did an actual double take as I walked down the stairs. My mother fumbled her glass of chardonnay, droplets hitting the open folder.

Mouth agape, my father took in my face. I didn't need a mirror to know that I looked like shit. Every movement hurt and I was glad they couldn't see my chest. I pulled as much of my lips into a smile as I could, "So how was everyone's day?" They failed to see the humor, my mother looking horrorstruck.

My mother leaned over and ran her thumb across my cheek, right along the bone just under where the swelling began. "What happened Jake?"

I don't know what happened. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was the reckless mood, and maybe it was because it was past time to tell them and I was sick of hiding, "I got into a fight."

My mother eyes wide in consternation and maybe a little bit of fear, so at odds with her usual icy demeanor, asked "With who?" right as my father asked "Why?"

I sucked in a breath, steadying myself, "Because I'm gay."

There was a moment of blissful silence before my mom completely lost her mind. She was up and pacing, striding around the dining room. My father reached over and laid a hand on my shoulder, making eye contact he simply nodded.

Never breaking her elliptical movement my mother spoke, "How long has this been going on?"

Figuring she didn't mean my preference for men but rather the bullying, "A while." A pointed glare from her had be elaborating, "About five years."

She kept pacing; my father picked up his fork and started eating. I was lost about where to go from here, I was very hungry despite the bag of Fritos I ate with Matt several hours previous but all I could do was watch my mother pace. She seemed to walk faster as her anger peaked. She grabbed her glass and took a large swig of her wine before asking, "Do you want to make a police report? Assault and battery to begin with?"

My mother was on a war path, "No Mom."

She clearly hadn't been expecting that response but my father took up the line of questioning, "Why not son?"

I had gone several years without crying and then twice in a week; I was going soft, "Because I hope that they'll realize they've made a mistake without that. I don't want them to not have a life because I turn them in. If I thought they were attacking anyone else, I would have said something. They deserve a chance to learn and not while in an orange jump suit."

"It's been five years Jake, they've had hundreds of chances." She was right of course.

I shook my head slightly, "They looked really scared Mom, like they didn't know this was possible for them to do. I think they crossed a line for themselves."

She looked disbelieving and I understood her lack of trust but I did believe that Kyle at least had been really scared. "If it happens again, we're going to the police."

I nodded my assent. My father broke the rather uncomfortable silence with an even more uncomfortable question, "So are you dating anyone?" It was like a dam had broken, while I shook off that question our conversation flowed easily. My mother didn't look down at her files once.

I went to sleep, although artfully arranging myself on a bed of pillows to minimize the chances I would roll over, happy. Even though it was one of the worst days I had ever had, it had ended warmly. I thanked my luckiest stars that my parents hadn't reacted negatively.

It was a restless night, though I slept some it was disjointed and always through a haze of pain. I heard my alarm go off and considered going to first period, that was not going to happen. Seeing Owen was not on my list of to-dos at least while I healed. I did however, need to go to my German class. I doubted that my severe, stern professor would take kindly to students missing class.

As I stripped for my shower, I was confronted by the developing bruising. While the swelling around my lip had gone down, my eye was looking like it would stay swollen for a while. Inky blues and purples covered the puffy lid and down under the eye, greenish yellows surrounded the deeper bruising giving my skin an almost sickly appearance.