Trigger Warning: Use of Homophobic Slurs
Ivan Petrov
I'm at the funeral site. And I'm all alone. The sun is setting and I still don't want to leave the place.
The Hopes left soon after Kat and Harry did. I chose to stay back. I left my bike at the hospital when I went to see my mother a day before the funeral. I have to pick it up, if it's still in one piece.
I don't know what time it is, I left my phone charging in Hope's room. But I'm assuming it's time Hope starts worrying about me not being home. He said something about his friends coming over, so I guess it's best if I don't go that way just yet.
I loiter around the place a little while longer. In my past hours of pure solitude, I haven't stopped thinking. Thinking about my mother and the memories we shared, turning bittersweet the more I thought about them. And Tyler, who's probably suspicious that something's going on between Hope and I. He's always suspicious, that guy.
And then about Hope. I haven't stopped thinking about him. I couldn't. He's always on my mind, one way or the other. He stays in my head longer than any My Chemical Romance song ever has. His face and actions and words and goddamn scent is filling every nook and corner of my brain.
Maybe I should accept his offer to sleep on his bed tonight.
Gosh. Me. Him. Who would've thought?
I exit the funeral grounds and walk towards the hospital. It isn't very far from here.
As soon as I reach the hospital, I spot my bicycle. It looks alright from this distance. But only a close inspection of it will tell me what state it actually is in.
As I draw closer to my bike, I notice something is wrong. Very wrong. Except for the wheels, gears and handles, everything is supposed to be white. But it isn't.
Things are written on my bike. Black ink on wide white tape wrapped around my bike. And there's just one word that's repeated everywhere. One terrible terrible word.
Fag.
That's what my whole bicycle is filled with. The world is screaming at me. My throat dries. My heart is throbbing.
I can only think of one person who'd commit such a sick prank. The only one who knows the truth about me.
Alexander Asshole Hope.
One day he asks me to lie with him on his bed and now he does this? Is this what he was doing with his friends after the funeral? I trusted him? I must be stupid - completely, utterly stupid - for thinking Hope was good. Trustworthy, even.
Who else did he tell? Rage builds up within me. I can't see straight. I can feel my veins bulging out of my throat. They'd burst. I'd burst. Like a volcano, my lava drowning Hope and his miserable excuse for a life.
I tear the white tape off my bike. Rip it apart until I cannot anymore. What glue did they use to stick this stuff?
My vision blurs as I mount my bike and start pedaling, blood boiling and all. I'm a racehorse. An angry racehorse. I'm thinking about Hope again. But this time, it's out of hatred and absolute distaste and vengeance.
How could he do this to me? Right after my mother's funeral? He thinks all of this is some stupid prank. Stupid.
I keep pedaling, I've got so much momentum that I cannot stop. Everything's a blur. The streets, the people, the godforsaken trees. Everything except Hope's bright green eyes that wont leave my mind. They glow like a witch's potion boiling in a pot. Like a panther in the dark, ready to strike its prey.
I reach Hope's place. His convertible is parked at its usual spot. He's home. And I can see him. He's on the terrace with three other of his friends. His teammates, I presume. His sick teammates. They're talking and laughing like everything's normal. Like they didn't just ruin my life.
I get off my graffiti-ed bike and kick it so hard, it bounces off the road with a loud bang. It doesn't break though. Good.
I get the attention I need. Hope and his friends - the Falcons - stare down at me. I glare at each one of them until my eyes land on Hope.
"What are you doing here?" One of the Falcons asks.
"You know very well why I'm here!" I yell. "You bastard. Was this you fucking plan all along"
Hope looks puzzled. Bloody acting skills. "Plan what?"
"You know what I'm talking about. Don't fucking pretend," I scream at the terrace. I'm sure everyone in the whole town can hear my voice.
"No I don't," he screams back at me. "Wait, I'll come down."
All four of the Falcons run towards the door of the terrace. They're in front of me within no time. They're all confused and they all hate me. Except Hope. His face is flooding with concern.
"What happened?" Asshole Hope asks gently.
"You know what happened," I seeth. "Don't pretend."
"Calm the fuck down, Ivan," he says. "I just want to know what happened."
I stare at him. Stupid eyes. Why do they look like they care for me even though it's obvious that they don't. Is this what the girls fall for?
I gesture at my fallen bike. All the Falcons gather around it, take a good hard look and then come back at me.
"Don't act so fucking surprised," I mutter.
"You think we did it?" Hope asks.
I'm about to respond but a Falcon, whom I recognise as Carlo Rodriguez, speaks before me. "You haven't seen the video yet?"
I freeze. "What video?"
Does everybody know?
Rodriguez slips his phone out of his pocket, clicks something and hands it over to me. It's a video posted on a public Tumblr page that makes memes and tells news about both our schools.
Hope hovers over me, he hasn't seen this video either. He still smells of his pine aftershave.
The video is set in a familiar place. Too familiar. It's my old apartment, where my father lives. A very drunk version of my father is on the center of the screen, broken glass pieces everywhere.
"Where's your son, Ivan Petrov, sir?" A voice asks from behind the camera. Donovan's voice. He did this?
"I told you!" My father throws another empty gin bottle on the floor. "He doesn't live here anymore!" His speech is slurred. "Kicked him out cuz he's a faggoh!"
"A what, sir?" Donovan's voice asks.
"A faggot, can't you hear! He likes men. An absolute disgrace! To me, to his mother. She died a couple o' days ago. Why do you think she got so ill? God punished his mother for his homosexuality. And He punished me as well. Do I deserve this?" His eyes are red, staring at the camera.
"No, sir," Donovan says, his voice more feeble now. "But he's gay?"
"'Course he is!" My father screams. "You wanna..." His voice trails off. He gets off his chair and goes off camera. He returns with a magazine.
Crap.
He chucks the magazine at Donovan and the camera's now on the magazine. The pages. The underwear models on the pages. The male underwear models.
My eyelids shut. Kill me, please.
I can't bear it. Hope takes the phone away from me and shuts it down. I can feel his hand on my shoulder.
I shake my head and shrug it off. "Fuck."
I grab my bike from the ground and dust off the dirt.
"Ivan." It's Hope's voice.
I shake my head. "I, uh, I'm sorry." My voice cracks.
Tears well up in my eyes. I turn around and start pedaling towards not just my old house, but also my father and every terrible memory I've ever had.
I don't know what's going on. But I have to reach my father. I can hear Hope's voice calling me from behind but I pay no mind. No fucking mind.
***
I reach my old apartment. It's on the ground floor and the lights inside are turned off. Is he sleeping already?
I knock at the door once. Twice. When I don't hear a response, I go to the pots that line one side of the door. The plants inside all of them are dead and dried. I lift the third pot from the door and find the spare key that's tucked inside a secret compartment there.
I unlock the door. Everything is pitch black, I can't see a thing.
All of a sudden and all at once, all the lights turn on, blinding me as I try to adjust to the brightness. I expect my father to turn up, growl at me, do something. But he's not here.
Vinny Donovan's standing in front of me instead, flanked by Michael Williams and Ezra Langer, evil grins plastered on all their faces.
"I knew you'd come," Donovan hisses, taking a step forward. "Faggot."
I don't just hate Donovan, I loathe him. With every cell - dead and alive - of my body. He's a monster.
"Where's my father?" I ask, diverting the topic.
"Your father?" Williams steps forward. "He doesn't even consider you as his son, I'm not sure that's the right word."
"He's asleep," Langer speaks up. "He was so wasted, he won't wake up even if we set the house on fire."
Donovan smirks. "You, you've enjoyed your time around, haven't you? Enjoyed the practices, the attention, the showers."
I gulp.
"Our captain is a fag," Donovan tells his companions. "And he blames us for the team not playing up to the mark. Us. Knew that Merton was wrong all along, for choosing you. Were you giving him favors or something? Must've got you the spot."
My rage has doubled. "Don't." I can bear him talking shit about me, but talking about Coach Merton? That's taking it way too far.
"What?" Donovan says. "Afraid you'll be exposed?"
"I swear--"
Langer interrupts. "Swear what? You're a homosexual, Petrov. I'm not sure you even have the right to speak back to us."
"Had fun being captain, didn't you?" Donovan says, circling me now. "Told us what to do and when your plans failed, you'd blame it on us."
"I didn't do any of that," I protest.
"Hush, boy. We've heard you enough." Donovan stops pacing around me. "One more word, and we'll beat you up so bad, you won't be able to stand."
I shake my head. This is not happening. "What did I--"
Donovan's fist connects with my jaw and I stagger backward. Blood stings my tongue. I'm still standing though. Good.
Williams and Langer go all out on me. Punching, shoving, kicking. I'm on the floor, my head's probably bleeding. There's blood everywhere.
I try to get up, I can't see clearly. I know I'm staggering like I'm drunk.
"Just like his father," Langer mocks.
I shake my head, try to stop the world from spinning but I can't. I step backward, keep going until I reach the doorframe. Donovan and his followers laugh. "Like he'll ever escape", one of them says.
I spot my bike against the tree. I run towards it but Williams gets there before me. He throws it against the road and I hear something crack.
No other option left, I start running. Down the lanes up the streets. I don't know where I'm going, as long as my destination will take me away from them I'm fine.
I can't see clearly, and I'm much slower because of all that blood loss. Donovan and his mates are following me. I reach the woods, I didn't know I wanted to be here. But I keep running.
I take unusual turns, avoiding the route that leads to The Clearing. They can't know what Hope and I have together. Even if it's just mutual respect and nothing else, it's better than what I have with these guys.
They finally catch up to me. Langer grabs me by the shoulders and shoves me downward. Blood mixes with mud. And then I get a dose of what Sebastian must've got when they attacked him in the beginning of the year, only ten times worse.
They swear and call me names. Break my bones and my hopes. All I can feel is pain. It's almost as large as the hatred that's building up inside me. I throw in some punches as well, kick them as well. But it doesn't make a difference.
Once they're done, they leave. And I'm stuck here alone in the middle of nowhere with no cellphone or any way to communicate with anybody.
My body feels sore. I can barely see a thing. I can't hear clearly either. What have they done to me?
I try to get up, but everything pains infinitely more, so I lie down in the same spot. They've broken a few ribs. I can't feel my legs. Can't feel anything except pain. My throat is dry and I wish I could drown. Just drown, in anything. Even molten lava. Just. End. This.
I pray a bit. I really must be stupid: will God help the damned?
My breath is unusually uneven. It's difficult to even breathe. Now I know why people ask for a painless death.
No one should go through this. Absolutely no one.
I can feel myself blowing away. Isn't that what death feels like? When your soul just withers away and your body is left to rot?
I press my eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain, getting used to the pain. Nothing. I think of Hope, because he's the only one I can think of. Bright green eyes mixed with somber gray ones. Hair as smooth as the sea, fluttering in the wind, glowing beneath the sun.
He's an angel. I swear. An asshole at times, yes. But he probably came straight from Heaven, or from some distant place where unicorns exist. All the Hopes are from there, perhaps. They're all way too good to be true.
I picture myself holding onto Hope, sleeping side by side with him. Beneath the stars. I smile despite myself. I imagine brushing his hair with my fingers, how silky they'd be. Think of pressing my forehead to his, like lovers do. Laughing with him, talking to him, kissing him.
God. Now I really want to live.
I sigh, knowing none of it will really happen. Knowing I might not even live to see tomorrow, forget about seeing Hope. Or even touching him.
So I wait. Wait until the wind blows over my face, carrying me away until I won't feel the wind itself. Wait to be blown away. Wait to be carried away.
And there's only one person on my mind right now.
An asshole.