Bathroom fights were always the weirdest ones.
They felt intimate in a sense that only boys should be watching, but different genders were watching from the hall, waiting to see would go down first. It was a sort of uncomfortable intimacy that made Ben's cheeks go red and his vision blur just slightly.
"I didn't lie about having sex with June," Charlie seethed. He stood with his feet squared, his shoulders thrown back and his scowl ever-present. "What's your problem, anyway? Do you like her or something?"
Ben didn't reply. Rather, he stood by the bathroom door and counted the odds.
It was a tough situation. Charlie had two of his friends beside him, ready to gouge his eyes out. They all stood, though, close to six feet tall with hulking muscles that could rip someone apart... probably.
And Ben... well, looking beside himself he remembered he was quite alone in this fight. It had never been a problem in the past - after all, he'd gained a reputation of fighting the odds. But it was going to be difficult - boring, too, in the sense that Ben just wanted Charlie to learn his lesson. He didn't particularly want to fight three people in the school bathroom.
Charlie just really needed to stop lying.
"God, you're weird," Charlie growled. He lifted his clenched fists. "Alright, come on, then. Let's get this done."
Twisting the #2 pencil in his hand, Ben lunged forward.
"Ben."
The boy blinked a few times before turning to the present moment. Blankly, he glanced over to the teacher sitting in the desk in front of him, holding up a ruler. Her bright pink lips were pursed in an angry scowl.
He raised an eyebrow at the ruler. "Are you going to hit me with that?"
His hand fidgeted with the pencil in his hand, twisting the cap this way and that, popping the eraser on and off. This was getting monotonous.
"What?" Mrs. Jennings asked. The teacher was doing her best to be polite about the situation, knowing the consequences if she did anything to disrespect Ben and, in turn, his family name. Or, what she thought the consequences were. She bit her pink-colored lip and waved the ruler in the air as if to emphasize it's length. "No - Ben, half of this is how long the cut in Charlie's face is. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"You already know what I'm gonna say," Ben muttered, picking up his bag. Class ended five minutes ago and yet he was still sitting splayed out in his desk, getting lectured by a teacher that looked half his height. But he had to give her credit - not many teachers were willing to even insinuate the idea that Ben interacted with other people. And here she was, sitting in front of him with her strange hue of pink lips. It was way darker than normal pink - in fact, he'd mistake it for red if he wasn't focused on them. Maybe if someone had mixed together pink and black with just a dab of red, the color on Mrs. Jennings lips would be the result.
But he didn't have a name for it.
"I know that you're going to say he was lying," Mrs. Jennings began, "and that he deserved what was coming to him. Look - I -" She looked truly frustrated as she just bit her lip yet again, narrowing her eyes at him. But the tiny teacher couldn't look any more threatening than a chipmunk with a weird shade of pink lips. He only raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue. "Should I - should I bring him in here?"
"If you want to see him," Ben replied flatly.
"No, Ben - actually," - she was getting very irritated - "funny you should mention seeing because Charlie is now legally blind in his left eye. He won't be seeing anyone with it. Ever again."
"That's unfortunate," Ben mumbled. Letting out a distracted sigh through his nose, he stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder. Then he leaned down and looked at her lips more closely. "What color lipstick is that? Dehydrated bubblegum? White tomato?"
Mrs. Jennings huffed, a deep red greeting her cheeks. "You can't just get out of this that easily," she growled. "Charlie didn't deserve what you did to him."
But he did. And Ben ignored her irritated complaints as he gently set the bloody pencil on his desk. Quietly, he mumbled, "June didn't deserve what he said about her." Then he strolled towards the door, listening to it swing shut behind him.
Ezra was outside waiting for him. The blond-headed boy stood with his shoulders hunched ever so slightly, his pale pink lips orchestrated into a never-forced smile, blue-white eyes gazing absently into the hallway. But he was happy, clearly, and he adjusted his brown-and-white plaid button-up eagerly, flattening his blue jacket.
"What'd she say?" asked the boy from behind a grin.
"The usual," Ben murmured.
He held out his arm, gently nudging the other. The sightless boy smiled even wider and took his arm, and Ben led him down the hall. They walked practically in sync, just as they had since middle school.
"Did she mention the stuff with Ryan, too?" Ezra inquired. "Or just Charlie? And did she mention anything about tomorrow?"
"Just Charlie," Ben confirmed. He paused, going quiet, racking his brain for whatever was going on tomorrow. "What's happening tomorrow?"
"Nothing," Ezra mumbled sadly, "I was just hoping we didn't have class."
Ben let out a breathy chuckle. And as they continued their way through the walls, Ezra rambled about not wanting to go to class. It was their usual rhythm: Ben leading, Ezra talking. Ben had grown so used to it that, unlike with everyone else, he didn't tune out when he started talking. Ezra was the only person with that strange ability.
To make him feel like he mattered enough to listen.
Ezra abruptly stopped, causing Ben to jerk back and sigh softly, looking over to him. Ezra's gaze was cast on something further down the hall. He looked at it with a confused squint, going quiet as he focused on it solely.
"There's something down there," he whispered.
Ben licked his lips, tensing up. He looked down the hall as well, putting one hand on the pocket that housed his pencils. The ones he didn't write with.
Nothing scary could be at the school - worst-case scenario, it was just a raccoon. But better safe than sorry.
"What is it?" Ben breathed, unable to identify anything down the hall but lockers and doors.
"How would I know?" Ezra mused, still whispering. He left a beat before continuing, "I'm bli-"
Before he could finish, Ben raised his hand in irritation and smacked the back of Ezra's head, making the blind boy giggle.
He didn't forget often that the other was blind. After all, they'd been friends for about eight years at this point and Ben practically had it burned into his brain that Ezra could not, "for the life of him," see. He did have moments where his brain ceased to function and Ezra made sure to use them to his advantage.
It was relieving, though, when the other messed around. It reminded Ben that he hadn't scared off everyone in his life and someone was still willing to treat him like a human. Not like a freak, not like a fragile porcelain doll - just a person.
"Actually though," Ezra added, "you smell like blood and you should probably get that cleaned up." He went quiet before muttering, "Can I have your arm back?"
Ben cast a side-glance at the other suspiciously before glancing down at his shirt, finding tiny drops of blood splashed onto it. A sigh escaped him, but gradually he gave the other his arm and began guiding them both towards the bathrooms.
"I have my gym shirt," Ezra offered. He rubbed his fingers along the fabric of his jacket, looking to be hesitant, but he added, "Or I have my jack-"
"It's okay," Ben said. He knew how much the jacket meant to Ezra. "Just the shirt."
There was a caution sign on the floor of the bathroom over a puddle of soapy water, tinted red. Only a few spots of blood remained from where Ben had cut open Charlie's face, and he sighed at the sight of it.
He didn't exactly like knowing he hurt someone so incredibly badly - he just needed Charlie to pay up for what he'd done
A whizzed by his face and Ben flinched in surprise, listening to it land against the sink. It was a small white shirt with a black collar and a few dirt stains, but anything was better than Tiana seeing blood on his shirt. So he took off his bloody grey shirt, tossing it in the trash and putting on the cleaner shirt. It hung to his mid-thigh and he tucked it into his black jeans instead, and then he glanced at Ezra, who was preoccupied with stuffing everything back into his gym bag. Perhaps noticing the silence, he tilted his head up to Ben's general direction.
"Looks a little big on you," Ezra said flatly.
Ben narrowed his eyes, glancing in the mirror. The shirt highlighted how skinny he was if anything. And somehow the white of the shirt made his skin look even tanner than he actually was and it made his eyes look bluer than they actually were. It really brought out the gold flecks in them, though. He found himself putting his hands on the cold sink and leaning forward, figuring out all the shades in his eyes.
"Anything so Tiana doesn't find out, I gue-"
A toilet flushed, silencing Ben and drawing his attention to the stalls. A door opened tentatively to reveal a jittery boy with honey brown eyes. His tan skin was matched nicely by a green sweater and black, thin-rimmed glasses that seemed to take up half his face. And although he was six feet tall with a fit body, he looked absolutely shaken to the bone.
This was Stirling. Not only was he the boy who had listened to Charlie's lies, but he was also the boy who had stood by as Ben and Charlie fought.
Ben didn't care much for him.
"D-Don't touch me," Stirling pleaded. "I-I'll - I'll tell... T-Tiana."
Ben crossed his arms, feeling his heart begin to pound. "You'd need a tongue for that."
Ezra chuckled awkwardly. "You'd also need to know who Tiana is. But don't worry, Ben and I were on our way out." He reached for Ben's arm to pull him out, but Ben wouldn't budge.
There was no way he was leaving now. Stirling knew about Tiana. If he was smart, he would dig around so he had blackmail on Ben. He'd spread the word. Everyone would know about her and everything else that came with it.
Stirling had to be taken care of so that he didn't even consider looking for Tiana.
"Do you know who Tiana is?" muttered Ben. He sounded apathetic, as he always did, and he looked at Stirling with emotionless eyes that said nothing but 'I don't care.' But he did care. He cared more than he wanted to.
"N-No," Stirling admitted. He swallowed nervously, taking steps back as Ben approached slowly. "I-I'll figure out who she is, though, a-and I'll... I'll tell her-"
Ben's mind went blank and he lunged.
Within seconds, Stirling was on the floor and Ben was on top of him, and he was punching the other over and over again, endlessly, pummeling him with every bit of energy he had left in him. Blood began spurting from Stirling's face. From his nose, his cheek, his lips, around his eyes. Blood coated Ben's hands soon enough, some splattering up onto the white shirt, even onto his jeans. But he didn't care. Stirling had to learn.
When a small pain began to blossom in his hands, he decided to take a different approach.
His hands enveloped Stirling's neck, squeezing. He felt muscles shift and a tiny gasp escaped the other. But he was mad. He wasn't thinking. His mind was scattered and he could barely see. All he knew was that he had to show Stirling he couldn't talk like that.
There was shouting behind him, the shouting of a blind boy, but he couldn't make out the words. His ears were ringing and he couldn't understand anything but the look of terror on Stirling's face.
The look coated in blood.
As Stirling's eyes fluttered shut, there was a shout.
"Ben!" screamed Ezra.
A small hand clasped around Ben's shoulder and yanked him back, making Ben collapse to the floor. Blood was soaking through the white shirt and his knuckles were drenched. He was heaving out breaths, terrified breaths, and he slowly lifted his gaze to the bloody boy laying on the floor.
Motionless.
The two sat in silence, staring at the still body on the bathroom floor. Blood was seeping out of the boy's head, spilling out in a fan onto the tile. Time seemed to stop as Ben just gazed at the body, panting, and Ezra had his warm hand on his shoulder. He was terrified. They both were.
"He's not breathing," Ezra whispered, head tilted to the side in hesitance. "I-I don't think he's breathing... Is he breathing?"
Ezra was lying. He didn't know that - he couldn't know that. He couldn't see the other's chest heaving, couldn't see the other choking on his own blood, couldn't see the other raising a hand for help.
But Ben couldn't either.
But that wasn't possible. It was Ben's job to hurt people - to teach them not to lie, to teach them that they couldn't get away with making stories up. It wasn't his job to kill people. He didn't want to kill people. He hardly wanted to hurt people.
Just check, Ben thought. It's fine. Just check.
Ben leaned forward and placed a trembling hand against the other's neck. Checking for life. Just checking for a pulse.
And there was nothing.
What did he do with a dead body? How was no one going to find out? Maybe they could cut him up and flush him down the toilet, piece by piece. But they only had an hour or so until the janitors came to clean up, and by then they'd maybe be done with the feet up to the thighs, but then what would they do with the rest of the body? What would they-
Stirling took a huge, heaving breath, sitting up quickly and letting out a row of confused coughs between laughs before letting his gaze dart around the room. Soon his eyes befell the scene - the scene of him, dead, and the scene of Ben staring at him with absolute panic in his eyes.
"Were you killing me?" Stirling choked out, eyes wide. His voice was suddenly a perfect imitation of Irish, and he spoke fluently and precisely.
Ben opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Stirling continued, "I'm kidding!" He chuckled giddily, blood spurting from his mouth as he laughed, "I'm kidding. Barbaric murder was late eighteen hundreds and absolutely everything before that. I'm sure he died by the plague."
His mind was racing. His body felt numb and as if a low buzz radiated through it - he didn't know how to feel or what to say. All he wanted to do was breathe but Stirling continued,
"So where's Ben Sawyer? Ben Sawyee? I think I already forgot... Great Hell."