I Broke Down

Disclaimer: *property of eroburn. Not to
be copied or distributed or published without permission. The author is not
responsible for the reader and any thoughts, or emotional distress they may
receive after reading the work of writing. All hail aff.

Mark
can never escape. Can Joe save him? m/m, original,
abuse, Anal, Angst, Inc, Language, N/C, Tort, Oral, Yaoi.

I
Broke Down                                                                                                                                    

by Eroburn

Word
Count: 3189

Chapter 8

Joe
looked at the clock. Of course he would have to be running late today of all
days. He took a minute shower and threw some clothes on without even paying
attention. He usually at least tried to make sure they matched. He nearly
killed himself flying down the stairs. Maybe those guys that took ballet had a
point. If dancing in a tutu was what it would take to keep him from tripping
all the time, it might be worth looking into.

Mark
was already in the kitchen sitting in a chair. He was humming and staring off
into space. Of course he couldn’t be humming something normal. No, he had to be
humming ‘Ode to Joy’ from Symphony No 9. It was kind of an ironic choice for a
twelve year old Goth. Of course it went like ‘Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb.’ It sounded rather nice. The only reason Joe knew this
was because in middle school he had been in the band for two years. He loved it
but gave it up, because he could never really have the lung capacity needed due
to his asthma.

Mark
looked strange without his Goth makeup. It wasn’t like ‘Please, hide your
face,’ or anything like that, but he looked different. Joe felt bad about
having such perverted thoughts about Mark. He also felt bad about scaring him
yesterday. Mark didn’t deserve it after everything that had happened to him.
Joe didn't really like him cussing though. It was disrespectful and he was too
young to be doing it. If someone didn’t teach him to respect others he would
never learn and would end up like George and Pete. They were two seniors that
stepped on anyone in their way. They were both on the football team and decided
that gave them the right to terrorize the student population.

Joe
poured them both some cereal, a healthy kind. Mark could use something healthy
after the cake he had last night. Joe eats his in a hurry while Mark chews a
bite slowly.

Mark
managed to eat a mouthful, but he would get sick if swallowed any more. He
dumped it in the trash when Dude went to get his backpack. Mark would just be
going to school without his homework, which meant every single teacher would
probably yell at him. He should just skip today; it wasn't like anyone would
notice any ways. It would probably be better if he didn’t have to go, but no,
Dude couldn’t be a normal kidnapper. He had to be a weird one.

Joe
got back from upstairs. Mark had finished his cereal. He guessed that Mark
didn't want to eat in front of him. They head out the door.

He
got to ride in the pretty truck again. Mark wasn't really into cars, but he
could appreciate a good paint job and anything that smelled nice and Dude's
truck smelled very nice.  Dude parked in
the huge parking lot shared by the middle and high school. Dude parked about in
the middle. ‘Great’. He would have to walk even farther. Mark heard the bell
ring and Dude took off in a sprint mumbling something. Mark didn't catch it. He
was, thankfully, finally left to his own devices.

Mark
finally decided to go to school, but not because he was afraid of what the
school would do to him. No, he was more afraid of his father finding out. He
was late for his first class. It was the first time so his teacher just let it
slide. He smiled in thanks. He just hated how everyone stared at him. No one
even noticed that he was wearing the same clothes he had worn yesterday, or
that he wasn't even wearing a shirt under his hoody.
They did notice that he was without his makeup. 'No such luck of being the
invisible boy today.'

"Freak." Some rock said.
He thought rock because Rock was stupid, big and moved as slowly. Rock probably
had no redeeming qualities other than being a rock. This particular rock did
play a rock in the game of football. Yes, he believed they call it a blocker or
something along those lines. Yes, Rock was very good at being a rock. He was
actually surprised that Rock knew how to talk, but he guessed Rock had to be
able to talk with his other rock buddies. He could see their conversation now:

Rock 1: dirt good?

Rock 2: uh.. dirt good.

Rock 1: ug.

Rock 2: get dirt?

Rock 1: big dirt

Rock 2: dirt good.

Rock 1: rocks good

Rock 2: good rocks.

Mark's
brain lost five IQ points thinking about that conversation. 'Shudders.'
If he kept thinking that way he might eventually be Rock number 3. 'Shudders
some more.' He takes his usual seat at the back of the classroom. He wasn't
stupid. He wasn't dumb. Teachers just didn't get how much he hated class and
the people in it. They always asked him questions when they knew he wasn't
paying attention. He could have answered them if they would have repeated
themselves. Reality, his reality to be specific, was not worth being in.

He
spent the rest of first period ignoring the Rocks throwing little paper mini
rocks at him. There was nothing new there. He spent first period writing more
crappie poems in his head about how much life sucked. He would never be a poet,
but it was something to do while the teacher droned on about something. He
stopped paying attention when he realized he already knew what she was saying.

Mark
didn’t know if he was really intelligent or just mediocre. His grades had never
reflected his true abilities. He had perfect grades because his father bribed
all of the teachers that taught him. The ones that couldn't be bought were
removed. It was only one more thing that his father beat him for. He guessed
that his father thought Mark was too stupid to know what was going on. When
seven teachers went missing in a period of four years, it would be hard not to
know. His father didn’t care about him, merely the image that it reflected on
to him. Mark was his father's only legitimate heir. He wondered why his father
just didn't get some woman pregnant and fake his mother's pregnancy. Mark
didn't ask because he didn't want to give his father ideas.

The
day blurred until lunch. He had pretty much ignored the teachers that had
bugged him for his homework, looking at them like he was on drugs. Yeah, he had
that spaced out look down. He knew they were being paid to give him good
grades, and while he usually turned it in any ways he could afford not to for
one day.

Mark
skipped eating lunch as usual and just sat at an empty table staring into
space. It would be interesting to see what drugs would do to him. He already
wasn't really a part of reality. Some of the jocks pushed him around as he left
to go to his next class. He didn't see who; just their massive bulk clothed in
blue and yellow varsity jackets.

There
was no real surprise there, but it made his chest hurt. 'Remember to breathe.'
He told himself as he spaced out. He woke up in seventh period, the last class
of the day, with no idea how he had gotten there. While it wasn't really
unusual, he usually at least remembered daydreaming of something. This time he
just lost time, and he hadn't been sleeping. Maybe he had forgotten to breathe
and had brain damage. He wouldn't be surprised if he really did. He'd probably
had at least twenty concussions in his life if not more.

It
would be funny if his father found out that he had a brain damaged heir. Mark
wouldn't survive an hour. One of his father's huge, muscled henchmen would take
him somewhere that the leftovers wouldn't be found. He wondered if his father
would do the honors himself, probably. His father wouldn't like to be deprived
of beating up his only legitimate son.

The
bell rang. Mark hated when he got so lost in thought that he misplaced hours.
The cheerleading bimbo was wearing a thong this time ‘Ew’.
He wondered if she knew that her skirts were so short that you can see her
*whatever* every time she bent over. She probably knew. She is just too much of
a whore to care. She kissed the jock, Chris, and told him that she would see
him at the party Saturday. Yea, it was just one more party that Mark wasn’t
invited to. Dude was probably invited to it, all the jocks were. No one would
want a freak like him at the party.

It
was funny that Mark could have the biggest and best parties. His father
wouldn’t even care, because those things would give him more status, but Mark
would never do that. He hated the people he went to school with. He hated how
they only cared about themselves and stepped all over anyone who was different.
Since he had been at this school not one person had tried to be friends with
him, but he might not have noticed even if they had.

Mark
decided that he didn’t want to be forcibly kidnapped again, so he waited at
Dude’s truck. Some people gave him funny looks, but that was nothing new.
Either he was looked at weirdly and hatefully or he was ignored. One of these
days he would figure out how to be invisible and then he would do stuff to them
like float things in the air. He wouldn’t steal nor do evil things. He didn't
think he could deal with turning out like his father, but he could become a spy
or something, of course he wouldn't want to be a traitorous spy or anything.

The
first three periods are boring as usual. Joe manages not to fall asleep in any
of them, although he comes close a few times. Getting woken up last night took
its toll on him. His mind couldn’t help but wonder back to how good Mark had
felt against him. He brushed it off as a dream about a girl. His celibacy was
causing him to have unnatural thoughts. Joe was afraid he would be looking at
more disgusting things next. God forbid he looked at any of his teachers that
way or even worse George and Pete. They had asked Joe to hang out with them
tonight but he knew what their idea of hanging out involved. It usually was
some poor innocent person getting beat up or getting wasted and causing
vandalism. Joe wasn’t so desperate for friends that he had to repeat that
fiasco.

Joe didn’t have
many friends at the school just passing acquaintances. Some of them had tried
to be more but he wasn’t really interested. Somehow the shallow, fake crowd
didn’t seem as attractive as they had been in the past. He had a few buddies
that he played games and sports with but that was about it. He could always
count on his looks to get invitations to things though. Today he used it
shamelessly, flirting with two blondes. Neither of them really fascinated him
and he couldn’t tell you their names a half an hour later.

 

They invited Joe
to a party Saturday. The party didn’t interest him, but he could use it as excuse
to get rid of his rampaging libido or at least quiet it for a little while.
Joe's mom usually worked all weekend, so it wouldn’t be that hard to get out of
the house. She made adequate but Joe wished she were home more.

 

Joe spent lunch
talking to Chris. He was one of few that weren’t obsessed with image or what
was cool at any particular moment. Chris didn’t mind hanging out with Joe's
less than cool buddies and Chris hung out with them even when Joe wasn’t there.
The only problem with Chris was his girlfriend, Elisa. She was gorgeous, but
she was mean to the core. Joe had seen her throw bitch fits for something as
simple as someone sitting in the wrong seat somewhere.

 

He didn't know
why Chris put up with her other than that she was hot. Chris had wanted to hang
out with Joe and the boys tonight, but Elisa threw a fit. Joe was going to say
no, but probably would have said yes, just because she was throwing such a bad
temper tantrum, if Chris hadn’t given in. She made him think of those spoiled princesses
that scream and cry if they didn't get their way. Someone should have shown her
how to act years ago, but now it was too late. She was rotten.

 

The rest of the
day blurred. He met Mark by the truck. Mark looked sexy in a ‘He’s a fucking
pedophile’s dream and I am going to hell’ kind of way. Joe noticed Mark had the
same clothes on as yesterday, but most black clothes looked the same, and he
wasn't certain anyone could have told the difference. Some people gave Mark
funny looks, which annoyed him. Joe hated when people judged based on looks
alone.

 

“Let's stop by
your house, get that door fixed and get you some clothes and anything else you
might need.” Joe tells Mark. He wonders why the kid is so quiet. He knew he
must have scared Mark yesterday, but he didn't mean to. He would protect him
from anything or anyone that tried to harm him. He hated people who abused
kids. They were the lowest of the low. He got to see it all the time at the
hospital. Kids would come in with broken arms and had to say they fell. You
could tell they were lying. He hated having to deal with those parents. You
couldn't even show your contempt for them, just that icy veneer all the staff
tended to sport. Yelling at the parent's wouldn't help, because it would only
confuse the kid. Sometimes he hated being a nurse's kid.

 

Joe worked at
the hospital, but not as a candy stripper. It wasn't a huge hospital, but they
were always understaffed. He was technically a floor cleaner because of his
age, but so far in the two years he had been working there, he'd never cleaned
anything. He mostly did the work of an orderly, but on the weekends he helped
out with the more difficult things. If anyone questioned him about his age, or
name, he had been told by the director to give a fake name. It was the name of
an intern that had transferred to Africa. The intern had opened a hospital
there, and wouldn't be coming back anytime soon, if ever, but no one knew that.
Joe had grown up talking to, and playing with the director. He was almost like an
uncle. They had an extremely high turnover rate at the hospital, so the only
ones that were there when he was a kid were his mom, her friend, and the
director.

 

The intern had
only been half way through orientation when he had left for Africa. No, one
bothered to tell the accountant this. The accountant had never even once
visited the hospital in person in the twenty years that he had been doing the
job. The intern was clocked at a set number of hours a week, and a large number
of volunteer hours. Interns weren't always paid for all their time. The floor
cleaner was paid to work fifteen hours a week. This evened out to him making
about what he should be making if he actually had the credentials. .

 

 Most of what he generally said wasn't a lie;
it was just a slight fabrication of the truth. It helped out the hospital and
his pocketbook at the same time.  Of
course the intern position pay was always put into a college fund. So he had to
pay for things with his floor cleaning money, which wasn't much. It was just
enough for food, clothes, and gas for his truck

 

As soon as he
graduated high school he could test out for his CNA but he wasn't sure if he
wanted to yet. He had been volunteering and working at hospitals since he was
old enough to read. It beat daycare and he'd learned a lot over the years. He
had no set hours because of his age, and could come in whenever he felt like
it. He usually worked two or three days a week. He usually worked most Mondays,
Wednesdays, Thursdays and every other weekend worked a full day.

 

That was a
twenty-hour shift from hell. Weekend shifts almost always consisted of giving
stitches, treating broken bones, and wheeling people around. Technically only
doctors were supposed to do stitches, but he was a veteran with a needle. He
had even given stitches to a classmate one time, but he always worked with a
mask over his face, and a cap. You wouldn't recognize your own cousin if they
were trussed up in medical gear.

 

As much as he was
around hospitals he was sick to death of them. It was good money, but he
couldn't spend the rest of his life doing it. He dreamed of owning a health
retreat. He'd more than likely, just go on to get his doctorate, even if it
meant working as a CNA to raise the cash. He ultimately wanted to help people
be healthy, live well, and stay in shape or get in shape. For now though,
working in a hospital wasn't a bad use of his time.

 

They head back
to the great mausoleum. Mark didn't look too happy about having to go back. Joe
hoped no one was worried about the kid, but he couldn't be too sure. They saw
the maid, but she didn’t stop what she was doing. He followed Mark to the
bedroom. He tells Mark to pack a few things. While Mark was packing he fixed
the doorknob. It wasn't that hard to fix although it took longer to fix it than
it had to take it apart.

 

Mark didn’t
think he would be coming back here so soon. It didn’t look welcoming. For all
of its class and fine things it didn't feel half as good as Dude’s kitchen.
Somehow Mark wasn't surprised no one knew he was gone. They head to his room.
He grabs his cell phone. It was almost pointless. No one called the friendless
freak. The only reason he had it was for emergencies, and so Father could leave
him messages. Not that his father did often. He checked his messages while Dude
worked on the door. Father had left a message.

 

“Markus, prepare
for my arrival on Friday.” Click. It wasn’t surprising that his father didn’t
say why he would be coming home. He was just happy he got another week away
from the jerk.

End of Chapter 8

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