Unforgiven

\"How could he? That little.\" Desmond muttered angrily kicking the leaves that covered the sidewalk. He shoved his hands into the pockets of worn jeans that clung softly to his slender hips.

A fall breeze whirled up the streets scattering leaves in all directions and covering his clouded emerald orbs with strands of pale blonde hair.

\"Des! Wait up! Just hear me out.\"

Desmond turned slowly at the sound of the familiar voice, his face stony and impassive.

\"What the hell do you want with me?\" He shouted to the boy he now faced.

The other boy stood facing him, the steadily increasing breeze not moving the gelled spikes of his dark hair. He looked down at the ground for a moment, biting his lower lip, before he looked Desmond in the eyes.

\"Look. Des, I\'m sorry. I was just.\"

Desmond rose an eyebrow, \"You were just what?\"

The boy opened his mouth to say something.

\"No. I don\'t want to hear it. I trusted you and you turned right around and betrayed me. I thought we were friends.\"

\"We are.\" The boy with the spiked hair sounded pained, his deep blue eyes seemed to reflect from the very depths of his soul how he felt.

\"No, Andre. We aren\'t\" Desmond turned his back on his friend and walked away. Leaving Andre to stare at his retreating back, looking deeply wounded.

Andre sighed, leaning against one of the nearby buildings and stuck his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket.

\"Why does he always have to be so stubborn. Why can\'t he for once accept help? From a friend. His best friend.\"

He scuffed his sneaker against the pavement with a squeaking sound.

\"Stupid pride.\" He muttered.

Andre looked up, a little surprised that the dark twilight of the city had snuck up on him. He shoved off from the wall slowly. I better get home, he thought, this isn\'t exactly the best neighborhood. I don\'t know how Des survives it. But then just as I could never survive in his world, he would never make it in mine. With the type of parents I have anyway.

He glanced at his watch. And I\'m already late. Just great! You\'d think that after living eighteen years in this city they\'d trust me. Apparently, they think something might happen to me.

Andre shook his head ruefully and started back down the street, looking down at his shoes.

A hand came out of nowhere and shoved him hard in the chest.

\"Where do you think you\'re going, punk?\"

Andre stumbled back, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulder.

\"I\'m just walking home.\" He said, his heart beating faster as his adversary stepped into the yellow light of a nearby street lamp, along with four other of his cronies.

\"Oh really. How nice.\" The man\'s voice was dripping with sarcasm, as his golden teeth flashed venomously.

\"But I don\'t\' think that\'s it. I\'ve seen you before. Always hanging around that miscreant, Desmond.\" His tongue seemed to flicker over the name with intense hatred.

Andre began to be afraid, very afraid. The circle of the street gang was beginning to close around him.

The ringleader laughed, \"What do you think boys. Does he need to be punished?\"

Eyes widening, Andre turned and tried to run away. He instead ran into someone\'s fist. It grazed the side of his cheek ferociously and he skidded to the ground, the world spinning above him. He felt the toe of a boot nudge his side before he doubled over in pain from the kick that felt like it had broken at least two ribs. He closed his eyes tightly curling up into a ball trying to ignore the insults and vulgarities they shouted at him as the four henchmen took turns beating him.

Desmond. Please help me.