“You’d think the freshmen would learn by fifth period not to use the bathrooms on fucking Freshman Day. I mean, he goes in, sees three guys twice his size staring at him, and stilltries to take a whiz?” Tyler shook his head. “Dumbass.”
“Come on, guys,” the kid whined, reaching futilely for his bookbag. “Just…just please.” Andre held it just out of his grasp.
Enzo said, “I’m getting tired of just dunking these limp dicks. Let’s do something else with him.”
“Ah ah ahhh,” said Tyler, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and putting him in a headlock. “We ain’t done with you yet.”
Struggling, the kid yelled, “Get off! Get the fuck off!”
Andre tossed the bookbag into an open toilet stall, grinning when it landed in the commode. “Two points.”
Enzo pointed his chin in the direction of the broom closet set between the stalls and the sinks. The door handle was rusted, but the padlock was shiny and new-looking. “Our new bud here could use a time-out.”
“No! No!”the kid shouted. “Help! Somebody, he—“
Tyler muffled the kid’s panicked screams with his palm. “Well, let’s hurry up. He’s drooling on me.”
New or not, the padlock popped open after a few strikes with the edge of a trash can. “You ready?” Andre asked.
The crotch of the kid’s jeans darkened. His cheeks puffed out as much as they could against Tyler’s hand as he struggled wildly.
“Hurry the fuck up!” Tyler shouted, barely maintaining his hold.
Andre yanked the door open. The closet was empty but for a weird drawing on the side that kind of looked like a guy sitting down. He’d have liked to have seen more, but Tyler stuffed the shrieking kid in and slammed it shut.
Re-hooking the broken padlock, Enzo snickered. “If he’d been a couple pounds fatter, we’d’ve had to grease him to get him in.”
“Let’s get outta here,” Tyler said over the kid’s racket of screaming and kicking. “Before someone hears.”
Still looking at the door, Andre muttered, “Yeah.”
It really had been a weird drawing. It was kind of like the guy put one leg behind his head, and in his hand…Andre closed his eyes and stopped even pretending to listen to Dr. Bermel drone on about covalent bonds or some shit. What had been in the guy’s hand? And he’d been smiling, hadn’t he? Just weird, the whole thing.
Andre didn’t bother staying through seventh period Chemistry. What would be the point? It was all bullshit. He walked out in the middle of lab and went home.
An hour of Grand Theft Auto 5 later, he was bored out of his mind. Even the torture scene got pretty tiresome until he noticed that the dude sitting in the chair with blood on his mouth kind of reminded him of the drawing in the broom closet. Except the guy in the drawing had been smiling. Really wide, like the Joker from Batman. Like he’d had help getting his mouth open that wide.
Andre tossed the game controller on the floor and stood up. What had been in the guy’s hand? And how did he get his leg up like that? If fucking Tyler had given him just a few more seconds to look, he wouldn’t be getting a goddamn headache trying to remember.
He could wait until tomorrow and look again, but he needed to know now.
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
What if he tried to recreate it? There was a big mirror in his mom’s room. All he’d have to do is sit on the bed and he could see himself. He’d have to take his clothes off like the guy in the picture, but Mom wasn’t getting home until late anyway.
Several minutes of grimacing and grunting later, he found that he just wasn’t flexible enough to put his leg up like that, and it hurt like fuck trying. He’d have to wait until tomorrow. Glaring at his sweaty reflection in the mirror, he wished he had a knife like the guy in the—
That’s right! The guy had had a knife in his hand. A little one, like a steak knife. Smiling, Andre went to get one from the kitchen drawer. Yes, the one with the little points on the edge. As he curled his fingers around the handle, he realized that he’d gotten erect, like the guy in the picture. Well, he’d take care of that later with some moisturizer and YouPorn.
Holding the knife helped, but he still couldn’t quite hook his heel behind his head. He was so fucking close! It was just that tightness where his ass cheek met the back of his thigh. All he needed was an inch or two more space there, and he could do it.
Wasn’t that what the knife was for?
It was red in the picture. Like the guy’s mouth. Like his whole face.
Just one small slice. That’s all it would take. From there, straining and stretching would widen it. Then he could work on the smile. It had to be just right.
Looking carefully at his own reflection, he lifted his leg as high as it would go, set the serrated edge of the knife against his flesh, and began to cut.