Random - Dark Childhood Scene

NOTE: Last TRIGGER WARNING. Child abuse, sexual harassment, bullying, dark stuff. If you think any of this will upset you, DON'T CONTINUE. I don't know where I am taking this story yet, if anywhere, but it's going to be dark.



Laughter. Snickering coming from above.

“Open your mouth.”

A mummer: huh.

“Wider, dum-dum.”

Brooke's mouth opened, but not willingly. Two fingers pinched the sides of her cheeks and forced her lips to pucker out. Just like when she was a baby. BRRRRMMMM, here comes the airplane. But this time it wasn't followed by a spoonful of green beans.

It had all happened in a flash. She swam awake and found herself gazing dumbly at a full head of long, blonde hair. Tom? Was it Tom's hair?

Then came the wetness, and the shrinking realization that it wasn't.

A wet tongue entered her mouth. Not her own. It slithered across her teeth and gums like a worm. Before she could expel the thought, it grew into a specific – if not irrational – fear. A big, fat one. A night-crawler. The kind that she used to go fishing with. Too big and too fat to even fit on the hook. She had to force herself to concentrate on something else to keep from puking. A plump June Bug basking lazily in the sun on a small rock that seemed almost out of place on the black asphalt. A Robbin singing a song from a nearby tree, so aggressively that it could have been the bird equivalent of death metal. The pain coming from her wrists and ankles. No, anything but that! Sunshine, birds, trees, AH, but it was too late. The pain that stabbed all throughout her body; her back, her shoulders, her neck, all came back. Then did the grim realization of where she had last found herself.

Tyler clasped his mouth around hers as if he were trying to devour it. The other boys all laughed in unison. The ugliest one, Sam, a fat kid with short brown hair who was mostly stomach, was pulling Brooke's arms above her head by the wrists. Steven, messy black hair that screamed disobedience, tall but too-slender like a crocodile, was spreading her legs and holding them apart by the ankles. They were older but not by much. Just enough to feel superior. She was a freshman and they were sophomores. However, they all looked like they'd been held back a year or two and could have passed for seniors. Like when they hire 30 year old actors to play teenagers in movies. Each one wore a black, rebellious – almost satanic – T-shirt and a pair of torn jeans – the kind that are sold torn and cost more because of it. The group of sadistic boys stretched the young girl out into the shape of an X on the rough, black pool of asphalt.

She mumbled, “mmmmmmm,” her mouth full of Tyler's tongue and spit, and struggled to kick her legs free. They were just as restrained as her arms were.

The boy's excited, testosterone heavy breath was warm on her upper-lip. He was now using two fingers to pinch her nose shut so that she couldn't exhale her snot all over his face. His other hand was roughly entangled in her grimy brown hair and held her head to the pavement. She was notorious for her headbutts. As it were, Sam, the fat dopey one, still brandished a dirty band-aid on his forehead from when he had foolishly tried his hand at some rouge-harassment yesterday. He stood a lot tougher now playing backup band to Tyler.

Soccer practice had just ended and she still wore a pair of navy blue gym shorts, the kind that just barely crept down her thighs, and a matching, grass-stained, sleeveless jersey top that was embroidered with the BELMONT BADGERS team logo. She was the only girl on the unisex sports team, a regulation that was necessary in the small Iowa town of Belmont Grove, where attendance was so low that there wasn't enough separate interest to divide the teams by gender. She was also, all modesty aside, the best player on the team, and knew it too. A fact that didn't exactly sit well with macho piles of hormones who didn't like having their asses handed to them on a regular basis by a girl. Specifically a girl who was a year younger and a foot shorter than them. Boys like Tyler, Sam, and Steven.

Tyler pulled his face back and let the saliva from his mouth ooze onto Brooke's cheeks. He was aiming for her cute, little, red sun-burnt nose like a bulls-eye.

The young girl gasped for air and wheezed as if she were drowning. The feeling of someone else's spit slipping and sliding down her throat was almost enough to made her vomit. She could feel the urge locked, loaded, and ready to fire in the chamber of her throat. She swallowed it and instantly wished that she hadn't.

She groaned sickly, “UGH.” She then turned her head, closed her eyes, and puckered in her lips so that the falling stream wouldn't seep in-between them. Her face was scrunched up in disgust. Like a pug's face. One would think that she was making a funny face at the moment if she wasn't also trembling madly with anger and fear.

Tyler grinned knowingly, almost sadistically. He then contoured his lips and allowed a lap-full of spit to land perfectly inside the girl's ear canal.

She squeaked, “EEE-AH!”, and shook her head violently like a wet dog trying to get dry. The spit swished and swashed inside of her. It felt like it was traveling back-and-forth between ears like in the cartoons, when a character would enter another character's head through the ears and play around in their eye sockets.

“Hey dum-dum, you taste like dog breath,” Tyler said, standing up. He then made a mocking puking gesture, thrusting his head forward and gagging. It incited more laughter among his friends.

“You'd know, you gross sack of vomit!” she snapped back at the bully, who was wiping her drool off his face with the back of his hand. He observed it curiously.

“You l-l-l-l-eave her al-al-one,” someone else said, near blubbering, in a voice that tried to sound brave. The threatening it held, if any, was instantly betrayed by it's naive stuttering. Like a scratched vinyl record. “J-j-just leave her al--al-one.”

That's right, Tom. He had been with her. Walking her home from soccer practice. Rambling on and on, in between stutters, about some stupid cartoon that Brooke had never seen. Oh God, she thought, he must be scared shitless.

“You jealous, specs?” Tyler called out with a wicked grin. “Your girl getting her dog-spit all over me like that? I couldn't stop her, man, she was like an animal.”

The world-championship asshole gauged his gang's reaction. They all erupted into fits of laughter. No matter what Tyler said they would have done the same. He was the self-pronounced 'leader' of the dip-shits and the rest of the boys inferred to him for everything. What pathetic dweeb are we gonna fuck with today? Better ask Tyler. Whose math homework are we gonna snatch to copy off of? Better ask Tyler. What shy, sweaty, and socially awkward girl are we gonna harass during gym class? Better ask Tyler. Yes, he had the answers for everything. Well, everything that mattered, that is.

Brooke slung her eyes to the left and could see the young, innocent looking, blonde kid flat on his stomach on the ground. A tough-as-nails punk, Ryan, another one of Tyler's goons, was pinning him down by crushing his heavy boot right between his shoulder blades. Tom's eternally boyish face registered an intense fear and pain. She used to playfully tease him, 'fraidy cat! Too squeamish to touch either the worms or the fish when they would go fishing, which made it a rather one-sided sport. He also had to have his food completely separated on his plate like a ghetto; peas on one side, potatoes on the other, and no touching. Brooke always found that hilarious. In fact, she found most of his irrational fears to be hilarious. But not now. The thin framed glasses that usually crept behind his ears were crooked on his cheeks. The lenses were foggy with tears. One look at his frightened, deathly pale gaze and you'd think that he thought this was the end. That both Brooke Lilly and Tom Bradstreet were going to die in the untamed wilds of Belmont High-School.

“UH! PFFT!” Brooke tried to spit her mouth clean but it just ended up slobbering on her chin. More giggling from the boys.

“Batter up,” Tyler said while slapping Sam on the back. “Be careful, she drools like a mutt,” he added, sounding like a mentor, or perhaps an old sage, giving wise advice to his pupil.

Sam, second-asshole-loser-in-command, a title that he wore proudly, stood hesitantly. “You already got your spit in her mouth.”

Tyler shrugged, “So?”

“So, I don't want to taste your spit, you homo,” was his reply.

“Yeah, taste this,” Tyler flipped him the bird. He then turned his attention to Steven, a private if Sam was the lieutenant. “How about you snake?” Snake was his nickname, but only Tyler, Sam, and Ryan knew it.

“If you didn't slobber all over her, maybe,” Steven explained, “but it just seems kinda gross, dude.”

Tyler put his hands on his hips like King Tut and threw the rest of his posse a look of phony disbelief.

“How about you mouth-breathers all kiss each other,” the spunky little spit-fire bravely muttered.

It wasn't a good comeback but it was the best that she could think of at the moment. She was never quick at exquisite playground art of name-calling. The best ones usually came to her in the middle of the night, only to be half-remembered or completely forgotten when the perfect moment to implement it finally came.

“How about you just sit there and enjoy being inferior,” was Sam's taunting reply. He pulled up harder on her arms as he spoke. A satisfying moan escaped from between her lips. The sadistic boy would have pulled until he heard it.

“S-s-s-top it, you're hu-hu-rting her!” Tom cried out. It was followed by a painful grunt that undoubtedly came as Ryan pressed down harder on the boy's back with the sole of his boot.

She knew that he was just trying to help but Brooke wished she could slap or strangle Tom silent. That was exactly the kind of reaction that boys like Tyler were looking for. Helplessness and defeat. They ate it without milk for breakfast. It kept them going. If Tyler and his posse of dip-shit's were cars, their fuel would be other people's weakness.

If to singly prove her thesis correct, Tyler turned his malice to Tom.

“I betcha st-st-st-stuttering b-b-b-boy over here would like a taste of dum-dum's drool,” he said, trying his best to imitate Tom's speech deficiency.

“Leave him alone,” Brooke interjected, fearful of the thought, “and stop calling me that!”

“Why?” Tyler smirked, then administered three soft knocks to the top of her head with his fist. “That's your name, dum-dum. Have you ever been mistaken for a boy, dum-dum?”

“No, have you?” she jabbed.

“OH SNAP!” Sam snickered.

Tyler's cocky smirk was extinguished.

“I don't know,” Steven cackled like a mad scientist who had just discovered his greatest invention, not giving Tyler enough time to react, “she sure looks like a girl down here.”

Brooke craned her neck up and looked down to see Steven, holding her legs still, peering up the loose legs of her gym shorts with an exuberant, boyish curiosity. Embarrassment quickly registered in her eyes.

“You sick dick-wad!” she cried out. Her face was now flushed red with humiliation.

She threw a glance to Tom. They met eyes. He wore a ghastly look of terror. He wasn't used to seeing her defeated like this. Usually she was saving him from boys like Tyler. Driving them away with her trusty sling-shot. Just like Xena. That was her hero. That's who she imagined herself as in her head. When she'd send those loser assholes running and Tom would look up to her like she was a warrior. But that's not how she felt in this particular moment.

“HO!” Tyler howled vigorously like a wolf. “Maybe I was wrong about you dum-dum.” He stepped across her body and crouched down next to Steven. His fingers gripped one of her short leggings and pulled the fabric aside. His face lit up as if he had just found the holy grail.

Sam, the more skittish of the four, scanned the playground for any grownups. There were none to be found. No teachers or parents. No signs of authority. Just the tall wooden fence that separated the outside world from the badlands of Belmont High.

Brooke thought abut Tom. About her first kiss. The one that she was saving for him. She thought about Xena. A few panicked tears found their way into the girl's eyes.

“S-s-s-top!” Tom wailed. No one paid him any attention.

Tyler grabbed the bottom hem of her jersey and lifted it, exposing her belly-button. “I betcha she looks like a girl up here too.”

This wasn't the time for fear. This was the time to fight. Brooke fought like a wild animal. Kicking and struggling. She was kicking and struggling so hard that it felt like her skeleton could break right out of her body at any moment. Her wrists tore into Sam's hands. It caught him off guard. He had to step on her palms with both of his shoes to keep them pinned down. It hurt like hell but Brooke didn't care. She didn't even notice that she was screaming either. Until she saw the shiny, silvery gleam of a switchblade spark into the air. She was still screaming but this time she was aware of it. She stopped wrestling almost as suddenly as she had started.

Tyler looked furious. Crazy. Like he belonged in an asylum somewhere. His steely eyes were half-deranged. The rest of his gang looked scared. Practically as scared as Brooke. It made her even more terrified. Even Steven had stopped laughing. Tom's delayed scream came a few seconds later. He said something unintelligible. He was so petrified that he didn't even stutter when saying it. It would have been a scientific miracle if anyone had heard him.

“Spazz!” Tyler shrieked like a banshee, “If you scream then I'm gonna make you wish you were an abortion. Ya got it, wiggle-worm?”

Again, Brooke was thinking about worms. And fishing. She felt as helpless as a fish on a hook.

“Dude,” Ryan nervously croaked, carefully. It sounded like he had a pack of cats in his throat. “You can't really hurt her.” His foot wasn't even stamped down on Tom's back anymore. But still Tom wasn't moving. He knew better then to draw attention to himself.

“Yeah, says who?”

Ryan didn't know how to respond, so he didn't.

“Snake,” Tyler then said and held his left hand out like he was reaching for something that wasn't there, “give me your belt.”

An unsure beat. “Why?” Steven timidly asked.

“Cause her pants are falling down!” he jousted back loudly.

The one they called Snake sat there idiotically.

“So I can tie her up, stupid!”

Tyler waved the blade back and forth like a pendulum. Brooke watched it with eyes that were bulging from their sockets. Her heart leaped up inside of her. Raw panic. Blind fear. Sweat was flowing down in torrents all across her body.

“I'm gonna have some fun with you, dum-dum. I hope you don't mind none.” he hissed. “You know, you're kinda cute when you're all pissed off.”

If it was at all true then she must have been fucking adorable. Her breath come out so rancid that it burned her throat. She could feel her muscles tighten and flex. Like Xena on steroids. She was a bull and right now she was seeing red. She gave one last, final glance at Tom. He was still scared. But not FOR her this time. This time he was scared OF her.

What happened next happened in the blink of an eye. A series of scattershot images that felt disconnected. Strewn together if by montage. Tyler's right hand yanked Brooke's soccer jersey above her head. Steven began to unfasten the buckle to his belt. Tyler got a good, long look at her two budding tits. It was the last thing he saw. For when Steven let go of her feet to work on his contrived belt buckle, she brought her foot back. All the way back. Up against her chin, and put it right into Tyler's face. She hadn't noticed until she brought her foot back again that was still wearing her soccer boots from practice. The kind that had metal spikes lining the soles. Two of them found their way into the tough-guy's eyes. He screamed bloody murder. So did she.

It was a warrior scream. Primal. Akin to a battle cry. And it sent all four of the boys scampering in four different directions. Brooke pounced to her feet like a feral animal. Tyler had taken off blindly with his hand curdled around his face. Blood was flowing. Drops followed behind him on the asphalt like breadcrumbs.

Tom watched with a silent horror. Brooke searched into her backpack sitting strewn on the ground just a yard away. She returned gripping her sling-shot like it was a pistol.

“B-B-Brooke!” he called out. “S-S-S-STOP!”

She snatched a rock from off the pavement. The fat June bug that had been baking in the sun took to flight. Seconds later so did the rock. It was a hallow gesture, done purely out of anger. She couldn't hit a bulls-eye if it were two feet in front of her. So it came as a surprise when she heard a wet thud and wail coming from Tom. She glanced up just in time to see the rock land with a SMACK back on the hard asphalt. So did Tyler. Neither moved after that.