The Day The Tables Turned - 3. Chapter 3

The Day the Tables Turned

By BWCTwriter

Part Three

I’d been wise and steered clear of Kyle’s dad when he arrived home that evening. In what I discovered to be his normal routine, he trudged into the kitchen, grabbed his six-pack of Budweiser, sat down in front of the television, ate a TV dinner, got drunk, and passed out while watching some barbaric sporting event.

I despised him, and would never let my own life disintegrate into such a pathetic state, though it appeared Kyle embraced it wholeheartedly. It was a shame. Even though I didn’t like Kyle, I was beginning to understand his nature somewhat. How do you learn how to treat people with respect if no one cares to return the favor?

I went out with my friends just after dark. We hung out at the mall, hitting on some girls as they walked through the food court. I’d seen Kyle with a different girl a week before, so I knew how to act. I whistled at some girls as they passed, told one how hot she looked, and thought up other ways to get some action. It was pretty fun.

We got stoned as we drove around town in Chad’s beat up Dodge Neon. I tapped on his shoulder from the back seat after a few minutes.

“Hey Chad, let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Chad and the rest of my friends laughed and we drove on to the local strip mall. We laughed and joked as we attempted to give the guy running the drive-thru our order, but we were so messed up we kept changing our minds. Everything looked good when we had the munchies.

We took our food and drove over to the cinema, where we sat on Chad’s car and goofed off.

As a gorgeous blond sixteen year old, wearing a sexy black outfit, strode by, I quickly walked up next to her, matching her stride for stride, threw my arm over her shoulder and said, “Hey baby, how you doin’ tonight? Wanna come back to my place and have some fun?”

The girl snubbed me and replied, “No way! Get outta here!”

I just laughed and joked with my buddies. “What a tease. She walks around looking like that and doesn’t expect every guy to hit on her.”

“Yeah,” one of my friends agreed. It didn’t matter which one. They were all the same. They probably shared one brain between the three of them. All that weed they smoked was really chipping away at their intelligence.

I bet at least one of them used to be a brain, like me, or rather, like Fenton. But, circumstances led him away from his true nature, I suspected, and he became the boy I was looking at that night as we degraded ourselves and the girls at the mall by whistling at them and licking our lips. It was like we’d completely surrendered to our animal nature. It was truly despicable, though I have to say, at least part of me enjoyed it.

After we’d finished ogling the girls at the Southbridge Mall, we walked around the north side neighborhood. One of my friends had an M-80 and we decided to light it, stick it into a random mailbox, and make a run for it.

In a flash, we’d delivered the explosive and bolted. Seconds later, a loud boom, accompanied by the sound of warping metal, echoed throughout the neighborhood. We laughed hysterically as we watched for the owner to come out of his house and survey the damage, keeping a safe distance away so as to avoid discovery. I’d never been a part of such a prank before. We had a good laugh and then split up shortly after.

I stumbled into my house a half hour later. I was still buzzing from the joint I’d smoked as we drove to the mall, and I reeked of marijuana. I never imagined I’d be a part of the burnout gang. I felt like such a waste of space.

*

Sometime during the middle of the night, I awoke to a startling encounter. My father, in his drunken haze, came into my room, and hovered over my bed.

“You little son of a bitch!” he spat and began pummeling me with his fists. I held my arms up in defense as he firmly connected blows to my forehead, cheekbone, chest, and stomach. I yelped in pain as each hit registered in my brain.

“What did I do, dad?” I pleaded between blows. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” All the pleading in the world couldn’t stop the uncaring beast from getting his exercise at the expense of my body.

I sat there, curled into a ball, waiting for my father to lose interest in beating me, as I obviously had no chance in taking him. Even in drunkenness, he was far more powerful than I was. I tried to think of other things as he continued to shout obscenities at me, abuse me, and then leave me to suffer in pain alone.

Though I felt it was embarrassing in the past, I missed the loving care my mother would give me whenever I needed it. The man I lived with didn’t seem to possess a loving bone in his body.

I wondered where Kyle’s mother was in all of this, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t there. Whether she divorced his father, died of an overdose, or just plain deserted the family, I don’t know. Her absence was probably a large reason for Kyle turning out the way he did.

I never thought someone as tough as Kyle could be broken. To me, it seemed he had the confidence to kick anyone’s ass. I never imagined such a tough guy to be broken so easily, but for the first time in this “reversal of fortune,” I cried myself to sleep.

*

I left early the following morning, not because I was eager to get to school, nor because I wanted to hang out with my friends. Simply put, I wanted to get away from him.

During first period, I stewed over the events of the past few days. I enjoyed the moments where I’d trampled on my former bully, recalled the feeling of being stoned with my friends, and relived the pain and humiliation of being beaten by my father.

Just as my anger began to swell as I stomped through the hallways between classes, I went into the bathroom to piss, and who should be there but my very own punching bag, Fenton. The evil grin that masked all the turmoil I felt inside showed itself on my face. He gasped when his eyes connected with mine, which were filled with anger. I was pissed, and he was going to be my punching bag.

“Hey faggot,” I greeted with a demonic growl. “Whatcha doin’ hangin’ out in the boys room all alone? Plannin’ a little quickie with one of your faggot friends?”

Sure enough, Chad showed up in a split second to egg me on. He had an uncanny knack for sensing when Fenton was under attack.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Fenton demanded as he attempted to walk past, but I grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him to the floor. He tried to get up, but I shoved him down with my foot.

His face was flushed, and his eyes attempted to mask his fear with anger. I laughed at his feeble attempt to be strong. I punched him hard in the gut, and he curled up on the floor, clutching his stomach and moaning. I loved the feel of dominating him. It was a high no drug could ever top.

“Yeah,” Chad encouraged, “kick that fairy’s ass!”

I kicked him some more, glowing in the bliss of total domination. I owned this kid. He was my personal punching bag. I smiled as I watched him cry in pain and shame.

Without even thinking, I unzipped my pants, pulled my boxers down, and pissed all over his head. He shielded his face as best he could, curled up in defense, and cried even harder. I marveled at my ability to break his defiant spirit in just a few days. I felt like an animal marking its territory. I’d completely dominated the boy who I’d once feared to my core. It was the most powerful feeling I’d ever experienced.

“You know you like it,” I spat at Fenton as he turned his head to avoid getting any in his mouth. “You know you want this dick in your mouth, faggot.” I sneered at him, gave him one final kick, which evoked a high pitched yelp, zipped up my pants, turned my back on him, and walked out.

I heard a faint heave from the bathroom as I walked away. I’d kicked him so hard in the stomach that he threw up. My sinister smile returned.

The usual events occurred the rest of the day. I goofed off in class, joked around with my pothead friends, went to the mall and harassed a few more hot girls, and then finished the night off by getting drunk and passing out around midnight.

*

Not two hours later, I was awakened by the drunken mutterings of my father. He came into my room, kicked at the empty beer cans and let loose a string of obscenities.

“That’s it,” he exclaimed, “I’m done supporting your lazy ass. You’re nothing but a drain on my wallet. Pack your shit and get out of here!”

I sat up and he threw an empty backpack at me. I stared at him impassively, and he grew even angrier. “I said get the fuck out!” he roared. The sheer power of his voice was enough to make me feel about as big as a mouse at that moment.

I was so terrified, I hid my eyes from him, began picking some clothes off the floor, and quickly stuffed them into the bag. I looked up every few seconds to keep track of his location. I fully expected him to haul off and beat the shit out of me at any moment. He left the room to go get another beer and I continued to frantically pack my bag with clothing.

My skin was hot with fear. My breathing was quick and labored. My ears rang and my stomach churned so bad I was afraid I’d throw up all over his floor. I had to bite my tongue to keep the bile from rising to my throat.

When I’d filled the bag as full as I could, I stood up and walked out into the hall, looking around to make sure he wasn’t going to jump me. I needn’t worry about him surprising me though. He stood waiting for me at the front door.

In a quick decision, I bolted for the back door, but my father crossed the room in an instant and grabbed me by the arms, threw me up against the wall and then pushed me down onto the floor. Apparently, kicking me out wasn’t quite enough, he had to make me cry to. And cry I did.

After beating me for a few minutes, he lost interest and stalked off to the kitchen to slam yet another beer, muttering obscenities along the way. Had it not been for Kyle’s battle-scarred body absorbing the blows he’d grown accustomed to taking over the years, the man probably would have killed me.

I slowly climbed to my feet and made my way to the front door.

When he heard me open it, he yelled, “Don’t fuckin’ come back!”

Yeah, because that’s exactly what I was gonna do. Can’t get enough of those beatings, you know.

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

*

I wandered around town for a while, not sure where to go. I stopped at Chad’s place, but he wouldn’t let me in. I hadn’t actually been to Keith’s place, so that wasn’t an option. I ended up sleeping behind a dumpster that night. I felt cold, wet, and filthy all over.

My heart longed for my old life, but even stronger was the desire to turn my pain into anger. To hell with swallowing my pain. I didn’t need to do that anymore. I had muscles, I had power, and by God, I was going to reign down upon Fenton like he’d never experienced before. I couldn’t wait to confront Fenton at school later that morning. Someone was going to pay, and that someone was him.

*

I was even angrier at what had happened the previous night as I walked into school later that morning. I couldn’t believe I’d just laid there and taken the beating my father doled out. I was better than that. I was stronger than that. I didn’t need to take shit from anyone. I was Kyle fucking Hart for God’s sake. I feared no one.

Just as my anger reached a fever pitch, I ran across Fenton, and I was overcome with a feeling of sinister delight. He gasped when his eyes connected with mine, which were filled with anger. I was ready to kill, and he was going to be my prize.

“Hey, Faggot,” I greeted angrily. “We’ve got a score to settle. Be at the 7-11 at Four o’clock, and we’ll end this.”

“Oh… Okay,” Fenton stuttered. He was obviously scared shitless, and I was grinning from ear to ear. This was my chance to break my nemesis once and for all. In just a few short hours, I’d exact my revenge on the kid who had been my bully for so long. I’d punch him in the face, and in the gut, and watch him drop to the ground in defeat. It was going to be a glorious day for me and all the victims of bullies around the world.

*

I met up with my low-life, pothead friends during lunch, and we laughed and joked around as usual. I let them in on the news of the exclusive bout, which I foresaw would last not more than a minute, and they cheered me on.

I tried to think about other things, like the girls I planned to fuck later that week at the only drive-in left in the country, or who would be buying the booze for our next all night boozing session, but I couldn’t help getting more worked up over the coming confrontation. I was so mad, every second that ticked by only increased my anger. I’d dealt with Kyle’s abuse too long, and had been unable to do anything about it.

Finally, I had the chance to turn his actions against him and show him just how much his abuse damaged me, just how hard it chipped away at my personality, just how much it crushed my spirit. This was it. My moment of reckoning was at hand.

By the end of my lunch period, my friends had circulated news of the coming fight, and as I stepped into gym that day, a silence came over the guys in the locker room. I saw Fenton in what used to be my corner of the lockers, where I’d spent many days hiding from my bully.

I left him alone for the period, but that didn’t give him any comfort. He was as scared as I ever was; worse, even. This was it, I’d truly experienced all there was to being him. I felt every high that came with putting someone in their place; I loved every minute of it, and I’d be damned if I was going to let go of it.

So what if I wasn’t the smartest person in the class. So what if I smoked pot. I did what felt good, and I answered to no one. That was what was important, right? I wasn’t some weakling on the bottom of the food chain like Fenton the Faggot. I made the rules. I handed out the punishments. In this little corner of the world, I was God.

*

When the final bell rang, I met up with my cronies just outside the entrance to the school. They all cheered me on. It wasn’t like there would be much of a fight anyway. I was so much stronger than Fenton. After a few hits, he’d be on the ground, beaten, broken, and forever mindful of his place in the world.

My blood boiled as I walked with my gang toward the 7-11. We made it there at ten minutes to four. We joked around as we waited for Fenton to show up. My friends assured me that he’d never show up. I knew differently. He had to show up, if he ever wanted to have an ounce of self worth again.

For so long, he’d been the one telling me I was no good, and now the shoe was on the other foot. If he chickened out, he’d prove that he was just as fearful and weak as I had been. He’d never let that happen.

Soon enough, Fenton came walking up to the store, flanked by an audience of onlookers waiting to see the slaughter. I planned to give them quite a show.

Fenton looked at me with all the contempt he could muster, and commanded, “Let’s get this over with.” He braced himself, put his hands up to prepare for the fight, and gave me the most hateful look. I knew that look. It was the same one I’d given him so many times. He really had become me, and I’d truly become him. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t prepared to declare victory without taking a few more shots. I had one last fight left.

I smiled in confidence and took my fighting stance, ready to pounce on him as soon as he made the first move.

My friends, as well as all the onlookers, began cheering me on. It seemed everyone liked to watch a good beating. Some guys chanted “kick his ass.” Another boy urged me to “break his nose.” There was even a hot tenth grade girl there smiling, waiting to see just how manly I was. If I impressed her that afternoon, I knew she’d be my girl.

As Fenton gathered up as much anger as he could, he launched his small frame at me. He tried to land as many punches as possible, and he did manage to connect a few, which is more than I could say about my performance in his position, but I easily blocked most of them. He tried to sucker-punch me in the balls, but I turned away from him and quickly positioned myself to strike.

We squared off, eye to eye, once again, and this time, I attacked him. I punched him hard in the gut with my right hand, and then jabbed him in the side of his abdomen with my left. He hunched over in pain, and then I punched him in his right eye, which jerked his head to the left. I quickly kicked at the back of his knees, and they buckled, sending him to the ground. He fell to his side and rolled onto his back, holding his stomach.

I lifted his chin and punched him in the nose, just as he’d done to me. I was so infuriated; I was determined to give him exactly what he gave me, and then some. He’d beaten me, broken me, taken away my dignity, and it was time I returned the favor.

I kicked him in the balls, just as he’d done to me, and then stood back and watched him writhe in pain. I was sure he was experiencing as much pain, maybe more, as he’d inflicted upon me. Though a small part of me wanted to be the “better man” and spare him the indignities he’d cursed me with, an overwhelming part of me, a primal instinct I’d never before experienced, wished me to kill him right there.

He looked up at me in a vain attempt to appeal to my good natured side, a side that I’d buried when the fight began. I connected with his eyes and returned his gaze with great contempt. His actions had led him to that point, and he only had himself to blame.

I reached into my pocket, dug out my four inch switch blade, and pressed the release button. The shiny blade came out, sharp and ready to do its job: to cut into human flesh and release my enemy’s lifeblood onto the ground. One last action, one last thrust of my arm into his chest, and the hell that was my life would finally be over.

As I knelt down to a bruised and battered Fenton, I realized for the first time I was staring at myself. If I killed Fenton then, I’d be stuck in Kyle’s life forever. I’d be cursed to being a person I absolutely detested for the rest of my life.

I’d have to get up from his bed, scrounge or fight for every bite of food I ate, and avoid a drunk and abusive father. I’d have to slack off in school, because I just wouldn’t care. I’d hang with his detestable friends, who cared only of getting stoned and degrading others. It was no life I wanted to live.

At that moment, as I held the knife in position to strike, I realized how wrong I was to want a life like that. The tables had turned, and I despised the result.

I took a sharp breath in as a strong sensation of warmth came over me. I felt myself disconnecting from my body and, in a flash, I was myself again. I lay on the ground, staring up at Kyle, every inch of my body stinging with pain, crying my eyes out. I couldn’t even plead for my life, because I’d just made him do the same. I’d be a hypocrite to expect any mercy from Kyle, as I hadn’t been willing to show him the same.

He stared me down long and hard, considering whether or not to spare me. I fully expected him to kill me. I knew how much he hated what I did to him. I deserved to die just as much as he did for the things I’d done to degrade him.

“Just kill me,” I pleaded. “I don’t want to live anymore.” I cried my eyes out. I was disgusted with myself.

Kyle stood in contemplation of my fate. I was sure he was going to kill me at that moment. I squeezed my eyes shut as he brought the knife back in preparation for the stabbing that would ensue.

This was it. It would all be over soon.