Silver Bullets n' Roses - 1. Meet Matt

Matt gave a heavy sigh as he looked at the fresh assault of signs plastered to his locker. There were the usual notes of "emo" but someone had taken care to place a sign on the top layer. The F-word.

No, not that F-word. The other one.

Fag.

Matt winced. As many times as he had been called it, the word still stung a bit. Well, not the word exactly, but the hate it had obviously been written in.

Snickers arose behind him. He was making a scene by just standing there and looking at it. This is what they wanted. With a swift sweep of his arm he tore the notes off his locker, not bothering to pick them up from the floor. He retrieved his books and hurried off to class as if nothing was wrong.

Four months into his high school career and he was already among the bottom of the popularity food chain. Upperclassmen were like heat-seeking missiles when the new freshmen came in. There was always someone that was a Target. Usually it was someone particularly small or wimpy (both of which Matt immediately applied to) but this year Lycansbro got a new treat: the town fag.

Practically since the first day of school he was a Target. Didn't matter how bright his smile was or how nice his clothes were; his destiny had already been laid out in front of him by High Order of High School.

Matt slid unnoticed into his Civics class. Mrs. Worester was already in full swing with a long lecture into the Civil War. It was easy to get into detail about American wars when you're old enough to have seen all of them. Matt was seated as far from the front as possible, not from shame, but partially to avoid Mrs. Worester's strong Vaseline scent and partially to avoid making his back target practice from his classmates.

Ignoring his teacher completely, Matt opened the text book and skimmed through it, while at the same time glancing curiously at black strands of hair hanging around his face. It smelled like strawberries. Not a very manly scent, but what's wrong with strawberries?

At least half of all his classes were made up of moments like these. If he got bored he passed the time doing stupid stuff, like staring at his hair, writing tabs for some song in his head, thinking about his parents or Ted or...

"...need to know that for the test," drawled Mrs. Worester.

Need to know what? It didn't matter. There was never anything in Mrs. Worester's tests that you couldn't get straight out of the book.

Matt floated through the day as he did every day, avoiding as many people as possible and disappearing to daydreams whenever he could. It wasn't like he hadn't expected to be the outcast on that first day; in fact, he expected the bullying to be worse than it was. Matt hadn't been touched by anyone other than an occasional "accidental" shove in the hallway. Except that one time. His stomach turned at the thought. Three months hadn't taken away the pain.

Maybe if he looked a little less "flamer" the teasing wouldn't have been as bad. Not that he was a flamer, per se. No, the problem was, he was just too damn pretty to be straight. He didn't spend hours in the bathroom every morning, or wear makeup, or wear pink. His entire closet was composed of skinny jeans and tight fitting shirts. Add that to long, emo-style black hair; large, dramatic pale-blue eyes; and a five-foot-five, ninety pound frame, and you were bound to get picked on. It didn't matter to Matt. This was who he was and how he looked.

To be fair, Matt was still physically attracted to girls. Sure, they giggled over him and "oohed" and "aahed" over him, but something still stirred down below when he saw a girl he'd do in a minute if given the chance. He simply liked guys more. As he described it, he was three-fourths gay and one-fourth straight.

And right now he was having a "straight" moment.

Karyn Holms was bent at her (thankfully!) bottom locker. Her low-slung jeans exposed several inches of her tanned lower back. She was tall-like everyone else compared to Matt-and shapely for fifteen, with a thick mane of frizzy brown hair. With looks like that, you'd expect her to be at the top of the popularity scale, right? Wrong. When you talked to Karyn, you could tell she wasn't there, like her brain had taken a leave of absence. Her voice was too loud sometimes, too rehearsed, and her eyes were glazed: she was in the special classes.

Matt wasn't the only one observing. A group of juniors had gathered at the other side of the hallway, glancing Karyn's way and chuckling to each other. She was oblivious. It was a totally disrespectful way of checking out a girl, but Matt didn't think anything of it...until he recognized one of the guys.

Shit. Roman Beckler.

Matt wanted to run, jump into his locker, do something, but it was like he was paralyzed. All he could do was stare dumbly, dully feeling the beginning of a tremble starting at his fingertips.

He told himself he'd be ready the next time he saw him. He wasn't.

Roman Beckler was the It Guy. He played football (always a plus in every high school), dated the hottest girls, and was Prince Charming handsome. He was sweet and funny and made good grades and just about everyone loved him.

They didn't know him like Matt knew him. Matt saw that chiseled face and he wanted to take a hammer to it. He hadn't seen Roman since It happened. Being a junior made his schedule vastly different from Matt's, so he rarely saw him in such a large school. Matt had the horrible feeling that Roman wanted him to see him. He felt Matt's eyes on him eventually, and his green gaze caught his. They were cold and calculating, reminding Matt of tiny blocks of green ice. Deep inside was that threat Matt hadn't seen since the Accident, but he remembered it well. Roman blinked, and plastered on that fake smile again to talk to his friends.

The spell was broken. Matt slammed his locker shut, startling Karyn, and practically sprinted to the bathroom. He dove into a stall and threw up. When it was over, he leaned back against the toilet, half-coughing, half-sobbing.

Matt was on edge for the rest of the day. He tensed up before turning every corner and stiffened at any sudden noises. The encounter with Roman had shaken him up, obviously, and the bastard probably knew it, too.

Not feeling safe enough to walk home, he took the bus. Matt had only ridden the bus a handful of times since the beginning of the year. This was mainly because he didn't like being in a small, enclosed space with a bunch of kids that didn't like him. On the bright side, however, it gave him time to finish most of his homework and left his afternoon relatively free.

It didn't take him long to forget any plans he had for a relaxing afternoon as he walked up the driveway to his house. He could hear the shouting outside the door: the deep growl of his father, the high pitched whine of his stepmother. Matt's hand hovered over the doorknob, the wheels turning in his mind. Finally, the weight of his bag on his shoulder made the decision for him and he let himself in.

The door was like a dam: the volume increased dramatically as soon as he opened it. He couldn't catch everything, but the gist of it seemed to be about money. As per usual. Matt tried to gather his things and make it to his room as quietly as he could.

No luck. His dad's hearing could put a hunting dog to shame. "Is that you, Matt?" he bellowed.

"Yes, sir." Matt moved near the doorway to the living room, the source of the noise. Larry Russo, his father, was standing over his stepmother, Beth, as she sat on the couch. His face was still red from anger.

"Can you explain why the school called complaining to me about you intimidating some of the boys?" He scoffed at the word, his expression twisting with mild disgust as he examined his son's outfit, his hair, his face. No matter how many times he saw Matt, it was as if he would never get used to not having the tall, debonair football player he had prayed for.

Matt frowned, confused. "What?"

"Some kid came forward and said you came on to him." There it was again: the disgust. And he didn't bother trying to hide it, either.

"I've never come on to-" He stopped, thinking. "Who was it?"

Larry shrugged. "They didn't say."

Matt felt like he already knew, and now he was the one feeling disgusted. He shook his head, the color quickly draining from his face. "It's a lie, Dad. I-I...I've got to go do homework. Excuse me." He turned to run upstairs.

"Don't you dare turn away from me!" Larry bellowed, making Beth wince. She'd been quiet this whole time, probably glad to have some of Larry's heat directed away from her.

Matt froze, sensing trouble, and walked slowly back to the living room. His heart was already pounding.

Larry marched up to Matt, standing over him to give Matt the illusion of standing under the shade of a tree.

"Look," he growled, speaking in a low, vicious tone that was worse than his yelling, "It's embarrassing enough to have a faggot for a son, but having you running around showing it off like a fairy is more than I can handle. If I hear anything else like this happening again, you better not be around when I find out." His hand twitched. Matt knew he wanted to hit him.

Matt felt his eyes burn. God, don't cry, he thought to himself. Larry had said worse to him, sure, but his emotions were already frayed from his encounter with Roman. He swallowed hard.

"It won't happen again," he murmured. "Can I go to my room now?"

Larry just turned away, dismissing him, and Matt hurried off. He shut his bedroom door behind him and leaned against it, waiting for his pulse to slow. He couldn't decide if he was more angry or scared or relieved now. He was in Matt's World.

He hadn't been in the room for more than a minute before he heard the sound of a harsh slap from downstairs and Beth's answering squeak of pain. He winced, but he wasn't motivated to run down there or anything. One, he knew better than to get between them, and two, if Beth was kinder to him it would be harder to ignore it.

Larry used to hit Matt more often when he was younger. Later, when Beth came to fill in the space, Larry took out most of his anger on her. Beth liked to bitch about a lot of things, and it didn't take much to set Larry off. She may seem pretty helpless now, but a day from now she'd bitch to him about hitting her. Then he'd buy her something nice so she'd sleep with him again (Matt knew this because the walls were thin) and all would be good until Beth found something else to bitch about. It was a never-ending cycle.

Years and years ago, Larry wasn't that bad a guy. Sometimes he worked too much, and sometimes he was a jerk, but most of the time he was okay. That was when Mom was still alive and Matt didn't know enough about sexuality to know what he liked. That all ended when Matt was seven and Mom was taken out by a drunk driver. Then everything went to shit.

Matt grabbed his acoustic guitar from the corner and half-heartedly strummed a few notes. His electric-a blue Fender Stratocaster-sat on its stand by the closet. He wasn't allowed to fire it up while Larry was home unless he was playing something Italian-sounding, and there was little chance of that. Matt had started teaching himself how to play when he was ten. He considered himself pretty good by now-the only one that had heard him play might even say amazing. Of course, with his impossible parents and nonexistent social life, that one person was Ted.

When Matt was twelve and confused over his then-secret sexuality (how could he liked girls and boys?), he was in an intense romantic relationship with a guy named Ted. Ted was fourteen, hot, a rocker, and as crazy as hell. Their relationship was mostly a blur, since they were both as high as kites when they were together, but it extended over several months. Nothing much happened between them but a few stolen kisses between classes, late nights at hardcore clubs, and jam sessions with Matt's soloing and Ted's wild drumming, but Matt was crazy about him. He'd like to say Ted felt the same, since he was tearing up when he kissed him goodbye the day his parents left for Chicago. The point was, Ted made him feel special when no one else did.

Lost in memories, Matt took out his iPod and curled up in bed, becoming entranced in the screamed vocals and pounding bass. His reflection stared back at him from the back of the iPod, bright blues shining behind a mop of layered tresses. It wasn't like he was ugly. So why did he feel so lonely?

That's when he made up his mind. As soon as Beth and Larry had gone to bed, he was out of there.