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12:35 AM

Brendan Malfayn - The Bully

The shock of the blow sent stars across his vision. Brendan shoved the large man away, reaching up to touch his lip. The blood on his fingertips signaled the beginning of a very swollen and bruised lip. Someone was crying. The room smelled of liquor. It was too early in the morning for this.

"Get the f*** out of the way!" The man of the house, Mark Malfayn, was red in the face as he yelled. The noise nearly shook the windows of the small apartment. The sound of sobbing grew louder.

"Keep at it, and they'll call the cops." Trying to ignore the pain of talking, Brendan kept himself between his drunk father and his cowering mother. "You know they will." Their neighbors had done it plenty of times.

"Move, boy!" The nearest object, a ceramic lamp, smashed into the wall beside them. A squeak followed the sobbing.

Brendan held his place, his rage building. If the cops were called again, they would actually interfere. If they got involved now, then everything would change. Mr. Malfayn might be taken to prison, but that also meant that his mother would likely be taken from him as well. He couldn't stand that thought. In the face of uncertainty, Brendan chose to stay silent. "If you calm down now, nothing will happen." If his father didn't calm down, however, Brendan knew he'd lose it. He would lose control, and attack the drunkard. Not that he didn't deserve it, but he didn't need another black mark on his record. He had far too many.

The man lifted a half-empty bottle to his lips, growling about boys and their need to one-up their fathers. Brendan kept silent, glaring at the drunk until he finally shouted a few obscenities and headed for the TV. He yelled at his wife, Laura, to bring him something to eat. Brendan looked down to his mother as she stood, wiping tears from her face and hurrying into the kitchen. He followed, a sick feeling in his stomach. How often had this happened? At least they knew that Mark Malfayn would be out cold in about an hour, and out of commission for the rest of the day.

"I have to get to school," Brendan said, touching his tender lip again. Already, it was swollen and an angry purple. Perfect. Now it looked like he'd gotten into a fight before class again. Reaching for his mother's arm, he pulled her to him for a hug. The delicate woman was already recovering, and sniffed before wishing him a good day in class. Brendan left the house with a sack lunch, trying to push the morning out of mind as he walked the few blocks to the local high school.

For once, he'd be on time that morning. As he navigated the halls, Brendan tried to ignore the hurried glances and mutters as he passed. He even managed to give one student a shove into their locker that sent laughter springing up behind him.

Sitting in the correct class, Brendan pulled out his phone. His mother had bought it for him for Christmas. A precious gift, considering most of their funds went toward keeping the man of the house drunk. After surfing around on the device for a while, Brendan grew bored. He didn't have much going on when it came to friends or social networks. Honestly, he should change that.

With a sigh, he opened the link in his inbox. The address was from one of the kids he'd met years prior. Good guy. He'd left school already. Probably dropped out. Brendan submitted his information, using his long-time nickname: Dante.

Quote:

Dante67 has entered.

Scanning the other usernames, he frowned. Immediately, his gaze caught on one of the messages. Iris had mentioned witnessing innocent people go through struggle. Hah. Of course.

Quote:

Dante67: What if the people suffering aren't so innocent?

There was a moment before Brendan scowled. What a great first impression.

Quote:

Dante67: Not that BookWorm deserves being stuck with douche people. Sorry. Not what I was implying.