Free Damaged by Troy McCombs Page B

in da hiz-ouze?"
    Chris, still holding his book bag, just laughed.
    "Come in. You'll freeze your ass off out there. It's, like, twenty degrees."
    ***
    Moments later, they were both sitting on Adam's bed. Adam rhythmically turned on Full House.
    "God, what is it with you and this show?"
    "I just grew up watching it."
    "Yeah, I grew up watching some pretty stupid cartoons, too. Doesn't make it a good show. The people on there are—"
    Adam finished: "—One dimensional?"
    "Exactly. There's a family problem, people in the audience awwww , and they hug, and it's all okay again. Really, in what world?”
    Adam thought he had a point but dismissed it because he loved the show. But you watch re-runs of Friends , Adam thought of saying. He despised that sitcom.
    "How many times have you seen each episode? I mean, really?" Chris asked.
    "I lost count."
    "Hell, I've seen it so many times because of you that I know every character's name by heart. It's sick, I tell you! Sick!" Chris joked, pushing him. Adam was not joking. He had nothing to joke about.
    "See your girlfriend today?" Chris asked, making kissing sounds.
    "Yeah."
    "I'd do her.”
    "I wouldn't. She's too beautiful. I respect her too much. Besides, she'd rather date morons. Complete crap, man. Why does she—"
    Chris interrupted: "—You know what I heard? You ‘member that one time when she came to school with the black eye? When she claimed the volleyball hit her? What really happened was that he’d smacked her. John Groveer says he saw it happen at a party."
    Adam thought about her, about holding her, about looking her in the eyes and telling her he loved her—
    He is a devil worshiper. I guarantee it. Weirdo.
    "What the hell!” Adam burst out. "What the hell's wrong with her? Every day, she's crying over that bastard, complaining about guys and how shitty they treat women, and every single day she—any woman—treats me like crap for no reason at all when, in reality, I'm the nice guy, the guy they dream about? Maybe not physically, but it's fucked up. I'd give her the world, but she'd rather be abused. It's not just her, either. It's all women. They want a guy to sweep them off their feet, yet when he comes, they're like: ewww, gross. And when some loser comes around, they drool all over him? Jesus, I can spot those guys from a mile away. Why can't they?"
    “ I understand that," Chris said, "but you got to realize that those guys are on a higher level than you socially. They're popular, wealthy—"
    "—They're not on a higher level; they're on a much lower level than me."
    "Who would you rather be with… Shakira? Or the bum lady under Guffurn’s Bridge?"
    Adam hated him for saying this and implying that he was as low in the ranks of life as a drunken woman who lived under a bridge. But he could not think of any comeback at all. His mind went blank.
    If I only had a backbone.
    “ Girls are bad," Chris started, "usually when choosing men, but who would you think they'd rather date? A guy who spends time writing horror stories and is very shy, or guys with convertibles who are the life of every party?"
    Go fuck yourself, Chris, always one-upping me.
    "It's still not right. You're—you—don't—it doesn't make any sense!"
    Chris actually felt superior. He loved being right.
    So did Adam.
    ***
    Adam stayed up for most of the night, too awake to go to sleep and too tired to stay awake. He dreaded going to school tomorrow—within hours now, actually. Visions of kids tearing him apart like a pack of hungry wolves flashed in his mind. Kids, from middle and from high school—thousands of them—were badmouthing him, beating him with spiked baseball bats, and growing stronger every time a drop of his blood hit the surface of the Blake High School hallway floors. There was nowhere to run or hide. No face among them carried any hint of empathy or compassion. They were robbing him of everything he was, everything he could have been.
    Too scared to fight back and too hurt