PROLOGUE

Marco walks through the halls and cringes at the slightest brush against someone.

Marco rarely changes for gym now.

Marco is failing gym and three other classes.

Marco talks to Ellie occasionally but doesn't talk to Jimmy, Spinner or Craig too much.

Marco eats alone in a stairwell now.

Marco has a secret.

Marco has a secret that nobody knows. One that even Marco can't admit to himself or say. He doesn't have the words, just a terrified feeling that never leaves the pit of his stomach.

Marco cries himself to sleep now.

Marco's parents don't know his grades are slipping.

Marco's parents don't realize their son is fading away now.

Marco doesn't go out anymore either.

Marco stays in his room, staring at the TV or reading books he hasn't read in 8 years.

Marco keeps to himself.

He doesn't like to talk now.

Marco's secret is killing him inside.

His secret isn't that he's gay.

Marco's secret is much worse.

1

"Okay, but I'll meet you at the arena."

"Marco? Marco?" Ms Kwan says. "Mr. Del Rossi!" she says a bit louder.

"Sorry?" he whispers softly.

"Your paper please?"

He nods and searches in his book bag and quickly pulls out a few sheets stapled together. Granted only one is typed on and it should have been a three page paper, but it's at least something. She doesn't notice though and puts it in the pile of other papers.

He jumps when the bell rings.

Loud noises scare him now.

Anything scares him now.

*Every*thing scares him now.

"Marco!" Jimmy says after class. "What's up with you, Man?"

He winces when Jimmy pats him on the back and he feels his heart start to pound.

"Nothing. I'm just… things are rough at home," he lies.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Marco. We could talk about it if you want. My parents aren't gonna be home again tonight, so we could order a pizza and-"

"No. I… gotta help my dad at the shop. Sorry," he says and grabs his bag and runs out the door.

He holds his book bag close as he maneuvers his way through the hall quickly, avoiding contact.

Oh, what are you lost? Huh?

No one notices how skittish he is now and he's glad.

He dashes into the bathroom quickly and waits in a stall until the bell rings. Then he heads out and runs the rest of the way to class, arriving late for the sixth day in a row. The teacher says nothing.

He sits in class and pretends to jot down notes as the teacher talks, pretends to be listening, pretends to care.

But he doesn't.

Marco just wants to be invisible. He wants to be swallowed whole and never have to think about his secret ever again. He wants to erase it from his memory and never remember. He wants to lock himself in a box where no one will touch him or talk to him ever again.

Oh, what are you lost? Huh?

He blinks and scribbles 'lost' on the paper over and over. He knows he's lost but he sees no way out of it.

The bell rings and he's grateful another day is done.

"Marco!" he turns to see Paige smiling at him. "I'm feeling the need for an extreme sugar high after that extreme math test. You wanna come over? We'll throw in a movie and eat ice cream?"

"Sounds good, but I… gotta help my dad tonight."

"Marco, you… are you sure you're okay, Hon? You just… you haven't been saying much lately. For a few weeks now, Marco, you've been MIA."

"Things at home just… aren't good, okay?"

"Is it because of the gay thing?"

"NO!" he yells at her. He hates that word now. "NO. It's… just because of the business and- it's private."

"Marco," she says softly. "If you wanna talk… you call me, okay? I went through this Dylan and he-"

He shrugs off her hand that lands on his arm. "I'm fine. Just leave me alone."

"Marco-"

But he's gone quickly.

He sometimes thinks if he could tell anyone, it'd be Paige. If anyone would understand, it'd be Paige.

He tried to tell her. Honest, he did try and tell her once but when he'd said, "Paige, I-" the words just wouldn't come out. He couldn't say them out loud. He couldn't whisper them in his heart. He could barely even *think* them. He certainly couldn't say them out loud and definitely not to another person.

"What?" she'd asked.

"Want a cola," he'd finished and hadn't ever tried again after that.

He races home and his mother offers him a snack. He mutters something about homework and locks himself in his room, where he feels remotely safe.

He turns on the TV and curls under his nonna's blanket and just stares aimlessly at it.

"Okay, but I'll meet you at the arena."

He'd never thought those words would mean anything- that they would have any relevance- that he'd ever regret ever having said them. He'd wanted to avoid Spin and just go to the game and see Dylan and maybe… he didn't know. He just wanted to see Dylan.

Now when he sees Dylan? He just wants to run. He wants to not be who he is.

Seeing Dylan or talking to Dylan would imply a lot, would lead to a lot, would mean talking and he doesn't like to talk. He doesn't like anything.

He curls up under the blanket, pulling it over his head and closes his eyes, tries to fend off the dreams that cloud his every waking second.

Oh, what are you lost? Huh?

No. Actually I'm just meeting some friends for a hockey game.

Boys night out in boys town, huh? Huh? Huh?

Actually I think I can find it, thanks.

Look, I don't care what you want, Faggot! Do you know what *I* want? Huh?

He jumps up, heart racing, beads of sweat coming down off his brow. He's shaking.

He gets up and races in to the bathroom, turns on the water as hot as he can stand. He sits and lets the spray just hit him, lets the water rush over him as he cries.

When the water runs cold, he towels off and returns to bed, glances at the clock. Three in the morning. He has some school work so he does half the calculus homework, checks his answers and doesn't care that he got 8 of the 10 that he did wrong. It's good enough.

Then he tries sleep once more. He's lucky when he gets two more hours in.

You are pretty, aren't you? Almost girl pretty.

He wakes with a start, before his alarm, but close enough. He gets up and gets ready for school.

Another day.

Another nightmare.

2

Oh, what are you lost? Huh?

No. Actually I'm just meeting some friends for a hockey game.

Boys night out in boys town, huh? Huh? Huh?

Actually I think I can find it, thanks.

Look, I don't care what you want, Faggot! Do you know what *I* want? Huh?

I want a pretty little mouth all my own.

He jumps up and realizes it's the middle of class. "I… need to use the restroom," he covers and the teacher dismisses him. He grabs his bag and races down the hallway to the bathroom- somewhere mildly safe. He turns the corner, last leg of his journey and runs right into-

"Oh look… Dylan's little boytoy," Jay sneers. "Got a hot date for some homolove? Gonna bend over and take it like a man? More like a little bitch."

His stomach turns at the thought of even-

"Leave me alone," he whispers and tries to move around him but Jay steps in his way again and he starts panicking. His breath won't come and his legs won't move. He can't think. Can't talk. Can't run.

You are pretty, aren't you? Almost girl pretty. Little pussy… lemme see what's so special.

"What are you gonna do about it, Faggot?" he asks.

Huh? What are you gonna do, Faggot? Little pussy bitch. Shut the fuck up. C'mon- we're goin' someplace private.

He feels the vomit bubbling up from his stomach, what little he ate for breakfast threatening to come out- as a last line of defense against Jay.

Then he blinks and Jay is on the floor, sliding away. "You *ever* call him that again-"

"Oh, coming to your little sweetie's defense?" Jay says as he starts to get up and Marco watches as Dylan shoves him back down on the floor.

"Don't even *think* about talking to him again or you'll feel exactly what me and the hockey team do to that puck every game, got me?" he says, still holding Jay down. Dylan shoves him down one more time for good measure. "Now get the hell out of here, Jay and don't let me see you near him again."

Marco stands, still unable to find the words. Why couldn't that have happened before? Before it- be*fore*.

"You okay?" Dylan asks, reaching out to touch Marco's shoulder.

"I gotta go," Marco whispers and turns quickly, racing for the door. He wants to be home, under nonna's blanket, locked in his room. Not in school. Never in school again.

"Marco!" he hears and his heart pounds when he realizes he's being chased. "Marco wait! HEY!" Dylan says as he jumps in front of Marco before he makes it to the door. "What's goin' on? What did Jay do?"

"Nothing. I just… gotta go. I can't- I have to go."

"Okay. I'll… I'll drive you somewhere, okay? I'll drive you. Where?"

"Home," Marco answers quietly.

"Okay, I'll drive you home," Dylan offers. "Okay?" he reaches again for Marco's shoulder.

"Don't," Marco says quickly. "Just… don't touch me."

"Okay, I won't," Dylan agrees easily.

Marco follows him out to his car and the thought of being so close- locked in a car with anyone- he closes his eyes tightly shut and hopes Dylan doesn't touch him.

He hopes he gets home quickly and that his parents will agree to some home tutoring program or something.

"What Jay said, he… he's just a homophobic jerk. He's harmless."

That's what everyone says. That's what everyone says who hasn't been-

"Yeah, thanks," Marco says.

"Are you… are you okay? I mean… Paige has said you've been acting really… weird. And you don't- you look white as a ghost. Are you okay? Did Jay touch you? Hurt you?"

"No," Marco barely whispers as a tear threatens to fall. "Just get me home. Please."

"Marco, just… hear my out, okay? Just listen. I… Paige says you're having a hard time dealing. And I've been there. It was so hard coming out to everyone- it's scary and it feels like… the world is against you. But you have really close friends- Paige, Ellie… they love you, ya know? The real *you*. And I'm… here- if you wanna talk? I've been through what you're going through."

"I doubt that," March mutters meekly.

"I know it seems like you're the only one in the world but-"

Dylan pulls up outside Marco's house and he doesn't even wait for Dylan to finish, he leaps out the door and races inside, grateful his parents aren't home.

He dives under the blanket and closes his eyes tightly.

He wonders if he could claw the memories out of his head- carve them out somehow.

He wonders if they'll ever stop. If maybe by some miracle they *do* stop, if he can ever just be Marco again.

Huh? What are you gonna do, Faggot? Little pussy bitch. Shut the fuck up. C'mon- we're goin' someplace private.

Marco jumped up quickly, sweating.

He so longed for dreams from which he wouldn't wake up panicked- dreams of happier things, dreams of rainbows or puppies or even the Italian lessons he'd taken as a child every Saturday at the local Italian community center. He missed thoughts of what his first kiss would be like or first date. He missed his favorite dream of the first time someone would ask him out. He missed picturing it was Dylan who did the asking.

Now all he dreams of is a hot breath against his cheek whispering "Fag" over and over.

Gay. Queer. Fuckin' homo. Little faggy bitch. Pussy. Just like a little girl.

A chill ran up his spine and he wanted to escape from his own skin. He wanted to escape EVERYthing.

He sneaks out of his room, grateful it was after midnight and his parents are still asleep.

He just wants to forget- wants to carve the memories out of his brain. He wants to be rid of the hatred he feels inside now- the absolute disgust and hate for everything he is, everything he had been becoming.

He finds his father's liquor stash and grabs the fullest bottle.

Back in his room, locked in safe, he opens the bottle and drinks.

He drinks until the memories dim and the world falls away and he can try to just be Marco.

Marco dreams of death now.

3

Marco sits through another lecture of math something, scribbling on his paper some random design- anything to keep his mind off the person sitting behind him, the person who is *al*ways in the room with him, following him, chasing him, sharing his bed with him, his shower, his breakfast table, his life, HIS HEART, HIS SOUL-

"Mr. Del Rossi?"

"Yeah, um…" he reaches into his bag and takes out the bottle of water. "Sorry, my throat…"

"Okay," the teacher nods and Marco sips on the straight vodka- two gulps from the bottle and then shoves it back in his bag. He hopes the gulps will dim that person's scream inside him. Inside him… inside-

No! No, please no! NO! Not like this! PLEASE NO!

Scream all you want, Fag, no one cares.

He pulls the bottle out and sips again.

He glances down and sees a piece of paper on his desk. He looks over to Paige and she points to the note.

He reads it: Are you okay? What's going on? Dylan said you looked terrible yesterday and he drove you home. Marco, what is happening???

Not what's happening, he thinks silently. It's what happened. But he lifts his pen and writes, rather sloppily: Mom and Dad fighting. I'm fine.

She writes back: I thought they were really happy. They've always been happy.

He replies: Things change.

Then he raises his hand. "May I refill my water bottle?" he requests and is granted his leave. He grabs his bag and his bottle and goes to his locker. He pulls out the vodka from behind some books and refills the bottle.

He goes to the bathroom and rinses his mouth with the Listerine he bought and then heads back to class.

The bell rings just as he gets settled and he stands up.

"Mr. Del Rossi? A word please."

He waits until everyone has cleared the aisles and he can walk up untouched, alone.

"Yeah?" he asks, staring at his fingers.

"I've noticed a huge drop in your grades, Marco. In the last few weeks, your grades have gone from nineties to sixties. What's going on?"

"Nuthin'," he shrugs.

"Marco, I've known you three years now. You've never settled for less than straight A's. What's happening? Tell me, Son," he says and places his hand on Marco's arm.

"Don't," Marco says quickly and jumps back. "I'm fine. I just… there are problems at home, okay? I'll try harder." Then he races out of the room as if on fire. He dodges all the traffic in the hall to get his locker where he downs four big gulps of his water and leaves the bottle in the locker. Too much and… he'd get caught. He was still smart, even if he was changed forever.

"Marco," he hears and turns to see Ellie. "Marco, *why* can I never get you on email anymore? You don't call, you don't write- I'm beginning to think you don't like me anymore."

"El-" he says softly, wanting to tell her he needs help, wanting to tell her something happened- that night. The night of the game. Wanting to tell her he didn't just get roughed up by a couple guys. Wanting to tell her *so* much.

"What? C'mon, you're my best friend, Marco. What's going on?" she asks softly, honestly.

"El, I-"

"Sorry to break it to you, Vampire, but the little homo is already spoken for," he hears Jay's voice and closes his eyes, his nails dig into his fists and he's grateful when nothing else is said.

"Marco, ignore him, what's-"

"Nothing," he says. "I gotta jet."

He grabs the water bottle from his locker and races down the corridor, dodging in and out of people until he's nowhere to be seen, until he's in the abandoned janitor's closet near the gym. He sits and drinks and wishes for it all to stop. With every sip, he wishes for it all to just stop.

He wakes a few hours later, with the last bell of the day. He realizes he's slept half the day away and is grateful for the quiet. He needs more vodka. If vodka will chase away the nightmares so he can sleep in peace? He'll find a way to get some.

He checks to see no one is in the hallway when he emerges and he prays to a god, any god if there is one, that he won't run in to Jay.

He scurries down the halls, glancing for people, teachers of classes he missed… anything. But when the coast is clear, he zips down another hallway. He turns to look at the next hallway and bumps into-

"Marco!" Dylan smiles. "I… was hoping I'd see you. I was hoping you were feeling better."

"I- I'm fine," he says, stunted. He just wants to leave. He just wants to go home. "Thanks."

"Woah, wait a minute, what's going on? Paige says you're acting weird and you haven't been in lunch… I mean… I've been looking for you."

"Well *don't*," Marco says quickly. "I'm not… I'm- don't think about me at all."

"Marco, look… I… thought I'd made it clear that I'm… that I have feelings for you. Maybe I haven't. If I've done something to-"

"I'm not… I'm not some *queer*, okay?" Marco says quickly. "I don't- maybe you got the wrong impression of me but I'm not a faggot, so just stay a*way* from me."

Then he runs quickly around a stunned Dylan and races out the door.

He runs as fast as possible down the five blocks to his house, so fast he's almost out of breath and dizzy as well, though he's not sure if that's from the alcohol or running or lying.

He flies up the stairs where his mother is waiting to feed him. "Not now, Ma," he whispers and locks himself in his room again.

Marco's losing weight.

Marco's drinking now.

Marco's losing his mind, his will, himself.

Marco's secret is tearing him apart.

4

"Marco, come for dinner," he hears his mother say and as much as he doesn't want to get up, he does.

He feels sick inside as he sits, like some alien or something is in his guts twisting them around with an electric beater or tying him into knots so he's all tied up and frozen inside.

He feels frozen inside.

"How is school, Marco?" his mother asks.

"Fine," he replies.

"Then how come your teachers call and say you're not doing your work, Marco?" his dad asks. "Huh? What's wrong? Are they lying?"

"No, Pa. I just… I'm a senior. It's harder this year, okay?"

"No, it's not okay, Marco. It's NOT okay that you don't do your school work. That's not okay."

He takes a few bites of pasta as his father starts lecturing him in Italian and broken angry English.

He sits there and thinks- tunes his father out because he'd rather hear this lecture than any other. He can't bear the thought of his father finding out what happened. Not only was his son gay but- NO. His father can never know. He knows this. His mother can never know because she'd tell his father for sure.

"Marco, you're not eating," his mother says after some time of his father speaking.

"I'm not hungry anymore, Ma. May I be excused? I have homework."

"Marco, you listening to me, Son?" his father asks, placing his hand on his son's back and Marco stands up quickly.

"I heard you, Dad. I'll try harder. I'll… fix it." He escapes to his room quickly. He can't even… he misses human touch.  He misses the hug he and Ellie would give each other at the end of every day. He misses half-hugging Craig in gym after winning a game. He misses everything about his old self- his old life. He had dealt with and accepted his gayness- the part of him that was gay, that he liked men. He'd been starting to think about dating and then he'd met Dylan…

"Okay, but I'll meet you at the arena."

And in one night, it was taken from him.

Scream all you want, Fag, no one cares. It's not like you're not enjoying it, Queer.

And he was lost. Lost to the world. To himself.

Just lost, hopeless and alone and afraid. Terrified.

Most nights, he'd sleep with the light on so he wouldn't be reminded of the dark night- the shadows that had been mocking him in the alleyway…

He jumps at his cell going off and glances at it- Paige.

He shuts the phone off and crawls under the blanket, wishing he had more vodka.

It should have been in a bed.

Sometimes, when he's not actively trying to forget, that's the only thought he has: it should have been in a bed.

The night passes much in the same way as all the others- long and lonely between nightmares that keep him hidden, keep him in a prison cell- his prison cell.

He heads to school, running as quickly as possible, not wanting to be any one place for too long, hoping not to run into Jay again.

Hoping not to run in to *any*one.

"Marco," he hears and he continues to his locker. "Marco! Stop!" Paige says. "Dylan told me what you said to him yesterday. How could you… I… what's going *on*? I mean… I thought you liked him."

"Well I don't. I'm not… I don't like anyone."

He couldn't. He didn't want to be anything- gay or straight. Neither. Nothing. Ever. Never.

"Marco, what's going *on*?! Maybe you should talk to Ms. Sauve or something."

"Why? I'm fine, Paige. Just… leave me alone."

"Marco," she says, "What the hell is going on?! Okay? We're all *worried*. We love you and you're not… you're barely talking to us. What *happened*?"

"Nothing. I told you. I just… I'm having- there's stuff at home, okay? I'm fine."

Before she can say anything else, he grabs his stuff. He has to go. He has to not be there because he can't talk about it, can't say it. He can't admit it even happened.

He disappears into the closet and waits for the bell to ring. He doesn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone. If he arrives late, no one can talk to him. If he arrives late, no one can ask him questions.

But on his way there, all he can think about is the vodka left in his locker and he races to it.

He opens his locker quickly and pulls the bottle out and takes a couple gulps. Then another and-

"Marco?"

He turns, trying to hide the bottle.

"Marco, what are you doing?"

"I told you to leave me alone," he tells him.

"Well I won't. Not… not when you're *drinking*? What's going on?" Dylan asks. Marco sips the rest of the alcohol from the container and puts the bottle in the back of his locker.

"I told you to leave me alone. I'm not interested, okay? I'm not some homo, so just leave me alone."

"No," Dylan insists. "Marco… I *know* what I felt, okay? I know we have a spark and maybe you're trying to deny it because of your parents or something but that doesn't mean it's not still there. I *know* you were interested in me. I know it. I… at the beach and then I invited you guys to the game…"

Okay, but I'll meet you at the arena.

"Well you misunderstood. I was being *nice* because you're Paige's brother. I-"

"Marco, *stop* it," he says and moves a hand out and Marco steps back quickly.

"Don't touch me."

"Marco, I know you got beat up, okay? I know it must have been horrible but it's-"

"I *didn't*," Marco says.

"Didn't what?"

"Get beat up."

"Yeah, you did, I saw you. I saw you at school and-"

"It was worse," he whispers softly.

"Worse?" Dylan questions. "What do you-"

Marco looks up slowly. "*Worse*," he barely manages to say.

"Oh my god," Dylan whispers.

5

"How worse?"

"The worst," he answers, wanting the world to swallow him whole.

He can hardly believe he was stupid enough to let someone know. To let *Dylan* know.

"Oh god, Marco-"

"I… I have to go," Marco whispers suddenly.

"Marco," Dylan says and reaches out for him.

"*Don't*," Marco jumps back quickly. "Please don't touch me."

"Okay. I'm sorry. I just… Marco… you… this is… you haven't told *any*one?"

"About what?" he asks, panicking. He shouldn't have said anything. He knows this. He can't do this. He knows he can't do whatever this is. *This*- the talking- the letting it be true… if he let someone know, then it would be true and not some horrible nightmare he'd wake up from. And he desperately wants to wake up.

He sometimes pinches his arm over and over- trying to jolt himself out of this nightmare, out of this reality. Anything is better than this Hell.

"No, Marco. I will *not* let you just… ignore this. I mean… it's not- what *happened*?" he asks, concerned. Marco can see the concern in those crystal blue eyes he had once thought he'd eventually lose himself to.

But now all he can think about is *it*.

"What… what did he do?" he hears Dylan ask so quietly.

Anything he wanted, he thinks. Anything he wanted.

Look, I don't care what you want, Faggot! Do you know what *I* want? Huh?

I need to go. You- you have to let me go.

Huh? What are you gonna do, Faggot? Little pussy bitch. Shut the fuck up. C'mon- we're goin' someplace private.

He closes his eyes and feels himself being pulled, he can feel the pull on his arm. He can feel his muscles tense and smell the scent of the pavement and-

Shut the fuck up.

He hits the pavement, his hand falling on glass, cutting his skin. "NO!" he yells. "I'm leaving."

You're not going anywhere, fuckin' homo. Shut up.

He hears the click before he sees the metal.

Oh, that chamber was empty- it's a freebee. The next won't be so shut up and lay there.

He feels- he feels the-

The thought forced bile up into his stomach and he forced the urge to vomit back down. He gets mad that he's spent all this time trying to fight this and forget this and now it's winning.

He forces the thoughts down, the disgust- down where it has been.

"I have… class," he says.

"Marco-"

"Just leave me alone!" he tries to shout but he can't. He grabs his bag and runs to class quickly, racing down hallways as quickly as he should have run that night.

He escapes into English class and is scolded for being so late. He explains something about a locker problem or something about guidance and sits in silence, like always, for the rest of the class.

He's sick about what he let happen. He's sick about allowing someone to know.

The bell rings and he dashes in to his next class early. He needs to avoid the hallways now. He does not wish to run into Dylan or Jay or Paige or Ellie or anyone.

He just sits and puts a book in front of his face and cringes every time someone new enters the room and brushes by him on their way down his aisle. Just a brush of fabric against his skin or the scent of someone *else* makes his stomach turn now.

He wishes he could huddle himself into a small sliver of a Marco so no one would ever be able to touch him again. He would be *so* thin that he could pass through the halls unnoticed and untouched.

He sits through two more classes before the lunch bell rings and he realizes he forgot to bring money or grab his mother's packed lunch. He's not hungry anyway and he stops at his locker for his water bottle and then sneaks off to the closet.

He sits down in the corner of the closet and rests his head back against the wall. He still hates his stupidity. If someone knows, then he'll never be able to forget and he desperately wants to forget. He wishes a car to hit him in the road one day in hopes of getting amnesia but knows he's too unlucky for that. Fate must hate him. *God* must hate him to let- to let-

He yanks off his necklace and throws it against the wall angrily. If God deserted *him*, he'd desert God.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when the door to the closet opens. He's TERRIFIED.

His heart starts pounding and the adrenaline starts to spike until he looks up to see it's Dylan.

He watches as Dylan closes the door behind him and sits down near the door, farthest from Marco.

"I saw you come in here. I- you didn't have a lunch, so… I got some extra. You should eat."

Marco just looks at him. The small closet is now filled with too much *stuff* in the air. It's suffocating. The *world* is suffocating him. He's suffocating himself.

"You don't… have to say anything," Dylan says softly. "Not until you're ready."

Marco nods slowly.

"Applesauce?" Dylan offers the cup and a spoon to Marco. "It's strawberry flavored."

Marco reaches out and takes it from him, relieved Dylan makes no attempt to touch his fingers or hands.

And they eat in silence.

6

The tear of his clothes echoes in his mind as he sheds his clothes in the bathroom.

Marco doesn't like a shower anymore. He used to spend hours in the bathroom. Now it just feels wrong and makes him feel sick. The bruises are faded now and he's glad he doesn't have to look at them.

Not the ones on the outside.

He touches his jaw gently. It still hurts. He's unsure if it's still physical injured from where his face was shoved into the pavement over and over until he was bleeding and sore.

That's a much easier hurt to concentrate on. Much easier than thinking of how badly it hurt to go to the bathroom after it-

He pulls his shirt back on quickly and rushes out of the bathroom.

"Marco, Honey, these to the alley please," his mother requests as he tries to scoot into his room.

"Ma, I have work."

"Marco, your mother asked you to take the trash out. Do not disrespect her by saying no," his father orders from the couch.

Marco's entire stomach starts to lurch. He does *not* want to go to the alley.

Not to *the* alley. Not to *any* alley. He does not go out anymore. Not at night. Not ever.

He takes the bag. "Can't I do it tomorrow?"

"Marco!" his father yells angrily and it jolts his system more.

"Fine," he swallows slowly and heads down the hallway and down the back stairs to the door that leads to the alley behind the building where the trash bins are.

He can't feel his fingers anymore. He just feels his heart pounding and he can't breathe.  His chest is tight as he opens the door and tries to force himself out. He can't do it. He looks out and it's dark and there are shadows and the smell- he throws up what little dinner he ate onto the steps.

Then he tosses the bag toward the trash bins and races upstairs. He wants to be under the blanket. He wants to get more vodka from the cabinet. He wants to disappear.

Why can't he just disappear?

"Marco, the dishes," his mother says and he glances at his father who is staring intently at him.

"Yes, Ma," he says and grabs the dish rag to dry and put away the dishes his mother has washed.

He takes the plates and tries not to drop them as he shakes with fear, still from the alley.

From… from everything.

He takes the silverware next and dries each fork and spoon.

He picks up a steak knife from dinner that evening and it's the first time he's noticed how shiny metal is when it's clean. It's the first time he's noticed how sharp the blade is. Sure, it cuts meat but he wonders briefly what else it might cut easily.

He wishes he'd had it that night.

Oh, what are you lost? Huh?

No.

And the blade would have slid easily into his belly and he'd have fallen to the ground bleeding as Marco bolted down the road for help.

"Marco?"

He blinks and realizes he's cut his finger.

"Marco, you're bleeding!"

"Just a scratch, Ma. I'm fine," he says and she grabs the knife to wash it again and he watches the drop of blood pool on his skin until it runs down his finger like it ran down his thigh and-

He races into his room and locks the door behind him.

He dives under the bed and closes his eyes and chants to himself- wake up wake up wake up- over and over.

"Okay, but I'll meet you at the arena."

I take it back.

I take it back.

I take it *back*.

I TAKE IT BACK!

He screams to himself as he rocks under the blanket, squeeze his fists as tight as he can until his fingers are too pained to hold the grip.

I take it back.

He wants to take it back. He wants to go to the Dot that night and put up with Spinner's stupid homophobic comments. Anything would be better than-

Gay. Queer. Fuckin' homo. Little faggy bitch. Pussy. Just like a little girl.

He feels like he's still there. It. In the room, under the covers with him.

He pulls at his hair and starts grinding his teeth.

It's like it's always there- always happening. Over and over and over.

Everyday he rapes his mind. Again and again.

He's still being raped.

NO. Not- no. That's- no.

He throws the covers aside and wipes his eyes of the tears that always seem to be there but are never seen.

He wants to get out of his skin. He wants to escape. Disappear. Be gone. Be done. Be finished.

Out of this world, this mind, his body. Out of the torment that chases him eternally.

He wants it done.

It has to end.

He can end it.

All he needs is the knife.

7

He walks through school, looking around- looking everywhere.

He wonders if he'd miss it.

He wonders if his teachers would cry if he were to cease. He ponders what type of flowers his mother would order and what type of memorial the school would arrange.

He walks to his locker and thinks of Paige and Ellie, maybe Jimmy and Spinner, crowding around his locker to clean it out. He wonders if his father would come. He wonders if his father found out that he was gay *after* he was buried, if he'd still hate him.

He sits through classes and looks down at his arms and imagines blood spilling onto the tiles of his bathroom floor. Or maybe on his bed. Or his bedroom floor.

He knows the blade will hurt, but it can't hurt anymore than he already had been. He thinks perhaps as much as it would hurt, it would also feel good; it would be relief.

He darts through the hallways and turns quickly when he sees someone he knows, someone he wishes to avoid. He's a mouse in a maze; scurrying through the tunnels of his prison.

He remembers a story from psych class- an experiment about mice in a jar that was filled with water and how they drowned. Sometimes he feels like the halls are filling with water and he wants to let it take him under.

He's beyond craving alcohol now. Marco craves more- he craves the end.

After a few days, he moves precisely through the building, knowing exactly how to avoid everyone. He knows how to be invisible. He thinks about just not showing up anymore since he remembers nothing from classes and he's sure he's failing everything now.

He briefly wonders why teachers say nothing to him but is happy for it. It means he can tune out during class and go unnoticed.

He wishes he had gone unnoticed.

He draws during classes, doodles on his paper- blood dripping down walls or visions from the alley. It's the only thing he can see anymore. Everywhere he turns is an alley- *the* alley. And every time he closes his eyes, he feels *it* on him. All over him- behind him, inside him- raping him.

He closes his eyes and wipes a tear away. "May I use the washroom?" he asks in the middle of math and he's excused. He takes his bag and doubts he'll go back.

He doesn't need school. Not anymore.

It's unimportant.

He heads to the closet he hasn't been to in several days. He goes inside and there's still a vodka bottle- empty, but it's there. He looks down and sees that his cross is still on the floor where he threw it.

He picks it up and stares at it.

He wonders if he even *wants* to go to a Heaven to meet a god that would allow this to happen to someone who never did anything wrong- a person who got straight A's and helped his mother relentlessly around the house and who never disobeyed or was rude.

He hangs the necklace on an old hook on the wall and grabs the bottle. He shatters it against the floor and picks up a large piece of broken glass. He stares at it, sliding his finger over the tip. It's sharp. Sharp enough to hurt.

He drags it lightly over his arm and nearly cries at the thought of plunging it deeply into his skin.

He knows no one would know- no one would find him before they could do anything.

He imagines the bell ringing at the end of the period and students gasping at a pool of blood coming from the door of the janitor's closet. He wonders who would open the door first. He hopes it would be Jay- maybe he'd think twice of teasing people. He hopes it isn't Paige. Or Ellie- but no, not Ellie- not when she was such a great friend.

He briefly entertains the thought of Dylan opening the door but hopes it's not him either. He's glad that Dylan will at least he'll be able to give the reason why. He'll be able to tell everyone.

Or maybe he wouldn't. Marco wonders if maybe Dylan would allow him to finish with dignity- without anyone knowing. He wonders if it would be better for his parents to know or for them to just wonder eternally.

He holds the glass for a long time, staring at it, staring at his cross as well.

He wonders if here would be good or if home would be better. But then his mom would most certainly find him and he doesn't wish that on his mother.

He doesn't wish for any of this. But it happened and he wants it done.

But not now.

He sets the glass down and stands up just as the bell rings.

Perhaps tomorrow. Or tonight.

8

A few days pass- more days. Days that he spends contemplating if he really could cut himself to bleed. If he could really sit there and watch the blood pouring out of his body. If he could really sit in the tub and watch his life ebb from his body.

Part of him wants to know if he could let it happen or if he'd chicken out and grab the phone at the last minute.

He's not sure if he *could* let it happen.

He knows he wants it but Marco is still unsure if he could really do it.

He knows he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger, but a knife is different- it seems less violent.

He heads to school for another day, still wondering why he bothers but figures it's mainly because he needs something to do- somewhere to be besides home. Being at home always makes him feel like the walls are closing in on him. However even outside in the street, the world is too tight.

Every day, every minute, when he can't breathe, he gets closer to being able to do it. He gets one millimeter closer to accepting the dare.

As the seconds tick by, the world grows darker. It's growing so dark that he barely registers memories- thoughts- whispers in his ear- breath on his neck. He barely sees.

He walks as a ghost in the hallways, hollow. Empty.

Every second, he's growing closer to the blade. He wants it more with every dying breath.

But the cross in the closet keeps him just slightly away from it. It keeps him breathing still- the threat of Hell for suicide- the threat of being punished by something *bigger*.

If this was the punishment he got for doing nothing, he shuddered at the thought of the punishment for doing something *wrong*.

He sits through class and stares at a dark spot on the wall, staring aimlessly for what seems like hours to him.

It seemed like hours.

It'll be over quick, little bitch. Just stop fuckin' moving.

He feels the breath on his neck, whisper in his ear- the feel of-

He dismisses himself to the bathroom quickly and escapes to the closest one. He goes to the sink and starts running the water and runs to the toilet to vomit.

He can't think about what it felt like to feel someone else come- *in* him.

He throws up again and when his stomach is empty, he goes to the sink and rinses out his mouth.

"Well… if it isn't Homochuck's little bitch," he hears and looks up in the mirror to see Jay walking in, with a knowing smirk on his face. "But your boyfriend ain't around here now, is he?"

Marco just stands, looking at Jay's eyes in the mirror- wondering if that hate was the same thing he would have seen in the eyes of-

He wonders.

"Leave me alone," he whispers and rinses his mouth again. He spits the water out to the sink and turns to leave.

"You think I'm done with you?"

You think I'm done with you?! HARDLY! I'm just taking a break!

He feels Jay grab him and yank him into one of the stalls and he screams and shoves at him and tries to fight. He WON'T let it happen again. He won't. He can't.

"Don't you fags like ass? Well this is where they GO!"

He feels himself being shoved down, face against the toilet. And he tunes out- he leaves. He shuts his mind down and let's Jay push him. He prays for the end.

The bell rings, signaling the change in classes and people using the bathroom.

Jay lets him go and he sits there, staring at the bowl and throws up again.

When he's done, he flushes and stands up.

He won't go back to the closet again.

He had been hoping to find God there.

But God left him.

He has nothing left to fear.

He has only one thing to look forward to: his last breath.

9

Friday.

His last day of school.

He enters the building with a certain calm, with a desire to at least touch base with Ellie and Paige.

He passes Jay outside the building and says nothing, just walks by. Jay is not the problem anymore. There is no problem anymore- or there won't be come Sunday- the lord's day.

He goes to his locker and notices the empty liquor bottles. He doesn't want them there; he doesn't want them to be found, so he carries them over to the trash bin and throws them out. He also removes the picture of Ryan Reynolds and Ryan Philippe he has hidden. The rest looks organized and he leaves his book bag there and closes it, carrying only a notebook and a pen with him.

Then he heads to his first class and sits quietly, watching how seamless everything goes. He sits back watching Ms. Kwan, thinking about her life and job. He notices the way she wanders around the room, checking on each student's progress and he realizes it must be hard for her, having to manage so many kids at once.

He watches Ashley and Craig, glancing at each other or making faces at the reading. He thinks it's funny.

Marco is surprised when Ms. Kwan asks a question and he raises his hand- everyone is.

He even gets it right and he nods and goes back to watching. Ms. Kwan looks very pleased. He believes she must think that they've finally reached him- that he's on the 'mend' from whatever depression they've diagnosed him with.

But no one knows. No one can even imagine.

He spends the morning watching people- watching how students hustle through the halls and how boyfriends naturally find girlfriends, how Grade 10's avoid even *looking* at Grade 9's.

He wonders briefly about how his friends will act in Grade 12. Will they be like the Grade 12's this year? Will they walk through the hallways like they built the school? Like they should be worshipped? He smiles softly. Probably; it's what he had been planning. Before.

He decides to go to lunch instead of hiding in the bathroom or a stairwell. He does want to see Ellie and Paige once more. They're surprised when he sits down with them.

"Marco, you're… not eating?" Paige asks.

"Not hungry. I just… wanted to say hi," he says softly.

"Marco, you've… what's going on?" Ellie asks. "I mean… we've barely heard from you in-"

"Marco, Dylan's more than willing to talk to you about the gay thing," Paige says. "He was roughed up a couple times too, but-"

"It's not that, okay? There were just… some problems at home. But they're solved now," he smiles easily, lying. "And I wanted to apologize to you two- just to tell you I appreciate you trying to help, okay?"

"Yeah, we just- we love you, Marco," Paige says. "We wanna help."

"I know," he whispers. "I know, okay? I just needed to deal with things on my own. But they're better now, so…"

"So you're coming to the Dot with us after school then?" Ellie asks.

"Yeah, I- sure," he nods, unsure if he can handle that.

"Yay!" both girls grin and he cringes when they both hug him but they don't notice. He knows they're just happy to have their friend back.

Or so they think.

He freezes when he looks up and sees Dylan standing there- staring at him intensely. "I've been looking for you for a few days now," he says.

"He's ready to come out of recluse mode," Paige explains happily. "Right?"

"Yeah," Marco nods calmly. "Ready to resume normal activities and hanging out with friends is a must."

Dylan stares at him for a few minutes before saying, "Can I talk to you a minute?"

"No, we just got him back," Ellie smiles. "You can't take him away, even if you *are* drop dead gorgeous."

"Well thanks, but flattery will get you nowhere with me," Dylan laughs as he sits down. Marco watches as he does. He desperately hopes Dylan says nothing.

"So you're coming to the Dot with us then?" Paige asks. "Dylan, you can come too, if you want," she grins.

Marco knows what she's doing. He *knows* she's trying to set him up and if she'd been a few weeks sooner, it might have worked but not anymore; definitely not anymore since he won't be around.

"Yeah, I might," he says casually. "I mean… definitely, okay? No problem." He says the words and he thinks he almost sounds like the old Marco- the carefree, sweet boy- innocent boy. The naïve one who thought the world was maybe not perfect but at least happy.

"Great! Oh- we should have a movie fiesta in honor of Marco coming out of seclusion," Paige grins happily.

"Well I still have to help my dad at work," he lies. He can't stomach *that* much close contact, under blankets, touching, sharing… he can't.

He looks briefly at Dylan who is still staring intently at him. He looks away.

"Have you thought about the project we have to do for English?" Paige asks him idly.

"Huh? No, not really," he shrugs. "It's not that important."

"Marco, it's 40% of our grade," Ellie says, stunned he's sure.

"I'll worry about it next week," he responds, knowing he won't be here, knowing he won't have to worry about it at all. It'll be something his friends all complete and he'll just *be* complete.

He sits and smiles softly and comments on his friends' conversations, like always- calm and collected Marco.

The bell rings and Ellie grabs his hand and he feels the need to vomit again when she tugs on him.

"Actually, I need to borrow Marco a sec," Dylan says and Ellie and Paige head off.

"Thanks," he says quietly to the blond.

"Marco…"

"I really… appreciate your help, Dylan," he says quickly, wanting to go.  He knows he must go because anything Dylan would say is irrelevant now that it will be over soon. Marco was looking forward to the quiet.

When he lays in bed now, he practices being still, on his back- imagines what it will feel like to draw last breath and know the demons that torment him will be gone. It offers peace that *he* will have the final say. That he will take their power away and they will no longer plague his every second because he will no longer *have* seconds.

"Marco-"

"I really do appreciate you trying to help. Thanks," he says and rushes away as quickly as he can.

He'll stomach going to the Dot later. He wouldn't be able to any other day but knowing that it will be over makes him feel so much calmer somehow. Knowing that the torture will end is very comforting.

He smiles on his way to class.

10

The first two minutes of this youtube video is the song used in this part, and the song from which this fiction received its name.

He desperately wants to go.

He desperately wishes that he were home, but he knows his friends need this one last thing from him.

He practically tastes their happiness and he's choking on it.

He feels their peace and tranquility with the world and it's not a world he's a part of anymore.

He sees that it's getting darker outside and he grows more and more anxious about it. A few weeks ago, he wouldn't have even thought twice about it but he's followed everywhere he goes by someone looming over his shoulder, watching him, whispering in his ear.

It'll be over quick, little bitch. Just stop fuckin' moving.

He's sitting between Jimmy and Paige and they are too close. Everything is too close. His friends are too much for him now, which is why he has to go. They'll understand. He knows that Dylan will make them understand- *help* them to understand.

"This has been *so* great, Marco," Paige smiles as they get up and she grabs him. He's rigid as she hugs him and he tries not to stop breathing when Jimmy does the same thing.

"Yeah," he smiles softly. "It has. I love you guys, okay? I just needed some time to sort things out. But things are gonna be better from now on," he says confidently. "Good luck with that project," he says honestly, but tries to sound sarcastic.

"Well you have to do it too," Ellie reminds him.

"Yeah, I'll get it done. I'll be finished," he says. "Night, Guys."

He follows his friends out and they head their separate ways and he starts walking, wondering how they'll cope with him gone. He wishes them well and prays to their God that they'll be okay.

And above all? He prays that they'll move on. He prays they'll forget- that one day, he'll be just a small memory.

//This is what I brought you, this you can keep

This is what I brought, you may forget me//

He has a few blocks to walk to his house but he finds his feet moving in a different direction and he doesn't know why. He creeps down the roads cautiously and he keeps feeling the eyes on his back, watching him, judging him, wanting him. Marco tries to push those feelings down in his gut. He knows it will be over soon and it makes it quasi-bearable to walk down the streets.

His heart is racing though, he knows this. He's used to this now. His heart has been on fast forward since that night- always aware and anxious, terrified. He wonders where it was that night- why the adrenaline didn't start pumping, why he couldn't run, why he didn't fight harder- why he let it happen.

//I promise to depart, just promise one thing

Kiss my eyes, and lay me to sleep//

He should have run. He should have kicked and punched and scratched and screamed.

You want this,Fag, don't you? SAY it!

His hair stings where it was grabbed- where he was grabbed by the hair- where he felt the gun pressing against him. It still feels so sore and he doesn't know if that is still bruised or if his heart just makes it hurt.

SAY IT!

I want this.

A tear falls down his cheek and he starts running, trying to get away- outrun the memories or get hit by a car, whatever will end it.

His legs run and he wonders why they didn't run that night.

He runs so fast, he doesn't even know where he's running until he freezes and looks around and he nearly throws up at the familiar stench of the alley, the scent of pavement and garbage and pain- the smell that fills his every waking minute.

//This is what I brought you, this you can keep

This is what I brought, you may forget me//

Oh, what are you lost? Huh?

No. Actually I'm just meeting some friends for a hockey game.

His heart started pounding. He was scared. He should have run.

Boys night out in boys town, huh? Huh? Huh?

Actually I think I can find it, thanks.

He tried to step away.  He should have run.

Look, I don't care what you want, Faggot! Do you know what *I* want? Huh?

I need to go. You- you have to let me go.

If only things had been that simple. If only it had just happened that way.

What are you gonna do, Faggot? Little pussy bitch. Shut the fuck up. C'mon- we're goin' someplace private. I want a pretty little mouth all my own.

He grabbed his arm and pulled Marco- tugged on him, jerked him roughly and Marco was just stunned. He felt his muscles tense and he was shoved to the pavement.

What are you doing?!

Shut the fuck up.

He felt his hands cut as the glass embedded itself into his palms.

NO! I'm leaving!

You're not going anywhere, fuckin' homo. Shut up.

Then he smelled metal- felt it cool against his face. CLICK.

Oh, that chamber was empty- it's a freebee. The next won't be so shut up and lay there. Okay?

He nodded. WHY did he nod? Why did he let it happen?! Why did he just LAY there?

Why didn't he just get shot? It would have been better than this.

You are pretty, aren't you? Almost girl pretty. Little pussy… lemme see what's so special.

He shivered as a hand grabbed his throat and yanked his head back. He felt a tongue slide up his face.

Fuckin' faggot. Gay. Queer. Fuckin' homo. Little faggy bitch. Pussy. Just like a little girl.

He felt his jeans being pulled down and why did he just LAY there?! Why wasn't he running? Every time in his mind, he wills his feet to run and they don't. He just lays there every time, over and over again.

No! No, please no! NO! Not like this! PLEASE NO!

He begged and refused over and over but it didn't do any good.

Scream all you want, Fag, no one cares. It's not like you're not enjoying it, Queer.

Please, no, stop!

He cried. He clawed at the pavement and cried at the pain.

It'll be over quick, little bitch. Just stop fuckin' moving.

He begged again.

You want this,Fag, don't you? SAY it!

He felt the metal at his head, his hair being tugged. It felt like it was drilling a hole through his head, through his body and all he felt was cold inside.

SAY IT!

I want this.

Why did he say that? He has no answer.

When it was over, he tried crawling away and he felt hands on his wrists, holding him down, preventing him escape.

You think I'm done with you?! HARDLY! I'm just taking a break, Baby.

His heart broke. His heart had broken.

He knew it was going to happen again and again and he hoped when sunrise came, he'd be wiped from this world. But something fell down in the alley and the sound must have spooked him and he felt the tongue on his neck, breath against his ear.

I'll find you again, Fag. I promise.

Then it was over and he was alone.

He was bleeding.

//I promise you my heart, just promise to sing

Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep//

He sees himself pulling himself up, crying at the pain- at the feeling of being torn apart. He watches as he stands and pulls his pants up and starts limping down the alley and Marco falls to his knees and cries.

He prays for death.

//Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep//

"Marco?" he hears and his head jerks around. It couldn't happen again. It couldn't. His heart is pounding as his eyes try to focus on the sound, the person walking toward him. How could it know his name? "Marco?" he hears again and the figure steps into the light as he stands. He MUST run this time.

"Dylan?" he whispers softly, relieved.

//This is what I thought of, thought you'd need me

This is what I thought, so think me naïve

I promise you a heart, you promise to keep//

"I knew you were going out with Paige- I… was lurking, to make sure you got home okay. I- what are you-"

Marco looks into his eyes and Dylan's eyes soften and fill with tears. "Oh, God, it-"

"It was here," Marco whispers, ever so sadly, barely even audible, "where I… was raped."

The words are so soft and so faint, if Dylan hadn't been expecting them, he might not have heard them.

"I know, Marco," Dylan replies.

And Marco loses the strength in his legs, in his entire being for that matter, and he falls and as he does, Dylan catches him. Marco wraps his arms around him as he sobs so hard, the world disappears.

//Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep//

Marco slowly opens his eyes and realizes he's in Dylan's car.

He pulls his legs up under him and wraps his arms around himself.

"Can I take you home? Are your parents-"

"Gone for the weekend- until Sunday."

Dylan nods and Marco's eyes barely focus on anything but Dylan as he drives.

Dylan's face goes in and out of fuzzy and clarity but he forces himself to stay awake enough to walk up the stairs and get his keys out for the door.

His body feels sore all over again, like it's that night and he's creeping home and trying to figure out how he'll lay comfortably or *ever* feel safe again.

Dylan follows him inside. "I just wanna make sure you're okay," he explains. "You… look tired."

"I don't sleep," Marco acknowledges as he's followed into his room. "It's… I can't sleep."

"Well… you should at least lay down anyway. And I'll-" he watches as Dylan walks to his dresser and looks at the vodka and bottle of sleeping pills. "Marco-"

"Not tonight," Marco whispers as he falls onto his bed and pulls his nana's blanket over him. "Please."

"Okay. I'll… check on you tomorrow, okay? I'll lock the door on my-"

"Will you stay?" Marco requests quietly. "Maybe… maybe if you stayed… to watch out for- maybe I could…"

"I'll stay," Dylan nods and sits beside the bed in a desk chair.

Marco stares into his eyes before darkness finally takes him.

//Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep//