♥Brody Cunningham♥
The water did quite a bit to get the unspeakable off his face. Not completely, but it was working. And his jacket was rubbing off the rest of it. This suit was dead. It was just gone. Requiescat in pace. Wait… Brody could feel eyes landing on him. Fucking Loser eyes. And no sooner did he get that feeling did one of them decide to poke the bear as it were. Brody shot Gray a look that could kill.
"Welcome back Brody, glad to see you're back here safe and sound. I hope nothing happened to affect your spirits. Sorry about that girl making fun of you, she'll apologize for it... I'm sure of it."Fuck him/her/whatever that fucking reject was in particular. He had half a mind to strangle the loser until it learned to shut its mouth. To wipe that ungodly hideous smile off that smug bastard’s face. Like he really needed a androgynous bitch to fight his battles? Brody was about to issue a verbal beatdown, to teach this abomination its place, but another voice chipped in.
"Heeey Brody!" Go to hell, slut.
"Wow, you look like hell."Coming from the human troll doll? Hilarious.
"Don't worry, I'm not gonna take a picture of you. I'm not that cruel. Well, unless you were Gray. Then I'd be cruel."...whatever.
"You alright there Brody? Did these guys horrible acting give you a stomach ache or something?”Brody looked straight up and stifled a scoff. Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. These rejects really had the nerve to take jabs at THE Brody Cunningham. Yeah, they were going to get it. Purplefreak and Bitchy-Blabbers, added to the list.
…
What the actual fucktruck?
Tori had approached him and, without a word, pulled some tissues out and helped him wipe off his face. Tissues...oh, truly a gift from the gods. The muck came right off. Brody heard his name called by another person. But Tori pulled yet another surprise. She hugged him.
…
What the <insert yet another witty variation of fuck here>?
“I’m so sorry.”…
Brody moved his mouth, but he was at a loss for words. In a movie, he would have perhaps been able to say thank you, to accept her hug, and his frozen heart would have thawed from the loving warmth of friendship. This, however, was reality. Reality bites. So does Brody. So when the steroid junkie came up to him and pushed her shirt against his stomach blabbering on about a hospital, Brody hit his breaking point. He slapped Elizabeth’s hand away and pushed (albeit gently) Tori off of him. Nobody, AND THAT MEANS NOBODY, pities Brody fucking Cunningham. He snapped at her,
“I. Don’t. Need. Your. Fucking. Symp-”But was rudely interrupted by…
The OTHER androgynous freak had made her way over to him. And apparently she was in a sharing mood. She had become a human firetruck and decided to deliver unto him not refreshing water, but even more nightmare. It hit him softly at first. He could feel the warm, chunky liquid brush against his freshly vomit-free face. For a split second, he thought he was actually going to be spared, but, alas, it was not meant to be. Partially digested cafeteria food slapped the boy across the face, covering him in a fresh layer of filth. Before the rage hit, Brody really could appreciate the irony in the situation. Wait, was this irony?
…
It didn’t matter. The rage came in like a wrecking ball.
Brody stood lightly shaking. He took his left hand and wiped his face, from top to bottom, then flung what he could away. He looked across the little party with a sneer rightly belonging only to Disney Villains and the criminally insane. He dropped his jacket to the floor. Then he pulled on his
bowtie. It quickly pulled free of the knot, and Brody let it fall to the floor. Then he began unbuttoning his shirt. First the top button. Then the next. So on, so forth. He untucked his shirt and let it slide off to the floor. Then he undid his belt, the front button on his slacks, and unzipped. His pants joined the floor. Using one foot, Brody kicked off one shoe, then he did the same for the other. He used a similar method to remove his socks.
Finally, Brody stood in the haunted, broken girl’s restroom on the second floor of a new school wearing nothing but his boxers and a glare from hell.
He looked at each other of the losers in turn then looked down at the pants. He squatted down and removed from the pockets his wallet, his keys, and a switchblade. A switchblade? ...Oh. That psychopath’s knife. He hadn’t realized he still had it. Whatever, he was going to keep it.
Then he stood.
“Listen up, freaks, fags, and failures. This? All of this? This never happened, right? None of it.”As if to prove his point, he pointed the knife at Gray. Why it? ...well, why not? Fuck that thing in particular, right? The blade wasn’t exposed. Quite frankly, he didn’t know how to use the thing. It didn’t matter at the moment.
He looked at each of the losers again. He was going to say more but, well, why bother? It didn’t matter. These rejects weren’t going to say anything. They’d have waaay too many questions to answer if they did. He walked over to the door, holding his few belongings deemed clean enough to not ditch. He was just about to leave, but he could just end on that note.
Brody spun around, and began to look around as if he dropped something. He checked his wallet, he checked his bare chest, then he stuck his hand into his boxers for a moment. He pulled out his hand which was flying the birdie. His second hand joined in. He made sure each and every one of the losers got to have a finger linger on them for a few moments.
“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. If you all wouldn’t mind, please promptly eat shit and die.”There we go. Situation handed smoothly as always, Brody.
He turned to the door and pulled it open. Lo and behold, the rest of the loser squad was assembled outside. The B-Team to the fucking B-Team. The Rejects’ rejects. He loved it. He shoved past the freaks and continued down the hall.
Nice thing about Edison High? Most of the students kindly fuck off immediately after classes end. Be it to clubs, sports, or just going home, no one really feels like lingering in the halls. Luckily for Brody, today was no different. He followed the hall to the staircase and took it down to the first floor. Then he turned right and followed the hall straight out. It led to the gymnasium, but Brody was more interested in the room right before it: the locker room. He entered slowly, pushing the door open halfway and listening close. He didn’t hear any of the showers running and there was no insufferable jock banter. Here’s a hint boys: nobody cares about your favorite sports team. Pathetic grown-ass men still frollicking around in tight pants trying to get a ball into some sort of goal. And they say Broadway was gay. Ha.
He entered the rather foul smelling room and crossed over to his locker. He entered the combination and the door swung open to reveal yet another gift from the gods: toiletries.
He grabbed a towel and some basic hygiene essentials. For now it was just wash away the filth and get home. He could take care of the rest there.
So Brody went off into the shower and did his business. At some point, Brody realized that he had been cut. And stabbed. Not too deep on either of those, but they still stung like a bitch, and this here shower? Not helping things too much. Still, he could deal with it later.
After the shower, a now refreshed and rather cleaner Brody returned to his locker and pulled out gym clothes. A simple white t-shirt and some athletic shorts. And...ugh...tennis shoes. Normally he wouldn’t be caught dead going into public like this, but hey, desperate times, desperate measures and all that good jazz.
He slipped his wallet, keys, and knife into his shorts pocket. It suddenly hit him how stupid he was to even take the knife with him. Were he to get caught with something like that on school property? Jeez...best not to think of it. He’d just ditch it in a creek or something later. As for now…
Brody left the locker room and headed towards the nearest exit from the school. He usually parked on this side of the school anyway. It was closer to the auditorium, where he BELONGED. Why the hell had he even signed up for that stupid S.P.I.R.I.T. bullshit anyway? So a bunch of losers could harass him? So that he could be…
…
…
Brody froze in his tracks. It had finally fully hit him what had happened. That wasn’t just some trip gone horribly wrong. That...he….he had really just been kidnapped by a gh-...no. Y’know what? No. No. No. That didn’t happen. None of this happened. Today didn’t happen. Just a nightmare. A fucking nightmare. That’s all. Come Monday, everything would be right in the world and at Edison High School.
So Brody continued on. He left the building, crossed to the parking lot, got into his car, a 2015 Lexus RC 350 Coupe, and drove right off the lot, and out of the madness.
...or so he thought.
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