There was something about the smooth green steel that the trash bins were made of. It was smooth, cool to the touch and something about it was strangely comforting. John leaned against one allowing the bin to cool his bald sweating head.
It wasn’t particularly hot that evening but John had been drinking, much like every evening. He’d found himself being walked out of the bar by his favorite bar tender just moments before.
You’ve had too much, you need to go.
John may have paid attention had he had less to drink. Instead he focused on the bar tenders ample cleavage.
You’re so perfect.
She simply shook her head before thrusting him through the wooden door.
Go home John.
Maybe John would have seen the group of college jocks who watched the ordeal with sly smirks and maybe John would have been aware of the subtle approach of multiple pairs of sneakers but the cool trash bin was easing the pulsing headache he had.
“You’re him aren’t ya?” A sharp kick to the knee sent John tumbling the opposite direction. “Fuck, he can’t even sit up. Jackson. Pull him up.”
A rough pair of large hands hauled John to his knees. A lanky blonde with scattered acne knelt to his level.
“You’re him.” Another hand, smaller than the pair currently keeping John upright, slapped his cheek playfully. “Yeah ya are.” In John’s vision the boy split into two before dancing back together.
“Who am I?” John mumbled. Beyond the blonde more legs gathered though John couldn’t tell if there were truly many pairs or just one moving through his blurring vision.
“Who am I?” A deeper voice chuckled from behind him. “You are. What did they call you?” The blonde glanced behind him as if expecting the answer but received only silence. “Oh yeah, I remember now. You would be so forgettable but how could we forget a name like Bitchboy?” Laughter echoed through the alley.
John tried to measure how many people were laughing, how many voices heckled and bounced the name off the old brick walls.
Without warning the large hands released John’s arms and a dozen kicks from all sides sent him to the ground.
“You know …” The blonde boy came back into view as he leaned over the trembling man. “They say no one could hurt you but I’m pretty sure Bitchboy is crying.” Without pause the blonde boy pushed John onto his back and straddled his waist. A shiny silver switchblade passed in front of John’s face. “Maybe we should just see what it takes to hurt Bitchboy.”
The shiny silver blade leaned against John’s neck as the blonde boy leaned closer to him.
“No one would stop me, no one would care.” The sinister whisper shocked John into some level of soberness. John’s ice blue eyes focuses on the blonde boy’s hazel pair.
“Then do it. You want to impress them then go ahead. Try to kill Bitchboy.” The boy sat back slightly maintaining his smirk. The cool steel blade pushed closer to breaking John’s skin.
“You think you’re badass?” The boy mused. “You think you’re important?”
“I said do it. You wanna kill Bitchboy then kill me.” He gripped the blonde’s collar and pulled him close enough to feel his warm breath. “I’ve tried a hundred times and it’s never worked but by all means, if you think you’re special …”