I manage a small smile as Logan wipes away my tears and examines injuries. Thankfully, he keeps a first aid kit in his car, which doesn't surprise me in the least. He cleans the scrapes and cuts, cleaning up the blood and removing the splint from my ankle then replacing the bandages then setting it again.
"Your ankle was damaged further, which will increase recovery time. Other than this, your injuries are mild," he assures me. "Does it feel any better?" He pokes my ankle gently and I wince, suppressing a whimper of pain. The bruises on my chest are more painful than anything I could ever have imagined, but I think I would know if I broke a rib, so I suck it up and don't tell Logan about it.
My ankle is pulsing and throbbing so badly it brings fresh tears to my eyes, but it hurts less than it did a few minutes ago, so I don't complain: I feel like enough of a baby sitting here on the hot tar, crying and covered in blood, scrapes, bruises and injuries, getting pushed around by violent bullies like the weak little kid that I am.
"It feels a little better," I assure him. This isn't a lie: Logan is much more medically proficient than he gives himself credit for. He nods, then hands me the crutch and helps me to my feet.
When I gingerly poke Logan's left eye, which is swelled shut and rapidly darkening, his features contort. He quickly masks it, but not very well.
"That's a black eye, Lo," I note. "You should see the nurse."
"I'm okay, Patton," he insists calmly. "If you really want me to, I'll ice it when I get home, but I'll be okay for now."
While Logan retrieves his backpack, I text Roman: big, violent emergency, but it's over now. Meet at my locker. Both of you. I need backup. Roman gives an affirmative. I know Virgil will start worrying immediately--that's why I only texted Roman, but Virgil is probably looking over his shoulder anyway--so I tell Roman to tell him not to worry and that I'll explain everything in due time. I let Logan support the majority of my weight then take his hand and lead him down the hallway.
When we reach my locker, Roman and Virgil are already there, holding hands and sniping passionately at each other. "I mean, they are kinda perfect for each other. They both wear glasses," Roman scoffs. "Like nerds." Virgil allows himself a small snicker then opens his mouth to scold his pretentious boyfriend, who speaks before he can. "What are you laughing at, Hot Topic?"
"Aww, you think I'm hot." Virgil's smirk widens. "Also, that's not nice. Not everyone is as perfect as you are," he remarks dryly.
"I know right?" Roman moans. "It's a tragedy!" I wave brightly to the pair to announce our presence. My knees buckle and I wince in pain when the action hurts my wrist.
"What was all this about, Patton?" Virgil asks worriedly. "You two look like you've been through a war. Are you okay?"
"They seem okay enough," Roman spouts, seemingly uninterested. "Why are we here?"
Virgil slaps him across the face and turns to us, ignoring his boyfriend. "Tell us what happened, guys." He eyes Roman, who is now rubbing the red mark on his cheek and focusing intently on pouting. "Well, I guess I should say tell me," Virgil sighs, "because apparently I'm the only one listening."
"I'm listening!" Roman sulks. "I'm great at listening!"
Virgil eyes him skeptically then refocuses on us. Logan starts the story, but I break into tears before he gets very far. This doesn't help to ease the feeling that I'm fatuously, ridiculously juvenile. Logan wraps an arm around me then exchanges a glance with Virgil. They herd Roman and I to the nearest bathroom, where we head immediately the back corner. Logan and Virgil help me sit then claim places on either side of me and each wrap an arm around my crumpled form. I can barely muster the strength to hug my knees to my chest.
As the two of them comfort me, they talk in low voices. Roman must have joined us at some point in time, but I'm still sobbing and too miserable to care. I just close my eyes and lean against Logan, who runs his hands gently up and down my back. The others seem to be aware that I'm drifting to sleep, but I think they're purposefully letting me be.
***
Once I manage to get from trembling sobs to regular tears, I half-open my eyes, not moving a muscle. I want to hear what Logan and Virgil are saying. Virgil seems to be the calmest one here, which is almost ironic. "I know you didn't want to fight, Logan. You had no choice, and I'm sure Patton saw that."
"You were defending his honor," Roman pipes in loudly. Virgil puts a finger to his lips and gestures to me. Roman nods.
Pretending to still be asleep, I bury my head deeper in Logan's shoulder, which is now damp from my seemingly never-ending tears, and scoot closer to him ever so slightly. He blushes, leaning into the contact and gently draping an arm around me.
"He was scared," Logan whispers. "I'm just saying that--"
Virgil sighs heavily. "For the fifth time, Logan, all you did was defend him! Patton wasn't scared of you. Patton wasn't disgusted by you. He never has been and probably never will be. It was the violence, and to a certain extent, the insults. He doesn't like hurting people or seeing people get hurt, physically, verbally, emotionally, or in any way at all. He hates fighting. On top of that, you're his first love. His first boyfriend. His first real relationship with a guy. I don't know if he's yours, but do you know how special that is?"
Logan visibly flinches at this, likely thinking of Dee, his own first love. Virgil puts his hands on Logan's shoulders, forcing him to look the boy straight in the eyes.
"I of all people understand putting your own welfare below everything else. But how would you feel if you were knocked to the ground, rendered as injured and helpless then had to see the first guy you've ever loved go through that?" Now Logan is tearing up too, but Virgil continues. "Given the situation, I'd say that Patton is reacting well, especially for someone so sensitive. He's your boyfriend, and that he has a right to be concerned for you, just like you were for him the day he sprained his ankle." Logan opens his mouth to protest, but Virgil speaks first. "Don't even tell me you weren't as protective as I was--I'm gay, not blind. By the way, he's right that you should go to the nurse. You look like you just drank a bottle of vodka--no wait, make that two bottles--then slept it off half of it and downed a 6-pack of Red Bull. Oh, and then tripped, injured your eye and got slugged in that same eye with a mallet three to four times, but half the time, the mallet missed your eye and somehow hit you in the groin instead."
"The level of detail utilized both fascinates and disturbs me. And I'm fine," Logan insists. "I don't need to--"
"Could you at least do it for him?" Virgil pleads. "To make him feel better?" Logan sighs but nods without hesitation.
Something appears to have clicked in Virgil's mind. "Wait a second. Where did you go to school before you came here?"
"Pine Springs. Why?"
Virgil's eyes widen. "Logan," he mutters. "It wasn't Logan Kress or Logan Pariday, it was Logan Sanders. Oh. Oh, no, no, no. Sanders. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense." His eyes widen in alarm. He sighs, muttering vehemently to himself. I can't make out most of what he says, and I don't think Logan can either. "He would have been a senior, but...oh god." He turns to me. "Did you ever meet a guy named Dee?" Logan flinches at the name and he sighs to hide the panic crossing his soft features. "It was you," he gasps. "The kid in the alleyway. I'm really tired of stumbling into these kinds of problems." Logan looks at him, asking a silent question. Virgil sighs and answers it reluctantly.
"Dee was my only friend from 2nd grade until high school--my freshman and his junior year. He was all I had, and vice versa. Everyone always teased and judged us, but he defended me and convinced me that it's okay--natural, even--to make mistakes and feel inferior or unworthy, even after you've found somewhere you belong. He was like an older brother to me, but he confessed that he wanted to be more. I can tell when he's lying, and he was telling the truth when he said that. I didn't like him in that way, and he didn't take it well; I'd go as far as to say he resented me for it. He started spreading rumors about other students and doing nasty things--not to me, but to other kids, just because he knew I hated it. I couldn't bear it, so I told him I'd rather be alone than have anything to do with him. He resented me for that too, but he never truly hated me and he never gave up. One day, a few weeks into my sophomore year, he snapped. No silver tongue this time. He said if I wasn't going to be his boyfriend, I'd be his adversary. He did something worse than anything else he'd ever done to a kid I didn't know, and he accounted everything to me before he did it. He made me watch when he brought that kid into the alleyway. I barely knew his name--I'd vaguely heard him refer to the boy as Logan something-or-other--and I'd only seen him from a distance, but I didn't try to find out more. I mean, what would I even say? He wouldn't have believed me if I told him the truth, and I was way too scared to try. He threatened me--verbally, emotionally and physically--and made me watch when he took that kid--you, apparently--into the alleyway."
"Unless you were in the crowd of upperclassmen, I don't remember seeing you," Logan says plainly. While he isn't mad at Virgil, reliving the memories seems to be tearing him apart. Virgil seems to be able to see this, but he can also see how much Logan wants--no, needs--closure.
"Those steroid-popping dickheads?" Virgil scoffs. "No way in hell. I went as far away as he would let me. I told him I would sit on one of the low rooftops nearby, but he yelled at me and forced me to hide behind the dumpster where he could see me if I tried to flee. I could have outran any those guys in a heartbeat, but if I did, I'd be doing it for the rest of the year, or longer. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I bit the bullet. Dee was sitting on top of the dumpster I was hiding by, so I kicked it as hard as I could then flipped him off and fled, hoping they would leave you alone and chase me or something, I don't know. At the very least, I couldn't stand being paralyzed with fear like I had my entire life and I couldn't watch all of this crap being dumped on an unsuspecting high-school kid with good intentions. It reminded me too much of my own problems. After that incident, I told my parents everything Dee had put me through. They agreed that I should transfer schools as soon as possible. The day after Sophomore midterms last year, they informed me that I would be going here now."
I can vaguely hear Logan saying something sad yet gratitude-filled to Virgil. While I'm proud of them for working this out, the effort involved in straining my ears to listen has taken a lot out of me. So has simultaneously listening to a conversation, thinking about said conversation and staying conscious. I never stopped crying, so I just bury my head deeper in Logan's chest and don't bother disguising it. That might lead him to suspect that I'm awake. Just before I drift off again, I see Virgil looking down at me, empathetic and mildly amused. He just winks and turns back to Logan, beginning to talk again as I let my eyes slip shut. I'm thankful for Virgil's reaction, but too tired to dwell on it.
After a span of what felt like a few seconds but was probably a lot longer, I lift my head from Logan's shoulder, extending my legs and squeezing Logan and Virgil's hands. At least, it was Virgil's hand the last time I checked. I must have drifted off, because Virgil is gone and Roman has taken his place. I'm also arm-in-arm with Logan; a recent development during my semi-conscious state, but I won't complain.
I timidly lift a finger to my face to find that I'm not crying anymore, only shuddering violently. I wipe away any remaining traces of the liquid with the sleeve of my cardigan. Logan immediately pulls me into a hug, which I would have found uncharacteristic of him only two days ago. When he pulls away, we're both misty-eyed.
"How long have we been here?" I mutter once he releases me.
"We arrived in the bathroom 15 minutes before the start of first period," Roman answers, looking back and forth between me and whatever it is that he's typing on his phone.
"And?" I ask.
"It ends in 12 minutes."
"What happened to Virgil?" I demand politely.
"Virgil wanted me to tell you that he had to go for a big test in English, but Logan said he has study hall anyway. Not that that nerd would ever leave."
"What about you?" Logan demands, ignoring the insult.
"I have theater class. The teacher, Thomas Sanders, is an old friend."
"Logan Sanders," I murmur, eyeing Logan. "Thomas Sanders."
"A pure coincidence," Logan states. "Sanders is a relatively common last name."
"Yeah, whatever," Roman sighs. "Anyway, when we came into the bathroom, I sent him an email from my phone saying two of my friends were having an emotional crisis. Don't worry, I trust Thomas. I told him who your teachers are, and he said he'd tell them that the absence was excused, but nothing more. He said I had to stay in for lunch to rehearse my lines for the school play if I miss class, though, because the lead can't afford to skip out."
"Technically, that is still skipping class," Logan notes.
"Do you two want fucking emotional support or not?" Roman snaps.
"Language, kiddo," I scold him. "But yes, of course we do."
"Sorry," he mutters. I smile in return; it's weak, but genuine.
"So...to the nurse?" Logan asks.
"Actually, I think I have a fair compromise."
Logan helps me to my feet then eyes me curiously, silently willing me to elaborate. I'm still shaky, but once I have the crutch under one arm and Logan under the other, I don't fall.
"We'll just get some ice for your eye," I explain, "then we can all sit around in the bathroom or something until the bell rings. No examinations. No sitting in the nurse's office. Just get some ice and then I'll leave you alone about it, okay?"
Logan nods, then turns to Roman. "Would you care to join us?"
"Well, it's not like I have somewhere else to be," he smirks. "And I do like sitting around." Logan slaps him on the wrist lightly.
"Logan!" I scold. "What was that for?"
"Virgil wasn't here to do it," he mutters sheepishly.
"Fair enough," Roman pipes in before I can harp on Logan's action further, which for the record, I didn't plan to. Well, I guess I did, but just a little--and only because I love him.