Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Without a Mind ❯ Cillian ( Chapter 2 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Okay, this is the part where I shrivel up and die.
Really.

Even as the others break out into fits of retarded laughter, I shuffle closer to the group, my head downwards.
Why me? Why me?
I repeat this thought over and over in my head, as the Gym instructor looks from the bleachers, back to me.
"You are aware that this is an all-mens gym class?" He asks, gently. Okay, score one for this hell hole. It isn't completely infiltrated by asswhipes.
"Yeah," I reply, lamely. Looking up, I brush a tuft of hair from my eyes and lock gazes with him.
"Taylor," I say, blinking a few times.

He blinks in return.
"What?"
"Taylor," I say again, pointing to his Roll-Call sheet. "My last name is Taylor."

His eyes drop to the attendance sheet clipped to his clipboard and his eyes scan over the contents. His eyebrows disapear in his hair when he obviously finds my name, and looks up at me uncertainly. "Rayanne?"
"Actually, it's pronounced Ryan." I correct him, irritabley. They always mispronounce my name. Always.

"Ryan?" He asks, seeming completley shocked. "Ryan as in boy Ryan?"
"Yeah." Is my oh-so-witty reply. I seem to be full of those, lately.

The gym teacher casts a look to the other boys surrounding the bleachers before he clears his throat. "Alright," he says with a curt nod. "Go have a seat."

I comply, and sit on the bleacher furthest from the other assholes who are still laughing.

As the instructor proceeds to do roll call, I make no effort to pay attention and simply fix my eyes on a scuff at the toe of my shoe.
The snickers eventually die down, and as he continues on with his lecture that I had interrupted, I curse myself over and over again.

Even though I'm used to being mistaken for a girl quite often, I'll tell you, it gets old real fast.
I have a fair complection, and my skin is quite clean for my age, considering I don't really bother with it.
High slender cheekbones accompany my fair skin, along with a pair of large, round blue eyes framed by overly thick, dark lashes. Too dark, and too damn thick if you ask me.

But of course, noone ever did, because I have all of these feminine features. Not to mention that for fifteen, I'm actually kind of well.. short.
Five feet four inches, to be exact.
Keeping my hair short doesn't work anymore either, because nowadays, short hair on girls seems to be the fashion.
But for some stupid reason, I don't give in, and keep it in uneven chunks all round my head without bothering to push it out of my eyes.
I don't give a damn about what I look like.

Why should I? If I did people would think I'm even more girly. And that would suck.

"The first unit in Gym this semester will be soccer. Of course we'll spend the first class or so going over the rules and expectations, and for the lesser experienced, we'll have some demonstrations."

I can't help but snort at this. Soccer? It's the most basic sport.
I lift my eyes when I feel someone looking at me.

Actually, it's more then just someone.

Try all.
The gym teacher looks irritated and taps his pen along the edge of his clipboard.

"Something funny?" He asks me, with a frown.
I blink, and look around me. The others are smirking (once again), or nudging one another while switching glances between me and the teacher.
Sighing, I shake my head and drop my shoulders, assuming a position I often do to show resignation.

Seeming satisfied with my silence, he continues. "Now, I realize that this is the first class, but since we have another fifty minutes left in class, I've organized some games to pass the time. Not only will it keep you active the first day, but hopefully you'll all get to know one another."

This is bullshit if I've ever heard it. Get to know each other? Like he cares. He probabley just wants us out of his hair.

But I find myself up, on my feet, and shuffling to the centre of the gym like all the others as the instructor whom insists we call 'Jerry' wheels out a basket full of soft, small and colorful balls.
"I'm sure all of you are familiar with Dodgeball?" he inquires, as he begins to throw the balls onto the floor.

"Who isn't?" Someone replies stupidly. Looking to my left, I see a tall, heavy-set guy with blond curls and a round face with a stupid grin on his lips.

So the rules are spoken, and the teams are picked. I don't remember exactly how I got picked. I was the last one.

But I did, and I'm standing on the opposite side of tall-looking jock-types who are holding a ball or two in each big hand and malice in their eyes.
This is a game, right? I don't remember anyone ever being killed in dodgeball, but I'll bet I'm the shortest person in this class.

And the weakest.

So the whistle blows, and I spend the rest of the class avoiding flying balls.
I'm huffing my ass off by the time the bell rings, and I eagerly stoop to pick up my bag, and get the hell out of there.
I'm just about to exit the gym, when someone tugs at the hood of my sweater.

Being the graceful swan I am, I stumble and lose my balance.
Whirling around on my heel, I clutch the strap of my backpack, and tilt my head up to look into the eyes of Todd Jacobs.
"What're you playing?" He sneers, stepping closer to me.

This isn't good.
People who don't know me often assume I am a pessemist.

I'm not, but there really is only one outcome of this second encounter with him.

"What do you mean, what am I playing?" I ask, thankful when my voice comes out sounding angry instead of the whisper it usually is, when experiencing encounters that usually involve a near-death experience.

"You're a girl, so why the hell are you in a guys gym class?" he snarls.

"I'm not a girl," I say. Okay, no. This is more like a whimper.

I really am sensitive when it comes to my looks. Even if I try to say I'm not. Hell, we all know I'm lying. That is yet another thing I suck at.

"You're not, huh? What are you then, some fagboy?" Others are entering the gymnasium, and I'm slowly, subtly I hope, backing up in hopes to make a quick, painless escape.

This is stupid however because even though I'm sure he's quite stupid, Todd Jacobs isn't blind. He advances towards me and yanks me back, and away from the door by my sleeve.

"Anwser my question, loser. Are you a fagboy?"

The humiliation inside me is quelled with anger and in that instant, rage boils over

. So what if I look like a girl? It's not that big of a deal, is it?
I can still feel his fingers curled around my wrist, most likely to prevent me from running, something I plan on doing the moment he lets go.
"I'm not a fag, and I'm not a loser. Get your greasy hand off of me."

His cocky grin vanishes, and he steps closer to me, his grip suddenly becomming painful. "What'd you just say to me?"
"You heard me, now let go." I'm going to be late for class at this rate.

A snicker or two pass among the group thats surrounding us, and I briefly have time to wonder; where is the gym teacher?

"You better watch yourself, kid. You'll be getting your ass kicked if you don't."

I snort at this, a bad habit I'd picked up recentley. God knows from where, but I did.

"You think it's funny?" He growls. "Well how about I just give you a preveiw?"

He pulls his hand back and his fingers curl into a fist. He begins to bring it down, and I lower my head and close my eyes.
Here it comes, here it comes.

But the pain doesn't come. After a moment, I open my eyes and lift my gaze. I'm shoved backwards, and I nearly fall on my ass in the process.

"Picking on the small ones again, Jacobs?"

A guy, taller then me, older then me most likely, too, is standing infront of me. His arm is lifted in the air and his hand is closed around Todd's own, preventing him from hitting me, or pulling back. Todd lets out a yelp, and I can hear the other boy snicker.
"Don't dish out what you can't handle, honey."

"Let me the fuck go, you creep!"

With a laugh that sends shivers down my spine, he comply's and the others rush passed us and out of the gymnasium. The rest of the group that gathered dipasitates with a menacing glare from the other boy, before he turns and fixes me with his unaturally green eyes.
With a grin I will come to hate later on, he extends his hand.

"Names Cillian."

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