the kitchen. “Why don’t you just go ahead and say what you have to say?”
“All right,” Jeremy said, glancing quickly at Shane before turning back to Matt. “I think you know how we all feel about faggots.”
“Don’t like them one bit,” Tim said, focusing back on the situation at hand.
“Thanks,” Jeremy said, shoving Tim back toward the front door. “That was meant to be rhetorical, dumb ass. Just shut your mouth and nod, okay? Think you can do that?”
Tim just glared and turned to inspect the room behind him.
“Where was I?” Jeremy said, turning to Shane.
“The test.”
“Ah, yes. I remember now. I think you must know how we feel about faggots, Matt, so that’s why we’ve asked you here tonight. We’re going to give you the opportunity to prove that we’re wrong, and get yourself off the hook.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?” Matt asked, retreating into the kitchen, feeling along the wall with his hand for the hole in the wall where he had stashed the shears.
“Obviously,” Shane said, stepping up, “We can’t just ask you. You could lie. So we researched the subject extensively, taking all factors into account, and we devised a test.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Scott interrupted.
Shane held up his hand to silence Scott.
“It is a test that will determine conclusively once and for all if you are, indeed, a butt pirate.”
Jeremy snickered.
“What are you guys doing?” Scott blurted, shoving past Jeremy to where Shane stood, right at the edge of the kitchen.
“Sit down, snapper,” Shane said, shoving Scott in the center of the chest.
Scott grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around so that they faced one another.
“You said this was going to be straight up,” Scott said through his clenched teeth. “You said we were just going to talk this through and everything was going to be like it was before. You never mentioned anything about a test and you know it.”
“Jeremy?” Shane said, nodding his head towards Scott.
Jeremy grabbed Scott from behind, slipping his arms beneath Scott’s armpits and yanking him to the floor, pinning him face first to the dust-crusted floor, his weight atop Scott’s back.
“Get off me!” Scott shouted, wriggling like a fish beneath Jeremy, who just laughed.
“Now,” Shane said, looking directly at Matt from beneath his lowered brow. His eyes had narrowed to slits, his mouth widening to a sadistic smile. “Back to the test.”
“Go ahead,” Matt said, his eyes locking on Shane’s as he crept backwards, his fingers fidgeting in anticipation at the edge of the hole in the wall.
“Through our intensive research,” Shane uttered, advancing further, “we determined that faggots have certain genetic tendencies that we normal folk don’t. For example, a normal guy wouldn’t take it in the ass. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Shall I continue?”
Matt glanced to either side of Shane as Brian and Tim fell in beside him, their faces nearly ripped in half by the monkey-like grins that wrenched their faces. Scott still shouted from beneath Jeremy, who stared up into the kitchen, pumping one fist in the air.
“Please,” Matt whispered, his eyes twinkling. His fingertips rested atop the handles of the shears.
“Turns out that fags have a lower tolerance to pain, as well. Bet you didn’t know that?”
Matt shook his head.
“That’s because you haven’t done the research like we have.”
“Obviously, I’m not as taken with the subject as you,” Matt stated smugly, smirking.
Shane’s clenched fist slammed right into the bridge of Matt’s nose, his head snapping sharply backward.
“Turns out faggots also bleed more profusely than we normal folk,” Shane continued, wiping the blood from the row of knuckles along his right hand onto his jeans.
Matt looked down at the dust-coated floor as the large droplets of blood from his nose dropped onto the floor, splashing like raindrops as they puddled. The tears welled in his eyes from the intense, searing pain in the bridge of his nose. His eyelids batted uncontrollably to press out the salty tears so that he could get a good look at Shane, the soft, exposed flesh of his neck tantalizingly bared above the collar of his jacket.
“Dude,” Shane said, turning to the others. “He’s crying. Look at that! He’s crying! Oh, man, that does it. You fail! You are definitely the number one, king faggot.”
Matt’s reached back up to the wall, his fingers fumbling to find the shears once again.
Tim’s fist slammed into the side of Matt’s jaw, just as he had found the shears, knocking them from his hand. They tumbled down the inside of the wall, landing with a thud against the baseboards. Whatever lived inside scurried away from the sharp edges.
Whirling, Matt grabbed at his suddenly throbbing jaw just as Brian slammed into him, clearing him off of the floor and slamming him into the wall, which caved in from the pressure. Dust filled the air and the shattered drywall crumbled in chunks to the floor. His hat fell from his head as Matt tumbled to the ground, slumping over the chalky mess of wall. Batting his eyes, Matt rolled forward onto his hands and knees, crawling painfully across the floor of the kitchen toward the bedroom.
“Don’t screw me out of my turn,” he heard Jeremy shout, scrambling off of Scott and racing at him in the dark kitchen.
One after another, they kicked him, their hard feet slamming into his exposed ribs and stomach. Yet stoill, he crawled across the floor. Blood burst in spurts from his mouth each time one of the blows knocked the air from his lungs, his broken and jagged ribs tearing at the thin, tissue paper-like membranes of his lungs.
Matt’s eyes fixed on the small clearing in the center of the carpeting of bees that he had made earlier, focusing on the handful of small lumps that lined the edge, knowing that salvation was buried beneath.
The stingers lanced into the flesh on his hands as he scooted further into the room, kicking feet hammering into him from all sides. The pain resonated from every available inch of flesh, tearing like lightening bolts through the tissue beneath, forcing Matt to retreat into his mind while his body began the initial steps toward shut down. His vision began to narrow, tunneling to the point where all he could see were the small lumps beneath the gold and black carcasses. His whole body grew warm, the pain fading to dull pressure, every vessel pumping blood that felt as though it were boiling.
Reaching out, Matt placed his fingers right atop the handles of the knives, the blades catching the slight glare from the window. His heart leapt in his chest. Forcing a smile, the blood spilling in lines over his swelling lips, his head lolling as though he were drunk, Matt chuckled in preparation of sliding his hand around the handle.
Suddenly, he was jerked up from the floor, the blade falling away from his hand as his trembling fingers reached frantically for it. There was pressure across his chest, his collapsed ribcage coming through his skin, the white, fragmented ends jutting forth like small volcanoes, blood flowing in streams from them like lava.
“Back the fuck off!” Scott shouted as he dragged Matt backward through the kitchen and into the main room. “This is bullshit and you all know it!”
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” Shane shouted, his chin jutting forth. “Only one way to find out…”
“Give it a rest,” Jeremy said, resting his hand on Shane’s shoulder. “We accomplished what we needed to tonight. Just let them go.”
“No fucking way, man!” Shane shouted, his eyes afire. “There’s no way that they’re leaving until I say so.”
Shaking off Jeremy’s arm, he stormed toward the front door. Scott and Matt were already down the steps at the end of the porch, and crossing the snow-blanketed lawn to the Escort. Yanking his keys from his pocket, Scott opened the passenger door, and lowered Matt onto the seat, lifting his legs onto the floorboard. Slamming the door, he raced around to the passenger side, throwing wide the door and climbing in. Jamming the key into the ignition, the engine roared to life and Scott slammed the stick into reverse. The tires slid from side to side as they fought for traction before finally catching. With a lurch, the car launched into reverse, sliding across the road. Shoving the gear into drive, the tires screamed as they wore through the ice to the asphalt below.
“Toss me your keys!” Shane shouted, sprinting toward the Maverick.
