Crush by Laura Susan Johnson

hurt me anymore. I won’t. Passive weapons I had stowed away are taken from their holsters, dusted off, and put to use again.
But there’s something else. I’m shamed. I’m horrified that Tammy has seen me like that, beaten and bloodied and humiliated. I’ve been free from my childhood dungeon for a year, and now, I feel like I’m being thrown back in, the locks engaged with echoing clicks and snaps. I’m irreversibly damaged, and the jagged pieces are precariouslyhanging together. I’m on the verge of losing hope. The beatings I’ve recently suffered are threatening to set loose those feelings that pound and claw against mychest, screaming to escape, to be recognized bytheir host…feelings that I am hated, hated by everybody, hated by my parents, hated by God, hated by all decent, godly society, that I should never have been born. It’s easy to forget that Lloyd and Stacy would give their lives for me. I only know that I have to protect myself. I can’t have anymore hurt, anymore rejection...
I must remember the lessons I learned. I must remember the value of control…
In moments of unguarded softness, when I look at Tammy, I cannot believe myeyes when theydetect an emerald nanosecond of tenderness before he looks away. I protect myself by looking into mirrors, reminding myself of my eternal ugliness, and by treating him coolly.
But no matter what icymethods I employ, I’m always, without failure, startled over and over again by what I see shimmering in his dark teal eyes.
Can it be?
No…no way. I might be a little flaming pervert, but Tammy’s straight. I should know by now who he likes to sleep with. I can’t have him, and I have got to stop torturing myself. He’s going to L.A. and he’s going to be a famous news anchor. Women will be all over him. That’s that.
“You don’t fool me for a minute,” Stacy says with stern sweetness.

chapter seven: tammy (approaching the end of high school)
    Their fists pummel him into a bloody pulp as they call him, “Flaming faggot,” “Pervert,” “Pussy-boy.” I scramble out of my car and charge at the three pukes, but they’re already on the run. He yelps when I shake his shoulder, and gentlyas I can, I gather him up and put him in mycar.
    I’ve been following Jamie since the first time they jumped him. He makes his way home on foot, walking the mile from the high school, down a stretch of paved road, past the town limits, to his house. I follow, my car slowly crawling a few hundred yards behind, keeping enough distance to monitor him without making mypresence known.
    I’ve caught those sonsabitches red handed, and they’re going to pay.
I keep one eye on traffic and one eye on Jamie. God, he’s so little. Fucking cowards beat the holy shit out of him. I hate seeing him like this.
He stirs. “What’s…?”
“It’s okay…I’m taking you to the hospital.”
Slurred words squeeze their way through his swollen lips. “Why does everyone hate me? What have I done? Even Tammy hates me. Why did he scream at me? I wasn’t going to steal that ball…I don’t understand what I’ve done to make him hate me!”
Remorse assails me as tears and blood begin to ooze out of his nose. I find an old napkin from Burger King or someplace and dab at the mess carefully.
“Nobody loves me.” The way his breath hitches in his chest makes myeyes sting. “Nobodywill ever love me…”
“I don’t hate you, Jamie. I’m a prick…I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
But he doesn’t hear me. He’s passed out. I smooth myhand over his forehead, cheek and chin, and he recoils. I think his jaw’s busted.
I stayfor two hours. His jaw isn’t broken, but his arm is.
When I get home, I shut myself in myroom and cry.
It’s not just that he’s small for his age. He’s different, and it makes him an outcast, a target. Until Queen Bitch spread that shit around town about him, he’s been overlooked. He’d probably be invisible if not for Stacyand Rayand the