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A boy enters a college fraternity, but is coerced to follow the rules by the residents and his own family.
Author(s): mrsimple | 5 Warnings!
Content Keywords | Status: Completed | To Disqus!
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Chapter Four : Bruised and Busted
Posted: 2018-11-01 19:00:27 | Updated: 2018-11-01 19:00:27
Words: 3176

Inside, I lean myself down on a bench in the hall and have a look at my side. I can see a scattering of red cob-webbing. The vessels there broke and will create one Hell of a huge bruise. It is possible my kidney popped, but very low in that possibility. I'd have to be hit by a car for something like that to happen.

As for my thigh, I'm guessing the pain is so much that it is alerting me in the next possible vicinity. I'm probably numb around the waist and the pain is radiating south for the numbing winter.

I hear a coughing down the hall. Looking up, I see the Dean, but not my mom.

"How did you get that?" He asks me as he's approaching.

Like my mom, I don't want things to get worse for us by having the important models of the school alerted to my issues. I'm not getting kicked out again.

"Fell. It's raining again," I lie through my teeth.

He stares at me, then down at me lowering my shirt and pulling the waistband back up my thigh to cover the new brutal tat. Nodding, he walks on without another word.

Soon, I see mom coming out with a stack of papers in hand.

I hope to Dear God that is not all for me to read and sign. I'd rather get kicked around a few more times than suffer my eyes burning in attempt to pour over all that boring shit.

"I'll take care of these. Mr. Rock is getting your new friends ready to greet you," mom says and looks down in dismay at the tome of papers. Not good for her, but at least it isn't me dealing with it.

I stand back up and fall in line with her. It is easy for us to keep pace now. She doesn't have a limp, but is a tad slow when walking. It's easy for me to match her walking, but I don't feel impatient about getting from point A to B anymore. Hurts a lot less doing a slow stroll.

We head out to the car and I watch as the Dean is driving off in his own. He brakes and waits for us to be ready in a follow.

I wait for mom to click the unlock on her keys and open it up for her. Quickly, well, not too quickly, I make my way around to the passenger side and hop in. Off we go tailing the Rock.

We take about five minutes. It isn't the length of street that we had to follow, but the twists and turns around this whole labyrinth of a campus to meet our destination. It might have been a lot faster to walk, but I've got luggage to drop off.

The house is blue, white frames, a very familiar paint job on the red door, tinted windows, and a porch made of fine-burnt wood. I could see that the lawn is maintained. I wonder if that is our duty or if they hire someone to do the lawn?

I do take note that their downspout is crooked. They used a cinch, screwed it into the wall, and secured it rather than cork-screw the inside pane at the bottom to keep it in place. I guess if that is their way of being a fixer-upper, I'll have my work cut out.

Maybe I gave off the impression I am lazy around the house. Let me make this straight. I'm the man of the house. Which means, my mom tells me what to do and I do it. Why? Because I'm the only guy around that she has the right to boss and it is my duty to do all the man-work.

Hate it, but I hate how things are left unchecked far more. It creates bigger messes. A good example is poorly patching a roof. If left like that, it only causes the bad patch to mold, deteriorate, and fall in with an ever worse problem than if it had been done properly the first time.

That is how I feel about the downspout. The cinch is going to cause a ring of rust, it is going to rattle around like a cowbell, and the rest of the downspout could come undone from above. If that happens, it is also possible that the water will flow over it and land somewhere else on the lawn.

The purpose of a downspout is to prevent water washing away the foundation's soil. Have that gone, it is a great deal of potential damage to either the building or basement by the elements.

Like I said, I hate it, but I hate not having it handled.

Mr. Rock exits his vehicle while I'm still wandering around for my mom's door. I let her out and head for the popped trunk. There is stuff in the back-seat, but I know my mom would prefer it if we get everything out of this compartment sooner than later. Just in case we forget and she's all the way home with it all still in there.

It hurts. Carrying this stuff in both my arms and over shoulders causes the pain in my side to triple its effect on me.

I take the step up the porch slow and I can see the Dean give me an eye of concern. All I do is smile and shake my head.

"Just tired," is what I say. Mom used it, so can I, and I don't think that Mr. Rock will argue about it.

He didn't. He came down the steps and tore half the bags from my hands to take up himself. It slightly pissed me off, but gave me a bit of relief. Before I could deposit the bags I still had, his strides out of the house brought him to going for more bags.

When we finished plopping all my luggage in, my mom sat in one of the living area's couches and I managed to find my way to a bathroom. I wanted a closer look at my side.

I guess the bathroom door doesn't work. I tried locking it, but the knob turned in circles when I tried. That would mean it doesn't even shut properly.

I could hear my mom, the dean, and it sounded like some of the occupants to the house had come back. They were chatting away while I ran my hand around my waist. The coloration is pinking.

I'll have either two large bruises the size of golf-balls or a big ass grapefruit. That is just the major concentration. It will dilute in faded bruising around it until the color matches my complexion. Maybe up to a basketball? That is how I'll feel about carrying myself, that I've got a ball under my arm, but in no way do I want to keep it.

There is a stinging tension in my back when I roll my shoulder. Did his tackle do something when I touched down?

I prop my foot down on the door and hold it there. I don't want someone barging in on me while I check this out.

The jacket comes off and is laid on the sink. Next, I unbutton my flannel shirt and pull an arm out of the sleeve. Turning around, I see red. It is around my shoulder blade, a cut, but I can't really reach it.

Looking around, I try to see if there is something that I can find it get at it. Either clean it up or make it out that I'm not bleeding when I sit. I'm lucky that my jacket was preventing the passenger seat from getting stained.

The drawers are pulled open for me to inspect. Eventually, I find some medical tape and gauze. I don't think I could reach back there with the wad, but there is a large roll of banding wrap.

Better than nothing.

The shirt is pulled back, leaving the bottom button done so it can hang around my hips. Grabbing and yanking on the white-wrap, I pull it under my armpit, then reach behind myself, grab the roll and streak it across my chest. If I want this to work, I'll have to cover it a few times, otherwise it's just gonna seep through.

I take a look, since I can't see the back, I base it off of how well my front is covered. I pull the middle of the front forward for an inspection, seeing the thickness of it and nod in approval.

My foot slips for one split second as the door pops open.

I start and turn, quickly slamming the door angrily in someone's face before they could even speak.

Okay, I really hope that wasn't the Dean checking up on me or my mom. No, not the mother. If it was, she'd be battering down the door. The Dean would be asking me directly if I needed help.

So, that leaves on of the house-mates.

I quickly start to pull up the flannel shirt over my shoulders and get to buttoning.

The damn door creaks open again. I glare and kick the door shut at someone peeking in on me.

Jacket goes on, then finish buttoning. I'm really self-conscious about my weight right now. I'm still used to my middle to high-school years being the skinny kid and this shit has me bundled in regret inside.

That might be another reason I don't like eating fast foods.

I finish up and walk out of the bathroom. My mood is sour, being wet and in pain, with some ass trying to butt in the bathroom while knowing it is occupied doesn't fill me with sunshine.

"Whoever, bathroom, all yours," I issue out while sitting next to my mom.

"Hey, how's it going?" This comes out of a short, but heavily stacked in the shoulder, baldy. He reaches out a hand and I take it for a shaken greet.

"I've been a lot better," I make that honest statement.

"Oh-ho, sorry to hear that, but I'm sure it will get better," he smiles and lets go to lean back in his own lounged seat. "Mitch, I run the school's cafeteria clubs. If you plan to join anything, you've got me one room away to make notice." A school-board guy?

"Adrian, I'm your local punching bag," I grin and shrug. My mom shoves my shoulder and I struggle very hard not to wince. My grin shows off my clenching teeth through that moment, though. I don't think anyone took note.

I was wrong.

"I've noticed," I hear from over at the bathroom door. There was the fucker, drying his hands off as he walked out.

"Henry, you will be sure that Adrian is well taken care of while attending this school," the Rock lays down the first law.

Okay, I missed something. The Rock here is the Dean. He is also this fucker's dad? That would mean Henry Rock is the Dean's son, who owns this whole damn town, and pretty much can get away with whatever.

No wonder why nobody stopped him from dragging me into the woods.

I keep my hazel-gaze on him for a moment, nod down and glance at my mom, and return to glaring at Henry.

"Ms. Lynn, you won't have to worry about your child here. These two are the biggest and roughest on our campus and anyone tries to get to your Adrian, they'd have to go through them first." The Dean states.

"That one is a positive," Mitch gives the two of us a thumbs-up.

"Yeah," I hear from Henry. His eyes travel from me to his dad. "What if he gets out of line?"

"Oh no, you won't have to worry about that. We are lucky that the three-strikes your out rule doesn't apply, but this is our last stop," my mom gives me a good hard stare. "We won't cause trouble, will we?"

"It finds me," I state, almost wanting to laugh. This wasn't the answer my mom wanted to hear and she showed it. Her smile dropped with her face leaning in. "Yes mom," I resign and sigh while finding something else to focus on.

"Good," I hear from the Dean. "Mitch, Henry, would you take Adrian's belongings? There seemed to have been some slipping in the mud recently that has our new student-," he starts, but I stand up and shake my head and hands at him.

"I'm fine, I'll take care of it. Just show me where I'm staying," before they could protest, I'm immediately heading for my stuff.

Same time, so is Mitch and Henry. The three of us grab what we can and begin a climb up the stairs.

Mitch gives the door a nudge, it swings open. It is about to come back shut when Henry just kicks it. This time, it stays open. When I enter, I see why. He bashed the knob, on the other side, through the wall.

I found our door breaker.

The inside of the room looks cozy. Kinda. Again, a dark atmosphere. Dark wood floors, a white sheet bed with burnt-brown wood, and shelves that are lined with a red paint to them. The walls themselves are a light blue, but with the weather outside, it makes it rather gloomy.

No desk. I guess I'll be doing whatever kind of artwork on the floor or downstairs in the kitchen.

Do we have a kitchen?

"Is there a dinning table?" I ask.

"We eat in the cafeteria. Discount, thanks to my role there," Mitch explains to me.

"Not what I was intending. I'm an Art Major and will have to-," I begin, but get cut off.

"Studio. Next door. Not in the house," Henry states.

"Okay," there, said it, first word out of my mouth towards this fucker that is a positive.

Henry looked at me funny. I don't know, maybe he always looks funny? I've only seen him twice and those times had two faces. The, 'I'm busy fucking some bitch', face and the, 'I'm busy fucking you up,' face.

I don't want to know what that face is supposed to mean. I turn to leave.

"You're a guy, right?" I hear Henry ask before I get out the door.

I glance behind my shoulder at him and glare, "Do you want another go?"

"Whoa-whoa, dudes, chill. He didn't mean anything by that. I-," Mitch comes up with something to say. "I guess he speaks for both of us. You look like a younger twin of your mom, Dude." He emphasises on dude purposefully, I note.

I glance at Mitch, then back at Henry and settle my glare down to a pissy face. "I'm a man," I state, shaking my head as I leave.

Heading down the steps, I notice that my mom is up and about.

"Are you leaving?" I ask this quickly. I'm not really in the mood to be left alone already. I kinda figured she was going to do the normal, 'Where do you want to eat?'

"Yes, I have to go and deal with that stack of paperwork," she informs me. Figures there would be a legit reason. I nod and turn to look at the Dean.

"We won't be going anywhere. Get them done in your own pace and I'm sure we can work something out," he raises a hand. "Just... Just don't wait until next year if you want the credits to actually count this half."

My mom nods and smiles over to me. She reaches and brings me into a hug, which makes me inhale sharply, but I hug her right back. I'm not sure which hurts worse, my side, back, or mouth.

She soon leaves me with a wave goodbye.

I go over to sit down gently in the still warm couch.

The Dean looks over at me, "I'll be keeping tabs on you." He tells me this and I feel the temper in me getting out, but he holds a hand to stall it. "It is swings both ways. I find out you are causing trouble, you're gone." He flips his hand over and points at himself, "If I find out something happened to you under my watch, I'll take care of you. We work together on this. Not against each other."

I had been in the middle of leaping up to my feet, but I eased back down and nodded. I remained quiet.

"Do you have anything you want to tell me before I go?" He asks me sincerely. I shake my head and he sighs, nods, and flaps his hands against his thighs. "Well, it has been nice meeting you and I want you to enjoy it here. Please, give this place a chance?"

I watch him go out the door next.

Leaning my head back to rest my neck in the bending backrest, I stare at the ceiling. I take my own phone out from my jacket to inspect it, but there is a shadow casting over me. I lazily look back up at the ceiling.

Henry blocks my view.

"Mitch? Do you have any problems with me taking this one?" I hear Henry call out.

"I've got club duties. If you think that he's going to behave under your wing, then fine. I'll keep an eye on him when he's here," Mitch responds from upstairs.

"What do you mean, 'Taking this one,' Henrick?" I ask this in the best mocked-tone of his name.

He grins, "It means that you and I are like the whole Big Brother program. I keep you in line, watch out for your well being, and we have fun when it is suitable. That also includes study, your art, and literally everything the teacher's here tell me you need to work on."

I glance back and forth, trying to grasp the catch in this. "That sounds like you're doing your job?"

"Yeah?" Henry brings me up to that fact.

"Okay," so, he takes his role seriously. That is good, at least. I was a little worried he'd be blackmailing me or something.

"You agree to not cause any problems with either of us?" He asks me.

"If I did, I'm gone and my mom-," I was going to say more, but Henry lifts a hand to stop.

"You're good. We just need to have a better understanding now," he mentions.

"Like what? What I like to do in my spare time?" I ask.

"More like, what you will be doing in your spare time," he points out.

I get the feeling he's going to be dragging me into his lifestyle, somehow. What does he do, visit the gym or play sports? Something to keep me under his watchful eye while I work out this half of the school year?

Well, technically, both Henry and Mitch are like judges. If they pass me, the Dean will okay everything. If not...

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