บท 5: Chapter 4: Bumps And Bruises
Cedar Creek High School, Tannon Rd, Bushwah, Kansas...
By the time Dean Hudson opened his bruised blue eyes, it had been close to the third period and he'd been bloodied and bruised. He had hated Trent and his goons with every fiber of his being and wanted nothing more than to see him get what was coming to him. Dean had managed to get toward the school and slip in without much fuss, aside from having accidentally skipped his first two classes, he managed to make it in time for the third and everyone went on as if he had never been missing. He had said nothing about what happened to him, despite the still lingering bruises and the blood he occasionally wiped away so as not to draw any unwanted attention to himself. He kept to himself despite his apparent limp and slow breaths as he did what little work he could in silence. There had been whispers about him and his condition upon returning to classes but other than that he'd been getting by pretty well during the remainder of the day.
Dean managed to get through the rest of his classes and clean himself up once the final bell had rung. He had not been looking forward to the bus ride home or the moment he had to walk through those doors. Life had not been much better with Clint than at school with Trent and his flunkies but at least they weren't always around. There were times when he could breathe and not have to worry about offending the sensibilities of the drunkard who had been his legal guardian since his mother bailed on them.
It was a long slow trek to the bus stop and a rather lonely one as Dean found himself watching as his peers all seemed to connect sharing smiles and giggles as they joked and chatted in the wake of his passing. He had longed to have a simple relationship like that but had never worked up the courage to speak to anyone for social reasons. While it was true that no man was an island, Dean had been more or less of the mind to play it safe even if it meant having to endure being alone for a while. It was better that he enjoy his own company and the lack of pressure to be what anyone else wanted him to be than to have to conform to a list of social pressures just to say someone was a friend only for that so-called friend to turn around and stab him in the back once they had no more use for him.
As Dean filed out of his last class, Mr. Tiller, his history teacher had taken a moment to call him before he stepped out the door. Dean approached him rather cautiously wondering just what sort of trouble he'd been in now with everything that had already been happening in his day. Mr. Tiller had been a rather average-looking older man given to wearing sweater vests and khakis for much of his time teaching. He had reasonable dress shoes and more often than not spent his days and nights grading papers from various students' assignments.
He had been of reasonable middle age and wore thin-framed golden glasses that sometimes rode down his nose when he wasn't looking. The older man had spent most of the class time and lectures trying to adjust them while not looking too inconvenienced by them. He had not been married and seemed to prefer classic literature and Broadway musicals more so than the company of companionship. He had lived alone for as long as anyone could remember and had recently gotten a small dog he walked through town on occasion.
Dean had not been looking forward to the conversation nor any conversation given what he had already endured due to that bastard Trent and his cronies at the start of the school day. He had known that his day wouldn't fare much better once he finally returned home due to what awaited him in the form of his drunken and drug-addicted guardian. It had been enough stress and strain to attempt to gauge that bastard's mood and motives in a bid to not feel more pain in the wake of a heavy beating or worse and Clint had always been of the mind to deal out the worst.
"Mr. Hudson, I wanted to speak to you about your latest report," said Mr. Tiller seemingly pleased about Dean's stellar work performance. "I thought you'd like to know that it had received the highest marks in class given how well thought out and beautifully written it had been."
The older man treated the rather weary teen with a small smile. It had been good news despite how his day was going and it was about the only good thing that had been going for the beaten and bruised lad at the time. He handed him his report with the bright red capital A on the front and patted him on the shoulder.
"Keep up the good work!" he said capping off his brand of encouragement for the afternoon. "I can see a scholarship somewhere in your future all things considered."
Dean nodded taking his work and putting it into his backpack, he had only turned to place his work inside the top zipper portion when a momentary wince had gotten the older man's attention.
"Are you alright Mr. Hudson?" asked Mr. Tiller out of concern.
"Yeah...must have happened during P.E." Dean lied rather smoothly.
He had been used to covering up bumps and bruises but it had been a lot easier for a teen boy such as himself given the nature of things and the assumption that some roughhousing was going to happen no matter the age, Boys will be boys and all that.
Mr. Tiller eyed him for several moments before nodding coming to the same "Boys will be Boys" conclusion before turning his attention to packing up for the day.
Dean took his leave relieved to have gotten away without a long line of questioning and headed toward the front of the school for the bus stop. He had not been especially looking forward to going home but he had no desire to run into Trent or his cronies again.
The bus had come on time and he'd made it just as the aforementioned bastard attempted to cut him off and have another go at him. Dean made his way back to the seat he'd been fond of and sat beside his usual window amid dirty looks and rolling of eyes despite his bumps and bruises, he had something of a productive day and had been looking forward to the ride if nothing else.
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