Punchdrunk

[nj.]

This is the first time I publish a story. I used to write a lot of short stories when I was a little kid, and ofcourse they were in my native language (Dutch).

What you can read below is what I have written so far. I'd like some feedback from you experienced readers.

Thanks in advance, and I hope you'll have fun reading.

PS: I'll post all chapters in this thread. Feel free to comment in between my posts.
PPS: Cian is pronounced like Kean
PPPS: Assuming most of you are American, excuse my British. A fag is not a homosexual, but a cigarette

[nj.]

--- 1 ---

I always thought he had a strong will. I never thought he’d fall this far... He ran away from me. I fucking wanted to help him! It’s not his fault... I can’t be mad at him. But what can I do if he doesn’t want me to get him out of this? Can’t he see it’s no good?

Three years ago. I can still remember. That day I came home after my footy training. I scored a great goal in the training match. Coach said I had a good long distance kick. Still proud of myself, I came home, got some food out of the fridge and watched some TV. Dad wasn’t home yet. I was sure he was at the pub, drinking, as he did ever so often. He once told me that "that bitch you call ‘mother’ ran away with a dirty Russian that could give her better sex, when you were three". He hated everyone with an accent that slightly resembled Russian from then on. Telling him that it could have happened to everybody, and that Russia wasn’t to blame, didn’t stop his racist slurs.

I believe he started drinking at that time. All I remember is that he’s always done it, but my memory is unwilling to cooperate when I try to remember things from before my third year. My life wasn’t really interesting when I was three, I guess. And at the time, it wasn’t much better. The only hobby I had was football, and wasn’t more than training twice a week and a match on Saturdays. You can’t fill your weeks with just that.

I wasn’t really bad at school, but I didn’t stand out either. No one really paid attention to me and I rarely talked to my peers. I was just too shy. I thought I was worthless. My dad made me believe I was.

After watching a stupid game show with high prizes for easy questions, I turned the TV off and went upstairs. It was 10 o’clock, and my dad wanted me to go to sleep at that time. Ridiculous time for a sixteen year old. He often stayed away till midnight, though, but I couldn’t risk it. At eleven, I really needed to take a piss. I forgot to go after brushing my teeth. When I flushed the toilet, I heard the keys in the lock. I rushed upstairs, but I could hear my dad bellow: "You filthy little rat! Come here now, or you’ll be sorry!"

I froze.

"Do you call that ten?!"

"But…", I protested.

He started breathing heavily. You could almost touch the smell of beer coming from his mouth.

Before I knew it, his fist struck my face. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. I stumbled a bit. He lifted me up by my collar and dragged me upstairs.

I tried to resist, but that made his anger even worse. He couldn't seem to reason. He tossed me onto my mattress, grabbed my head, and smacked it into the wooden board behind my bed. Then, he grabbed my throat and shook me back and forth. I could taste the blood in my mouth. I coughed. Dad showed no mercy; he seemed to go right through my stomach with his punches. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

All of a sudden, the room went black.

I can't remember if he turned the lights off and left the room, or if I were unconscious from that moment on. All I do know is that I was left there to bleed till I woke up the next morning. It was half past seven. I was in great pain, and there was dried out blood all over my face. I was lucky I didn't choke in my own blood. I had trouble getting out of my bed. I peeled the blood-stained sheets off my skin with care, and lifted myself off the mattress.

My shin hurt. Everything did, really.

I knew my dad was off to work. On Thursdays he always had an early shift. I was glad I didn't have to face him that morning. I was glad for him too. The previous time he had hit me, he was really sorry the next morning, when he was sober again. At least, he said he was. I'm sure he wouldn't have known what to do this time, had he still been at home. I washed the blood off my body in the shower, and dressed for school. I couldn't skip school. I couldn’t call in sick myself, and an important Geography project was scheduled for that morning.

On my way to school, I wondered why my dad did it. Perhaps I didn't support him enough. I should have helped him to quit drinking. Maybe I should have talked to him more often. I was so egocentric. It was probably my fault. Now it was too late. I was such a weakling too. I never stood up for myself. Maybe I'd be able to stand my father's punching if I were stronger.

After Geography class, which was my second class that day, a kid called Stuart came up to me. Stu was one of the few kids that bothered talking to me. He sat next to me, most of the time. He had this group of friends that he hung out with outside classes, though, so our conversations were limited to making jokes about the teachers or exchanging opinions on the headlines from the news. He had short, black hair, two silver earrings in his left ear, and he always wore a t-shirt, even if it snowed. Even though he was pretty short, no one ever called him names for it. He seemed to be a nice kid with no worries on his mind. Today he had a worried look on his face, though. No wonder; I had a black eye and a cut in my eyebrow, amongst many other injuries, covered up by my clothes.

"Now be honest with me man, what have you done!?" he asked me.

Normally I'd tell people I got a football on my head when a team-mate took a free kick. My imagination would go wild in those situations. I'd tell my lie in great detail. About how he had miss-hit the ball, and how it swerved away from his target, right into my poor head. Most people just replied with, "Oh... well, good luck with it."

Before I could say, 'Ah, just a ball again', Stu said, "...And don't say it happened on the pitch again, 'cause that’s the result of a brawl".

I told him he was right. But I didn't want to talk about it. After all, he didn't know anything about my life. He'd probably give me wrong advice anyway.

"It's not good to bury your problems. One day they'll resurface. Then you won't be able to deal with them anymore." he said.

"Did you read books on psychology or something?" I chuckled. His worried smile made him look like he really cared. That's when I decided to tell him.

"Man... I thought you had problem with some gang, or something. I..."

The bell rang.

We didn't have any classes together after that, and I didn't see him anymore that day. After school, I walked past a sports shop in the town centre. I loved walking in the city. So many people with so many stories. Old, worn faces; women with layers of make up to conceal every blemish on their face; kids pulling their mum's coat, whining to get a bag of sweets... And there I was, with my own problems.

"Everybody in this town has a problem", I thought. "It's ridiculous to think that mine are more important. I shouldn't bother asking for help. They've got their own worries; that's enough for them."

I walked into the sports shop. I never really dared to go into shops. I didn't like the attention of a person trying to sell things to you. But now I had made up my mind: I was going to buy the dumbbells that were displayed in their window. I had to get stronger.

[nj.]

--- 2 ---

The phone rang. I had almost forgotten we had a phone; no one ever called my dad at home. He had his cell phone. I didn't, but no one ever called me. Except for when the footy was cancelled, which didn't happen very often.

"Cian Lewis", I answered.

"Hey, Stu here. I was wondering... I'm bored, sort of… So can you come over to my place? We could err... play football. Or, I have this new computer game, it's err... you know that one that..."

"Yeah, alright, I'll come", I laughed. Stu was quite the wordsmith on the phone, I thought.

"Cheers, see you!" he said.

"Wait! I don't..."

But it was too late. I heard a click, and gone he was. I had no clue where the kid lived. Well, the appointment was made, so I had to go, with aversion. I didn't want to throw a pity party with my problems, and I suspected him of wanting to be helpful. I decided I would say nothing about my dad. I grabbed the phonebook to look up his address. I turned a few pages, until I realised I didn't even know his last name. It started with an M, I recalled. What else did I know about him...? He played in a band. I had seen them on a school party. What was their name again...? It was really strange. 'Poor' something. Richard. That's it. 'Poor Richard'.

"I should really ask them why they're called Poor Richard, when I see him this afternoon. If I see him this afternoon." I thought.

I started the computer in the living room, and looked it up. The search returned many results: a farmer's story about a bad harvest; some replies on a message board, jokingly comforting a man named Richard. No, this wasn't working. I added 'band' to the search, and there it was: their website. Stuart Murphy. I picked up the phone book, and searched for Murphy. The first three were on the wrong side of the town; the fourth was too close to school. Stuart took his bike or the bus to school, so that was impossible. The last address was the one I went to.

Still proud of my detective work, I rang the doorbell. A short man, probably thirty-something years old, opened the door. His hair was much longer than Stu's, who had a buzz cut. It was wavy and it just touched his shoulders.

"Does Stuart Murphy live here?" I asked him with a soft voice.

"Yeah, you're Kieran? Come in!"

"It's Cian, actually", I corrected him.

"He's upstairs. Take off your shoes, please", he replied, ignoring my comment. "First door on the right!"

I knocked the door. "Jeez, come in man, you don't have to knock!” Stu answered from inside his room. "What took you so long?"

"You failed to tell me where you lived", I replied with a cynical tone.

"Fuck... Sorry. How did you find me then?"

"Well, let's just say I'm glad you're in a band."

He managed to trick me into telling him more about my dad. I even showed him the bruises on my protruding ribs (I was pretty skinny). I told him my about my plans to make myself stronger.

He said, "You know, I've always wanted to be stronger. I've never been able to defend myself."

This surprised me. I always thought he and his friends weren't really the type people who'd get into trouble.

"I shouldn't tell you this, but there's this bunch that forces me to do things for them. They say they'll do something to me if I refuse. I have to, well…you know, things like nicking clothes and shoplifting and such. They're some slackers that just smoke fags on the parking lot, revving their car's engines, trying to impress the sluts that hang out with them. I can't get rid of ‘em; they always know how to find me."

This was the first time someone told me something so personal. I didn't really know what to do, so I didn't say anything.

"I'd really like to give them a proper punch in their faces", he continued. Although we both knew that this wasn't going to solve anything, I nodded. He also thought my plan was ridiculous, and I knew it. Yet, we decided that we both wanted to get stronger.

I had never valued friendship. I thought that I’d avoid problems by avoiding people. It worked for my relationship with my father, but apparently he was a bad example. In this short time I started to value the company of a peer.
Stuart’s room seemed to revolve around music. I liked listening to the radio every once in a while, but I didn’t really have favourites. He pushed an acoustic guitar into my hands and taught me how to play a few simple chords. I just kept repeating them until it started sounding like a song. Meanwhile, he started playing on his electric guitar that he also used for the band he played in. My very first jam session was born. We laughed every time I made a stupid mistake that ruined the whole sound. It didn’t matter.

That whole afternoon passed by without touching a football or a computer, so our initial plans went out of the window. But I didn’t mind. I really needed a conversation. Something very simple and elementary, though something my life lacked. Even though my lack of social skills was obvious, even to myself, Stuart was really nice and understanding. I found out I had more to share than misery.

Back at home, I picked up my new dumbbells and tried to lift them. I had no clue what to do, but I did know that I couldn’t really curl my arm. It was a great struggle to get them out of the shop that afternoon, and now the struggle continued. I never thought it would be easy, but I didn’t even seem to be able to make a start.

"I'm glad I live today, and not 4000 year ago. I would have been killed by a bear in no time... Weakling", I said to myself.

I decided to quit. Maybe Stu and I could train together. I turned the television on, like I did every night.

"This is the first day of my life. I'm glad I didn't die before I met you."

It was a short video with happy couples in a living room, cuddling. It touched me. I'm sure it was the song that did it.

When the video was over, they interviewed a writer. Uninterested, I changed the channel. Sports. The 'strongest man' competition. I had never seen it before. I wondered what they would do with fathers that hit them. They'd probably lift him up and throw him away; the heavy, polished boulders didn't seem to be a problem for them. Their statistics were really impressive. I never really thought a person would be able to lift that much. What was I waiting for? They must have started at an early age, and they must have worked hard for it. How much would a gym membership cost?

Dad didn’t come home that night. A part of me was happy. I even hoped something bad had happened to him, when I looked at my bruises. I tried to hide that thought.

[nj.]

--- 3 ---

In my dream the sound seemed to be coming from a robot that was remarkably human-like, but in reality it was just the telephone. I could barely open my eyes. Not because of the black eye, though it still hurt, but because it was 2 AM.

"Yeah?" was the only thing I could utter.

"Is this Mr. Lewis?" a female voice replied too loudly for this time of the night.

"Cian, yes. Who's...?”

"This is Doctor Francis from the Saint Paul's hospital," she replied, before I could finish my sentence. "Mr. Philip Lewis was found with a concussion, earlier tonight."

"Is he..., what's his state? It's not bad, is it?" I replied hastily, shocked by how quickly she told the news like it happened all the time. All of a sudden I was more awake than a squirrel after his hibernation.

"He was unconscious when he was found, and... he still is, actually."

"What happened to him?"

"We don't know, exactly, but he was found on the bottom of a flight of stairs. Either he fell, or he got pushed down." she informed.

"Did he drink too much?" I asked. I was instantly embarrassed by my question.

"You can visit him now, if you wish. He's still unconscious, though," the doctor replied, unwilling to judge.
"Saint Paul's?" I asked. "Thank you. I'll come right away."

I grabbed a pair of jeans and a cap from my closet, and walked to the shed in the garden while putting my coat on. The hospital was about ten minutes from the house, by bike. I didn't know why I wanted to go; I could have ended up in the hospital too, because of him. As that crossed my mind, I realised I still had a black eye and a wound on my eyebrow. I couldn't go to a hospital like that. They'd ask me what had happened to me. After telling a lie – I couldn’t say it was my father who did this – they would examine me, and then they’d probably send me to the police.
I stopped by the entrance of the hospital. Among the many dark rooms, there were three windows with light behind them. In one of them was my dad. "He'll be fine, after a while. Even if I don't visit him," I thought.
I stared at the buidling. My stomach grumbled; I forgot to have dinner. Surely the fast-food restaurants were still open.

I passed a parking lot on my way to the centre of the town. It belonged to a company with a tall building, standing up in the cloudy midnight sky. I heard someone yelling. I couldn't really understand it, but it did sound hostile. A familiar voice replied. I thought of Stuart's comments about the people that made him do things against his will. This group was a good example of what he described. Some tuned cars with a bunch of young men around them, expressing "Don't mess with me" just by their bearing.

I stopped in the dark on the other side of the road. I wanted to see more of this. I had a feeling something was about to happen. I didn't want to get involved, but something told me I had to stand there to witness what was about to unfold.

The angry voice continued. Then, its owner walked up to a short person, probably a teenager, and pushed him with force, which made the kid fall.

“Now go!” I heard the young man say, as he said it quite loudly.

The teenager picked himself up from the floor, and ran towards the opening in the gate that surrounded the parking lot. It was Stuart. The young man told him to go, so where was he going? What were they up to? He told me about the shoplifting, but this had to be something bigger. Shoplifting two hours after midnight? I had to follow him. I didn’t know if I wanted to talk to him, I didn’t want to poke my nose in his business. Well, maybe I did, but that might cause him to do something stupid. I followed him, just in case he needed help.

Stuart was so busy in his mind that he didn’t see me, standing across the street. I tied my bike to the nearest fence with my lock, and started my pursuit.

He walked fast, my new friend. I could hear him mumble. After turning right twice, he went through an ally. Halfway, he stopped. He let out a deep sigh and looked to his left, where there was a fence. I felt strangely sorry for him because he had to climb such a high fence, but despite his length, he did it with great skill. “Like a professional,” I thought. Surprised by that thought, I shook my head and walked to the point where Stu climbed over the fence. I tried to find an opening between the boards of the fence. I could barely see him in the dark garden.

With the same skill he used to climb over the fence, the reached the small, ivy-clad balcony above the back door. He then pulled the balcony door with great force. The apparently weak lock gave up, and he entered the house. Surely he had done this before.

I wasn’t mad at him for being a burglar. He couldn’t help it. Had he not told me he wanted to stop, but couldn’t, this very afternoon?

My eyes left the dark garden for a second, and caught an orange light flashing in the front garden. A silent alarm! I had to warn Stu, before it was too late.

“Stu!” I yelled with a whispering voice. Of course he couldn’t hear me. “Stu!” I called, this time a bit louder. I saw a vague silhouette on the wall inside the house. I took a few steps back, so that I was visible for him from the balcony. I heard a car coming closer to one side of the ally. It couldn’t be the police? They can’t be this fast! I started to panic.

Where were we supposed to go? They would hold me responsible too! My palms were sweaty. The car came nearer.
I then realised the flashing light was an approaching lorry, instead of a silent alarm. But now it was too late. My call was too loud, and Stuart came out of the house.

“Cian? What the fuck are you doing? Go away!”

“I thought I saw an alarm, and...” Right then I realised that no one would be stupid enough to brake into a house with a visible alarm above the front door.

“Let me do this!” was his reply, as he rushed back inside. This probably made it much harder for him. Again, I didn’t know what to do.

“Should I stay here to help him out if something goes wrong or should I go away before I make it even harder for him with my stupid actions?” I murmured.

I walked to the other end of the ally, hoping that he wouldn’t see me after climbing back over the fence again.
Suddenly I froze, but only after my heart made a jump.

“Don’t worry, he won’t bite!” a passer-by with a strong accent said. It was just a dog that felt a sudden urge to bark at me.

“He did give me a heart-attack, though,” I sighed, with my heart still pounding.

“Ha ha! So, what’s a young lad like you doin’ here at this time o’ night?”, the man, dressed in a long coat, asked.

“Oh, err, I’m on my way back home. I, eh, just saw a movie at a friend’s, but I couldn’t stay there for the night, so...” I told him, surprised by my creativity after that shock.

“Aight then, sleep well!” He said as he walked on.

I didn’t realise that this meeting could have some bad consequences for Stu’s burglary adventures, until I saw him open the garden’s gate from the inside.

Against my will, he looked straight into my eyes.

[nj.]

I haven't heard anything from you people yet, but I had another chapter finished, so maybe I'll just post that too.

[nj.]

--- 4 ---

“What the fuck are you doing man? Do you like getting people in trouble or what?”, Stuart shouted in my face, pushing me against the wall. “Come on, get out of here!”.

I couldn’t reply. I wanted to say something about how he was the one who was getting people in trouble, but I just couldn’t. I just ran off.

I had no clue where I was going. I’m sure I would have recognized these streets in daylight, but it didn’t matter anyway. I had to run. Everything seemed a mess. I’d think and reason later. Now I had to run.

I woke up from a drop that fell into my ear. Confused and drowsy, I shook my head. Rain? After such a lovely summer’s day?

“Oi! You there! What are you doing down there?”

I looked up, and saw a woman with her head out of the window.

“Can’t you pass out on somebody else’s porch?”, she yelled. As if that would make a difference. Where was I, anyway? My whole body was sore. I must have slept in an awkward position. There was a graze on my left wrist. I couldn’t remember where I got that from. The last thing I remembered from the last night was... Oh yeah, I tried to find a place to sleep. I must have tripped in my search.

“Piss off or I’ll charge you rent!”, the woman screeched, now from right behind me. I couldn’t help but grin at such a stupid remark.

“Sorry... I was really tired last night and...”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the story. You kids get drunk all the fucking time these days.”

I thought of protesting, but decided to keep her story in tact. I apologised and left the grey and depressing estate. No wonder she wasn’t very cheerful.

Now I really knew what pain was. I could still feel the bruises my dad gave me, and now I had a graze and a headache. And a problem. Well, several problems, actually.

I found my bike where I left it. That was only four hours ago. Unbelievable! I saw somebody had stolen my lights. That wasn’t my biggest worry now, though. What had happened to Stuart? Would he ever want to see me again? How was my father?

“Oh son! What happened to ye, poor kid?”

I looked to my left and saw a man staggering towards me. He looked scuffy with his messy hair and soiled clothes. He must’ve slept rough for a couple of nights. Probably a tramp.

“Look at you! What have they done to you?”, he uttered with the tongue of a drunk man, while touching my cheeks with his dirty hands. He was almost in tears.

“Keep your hands off me!”

“Oh son...”, he said, stumbling back.

He made me realise how much my body hurt.

“Ronnie, leave the kid alone!”, a passer-by yelled from across the street. I was dizzy. My head was cold. Maybe it was best to rest a little... At home.

Stupid climate. The clouds broke to throw their drops all over me. Like there’s nothing beside rain. Despite the nice temperature, I shivered.

As soon as I got home – and believe me, it wasn’t easy with my body in this state – I flung my clothes in a corner, and dove under my duvet to get lost in a sound, deep sleep. Normally I would have never be able to sleep in the morning. But this wasn’t a normal period in my life anyway.

Again it was the telephone on the landing that woke me up. I wanted to let it ring, but my curiosity prevailed.
“Cain Lewis?”

“Hey, it’s Stuart”, he said in a low voice, followed by a sigh. “Sorry about that, but you really shouldn’t have. ‘Cause, I mean, it’s dangerous for you, and you scared me like hell, you know”.

In any other situation I would have laughed at his attempt to spit all he wanted to say out in less than five seconds. He was right though, I was wrong.

“And why weren’t you at school today? Was it because you wanted to avoid me?”

“It’s not Saturday yet?”

“Yeah, nice attempt, but even I don’t fall for such a stupid excuse.”, he replied.

I lost my temper. “Look, I ran off last night, didn’t know where I was, fell asleep on a porch, got yelled at by the owner, caressed by a drunk tramp, and I’m fucking covered in bruises!”

A pause.

“I know your life is not a bed of roses either, but... can we stay calm?”, he said calmly, while I had expected him to return a canonnade of swearing.

“Sorry”, I sighed.

“So, how did you find me? Did you follow me all night?”

“Look, Stu, I hate phone calls. Can we talk in person?”

“Alright, I’ll come over.”

He didn’t wait for a confirmation, and about five minutes later the door bell rang. I told him everything, and we occasionally laughed about my capers.

“So tell me, how was your night?”, I asked, still with a grin on my face. Stuart looked down, and all the happiness seemed to disappear from his face. It couldn’t be that bad?

“I told you about those people who make me do things. Well, it wasn’t just shoplifting. Lately, they want me to brake into houses too.”

“...And you’re quite skilled at it, I saw.”, I replied bitterly.

“Thanks, you know how to cheer somebody up”, he said, sarcastically.

It appeared that that gang just used Stuart if they needed anything. Yesterday they needed money, so he went into the house of someone his mother knew, because he knew his mother and her acquaintance would always go to their Spinning workout on Thursdays. Afterwards they’d go to a friends house to play card games. Yes, he felt incredibly guilty, but it was such a last minute decision, he had no chance to find another house. Ofcourse I wondered why he couldn’t just run away from it. He told me it was because then they’d threaten to do something to his little sister (whom he loved). Once, they had taken her to an abandoned building and phoned Stuart to come over, just to show they were serious. He told me I was the only one I knew about it now. He couldn’t tell his father, because then he’d want to move to another town. That would ruin his career. He couldn’t tell the police either. They were with too many; they could still harm his sister (or himself) before they were all caught.

“What if you get caught?” I asked.

“Then I have a big problem, just like every person who gets caught doing these things. I can only do my best, so I won’t get caught”, he sighed. “So, still want to grow stronger?”.

“Haha, ofcourse I do!”

“Shall we go to the gym then? I mean, if you feel like it... Does it all hurt much?”

“I’m alright”, I lied. “They’ll probably think I got beaten up at school and that I want to grow stronger to revenge myself on them.”

“That’s close enough to the truth”, Stu said.

“Hey, I’m not beating up my dad, you know!”

“Pretty much deserves it, though”, he mumbled. “I can’t believe you protect him like you do. Trying to blame yourself for it. There’s always more than one person to blame.”

---

“You two surely aren’t eightteen yet, are you?”, the bright-eyed woman behind the bar in the gym asked.

“Does that mean we can’t...”

“Ofcourse you can become a member! It’s just that you’ll need a slightly different training program, because your body is still growing. Oh, and we need your parents’ permission”, she continued with a cheerful voice.
Stu and I looked eachother in the eyes, knowing that I wouldn’t have to ask my dad to sign for this to know his answer.

“Here, these are the forms. One for each of you, and these are for your parents. The costs are ten pounds a month, another ten to subscribe. That includes a locker”, she told us like a real sales-woman. “You can take a look at our facilities if you wish. Oh, but please take off your shoes.”

Not bad. Not that I had ever seen a gym before. Well, in some American movies, but I didn’t expect it to compare to those. Still, it came close. A fat man trying to row the pounds off, a middle-aged lady toning her legs, a muscular man pushing a bar up, ...

My eyes rested on that man. It was much better than on television. Very impressive. Up and down, breathing in, breathing out, sweating, pushing on...

“Oi, it’s not polite to stare”, Stu whispered laughingly. “So, is that your goal? Better sign that form right away! Lots of work to do for you. Great huh, how you can transform your body like that.”

“Let’s go to my house. Maybe we can find a letter with my dads signature on it”, I proposed.

“Great, can’t wait to start. I feel the energy already.”

“Could you give me some? I feel pretty jaded.”

“So, do you kids like it here?”, a man behind us spoke. When I turned my head, I froze in awe. My ‘goal’, as Stuart called it, stood behind us. The inevitable ‘teenage boy in awe’-thing happened and the glands in my armpits were overproductive, despite the deodorant... no, that’s right, I forgot about the deodorant today. Luckily Stu could speak.

“Yeah!” He said, with great enthusiasm. “Err... I mean, I can’t wait to start myself.”

“Need keys?”, I mumbled. It was a stupid habit of mine. I couldn’t help but make a cheesy comment if someone got his tongue tangled in his words. Not even in this situation. Luckily they both ignored it.

“I can still remember standing here, four years ago, just like you two, wishing to be big. I used to be a lanky kid, you know. Takes a lot of time and effort to get some result, though”, the big man said. Only four years? Amazing...

“Unless you take short-cuts, ofcourse. But even then it takes effort”. He was referring to steroids. “If you two need any advice or help, don’t hesitate to ask me! I know I would have loved it as a rookie. I’m usually around from four to half past five.”

“Thanks! We still have to become members, though”, Stuart said, still exited.

“See you around! Oh, and my name is Tim.”

[ARCHEON]

I like how this is going. Keep writing.

[sexiscriptor]

Mhm, I definitely agree. Well written and certainly interesting.
I can't believe i missed this...i must be losing my edge! haha
keep up the good work--i hope to read more of Stu & Cian and Tim's shortcuts soon!
(PS: I knew what fags are! ;p)

[nj.]

Thanks
I really want to continue, but I'm quite busy with school at the moment. I'll get over it.

[rextorres]

Wow! Impressive!

Keep it up! A fun story to read, indeed! Thanks!

Or, as we say in Dutch: "Blijf schrijven! Je verhaal is erg leuk om te lezen! Bedankt!!"

Rex
[email protected]

[omelissokomos]

Originally Posted by nj.

I really want to continue, but I'm quite busy with school at the moment.

Well, weekend's coming up; hope to get to see more of the story soon. Hint, hint.

[nj.]

“Why do you need a gym membership? It’s a waste of money. You’re fit, you look fine!”


Now it really was Saturday. Feeling a bit better, I stood in Stuart’s kitchen, watching him persuade his mother to fill out the form. My dad was still in the hospital. This morning they phoned again. Ofcourse, I was still in bed. They told me his condition was stable, and that he’d come home on Sunday. His concussion was more severe than they initially thought, but now he was fine again. I started liking being home alone, though. I was going to miss that.


“But I’ll pay for it myself, and it’s my money. I’ve got a job!” Stuart protested.


A sigh escaped his mother’s mouth. “I still don’t see why you need this. Cian, what did your parents say about this?”


Before I could speak, Stuart told her that she usually wouldn’t take ‘but all my friends’ parents are alright with it’ as an excuse either, and now she was trying to use it the other way around. His mother made the most typical mother-like comeback with “I just want to know, maybe they have good reasons”. Ofcourse I told her that my dad agreed. I even showed her the form he had ‘signed’.


We didn’t go to the gym that afternoon though. It was Marc’s – a good friend of Stuart’s – birthday, and we were doing this together. I wouldn’t go alone. I’d feel strange and out of the place anyway. Having the seemingly ever-confident Stuart with me would give me a necessary boost.


“Hey, maybe you can come with me to Marc’s, sure he won’t mind.”


“But... he probably doesn’t even know my name”, I protested.


“Half the school’s coming. It’s not like he really knows all of them”.


Why would you invite people you hardly know to something as personal as your birthday? To get to know them? And what a stupid time for a birthday party is 3 PM?


Lost in my thoughts again, I failed to notice that Stuart was already phoning his friend to inform him.


“Nah, he’s cool. Alright. See you!”, Stuart concluded. “You were right. Marc hardly knows you. He didn’t know you were cool, for instance.”


“You’re making my fly...”, I replied in a sarcastic tone. “I guess I’ll come down from my pedestal to get him a present. What does he like?”


“Anything related to music; he’s the bassist in our band. Oh, and he’s addicted to marshmellows.”


Marshmellows? Was I supposed to turn up with a bag of marshmellows?


“I’m off to the shopping centre then”, I told him.


“Right. You coming back here afterwards? We can go there together, ‘cause you don’t know where he lives and all...”


In a whim of creativity I bought a tin and stuffed marshmellows and a birthday card in it. He’d probably get better things from his friends. When Stu and I reached a house, which was a few minutes outside the town, he slowed down.


“We’re a bit early. The party’s at 5, but I promised him to come sooner to help him with a couple of things. You don’t mind, do you?”


It wasn’t like I had anything better to do. Marc’s house was made of wood, which blended well with the environs: he lived in the forest. The Summer sun shone through the fresh green leaves of the dense trees. Further down the road, where the tarmac turned into gravel, I could see the shore of a clear lake.


“Nice place, huh? We have band practice here too, ‘cause it’s pretty remote”, Stuart informed.


I was still standing with my mouth open, stunned by the scene. Amazing, the things you miss when you stay inside all day. Another one of my opinions about the world down the drain.


“Hey Marc, so this is Cian”, Stu introduced.


Marc’s eyes scrutinized me thoroughly. “Yeah, I’ve seen you before. Hi, I’m Marc”, he said, replacing his inspecting frown with a friendly smile. “Come in!”


The house wasn’t big, but it seemed spacious in this soft, cream-coloured white. His parents definately had a good taste.


“The only thing we still have to do is setting up everything to play with the band. Yeah, and we have to pick some music to play in the background. Maybe you can do that, Cian. Want a drink, by the way?”. I nodded. “And after that, we can swim in the lake or something. It’s a nice day. Coke?”, he continued.


“I don’t have any swimming trunks, though!” I exclaimed.


“Nor do we. There’s no one else to see you there, you know...”


That was not what I had in mind.

After skimming through a neverending load of CDs and vilyls – everything from Barry White (“It was my aunt’s Christmas present for my dad!”) to some obscure rock bands – there was a little pile on my left. I didn’t know all that much about music, so I hoped I didn’t choose anything that shouldn’t be played on a party.


“Let’s go to the lake then. We’ve got an hour and a half left”, Marc announced.


It really was a beautiful place. You’d expect this to be more touristic. Maybe the people were waiting for the holidays. Hopefully they were. I was expected to swim naked.


Marc was already in the water. “I know what you’re thinking. Two Summers ago we wanted to go swimming, but we realised none of us had swimming trunks. We were on a holiday. Then we all realised we had the same kind of thing in our undies, so we said: ‘whatever, let’s go swimming’”.


Just when I thought it wasn’t possible to learn any more in a week, I realised that some taboos were indeed pretty stupid.


“What... what happened to you?”, Marc stammered with his eyes open wide, staring at my bruised torso.


I always try to forget pain, so I wasn’t really thinking of this when I undressed. Now I had another person to share my story with. Like I wanted that...




The rest of the day was great, though. We forgot the time when we were by the lake, and returned to the house to find out that the party had started without the birthday boy. At the party, the band played (and they gave me a guitar again to play the chords Stu had taught me, to play a song together). They were very nice people, Stu’s friends.


Sunday, however, was horrible. I came home late in the morning and saw my dad was back. I didn’t know what to expect; a hug, another beat up, him ignoring me...?


“Can you tell me what this is about?”, he said calmly, with a slightly shaky voice that gave away the fact that he was surpressing his anger. In his hand was a letter from the gym.


“Yeah, I got a membership. Is that a problem?”, I replied with an innocent face.


“I’m not crazy, Cian. I know you need approval from a parent for that. You went through my personal belongings to fake my signature”. His head was turning read. I was prepared for another round of punches.



“Give me your timetable”, he urged.


“My timetable, why...”


“Give me your timetable”, he repeated.


I ran upstairs to get my school diary, and ran back down in confusion to show it to him.


“You’ll be home within half an hour after your last class, every day until the Summer holidays”, he said in a stern voice.


“Does that mean I’m grounded? But I payed for that!”, I protested.


I said no more when I saw the reaction on his face.

When I saw Stuart the next day at school, he couldn’t believe the news. “How can he just... it’s not fair! How did he find out?”.


“He saw the letter from the gym, knew I needed permission, and found his papers in a mess. It was easy enough to make a connection.”


“Why did they send a letter?!”


“Confirmation... Look, you just go to the gym this afternoon, or Tim will get worried...”, I grinned.


“No way. This was our plan, so we’re going together, or not at all.”


“I insist. I’ve got dumbbells at home. I’ll keep up with you.”

----

Alright... it was nearly four. Tim should be around somewhere.


“Oh hi, it’s you! Where’s your friend?”, a big hand landed on my shoulder.


It was Tim. Was it a habit of his, showing up from behind when you are thinking of him?


“He can’t come. His dad wouldn’t let him”, I replied.


“Too bad, it would’ve been great to train with a friend. You can motivate eachother. And be jealous of eachother’s gains, haha.”


Tim seemed to be even bigger than before. That was probably my imagination. How old would he be? Maybe twenty? That means he started at the same age as I am starting!


I tried to imagine myself with such a body. Ofcourse, I was much shorter than Tim. He was about six feet. I was never going to reach that hight, but I didn’t care. Being short isn’t too bad.


“Do you help newcomers more often?”, I asked.


He scratched his head, which caused his bicep to flex underneath his long-sleeved shirt. “Well, no... I just felt some kind of connection to you two when you came in. So... shall we get going?”


“Sure!”


“Alright. Let’s see. It’s important that you only train one muscle group a day, otherwise your body can’t focus properly on growing them”, Tim continued.


“But... you were doing your chest when we came in last Friday, and when we went, you started doing your legs!”


“Err... yeah. We might get to that later. Now, let’s make this an arm day.”


We walked to a rack with free weights. Despite his baggy clothes, Tim couldn’t hide his incredible mass. The fabric of his trousers stretched around back of his massive thighs as he walked. What a priviledge to have a personal trainer like that!


“Now, it’s important to do your reps properly. It’s best to start with a lighter weight, so you can get the movement right. If you start too heavy, you’ll automatically try to catch the weight with the rest of your body, and then the workout will have little effect.”




“So you’re taking over the gym soon then, Tim?”, a man laughed.


“Just showing the kid around, Pete. You get paid for it anyway”



After a pretty long workout – both Tim and I were very motivated, and everytime I thought I wouldn’t be able to do another rep, I just had to glance at him to get some extra energy – my arms felt really strange and light.


“Eat well, I’m sure you’ll have more appetite now. Your muscles need energy to recover. Oh, and no sleep deprivation! It all happens overnight...!”, he winked. I hated winks, but it seemed appropriate.



Cian was really disappointed when I told him (again) how great Tim was.


“After such an eventful week, the days seem to take forever. I can’t wait till the holidays start”, he said.


I could really start to see some change in my body. I could feel muscles I never knew the existance of (Tim’s workouts weren’t easy), and I was actually a bit more muscular. I still had a hard time imagining myself with a body like Tim’s. Maybe the best remedy was to just get it as quickly as possible. I probably needed a miracle for that though.

Sometimes miracles are more than a just a dream...

[nj.]

Sorry for teasing
Hope you like it.

[TemptationIV]

soooooo, NJ, will you be continuing this story? It's on a roll, and I'd love to be able to read on!

[nj.]

Oookay, hah, I didn't expect this.

Well, I must say I wrote more to this, but I wasn't too sure if I liked the direction I was going in. You could probably say I've had enough time to think about that by now, but I didn't think anyone would remember.

I've got a week off next week... maybe I'll go somewhere with it.