Date: Fri, 26 Oct 2007 00:56:03 -0500
From: Extreme Writer <extremewriter9@gmail.com>
Subject: Lifeline: Chapter 4.

I must apologize for the long delay in posting. Life gets in my way a lot,
especially since I am a senior in high school. Also, I had an extreme case
of writer's block part way through this chapter. Also, I am a bit
particular about editing, so with all that, it might sometimes take me a
while to get a chapter posted. I can't make any promises because of school,
but I will try to get the next chapter out sooner. You will notice that in
the middle of the chapter I switched from the third-person omniscient
viewpoint to the first-person viewpoint. It makes it easier to write a
story of this type. Future chapters will switch back and forth between the
viewpoints of Mark and Brett, and if I happen to come up with another lead
character, that character will get a chapter devoted to its viewpoint as
well. Also, this is the longest chapter in this story yet, so enjoy!

***Disclaimer***

This story contains writings in which things of a sexually explicit nature
performed between males are portrayed.  If this material offends you, then
read no further.  Also, the characters in this story have no resemblance to
anyone.  Not your friend John, your cousin Harry, or that guy across the
street who always keeps his blinds shut.  For those of you who have decided
to stick around, you may E-mail comments, questions, suggestions, or
anything else your hearts desire to: extremewriter9@gmail.com.  Now, with
all that out of the way, I present to you readers...

Lifeline: Chapter 4.

Brett hugged Mark to him for a long time. He felt strange.  He couldn't
know why Mark had been brought into his life, but he did know that he would
never let Mark go through what he had gone through for two and a half
years.  He just hoped Mark would accept his help.

Mark felt much the same as Brett did.  He had taken a great liking to
Brett, which was very unusual for him.  He wasn't sure, but he thought he
could even grow to love him over time.  He hadn't had anyone to show him
kindness in such a long time that he felt really drawn to Brett just
because he had not let him die under the wheels of his car.  The fact that
Brett had taken him into his home was even more of an indication to Mark
that he did indeed care about his well-being.  He also took into account
the fact that Brett had asked if he had ever sold himself on the streets.
Why would he ask that? Was it just because he was concerned for his health?

A couple of days later, Mark was standing on the front porch doing
absolutely nothing.  He was just so glad to be able to stay in one place
and not have to worry about anything.  Mark had been doing a lot of that
over the passed few days, just standing or sitting somewhere for long
periods of time.  Brett said he understood where he was coming from, so he
mostly left him alone.  Mark had gotten some better clothes, better shoes,
and best of all, he was able to charge his laptop, listen to his music, and
update his journal.  He had spent three hours the day previously just
typing in his journal.  Afterward, he forwarded it to Brett in an e-mail
message so that he could read it.  Mark had been able to write in a lot
more detail than he had told Brett, and he felt sort of obligated to show
him the entry afterwards.  Brett read it and cried some more.  He seemed to
be doing that a lot lately.  Mark had apologized to him for causing him to
shed so many tears in such a short time, but BRETT said it was worth it.
In the days since Brett had rescued him from the streets, they had formed a
close bond which would only get stronger with more passage of time.

Mark wondered sometimes if he could trust what he felt.  He wasn't exactly
sure, but it seemed to him that he was really liking Brett in more than
just a friendly way.  He had two problems, though.  First, he wasn't sure
if he was actually truly feeling this way, or if it was just physical
attraction.  Brett had held and comforted him quite a bit over the passed
several days, so he had gotten a good idea about what Brett's upper body
felt like, and he liked what he felt.  He knew he would have to talk to
Brett about the way he was feeling, but he was scared.  He doubted that
Brett would tell him to leave after all the trouble he had went to in order
to make sure that he had a safe place to call home with some one that
really cared about him. Even though he didn't doubt this, he thought that
Brett would reject him, and he wasn't sure he could handle that.

As more and more time passed, Mark was going crazy.  He had finally figured
out how he felt, how he truly felt, after spending even more time with
Brett.  One of the things that Mark really liked about Brett was that on
occasion, they would drive on the interstate for a while just listening to
music and or talking.  They really didn't have any destination in mind, but
sometimes they would stop somewhere to eat then go back home.  Mark had
been crazy about music ever since he could remember, and he also liked
riding in a moving vehicle.  Something about the motion and the ability to
sit there and not have a choice to do anything except sit back and relax
made him feel extremely happy and content.

Mark decided to take the plunge and try to talk to Brett about how he felt.

"Brett, I have something to tell you, and I don't want you to get scared or
angry.  I have something that has been burning in me and I need to tell
you.  I am very much in love with you.  I don't know how else to say it
except just say it.  I am grateful that you saved me when I was at the very
bottom of everything.  My love for you is generated by more than just that
you rescued me.  I don't really have a way with words, so I can't exactly
explain it, but I do."

Brett pulled Mark to him with slightly trembling arms.  He was crying
quietly.  Mark knew it, so he just let Brett hold him.  Mark felt bad.
Once again, he was the cause of Brett's tears.  They were tears of
happiness, though.

"Mark," Brett said.  "I was wondering when or if you would say anything to
me.  I could tell how you felt, but I didn't want to rush you.  I am ten
years older than you, but I'm sure we can make it work.  There's not so
much of an age difference that we can't have a long, full life together.  I
really do love you.  I love your maturity level and your caring for others,
although you need to work on taking care of yourself and not just others,
because if you don't take care of yourself, you can't take care of or help
anyone else."

When Brett finished his speech, Mark didn't know what to say, so he didn't
say anything.  He just sat there on the sofa and let Brett hold him.  Mark
could smell the scent of Brett and it was overwhelming his senses.  He was
beginning to get sleepy.  The scent of Brett was like the best kind of
toxin a person could ingest.

When Mark awoke, he found that Brett was holding him tightly, with Mark's
head against his chest.  Mark gently raised his hand, so as not to wake up
Brett, and gently stroked his jaw.  Brett moved slightly, and secured his
grip around Mark's body.

Mark continued to stroke Brett's jaw line until Brett woke up.

"You could keep doing that forever, sweetheart, and I wouldn't mind," Brett
said.

Mark just laid his head against his chest and didn't say anything. Moments
such as these would become more frequent as time went on.

--------------------------------

Mark's Perspective.

I laid there with Brett's arms around me and my arms around him for a while
longer.  It's strange how, after being on the streets for so long, I can
still get close to people.  I tried to always remind myself that it wasn't
a good idea, because it would just hurt too much when one of my friends
ended up getting shot or having to go somewhere else to cover their tracks
so they wouldn't get arrested.  I was so very much in love with Brett,
though.  I figured he felt the same way, but I really had no way of
knowing.  Well, if his actions were any indication, he did indeed feel the
same way I did.

One of the annoyances of being blind is that you have this nagging little
voice at the back of your mind that asks, "is he really doing such and such
because he cares, or just because he feels sorry for me?" Stupid, I know,
but it's there nevertheless.

Brett was cool about all of this, though.  For the first few days after I
got to his house, he just let me be on my own, be alone, or with him,
whatever I wanted to do.  I spent a lot of time by myself at first, simply
for no other reason than I felt like I was in his way.  Yeah, again, stupid
of me, but in my defense, I'd been on my own for two and a half years.
After the first few days, I started spending more time with Brett and thus
began to realize my feelings for him.  I liked him physically, he was a
great source of comfort, and had the wonderful but not too common ability
to make me laugh no matter how shitty I felt.  This was perhaps more than
any other the thing that first caused me to fall in love with him.  I had
no clue what caused him to fall in love with me, but I decided that I would
ask him some day.

Even though Brett was willing to let me do what I wanted, he did let me
know that I would have to go back to school soon.  In a way I wanted to,
but in another way I really didn't.  I was worried because I figured I
might be really behind because of being on the streets and thus unable to
attend school regularly.  We solved that problem quite easily, though.  I
wasn't sure, and no one was talking, but some sort of deal was made which
allowed me to be a sophomore in high school even though when I left school
I had just started the ninth grade.  Everyone keeps telling me that I was
on the streets and shuffled in and out of orphanages for two and a half
years, so that is what I will stick to.  I myself honestly don't know,
because the days, weeks, months, and years (if there even were years) all
kind of ran together.  I do know that when I got to Brett's, it was August
of the year that I had turned sixteen and my birthday is the 22nd of
July. I also remember that until I actually was forced to live on the
streets, I still did attend school, but I don't think it was too much into
my ninth grade year when I ended up quitting. I did get held back slightly
but I expected that and wasn't too pissed about it.

I went back to school three weeks after I got to Brett's.  The "tender
moment" on the sofa referred to earlier took place two days before I
started school again.

Apparently my street haunt had been in and around the town of Covington,
Kentucky.  Brett lived in Louisville, so I was able to go to the same
school I went to when I lived with my mom and dad, Kentucky school for the
Blind.  I could kill my father for making me go there in first grade, but
when you get put into a blind school and stay there for as long as I was
forced to, you're fucked backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, etc.
The pace is slightly slower than a regular public school due to the many
different learning levels of the students, and the school is a hell of a
lot smaller than probably even the most rural of public schools.  As a
result of this, everybody knows everybody else and, like it or not,
everybody knows everybody else's business.  You might wonder how this is
so.  It's quite simple and makes a lot of sense.  You tell someone you
trust about something, and they tell someone they trust, who tells someone
they trust, and so on and so forth.

On my first day back at school, I was greeted by many different people,
some of whom I didn't even remember ever saying a word to.  If it's
something I did, I don't know, but I never was one of the "popular kids." I
just seemed to naturally fit in, thus most people liked me.  Even if they
didn't, they at least respected me enough not to fuck with me.  I almost
never got in trouble, yet I was not a straight-A student.  I just did the
best I could and tried to make sure that people I considered friends were
okay.  That's probably why, about two weeks after I got back, I ended up in
the principal's office with blood on my hands and consumed by so much anger
that I would have gladly killed anyone or anything that dared to get in my
fucking way!

On the day in question, I was walking down the hall between classes.  I was
just walking along, humming part of a Metallica song to myself and mentally
running over everything I had with me to make sure I didn't have to go back
to my locker.  I didn't, but I did have to pass the lockers to get to my
next class.  Oh, if only I could have just gone the long way, or walked a
little bit faster, maybe it wouldn't have happened.  As it was, though, I
walked passed the lockers and heard two people talking in harsh whispers to
what sounded like a third person.  I turned my head to look over, and could
see three bodies in a sort of tangle up against one of the end lockers.  My
extremely limited vision kept me from seeing who they were or what the
people were doing.

"Man, you think you're gonna get away from these lockers without a fight?
You think me and Pendelton are gonna let you go to class unharmed?"

That was the first voice I heard, but I could not figure out who it
belonged to.  It didn't matter.  I stopped, wanting to see if I could
recognize any of the voices.

"Come on," another voice said, sounding extremely scared.  "I don't even
know why I'm here.  I didn't do anything to you, so why am I being held up
against the lockers?"

"Because you're a worthless good-for-nothing faggot! Don't even fucking ask
how we know, it don't matter! The point is we don't like faggots, do we,
Pendelton?"

"Nope, we sure don't," the guy called Pendelton said.  "We don't like em at
all! We'll kick your faggoty ass here and now! We'll make you die so you
can go to hell where you belong!"

I just stood there, fists clenched, heart racing, and the realization of
who these people were and what was going on hitting me like waves.
Pendelton, Derek Pendelton, was a little shrimp of a kid about as skinny as
myself who was what most people would call "a follower." The other person
with him was Eric Olsen, my only real enemy that I had ever had, and he had
been at the school just a year less than I had.  He was a year younger than
I, yet a lot stronger and bigger.  He had three or four people who
supposedly helped him bully others, but those of us who were smart and
observant knew from the people's own personal accounts that they just
followed him to keep from getting hurt.  It just goes to show, it takes all
kinds to make a world.  Anyway, the third person, the one that Eric and
Derek were picking on, was a kid by the name of Larry Dobbs, who was
perhaps one of the most self-reserved people I have ever met.  Ever since I
had been at school with him, he had only said a handful of words to me.  I
let him know very early on in my school career that I would always be
willing to listen to him if he ever needed someone to talk to, but he had
only taken advantage of my most freely-given offer one time and that was
several years before the locker incident of which I am now speaking.  He
told me that he didn't like girls, and that he was always interested in
guys.  He didn't understand it at the time because he was probably ten
years old or so, but he apparently had a deep attraction to a student a few
years older than himself, but was afraid to tell the student how he felt.
I was pretty good friends with the student in question, so I offered to try
to talk to him and see what he said.  Larry was really scared, and tried to
convince me not to talk to Robby, the student he was interested in, but I
told him it would be okay and reminded him that the worst Robby could say
was "no." Robby did say "no," but told me he admired my courage to help out
the poor unfortunate Larry.  Apparently after I left school, they remained
friends.  When I came back, I found out that Robby would have been a senior
that year except he died in a car wreck which involved him and some friend
of his from Washington D.C.  After Robby's death, Larry made a speech about
him in front of the entire school as many others did.  In the speech, he
apparently confessed his undying love for Robby and how grateful he was to
Robby for remaining his friend even though he did not want to be more.
This is why the locker incident was taking place in front of me.

I stood there for a few seconds, letting my anger build.  Then, I dropped
my backpack, cane, and jacket (it had just begun to get cold) and sprang
forward. My hands somehow found Eric, and I pulled him away from Larry. I
heard Larry give me a quick thanks before he ran off.  I could tell by the
body structure of the kid in my grasp that it was Eric.

Excellent! Just the one I wanted! I shoved him up against the locker, and
pressed my fists to his chest.

"What the hell is your problem?" I hissed, trying to keep my voice low so
as not to attract attention.  All this had happened very quickly, so people
were still trickling through the halls.

"You know what?" I said.  "I'm gay too.  If you have a problem with that,
you come see me, and I'll show you what I think of you.  You have no right
to pick on him, and you shouldn't force Derek here to tag along with you.
Eric, he's gay, I'm gay, and there are at least two others in just the high
school section alone that are gay as well.  You don't have to like us gays,
but you will not pick on any of us in any way.  You do, and I'll make sure
that you can't anymore."

"Get away from me!" Eric screamed.  "You little faggot, get the fuck away
from me!"

I just pressed my fists all the harder into his beefy chest, and gave him
what I hoped was a steely glare, or what I figured a steely glare must look
like.  I have never had enough vision to see facial expressions, so I don't
actually know what a steely glare is suppose to look like, but I did my
damn best to make my face look like one.  It must have been pretty good,
because this close Eric could see my expression and I guess he didn't like
it, because he shoved me backwards.  I didn't go far, though.  I stumbled
backwards about a foot and just stood there.

"I'll kill you and your little bitch Larry!" He screamed.  Unfortunately
for Larry, he had to come back that way to get to the same class that I
should have been going to.  Clearly, he had left for a minute to see if
things would calm down.  When Eric saw Larry coming around the corner, all
hell broke loose.

I saw a flash of white which must have been Larry's cane go soaring up
toward the ceiling and I heard it clang on the top of the lockers.  Then I
heard a scream from Larry and a terrific metallic boom as Larry's body hit
the lockers.  This was followed by the sounds of punching, quiet sobbing,
and pleas for Eric to stop.  Eric just kept telling him to shut up and kept
hitting him.  Consumed by rage once again, I ran forward, grabbed Eric by
the collar of his shirt, and with my anger-heightened strength, threw him
to the tile hall floor.  Once he was there, it was all over for him.  I
started to hit any part of his body I could reach.  The last thing I
remember is me flailing my fists and hitting any part of Eric I could
reach.  I'm not even sure I remember when his blood (which came from his
mouth and nose) started to coat my hands.  The next thing I clearly
remember is me being pulled by strong hands down the hall.  I think I tried
to fight whoever was pulling me, because I seem to vaguely remember being
told, "stop fuckin' fightin' me!"

I was dragged none too willingly to the office of Mr.  Daniels, the
principal.  Mr.  Daniels had always been nice to me, even asking my
personal opinion on things regarding the school's technology department.
On this day, though, he was quite understandably pissed.  He told me later
that he wasn't so much pissed at me as he was disappointed in me.

Nobody thought I would ever get in a fight, especially a physical fist
fight that would draw blood.  Eric was really none the worse for ware, and
I really wasn't either. My knuckles had mine and Eric's blood all over
them, and I had somehow gotten a couple scratches on my arms, but that was
pretty much it. Eric had a bloody nose and was missing a tooth, but it
still wasn't really a big deal.

Even though no one was really hurt, a meeting was called which consisted of
Brett, myself, Mr. Daniels, Eric, and Eric's dad. Eric's dad told me during
the course of the meeting that he was proud of me because I had the balls
to do what he hadn't. This thing of Eric hating and picking on gays had
gone as far as in public as well, not only school, according to his
father. Also, during the meeting, I was asked to explain why I had thrown
Eric to the floor and began to hit him. I explained everything to everyone,
and I was let go with a warning that if I witnessed anything like that
again, I was to report it to the administrators rather than handle it
myself.

That evening, Brett gave me a twenty minute lecture on how I should try to
keep control of my anger.

"It doesn't matter why some one is being picked on," he said at one
point. "You don't need to get involved. The best thing to do is just walk
away."

"Walk away!" I said indignantly. "Walk away? How the fuck do I walk away
from some one who is beating the hell out of some one for something he
can't help? Brett, you're on the fucking police force! You don't just walk
away from a person because they've got a gun or are being arrested on
charges of domestic assault or something. So how the hell can you sit there
and tell me to walk away from injustice?"

"I'm paid to fix injustice," Brett said. "Lawyers, doctors, and school
officials are paid to fix injustice. Fixing injustice the way you did
today, while it made you and some others feel better, is not the way to
handle it. Yeah, sometimes when I see a guy beating up on his wife or
girlfriend before I arrest him, I wanna fucking kill him in the slowest,
most painful way possible, but I don't. You know why I don't? Simply
because it's not my place. The guy gets what he deserves by having to be
stuck in jail. There's nothing worse I can do to him. That's what the
lawyers are there for, to make sure that what I set in motion by arresting
some one gets finished by giving the person what him or her deserves. I
love you, and I want to see you succeed. I'm trying to help you the best
way I know how. Don't throw it in my face or dismiss it, because while it
may not make sense to you now, it will in the future."

Of course, my dear Brett was right. It made sense to me. I didn't like it,
but it made perfect logical sense to me. I told him as much.

"Good," he said. "knew you would understand."

After the lecture, I guess he felt like he had to reinforce his words
because he pulled me to him and kiss me gently on the lips for the first
time. Our lips had been touching for about two seconds when I jerked
backwards.

"You ok," Brett asked.

"Yeah, fine," I said breathlessly. "It just felt like when I was little and
would plug something into a socket but not get my fingers out of the way
fast enough."

Brett gave this strange half laugh that I've come to love. It means that
he's amused at me and happy.

"So," he asked. "Do you want to try that again?"

I didn't answer, but leant forward and put my arms around him. Our lips met
again, and my entire body shivered. It literally felt like I was being
shocked to death, but in a very heavenly way. Then, when Brett let me taste
his tongue, I thought I had died and gone to heaven!