Page 37 of The Bull's Head

Teddy took Byk’s hand in his, then sat and watched, praying to the Maker for a miracle he wasn’t sure he deserved. Maybe this was his penance for failing in his duty, but it wasn’t one Byk should have to pay.

Chapter 12

Callum stood and watched, horrified, as Cooper beat Teddy. The punches were savage, merciless, but the look on Cooper’s face was what made Callum shrink back. With every cry that escaped Teddy, a sick smile crossed Cooper’s lips. When Callum begged Cooper to stop, he spun and faced Callum. In that instant, he knew true terror. It wasn’t Cooper’s face at all, it was his!

No matter how desperately he wanted to turn away, Callum was rooted to the spot, watching as he savaged Teddy and took joy in it. But that wasn’t his way! He would never hurt anyone, but especially not Teddy, who’d given him comfort, who’d held him, asking for nothing in return. Teddy’s touch brought safety, warmth, and it made Callum… no, not Callum. Byk. He was Byk. It made him want more from Teddy. To be protected and know it wasn’t a dream? It would be the start of a life that Byk never knew he could have. It had always been Cooper’s life that mattered. Cooper who was the favored son. Cooper who… died.

Come back to me, Byk. I need you.

A voice from so far away. It was Teddy’s voice, broken, fractured, full of pain. Byk knew it as well as he did his own. How had Teddy, in such a short time, pushed past the fear and found the Byk hidden underneath all that? Why was he nervous around anyone but Teddy? When Teddy was with him, all that discomfort burned away and Byk felt as though he could stand against the world.

Had he ever felt that way in his life? Not that he could recall. It had always been in Byk’s best interest to fade into the background. Unseen and unheard by anyone—family or classmates. It wasn’t that most were openly cruel to him, but being ignored was every bit as painful as some of the hits.

“Cooper, wait up!”

He didn’t, though. He ran faster, his legs pumping harder than before. Callum was falling behind, and still Cooper ran. Then came the laughter from Cooper and his friends as Callum stumbled and landed face-first onto the muddy grass. He lay there as the tears of frustration spilled over, mixing with the already water-soaked dirt. He slammed a fist down. He hadn’t wanted to go with Cooper anyway. Why the hell did he need his brother?

“Get up, you baby” came the growl from above him as a shadow passed over Callum. “Fuck, anyone sees you crying and they’re gonna know what a pussy you are. You’re a goddamn bull, dude. Act like it. Or are you going to be one of those homo bulls that can only fuck with other guys?”

He was. Callum already knew he was gay. Had known for years.

“Holy fuck, you are!” Cooper barked. “My own brother is a faggot.”

Callum pushed up and got to his feet. The mud dripped down from his face and shirt, returning where it had come from.

“Cooper, I?—”

His brother shoved him then, sending Callum sprawling backward and landing in the mud once more. Then he turned, a wicked laugh echoing around him, and returned to his friends. Callum lay there, an arm over his eyes, and realized—finally—that he was never going to be friends with his brother. He now understood his place in the family, as if there was one. His parents would have been happier if Callum had never been born, because that took resources away from their precious Cooper.

That was the day Callum knew he had to get out. To get away from this place, these people. He was never going to fit in here, and the news didn’t shock him as much as bring him comfort. He knew what he wanted to do with his life, and now that he understood it would be on his own, he would need to come up with a plan. First thing he needed was a job, because one way or another, he would be a success. He would get out of this place, away from the people who scorned him, and he would show them he didn’t need them. That he’d outgrown them. That he’d?—

“Get them in the truck!”

The change in scene jolted Callum. Now he was fifteen. He had money in his bank account. With the help of his teacher, he’d acquired financial aid for school. He was going to make his dream come true!

“Hurry the fuck up! We can’t have anyone see us.” The voice belonged to the man Callum would come to know as Hyde.

“We’re trying!” the one guy had shouted. “This kid is fucking strong.”

Cooper slammed his fist into one man’s face, the crunch of his nose so satisfying. He went down like a sack of potatoes. Callum stared at his brother, awed by him in a way he hadn’t been for years. This wasn’t his tormentor—this was Cooper fighting for his life. For their lives.

“Callum! You?—”

Whatever Cooper was about to say was cut off when one guy shoved a Taser into his back. He screamed, then fell to the ground, twitching as they continued to shock him. Callum’s heart was slamming against his chest. He got up, turned, and ran as fast as he could. He needed to get away, to find help. No way could he beat these men. Then came the sound of a gunshot, and Callum’s fear grew exponentially.

Tears fell down his cheeks as he tried to find a place he’d be safe. His lungs ached, and his muscles were jelly. He had dreams, hopes. He didn’t want to die. Not here, not now. He wanted to live the life he’d fantasized about. To prove, to himself if no one else, he wasn’t a failure. That he had worth. That Cooper wasn’t the only son in his family!

After that, things went dark. When Callum awoke, he was a bull, braying for his brother. The first night he spent in that shit pit was hell on earth. They cut his skin, and put some kind of gel on it that burned like nothing he’d ever felt before. He rubbed against any surface, hoping to get the crap off, but it was deep in the abrasions.

And if he thought that was where his torture would end, he was sadly mistaken.

Every day they would come in and put something in his eyes, or his hooves, or his mouth. No matter what, it was always pure torture. He’d cry out, begging for them to kill him, but they never did. In fact, they seemed to take great joy in his pain, and they would be standing there scribbling notes on their clipboards or iPads. Then they’d huddle together, and plot tomorrow’s wickedness.

“Byk…. I have so many things I want to say to you. Stuff I want to tell you. I need you to come back, though. Please. I don’t want you to leave me.”

Teddy again. So many voices swimming in his head, Byk wasn’t sure what was real or wasn’t. Was any of it? Had he ever truly gotten free? Had he finally died and this was hell? To see things he desperately wanted, but could never have? Was there a worse torture than that?

If there was, Byk didn’t want to know.

---