Page 1 of For Fake's Sake and other stories

What is he doing here? Monty has never stepped foot in here before, which means only one thing. He’s found my hiding place. I stuff my books into my bag and slip as quietly as I can behind the stacks.

“I thought you said he was in here. I need my history essay written. Blinkers always does my prep.” The nasal twang of my nemesis barks out loudly through the eerie, quiet library.

“He was, Monty. I saw him. He usually hides away in the corner next to the radiator.”

Fucking Gregory Alton. He’s such a lickarse, and not the good type. Two years below us, he’s taken on the job of Monty’s whipping boy.

“Blinkers! I know you’re in here. Put your dirty porn away and get your faggoty arse here.”

I stay silent and step behind the first tall wooden bookcase.

“Too busy wanking, eh? Horny Blinkers, that’s you. At least you leave the girls to real men.”

I slip down the side of the stacks and make it out of here before Monty finds me. I can’t wait to get out of this school. Only four more terms and I can say goodbye to this wretched place, the false school cheers, and traditions that are only terms used by the teachers to ignore the bullying that is rife here.

I’m the perfect choice for Monty Atkinson and his cronies. He makes Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle look like boy scouts. The school’s token gay boy, or at least the only one braveenough to come out. I know for a fact that three other boys have offered to suck my dick. Not my secret to share, though.

I flee from the library and down the stairs, ignoring Monty’s shout for me to stop. Laughing, I run over the Quad and into the dorm block. There’s one thing that’s good about this school, and that’s private rooms when you reach the sixth form. I slam the door of my room shut and lean against it, heaving huge gulps of air into my burning lungs.

God, the humiliation that twat makes me feel, the crude jokes and requests for blow jobs, the pushing and shoving that goes with the horrific nickname. I’ll end up doing his damn essay, but at least I’ve escaped him for tonight.

The braying laughter coming from the corner of the cocktail bar grates on me like fingernails scraping over a blackboard. Memories of Monty Atkinson, the school bully, come flooding back. His laughter always announced his arrival and gave us lesser beings the chance to scatter. The hot guy I was talking to gives me a funny look.

“Are you okay? You spaced out a bit, even though the noise from over there is shockingly loud. I’m surprised they’re getting away with it.”

“Yes, sorry. That dreadful noise reminded me of someone, someone I’d rather not think about.” I take a large sip of the delicious and much-needed mojito.

“An ex?”

“God, no.” Christ, what a thought. I shudder. “School bully.”

“Ouch, nasty,” sexy-hot guy says with sympathy. He downs his drink and stands. “I’m out, going to the theatre with my mother. The drink was fortification. See you around. It was nice talking to you.”

“Yeah, I’m going to go too. I’ll walk out with you.”

The donkey whinnying is getting closer. Fuck. Don’t look. Don’t look. I grab my messenger bag from under the barstool.

“Blinkers? Is that you?” The obnoxious nasal twang I hated then seems even worse now.

I take the easy way out, or maybe it’s the coward’s way? As long as it gets me out of here, I don’t give a shit. I dart towards the exit. Unfortunately, Monty still has no manners and puts a meaty hand on my shoulder, halting any chance of escape.

“I thought it was you. Still running away from me. Nothing much has changed.” He snorts. “Although you’re not the skinny little runt you were at school. Still chasing the boys, I see. Still living up to your name, Horny Blinkers.” He bursts out in ridiculously loud laughter.

Please, ground, open up and swallow me. The whole bar is watching the interaction as if we were on The Jeremy Kyle Show. The topics are gruesome, but you don’t want to miss a word.

“Monty, gosh. You haven’t changed a bit.” I slowly look him up and down. At school, he might have made me cower, but I’m learning to stand up for myself. “Apart from your waist, which is a lot bigger.”

He scowls. “Cazza, come here, doll.” He beckons a sweet-looking lady. She walks over but doesn’t look too thrilled. “This is my old lady, Cazza. Caz, this is my old friend, Blinkers. From school. I’m sure I’ve mentioned him to you. He’s a woofter, like your brother.”

The poor woman sighs. “Monty, please don’t use that word. And no, I don’t remember you mentioning him.” She gives me a smile that tries to convey every apology I’ve ever needed from this arsehole.

“It’s Ollie, not Blinkers. It was never Blinkers.”

“Oh, nonsense. Cazza, I told you about him. His name is Blinkhorn, but we would call him Horny Blinkers. He was always after the boys, y’see. He liked it, made him feel part of the gang.”

“I hated it, and I never wanted to be part of your dreadful gang.”

He ignores me and carries on talking about the fun things they would do, including wedgies, swirlies, and nuggies.

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