The Gun Part 2

Brent Williams's stepfather continued holding the gun into Brent's neck.
"Get out of my sight, you little faggot." he gestured with the gun.
Brent didn't stick around. He knew that if he didn't leave, that his stepfather would play around with the gun some more. The last thing that he wanted to do was to let his stepfather kill him, even accidentally.
He ran down the hallway to his bedroom. He took the dogged, faded picture of his parents' wedding out from underneath his mattress. His mother and father smiled up at him from the picture.
Some day, he thought, I'll be happy like they were. Losing himself in thought, his mind began to wander. I will be happy...
His mind stopped momentarily on Scott. Scott Brandt, one of the best looking guys in school, had kissed Brent. Brent, in turn, before coming home, had kissed Scott. How his heart pounded in his chest, and his breath caught, now as he thought about Scott.
Scott...His perfectly sculpted body. The picture of him standing there wearing only a towel. Wet skin glistening, fresh from the shower. His blue eyes shining. His perfect nose. His soft lips. His touch, firm, but gentle.
Brent sank slowly back to reality. Scott is only a fantasy, he thought. I just imagined that we kissed at the game. He would never want me. Who would want to spend any time with, well, with a screw up like me?

"I would," Scott said.
"You'd what?"
"I would like for you to come with me. I have a free period now, and nobody would notice if I didn't show up for study hall. C'mon, come with me." Scott flashed his brilliant smile. Brent found it hard to resist.
"I can't. I have to go straight home. My stepfather would kill me if...I'd really like to, but I just can't." Brent turned away toward his locker.
"Don't worry, I won't let anything bad happen to you. I promise. Just trust me." Scott reached out. He put his hand on Brent's shoulder. "Brent, trust me."
Knowing full well that this may well be the last thing that he ever did, Brent decided to go with Scott.
"I trust you."

As they left the school, for the parking lot, Brent began to have second thoughts about going. He began feeling guilty.
Ever since his father died, Brent's impulsiveness had gotten him into a lot of trouble. An impulse to talk back when he was eight, had sent him to the hospital for stitches to the back of his head. His stepfather had pushed him toward the couch, to begin his tirade, only his aim was off, and there was a coffee table in the way. Brent had tripped over himself, and gashed his head open on the corner of the coffee table. When the doctors asked what had happened, Brent's mother regurgitated the story that his stepfather had fed her, about Brent having fallen down the stairs. (Quite the trick, considering that there were no stairs in the house, other than the one front step.)
Other impulsive outbursts had earned Brent numerous scars, and a ton of bruises. It wasn't until he'd become a teenager, that Brent's stepfather had begun taking out the gun, threatening to use it. At times, Brent found it extremely hard to not encourage his stepfather to shoot him.
If he were dead, Brent thought, things would be better. He would be free. Nobody would ever be able to hurt him again. Sure, he would never see his mother or Scott again, but that was a small price to pay, to put an end to all his problems.
Scott wouldn't notice anyway. It wasn't like he and Scott had been seeing each other very often. Scott would probably mourn what could have been, but he would move on. In time, Scott would forget about Brent.