Wednesday, April 8th 2015

In Jack's periphery, a group of lads huddled in the corner of the changing room, their eyes flicking to him before quickly darting back to the phone screen in front of them. The sound of sniggering echoed in the air, and he felt an unsettling chill creeping up his spine. He continued tying his shoelaces, pretending he didn't notice, but every glance in his direction made his skin crawl. His heart pounded in his chest as the laughter grew louder.

'Didn't take you for a queer, Jacko,' one of them finally called out.

Jack froze. His hands trembled slightly as he finished tying his shoelaces. He looked up, meeting the eyes of the lad who had spoken. He felt a flash of heat rise to his cheeks but kept his expression as calm as he could manage.

'What?' Jack muttered, his voice quieter than he intended.

'I said, I didn't take you for a queer,' the lad repeated, louder this time. His friends sniggered again, some of them taking turns glancing at Jack before turning their eyes back to the phone.

Jack's pulse quickened. He stared back at the lad, silent for a moment, trying to force down the rising panic in his chest. Then, the lad beside him turned the phone to face Jack. His heart lurched in his chest when he saw himself on the screen.

There he was—Fuinneog the Queen, performing on stage in full drag at The George. He could hardly recognize himself. His body, transformed by hip pads and tight clothing, was strutting around the stage awkwardly, lip-syncing to 'I'm Still Standing' by Elton John. The staccato movements, the exaggerated facial expressions—it looked like someone else entirely. His breath caught in his throat. How could they have this?

His body was frozen in place. He couldn't move, couldn't look away from the screen. The image of himself, so alien and ridiculous, swirled around in his mind, a whirlwind of shame and disbelief.

It wasn't him, but it was him.

The video continued, showing him dancing, his awkwardness clear, the crowd's confused expressions apparent in the background. And then, as if a switch had flipped, Jack stopped. He froze, and the video captured him standing motionless. He could feel the tension rising, both in the video and in his chest. His lip-synching stopped mid-word, and he stood there, exposed and vulnerable. The crowd had no idea what was going on. And then, in the next moment, the video showed him crumpling to the floor.

The video abruptly cut off.

The room was silent for a beat, but then the cacophony of sneery laughs erupted from the lads. Their mocking laughter echoed off the concrete walls, bouncing around the cold, sterile room. Those who weren't laughing looked at Jack with confusion, their gazes not understanding the weight of what they had just witnessed.

'One of my sister's friends said she's seen you in that gay bar a few times,' added another, and his stomach dropped even further.

Mark, who had been standing at the far side of the room, looked over, brow furrowed, but didn't say anything.

Jack couldn't speak.

His mouth was dry, and he was terrified that if he did say something, his voice would break, giving away the storm that raged inside him. He felt like his world was crumbling down around him.

He just stared at the phone in front of him, blank and cold. He said nothing.

'Jack, say something,' Mark's voice broke through the tension. 'Fuck them.'

Jack shook his head, quickly packing away his football shorts and cramming them into his gear bag. He didn't want to look at them. Didn't want to deal with this. Didn't want to feel the shame crawl up his throat and choke him from the inside.

'Jack,' Mark continued, his voice softer but insistent.

'Leave it,' Jack muttered, his voice hoarse, trying to mask the panic that bubbled just beneath the surface.

The lad with the phone wasn't done. 'Are you a queer?'

'Fairy,' one of the lads taunted again, and Jack's stomach twisted.

'Jack.'

'I said leave it.'

'Queer,' taunted the guy with the phone again and something inside him snapped. The rage that had been simmering beneath the surface—his anger, his confusion, the hurt from seeing himself so exposed—flared out of control.

He flung his bag onto the wooden bench, the thud of it hitting the surface barely registering. He turned to face the group, his fists clenching. The lad who had been taunting him now had a smug grin on his face, but it quickly faded when Jack lunged at him, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the cold concrete wall.

'Call me a queer again,' Jack spat, his voice low and deadly.

The lad was stunned, his eyes wide with shock. 'Is that not you in the video?' he asked, voice still trembling.

'Call me a queer again,' Jack repeated, his teeth gritted, his chest heaving with adrenaline.

'Quee-'

The word barely left the lad's lips before Jack's fist collided with his mouth, cutting him off. The blow landed with a sickening crack, and the lad staggered back. The fight erupted in an instant—punches thrown wildly, bodies crashing against each other. Jack's rage was overwhelming, and before he knew it, they were on the floor, wrestling, fists connecting with flesh in a chaotic blur.

'Call me a queer again,' Jack roared, his voice hoarse with anger, every muscle in his body screaming for release.

The lads around them were cheering, egging them on. Some were trying to pull the two apart, but Jack wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop. It felt like all the rage within him for the last however many years had bubbled over. His mother. His brother's suicide. His identity struggle. Everything had finally snowballed and he lost control.

He felt like if he didn't release this anger now, it would consume him.

Jack's fists were red with blood—both his and the other lad's—his body trembling with the raw energy of the fight. He'd knocked the lad onto his back, straddling him, landing punch after punch. He was seeing red, the laughter, the video, the shame—everything was crashing down around him.

'JACK, STOP!' Mark's voice cut through the chaos, and Jack felt himself being pulled away from the lad, his arms wrenched behind him.

Mark dragged him across the changing room, Jack thrashing in his grip. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't calm down. He tried to wriggle free, roaring with anger as he did, but Mark's grip was firm, pulling him to the other side of the room.

'Jack, stop,' Mark repeated, his voice strained, filled with worry and frustration as he and another boy pinned him against the wall to hold him back.

'FUCK YOU!' Jack roared, breaking free from their hold momentarily as he pushed past, eyes locked on the lad who had taunted him. But the lads were finally separating them, pulling them in opposite directions.

The room had fallen into a strange, heavy silence now, the cheers fading as everyone tried to regain some composure. Jack could feel his body shaking, his heart racing, but he didn't know how to stop. Didn't know how to calm down.

He wasn't sure if the fight was with them, or with himself as Mark dragged him from the changing room.