Although I have to admit he was always kind of a dick, Tom was once a good friend of mine. He was a self proclaimed 'player' and would fly from girlfriend to girlfriend; it was this aspect of him that I truly disliked. He treated them like dirt and broke their hearts, yet they all came crawling back. It was as if they wanted to be mistreated; they felt no self-worth.

As soon as the gay rumour came about, Tom despised me. No matter how much he denied it, he was homophobic as hell. He scrawled 'gay boy' and various other obscenities all over my exercise books and tripped me up frequently whenever I crossed his path. Other than this, his bullying was nothing I couldn't brush off my shoulders. Until that one night.

He had texted me one Friday evening in the winter, telling me he had made some decisions that he regretted and that he wanted to speak to me. I naively agreed to come to his house; a decision that still keeps me awake at night. The sun had long gone down, but his house was only a few streets away; he's turning a new leaf, I assured myself. It was a cool night and tugged on my coat for warmth. A frosty breeze whistled through the night air and danced along my cheeks, and despite the paranoia brewing in my stomach, I wore on. Reaching the final turn, I heard a scrambling of multiple feet and I was tackled to the ground. I head slammed on the solid concrete and through my hazy vision I could make out four figures; Tom standing over me.

I couldn't make out the other faces, but the strongest two pinned down my arms. They spat on me as I treated to break free from their grasp. I writhed on the ground as hot tears pricked my eyes and I prayed for the torture to be over. What possessed me to ever tell her? Why did I give her my trust? Tom pounded my stomach, screaming "Gay pervert! Disgusting low life! Why won't you just die?!" The final figure removed my socks and shoes, throwing them into the road. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, amusing the four of them greatly. I grew weaker as Tom pummelled me, my begging a waste of breath. Once he finally stopped he rose up and stomped on my chest, spitting in my eyes. The brutes pinning me down released me from their grasp, taking my coat as they left. The view around me grew darker and I lay unconscious until dawn.

They next day I awoke in hospital, my mother in tears. My torso was painted with bruises, and I had a sensitive lump on the back of my head. It was a miracle, I was told, that I was found so quickly. Much longer and I would have had pneumonia, they said. Miracle indeed, I thought bitterly. My mum begged me to move schools, but I persevered; I couldn't give into the abuse. Tom's attack was the climax of my bullying, and when I strode in on Monday with my damaged head held high, they realised they couldn't effect me anymore. By the end of the week, I had regained most of my friends and I could speak and act freely once more. Of course, the more ignorant of my peers still made flippant remarks, but that did not surprise me.

Tom never came around. He would rather be alone than rejoin his friends and have to be in acquaintance of a bisexual boy. If it were a girl, I'm sure he would have thought differently, but that was by the by. Despite this, after the incident, he longer spoke to me, not even in a derogatory way. This is why I was surprised when he confronted me the day Cam arrived.