Fat lazy bastard.

James was left alone sitting in the classroom. All his friends were out in the playground, running around, and having fun. He watched them from his desk, staring out of the window when suddenly the classroom door slammed. James jumped in his chair and looked at the figure standing in front of the door.

“Mrs Chamberlain tells me you’ve been a very naughty boy, James. What are we going to do about it?”.

James looked down into his lap. He had no words and didn’t want to get into yet another petty argument with a teacher over something that wasn’t even his fault.

“Nothing to say for yourself, eh?”, suggested Mr Thomas; the very large, sweaty, badling head teacher whom no one liked. Everyone just referred to the fat old man as ‘Thomas’, but some secretly called him the ‘fat controller’ as he resembled that character more than an actual train. James thought his face was more like the back end of a bus.

He smelled too – a constant whiff of body odour that followed him and then lingered after he’d left a classroom. He always wore a blue shirt, tie and jacket, of varying designs, with beige trousers, regardless of the weather, and that probably didn’t help the sweating or the smell.

James looked up at Mr Thomas who was now much closer to James’ desk. “You know what it means when I have to get involved, don’t you?”, asked Mr Thomas.

James nodded and his eyes began to well. He knew what was coming; it had been happening for months now.

The first time he was summonsed to Mr Thomas’ office, it was for talking too much in class. James was sent out into the corridor and because he was unable to stand still and stop making noise – tapping, on that occasion – he was sent to the head master’s office at the far end of the school building.

“Come in”, boomed Thomas. James opened the door and stepped inside.

“Close the door”, boomed Thomas again, making James startle.

“Why are you here?”, asked Thomas.

James shrugged and then mumbled; “I was talking”.

“Talking. Talking. And why were you talking?”, asked Thomas.

“I don’t know”, answer James.

James was a quiet boy; shy in many respects. But he struggled to focus and sit still. He was often singled out by his teacher for doodling, fidgeting, or appearing not to be paying attention.

“Well young James. There is only one cure for boys who talk too much. Kneel down on the floor right now young man”.

James looked confused but did as he was told. He did not want this to go any further, with his parents getting involved. God forbid there was another phone call home or meeting about his behaviour.

“If your parents can’t handle you young man then I guess I will have to”, said Thomas.

James didn’t know what was coming next. He was half expecting to get smacked but then didn’t think that teachers were allowed to hit kids anymore. Thomas got up from behind his giant wooden desk and walked around to stand in front of James. He unzipped his trousers and James instantly knew what was about to happen.

It didn’t take long. Just a few minutes until Thomas tidied himself up and sat back down behind his desk.

“James, you can be a good boy when you want to be. And it’s my job to make sure you’re well behaved at school. It’ll serve you well to stay quiet, keep your head down, and not bother your teacher or your parents. Do you understand child?”.

James nodded and wiped his mouth.

“Good. And let’s face it young man, no one will believe you. You’ve a history of making up stories and telling lies. So, this will stay just between us. Do you understand?”.

James nodded again.

“You may leave. And let this be a lesson to you”, Thomas said as he pointed his finger in James’ direction.

James quickly got to his feet even though his legs felt like jelly. He left the office, closing the door behind him, and then ran down the long corridor, passed several classrooms and into the boy’s toilets. He almost didn’t make it to the toilet bowl.

“You alright”, asked Martin, the chubby kid that everyone picked on.

James stood up straight, turned to Martin, and nodded his head. He was surprised to see Martin and wasn’t sure if he was glad of the company right now.

“Where did you just come from? You were running like a bat out of hell”.

“Thomas”, said James.

“Ah”, said Martin. “Was he trying to teach you a lesson?”.

James’ eyes widened and he wasn’t sure what to say. He felt utterly disgusting and completely embarrassed.

“It’s ok mate. You kind of get used to it after a while”, said Martin.

James was shocked. Did Martin know what had just happened in Thomas’ office? Did he have to endure the same horrific thing?

“What do you mean?”, asked James.

“He does it to a lot of the boys. It’s obvious. I can always tell when someone has been in Thomas’ office”.

James felt sick again and wrecked towards the toilet, but this time, nothing came up. He coughed, and spluttered, and turned back to Martin.

“What do we do?”, asked James.

Martin shrugged. “I don’t know. But one boy a year ago who accused Thomas of doing dirty things with him was never seen again. From what I heard, his parents came in to the school, had a meeting. We’ve never seen him again. You remember Curtis, right? From the other class”.

James had to think for a minute, and then the name made sense. “Yeah, I remember Curtis. He got really weird. Oh, and he wet himself in class”. James sniggered slightly but Martin’s expression quickly adjusted James’ attitude.

“Yeah. He pissed himself because he was terrified. Miss had threatened to send him to Thomas, and he wet himself right there in his chair. Everyone laughed, but I knew the reason why. Poor kid”.

Martin spoke in a way that made James look at him again. The fat boy who was the brunt of everyone’s jokes and easily bullied, spoke as though he was older than his years. This kid had noticed things. He watched, and listened, and seemed to know what was going on.

Martin encouraged James to wash his face and hands, and to sort himself out. “We don’t want anyone thinking you’ve been crying like a sissy-la-la now do we?”.

James shook his head. He wasn’t one to cry, or puke for no reason. And Thomas was right. No one would believe him even if he screamed it from the highest roof top.

“Look, the best thing you can do mate is stay out of trouble. Don’t do anything to get sent to his office. I try, but it doesn't always work. And, if Thomas hasn’t seen you for a while, he’ll make up some excuse about why he needs you in his office”.

“Bastard”, said James.

“Yep”, replied Martin.

The school bell rang and the boys hurried back to class.

Nine months on and James was in Thomas’ office on an almost weekly basis. The difference now was that there were no more phone calls home and no more meetings. James just did as he was told and his report card stayed clean. His parents thought that this ‘naughty phase’ was now over and done with and James was even getting praise at home – his parents would boast about how well he was doing at school to friends and family members.

Home life was far from perfect, but James kept to himself and tried not to bother anyone. He spent a lot of time alone in his bedroom, either reading, or sleeping. At eleven years old now, his parents were far less concerned about James’ recreation and more focused on his new baby sister, Eleanor. She was cute, James thought, but very fussy.

“New born babies are hard work”, his dad had said, but then went on to include, “But you never got any easier lad”.

James knew what people thought of him – he’d overheard the late night conversations between his parents downstairs. They often progressed into blazing arguments, during which James’ dad would make comments about sending James to his grandparents to live. His mother would defend him and remind his father that James had a heart of gold, but that he just needed more support than most.

James would lay awake and listen, sobbing gently into his pillow until he finally fell asleep. He couldn’t tell his parents about Thomas. His mum had been incredibly unwell during pregnancy and now there was a baby. His dad wanted to get rid of him anyway, but the arguments had died down and there were no threats of being sent away – because now James was being a ‘good boy’ at school.

James and Martin had something in common, albeit something quite horrific. A friendship had developed that day in the bathroom, and the two boys had become thick as thieves. Some of James’ other friends couldn’t understand why he’d want to hang around with the ‘fat boy’, but James shrugged it off and told them to mind their own business. The way Martin had seen it, was that they had the rest of the school year to get through, and then it would all be over. They’d move on up to secondary school and they could forget about it and move on.

The boys supported each other and swore never to tell another soul about each other’s secrets.

“I’ll take it to the grave,” said Martin.

“Me too”, promised James, and they shook on it.

Back in the classroom, “Look at me boy”, boomed Thomas.

James’ body sat up to attention as he then raised his head and glared at Thomas.

“I’m told once again young man that you’ve been doodling in your workbooks”, said Thomas.

James nodded. “I can’t help it”, he said, as he tried to defend himself.

“Quiet boy. I don’t need your excuses. Excuses are for weak boys who cannot control themselves. Meet me in my office at the end of the day. I’ll let your parents know you’re going to be late home and in detention this afternoon. I dare say we need a little more time for your correction today”.

James looked shocked. Thomas hadn’t made contact with his parents for a long time now.

“No, please. Please don’t call them. Anyway, they’re busy with the baby. They won’t care”.

At that point, James realised what he’d said. No, his parents wouldn’t care and would probably be glad of the extra peace and quite at home without him there. He’d of course get into trouble at home for being in detention, but he figured it may not be too bad as his parents hadn’t heard from the school in months now, except for the occasional letter home about PTA activities.

“Young man, you’ll do as your are told and not argue. Do you understand?”.

James nodded again.

“Good. Three-thirty this afternoon, and don’t be late”. With that, Thomas left the room and slammed the door behind him.

James sat in his seat for the rest of the afternoon. He didn’t speak to anyone and barely lifted his head to look at the board and his teacher who was talking some nonsense about British values and what makes a good citizen. It was all a bit of a blur until the bell rang, but James couldn’t help but wonder why after school this time. And what exactly would need to take longer?

“Ok everyone. Tidy up please, put your books away, and collect your lunch boxes if you have one. Have a great weekend and I’ll see you on Monday”.

James rose from his seat, collected his lunch box, coat, and backpack from the rack outside the classroom and made his way down the corridor towards Thomas’ office. He knocked.

“Come in”, boomed the voice behind the door.

James knew the drill. He’d set his things aside and get down on his knees.

“Get up”, ordered Thomas.

James looked up, confused.

“You heard me young man. Get up”.

James got to his feet but didn’t know what to do next. A wave of sickness came over him, and he was worried for a second that he might throw up there and then. It was ok to puke in the toilets afterward, which James had taken to doing every time now, but he did not want to barf all over Thomas’ carpet – he could just image the extra trouble he’d be in.

“Come here”, was the next order.

James walked toward the desk.

“No, here man”, said Thomas, and signalled for James to walk around the desk toward his chair.

James slowly shuffled towards the other side of the desk. As he moved around the corner to where Thomas was sitting, he could see that Thomas had already undone his trousers, and everything was on display. It was truly disgusting. The fat bastard wasn’t even going to stand up for it this time. ‘Lazy fat bastard’, thought James.

“Right man. Turn around and pull your trousers down”, ordered Thomas.

James shook his head.

“Do you want me to call your father?”, asked Thomas.

James again shook his head.

“Right then. Trousers. And pants young man. Let’s make this as easy as possible, shall we?”.

James turned around. A tear rolled down his left cheek, and he quickly wiped it away. He didn’t want this monster to think he was weak. He wasn’t weak, but there was nothing he could do. He just needed this to be over as quickly as possible.

“Step back man”, ordered Thomas.

James took one step back and Thomas took hold of James' waist. He began to pull him backwards and then the door burst open.

Thomas and James turned to see Martin come rushing towards them. He leapt over the desk and shoved his fist at Thomas’ chest. Thomas groaned and then coughed.

“Run”, whispered Martin.

James was frozen to the spot, his trousers and underwear around his ankles. He watched as blood spread from Thomas’ chest, across his shirt, and down to his stomach. It slowly began dripping on to the floor.

“For Christ’s sakes mate, get dressed and bloody run would you”, said Martin, “We have to go”.

James snapped his attention back and pulled his clothing back up.

“Don’t forget your stuff”, Martin said and signalled towards James’ bag and coat.

James rushed over towards his small pile of belongings and picked everything up.

Thomas was struggling to breathe, slumped back in his large brown leather chair.

Martin slid down off the desk, onto the floor and stood in front of Thomas who was unable to speak, gasping for air.

“Mart, what the hell did you do? We’re gonna be in so much trouble”, said James.

“This bastard did to me what he was about to do to you. I couldn’t let it happen mate. I just couldn’t”.

“Shit”, was just about all that James could manage.

Thomas raised his left hand, pointed a finger and began to wave it at Martin.

“Don’t bother old man, no one will believe you”.

Martin indicated toward the telephone on Thomas’ desk. “You could try calling for an ambulance, but I suggest you keep our names out of it, or else I’ll tell the old bill everything. Understand?”.

Martin stared at Thomas until he got a reaction. Thomas nodded and reached for the phone.

“Let’s go”, said Martin.

James followed Martin out of the office and closed the door quietly behind him. The boys hurried along the corridor and darted into the boy’s toilets. Martin removed the black woolly gloves he was wearing, washed his hands and splashed water on his face.

“That’ll teach the old pervert a lesson, won’t it?”, he asked, looking into the mirror back at James for reassurance.

“Sure will”, replied James, who managed a small smile.

“And I don’t think he’ll be bothering us again. Or anyone else for that matter”.

“Won’t we get caught, Mart? I’m scared”.

“Na. He won’t say anything. He’d have to admit to who stabbed him and why. He’s never gonna tell anyone that he’s a great big stinking pervert”.

James patted Martin on the back. “Thank you mate”, he said.

“No need to thank me. I’m just glad he won’t lay another finger on either of us. And school’s nearly over. We won’t need to worry about any of this for much longer”, said Martin with a smile on his face – a mixture of relief and being quite proud of himself for standing up to his abuser.

“Right, back to mine for tea. We’ll climb up the tree and into my window. Tell your parents later that detention was cancelled, and my mum will think we’ve been in my room since school finished”.

Martin had thought of everything, and they each had an alibi. Martin’s mum would come home from work and get to cooking for the boys, as was often the case on a Friday afternoon. They’d be called to the table, and she would be none the wiser.

For the first time in months, both Martin and James could breathe deeply, relax fully, and enjoy being eleven year old boys again. Dinner, followed by ice-cream, and then tree climbing and rope swings in the garden in the warm summer sun – best friends, and the perfect end to a very difficult few months.

Words: 2939.