"I'm Sorry"

“I’m Sorry”

Chapter One

By Wildfire

Recently, Mark, now a seventh grader, has taken to always being dressed in black. He had two older brothers who, unfortunately for him, ragged on him constantly. Needless to say, he was starting to get fed up.

“Oh, my God, Mark. Is that blue on your shirt? I didn’t know you knew any other colors.”

“Randy, leave me alone.”

“Ah, are we feeling self-conscious today? Poor little boy.”

“I’m taller than you, and I’m younger, too. You’re the little one.”

Brad walks in with a nod. “He’s right, Randy. You’re short.”

Randy’s eyes widen. Was Brad was taking Mark’s side? “What the hell, Brad? Mind your own business!”

“Don’t freak so much, Randy. You can’t slam the kid for speaking the truth. You’re just kind of… feminine,” Brad says and both him and Mark laugh.

“Fuck off.” He quickly heads downstairs. Plopping on his bed, he grudgingly admitted to himself that he knew he was short. It was a sore spot for him; he couldn’t change it. Doctors said it was because he was so sick as a child.

***

It was lunch and the room was crowded. A young man with black shaggy hair was staring at a girl that was, in his opinion, the most beautiful creature alive. She had flowing brown hair that curled slightly, and her eyes were a rich brown with eyelashes that were long and black. Her body was perfect: big chest, small waist. She was perfect, and he wanted her, especially when she smiled.

However, the girl was oblivious to all the stares, for her eyes were locked on somewhere else -- or rather, someone else. Someone else that had blond hair and a large build, that played soccer and was beautiful. He was Brad Taylor, and he was a god.

She stood up. She had to talk to him -- she just had to….

He was joking around with the other players on his team when she came over. “H-Hi.”

Brad looks up with a blink. “Hello?”

“I… I-I’m Becky. I was just... wondering if you wanted to eat… I mean, eat together.”

The guys around the table laugh. Brad smiles and stands up, leading her away. “Becky, right?”

“Y-Yeah. I know I’m not your type, but--”

“Hold on there.” He laughs. “I’m not really looking for a girlfriend right now. I just broke up with my old girl and I kinda need a break. But if you want, we could have lunch still, as friends.”

“O-Okay.”

He pats her shoulder and heads back to the table were the other team members teased him. He just laughs and shrugs.

She sighs as she watches him go. She’d never get his attention. She starts heading back to her table, but is intercepted by a young man with shaggy black hair.

“Hi, I saw what he did. Sorry about that. I’m Luther. He’s making a huge mistake.”

“Uh... thanks. Excuse me.”

“I would love to have dinner with you.”

“Oh, well, sorry. I would, but I…. Look, my heart only belongs to one.” She looks to Brad again. “Sorry, but thanks for the compliment.” She walks away

Luther stares after her. He would have her. He had to have her.

***

Jill sat on the bathroom floor, groaning.

“Honey? Want me to make you some soup or something?” Tim asks cautiously.

“I don’t think so…. I don’t care what the doctors say; I have to be allergic to something I’m eating. I mean, I’m fine most of the time and than suddenly I’m sick.”

Tim kneels beside her. “We’ll go back to the doctors tomorrow and run some more tests, okay?”

She nods, leaning into him. “I hate being sick.”

“I know. I’ll go make you some soup.” Tim stood, heading down stairs to hear complaining and yelling. “What the hell is going on?” He moves into the living room.

Randy was lying face-first on his stomach, with Mark’s knees pressed into his back, while his arm were locked under Randy’s chin, pulling his head up. Tim hurries over pulling Mark off of him. “What are you trying to do?!”

Randy slowly sits up while breathing hard, and Mark struggled to get free. “Who’s the pathetic weak boy now?!”

Brad walks in smirking, then frowns when he sees Randy struggling to breath. “What’s going on?” He runs toward Randy to help him up.

“He called me weak again! Now we see who’s really weak.”

Brad sighs. “Randy, he’s stronger than you. You’ve got to except it.”

Tim frowns. “I don’t care. Mark, if you attack your brother like that again I’ll stop your karate lessons.” That stilled Mark immediately.

“No, you can’t! Dad, I need it!”

“Then I suggest you don’t attack your brother again.” He lets go of his youngest, heading to Randy. “Are you alright?”

“I’m FINE!” He shoves Brad away, nearly running down stairs. Brad sighs and Mark chuckles. Tim let out a sigh as well and headed to go make the soup.

***

Randy plops onto his bed, barring his head into the pillow. ‘Randy, he’s stronger than you….’ The words ran through his mind. Brad was supposed to take his side! And here he was taking Mark’s. He should have beaten the crap out of him. But no, he just told him, ‘Randy, he’s stronger than you.’ He hated them -- he hated them both!

He hated being tiny. He had tried to go out for sports, but there were signs of his asthma returning, so they cut it down. He could still work out, but nothing heavy, which meant nothing like soccer or karate. They didn’t understand -- neither of them understood! He wished they could feel what it felt like to feel so vulnerable knowing your younger brother could kick your ass. And it wasn’t a nice feeling!

He sits up, staring at the computer. He was good at school. It was pretty much the only thing he was good at. It made his mom happy. He knew she thought of him as more her son for it, as he didn’t do the stuff his brothers did. She didn’t think he liked sports. It wasn’t that he loved school and hated sports. It was that he couldn’t ever play the sport, so why get interested in it? As for school, he wanted to excel at something, so why not something that made you look good?

Brad and him were pretty close, but now that Mark was getting older and into sports. He knew whom Brad would choose, and it wasn’t like it was a hard choice. ‘The brother that will play games with me or the one that can’t…. Hmm, who would anyone with a brain choose?’

Why couldn’t he have been normal?

***

“Dad, we should really redo the seat coverings.” Brad was leaning into the hot rod. “I think it’ll help.”

Tim nods. “We need to finish the paintjob first.”

“Well, Dad, you need to buy the paint first.”

“I just need to find the right color.”

“I like black.”

“No, black’s too boring. I need something bold, something that will make people see it and go, ‘Wow, what a car!’”

Brad shakes his head with a smile. “Then you’ll sell it, right? Get a new one?”

Tim smiles and points to him. “That’s right. HO HO HO….”

“I want a week of driving this one first.”

“You got it.”

“Let’s go pick out some paint.” Brad grabs his keys. “I’ll drive.”

“Oh, HO HO HO. Don’t know if that’s safe.”

“Safer than you with a screwdriver, and we brave that every day.”

Tim shakes his head, putting Brad in a slight headlock before heading for the car.