Light filtered in through a crack in the drapes, making me hiss and roll over, hissing once again when it felt like a bunch of tiny knives were stabbing into my face. Drowsily blinking the sleep from my eyes, it dawned on me that I was in the infirmary, or a clinic... whatever the fuck! Wait, no, the real question is how the fuck? God, I must be suffering from short term memory loss... or long term memory loss! Quick! Think of an embarrassing thing that happened 8 years ago! Oh... there it is. That fucking clown. So, short term! 
Letting out an exaggerated sigh I rolled back over, arching an eyebrow when I met eyes with Jorel, who had apparently been watching my quarrel the entire time. 
"Hey."
I maintained an excellent poker face as I opened my mouth to reply, "heyy-HAH-pffft." Only to have it explode into a fit of laughs and giggles. He was sprawled across the bed next to me, one leg raised by a mini mountain of pillows, a hefty looking icepack placed across his lap. 
"Dude, you look all kings of fucked up."
He sneered and threw the blanket across himself, hiding his shame, "Oh yeah? Well you look like a rotten tomato!" 
I continued giggling as I rightened myself and padded (complaining about the cold floor all the way) to the standing mirror tucked into the corner. 
"Oh man, I really do look like a rotten tomato."
"Told you," he smirked, casually adjusting himself under the sheets. Sure, he was pitiful, but my face was an entirely different story. It didn't look like a simple black eye, it was a mixture of green and brown surrounding a welt that had dried blood caked inside of it. 
"Gross," I muttered to myself, searching for the sink or a bathroom. After it was successfully found and my wound was clean-ish, I turned back to Jorel. 
"Does it look better?" I asked Jorel, who had managed to get his hands on a book. Huh, Stephen King. 
"Sure," He replied, "If you want to scare away all the kids."
"Whatever, at least I can walk."
I made my point by strutting around proudly, he rolled his eyes and changed the subject. 
"So like, what the fuck happened with George?" 
"Oh yeah, George did this to us. Uhhh, I can't really remember, I think I like banged my brain against the back of my skull or something. Crazy stuff." 
"Dude he hit me so hard I puked!" 
"Ew, I don't need to now that."
"Okay, Bob."
I gave him a dumb look, "Did you just call me Bob?"
"Yeah, you know, Bob the Tomato?"
I shook my head.
"Veggietales?" 
"Uh, no." I sat back on my bed, "You sure you didn't hit your head too?"
"Yes! You're seriously telling me you don't know who Bob and Larry are?"
"I don't know or care."
"DUDE! VEGGIETALES!"
Suddenly a head popped up around the corner, "You guys talking about Veggietales!?"
"See?" Jorel whispered to me, "Even the fag knows it."
Danny walked in, a welt that matched mine shown brightly on his face, his nose looked crooked. 
"Yo, I fuck with Mr. Lunt. Yeah, Him and I go way back."
"Mr. Who?" This time it was Jorel who was confused, "Man, whatever. Hey, doesn't Charlie here look like Bob the tomato?" Danny stared for a minute, squinted his eyes, and stared some more, "Oh shit I totally see it!"
"You look worse than I do," I sourly muttered to myself.
"Exactly! He doesn't even know what Veggietales is." 
Danny gasped, "No."
"Would you quite with the Veggietales! This is stupid." I was getting more frustrated by the minute, they were children!
"Hey man, don't be dissing my veggietales."
"You're  veggietales? Bitch, please."
"I'm out! I'm done. Gonna, you know, go find the psycho who did this to my face."
I stood and walked out, hearing Jorel yell out "Just don't get squished Bob!" as I did. I stormed down the halls with a furry so great the walls shook with fear, actually, I just walked with my head tilted down. 
Yeah, hide your shame. 
"Woah, what the... JESUS, what happened?"
I looked up to see Dylan. Great. Just what I needed, first the fucking veggies and now this!
"I, uh, got punched."
"Yeah," He said, coming closer to examine my face, "I can see that, but are you actually okay?"
I became uncomfortable, seeing him act concerned. 
"Why do you care?"
"Well, you're my-" He caught himself, realizing how it would look if he actually said friend. I eyed him down, not deciding if I could trust him or not, but, his eyes were clear, not showing any of the tell tale signs of drug abuse. 
"You're what? Fucking say it."
"Fr-friend, look, why don't you come hang out with me and few other people? We've got beer."
I cracked a little, "Beer?" I couldn't resist.
"Yeah," He genuinely smiled, "It'll just be like old times." I couldn't deny that smile, even though that same grin got the both of us in more trouble than could be typed out in one paragraph. 
"Well, I can't turn down a beer."
"Perfect! Come on," He turned and began to walk, talking as he went, "This dude smuggled it in, he's cool. Straight hood rat." I followed, lightly touching my eye and obsoletely 'mhming' every now and then. He noticed, "Oh that? Don't worry about that, the dudes covered in bruises, you'll fit right in."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, they cover his arms and stuff..." He trailed off, apparently only just now connecting the dots, "Fuckers been holding out on me." I chuckled, well it was more like a blowing a puff of air out my nose.
"Here we are!" Dylan sing songily announced as he swung open the door, revealing a thin looking short guy and, oh fuck me, George. Whos face twitched as he silently stood, steadily making his way to where I was in the doorway.