Everyday Brendan took the same path. He jogged past the same trees, saw the same houses, stepped into the same cracks in the concrete.
It was clockwork to him. He'd pass the day like every other. Waking up from the nightmares of the early morning, going on his jog before the people of the day would start their daily ritual.

Brendan liked the streets at this time. Hardly anyone was actually up yet, so he was able to avoid any interference while on his route. In Springtime he loved the smell in the morning, and though he'd never tell anyone, he loved how the flowers on the trees started to bloom. He loved the sound of his footsteps, heavily thudding on whatever surface he decided to run. He loved working up a sweat and feeling little beads form on his forehead, then slowly drip down his face. He felt powerful. He felt unstoppable.

But it wasn't Springtime, and Brendan couldn't enjoy this. The Winter was approaching, and the leaves were falling off the trees. The wind was cold and would whip at his face and at any uncovered surface. Brendan was finding it difficult to run with the incessant pounding in his head that was telling him his knee couldn't handle it. But he refused to let the pain stop him from jogging. He knew what his knee looked like before he'd left home, and it wasn't looking very good then either.
Brendan picked up the pace and started sprinting, trying to moderate his breathing as his steps grew heavier and faster.
Red and grey blurs formed around him as his eyes started to fog. Before he knew what had happened, he was lying on the floor, clutching at his knee and simultaneously trying to get his lungs to stop seizing.

"Fucking knee…" He muttered, as he started to catch his breath again.
He looked around him and noticed that he was on an unfamiliar street. Brendan pulled himself toward the sidewalk and leaned back against the concrete wall, which was fencing some property in.

He pulled up his track pants and took a look at his knee. A massive purple and blue bruise covered his kneecap, but it wasn't just a regular bruise: it was worse. The colours on top concealed the pain Brendan actually felt. He didn't know how to describe the feeling medically, because he had been raised to know that it's always better to keep these things to yourself. There's no need to go and get other people involved in your business.

"That doesn't look too great."
Brendan looked up and saw a red-headed kid, staring down at him.
"Piss off." Brendan grunted, too tired to put much effort into an intimidating response.
"Do you need help?" The kid asked again.
"I said: piss off. Do your ears need checking?" Brendan growled in response, mentally preparing himself to get up.
"Alright, no need to get your knickers in a twist." The kid snapped back.
Brendan saw red. He jumped up and had the kid up against the concrete fence, his fists clenched around the kid's t-shirt.
"What did you just say?!" He yelled into the kid's face.
He could tell the kid was scared. His cheeks had gone completely red, almost blending in to his freckles.
"Nothing… Nothing." The kid quickly stuttered back.
Brendan could feel the kid's heart racing through his knuckles.
"That's what I fucking thought!" Brendan shouted, getting even closer to the kid's face.
His eyes were squeezed shut and Brendan saw that his cheeks were slightly damp.
Maybe the kid didn't deserve it.
Brendan let go and took a small step back.
"Get the fuck out of my face." He said, turning his back to the kid.

He stopped and just closed his eyes. He took deep breaths in and out.
Brendan opened his eyes and turned around, unsure of what he'd do if the kid were still there.

Luckily for both of them, the kid had long fled.

"Brendan, why are you coming in so late?" Blanaid asked the moment the door was opened, "We already had breakfast!"
"Went on my morning jog, like I do everyday." He responded nonchalantly.
"Well normally you manage to make it back on time."
"I'm here now, aren't I?" Brendan replied, getting slightly more agitated.
"Yes, yes you are," Blanaid said calmly, "And I have some bacon waiting in the kitchen for you."
Brendan couldn't help but reveal a small grin. He did love bacon.
"Knew that'd put a smile on your face!" Blanaid laughed.
Brendan kissed her on the cheek and quickly made his way to the kitchen to find Cheryl sitting at the table, moaning about some useless thing.

"He's such a prick and I don't understand why I've got him as a teacher!" Cheryl whined.
"Cheryl, just deal with it." Blanaid told her plainly. "We all have things to complain about."
"But Ma… It isn't fair!"
"It's Christmas holiday soon anyway." Brendan dropped in, he himself looking forward to it as well.
Cheryl suddenly smiled and picked up her bag, "Well I need to go in early, so... Bye…"
Before Brendan or Blanaid could say anything, she was already out the door.

"Brendan, did you maybe see your Pa this morning when you got up early?" Blanaid asked.
Brendan's blood turned cold. He hated when people would even mention him.
He cleared his throat, "No, not since last night."
"Well okay," Blanaid responded, disappointment heavily leaded in her voice, "Have a nice day at school."
She got up and left out the door as well.

Brendan was alone.

He slowly walked upstairs, the sound of his footsteps echoing throughout the hallway. He walked down the hall and found himself standing outside his door. These moments were moments that chilled him to the bone. The not-knowing. Not-knowing whether he would open the door and be bombarded by pain. Not-knowing if he would open the door and be enveloped in memories.

So he braced himself and opened the door, being confronted by nothing other than his desk, chair, armoire, and bed.

Brendan made his way to the armoire and put his hand up against the wooden doors. There were several dents covering the front of hit. Dents that would go unnoticed by those who didn't know. Unfortunately Brendan did know.

He felt cold. He felt disgusted. He was afflicted.

Before any real thoughts could come flooding back to his mind, he pulled the closet door open and grabbed some jeans, a white t-shirt, boxer-briefs and left the coldness of his room and went to the bathroom.

The water rushed out of the shower-head and poured down onto Brendan's neck and back. It was warm and soothing. The pressure was just right and Brendan could feel himself relaxing. Finally.

He ran a hand over his chest with the soap bar. His daily jog and weight-lifting had definitely been paying off. Brendan could tell he was getting buff. A strong chest paired along with a dark hair that was growing there, was definitely helping him charm the ladies. It was no wonder most of the girls were gagging for him.

A thought crossed his mind. Maybe today he could… He closed his eyes and braced himself. He thought back to the video his mates had showed him of the two girls. After a tiring rugby match on the pitch, his friends and him had decided to go over to Orin's house, who was currently alone at home.

Orin was a total pervert and had all sorts of videos of girls doing crazy stuff. He probably got himself off far more than any normal guy should. It wasn't that Orin didn't get it elsewhere, he just couldn't seem to stop. He was quite a hit among the ladies. Most of Brendan's crew knew what buttons to press.

"Come on, let's just give it a watch!" Orin had suggested.
"We don't want to have a group wank." Sean retorted, the other guys agreeing with him.
Brendan had felt uncomfortable. Something didn't feel right. Discussing that stuff with his mates. Discussing girls, that was alright, but this… It felt weird.
"It's good though. I promise!" Orin replied, and before the others could stop him, he had already popped it into the player, and it soon showed up on the telly.
After a few minutes it didn't seem like any of the other guys had problems with it. They appeared to have fallen into an almost trance. Brendan looked around and saw that some of them had made themselves comfortable. Really comfortable. Brendan saw that Orin had slipped his hand down his pants, right in the middle of everyone. But no one else seemed to notice. Brendan was the only one who didn't have his eyes glued to the screen.

Brendan breath hitched and he felt the white hot release. He regained his breath and opened his eyes. He was back in the shower, the tungsten light shining bright above.

Brendan grabbed the soap bar and thoroughly cleaned himself again.