Brett?

The next day dawned with a harsh reality, the light seeping into his room and illuminating the darkness of his thoughts. He dressed mechanically, his mind a tumult of anger and arousal. At school, the anticipation of facing Brett was like a ticking time bomb in his chest. He walked the halls with his head down, hoping to avoid the inevitable confrontation. But fate had other plans.

As he turned the corner to his locker, Brett was there, arms crossed, a smug grin spreading across his face. The bully's entourage of lackeys parted like a sea before Moses, revealing the predator poised to strike. Alex's heart sank, the weight of the previous night's revelation heavy on his shoulders. Without a word, Brett lunged, his fist connecting with Alex's jaw in a fiery explosion of pain. The world tilted on its axis as Alex stumbled back, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.

The hallway blurred around him as he was dragged into an empty classroom, the door slammed shut with a finality that echoed his mother's betrayal. The beating that followed was methodical, each punch and kick measured, precise. Brett's muscles bulged as he rained blows down on Alex's body, his eyes alight with a sadistic pleasure that made Alex's stomach churn. He could hear the snickers of his classmates outside, their muffled laughter a taunting symphony of humiliation.

Alex's vision swam as pain radiated through his body. He felt a rib crack, a sharp pop followed by a deep, visceral ache that stole his breath. He crumpled to the floor, his arms wrapping around his torso in a futile attempt to protect himself. Through the haze, he saw the leather of Brett's shoes, the smudges of dirt that marred the pristine white. He wanted to scream, to fight back, but his body had other plans. It was as if the knowledge of his mother's infidelity had drained him of all strength, leaving him a broken, whimpering mess at the feet of his tormentor.

The last thing he heard before the world went black was the cruel laughter of his bully, the sound of the door opening, and the fading murmurs of the audience that had gathered to watch his degradation. When he awoke, the pain was a distant throb, replaced by the sterile scent of antiseptic and the beeping of machines. He was in a hospital bed, his body a canvas of bruises and bandages. His father's worried face hovered over him, a tapestry of wrinkles that hadn't been there before.

Alex felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes to find his mother sitting next to him, wearing a low-cut top that revealed the ample cleavage he'd never really noticed before. Her eyes were filled with concern, her full lips painted a shade of red that seemed almost predatory in the harsh fluorescent light. He couldn't look away from her, the sight of her bare skin a stark reminder of the events that had led him here. Her hand, the same one that had stroked his forehead a million times, now felt foreign, almost invasive, as it rested on his shoulder.

"Honey," she began, her voice a siren's song, "I know you're hurt, but you have to let this go." Her eyes searched his, pleading, as if she were asking for a favor rather than covering up her own sins. "You don't have to tell anyone what happened, and you certainly don't have to press charges. It's just a misunderstanding." The way she said it, so casually, as if the beating he'd endured was a mere trifle, sent a fresh wave of anger coursing through his veins. But she didn't stop there.

Her hand slid from his shoulder to his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw with a tenderness that made his stomach turn. "Besides," she whispered, leaning in closer, "Brett's not such a bad guy. He's just... intense. And I know he can be rough, but that's just how some people show affection." Her voice grew softer, more intimate, and Alex couldn't help but be drawn in by the sweetness of her tone. He stared at her cleavage, his gaze lingering on the soft swell of her breasts, the same breasts he'd seen bouncing beneath Brett's thrusts the night before.