You're not cryin', are you? I'm not some little faggot. No, you're not. You're pretty brave actually... standing up your father like that. He was hurting you. *** Brian lies in bed, hand still guarding the tender spot where Craig Taylor nearly broke his ribs. Try as he may, he can’t shake loose from Justin’s words. Fuck, is the kid ten? What starry-eyed world is he living in that life can be that straightforward? Shit, so what if he was being hurt? Why the fuck did Justin care? Okay, maybe he felt guilty because it was his father doing the kicking, but guilt wasn’t what he’d heard in the boy’s voice. It was something else, something he sure as hell did not want to identify. A hearts-and-flowers emotion, the kind he would never acknowledge. He hears Justin’s feet slap against the hardwood floor then soft footsteps up the stairs. Well, fucking unbelievable, the boy was coming back for more. But more what? For comfort because he’s been—thanks, Deb—traumatized? So, now, what? Is he supposed to cuddle him and make it all better? Give him some big fucking speech about how all will be well and life is still good? Right. Just who the hell is he to this kid, anyway? No one! It bizarre, all of it, and as he feels the weight of Justin’s body on the bed, he wants to swing around, he wants to shout at him, he wants to fucking scream, “Get the fuck back on the couch!” He was hurting you. Damn, damn, damn. The anger slips through his grasp though he isn’t sure why. Fuck it. Justin is nothing to him. So what does it matter, any of it? Not worth anger, not worth shit. He turns in the bed to give the boy a baleful look, one designed to chase him away without expending a lot of energy, but pure blue eyes and a brave face greet him and … shit! Once, when he was ten, a dog followed him home from school. Even after he’d thrown rocks at the little shit, it kept wagging its pathetic tail and trying to be friends. Just like this stupid kid. Dogs, teenagers, children who should’ve never been born. One way or another, you risked getting the shit kicked out of you—that was the fucking truth of the world and it’s time this boy realized it. But maybe not right now. He pulls up the covers so Justin won’t freeze then turns away and closes his eyes. He wants to sleep, to not think anymore. He was hurting you. He mentally shakes the words from his head. Fucking stop! It means nothing. Don’t be sucked in, don’t be the damn dog, walking toward something that seems so enticing, something that’ll only disappoint. Stay strong and resist it because, fuck, otherwise, he’d be no different than the rest. Instead of doing the kicking, he’d be the one getting kicked. Brian rubs his bruised ribs. Oh, shit, he thinks before he cuts himself off completely. Shit.