"Joel, tell me you didn't. Please tell me you didn't kill Benji. Please?"

He shakes his head and looks at me. "Of course I did. For you. For us."

I slump back into the seat, unable to breathe or think or say anything. I want to scream at him. I want to scream that he's crazy, that I never wanted this to happen, that it was all just a stupid joke, but I can't. I can only sink into the cushioned seat and hope that it envelopes me, just swallows me up so I never have to think about this world again. This world that I once shared with the man I loved - no, the man I love - more than anything. Joel glances at me, concern written on his face. "Billy, are you okay? Is something wrong?"

He jumps a little as I explode, and I know it's taking all his concentration to keep from swerving off the road. "You fucking think? You just killed the man I love! It was a joke, Joel, I never wanted to run away with you! You're fucking crazy, you kno-"

"Shut up!"

His fists are clenched around the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are going white, and his teeth are gritted. His eyes are flashing in the dark, lit up by the streetlights as we pass them. Under the flourescent glow, they take on almost a yellowy glint. I shrink back further into my seat. "You can't back out now, Billy," he says softly, finally breaking the silence, "I know you love me. And even if you've changed your mind, you still conspired to kill him. Neither of us can go back, okay?"

All I can do is tremble. I wonder how he did it - did he have a gun? A knife? I shudder at my thoughts, tears brimming my eyes once again. We joked about how we'd do it. We joked about it in front of my lover while he flipped us off and laughed at some of the ludicrous methods we came up with, like making him eat beans until he exploded, or drowning him in chocolate syrup. It occurs to me now that I know how Joel did it. We'd decided that it would have to be done with our bare hands, or more accurately, Joel's bare hands, 'cause I'm a weakling. "Like in 'My Bloody Valentine'," he'd laughed.

I didn't conspire to kill Benji, did I? It was just a stupid joke. Benji even sometimes joined in on the joke - but would the police see it that way? If I escaped and went to the police, would they buy my story? Or would they think I was in on this, too? They'd have to understand I was just kidding, wouldn't they?

Well, Joel obviously didn't.

"I loved him," I murmur weakly, and Joel turns to face me, pain flickering across his face.

"I loved him too, Billy," he sighs, "but not like I love you."

These words make me feel physically ill.

I've been thinking a lot about what's happened, and mostly I'm just angry. I'm angry at Benji for having so much trust in his brother, I'm angry at Joel for taking away the most important thing in my life, but most of all, I'm angry at myself for ever saying something so stupid. It wasn't even funny. It was sick, and twisted, and wrong. My Benji is dead because of my horrible sense of humour. What's more, I'm angry at the police, because I've figured something out - Benji and Joel have identical DNA. Anything they find on or around his body will just seem as if it belongs to him. If Joel was careful, they may never trace it back to him.

We've been silent for a long time when Joel pulls into a gas station. The sun's up now, but it's mostly blocked out by cloud. "I'm gonna fill this up and then get us something to eat. You want to come?"

I shake my head sullenly, resting my head on the window pane. I've got to get away while Joel still trusts me. This might be my only chance. He stares at me for a moment, then reaches out to touch my arm. I flinch, but resist the urge to pull my arm away. I need him to think I want to stay here. Instead, I take his hand in mine and give it a gentle squeeze, and he smiles. "You sure you don't wanna come?"

I nod and offer him the best smile I can manage. "I'm sure."

He pulls his hood over his head and climbs out of the car. I watch him carefully as he fills it up and then heads into the store. He's obviously trying his best to look inconspicuous, but in the process it's just become more obvious. I wait until I can't see him through the windows, and then I get out of the car. I slip aorund the back of it, trying to hide myself as much as possible, and begin walking quickly away from the carpark. I don't want to run - when people run they make a lot of noise, and it's pretty quiet around here right now. "Billy? Where are you going?"

I start running.

"Billy? Where are you going?"

I speed up a little, hoping to get the teenage boy pursuing me off my tail. No such luck. How can someone so damn short be so quick? My friend takes ahold of my arm and spins me around, and I know my anger at being caught is evident. "Billy, what's wrong? You can talk to me."

His soft coffee coloured eyes stare into my cool blue ones, and I can feel my frustration melting away. I try to keep up my front, though - I'm not so comfortable with the whole letting-people-in thing. "You really wanna talk about my shitty life? You can't deal with it, Benji. You have no fucking clue."

He doesn't let go of my arm. "Try me."

"Alright," I sneer, trying to ignore the electricity running up my arm, "my mom's dying, my sister's on heroine, and my uncle's come to live with us. The uncle who likes to... put his hands places. Places they shouldn't go. Oh, yeah, and then there's this."

I snatch my arm back and roll up my left sleeve to show off the long, purple-ish scars that run from my wrist to my elbow. He lets out a little gasp, and I turn away, tugging my sleeve back down. "I told you, you can't deal with this. I'm just a fucking hopeless case."

I feel a hand on my shoulder, but I refuse to look at him. I don't need to see the disgust in his eyes. "Billy," a soft voice murmurs, "let me help you."

Needless to say, I'm surprised. He didn't run away, he doesn't sound uncomfortable or unsure. He just sounds concerned. Hurt, even. I slowly turn back around to face him, and he pulls me into a hug. As I breathe him in, I let silent tears flow down my cheeks and die on my lips, the salt stinging the split lip my uncle gave me when I tried to run away from him. "Benji, there's no good in me. I'm too fucked up."

He pulls away from me and takes me by the shoulders, holding me at arm's length. "Billy," his voice is firm, "there's good in you. A lot of it. You're amazing."

"Billy, come back!"

Damn Joel and his working out. He grips my arm and spins me around, and I shudder at his touch. "Billy," he murmurs, "you've gotta come with me. There's no going back now."

I've never needed Benji more in my life. I had a fucked up childhood, but he pulled me through it. He's not here to pull me through this. I try to tug my arm away from Joel, but he holds it tight and starts pulling me back towards the car. "C'mon, Billy, we have to go."

He holds the car door open for me and I climb in, defeated. He slides my seatbelt over my chest and buckles it, then presses his forehead against mine for a moment. I'm so scared he's going to kiss me - I think if he does, I'll throw up. Then he pulls away and closes the door, locking it, as if that's going to hinder me if I do decide to make a run for it.

I'm not going to run, though. I can't run, because I need Benji more than anything. Even the tiniest part of him will keep me going.

And as much as I hate what he's done, Joel is that tiny part.