I slept until noon, and lounged in bed until a growling stomach and a need for the bathroom forced me to drudge my sorry form from my bed. The startling face in the bathroom mirror made me spin around in fright, expecting to see a dirty hobo standing behind me. But no, the unsightly reflection was my own. My face had swollen into an abstract painting of purples, yellows, reds, and blacks reminiscent of rotting fruit, and when I prodded my nose I shrieked. A shiner had risen under my right eye like some liquid eyeliner experiment gone horribly wrong. My hair was grimy and oily and matted every which way�icky icky.

Having fallen asleep before showering or even undressing, I was still in my clothes from my party, and sweet Jesus did I ever reek. Disgusted, I stripped off my shirt and khakis, each rank with blood and beer. My chest wasn�t much prettier, color-wise; how amazing, I had dark blue splotches across my upper chest and shoulders in the exact shape of Roger�s fists. Or maybe those were from the beer bottles I�d been hit with. No way to know for sure.

I thought of Roger for the first time. Mostly: he must have one hell of a hangover right now.

However, I was peeved at him, so I shifted my thoughts to subjects more deserving.

I stripped completely and showered, washing away hours of fear and sobs and anger and misery, basking in the near-scalding water until my father hammered on the bathroom door and told me that I was wasting water, and what had he told me about taking showers over thirty minutes?

But I like showers. The hot, crashing, splashing water is an escape from the outside world, because I can�t hear a thing over the water and the heater, and no one can hear me. (I don�t sing in the shower though; what do I have to sing about?)

Dad rapped a second time, and I emerged and dried off, dressed quickly, and went downstairs in search of food. Upon sight of my mashed face, my mother gasped and Harry giggled.

�Who beat you up?� he wanted to know.

�Roger and I had a fight,� I murmured, rummaging through cabinets.

�Oh my,� Mum remarked. �Roger did all that to you?�

I thought of the drunks using me as target practice, and of all the unfriendly elbows I�d been jabbed with while adventuring through the house. �Naw,� I mumbled. �Not just him.�

�But I thought you and Roger were friends,� Harry noted, far too interested for his own good.

�We are. We just got mad at each other. It happens,� I replied tersely, piqued �Mum, can I have some Tylenol or Ibuprofen or something?�

�Of course, honey,� she said sweetly, and went to find some. Meanwhile, I found a box of macaroni and cheese and puzzled over its much too vague instructions.

�Can I have some?� Harry asked brightly, and I nodded absently.

My mom returned with the painkillers and gave my sore cheek a gentle nudge before scurrying off to fold laundry in another room. I took out some pots and spoons for the macaroni, but, still perplexed, handed the blue box to my six-year old brother to decipher. I gave him a boost onto the countertop, and he set about reading it with his first-grade vocabulary.

I leaned against the refrigerator, arms folded and the throbbing in my body from my temples to my calves beginning to numb down. Roger wasn�t mad at me, was he? He never touched me aggressively�we didn�t even wrestle and play-fight like the other guys did because he knew I didn�t like it�so he had to have been beyond pissed to deck me like that last night. Then again, he�d been drunk, and he was a completely different person under the influence of alcohol than he was when he was sober.

He�d better not be friggin� mad at me, after the hell I went through to watch out for him, I decided, scowling. I�d only gone with him to that party to comfort him, after all, and then I�d spent the whole time trying to keep an eye on him. Not with much luck, either, but with more than enough stress. He knew he had to drive me home, but he still got himself wasted, to the point where he nearly screwed some girl, willingly tried marijuana, and attacked me. And despite all that, I�d nearly driven myself crazy with worrying about him when he passed out, because I loved him and I just wanted him to be safe. For God�s sake, I�d wiped his bloody nose and rubbed his arms to keep him warm.

He�d better not be fucking mad at me.

I sighed, eyes closed, and rubbed my forehead. (I�d been swearing a lot lately, and that was unusual for me.)

I needed to talk to him. Soon.

Suddenly reminded of my empty stomach, I turned back to the counter, only to see a fully cooked pot of macaroni and cheese on the stove top, and Harry sitting cross-legged on the counter, eating out of a bowl and preoccupied with his own thoughts.

�You made this?� I asked, stunned. �Since when do you know how to cook macaroni and cheese?�

He rolled his eyes and giggled. �Like it�s hard!�

I definitely needed to talk to Roger. I achieved nothing that entire day, for I wasted it by lolling around debating whether or not to call him. All Dad had to offer was that he was most likely grounded from the phone regardless, which was probably true. Despite my sore body, I resolved to go for a bike ride by his house and see if he was around. If he wasn�t, at least I�d gotten some exercise.

I actually considered taking Harry with me, but he was being insufferable and was seriously grating on Mum�s nerves. When I went to ask if he wanted to come, he was busy whining despairingly and tugging on Mum�s clothing. Mum scolded him�and not for the first time in the past five minutes�but he screeched louder and only persisted more. Finally, Mum roughly plucked his hand from the hem of her shirt and slapped him across his forearm. She hollered at him to go to his room, and he burst into tears and barreled upstairs, hysterical and flailing violently.

Watching from the doorway, I cringed. I have no memory of my parents ever striking me. They raised Harry much differently than they had me, I�d noticed. But we were extremely different children: I�d been boring and docile and rarely in need of discipline, whereas Harry was rebellious, strong-willed, and prone to tantrums. Or maybe I was just a spoiled weenie that they didn�t want to repeat.

I went out shortly, just my bike, helmet, water bottle, and me. I knew the route to Roger�s house by heart, though it was many miles through the woods.

I slowed down when I rolled onto his street and approached his house at a slow crawl, apprehensive. Roger was sitting on the front steps of his porch, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He looked as if he�d been sitting there for a million years, with his shoulders curved low and his chest heaving slowly as he breathed. I set my bike on its kickstand, unstrapped my helmet, and stood up. I watched him for a few moments, unsure of what to say.

I finally settled on my usual, the classic and never failing: �Hey.�

Roger lifted his head from his arms, slowly, until his eyes and nose were raised into view.

He glared viciously.

�Get out of here,� he hissed.

�What�s your problem?� I snapped, taken aback.

Roger leapt to his feet, arms tensed. �Look, you freak, just get out of here! Leave me alone! Haven�t you done enough?!�

�What the hell are you talking about?!� I screeched.

�You just had to tattle to your dad, didn�t you?! It�s all your fault, you goddamn pussy!� He lunged forwards and seized a rock. �Just get out of here!� he screamed, and he whipped the rock at me. Instinctively, I ducked, but the rock�s sharp edge struck the back of my already-sore shoulder, and I dropped to my knees, yelping.

�YOU BASTARD!� I cried, clutching my shoulder and feeling warm liquid wet on my fingertips. �You ungrateful bastard! You damn ungrateful bastard!� How dare you hit me�after all I did for you! You miserable bastard, how could I have possibly loved someone as cruel and selfish as you?! Why the hell had I ever loved you?!

Roger had turned to go into the house. I saw his back tense�he rubbed his forehead and then grabbed at his hair, spasms running through his fists. Sighing tensely, he spun around and started purposefully towards me. I quickly got to my feet, his approach sending a prick of a completely unusual emotion through my heart�fear�and when he reached for me I pulled back, expecting him to hit me, and I knocked into my bike. Both my bike and I crashed to the ground�he loomed over me with hands outstretched, and I scuttled desperately away, shrieking, �Don�t touch me!�

Roger seized my arms in his hands and pulled me to my feet. He looked down into my face with despairing, tired black eyes that seemed to have witnessed a thousand tragedies. He turned his equally bruised face from my teary-eyed glare and began trudging to the house, dragging my wrist with him.

�What are you doing?! Let go of me! Let go of me!� I screamed at him, like screaming at a wall. �You have no right to say anything to me! You freaking ungrateful drunk!�What are you doing?�

We�d come to his kitchen, and it was clear that no one else was home. He released my wrist and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me barking there, red-faced and bleeding from the shoulder. In a moment he reappeared, still sullen and silent, but with hands full. He turned me around and shoved me against the sink, pressing my stomach into the edge of the counter.

�What�s the idea?!� I screeched. �What the hell are you doing?!�

I gasped as his cold hands pressed against my bare back. Slowly, carefully, he peeled my shirt off my back and over my head. �Roger, what the hell�?!� I yelled again, and then cringed as he wiped blood from the gash on my shoulder blade with a warm cloth. I blinked, finally comprehending what he was doing. He dabbed some antiseptic medicine on the wound and gently placed a large band-aid on it. I flexed my shoulder, and seeing it set well, he pressed the adhesive edges firmly to my skin, and then his fingers left my body.

�My God,� he murmured breathily, his eyes on my black- and blue-splotched back. �What happened to you?�

�After you passed out, I went crazy trying to find help for you, but all I got were a bunch of your friggin� drunk friends throwing beer bottles at me. This was after you beat the shit out of me for no reason, of course,� I spat bitterly. �Yeah, that was a fun party! Thanks so much for bringing me! Now, unless you need to, oh, bash my face in some more, I think I�ll leave�and don�t worry, I won�t come back, because you obviously don�t want me aroun�!�

My breath choked in my throat as his hands slid around my bare stomach, and he embraced me, his chest pressed against my back, his face leaning against the back of my head.

�I�m sorry,� whispered his lips to my neck. �I�m sorry for everything.�

Speech and breathing and anger deserted me. Roger�s own breathing stuttered and sniffled. My jaw quivered, and I clenched it, about to follow Roger into tears.

�I�m so sorry, Arik. I-I don�t deserve you,� he gasped. �I have no right to be mad at you�I�m sorry I threw the rock, that was stupid�I was just angry at everything, it�s not your fault. I�m really not mad at you, I swear. Please, don�t hate me, Arik, please, I�m so sorry for everything��

I closed my eyes. This, I thought, is why I love you.

�Thank you for looking out for me. My dad told me how you called your dad for help and how you stayed with me. You�re not a pussy for calling him�I didn�t mean that.�

�You were passed out drunk. I got scared,� I explained defensively, finding speech at last.

His nose brushed my hair. �I�m sorry,� he said again. He tightened his arms around my stomach. �I understand if you�re mad at me, but please don�t hate me�I swear, I never meant to hurt you or scare you.�

�Oh, Roger�� I breathed. �How could I ever hate you? Just, please, don�t ever do anything like that again.�

�I don�t mean to, Arik.� Slowly he slid his arms from my waist, and I turned around to face him. His eyes and the skin around them had gone pink, and iridescent trails streamed from both eyes. His grieving eyes roved my face, his thick brows creased in distress. �I did this to you, didn�t I?�

�Well, I punched you up pretty badly, too,� I confessed. �Only you were drunk, and I was just angry.� I paused. ��We�ve never had a fight before, have we? Not a fistfight, anyway?�

He shook his head. �Let�s not ever again. I never want to hurt you, never.�

I nodded silently, solemnly, agreeing.

�Are you mad at me?� he whispered with wide eyes and a full mouth, his whole face childlike in its sorrow.

I sighed deeply through my nose. �No,� I said truthfully, �but I want to talk about it, okay? It really was not a fun night for me. I was really worried about you.�

He nodded, and I followed him to the porch, where we both collapsed on the stairs.

�Arik, what happened last night? I-I don�t remember all of it,� Roger said. �Please, I need to know everything that I did�I�m afraid I did something awful.�

I told him everything, every detail I could remember, and I watched him run his hands through his hair and clench it, and rub his forehead, and all manner of stressed-nervous movements.

�Well,� he said when I�d finished my recount, �I could have done worse. What did that girl look like?�

He meant the drunken girl he�d gotten so friendly with. �I dunno. I wasn�t able to see much of her because she was either busy making out with you or unconscious. She was blonde. Pretty, I guess, kind of tall.�

�Shit,� he muttered. �If that was McKellen�s girl, he�s going to kill me.�

�Thank God she passed out, or you�d be really screwed�and in more ways than one!� I remarked. �You know, you should learn to keep your clothes on when you�re drunk or you�re going to get yourself in a lot of trouble.�

Roger screwed up his face.

�Roger,� I said after a moment, �can I ask you something?�

�Whatever,� he mumbled.

�Why do you drink? I mean, surely it can�t be worth it just to get goofy and have a good time.�

Roger closed his eyes and took a deep breath. �Truthfully� It makes me forget. I�m so scared and sad and angry all the time, and I can�t ever escape it. I started drinking because someone told me it makes you forget your problems; makes you happy for just a few moments. And they were right.� He opened his eyes and stared across the yard, the road, and into the woods, or maybe at nothing at all. �Alcohol makes me feel better. I love it. It�s a drug, but it works�it lets me escape for just a little while�and I need it.

�Arik, I haven�t been able to think about anything all week but Marisa. I just can�t believe she did that to me�I know I�m just an oversensitive wuss, but it hurt me so much. I just keep seeing and hearing her, and all the things everyone said and all the lies she fed me, and it makes me hate myself and her. I was still so, so upset, and when I got to the party right away there was beer�as much as I wanted�just all these drinks, and the more I drank the better I felt��

His fist rose to his mouth, and he bit his knuckle, tears returning to his eyes. �Arik, I didn�t mean to get so drunk. I just wanted to feel better and forget about her, and have a good time. I was just going to have a few drinks and stop�I was thinking about you, I promise�I wanted to stay sober enough to drive and not do anything stupid. But I just�I couldn�t stop. Seeing all those girls and their boyfriends, I just kept thinking about it and I kept wondering if all those people, those college kids, thought I was a stupid ass, too. I kept drinking more and more�I have no idea how much I had, I really don�t�and I couldn�t stop. Then� I had some of that strong stuff, that hard stuff, and I don�t remember anything after that.

�Arik,� he whispered, his chin trembling, �I didn�t mean to be so reckless, I just couldn�t help it. I-I know you went through hell, but I�m still so glad you came with me last night. I-I don�t know what would have happened if I�d been there alone. Arik, I owe you so much�

�You know,� he continued, �my dad kept telling me that over and over. He just kept saying, �Thank God Arik has his head on his shoulders, thank God you have such a good friend, thank God for him.� He loves you, you know. Probably more than me at the moment.� He tried to laugh, but it failed and splashed on his cheeks in a loud whimper. �Hell, I think he always loves you more than me.�

He let out another loud whimper, and tears rolled on his cheeks again. �Arik, he was so mad at me,� he wailed, his voice high and cracked and breathless. �When I woke up this morning, I had no idea what had happened, I was so confused, and I had such a hangover I thought I would die. As soon as he saw me he started screaming. He just kept yelling and screaming about how stupid and irresponsible I was, and he kept saying, �You could have been killed�if you�d ever tried to drive, you would have gotten yourself killed, and you would have killed Arik, too.� He was so disappointed in me, he said, he was so ashamed of me and so angry�he kept yelling and waving his hands around�I-I�ve never seen him like that!� He let out a sob. �Arik, he hit me,� he gasped, and when he spoke again his voice was a desperate gasp: �He hit me, and I hit him back! I lost control and held him against the wall and punched him and punched him, and he couldn�t do anything because I�m so much stronger than him! Arik, I fought my own FATHER! Why do I keep attacking the people I love?!�

He lost his composure completely and exploded into sobs. My heart cracked with his, and I wrapped my arms around his shuddering figure. I couldn�t summon any words from my choked throat, and what could I possibly say anyway? I held him, and he leaned his head on my shoulder and cried.

You poor bastard, I thought, and I couldn�t be the slightest bit angry with him anymore, not when he was crying, not when his entire soul was suffocating from guilt. He was like a child, a sad, hopeless, sobbing child. You poor bastard. If I could take your problems away, I would, I would, you poor bastard�

His sobs slowed gradually, and he calmed his erratic breathing back to a steady, more normal pace. �He found out about everything,� he gasped at last. �He found out how much I drink, and how I steal beer from him, everything. He was SO mad. He locked up all his liquor and took away my car keys�and I don�t think he�ll ever trust me again. He won�t talk to me, won�t even look at me! �He hates me!�

�Roger, he�s your father! He loves you!� I protested. �He loves you no matter what!�

Roger shook his head. �He�s not my father,� he gasped, his fingers tightening on the hem of my shirt. �I�m not really his son�he adopted me. He could have adopted anyone. He doesn�t have to love me. He�s never been happy with me, I�ve never been good enough, never been the son he wanted!�

�Oh, God, Roger, Roger, you don�t really believe that, do you? He does love you, regardless of whether you�re adopted or not, I can tell, I can see he does!�

He didn�t answer for a long while. He leaned his head against me and let me stroke his hair. His breathing slowed again, and I felt his back softly rise and lower underneath my arms.

�I don�t know,� he whispered at last. �I�m just�so tired of fucking everything up all the time. For once, I�d just like to do something right.�

�You do plenty right, Roger,� I whispered back. �And even when you don�t, you still have me, okay? I�ll stick with you and watch out for you.�

�Promise?� he asked, rolling his head to look up at me with his round chocolate eyes.

�I promise,� I said, struggling to keep my voice level. �Just� I don�t want you to drink anymore, okay? Not until you�re old enough to legally, anyway. That�s all I ask.�

He looked up at me, then rolled his eyes down, his lids lowered so that I only saw his thick black lashes against pale skin. �Arik, I can�t anyway. My dad said that if he ever catches me drinking, or thinks I have been, he�ll have me arrested for being underage. Or he�ll kick me out. Or something. He said a lot of things�� He trailed off and went silent.

He sighed deeply and flexed his shoulders, gently peeling himself off me. He leaned back and rolled on his neck, cracking it, and wiped his eyes. He glanced at his watch and cursed. When he spoke again, his voice was fairly normal, and he sounded eighteen again instead of eight. �My parents are going to be home soon. I�m so beyond grounded its amazing they don�t have me shackled in the basement. They�ll flip if they see me with you�even though you are pretty high on their People We Love list at the moment.�

�Yeah,� I murmured, glancing at the quickly sinking the sun, �I�d better get going soon, or I�ll have to ride home in the dark and my mom will worry.�

Roger nodded, eyes on the ground, suddenly demure. I stood up, stretching my legs and arms after being folded into the same position for so long.

�Hey, Arik?� Roger said shyly, standing up too. �Thanks for� coming over. I�m really sorry about the rock, I can�t believe I did that. I-I�m so glad I could talk to you. Every now and then I just�need to talk to someone, or I swear I�ll go crazy. You always seem to know when to come over, or call me�you�re the best friend I could ask for.� He smiled, and he looked so much more like his usual self that my entire chest went warm, like hands pressed against a woodstove.

He smiled wider, looking sheepish. �Arik, don�t think I�m weird or anything, but��

And he wrapped his arms around my neck and hugged me tightly.

I held his waist and smiled, my body warm with joy, eyes closed, too choked up to speak, but thinking, I love you, Roger. I love you, I love you, I love you�

Chapter Nineteen...