Detention 12

“Chris, relationships are always hard. Life is always hard. If it wasn’t hard, then it would be fake and boring and pointless. You can’t just give up on everything and everyone just `cause shit gets difficult sometimes. Being in a relationship isn’t just about fucking and all the other sappy shit you see in the movies - don’t chose to be alone when there’s someone out there that really wants you - that really cares about you.” 

“You still love me?” I asked.

B looked away from me when he said that. I watched his face and realized just how good-looking he really was. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you do. Tell me. Whatever the answer is, I can take it.”

“But I can’t take it,” Brandon whispered. “I can try to pretend that I don’t like you - I can wish to God that I hated you and never wanted to see you again. But the more I wish that, the more I wish you were with me like you are right now. I do love you, Chris. But right now, that’s not enough. Right now, being in love with you doesn’t make me feel anything but cold inside.”

My feelings were kinda hurt when he said that. I tried to fake it like I didn’t care what he just said, but I did. I stood up from the porch and began to walk down the stairs. “You’re leaving now?” B asked.

I kept my back facing him. “Yeah.”

“Maybe one day you’ll learn not to run away from the good things in your life,” B said. 

Turning around, I asked, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means just what I said...and the next time you come over here - the next time you talk to me...I hope you have something important to tell me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, B.”

“Chris, you do know what I’m talking about.” And with that, B went into his house, leaving me alone for the second time, in the cold dark. 

* * *
I still didn’t wanna go home, so I decided to go over to Billy’s house to see what he was up to. I was hoping that he might let me spend the night. His house was dark, except I saw a light coming from his room. I walked up to the door and knocked on the door. It took about five minutes before I got some kinda response. “Who’s there?” Billy asked from the other side of the door.

“Dude, open the fucking door. It’s me.”

“Green?” Billy unlocked the door and opened it up partway. He leaned out the door and I saw that he didn’t have a shirt on. “What are you doing here?”. 

“Just came to see what your punk-ass was doing.” I tried to push the door open a little to get inside, but Billy wouldn’t budge. 

“You should’ve told me you were coming over here,” Billy said. “Got somebody up in here.”

“Who?”

“Somebody,” Billy responded.

“Let me sleep on the couch or something. I don’t feel like going back to my house.” 

“Go to whats-his-name’s house...Brandon.”

“Just came from there. He wouldn’t let me in.”

Billy shrugged. He shifted over a little bit so that I could see what he was ass-naked. “Who are you fucking up in there?”

“You fucking wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Billy said. “But let me get back to you later. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then Billy closed the door in my fucking face. That was the second fuckin time in one fuckin night that had happened to me and I was pissed the fuck off. 

* * *
I slipped in my house quietly, hoping that my dad wouldn’t hear me come in. Everytime I came into my fuckin house, I always felt like I was walking into a fucking disaster site. Looked like somebody threw a fucking bomb in that place. The more I tried to clean up and make shit look decent, the more my dad would fuck the shit up again, so I gave up trying. 

I went into the kitchen, trying to find something to eat, which was a fucking waste of time. The only thing I found in the fridge was a bag of bread with only two slices in it and a can of beer. I took both of them out and brought them to my room. It was almost eleven o’clock. I didn’t know I’d been gone for that long. My dad was probably gonna bust into my room and ask me where the fuck I’ve been - unless he hadn’t fucking blacked-out already from drinking so goddamn much. As long as he didn’t start shit with me, I was cool. I took off all my clothes except my underwear and climbed into my bed. 

Drinking that beer, I thought about what B had told me earlier - about how loving me made him feel cold inside. What kinda shit is that about? If him loving me doesn’t make him feel good -then obviously he doesn’t give a fuck about me at all just like all those other goddamn motherfuckers. And Billy - that fucking asshole - he could fucking lick the hair on my balls for doing me like he did. Everybody could just fucking kiss my ass. 

I crushed the beer can on my chest and tossed it somewhere. I took off my underwear and threw them on the other side of the room as well. My dick was kinda hard and I thought about jacking off, but I hated jacking off. I rather do the real fucking thing. I wanted to be with B; I wanted to feel his lips on the head of my dick, I wanted my tongue in his tight ass - I wanted my dick in his ass too. But it was more than just wanting to fuck B. I wanted him to be right beside me in my bed; I wanted him to be sleepin on my chest like he usually did. I really wanted shit to go back to the way they used to be. 

I closed my eyes and visualized all the shit me and Brandon had done together, all the times we fucked, all the times we kissed, all the times we just stared at each other without saying a word. My dick started to rise again, making a tent under the blanket. I reached under the covers and clutched my dick tightly and started to yank on it. Spreading my legs wider, I rubbed my hand up and down my dick while I played with my balls. I ran my finger up my asscrack and then sniffed my fingers afterward. I loved the sweaty, funky smell of my own ass, but I liked the smell - and taste of B’s ass even more. I was really getting into it, yanking my shit faster and faster - and then my bedroom door busted open and my dad was standing there. I snatched my hand off my dick as fast as I could and brought the covers up higher so that he wouldn’t be able to see that I was naked.

My dad had that fucked up look on his face as he usually did. “Where the fuck were you? I’ve been looking for your ass all day!” he screamed. “And I come in here and you’re fucking jerkin off under the covers!” He took a step into my room. 

“Get the fuck out and close the door!” I yelled back.

This made my dad so fucking mad that I thought he was about to fucking explode. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talkin to, boy! This is my fuckin house!” He walked up to the edge of my bed and in one easy motion, ripped the covers off of me and tossed them aside, leaving me ass-naked, covering my dick with my hands. “I want you fucking outta here now!” he yelled.

“What the fuck for?” I hollered. I stepped out of bed, still covering up my dick and pulled on my jeans. “Why the fuck are you always on me all the goddamn time?”

My dad stepped up to me. He had so much fucking anger in his eyes. I thought he was gonna fucking punch me out right there. “I want you outta here, `cause you don’t do a goddamn thing around here but piss me off. You don’t do shit at school - I keep getting all these fucking calls saying you got fucking detention for two weeks in a row for messing around with some faggot-ass boy. You don’t do shit here, you don’t have a fuckin job. All you fuckin do it is sit around on your ass and make my fucking life miserable!”

“You don’t fuckin need me to make your life miserable,” I said. “You’re doin a fucking good job on your own.”

He punched me right in the jaw. I expected it so the pain wasn’t as great as I thought it would be. I could’ve beat the shit outta him right there and then. But I knew if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop and one of us - maybe both of us - would end up dead. It wasn’t fuckin worth it. I didn’t want to be in that house any goddamn way. I bumped past my dad, found my duffel bag and started to pack as many clothes in there that I could fit. I didn’t know where the hell I was gonna go, but I sure as fuck wasn’t gonna be staying there any longer.

My dad followed me as I made my way to the front door. I opened the door and stepped out. Right as I was about to go to my truck, he said, “I don’t ever wanna see you again.” Maybe for some other son who heard their parent say they didn’t want to see them again, maybe that would fucking devastate them. But for me, I really, honestly, truthfully, did not give a fuck if I ever saw that asshole again in my life. 

“Fuck you, you fucking dumb-ass bitch,” I screamed and ran to my truck. I got in and fucking charged down the street like a fucking maniac, driving blindly, not knowing where the fuck I was going - but not even really giving a fuck where I was going. As long as I was moving I didn’t give a fuck. There was nowhere left for me to go. There was nobody I could ask for fucking help - not Brandon, not Billy - I was fucking alone. 

I parked on the side of some empty road and just fucking start bursting out crying. The last time I cried was when I was twelve at my mother’s funeral. And I fucking promised myself that I wouldn’t ever fucking cry again,whatever the reason was. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. I don’t know how long I was just sitting in my truck, crying like a little ass girl on the side of the road, but it must’ve been a long fuckin time. Finally, I stopped and started to drive again. I still didn’t know where I was going. But wherever the fuck it was, it had to be as far away from here as possible. I didn’t want to be anywhere that was close to my house, close to school, close to B - I just wanted to fucking get away from everybody and everything. I got on the freeway and just kept driving. It didn’t matter where I went - as long as I went as far as I could.