Fear the Nobodies: Part Nine

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>Sam, in fact, could not take it

>He spent the majority of the movie clinging to your arm like a tick; his grip so embedded in you that you only feel blood returning to the appendage once Batman dashes off into the night for his final scene

>Alex, being the beautiful, wonderful, intelligent, radiant retard that he is, keeps glancing over at you and flashing you two the thumbs up

>To counter, you sneak in a middle finger and attempt to scoot away from Sam

>But (consciously or unconsciously) he follows you to the other side of the couch, eyes fixed to the screen as he moves

>God fucking DAMNIT

 

>“Well that was fun,” Alex yawns as credits cascade down the screen. “How about we watch another one? I’ve still got some fight left in me if you two do.”

>You become aware of the sound of wind blustering past the sides of your home

>You know Sam could hear it too

>Like some kind of… gigantic thing outside, thrashing around in the black of night, swimming in a sea of darkness, a scream rent from its torn throat

>Shit was as loud as a…

>…freight train…

“Well, it’s roughly ten…” you trail off, eyes easing their way over to Sam

“…so maybe one more and then bed?” You trail off

>Sam doesn’t blink

>“Hey Peter Cottontail, you with us?” Alex cracks

>You shoot him a venomous glance and turn back to the bunny at hand

“Hey, bunny,” you say in a voice a scratch above a speaking volume, “What do ya’ say, got another movie in you?”

>The bunny in question is buffeted on his left by a veritable graveyard of slain Dr. Bepper cans

>To his right:

>You

>Sam clings to your arm still, jaw agape as he gawks t the television in your living room – the size, clarity of picture and sound, and overall general un-salvaged-from-a-junkyard-ness

>His eyes placid and un-seeing, a visual cone drawing his nimble body forward

>Vacant eyes brimming with Nolan’s kino

>So, you jostle the little anthro back to reality

>The minute you clap a hand on his shoulder Sam rockets up from the couch by nearly a foot

>In his wake:

>A scattering of Dr. Bepper cans onto the floor (one of which partially full) like exhaust from the takeoff of a ICBM

>And then a girlish squeal as falls gracelessly onto the couch, his legs partially draped across yours

>With embarrassed-grace, he quickly attempts to wriggle off of you

>“S-Sorry…” he stammers out, curling into a space-respecting ball at your side

“Well, at least you didn’t land on my balls. I’d have had to put you down for destroying my family lineage,” you say with a slight, pained groan

>Sam does not reply, but his eyes split wide, eyebrows arching high

>A feverish red blush scouring his features at the mention of your balls

>You study this, trying to make sense of him

>Fuck it

“I don’t think Sam has another one in him,” you sigh, adjusting your seat on the couch

>A throaty yawn booms from your chest

>You start to feel the weight of sleeplessness pressing on your whole body

>Like a weighted blanket dragging you further towards oblivion

>“Naw; only thing he’s got in him is eight or nine Dr. Beppers,” Alex snickers. “Shit’s like rocket fuel to rabbits apparently. I think I smell some exhaust…”

>Alex bursts into a thick gale of dumb, socially-retarded laughter

>Sam responds to the light ribbing by tucking himself into a defensive ball, dipping his shameful face into his knees

>His once elated – maybe even bashful expression – begins to disintegrate into shame

>The rabbit’s body lightly trembles – maybe the beginnings of a choking sob

>Your fists clench involuntarily as Alex laughs on and on

>Like you could squeeze the extra chromosome out of Alex like a near-empty roll of toothpaste

>Because seeing Sam hurt like that?

>Hell no

>HELL no

>You turn to your right to give Alex a good slug on the arm; a bruising reminder that you didn’t just kidnap this bunny from a violent, abusive alcoholic so he could make jokes

>“Ow, dude!” Alex recoils with a whimper as he rubs his arm, which begins to swell with a dark bruise larger than you intended. “Why the hell are you raising your fist against me? Am I not your brother, brother?”

>Vanessa’s buff?

>Still, from behind clenched teeth, you hiss back a retort

“Can you stop teasing Sam, alright? I swear to fuck, you and Mike each assume a room temperature IQ when you’re together, and it gets even lower when you pick on the damn rabbit! So please, try to fucking control yourself, alright?”

>There’s a brief lapse in yelling as you listen to your heart hammering in your chest

>You feel Sam move beside you

>You’re still catching your breath, heart like a hummingbird in your throat, when you watch as Sam dips his face between his knees

>Fuzzy brown paws wringing his ears into silence

>The hum of oblivion, the muffled sounds of ‘vicious fighting’ his internal dialogue

>Alex is looks on as well, working over Sam’s response to your raised voice with a furrowed brow

>Wait

>Raised voice

 

>Oh

 

>Sam, given his ACTUAL history of living with a violent, loud drunk, probably doesn’t respond very well to raised voices and shouting

>Like in the cafeteria the other day, when he just froze up during the fight?

>So…

>…now what do?

>Silence – save for Sam’s smothered pleading into his knees – fills the your living room like a nerve agent

>…

>Alex looks over at you pointedly, mouthing the words, ‘is your boyfriend ok?’

>You scowl and mouth for him to ‘go fuck a rake’

>You turn to Sam, trying to hide your exhausted, repentant sigh

>You should probably do something about… this

“Sam?” you say, voice like a feather on a gentle breeze

>Sam pokes his head up just a touch – enough for you to catch the curious glint in his honeyed, tear-stung eyes

>You don a weak smile, like trying to lift a burning car off a trapped person under your own power

>It doesn’t work; the rabbit’s distant, saddened stare forces you to speak

“I didn’t mean to raise my voice earlier, honest. I was actually trying to get Alex to stop with his bullshit – the jokes you know – and I guess I just-”

>“L-L-Let your t-t-temper go?” Sam doesn’t look at you

>And in a smaller voice, he says, “L-Lost control of y-y-y-yourself?”

>His gaze becomes thoughtful, distant, swelling with bruised memories and fear

>On instinct, you rub the back of your neck

>He did clock you pretty good there

>Temper is a real issue of yours, and with Vanessa’s blessing, you guess your voice does boom a little more

“I-I suppose I did lose control there for a second. But losing my temper isn’t a big problem of mine like it used to be. I’m working on those outbursts so they don’t happen to scare people. I believe people are capable of change.”

>You stare at Sam – that diminutive bunny, sweeps of hair crossing his honey-brown eyes, brimming with tears – stares back, as if waiting to be reprimanded for crying

>But you won’t

>You can’t

“And for what it’s worth… I’m sorry for yelling, bro. I’m- I’m sorry I scared you.”

>The bunny turns his his head up at you

>His eyes shine in the dark like two muddied gold coins

>And if you study his eyes for a frame of time, evidence of his self-hatred, of his cowardice, his anxiety, his fear, manifests itself in a gentle ring of red blood vessels that temper the edges of his eyes

>But if you ignore the ugly

>If you can blend the tear-stung-red with the golden-brown of his eyes

>Well

>Sam as you always knew him begins to emerge out of the uncertainty

>And you’re relieved

 

>“Y-Y-Y-You’re s-s-s-s-sorry?” he says, incredulous

“Well, I mean, uhhh….”

>Of course you’re- no, you’re not sorry, you-

>Fuck, yes, you are. But you can’t let your friends know you really, REALLY mean it

>so you make the mistake of glancing at Alex for advce

>Comrade Alexi smirks at you – that unknowing-yet-so-sure-he-knows smirk he wears when he sees you acting tender towards the rabbit

>And that stupid yellow beanie

>You might have to rip the beanie off his head – along with all his dirty hippy hair too

>Fuck this guy’s gay jokes about you

>And Mike’s too!

>You’re not gay! Sam might be – you don’t know to be honest – but you’re not!

>So you swallow the butterflies in your throat, sending them to the cage of your stomach

>Fuck Alex

“Y-Yeah!” You stammer in reply. “I mean, I guess I was just so annoyed at the little jokes from the clown show over here-”

>You thumb at Alex who shrugs in response

“-that in order to be heard I had to yell over his gales of retarded laughter. Does that make sense?”

>Sam doesn’t respond after another lapse of silence

>But he looks at you intently, head slightly cocked, one floppy rabbit ear hanging low

>You feel like there are fire ants crawling around beneath your skin. Where’s the forgiveness? Where’s the closure?

>A rush of blood to the face, a hot flash of shame to the body

“So?!” You exclaim, desperate for this to be over

>Sam, jostled out of studying you, shrinks towards the corner of your sofa, hiding in your over-sized shirt

>“S-S-S-So what?” he stammers back, already raising his arms to cover vulnerable parts of his body

“Look, I’m trying to get this over with so we can watch another movie. Y-You forgive me, right?”

>This… isn’t helping you beat the gay allegations

>Sam flashes an unsure look. “P-P-People do-do-don’t really a-a-a-apologize t-t-t-to me, I’m not s-s-sure w-what to-”

>Alex chimes in with something actually useful

>“Just say you forgive your boyfriend already, Sam. I’m getting sick of watching you two bicker like an old married-”

>Your glare towards Alex prevents him from finishing that sentence

>You turn your gaze back to Sam, washing your face with your palms to clear your murderous expression

>The rabbit’s eyes are evasive, but not swelling with tears

>He looks

>Well

>Bashful?

>A very unsure smile

>And eyes that flick to the corners of your living room

>At last

>After a pained silence

>He speaks, voice shaking, unsure, but certain: he wants this as much as you do

 

>“I-I-I-I f-f-forgive you, Anonymous.”

 

>And with that, silence reigns again

>Only this time it’s not a painful, shrieking silence

>It’s gentle, calm; like waking up alone at dawn

>Watching the sun rise over the mountains

>Counting the draining seconds

>Between dark and light

 

>You look over at Sam, who hasn’t moved or said anything since he forgave you

>His knees press under his chin, obscuring most of his face

>But if you concentrate – and maybe with a little help from Vanessa’s ritual – you see the corners of his lips turned up, ever-so-gently, with the glow of restitution

“Sam? Do you want to watch another movie”

>Sam is as still as a leaden idol

>“Yo, Thumper,” Alex calls, perhaps hoping his speciest slur will turn the rabbit’s ears his way

>No response

>It doesn’t even appear as though he heard you

>Not even a twitch in his ears

>The rabbit stares ahead at the TV, gentle breath rolling in and out of his small body

>Trapped in the grasp of a memory – maybe of times wronged and forgotten, no apology rendered

>You tactfully jam an elbow into his side

>He yips, rocketing up a good six inches, his ears loudly whipping and slapping against the sides of his skull as he crashes back down to Earth

>“So, is that a no?” Alex says, raising an eyebrow

 

>“Yes!” Sam exclaims, trying to right himself into a sitting position, twisting his ears in a frenzy of panic

>It seriously looks like he’s going to tear his ears off, and you’re about to say something, when Alex cuts in

>“So, no movie. Got it,” Alex concludes. “Well, I suppose you two are going to share the be-”

“Alex…” you begin to fume

>“N-NO!” Sam squeaks. “I-I-I means, Y-Yes! Movie!”

>This only stumps Alex further

>You decide to step in, if only to save time tonight

“Sam,” you say in a gentle, yet firm voice

>The rabbit looks over at you like you just shot him in the back, his eyes split wide in sudden fear

>Time to be direct – yet tactful

>Fuck, you have all the tact of a sledgehammer

“Do you want to watch another movie? It’s late, but we’ll stay up if you want to watch one.”

>The bunny’s head nods up and down, shocks of brown hair sweeping across his shining eyes

“Are you sure? No offense, but it looks like you’re about to have a mental breakdown.”

>“I-I-I’m not- I-” Sam says, a poor attempt at defending himself. “I-I-I always l-l-l-look like tha-that. I can ha-handle it! I’m a b-b-big boy!”

>Alex chokes on his laughter, and you hope he suffocates to death

>“The Joker probably just freaked him out. Heh, knew he couldn’t handle it. Hey big boy, wanna know how I got these scars?” Alex does his best imitation voice of the Joker, still riding the high of Sam’s tactical blunder

>His impression could make Heath Ledger actually become the joker

>“N-N-No!” Sam shouts, his body sinking into the couch like it could devour him and keep him safe in its stomach

>Instead, Sam draws a fortifying breath

>“I’m not scared,” he reasons. “T-Th-That was the f-f-first m-movie I’ve wanted to s-see that I’ve been able t-t-to actually-”

“Watch…” you say in a whisper

>Sam’s ears twitch in your direction, and the quick look he give you all but confirms your theory:

>Sam’s abuse goes far, far deeper than just physical

>And you know his home life is a far cry from the median-income-fueled lifestyle of this town, but depriving a kid like him of superhero movies ought to be a crime

>Shit, the kid is in love with this stuff – his dad need the Nuremberg treatment for keeping Sam from this stuff

>The rabbit’s expression goes distant, soft

>His gaze returns to the floor as his eyeslids fall like leaden curtains

>“A-All we have at h-h-home I-is- o-old movies we g-get out of garage s-s-sales. T-They we-were always VHS t-t-tapes,” he says. “and D-Dad picked th-them. Always. I w-wasn’t a-allowed. H-He said h-h-he couldn’t t-t-t-trust me to p-p-p-pick one.”

>Alex holds up a DVD copy of Mulan

>“In that case, have you ever seen this one? It’s one of my favorites, and since it’s a Disney movie for kids, it’s in like every garage sale. I think this was first on VHS and then DVD as well, so maybe it ended up in your trailer park?”

>Sam eyes the title from the couch, drinking in the rich colors of hand-animated Disney films

>“M-Mulan? N-No. I’ve n-n-never seen that o-o-one,” Sam turns his eyes up at you, a soft blush scouring his features. “Can we?”

>He looks like a little kid asking his dad for something

>What the fuck?

>Your heart jumps up into your chest

“S-Sure man,” you stammer in reply, not sure how to broach a cultural divide with someone so chronically deprived of entertainment staples like Disney films. “And you’re SURE you can handle this one? It’s about a war, I think. There’s some scary scenes, you know.”

>“Y-Yeah,” Sam says confidently, sinking into the cushions. “I-I-I can handle th-this one.”

>A nest of cans crinkles beneath him

 

>Once again, Sam could not handle this one

>During The Dark Knight Sam appeared drawn in and obsessive

>His eyes glowed with electric entertainment; ears swelled with Christopher Nolan’s score

>Mulan was… different…

>But you’re not able to place exactly why

>Initially, you think Sam thought Mulan was a boy based on the cover image of her in her ‘disguise’

>Turns out (to Sam) Mulan is a movie about a girl pretending to be a boy

>You watched as Sam’s body seemed to physically react to the idea of disguising one’s gender scene after scene

>It was worse than seeing people tease or make fun of him

>The majority of the film he spent with a look on his face somewhere between heart attack and panic attack

>And he even drew his ears over his eyes during the big gender reveal scene where Mulan reveals she’s a woman among a man’s army

 

>As the movie gracefully concludes, you breathe a sigh of relief, letting out a knot of tension once held in your chest

>You sigh both for yourself and for Sam

>It hurt watching him squirm and stifle tiny cries of anguish

>Mulan was a bad choice of film

>(Literally) Poor Sam – the bastards all kindsa fucked up, and for whatever reason, inside of you

>Something squeals in pain when Sam does

>Also about your insides…

>You feel like they’re at war with each other:

>Heart versus brain versus…

>well, your other, smaller brain, dangling between your legs

>Sam’s PJs nearly slip off his lithe body as he shifts on the couch

>You can see the top part of his hips, the soft fur that begs your touch, un-obscured by goofy old flannel pajamas

>It was like that the whole movie – your eye wandering over to Sam, scanning his posture, his expression

>…any exposed fur…

 

>As the credits spin on, and with Alex nearly passed out in his chair, you slip into the kitchen, letting Sam sulk alone

>FUCK THIS

>You flick on the sink and hurl cold water on your face,

>The shock of frigid tap against your feverish skin helps bring you back to reality

>You glare, hard, down into the messy sink, drops of water cascading down your face

“Anon, control yourself,” you say in a nervous voice. “Maybe it’s just been awhile since you’ve fapped, and so you’re turning prison gay. That’s it. And Sam is such a feminine guy, you’re- you’re getting your wires crossed up there…”

>You look down at the crotch of your jeans

“Down there?”

>There’s a pause in the conversation between you and your authentic self, one punctuated only by the metronomic sound of water droplets slipping from your chin and cascading down into the sink

“You’re not into that… right?”

>You suddenly grip the counter so hard your knuckles pale

“E-Even if you were gay, that’s not bad, right?”

>You draw air deep into your lungs, trying to calm yourself

>Trying to contain your panicked shouting is like trying to un-ring a bell

>It’s also midnight and you need sleep. You’re not yourself right now

>You’ve had a weird, intense day; you need to sleep to figure shit out tomorrow

>Tomorrow

>Your heart sinks in your chest like a millstone

>You remember the promise you made to Vanessa?

>You know, the one where you betray the trust of someone who trusts you, and you aid the goths in a dark ritual?

>The promise of snakes?

>Yeah

>You gotta go to school tomorrow and follow through

>And then there’s Sam and Alex

>Are they going to school too?

>You can’t call the police about Sam’s Dad

>You’re technically fugitives, from the law or at the very least, you’re all at risk of getting fucking killed at the hands of Sam’s father

>FUCK

>FUCKITY FUCK FUCK

>You shake your head

>You need to go get your sleeping bags out, clear some space in the room, and catch some sleep

>But first, Sam and Alex

 

“So the plan is straightforward: I go to school, Alex comes with me. Sam, you stay here. It’s safer…”

>The rabbit looks uncomfortable with the idea of ditching school. He starts threading his fingers together

>You try to keep your annoyed sigh to a suppressed volume, but it’s no good

“What? What’s wrong?” You say anger coloring your voice. “It makes the most sense for you to stay here. If you show up at school, your dad will know to look there.”

>”I- um… I… just…”

“What? You just what, Sam? Your dad will look for you at school. You can’t go back until we fix this.”

>“I know!” He squeezes his ears like an apology. “B-B-But If I miss mo-more school I w-w-won’t gradua-”

>“BULLSHIT!” Alex smacks his palm on the couch, sending Sam at least six inches into the air again

>“This institution is BULLSHIT! When will we stop treating work and school like factories! Students aren’t machines! Sam, you should stay home and go through the stuiff in Anon’s room.”

>You want to cry out of frustration right now

>Or kill Alex

>Or both

>You frantically look between the two

>Alex looks genuinely upset (and ready to be strangled)

>Sam looks like he’s on the verge of actual tears

>You really don’t know what to do here

>Provided this all goes fucky, Sam will get taken by his dad, and then you’ll all go mad in the end anyway

>And before all that, a fun stint in juvenile detention

>But if your non-existent plan succeeds, you’re going to be depriving Sam of his GED, which is basically the bottom of the barrel for working at any establishment

>Either way you’ve ruined Sam’s life

>Life

>Ruined

>An idea

“Alex, do you work tomorrow?”

>”No. I’m shackle-free,” he replies

“Perfect. Sam.” You point a finger at the bunny. “You will come with me and Alex to school tomorrow. Do you understand?”

>He nods sheepishly, very obviously grappling with the idea of confronting his father tomorrow at school

>”Why… Why are we even going to school tomorrow?”

>Well, Alex, you see, I made a pact with Vanessa, to sacrifice an innocent goat tomorrow for their evil ritual

>This, of course, is all kept to yourself

>But you promise yourself that at one point, you will tell all of them what’s going on

>You’re sure Mike would want to know, if he were here and not off fucking around like he probably is

“We’re going to school tomorrow because…”

>Come up with something

>Come on

>Do it, retard

“Because…” you look at Sam, his amber eyes shining behind his shock of hair

>They’re trained on you, waiting for an answer, expectant and honest

>You wouldn’t lie to those eyes, right?

“Because Sam needs to graduate,” you declare, to no applause, to only a tired and confused look from Alex

>But Sam’s different

>Sam’s…

>Sam’s glowing

>He is absolutely, positively, could-not-be-more-obvious, blushing

>He stares straight ahead, locking eyes on absolutely nothing, putting his anxiety in his fingers, which dig uncomfortably into the couch, kneading it like pizza dough

>You can see his mouth working, but nothing comes out

>Alex raises some eyebrows at you and winks

>“Anon, now’s your chanceeee,” he whispers, pointing a sly finger at Sam’s couched hands

>You shake your head furiously

>The rabbit hasn’t noticed a thing, and is now trying to hide his shock behind his hair, falling in thick ropes over his face

>Now it’s your turn to be an anime school girl as crimson rises in your pale cheeks

“Listen, I just want to make sure Sam graduates. That’s noble, right? And, I have some research to conduct at school tomorrow with this whole ‘book thing.’ This is PURELY a scouting mission. There is NO subtext. NONE.”

>“Surrreeee…”

“Fuck off Alex. It’s not like I’m going to go to classes this week anyway.”

>“SURRRRRRRREEEEEEE….”

>He winks at you agai- God, you just want to fucking kill him right now

>“Not gonna go to classsessssss….”

>Oh come on, there wasn’t even a reason to draw that out

>He nods silently towards Sam

>You’ve got the ‘fuck you, pinko’ on your tongue all ready to go when Sam squeaks up

>“T-Thank you A-Anon,” he sighs. “B-But my d-d-dad will be l-looking f-f-for me.”

“And that’s why you’re with me – any time you’re not in class. You go to English Four, I go to English Four. You go piss, I go piss. Gym locker room, changing? We’re changing together.”

>That sounds like a pretty cogent idea to you

>To Sam, it’s like you just told him you were in love with him

>He flies to the other end of the couc, stuttering and stammering a storm

>You’re too oblivious, so you scoot next to him, gripping him firm by the shoulders, bare palms feeling the velvet fur beneath your night shirt

“It’s brilliant, Sam. Einstein-level shit. Your fuck of a father can’t storm into the classroom and abduct you – not with students and legally responsible adults watching. It’ll raise too many eyebrows, and my guess is that your dad is not the type of guy who likes wellfare checks on him or his son.”

>Sam looks like he’s listening, eyes wide, face glowing like the fucking sun

>Chest heaving

“He needs to get you alone, and that’s not going to happen with us around,” you smirk and throw a thumb over your shoulder at Alex

“W-W-What if he c-c-catches me alone th-th-though?”

>Sam’s stare and shuddering breath is…

>Reminds you anime, strangely enough

>You think

>What can Sam do?

>He certainly can’t fight his dad

>Reasoning with him isn’t going to work either

>Your eyes wander down from Sam’s honeyed

>The rabbit’s waist barely fits into your pants, leaving substantial room around the hips

>His legs though?

>He could probably cover more ground than most people in this neighborhood, not to be speciest or anything

“Alright in a dead-sprint, who’s faster: you or your dad?” You say

>“L-L-Like a r-r-r-race?” Sam stutters in reply

“Yeah, like a race. The prize is getting to live.”

>“O-O-O-Oh,” his eyes flick evasively off you, finding the television again, now turned off. “We-We-Well I-I-I am. Dad d-d-drinks and s-s-smokes a l-lot.”

“Exactly! You don’t have to fight him, mouth off to him, nothing like that. All you need to do is run – as far and as fast as you can. Rabbits are quick and your dad is a drunk old fuck.”

>Alex, exhausted, chimes in

>“You should fight him, Sam, it’d be good for you.”

>Your attention snaps to Alex

>“Are your parents related or something?”

>Alex returns a bored shrug

>“What?” He scoffs, “I fought my dad and it was good for me. I learned a lot. Put some hair on my chest – not that you, uh… need help with that, Sam.”

>You know, you really oughta make the great evolutionary leap from brute violence and sharp words into the bright furue of returning fire

>You roast Mike all the time like the stumpy potato he is – why not Alexi, like the revolutionary regieme he is?

>Too bad evolution doesn’t work that way

>Also, you’re a virgin, and it’s your descendants who are supposed to REDEEM IT

“Alex, you were twelve. I was there. It was your BIRTHDAY PARTY,” you sigh

>“Woa- hey hey hey there anon good buddy I was seventeen- and and it was CERTAINLY not my birthday-”

>You Turn to face Sam, shutting away Alex’s stuttered, rushed explanation behind your back

>[Muffled ‘Anon NO DON’T TELL HIM!]

“Alright, twelve-year-old comrade over here was storming around his birthday party because he thoguht he was going to get a gun – yeah, a gun, like a REAL ONE. Our little revolutionary-”

>A spindly pair of arms wraps around your throat from behind

>Your spitefulness is too powerful – you pause your story and easily pry Alex from your neck

>[Muffled ‘When the hell did you get so strong?’]

“-got an AIRSOFT GUN. He was so mad he started shooting at his parents with the little tub of ammo.”

>“Anon, I’m- I’m begging you-”

>Sam leans in, enchanted, your words whiskey and his heart placing orders at the bar

“SO his dad comes over and just fuckin’ like- like rips the airsoft gun outta Alex’s arms and just open-palm pimp slaps this kid – RIGHT IN FRONT OF EVERYONE.”

>You can hear a death rattle to your left

“The lesson here is that had Alex RAN – as in, run away from danger, or even from making those choices – he wouldn’t have to endure this verbal torture” you say, zeroing in Sam. “Run, rabbit. Run. Okay? Rabbits are quick, and your dad is a drunk old fuck.”

>“J-Just r-r-run.? G-G-Got it…” he says, if only to reassure himself. He looks at you with some degree of determination.

>“That’s really speciest of you, Anon,” Alex says to unlistening ears

>Yeah

>This is gonna work out just fine

>Jusssstttt fine

>You weigh your options

>Tonight feels like a minor victory, but the rest of the week…

>That’s up in the air for all of you

>You know one thing for certain: you need to figure out something before Friday

>Friday

>The night of the Spooktober Fest. Undoubtedly the goth’s target

>Why? Because they took an ‘angry-at-the-world’ phase and turned it into an entire personality

>Sure, you’re angry at people too. You’ve always been an outsider to everyone, but you’ve done nothing about it

>Never wanted to ‘get back’ at anyone

>Except the goths, those cringy faggots

>What a week this is going to be

>You turn your thoughts towards your group

“I gotta be honest with you guys,” you start. “There’s some REALLY bad shit going down at school. I’ll tell you more once we get a hold of Mike.”

>“Like libertarian wasteland bad?” Alex asks, a genuine question

“I’m not sure I can imagine that my boy, but picture the worst thing you can, and then that’s about it.”

>“But the ROADS!” Alex smacks the couch with a heavy thump. Again. “Who will build the roads when water is privatized!?”

>Sam lurches forward, his heart pounding at the sudden noise

>Alex continues ranting about the evils of the ‘free’ market

>You breathe a sigh of relief as Alex quickly reverts back to his old ways

>As tried and true as he always ways

>In all of this, you have one thing on your side, for better or worse:

>Your friends

 

>You decide to all go to bed after midnight

>Before that, you grab Sam’s freshly cleaned clothes, and you swear they’re like five pounds lighter

>You’re going to force his gay ass to shower tomorrow before school

>On your way back you grab two sleeping bags

 

“Just like a sleepover,” you say to Sam as you roll out his sleeping bag on the floor of your room

>All of your dirty clothes are pushed to the side in a multi-color pile

“I haven’t done this in a longggg time,” you say to yourself. “Pizza, soda, sleeping bags, movies… I feel like a little kid all over again,” you chuckle

>Sam wrinkles his nose as he glances around the room

>“I-I-I’ve never ha-had a sleepover before,” he says. “I-I’m not u-used to them.”

“I know. There’s a million things you haven’t done or seen that just blow my mind,” you say, voice gentle

>The rabbit flashes a weak, regretful look at you

>“S-Sorry,” he says, voice paling against Alex’s snores

>Passed out in his clothes (sans shirt), Alex is sprawled across his sleeping bag

>His bag is unzipped completely

>It’s little more than a blanket to him

“What are you apologizing for? It’s not your fault you grew up in such a bad environment with such a shithead for a father.”

>You pause in unzipping the sleeping bag

>Sam shuffles his feet a little

>“I-It’s always my f-f-fault. I d-d-don’t even know why y-you’re being so nice to me…”

“It’s not always your fault dude. You can’t control who you’re born to.”

>You sit up and stretch a bit, arms cresting over your head

“An old friend of mine used to say you get two families: the one you’re born into, and the one that you make.”

>You point a finger at Alex, who lays shirtless and splayed out across the floor, barely on his sleeping bag

“He might be a dumbass-communist-supreme, but he’s my friend. And Mike might be an asshole, but he’s also my friend. And they’re both family, in that sense.”

>At least, you hope that your friendships can withstand college

>People change…

>You think…

>Maybe you’ll change, too, when they all leave you behind?

>“S-So…” Sam clears his throat. His feet thump against the floor, though the rest of him seems paralyzed

>“Does that m-m-make me your f-friend?”

>Yes?

>No?

>Gahhh, you don’t know what to say. This was largely just an impulse move spurned on by your newfound courage from the deer

>Well, time for another gesture

>You nod your head a little in affirmation

“I guess it does, Sam. We’ve known each other for a while, right?”

>His face lights up and his foot pounds the carpet to a tempo that could shake houses

>Alex only snores louder, as if he were trying to outdo Sam in a noise competition

>“D-Dad says I’m not allowed to h-have friends… H-He says I’m only going to h-hurt them a-a-again”

“Fuck what your dad thinks,” you start back on his sleeping bag and unzip it all the way down. “He’s just a lonely old bastard.”

>Sam says nothing, he just watches with fascination as you unzip the sleeping bag

>“T-T-That’s for m-me?” He says, as if he was confused by the idea of his OWN sleeping bag

>His eyes glow and his nose wrinkles at the idea

>Oh, wow. He’s probably never been in a sleeping bag before, too

>You explain to him how to use it like he’s some kind of little kid, before he happily hops in (heh, hops)

 

“Gnight everyone,” you say

>You kill the lights

>The last thing you see is Sam looking up at you, his eyes glowing, cute pink nose wrinkling, the look on his face probably the most contented and safe-kept you’ve seen him wear

>“A-A-Anon?”

“Yes?”

>Alex’s snore reach a noisy crescendo, but you think you can make out what Sam is trying to say

>“T-Thank you. Y-You’re my f-f-f-f-friend too.”

>FUCK

>The Gay(tm) is strong tonight

>Well, tonight nothing will happen. It’s going to be a kosher night

>No hotdogs