Page 56 of String Boys
“Such a flaming asshole?” Kelly felt this wound, even as he inflicted it. “I guess that’s just who he is now, sir. I’ll have to get used to it.”
“Well, that’s a shame. You three used to be so tight.”
“Yeah, well, then Seth and I wanted to get tighter, and Matty wanted to get religious. It’s okay. I picked Seth over Matty, and Matty picked Isela over human fucking decency. I guess it evens out.”
Craig snorted. “Alrighty, then. I’ll just not count on you being able to get Seth’s emails. Or….” He stopped and chewed his lower lip. “You know? I’ve got an idea. Can you come by tomorrow? Same time?”
“No, sir, I’m afraid my social calendar is full this summer. Everybody wants to hang out with the kid who’s injured and has an incurable disease.”
This time Craig slapped his hand over his mouth. “You donothave an incurable disease!” he protested.
“No, but I might as well have! I’m the kid who was raped. It’s like everybody knows what’s been in my butt and nobody wants to call and talk to my face.”
Seth’s dad abruptly sobered. “I’m here,” he said. “I’ll talk to your face. I’m sure Seth will, once we find a way for you guys to Skype. You don’t have the plague. You’re not dying. But you were hurt. You just need to tell us how you want to be treated so we know, that’s all.”
Kelly gave him a suddenly tearful smile and nodded. “I like being treated like this,” he said after a moment. “Like I got a friend to watch TV with. And I can say something that’s not going to piss you off or hurt your feelings or scare my little sisters. Is that okay?”
“Yeah.” Seth’s dad sank into the couch and held out his arm. “Are you feeling seven today? Agnes let me hold her in my lap.”
“I’m feeling twelve,” Kelly said after a moment’s thought. “I wouldn’t mind an arm over my shoulder.”
Maybe he should have been afraid. But it hadn’t been an adult who’d attacked him. A kid had. A mob of them. Kelly had been around kind adult men all his life. It would be like being afraid of a housecat because he’d been captured by jackals.
He sidled up to Seth’s dad and leaned, and that arm came around his shoulders, like one of those safety bars in a roller coaster ride.
Not to trap him.
Just to keep him safe.
He leaned against Seth’s dad’s chest and handed him the remote control.
“Don’t you want to open your presents?” Craig asked softly.
“Later.” Kelly took his first deep breath in six days. “Right now, I know he loves me. It’s enough.”
But he kept the mailers on his other side so he could open them as soon as he woke up. He could feel the damned nap coming on, and he was so grateful for Seth’s dad right then, he didn’t want to miss it.
Heya, Seth!
Your dad bought me a tablet and let me hook it up to his printer. I’m sending you this right now because I’m pretty sure you’ll get it, and there’s nothing Matty can do about it, so there. Your dad also got me a new phone, because my other one was smashed. I’ll put the number at the end of this email so we can text and stuff.
I miss you.
I mean, I wasn’t sure whether to tell you or not. But then I thought, I hope you are missing the SHIT out of me, so I figured it would be better to say it and get it out of the way.
You were right. I came over to your place last night for Soccer Wednesday, and your dad and I sat on the couch and watched detective shows. I know this is stupid, but I sort of like detective shows. All you do is turn off the part of your brain that worries about today or tomorrow and turn on the part that wonders who did it. I never figure it out, but your dad is pretty good at it. I came downstairs again tonight, and he got home with a bag full of electronics.
On the one hand, I feel bad—I just sucked up a bunch of his money. But he said he doesn’t have to feed you anymore and shrugged like that wasn’t hard on him at all when I know it is. So I figure it’s a tradeoff. I sit and watch detective shows with him, and he gives me a way to talk to you.
Except it’s better than that, because we both like the thing we’re doing for the other person, right?
I’m fine.
I thought you’d want to know.
I mean, my body’s still banged up, and there’s nightmares. I keep waking up thinking I can smell that place. And my temper is, like, short. Like, shorter than recess when we were little kids. Like, I’ll rip the face off of anyone in my grill, short—and part of that is because I’m still banged up and because pooping is still a world-class event and you don’t get a gold medal in it, you just get a reminder that somebody got to touch you some way you didn’t want them to.
And that sucks.
