Page 131 of The Locker Room
“I"ll take you!” God. Wasn"t that the least Xander could do?
Chris shook his head, still looking at his hands. “No, baby. I don"t
want you driving back alone.”
“Fuck that,” Xander whispered. Just like when he was a kid, when
he was living in that little apartment, just himself and his couch, he was
afraid of voicing anything out loud. If he shouted too loud, his mother
would hear him. If he shouted too loud, the authorities would know.
Sometimes, when he"d been in that room, by himself, huddled under his
blanket without heat and trying to sleep, he would bury his face into that
old musty couch and scream, just scream and scream and scream, until
his throat was raw and he"d exhausted any of his fear or his panic or his
hunger into the sweaty-breathed, ugly plaid-covered stuffing, and had no
choice but to sleep.
He stood up and started to pace, not bearing to look at Chris, hardly
bearing to think about him, not there in their bed that night.
“Fuck that,” he said more loudly, stronger. He wasn"t that kid
anymore. He wasn"t. He had some control here, dammit. He wasn"t cold,
or hungry, or about to disappear. Chris would miss him if he didn"t man
up. He needed to man up.
“Fuck that!” he shouted, and then something shattered across the
far wall. He looked down at his hand, and then looked at the dent that the
The Locker Room 113
lotion bottle had made when it had shattered against the gold-painted
wall.
“Xander?”
Xander took his concentration from the dent and the scattered
lotion and blindly sought Chris, who was still sitting on the bed. “Yeah?”
“You can come in the town car, right? It"ll take you home.”
Xander nodded. “But… you….”
He was standing up, across the room, and suddenly, it was like he
