Date: Sat, 20 Nov 2021 09:55:12 +0000 From: Wes Leigh Subject: Misunderstood, Chapter 5 (Gay Adult/Youth) MISUNDERSTOOD By Wes Leigh This is a work of fiction intended solely for the entertainment of my readers; any resemblance to any real people or places is purely coincidental. This story is the property of the author and is protected by copyright laws. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. If you enjoy this story, please support the Nifty archives today with a thoughtful donation by visiting https://donate.nifty.org/. Chapter Five Same bathroom. Two weeks later. Andrew stood with his butt against the sink counter, his pants and underwear once again around his ankles. Stephen knelt in front of him, fulfilling a promise he'd made to Andrew to show him something new and amazing. It was definitely new to Andrew. And so far, beyond amazing. Stephen held Andrew's balls gently in one hand while he tipped Andrew's cock forward with the other hand. His lips tugged playfully at the foreskin hiding the tip of Andrew's cock. He pulled the skin out to form a nipple, hiding the tip. Then he slid his tongue inside, wetting the cap all around underneath the foreskin. Andrew bit his lips to keep from crying out. He'd never felt anything so wonderful in all his young life. When Stephen had promised to give him a blowjob, Andrew had turned bright red with embarrassment, but had nodded his head quickly in agreement. Now, with Stephen's mouth teasing the end of his cock, Andrew watched and waited with eager anticipation for Stephen to finish his promise. Andrew didn't want to say anything, but he hoped Stephen would quit playing around and get to it. Stephen, for his part, was savoring the moment. Andrew's young body smelled so delightful, a dizzying combination of mild sweatiness covering a boyish sweetness with the faintest hint of teenage musk. His foreskin was agreeably pliable, stretching out when he applied suction and sliding easily back when he pushed with his lips. He pushed the skin down to expose the tip of Andrew's cock, which was soft, silky, slippery. He bathed it with his tongue, hearing a soft whimper from Andrew in response. Suddenly, the boy surprised him. Andrew thrust forward, pushing halfway into Stephen's mouth. Stephen chuckled with pleasure, allowing Andrew to begin thrusting in and out. No doubt, the first time would be fast and furious, if Andrew was anything like most boys. He was. Thirty seconds later, Andrew's hips froze and a high-pitched moan escaped his mouth as his body released its precious nectar into Stephen's mouth. Stephen waited, holding Andrew's cock gently between his lips, allowing the salty drops to ooze out onto his tongue. He slid one finger from the base of Andrew's cock up along the bottom, pressing and gently milking out a few more drops, then sat back on his heels and swished the boy's gift around his mouth before swallowing. Andrew stared down at his throbbing cock, eyes wide with wonder that it had given him so much pleasure. And his friend Stephen was the one who'd made it all possible. The best part of all was Andrew didn't feel shame about anything they'd done. Stephen was a priest, after all, and if there was anything wrong with what they were doing, Stephen could take care of it for both of them. Right? *** As fun as it was working at church, school sucked. Big time. Not the classes. They were okay. Math was especially fun, because Stephen--Father Downing, he had to remember to call him that at school--came by his desk often, rubbing his back in a small circle, sending a private message that only Andrew could receive. Andrew tried not to smile too much when Father Downing was next to him, but he couldn't help himself. They shared a secret. A wonderful, amazing secret that made him terrifically excited deep down inside. And yet ... school still sucked. Because of his so-called friends. Brent was still mad and refusing to talk to him. The other guys knew Andrew hadn't done anything bad to Brent, but they were taking Brent's side anyway. It didn't help that Brent said he wasn't going to have anything to do with Drew-Drew-Eyes-So-Blue and he wouldn't hang out with anyone who did. Why'd he have to drag up that stupid old grade-school nickname? It was like being in third grade all over again. Big time suckiness. And so Andrew found himself alone in the middle of a crowd of kids. Girls sneered at him. Boys avoided him. No one talked to him, and he quit trying. He sat by himself at lunch, watching his old friends laughing at a nearby table. When they went out behind the gym to share dirty stories, he walked around the track course, torturing himself by trying to catch bits and pieces of their whispered conversation. During study hall, no one sat with him, shared notes with him, or asked to copy his homework. Not as they had often done before. Everyone knew he was great in math and science, and they had all wanted his help--before the fight with Brent. He wasn't so good at history, and they had been willing to help him with that--before Brent. Now he was on his own, so he quickly finished the classes he was good at and spent most of his time on history. It was boring, but he figured his grade in history would get better--after Brent. At least his relationship with Dallas was improving. They still weren't chatting or hanging out, but they'd had a few minutes in the hallway that morning to greet each other and talk about all the stuff that had happened. Andrew had apologized first, saying he was sorry about the fight and getting Dallas in trouble. Dallas had replied that it didn't matter anymore. Andrew had thanked him for coming to the rescue. Dallas had shrugged and said it was nothing. Then Dallas had apologized for giving Andrew the cold shoulder at church and school. Andrew had responded that it was okay and extended his fist for Dallas to bump. They had grinned at each other and left feeling a bit better about everything. Andrew still hadn't had a chance to use Dallas' hot tub, but maybe now that they weren't fighting, he'd ask his parents sometime. That would be great. School would still suck big time, but getting to use the hot tub with Dallas would make it all okay. *** Andrew walked up the sidewalk to his front door and walked inside the house. King was sitting in the front entry, waiting for him. Despite the horrible day at school, Andrew began to smile. His best buddy forever was sitting there, patiently waiting for him to get home. How could a guy have a bad day with a friend like King looking forward to the moment you got home? Andrew walked up slowly, dropped his backpack on the floor, and knelt down next to King. He wrapped his arms around the big dog's neck and squeezed hard. King turned his face slightly and gave Andrew sloppy kisses on the side of his head. Andrew giggled and dried his wet ear on King's furry cheek. "Hey, buddy. Didya' miss me?" King's brown eyes stared at Andrew with unreserved adoration. Of course, he'd missed his boy. How could he not miss his human, the one whom he lived for and would willingly die for. He licked Andrew's chin and tried to catch Andrew on the mouth, but Andrew laughed and dodged his slurping tongue. "Come on, big guy. Let's see what kinda snack Momma has waitin' for us." Andrew picked up his backpack--he knew better than to leave it or any clothes on the floor--and led King into the kitchen. His mother turned as they came in and smiled. "You have time for a slice of pie, then we need to drive over to the church," she said, carrying a small plate to the table. "Why we goin' to the church, Momma?" "The Fall Festival is only a month away. The organizing committee is meeting tonight to start planning. While we're meeting, I thought you might help Father Downing. He'll be inventorying the kitchen pantry, and he mentioned he would appreciate your assistance." Andrew smiled as he chewed and swallowed. Taking a quick drink of milk, he nodded and said, "Sure thing, Momma. I'll be glad to help." "Hurry and finish. We need to leave in a few minutes." "Can King have a snack too?" Dayna thought and said, "Check in the blue bowl in the refrigerator. There should be an old soup bone he can have." "Did you hear that, King? You're gonna get ya' a nice bone to gnaw on." King licked his lips and sat next to Andrew's chair, patient as ever. A bone would be nice, but he was hoping for a bite or two of pie first. *** The Fall Festival Planning Committee was in full session, with strong opinions bouncing around the room. Andrew was glad he had something else to do. There was nothing worse than sitting there listening to a bunch of people arguing about stupid stuff like what kind of booths they were going to have this year and what food they'd sell. He and Stephen were headed for the kitchen pantry with a notebook to list how many cans and bags and other stuff there were. It wasn't all that exciting either, to be honest, but it was better than sitting there next to his mom, bored to tears. Besides, any time he got to hang out with Stephen was thrilling, because he knew there'd be a bit of tickling too, and maybe some other stuff. It was the other stuff that had given Andrew a boner as they walked down the hallway. Stephen noticed Andrew's pants tenting out and shook his head, chuckling. In a few short weeks, Andrew had turned into one of the horniest young lovers Stephen had ever had. Many boys had required careful handling, easing them into sexual games until they gave themselves over to the decadent fun available to them. Not Andrew. The adorable blue-eyed cherub seemed to look forward to every opportunity to be alone with Stephen, and he wasn't shy about getting something started as soon as they found themselves hidden away. That day was no different. As soon as Stephen turned on the light in the pantry and closed the door behind them, he felt Andrew hugging him from behind and Andrew's hands sliding across the front of his pants, fondling his cock and balls with practiced familiarity. He pulled the boy's hands off and turned around, smiling gently to take the sting out of his words, "Work first. Fun later." Andrew pouted but shrugged his acceptance. "Whad'ya wanna do first?" Stephen pointed at one wall. "Count the number of cans of vegetables and fruit." Andrew nodded and climbed up a step stool in front of the shelves. Moving the cans around, he counted quickly and said, "Corn. Eight cans." He turned to look back at Stephen, shook his butt suggestively, and said, "You could at least let me know I'm doin' a good job while I'm countin'." Stephen grinned and wrote in the notebook he carried. Then he leaned forward and stroked Andrew's right cheek gently through the tight pants the boy wore. "Corn. Eight cans. Good job. Next?" Andrew giggled. "Green beans. Ten cans." *** Andrew was having trouble concentrating on the counting. His boner was pushing against his pants as hard as it ever had. It wasn't helping any having Stephen rub his butt every time he wrote down whatever Andrew counted. Andrew decided to do something about it, so when he reached the end of the shelf, he said, "Boner. One big one." Hearing nothing from Stephen, Andrew peeked over his shoulder. He saw Stephen shaking his head slowly, trying not to laugh. Andrew wriggled his butt again. "I said, `Boner. One big one.' You gonna write that down?" Stephen shook his head. "I don't think I should. Father Murphy might not understand." Andrew giggled and turned around to face Stephen. His pants were poking out obscenely, begging to be massaged. He pushed his hips forward, making his pants poke out even further. He smirked and said, "It's a real big one." "I can see that," Stephen said, licking his lips. He set the notebook on a nearby shelf and reached out to touch Andrew. The youth's hard shaft was stretching the gray school slacks to their limit. Stephen squeezed, delighting in the feel of Andrew's hard member underneath the soft material. Andrew sighed. Finally. He hadn't expected to have Stephen alone until the weekend, but from the moment his mother had told him they'd be coming to the church and he'd be helping Stephen, his cock had been getting harder and harder. It was almost like it had a mind of its own. It knew it was going to be played with, and it didn't want to wait another minute. Andrew quickly unbuckled his pants and unzipped. He yanked the pants down and shoved his underwear underneath his balls, thrusting his throbbing boner in Stephen's face. "Please," he whimpered. How could Stephen deny the boy's urgent need? He bent down and sucked Andrew into his mouth, bobbing up and down quickly and gently fondling the youngster's balls. Andrew grabbed the hand on his balls and pulled it down hard, making it clear he enjoyed rougher treatment there. His other hand went around the back of Stephen's head, pulling the man forward until his lips were pressed against Andrew's scanty pubes. It was perfect. Andrew barely pulled out, then humped Stephen's mouth quickly, panting as he thrust in and out. He knew he wouldn't last long. No one had shown him how to take his time and enjoy the tingling sensations running through his body. There was only one thing he wanted. He closed his eyes and shoved his belly against Stephen's face, holding himself perfectly still as his cock throbbed and squirted. Fucking awesome! Andrew smiled. He was glad he didn't have to explain thinking those words during confession. Andrew pulled out and patted Stephen on the shoulder. "Your turn," he said. "What?" Stephen straightened out and stared at Andrew, surprised. "What do you mean? "It's your turn," Andrew said with a sly grin. "You're always doin' me, and that ain't fair. You oughta get a turn too." Andrew left his pants sagging around his thighs and sat down on the step stool, reaching up to unsnap Stephen's pants. Stephen was too shocked to move or speak. He watched as Andrew unzipped his pants and slid them down to his knees. Andrew began rubbing Stephen's erection through the underwear, causing a drop of precum to squirt out and darken the fabric. Andrew grinned when he saw that, then grabbed the waistband of Stephen's underwear and yanked them down too. Andrew studied the large cock he'd been wanting to play with. Up until now, he'd only felt it covered up by Stephen's pants or pushing up against his back. Now it was out in the open, swelling up and pulsing. There wasn't any skin on the end, not like Andrew's, so the purple cap looked like a fat mushroom on the end of a long shaft. Andrew slipped his hand around it and marveled at how soft the skin was and how hard the rod inside the skin was. Fucking amazing! He slid the skin up and down, admiring the way it moved beneath his hand. It certainly was different from his own boner, but he thought it was beautiful. A drop of fluid appeared in the hole. He touched it with one finger, pulling away and watching a string of clear, sticky goop stretch out and break. He giggled and rubbed around the end, smearing the slimy juice all over. He lifted the heavy cock up and looked underneath. Two large, hairy balls were hanging down, one slightly lower than the other. He reached down and grabbed them, jiggling them and rubbing them together. They were fun, but not nearly as interesting as Stephen's cock. He stroked it again, slowly but with a firm grip. Only one other thing to try, Andrew decided. Leaning in, he touched his tongue to the slippery cap and licked the slimy juice off. No taste really. He licked again, slipping his mouth over the cap. It was a mouthful, to be sure. His mouth was stretched out so much his jaw began to ache, but he wasn't going to let that stop him now, not when he was finally getting to do what he'd wanted to do for weeks. He slid down and bobbed on the end of Stephen's cock, giving his friend some of the same pleasure Andrew had been enjoying. The pantry door opened, and a woman's voice said, "Father Downing, can you tell me where we keep--" Andrew jumped back and froze. Stephen pulled away, covering his naked groin with both hands. A woman Andrew didn't know stood in the doorway, staring at them, eyes wide in shock. Oh, fuck, Andrew thought. *** Andrew was in bed, curled up with King in his arms, holding his very last friend in the world. His face was buried in King's furry neck and his arms gripped King with all his might, hoping that somehow King would save him from the world that was collapsing all around him. King was doing his best to comfort his human, slowly and methodically licking the boy's face, washing away the tears and comforting the boy's aching heart. Each kiss said, `I love you. I will not leave you. I will protect you.' In the living room, Alan Wright hung up the phone and turned to Dayna, resignation and frustration battling for domination in his face. "What did the police say?" she asked in a hushed whisper. "Father Downing admitted to everything. He said he encouraged Andrew to--" Alan paused and swallowed hard. "--to have sexual contact with him. It was all his idea. Andrew was simply following Downing's lead." Dayna gasped and began crying softly. Alan walked to the front window and stared out, shaking his head slowly. How in all that was holy had something like this happened, right under their noses? He turned to Dayna and asked, "Did you see any signs at all from Andrew? Anything suspicious?" Dayna wiped her eyes and nodded. "I saw them hugging. When I dropped him off at church one day. It was just a hug. I didn't think anything of it." "How could this happen? I thought I knew my son better." Dayna stared at Alan, surprised. How COULD he know his son better? He never spent time with the boy, never talked TO him but always talked AT him and ordered him about like some kind of household servant. What was it Andrew had said? `Father Downing listens when I tell him stuff and he talks like he's interested in me.' She stood up and took Alan by the hand. "We need to start listening to Andrew. Truly listening. Hearing what is going on with the boy. He needs us, Alan." Alan rolled his eyes. "And that's going to fix this mess he's created? Dayna, do you realize how hard I've worked to establish our family's good name? And now, in a single day, that boy has torn it all down!" Dayna was shocked speechless. Andrew was hurting, so much so that he went to a stranger for love and affection, and all Alan could think about was the family's good name? She dropped her hands to her side and backed up, shaking her head in frustration. "What are we going to do to help Andrew?" "I have a plan." Alan lifted his chin and proclaimed, "It's going to take years for us to overcome this, but we start today." He stomped around Dayna and walked down the hall to Andrew's bedroom. "Andrew. In the living room. Now!" Andrew came out of his room, his head tucked into his chest, his shoulders slumped, walking slowly to what he expected to be his execution. King walked at his side, leaning against Andrew for moral support. Andrew's fingers held the fur on King's neck, holding tight to his last remaining lifeline. Alan was impatient. "Hurry up, son. We need to talk." Andrew moved to the couch and sat down. King curled protectively around his feet. Alan motioned for Dayna to stand next to him, expecting her to back him up on this. He'd accept nothing less. He stared down at the pathetic boy in front of him and ground his teeth. That was part of the problem. The boy wouldn't have been such easy prey for a sexual deviant if he'd had more backbone. They'd work on that later, but for now ... "The police told us this was all Father Downing's idea. That he forced you to do these ... these things. Is that correct?" Andrew mumbled something. "Speak up, son. We can't hear you." Andrew nodded, feeling like he was betraying Stephen. "He showed me what to do, but he didn't force me to do nothin'." "You're wrong, Andrew. He did force you. He's an adult, and you're a child. He manipulated you into doing exactly what he wanted. Do you understand me?" Andrew nodded meekly. "Yes, sir." "You may think he didn't force you to do this, but children are easy to control. Are we clear on that?" "Yes, sir." "Then let me make something else absolutely clear. There will never, ever be another repeat of anything like this? No son of mine is going to be an abomination. Do you understand me, Andrew?" "Yes, sir." "You will be spending time with Father Murphy, talking about what you did. You will complete whatever penance he gives you." "Yes, sir." "You will be grounded for three months. No television. No friends. You will go to school during the week. And on the weekend, you will work at the store with me. Your mother and I will have additional punishments for you, which we'll go over with you later. Understood?" "Yes, sir. Yes, ma'am." "We're doing this for your good, Andrew. One day you'll realize that this was all a childish mistake, something that taught you a valuable lesson. You will grow up to be a man, find a God-fearing wife, and raise a family of your own. You'll carry on the Wright name and make us both proud. Everything we're doing now is to help you become that man. Are we clear?" Andrew nodded. "I didn't hear your answer," Alan stated. Andrew nodded his head again and said, "I understand, sir." "Go to your room. Your grounding starts now." "Yes, sir." Andrew stood up. King rose to his feet and turned to stare at Alan. For some reason, the look in the Rottweiler's eyes made Alan nervous. Why had he ever agreed to get the boy such a big, dangerous dog? King licked Andrew's hand and followed the broken-hearted boy down the hall to his bedroom. "Well," Alan said, "that went surprisingly well, all things considered." Dayna huffed in annoyance, but said nothing, sliding past Alan to start dinner. *** If he'd been ignored before, Andrew felt like he had a deadly, contagious disease now. Kids avoided coming near him. If they had a locker near his, they waited until he finished getting his own books. If he was using the urinal in the boy's room, the other boys used the stalls, and if those were in use, they waited until he was done. Eventually he stopped using the urinals himself and used an empty stall, even if he just needed to pee. At lunch, when he sat down at a table where other kids were already sitting, they picked up their trays and moved to another table. After lunch, he wandered down to the field behind the gym, not because he planned to hang out with his old friends, but because it was the quickest way to reach the track course. He didn't want to bother anyone. He planned to walk around the track, by himself, but the moment he came around the corner of the building, the other boys walked away, heading for the baseball field. Even the teachers treated him like he was a leper. None of them called on him in class. When they returned graded papers to the students, they dropped his papers on his desk and hurried away, trying to spend as little time as possible next to his desk. In one class, he raised his hand for help, but the teacher looked the other way until he gave up and lowered his arm back down. He decided then that he wouldn't ask for any more help. That was the day Andrew learned that there was something far worse than being ignored: being deliberately avoided. Only one thing made his days tolerable. King. Coming home from school, King always waited in the entrance hall, greeting his boy with loving eyes and erasing the pain with gentle, loving licks. With his arms around King's neck, Andrew could cry or cuss, either one, and King always waited patiently for Andrew to get it all out. Then with a single sloppy kiss, King made it clear that all the pain was behind them and only love remained. If it hadn't been for King's unconditional love, Andrew couldn't have endured the pain of that week. The last thing he felt every night was King's furry neck beneath his fingers at the side of his bed, and every day began with a cold nose poking his cheek and a wet tongue sliding from his neck to his forehead, leaving a slippery swath of wet love in between. His last kiss before leaving for school and his first kiss coming home again came from--of course--his giant Rottweiler buddy. It made the agony bearable. *** A few days into the horrible week, his friends suddenly stopped avoiding him. It was after lunch, when Andrew was headed down to the track course, as usual, and his friends were huddled behind the gymnasium, as usual, and Brent was the center of attention, as usual. But one thing was different. The guys weren't laughing and joking around. Instead, they turned and stared at Andrew when he came around the corner of the building. Andrew didn't realize that anything out of the ordinary was happening at first. The boys pulled back as he came near, then split apart as Brent pushed his way to the front of the pack. Brent glared at Andrew and chanted, his voice dripping with venom, "Drew, Drew, eyes so blue, skinny faggot sucks dick too." Andrew froze. His heart thumped and he tried to speak, but his throat was suddenly as dry as dust. Brent walked forward and stuck his face inches from Andrew's. "The best damned teacher in school, and you got him fired and thrown in jail. Because you couldn't keep your faggot ass away from him, you fucking queer!" Andrew looked at the other boys. They were all frowning or scowling. He had no friends among them, not anymore. Even if they had once counted him a friend, they were all enemies now. He turned around and walked back the way he'd come. "That's right, queer boy. Walk away. Keep walking and don't stop. WE DON'T WANT YOUR KIND HERE!" Brent ended with a shout. *** "I don't know what to do," Andrew said with a frustrated sigh. "Everyone hates me, and I guess I can't really blame them." "Oh? And what have you done to earn their dislike?" Father Murphy asked. They were sitting in Murphy's office, an intimidating room with leather-covered chairs, wall-to-wall shelves of books, thick carpet, and oil paintings of the Pope, the Bishop of Amarillo, and the Archbishop of San Antonio. Andrew was perched on a chair, clearly uncomfortable and trying not to look around him with awe. Father Murphy sat nearby, hands folded serenely in his lap, studying this youth who had become such a problem for the Church and his family. Andrew wasn't sure how to answer the Father's question. Should he say what all the kids said? That Andrew had gotten their favorite teacher fired by sucking his dick? Or should he say what his parents seemed to think? That Andrew had embarrassed his family and ruined their reputation? Maybe he should tell the Father the absolute truth. That Andrew was gay. That he liked boys more than girls, so he didn't belong at a Catholic school and shouldn't even be coming to church every week, because he didn't feel at all guilty about what he and Stephen had done, not one bit. He missed Stephen and wished with all his heart that they hadn't been caught and that they were still spending time together in the storeroom or the restroom, making each other happy again. But that probably wasn't what Father Murphy wanted to hear, so Andrew just stared at his feet and said, "I don't know, sir." Father Murphy pursed his lips and considered the best way to approach this. He could deal with the boy's behavior, but Murphy was far more concerned about the boy's thinking. If the boy wouldn't open up voluntarily, there were ways to ask questions that would reveal what a person wanted to conceal. It shouldn't be that difficult, especially for someone who'd read Stephen Downing's confession. Murphy placed his fingertips together and leaned forward. "Are you certain everyone hates you, Andrew? You seem like such a pleasant young man to me. What possible reason could anyone have for disliking such an adorable boy?" Andrew's head jerked up as if he'd been poked. Tears began to pool in his eyes, unbidden. Stephen was the only one who ever called him adorable. Why would Father Murphy say that? If they both thought he was adorable, what did it mean? Could he tell Father Murphy the truth? Perhaps he would be as understanding as Stephen had been. Father Murphy allowed the smallest of smiles to crease his wrinkled visage. Perhaps now they'd begin making progress. *** An hour later, Father Murphy asked Andrew to sit in the outer office while the Father and Alan Wright had a private word together. Murphy closed the door and motioned for Alan to take a seat. "Your son is highly impressionable and easily manipulated," Father Murphy began. "He was an easy target for Stephen Downing's atrocious behavior." Murphy paused, considering the best way to explain what he had learned after talking to Andrew. Alan frowned. "But? There's more, isn't there?" Murphy nodded. "Your son is under the influence of the unclean spirit of homosexuality." Alan bowed his head and sighed. His worst fears were being realized. "Is there anything we can do, Father?" Murphy nodded. "Certainly. Prayer. Fasting. Perhaps other, more extreme measures." Alan looked up. "Such as?" "I hesitate to mention this ..." "Please, Father. We're talking about my son's immortal soul. I'll do whatever is necessary." Murphy retrieved a pamphlet from his desk and handed it to Alan. The picture on the front cover was of a non-descript facility surrounded by high walls and lush greenery. Murphy tapped one finger on the picture and said, "It is simply referred to as the Retreat. It is operated by a Jesuit order known by the Italian name Assemblea di Goretti, in devotion to Sainte Maria Goretti." "I've never heard of her. Who is she?" Alan asked. "She is the patron saint of those who have been sexually abused. This facility is devoted to helping priests who desire purification from sexual addictions and perversions, including homosexuality. Their methods are a bit ... unorthodox. But effective. We might try using the same techniques on your son." Alan slid the pamphlet into his jacket pocket. "I'll consider it, Father. I only want the best for my boy." "As do we all, my son. As do we all." The end of MISUNDERSTOOD, Chapter Five