Mark stood in the doorway of his bedroom holding the clothes he had put in the dryer. Across the room, Brady was lying on the bed, his eyes closed and his arms and legs stretched out in all directions. Mark smiled and tossed the clothes on the recliner then knelt on the end of the bed and crawled toward Brady.

Feeling the bed moving, and sensing he was being watched, Brady opened his eyes to see Mark staring down at him. Mark's arms were on either side of him, just below his armpits. His grin was so large and looked so mischievous that Brady couldn't help but giggle. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" replied Mark, still smiling.

Brady thought for a second, his smile stretching his cheeks, "It looks like you're getting ready to eat me..."

"So what if I am?" asked Mark as his elbows began to bend and his body slowly lowered.

"I dunno," shrugged Brady. "Is that what you're trying to do?"

Mark didn't answer. Instead, he lowered himself down and let his body go limp over Brady's. Placing his face between Brady's head and left shoulder, he took a deep breath and exhaled with a sigh. "Maybe I should eat you," he said after a long silence. "You smell yummy."

Something inside of Brady fluttered, and for a moment he had forgotten how to breathe. Temporarily in a panic, his muscles tensed and his arms jumped up from the bed. He wrapped them around Mark's back and squeezed him close to allow his warmth to comfort him.

"Are you okay?" asked Mark, raising his head and looking into Brady's eyes.

"Yeah," was all Brady could say.

Mark peered down at him in partial confusion. Brady's eyes looked watery, like he was about to cry, but the smile on his face was sending mixed signals. "I'm confused," said Mark.

Sliding his right hand up Mark's back, Brady lifted his head from the pillow as his hand found the back of Mark's neck, and he pulled him closer. Their eyes closed, and their lips met, just as the front door opened.

"Shit!" said Mark, jumping off of Brady. "The world is against us!"

The sound of footsteps echoed throughout the house, followed by two loud bangs as James kicked off his shoes and ran into the living room. Brady jumped up from the bed and rushed toward the recliner to collect his clothes and put them on as quickly as he could manage. Just as Mark rolled off of the bed, a loud thud was heard from the front hallway then stomping feet running up the stairs.

"Quick!" urged Mark, rushing to the chair and grabbing his own clothes. "Someone's coming!"

The front door opened again and more footsteps could be heard in the entrance. The thumping from the stairs was now in the hallway, and approaching quickly. Not sure what else to do, Brady dropped to the floor with his shorts halfway up his legs and his shirt still in his hands he attempted to slide under the bed. Mark turned around with his clothes tightly wrapped in a ball and jumped back onto his bed, quickly pulling the covers over himself, just as three quiet knocks tapped on the door.

"Mark? Are you in there?" whispered James from the other side of the closed door.

"Yeah. What do you want?" asked Mark, trying not to sound too rude.

James opened the door, just a crack, and peeked in. "I put Brady's shoes back where they were," he said, as his eyes panned the room. "Where is he?"

Raising his head over the side of the bed, Brady waved at James. "I'm right here," he said quietly, trying to get his shirt on without James seeing.

"What are you doing on the floor?" asked James, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh.... Mark pushed me off the bed. We were play-fighting."

James smiled. "Oh, okay," he said with a slight giggle. "My mum wants to know if you're staying for supper."

"No, I can't," replied Brady. "I told my mom I'd be home."

With a grin, James turned back around to face the hall. "Okay," he said and ran back down the hall, letting the door slam behind him.

Mark sat up in his bed and tossed the blankets toward his ankles. "Holy crap that was freaky! Do you think he knows?"

"He knows something," said Brady, sliding on his shirt. "He hid my shoes for us."

"We're screwed!" Mark grabbed his clothes and stood up. "He's gonna say something, I know it!"

"No he's not," said Brady. "Otherwise, why would he hide my shoes for me?"

"Because he wants something. He's gonna use it against us. I'll bet my life on it."

Sitting down on the bed, Brady looked up at Mark. "Calm down. If he was gonna tell he would have done it already."

"You've obviously never had a little brother. They never do anything for no reason. Even if they do, at the time."

"Well... Maybe he just likes me?"

Mark rolled his eyes and smiled. "Well, he can't have you."

"Sometimes sacrifices must be made," Brady teased.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" asked Mark, sounding offended. "Are you saying you're into my little brother?"

With a chuckle, Brady stood up. "I should probably get home and see if my mom needs help with supper."

"Yeah, right. I've seen you in the kitchen."

"Shut up. I was talking about preparing, not actual cooking. Are you gonna ask your parents about the backyard camping?"

"Of course. Are you gonna dig out your tent?"

"Hmmm, not until you get your parents' permission."

"So, in other words, you're gonna go home and play your game until it's time to eat, and leave me with all the grunt work, huh?"

"No." Brady walked toward the door. "If you are allowed, it'll take me forever to find the tent and clean it up. You've got the easy part."

Mark followed Brady to the door. "Yeah right," he said, grabbing Brady's hand and turning him back around. "Are you coming back later?"

"Sure. We still have some movies to watch, don't we?"

"Yeah... movies." Mark grinned and pulled Brady closer. "Please come back," he said through pleading eyes and then placed a quick kiss on Brady's lips. "You'll get more if you come back."

Brady stepped toward the door. "Deal."

Just before Brady could turn to open the door, Mark grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back to give him a hug. "Deal," Mark whispered into Brady's ear.

Tilting his head, Mark pressed his lips to Brady's, while sliding his hand behind his head. Brady wrapped his arms around Mark and pulled him closer as their lips parted and the bedroom door opened.

"What the hell!?" shouted Peter, as the two boys turned their heads to face him.

Peter lunged forward, grabbing both boys by the arm, and pulled them apart as quickly as he could manage. "Bloody queers!" he shouted even louder.

Stumbling backward, Brady lost his balance and fell to the floor, bumping his head against the wall, as he saw Mark being forced toward the recliner. Peter was shouting something that he couldn't make out, but the look on Mark's face was all that mattered. His eyes were red and streaming tears. Brady jumped back up to his feet and instinctively tried to help Mark, but Peter whipped himself around in protest.

"You get out of this house!" he said in almost a growl.

Brady tried to look up at Peter but couldn't make eye-contact. "But..."

"OUT!" demanded Peter. "And don't you EVER come back!"

Something inside of Brady felt as if it had just shattered into a thousand pieces, and was now shredding every last inch of his insides. Mark wasn't speaking. He didn't even try to. He just stood there, next to the chair, staring at the floor. Brady could feel his breath catching in his throat; even if he could think of something to say, his body wouldn't allow it. So instead, he dropped his gaze to the floor, turned around, and left.

Before his mind could register what he was doing, Brady was already standing at the front door of his house. In the corner of his eye he could see his mother's car in the driveway, which made him stop in his tracks to try and suppress his emotions. He breathed in deeply and exhaled a quivering breath. His hands were trembling and his heart was pounding. He knew that if he went inside in his current state his mother would know that something was wrong.

Attempting to dry the tears from his cheeks, Brady rubbed his palms against his face. His eyes were burning and his cheeks felt dry and sore, and as he reached his hand toward the door, something stopped him. "No," he thought to himself, and turned around. "Fuck it!" he said out loud, in a rough and scratchy voice.

Anger consumed his thoughts. He could feel his right foot kick against the wall of the house, but he couldn't recall his mind's command to do so. Turning around, Brady jumped from the front steps and onto the driveway. His thoughts seemed clouded, and his body felt as if it was controlling itself.

The driveway had disappeared and the sidewalk below his feet appeared as a blur. He could feel the air moving past his face and dry his cheeks as he ran faster and faster toward an unknown destination.

In the distance, he could hear a dog barking and a man yelling. Beyond that, laughter could be heard, accompanied by the scent of blooming flowers. Suddenly, Brady stopped. He couldn't run anymore. In fact, he could barely breathe. Below his feet he could feel the softness of grass. It was like he was standing in a field of pillows. And with that thought, he collapsed to the ground.

His entire body ached and throbbed, and his heart seemed to have lost its rhythm, like it was skipping a beat at random intervals. A sheen of sweat had coated his skin, causing the grass to stick to him; their tips were prickly and felt like they were stabbing into his flesh, but he didn't care. He couldn't move and had no desire to, either. He deserved it. He wasn't worthy of comfort. He was disgusting, repulsive even. He didn't even deserve to live, so why would he care if he was in pain?

The world seemed dark. Brady had lost track of how long he had been lying in the grass, but it didn't really matter anyway. He was just going to stay there until he died; how long that takes is irrelevant.

Just then Brady sensed a shadow cast itself over him. "What the fuck are you doing, faggot?" asked the voice of Riley.

'Of course,' thought Brady when he heard his voice, 'he's always here.' For the first time ever he was actually pleased to hear him; Riley would, undoubtedly, help speed things up.

Brady opened his eyes and sat up. "What's it look like?" he replied as crudely as he could manage.

"Looks like you're fucking the Earth," said Riley, who then laughed at his own joke. "Where's your boyfriend?"

Brady shrugged, not bothering to retort.

Riley laughed again, "You two have a fight?" He then looked over to Allan and Jerry and pointed down at Brady. "Look at him. He's crying."

The two laughed on queue and in unison, as Brady looked away from them to stare at the ground. "Fuck you."

"What?!" asked Riley in disbelief and looked over to Allan. "Did he just say that?"

Allan nodded his head. "I think he's challenging you, man."

Riley grinned and clenched his fists. "You know what? I think you're right."

Firmly planting his left foot against the ground, Riley brought back his right and swung it forward. His heavy boot pushed into Brady's stomach so hard that Brady fell back and rolled onto his stomach.

Nausea instantaneously overwhelmed him, and Brady, while climbing onto his hands and knees, threw-up on the grass between his hands.

"Holy shit, Riley!" shouted Jerry in astonishment. "That's fuckin' nuts, dude! Look at 'em!"

Riley's grin stretched with pride, and he stepped toward Brady. "Want some more, faggot?" he asked, crouching over Brady.

Brady spit, attempting to remove the taste of vomit from his mouth, and turned his head to look up at Riley. "Fuck you," he said again, this time forcing himself to smile.

"Shit..." whispered Allan in disbelief. "This kid's fucked up."

"Excuse me -- what?" said Riley, grabbing Brady by the hair. "Say that again," he dared.

Instead of repeating himself, Brady spit in Riley's face and then forced a smile while bracing himself for more. Riley didn't hesitate for even a second and drew back his arm, smashing his fist as hard as he could manage against Brady's cheek. The blow had struck Brady so suddenly that his body was unable register the pain immediately. Instead the force resulted in numbness; until, of course, Brady's body hit the ground. Initially, Brady heard nothing more than a ringing in his ears, but soon after, a pulsating sting surged from his cheekbone to the tips of every nerve that extended all the way down to his shoulders.

It was then that Brady noticed he had fallen right back down into his own puke; however, its smell went unnoticed, as his nose had begun to bleed. Through blurred and teary eyes, Brady attempted push himself up to his knees. Wiping his eyes with the back of his forearm, he froze and stared at his blood as it dripped from nostrils and became diluted in the paleness of the vomit.

"Oh God, that's disgusting!" shouted Jerry, backing away from Brady.

Realizing he was unable to force himself back up, Brady allowed his body to fall limp. The feel of wet slime against his face was disgustingly warm, but instead of rolling away in revolt, he began to laugh. For some reason he was reminded of Mark's sloppy onion and bologna sandwich, and, given current circumstances, he was more than grateful that he had refused to eat one.

"What -- the -- fuck?" said Riley, staring down at Brady.

Jerry leaned to his left to try and make sense of what was happening. "Dude, man, he's lost it. Seriously. He's fucked."

Riley nodded and took a few steps away from Brady. "He's mental," he stated. "He's fuckin' crazy."

"NO HE ISN'T!"

Turning his head toward the sudden shouting, Riley felt something crash against his face. The sudden force caused him to stumble back and almost fall over, but he managed to regain his balance. He looked up again, his cheek now throbbing, to see Mark standing in front of him, screaming something that he couldn't understand. Before he could react, Mark was punching him repeatedly, blindly swinging his fists in all directions.

"Get away from him!" shouted Mark. "Fuck off!"

Riley chuckled and stepped away from Mark as Allan and Jerry grabbed him. "Fook oph!" he said in a mock-accent. "Hold him for a sec!" Riley stepped toward Brady and kicked him in the side.

"Leave him alone!" screamed Mark, watching helplessly as Brady rolled onto his side.

"Or what?" asked Riley, smirking, as he approached Mark. "You want to take his place?"

Riley moved his right elbow back and thrust his fist into Mark's gut, punching him so hard that Allan and Jerry had to step back in order to maintain their hold on the boy as he gasped for air.

"Let him go," said Brady as he tried to climb to his feet.

Riley rolled his eyes and turned back around to face Brady. "Jesus Christ. Who's saving who here?"

Brady pushed himself up onto his knees and wiped his forearm across his face to remove the vomit. "Seriously, let him go. Kick my ass. He's got nothing to do with this."

"To do with what?" asked Riley. "He's the one that attacked me!"

Finally standing up, Brady smeared the puke on his forearm against his shirt. "Yeah, but he thought he was helping." Brady stared into Mark's eyes, "Go home, Mark."

"Fuck that!" yelled Riley. "That faggot hit me!" Riley moved toward Mark and punched him in the face, splitting Mark's lower-lip open.

Mark's head bounced backward and his body went instantly limp, but Riley didn't stop there. He clenched his fists even tighter and began to hit Mark repeatedly. Brady jumped forward and grabbed Riley's wrist in mid-swing. "Stop!" demanded Brady, glaring directly into his eyes.

Riley shifted his weight, his left arm swinging toward Brady's head, and punched him square in the jaw. Brady stumbled back, almost falling over. His ears were ringing and his face was burning, but it didn't matter. Seemingly unaffected by the blow, Brady threw his weight right back at Riley. He wrapped his arms around his torso, and forced him down to the ground.

The thud of their weight hitting the grass seemed to echo throughout the park. Brady, however, didn't wait to recover. Instead, he rolled off of Riley and jumped up to his feet, as his body instinctively assumed a ready stance. Riley panicked and rolled away from Brady's shadow, right across the puke-covered grass.

Both Allan and Jerry began to laugh and pointed down at what Riley's shirt. "Dude!" chuckled Allan. "That's fuckin' nasty!"

Riley snapped his head to the side, glaring at Allan in anger. His stare immediately caused both goons to stop laughing and, as if by receiving some kind of telepathic command, charged at Brady. Seeing Allan's approach, Brady reached forward and grabbed his wrist, flipping the boy over onto his back. While doing so, Jerry was able to catch Brady off guard and delivered a sharp, piercing jab to his lower-back. Brady involuntarily grunted and then spun around on his left foot, while his right raised into the air and fell back down toward Jerry's head and hooked his leg around the thug's neck. Jerry screamed and tried to back away, but the force of Brady's leg caused him to fall down next to Allan on the grass.

"Hey! You! Stop it!" shouted a distant, high-pitched voice. "I'm calling the police!"

Riley jumped up to his feet and stared toward the voice to see a woman running in behind a stroller. Briefly looking at Jerry and Allan lying on the grass, he turned and ran toward the parking lot. Seeing this, Jerry shouted at him and gave Allan a nudge to get his attention. "That bitch is ditchin' us, man!" he said while climbing to his feet.

Allan rolled onto his side and rubbed his hand against his back. "Fuck'em then."

Ignoring the woman's continuous yelling, Brady walked over to Mark, who was silently kneeling in the grass. "Are you okay?"

Mark glanced up at Brady and nodded. "You think that lady really called the cops?"

Brady turned his head to look at the approaching woman. "Nah. Besides, we were only defending ourselves anyway."

Mark nodded again then looked back up at Brady. "You look disgusting, dude."

"Gee, thanks," chuckled Brady as he stared down at himself to assess the damage. "Are you hurt?"

"Yup," said Mark with another nod. "You?"

"Uh-huh."

"Your nose is bleeding," commented Mark, as he watched Brady stretch his shirt out, away from his body.

"Yeah... and your lip is bleeding."

Mark reached for lower-lip and carefully touched it with his index finger, which caused him to wince in pain. "Yeah, I can tell."

"Are you boys okay?" asked the woman as she finally approached. "Should I call an ambulance? Your parents?"

Mark looked down at the grass and rolled his eyes. The thought of going back home to his parents seemed even worse now than it had before. "No, Miss. We're fine, thanks."

"Are you sure? I can drive you home if you like."

Mark shook his head and climbed to his feet, hoping to demonstrate that he really was all right. "We're fine, Miss. Honest. Thanks for scaring them off."

Noticing Allan and Jerry attempting to quietly walk away, the woman turned herself and the stroller around, while flipping open her cellphone. "Hey you two!" she shouted, causing both boys to turn their heads toward the lady, who then snapped a photo. "If I ever see you two around here again, I'm sending this to the police!" she warned and then turned back to face Brady and Mark. "Are you two sure you're okay?"

"Yes, Ma'am," said Brady as he tried to clean his arms with his soiled shirt.

"Maybe you two should go get yourselves cleaned up," suggested the woman. "But if you decide to press charges on those monsters, I live at 15 Archibald Street, near the post office. I saw the whole thing, so if you need a witness, you know where to find me."

Mark was trying not to smile and had to force himself to stare at the ground as he nodded. "Yes, Miss. Thanks again," he said, backing away from the woman and her sleeping baby and back toward the path.

After saying thanks one more time, Brady limped toward the path to catch up with Mark. "Think I pulled every muscle in my leg when I did that back there."

Mark smiled briefly but couldn't maintain it, due to the sharp pain in his lip. "Where's that fountain?" he asked. "I think I should run some water on this."

"Uh... it's back there, near the parking lot. Let's just keep going this way, though. There's a washroom on the other side of those trees," suggested Brady, pointing toward a cluster of tall elms.

As the block-like structure came into view, Brady grabbed the bottom of his shirt and carefully pulled it up and over his head then crushed it into a ball. "God this stinks," he said, referring to the series of current events as well as his shirt. "So.. what are you doing here anyway?"

Mark reached for the door and pulled it open, then looked over at Brady's bare chest and stomach. "I uh... I was running away," he admitted.

"So -- you came to the park?" replied Brady as he followed Mark into the washroom. "I haven't done that since I was eight."

Mark snickered and shook his head. "No, I was going to go to the train station or something, but then I saw you running down the street."

"Oh." Approaching the sink, Brady dropped his shirt in the basin and twisted the tap. "So you thought I was running away, too?"

"No -- I was just..." Mark stood in front of another sink and turned on the water, "I was gonna see if you wanted to come with me."

"Oh."

"Oh? That's it?" asked Mark, fearing that Brady wasn't interested in the least.

"No. It's not that; it's just -- I don't know. Where will we go? How will we live?"

Mark, who had been rinsing his hands in the sink, leaned forward and slid his hands through his hair while supporting himself up with his elbows. "I don't know. Didn't think that far yet," he admitted through a growing sheepish-grin.

"So you don't really have a plan?"

"Nope."

"No money? Change of clothes?"

"Nope."

Brady cupped his hands underneath the flowing water and splashed it in his face, feeling his skin immediately begin to burn and sting. "So what were you gonna do? Hitchhike outta here and just leave me here?"

"Course not," said Mark. "I just wasn't thinking straight at first, that's all."

Suddenly, Brady grinned and began to laugh. "Well there's your problem. You're still trying to think straight."

Mark laughed and was about to deliver a playful punch to Brady's shoulder, when he noticed the dark purple bruises already forming on his back and stomach. "Jesus, Brady. Check out your gut, mate. Are you sure you're okay?"

Brady looked down at the bruises. "Shit. Is that all?" he said, surprising Mark. "They feel like they should be ten times the size," he added.

"Do you think we should get you to a doctor?"

"Nah," said Brady, reaching for his shirt in the sink. "It's fine. Just a bit sore, that's all."

Mark poked at his lip. "I know the feeling."

"So, you're seriously gonna run away?" asked Brady, and as he began to wring out the excess water in his shirt his heart begin to race as the thought began to sink in.

"Well I'm not staying at home anymore; that's for sure."

"But... do you have any money at home?"

"Ummm, a bit. Why?"

"Because we're going to need some if we're actually serious about doing this."

Mark smiled and turned toward Brady. "You mean, you're gonna come?"

"Well -- I can't just let you run off by yourself," he explained. "But we're going to need some stuff. What time is it?"

Mark shrugged, lifting his arms to reveal bare wrists. "No watch. Why? What are you thinking?"

After rinsing the remainder of blood off of his upper-lip, Brady turned to face Mark. "I'm thinking... we should go camping."