Date: Fri, 3 Mar 2023 01:00:00 -0800
From: John Henry <niftyjhenry1988@gmail.com>
Subject: Growing Up Ry Chapter 1 (Gay/Incest)

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DISCLAIMER:  This story is a work of fiction, and contains explicit,
sexual content involving adults over the age of 21 and minors under the
age of 18, with scenes of incest involving step-parents/step-children,
and sibilings.  If viewing this material is illegal where you live, OR
you're a minor under the age of 18, please stop reading this.  If you're
not sure about this legatilty, please stop reading until you have looked
into your own, local laws.  Any likeness or similarity between persons,
places, products or concepts are purely coincidental.

This is the third and final book in a trilogy, which starts with my first
book, "Growing Up Kyle" and continues with "Growing Up Charlie."  It is
highly recommended that you read those stories in order before reading
this book.  You can find links to them, and my other stories, on my
Author's page.  If you would like to leave any positive feedback, please
let me know.  Thank you.

Chapter 1


The snow was coming down faster and harder by the minute. It had been
bone chilling cold for several days, while the news threatened of a storm
coming down from Canada. Nobody took it seriously, as there hadn't been a
cloud in the sky for days; however, the brisk, arctic air swept the city
just after sunset, plunging the homeless into a mass panic. With limited
shelters and the police harshly enforcing anti-camping laws, the unhoused
clambered to find respite.


He knew that he couldn't stay in his tent any longer. Things had
changed...and not for the better. At first, he had packed everything,
trying to carry everything through the stiff winds. When that became too
much, he stole a grocery cart and placed his worldly goods in it. Once
the snow began to fall and accumulate, the cart was rendered useless,
forcing a drastic change in plans.


It didn't help that he felt sick to his stomach. He hadn't eaten in about
two days, since he escaped the emergency room. He knew the police would
show up at any moment, and he didn't have the answers they would demand.
Once the police finally caught him, it would be over, and he couldn't
have that, not yet, anyway.


He made a few calls, but nobody was willing to help or they wanted more
than he was willing to give. He vowed to stay sober and not to return to
hooking. He had to keep that promise. A deathbed promise was serious, and
he couldn't disappoint...not again.


Too many people had been disappointed already. He had been gone for over
a year this time. It was too much for him to see the disappointment on
their faces, especially HIS face. Tears froze almost instantly
remembering the last time they spoke face-to-face. Although, at the time,
he was high and on the verge of over-dosing, he could still clearly
remember the look of shame and bitterness on HIS face. It was beyond
agonizing. He knew he had to leave, and so he ran away.


It was an unusually warm night in late October. His first night was spent
sleeping in a park. Well, he didn't really sleep. He had left his pills
at home, so he more or less laid on a bench, listening to a pair of
junkies fighting over everything. His second night was spent at a teen
shelter. He used his best friend's name to get in, knowing that he
couldn't use it forever, but only needing a few nights to make a plan. It
was there that he met his crew.


Milo was the ringleader. He was 17 and too smart for his own good. The
teen was very charismatic and knew how to work people and the system.
Everyone wanted to be his friend, but he only surrounded himself with the
most weak and vulnerable kids he could find.


Kevin was his unofficial second in command. He was Milo's muscle. At 14,
he was the size of most adults. Kevin wasn't stupid, but he was rather
thick and it took him a few minutes to comprehend complex issues. He was
absolutely loyal to Milo and anyone Milo befriended.


Taylor was Kevin's girlfriend. She was also 14, wild and unpredictable.
Her father was a monster who abused her, so she turned to drugs as a
means to cope, which fried her brains. It was presumed that she had a
huge crush on Milo, but didn't dare act on it, in case Kevin found out;
betrayal was not something the young man took lightly.


Then there was Sammy. What a mess, he thought. Sammy was 18, quiet and
reserved, the very opposite of Taylor. She and Milo had gone to school
together since 6th grade and had been friends ever since. It was rumored
that they had dated briefly but decided to be friends instead.


Remembering Sammy shook him from his thoughts and caused him a lot of
pain and he had to stop walking. He found an ally near the bus station.
There were a few sodden boxes and made a quick shelter, putting what few
treasures he still had on him underneath. He stuck his hands in his
pockets and froze. He felt his gear and a small, plastic baggy. His hands
shook but not because of the cold. He thought he had gotten rid of
everything before he went to the hospital, but apparently, he hadn't
checked that particular jacket pocket...Sammy's jacket.


He pulled everything out and stared at it. Large snowflakes landed on his
hand, covering his lighter, spoon and rigging. He wanted to throw it all
down the alley or dump it down the nearest storm drain; however, his
addiction was stronger than his will. Before he knew it, the rubber hose
was tied around his bicep, the spoon in his off hand was starting to glow
red and the melted snow mixed with his "medicine." Unable to control
himself, he drew the liquid into his syringe, before tapping out the air
bubbles and sicking the needle into his arm.  After pulling off the band,
a sigh of relief escaped his mouth as the methadone coursed through his
body. Heroine was bad enough, but he was able to quit that cold turkey;
however, it was Sammy's idea to try methadone. The dumbest and costliest
mistake they could've made.  Shame replaced ecstasy. He began to howl in
anger at what he had done. How could he have been so stupid, so careless,
so juvenile?! He made Sammy a promise, and he had broken it, because he
was too weak to go it alone!


A rustling nearby startled him. He wiped his face and knew what he had to
do. He gathered everything, putting his gear back in his pocket, and
crossed the street. The drug was making concentrating difficult. He felt
tired and sluggish. The deepening snow didn't help, as he was already
having difficulties walking.


The bus driver didn't look thrilled. He had seen countless junkies in his
years and recognized how high the boy was; however, once the driver got
the full breadth of the situation, the he took pity and let the teen on,
anyway.


The other riders avoided him. He was aware that he hadn't bathed in at
least a week and he looked worse than he smelled. He didn't care. It was
warm and dry. A baby began to cry in the back of the bus. He wanted the
baby to shut up so he could sleep, but didn't want to get kicked off for
saying that aloud.


The bus wound its way through the city making its way into the suburbs.
He asked the driver to let him off at a particular stop, fearing that
he'd pass out and miss his stop. The driver acknowledged the request, and
he fell asleep despite the noise.


"Hey kid," the bus driver shouted. "Wake up. There's no sleeping on
the bus."


"What? Sorry."


"This is your stop."


He looked around and could barely see a thing. Winds were kicking up the
fresh powder making it practically impossible to see. It was near
white-out conditions. Thankfully, he only had a few blocks to walk, and
it was pretty much a straight shot.


He gathered his things, thankful to be leaving the complaining crowd.
After the bus left, it took him a minute to get his bearings. The snow
flurry stung his exposed face, hands and eyes. He guessed that he could
only see about a meter ahead of him. His feet were frozen, almost too
numb to walk. He was only wearing a pair of ratty sneakers, having had
his boots stolen while he was in the hospital. He felt his bare feet
slipping and sliding in his shoes, while trying to navigate the sidewalk,
road and any other place the snow looked shallowest.


A few times he slipped and fell, but was able to land on his side,
avoiding crushing his few possessions. The wind cried and howled, making
him feel dizzy. He climbed to his feet, knowing his destination was close
by.  A part of him wanted to give up, to lay down and let hypothermia
take him, but the promise he made Sammy pushed him onward.


The first thing he recognized was the mailbox. It had been replaced when
he was 12. The old one was knocked over and destroyed. He had gotten
drunk and tried backing out of the driveway in fit of rebellion and
couldn't figure out how to put his dad's truck into gear. Everyone was
pissed, but he was too drunk at the time to care. Things had gotten worse
after the funeral, and nobody seemed willing to do anything about it.


The driveway had two cars parked in it, allowing him to use them for
support. The drugs and his freezing limbs were overcoming him. He fell on
his ass and crawled his way to the stoop. He threw himself into the door,
hoping it would be enough to get someone's attention. He had seen a light
on in the kitchen and knew at least someone was home. When it became
clear that nobody heard him, he used what strength he had left to press
the doorbell. The last thing he heard before exhaustion took him was
footsteps.


***


Ry was in the kitchen doing the dishes. He looked out the window,
worried. He remembered his first Christmas with the Bartons nearly a
decade ago. His adopted father, Rick, tried to make everything perfect.
He got the largest tree he could reasonably fit in the house and made
sure Ry and his brothers had every gift they asked for. Luckily for
everyone, Rick ordered out for dinner, as the eldest Barton couldn't cook
to save his life.


Ry was in a wheelchair at the time. The previous Christmas was the worst
of his life. His biological father had pistol-whipped him into a coma.
The man then killed Ry's mother, before taking his own life. The worst
part was that his baby brother had walked in and witnessed the suicide.
Charlie, who was only six-years-old, had come to take Ry home with him.
Instead, they were both sent to the hospital and were inseparable ever
since.


A faint thud came from the door. At first, Ry thought it was the wind
trying to force the door open. He had installed a heavy latch after a
series of break-ins were reported in the neighborhood. Then the doorbell
rang.


"Who the fuck is dumb enough to be out in this shit?" Ry mumbled,
putting down a plate.


He looked out the peephole and could only see white. Even after turning
on the porch light, Ry couldn't see a damned thing. He considered
ignoring it, thinking it was the wind, as well, but something told him to
open the door and check.  Ry opened the door and gasped. "MOM! IT'S
CHARLIE!"


Ry bent down and pulled the half-frozen body of his baby brother into the
house. Ronda came crashing down the stairs, helping Ry drag her youngest
son into the house. Ry closed the door, as Ronda checked Charlie's
vitals.


"He's still breathing," She declared, relief plain in her tone.
"Charlie. Baby. It's Mom. Charlie? Say something, baby."


Charlie groaned, shook and barely opened his eyes before passing back
out. Ry went to the kitchen and started a kettle. He knew that his baby
brother needed warm fluids as soon as possible. When he came back into
the living room, he froze on the spot, as he saw Ronda holding a baby in
her arms.


Ry uttered, "Charlie, what have you done?"


***Coming Soon, Chapter 2***