Date: Sat, 13 Oct 2012 21:09:30 -0400 (EDT) From: Erik Pruett Subject: Please Don't Go - 2 - Young Friends The regular warnings apply. Don't read if it offends you or it's illegal to do so. Hello, hello, hello. If you're reading this then you must not have entirely loathed the first chapter! Or you did, and you're reading on to further compound your hatred for the story. Either way, I'm flattered for your interest. I pretty much wrote this immediately after the first installment, in fact I actually emailed it to Nifty before they even got the first one up, so obviously I've received no feedback as of yet. If you'd like to be the first, feel free to send your thoughts my way: erik.pruett@aol.com is the place to do so. Thanks, enjoy! :] --- The rest of the day passed the way Fridays usually do. Weekend freedom right around the corner, nobody can be bothered to pay much attention in class. I don't really think the teachers even want to be there by seventh period. I spent most of the day dreaming and doodling. Then the final bell rang and vindicated us from the monotony. I rush to my locker, immediately shove all the books I wouldn't need in it and grab my duffle for soccer. I'd left it there by accident fter last night's practice, and if I didn't clean it the smell would be unbearable by Monday. As I turn to make for the bus I nearly run dead into Jaime. "Hey man, are you gonna' need a ride to the party tonight?", he asks excitedly, those emerald green eyes sparkling how they always do. "Uhhh, yeah, I think so", I reply. Asking my Dad for a ride would be about as viable an option as flying there. "Ok, my Mom said she'd give me a ride there. We'll come pick you up at six thirty, if you want. The party doesn't even start till six", he says in rapid, machine gun bursts the way he talks when he's happy. I smile and nod, we bup fists and then I race off to catch the bus. This time I actually get there in time. Good thing, too; it's way to hot a day to walk. In about twenty minutes I'm back home. I see Dad's car in the driveway, so I open the front door as quietly as possible and step softly down the hall toward my room. He's usually out on Fridays, and I'm not interested in doing anything to piss him off if he hasn't even been to the bar yet. As I'm walking down the hall, Dad stumbles out of his room, eyes sunken and bloodshot. I hold my breath, pass without saying a word. I'm nearly to my room, hand on the doorknob when he calls out to me. "You're not even going to say hello, huh?" I take a deep breath, swallow hard. "I'm sorry! I was daydreaming", I reply in a measured tone. He stares me down for a minute, and I don't make eye contact. "You're always sneaking around this place like you're guilty", he spits, "What are you up to, Sasha?" "N-nothing", I reply, mentally scolding myself for stuttering. Dad's eyes narrow. "Liar. You're up to something, and I'll be damned if you're gonna' stand there and lie to me in my own goddamn house." He takes a step forward, I take one backwards. In a second my back is against the wall, and he's breathing in my face. My body starts trembling. "Tell me!", he roars, slamming his open palm into the wall next to me. I jump, involuntarily. My bottom lip shakes, just a little. "J-just going to.. to a friend's house. For a p-party. That's all. Jaime's gonna' come pick me up.. so you don't have to worry", my voice is weak, and way too high. My whole body is betraying me, and it's only making me look more guilty of a crime I haven't commit. "So you made plans to go to a party, didn't so much as ask me, just went right on ahead and made 'em? Guess I'm not the parent, huh?" I don't respond. I can't, my voice is caught somewhere in my throat. I wish more than anything that he'd have been drunk. At least then he'd probably have just ignored me. At least then he could look at me and not see her. "Answer me!", he shouts again. I let out a small yelp. I feel a tear slip down my cheek, and I realize the die is cast. I take a deep breath, brace mysef for everything to come. "I'm s-sorry", is all I can manage to say. He scoffs, and then his fist is crashing into my stomach, drilling me against the wall. He grabs me by the shirt, throws me back up against the wall, hits me again. He's shouting things I can't understand, things I don't want to understand. It's hurts. The ordeal only lasts a minute or two, and I only experience it in clips. He's shouting something. Pain. He's hitting me, my body and arms and face. Pain. I'm crying, harder and harder, begging him to stop. Pain. And then, when I'm crumpled on the ground, pitiful, he stops. He stumbles backward panting. I look up and see an expression on his face, like he's shocked and confused and not all there. He contorts his mouth like he's trying to force words out of it, stops, then shambles briskly out of the house. The door slams behind him, I hear his car tear out of the driveway. Through agony and dizziness, I pull myself into my bedroom, curl up into my mess of blankets, and sob until sleep finally takes me. --- When I wake up, the room is dark. I groan, push my mess of blonde hair from my eyes. The bottom part is matted with blood, my blood, and every part of my body aches. My mouth feels dry. I push myself up a little, cry out when a spike of pain shoots through my ribs, and collapse back onto the bed. Slowly, the disorientation starts to fade. I realize suddenly that I'm not alone. I gasp and fall backward when I see him standing above me next to the bed, staring at me wide-eyed. I open my mouth to say something, but my throat is so dry I just end up coughing, and that only makes my ribs hurt worse. Then he speaks. "Oh my gosh... Sasha!" It's Jaime. "J-jaime... what are you, what are you doing here?", I stumble over the words, not entirely convinced I'm not dreaming. He reaches his hand out, I wince when he touches a bad bruise along my cheek. He pulls back like he's been burned, his expression equal parts confused and horrified. "Jesus Christ! Sasha! What the hell happened to you dude?", he asks in a high pitched, paniced tone. I tremble internally. "N-nothing. Why are you here?" It's all I can do to keep myself together. "T-the party is tonight. I came.. to pick you up." "Oh", I reply. I can't think of anything to say. I realize suddenly that I'm not wearing a shirt or my jeans, and I scramble to cover my body with a blanket. "How the hell did this happen to you?!", he half shouts. I jump, tremble. His eyes get wider, this time with guilt. He takes a step back, then moves back toward me. He extends his hand toward my face, and this time I don't wince or pull away. His fingers find there way into my hair, he moves the rest of it away from my face, gasps slightly when he sees the bruises. He runs a finger along one, and my skin tingles beneath his touch. I can't even breathe. "Sash..." He sits down next to me on the bed. "It's... it's okay. I'm okay", I lie. My voice is cracking, and I just want him gone before my resolve fails. "Just go to the party, okay? I'm probably gonna' just sleep." He looks at me like I just said Hitler did nothing wrong. "What? No way! Dude, I'm not gonna' leave you like this!", he replies. His voice is gentle but resolute. His tone is soft, concerned. And the look in his eyes... I collapse into his lap and the flood gates open up. I start bawling, unrestricted. My shoulders bounce up and down with heavy sobs, I can barely breathe, but he's running his hands through my hair and shushing me, and that feels so good that I actually start crying harder. This goes on for nearly ten minutes. When finally I've stopped crying, he's still whispering to me, telling me it's okay, rubbing m back gently. Some part of me is embarrassed, but all of this is too nice to ruin. Finally he lowers his head down to mine, and quietly asks the question I've been dreading. "Who did this to you?" I sit up despite the pain that doing so causes me. I look at him, but I can't meet his gaze, my eyes drop. I fiddle with my hands for a second, and suddenly I feel humiliated and exposed, in front of the one person I'd never wanted to be seen that way by. "Nobody, okay? Just.. just go! Please just go", I yell, hating myself for snapping. He looks hurt for a second, but his face remains resolved. "I'll go when you tell me who the hell did this to you, dude." "Why? Why do you need to know. You have a party to go to, will you just please fucking get out", I yell again. When I swear his eyes get wide, but still he doesn't falter. "No. You're gonna' tell me who it was, and I'm gonna' kill them", he replies in a steady angry tone. It gives me chills, frustrates me even more. I swing at him, shouting for him to get out. He catches my first arm at the wrist, does the same when I swing with the other. I start to struggle, shouting all manner of ugly language at him, but he's much stronger than me. He twists me around, pulls me into him, wraps his arms around me. He tucks his head into the space between my neck and shoulder so I can't eve headbutt him, then whispers in my ear to calm down. He's pressed up against me, wrapped all around me. His words are in my ears, his breathe is on my neck. His body heat is radiating into me, the lean sinew of his athletic physique unyielding. It's too much. Despite myself, and to my absolute horror and devestation, I moan and tremble. And then I start to cry all over again, this time quietly. "Sasha. Seriously. Tell me who did this. Now." The words come, barely a whisper. "My f-father." "Oh no", he whispers sadly. He holds me, just like that even though I'm not struggling anymore. I'm not even crying. The blankets are gone, and my body is bare and exposed save for my underwear. But the sensation of him against my naked skin, it's electrifying, and depite concentrating ever ounce of myself against it, my erection is harder than it's ever been, straining against the fabric of my underwear for release, and I'm praying he doesn't notice. Prayers that, like so many of my others, go unanswered. "Oh! Uhh... Sash....", he says awkwardly, and even though I already know what he's looking at, I follow his eyes down to my crotch and then gasp. But I'm too exhausted, even to cry.