Author: Destiny
Email: destiny@lingering-thoughts.com
Rating: PG-13
Category: features a young Michael and Sheriff Valenti
Genre: drama/angst
Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine. I can only borrow them from time to time with the promise to return them.
Summary: After another night of dealing with a drunk Hank, 10 yr old Michael makes his way to the Evans's as he usually did on nights such as this. But this time, he gets caught.
Spoliers: None
Author's Note: This is my first attempt at this so I hope it's not too bad. Thoughts are appreciated, even bad ones. As for the story, I guess I see Valenti as a father figure for more than just Kyle. With this story, and the companion piece 'Fathers and Sons', I'm going to explore that. So thanks for reading in advance and I hope you enjoy it. ********** The soft flicker of light from the television was all that brightened the small living area of the dusty, old trailer. A pair of brown eyes scowled at nothing in particular from their seat on the floor. The boy wasn't at all interested in what was showing on the tv, but his eyes glanced up occasionally as he continued to get bored of his homework. It was a night like any other. Michael had come to expect certain things from day to day. It was Thursday. That meant his foster father, Hank, didn't go into work until 11am tomorrow. And that meant he was going to be sitting in front of that tv until he passed out, or simply got bored with whatever was on. Michael acknowledged the fact that Hank had been on his 6th beer. He watched as Hank brought his hand up for another healthy gulp and continued to watch the screen. At least he isn't paying attention to me, he thought. Over the past year and half that he'd been with Hank, he had learned that it was better to go almost completely unnoticed around the older man. Safer. Michael began to live his life by that rule. He had other reasons, of course. I wonder what he'd do if he knew I was different, Michael often thought to himself. It was an avenue he never wanted to go down. He wasn't sure he'd like the outcome. So he stayed to himself. Some times he just wished he were normal... "Hey! Get me another beer." Hank slurred, causing Michael to jump at the suddenness of the man's voice. His forgotten book slid off his lap onto the floor. Michael didn't hesitate to get up but let his feet drag all the way to the refrigerator. He wasn't exactly happy to do this for him. In fact, he knew he'd find it funny to watch Hank try to walk and get one himself. Maybe he'd fall. Michael was nothing more than a servant, he mused as he opened the fridge. It was a crappy job with no benefits. But that was only one of his many chores. "Do the dishes." Hank snapped, taking the beer from Michael's hands. He frowned. "I have homework." He argued. Not that he really cared to do it. "I said, do the dishes now!" Hank spat, bringing his hand up in a ready to strike manner. Michael's body tensed and he took a step back. That's when he knew to stop arguing. He quickly made his way over to the sink, where a pile of dirty dishes sat. He pulled his tiny stool over so he could easily stand over the tower that had begun to form from plates and glasses. He hated this most of all. More than the laundry. More than cleaning the bathroom. Max and Isabel's parents have a dishwasher, he grumbled to himself. Max and Isabel. They were the only others like him yet completely different. They lived in a different world from him and it often seemed that he was the only one that was aware of that. They had parents. A house. Everything they could ever want or wish for. Michael didn't have those things. He could only dream of them. He sometimes dreamed that he was an Evans's too. He looked back at Hank. He wasn't even a Whitmore. He was just some kid that nobody wanted to give their last name to. He'd only been living this life for four years and already he knew it sucked. He hated Hank. He hated his stupid trailer. And he hated how everyone looked at him because he was different. Not like he, Max, and Isabel were. Different because of where he lived. What he wore. Because he was quiet. His classmates often called him weird because he never spoke in class. He never played during recess like everyone else. But he had Max. And he had Isabel. So he didn't care what other people thought. One day he was going to be big and strong and he'd scare them all away so it'd just be him, Max and Isabel. That was all he needed. The shattering of glass startled him out of his thoughts and he hissed through clenched teeth. His head whipped around just in time to see Hank turn his and burn his eyes into Michael's. Scared, he quickly turned back around and tried desperately to fix the broken glass before Hank made his way over. But he couldn't. He just couldn't do it. Max could've... "What the hell are you doing?" Hank yelled, pulling himself out of his chair. Michael stumbled off his stool and found himself backed into the refrigerator. Soap subs dripped from his hands as he held them up slightly. "It was an accident. It slipped. I didn't mean to break it." Michael spoke with speed. He cursed himself for sounding so afraid. But he was. Even as his face held an expressionless gaze, his mind was screaming in fear. "Dammit." Hank cursed as he picked at broken pieces of glass that lay in the sink. "You good for nothing piece of shit, why does everything you touch get ruined?" Michael said nothing. He fought hard against the slight tremble that threatened his bottom lip. He wouldn't let himself be hurt by Hank's words. Never in front of the older man. Never in front of anyone. "Go to your room. I don't wanna look at you." Hank said, his words burning into Michael, who quickly ran to his room. He wanted so badly to slam the door. But that would give Hank a reason to come back there and he just wanted to be left alone. Alone. He hated that word. He hated its meaning. And he hated the fact that it was always how he felt. His eyes drifted up to his small window. He won't even know I'm gone... It was true. He never did. There had been countless nights where Michael would sneak out and go to Max's window. Each time Max would let him in and get out his sleeping bag for him. He never asked why. Michael knew he had to wonder. Max never pressed him though. Over the short time they'd been together, they'd learned certain things about each other. Max worried. And Michael kept things to himself. There was no use in trying to get him to open up because Michael just couldn't do that. No matter how much he wanted to. They had each made a sacrifice in order to keep their secret safe. Only it seemed that Michael was the only one that actually had to openly lie. But to Max and Isabel. He shouldn't have to lie to them. They just wouldn't understand. But even through those misgivings, Michael knew he would always have that sleeping bag on Max's floor when he needed it. Maybe he didn't need it tonight. But he wanted it. ********** Michael's feet kicked at the ground as he walked down the street. He'd hit the occasional rock but mostly he was just mad and didn't care what he hit. His hands snaked out quickly with each bush he passed and tore pieces off, leaving the broken bits of shrub to fall to the ground. His teeth chattered together as he stalked through the cold night air. It was past ten now. Max would be in bed, probably asleep. His parents gave him and Isabel a bedtime. Michael let a crooked smile grace his angry features. He didn't have a bedtime. As long as he wasn't pissing Hank off, he could go to bed whenever he wanted. He envied Max Evans, though. He never knew what that word meant until his teacher said it in class in a way that intrigued him. So he looked it up. Envy... discontented or resentful longing aroused by another's possessions, qualities, or luck. It was a definition he'd always remember. Of course, he also had to look up discontented, resentful, and arouse but he finally understood. Max had everything Michael wanted but would probably never have. Not as long as he was a resident of Roswell, New Mexico. Michael stopped on a street corner and looked up at the sign. He was still ten blocks away. He had walked this time, his mind too full of thoughts to make his feet move any faster. He usually ran. Michael wanted to get there as fast as possible, not giving anything the chance to stop him. Tonight should've been no different and Michael had been so caught up in his thoughts that he never heard a car door close quietly behind him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and continued to walk to the Evans's house until a hand landed on his arm, gripping it tightly. "Hey, hold it right there." A man's voice said. Michael nearly jumped out of his skin and whirled around, while trying to release himself. His eyes widened at who had attached themselves to him and he tried desperately to rip his arm away from the older man. "Now, just calm down, son. I'm not gonna hurt ya." Michael continued to pull and tug at his arm until he had no energy left and just sunk to the ground. The older man sighed and, while still holding onto Michael's arm, squatted down next to him. Michael's breathing came out in quick, short breaths as he stared at the man. His eyes lingered on the shiny star that was pinned to the man's shirt. 'Roswell, New Mexico Sheriff'. I'm so dead, he thought. He's gonna take me home and then Hank will know I snuck out. "What're you doing out this late all by yourself? Not safe for someone like yourself." Sheriff Valenti said, causing Michael's heart to beat faster. What did he mean by that? Did he know something? "I've got a son your age. In fact, I think he's in some of your classes. You know Kyle, right?" Michael didn't say anything. He did know Kyle, but he didn't like him. That didn't say much, considering he didn't like anyone, but Kyle was one of the popular kids. And the popular kids did not like Michael. "If he was out by himself this time of night, I'd be worried. Does your..." Valenti paused and Michael knew why. He knew the sheriff knew of his situation. "Does Mr. Whitmore know you're out here? I would think he doesn't. What are you doing out here anyway?" Michael didn't answer him. He simply sat there looking at nothing. Valenti sighed. "What do you say we hop in the car and I take you home?" When Michael pulled again at his arm, the sheriff frowned. "Now, you don't have to worry, son. I'll make sure you don't get into too much trouble." Valenti said, then smiled. Michael wasn't buying it. As soon as Hank opened that door and saw Michael with the sheriff, he was as good as dead. Why hadn't he just ran that night like he always did? Why am I always so stupid?! "Come on. Let's get you home." When the sheriff tried to pull Michael up, he didn't budge. An annoyed look appeared on the sheriff's face and Michael finally allowed himself to be lifted off the ground. He was then escorted to the passenger side of the vehicle and got inside. While the sheriff walked around to the driver's side, Michael was half-tempted to run. But he shook his head against it. He'd only get in more trouble when he was caught later. Sheriff Valenti hopped into the driver's seat and started up the vehicle. "Buckle up." He said. Michael rolled his eyes but did as he was told. He then crossed his arms tightly over his chest and breathed out heavily through his nose. The sheriff simply shook his head and started off down the road back to the trailer park. The drive was spent in silence but Michael's head was more than alive with conversation. The night had gone from bad to worse all in a matter of hours. He could never get a break, it seemed. He realized that everything bad that happened to him was all because of one moment and he knew it'd never get better. He promised himself one day that it would though. It had to get better. He made himself believe that even as Valenti took him home to a drunk foster dad who, would no doubt, punish him once the sheriff left. He wanted to laugh at loud at the situation but kept his features placid. Throughout the time he'd been with Hank, there was one thing they could both agree on. And that was making sure no one found out things weren't exactly as they seemed. No teachers ever questioned him. His social worker never caught on. And even the sheriff had no idea. It was quite simple. Hank wanted the check and Michael didn't want to have to leave Max and Isabel again. He couldn't let that happen. Knowing that Hank only wanted the money hurt him but he also had his own agenda. So he dealt with it. And he'd probably deal with it for a long time. At least until he was old enough to be on his own. But until then... it was back to the dirty old trailer he despised so much. He still wanted a house. He'd be in a house right now if he hadn't been so careless. He might even already be asleep on Max's bedroom floor by now. His mouth sagged even farther, if that were possible. At least he didn't have to tell Max and Isabel about this. He knew he'd only get lectured. It just wasn't right. He shouldn't have to listen to another ten-year-old tell him off. He had enough adults doing that. But Max was the sensible one. Michael wasn't. Max was responsible. Michael wasn't. Max was God's gift to every parent. Michael only wanted to be a gift to just one. He stole a glance to his left to look at Valenti as he drove him home. He inwardly snorted. He hated using that word. Hank's trailer wasn't his home. It never would be. He wondered for a moment what it must be like to be the son of the sheriff. He wondered if Kyle ever got punished. If he was the sheriff's son, he'd be sure not to get in any trouble. Or at least, he wouldn't get caught. But he did get caught. He bet Kyle wouldn't get in that much trouble. He had a feeling that Valenti was a grounding you sort of a man. That beat what Hank usually chose by a long shot. Michael's stomach suddenly began to churn. He really didn't want to go back there tonight. ********** The vehicle stopped in front of Hank's trailer and Michael involuntarily tensed up, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he fought another urge to run. He wondered if the sheriff could tell he was afraid. Being afraid only made him angry and he tried his best to look unphased. There was no getting around this. He knew what was going to happen and he just had to accept it. He was caught. The sheriff began to get out of the vehicle and Michael's heart rate skyrocketed. He panicked. "Can't you just let me sneak back in?" He asked in a rush. The sheriff gave him a sympathetic look and one side of his mouth twitched upward. Yeah, right Guerin. "I'm afraid I can't do that, son." If he calls me son one more time... "Come on, it won't be that bad." Yeah, that's what he thinks. Michael let out a sigh, quietly unbuckled his seatbelt, and was soon standing at the door next to Valenti, who knocked a few times before it seemed someone had finally heard him. Hank swung the door open swiftly. "What?" the older man slurred. His eyes first fixated on the sheriff and then on Michael, who shrank away slightly. Hank stood straighter and tried to look composed. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Whitmore. I found Mr. Guerin a little too far away from home. Guess he got lost." Valenti said, chuckling. Michael could tell the sheriff was trying to lighten the situation and even though he silently was thanking him for that, he knew it would do no good. "Guess so. Well I thank ya, Sheriff, for bringing him home safe. These kids today. Gotta keep your eye on them 24/7." Hank told him, holding out his arm and signaling Michael to go inside. Michael looked down at his feet as he quickly made his way past him into the trailer. "I know what you mean. I've got a son Michael's age. He's always doing something to trip me up. But I guess that's what kids do. Gotta keep us on our toes. You have a nice night now." Valenti said, tipping his hat at Hank, who smiled in return and watched the sheriff leave. Once he was gone from sight, Hank closed the door and turned around. Michael was nowhere in sight and he quickly made his way back to his room. The door was shut and apparently Michael had quickly put something up against it to keep the older man out. "You better open this door, you little son of a bitch! Don't think you're gonna get away with bringing the sheriff back here! Now open the door!" Hank yelled. "No!" Michael yelled back. It wasn't long before Hank started to break his way through Michael's feeble barrier that he'd made with his half empty dresser. Michael braced himself on one side of his bed while Hank stood at the other, a thick leather belt in one hand. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay?! I won't do it again!" Hank ignored Michael's fearful apologies and advanced on him. Michael tried to run around him but was caught and cried out as the belt made contact with his lower back. He bit his bottom lip as he was hit a second time... a third time. Tears stung at his eyes, matching the pain the belt had inflicted. He wouldn't cry yet. Not until Hank was gone. The older man shoved Michael on his bed and walked out of the room and sat back down into his old chair in front of the tv. Michael slowly got up from his bed and closed his door quietly. He then went back to his bed and buried his face into his pillow. Then, and only then, had he let the tears escape his eyes and soak the cotton of his pillow case. Through his tears, he made himself a promise right then. He threw away all the of the sheriff's nice gestures. He threw away his smiles. Because when it all came down to it, he was the enemy. Adults were his enemy. And he'd never trust another adult for the rest of his life. The End
Email: destiny@lingering-thoughts.com
Rating: PG-13
Category: features a young Michael and Sheriff Valenti
Genre: drama/angst
Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine. I can only borrow them from time to time with the promise to return them.
Summary: After another night of dealing with a drunk Hank, 10 yr old Michael makes his way to the Evans's as he usually did on nights such as this. But this time, he gets caught.
Spoliers: None
Author's Note: This is my first attempt at this so I hope it's not too bad. Thoughts are appreciated, even bad ones. As for the story, I guess I see Valenti as a father figure for more than just Kyle. With this story, and the companion piece 'Fathers and Sons', I'm going to explore that. So thanks for reading in advance and I hope you enjoy it. ********** The soft flicker of light from the television was all that brightened the small living area of the dusty, old trailer. A pair of brown eyes scowled at nothing in particular from their seat on the floor. The boy wasn't at all interested in what was showing on the tv, but his eyes glanced up occasionally as he continued to get bored of his homework. It was a night like any other. Michael had come to expect certain things from day to day. It was Thursday. That meant his foster father, Hank, didn't go into work until 11am tomorrow. And that meant he was going to be sitting in front of that tv until he passed out, or simply got bored with whatever was on. Michael acknowledged the fact that Hank had been on his 6th beer. He watched as Hank brought his hand up for another healthy gulp and continued to watch the screen. At least he isn't paying attention to me, he thought. Over the past year and half that he'd been with Hank, he had learned that it was better to go almost completely unnoticed around the older man. Safer. Michael began to live his life by that rule. He had other reasons, of course. I wonder what he'd do if he knew I was different, Michael often thought to himself. It was an avenue he never wanted to go down. He wasn't sure he'd like the outcome. So he stayed to himself. Some times he just wished he were normal... "Hey! Get me another beer." Hank slurred, causing Michael to jump at the suddenness of the man's voice. His forgotten book slid off his lap onto the floor. Michael didn't hesitate to get up but let his feet drag all the way to the refrigerator. He wasn't exactly happy to do this for him. In fact, he knew he'd find it funny to watch Hank try to walk and get one himself. Maybe he'd fall. Michael was nothing more than a servant, he mused as he opened the fridge. It was a crappy job with no benefits. But that was only one of his many chores. "Do the dishes." Hank snapped, taking the beer from Michael's hands. He frowned. "I have homework." He argued. Not that he really cared to do it. "I said, do the dishes now!" Hank spat, bringing his hand up in a ready to strike manner. Michael's body tensed and he took a step back. That's when he knew to stop arguing. He quickly made his way over to the sink, where a pile of dirty dishes sat. He pulled his tiny stool over so he could easily stand over the tower that had begun to form from plates and glasses. He hated this most of all. More than the laundry. More than cleaning the bathroom. Max and Isabel's parents have a dishwasher, he grumbled to himself. Max and Isabel. They were the only others like him yet completely different. They lived in a different world from him and it often seemed that he was the only one that was aware of that. They had parents. A house. Everything they could ever want or wish for. Michael didn't have those things. He could only dream of them. He sometimes dreamed that he was an Evans's too. He looked back at Hank. He wasn't even a Whitmore. He was just some kid that nobody wanted to give their last name to. He'd only been living this life for four years and already he knew it sucked. He hated Hank. He hated his stupid trailer. And he hated how everyone looked at him because he was different. Not like he, Max, and Isabel were. Different because of where he lived. What he wore. Because he was quiet. His classmates often called him weird because he never spoke in class. He never played during recess like everyone else. But he had Max. And he had Isabel. So he didn't care what other people thought. One day he was going to be big and strong and he'd scare them all away so it'd just be him, Max and Isabel. That was all he needed. The shattering of glass startled him out of his thoughts and he hissed through clenched teeth. His head whipped around just in time to see Hank turn his and burn his eyes into Michael's. Scared, he quickly turned back around and tried desperately to fix the broken glass before Hank made his way over. But he couldn't. He just couldn't do it. Max could've... "What the hell are you doing?" Hank yelled, pulling himself out of his chair. Michael stumbled off his stool and found himself backed into the refrigerator. Soap subs dripped from his hands as he held them up slightly. "It was an accident. It slipped. I didn't mean to break it." Michael spoke with speed. He cursed himself for sounding so afraid. But he was. Even as his face held an expressionless gaze, his mind was screaming in fear. "Dammit." Hank cursed as he picked at broken pieces of glass that lay in the sink. "You good for nothing piece of shit, why does everything you touch get ruined?" Michael said nothing. He fought hard against the slight tremble that threatened his bottom lip. He wouldn't let himself be hurt by Hank's words. Never in front of the older man. Never in front of anyone. "Go to your room. I don't wanna look at you." Hank said, his words burning into Michael, who quickly ran to his room. He wanted so badly to slam the door. But that would give Hank a reason to come back there and he just wanted to be left alone. Alone. He hated that word. He hated its meaning. And he hated the fact that it was always how he felt. His eyes drifted up to his small window. He won't even know I'm gone... It was true. He never did. There had been countless nights where Michael would sneak out and go to Max's window. Each time Max would let him in and get out his sleeping bag for him. He never asked why. Michael knew he had to wonder. Max never pressed him though. Over the short time they'd been together, they'd learned certain things about each other. Max worried. And Michael kept things to himself. There was no use in trying to get him to open up because Michael just couldn't do that. No matter how much he wanted to. They had each made a sacrifice in order to keep their secret safe. Only it seemed that Michael was the only one that actually had to openly lie. But to Max and Isabel. He shouldn't have to lie to them. They just wouldn't understand. But even through those misgivings, Michael knew he would always have that sleeping bag on Max's floor when he needed it. Maybe he didn't need it tonight. But he wanted it. ********** Michael's feet kicked at the ground as he walked down the street. He'd hit the occasional rock but mostly he was just mad and didn't care what he hit. His hands snaked out quickly with each bush he passed and tore pieces off, leaving the broken bits of shrub to fall to the ground. His teeth chattered together as he stalked through the cold night air. It was past ten now. Max would be in bed, probably asleep. His parents gave him and Isabel a bedtime. Michael let a crooked smile grace his angry features. He didn't have a bedtime. As long as he wasn't pissing Hank off, he could go to bed whenever he wanted. He envied Max Evans, though. He never knew what that word meant until his teacher said it in class in a way that intrigued him. So he looked it up. Envy... discontented or resentful longing aroused by another's possessions, qualities, or luck. It was a definition he'd always remember. Of course, he also had to look up discontented, resentful, and arouse but he finally understood. Max had everything Michael wanted but would probably never have. Not as long as he was a resident of Roswell, New Mexico. Michael stopped on a street corner and looked up at the sign. He was still ten blocks away. He had walked this time, his mind too full of thoughts to make his feet move any faster. He usually ran. Michael wanted to get there as fast as possible, not giving anything the chance to stop him. Tonight should've been no different and Michael had been so caught up in his thoughts that he never heard a car door close quietly behind him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and continued to walk to the Evans's house until a hand landed on his arm, gripping it tightly. "Hey, hold it right there." A man's voice said. Michael nearly jumped out of his skin and whirled around, while trying to release himself. His eyes widened at who had attached themselves to him and he tried desperately to rip his arm away from the older man. "Now, just calm down, son. I'm not gonna hurt ya." Michael continued to pull and tug at his arm until he had no energy left and just sunk to the ground. The older man sighed and, while still holding onto Michael's arm, squatted down next to him. Michael's breathing came out in quick, short breaths as he stared at the man. His eyes lingered on the shiny star that was pinned to the man's shirt. 'Roswell, New Mexico Sheriff'. I'm so dead, he thought. He's gonna take me home and then Hank will know I snuck out. "What're you doing out this late all by yourself? Not safe for someone like yourself." Sheriff Valenti said, causing Michael's heart to beat faster. What did he mean by that? Did he know something? "I've got a son your age. In fact, I think he's in some of your classes. You know Kyle, right?" Michael didn't say anything. He did know Kyle, but he didn't like him. That didn't say much, considering he didn't like anyone, but Kyle was one of the popular kids. And the popular kids did not like Michael. "If he was out by himself this time of night, I'd be worried. Does your..." Valenti paused and Michael knew why. He knew the sheriff knew of his situation. "Does Mr. Whitmore know you're out here? I would think he doesn't. What are you doing out here anyway?" Michael didn't answer him. He simply sat there looking at nothing. Valenti sighed. "What do you say we hop in the car and I take you home?" When Michael pulled again at his arm, the sheriff frowned. "Now, you don't have to worry, son. I'll make sure you don't get into too much trouble." Valenti said, then smiled. Michael wasn't buying it. As soon as Hank opened that door and saw Michael with the sheriff, he was as good as dead. Why hadn't he just ran that night like he always did? Why am I always so stupid?! "Come on. Let's get you home." When the sheriff tried to pull Michael up, he didn't budge. An annoyed look appeared on the sheriff's face and Michael finally allowed himself to be lifted off the ground. He was then escorted to the passenger side of the vehicle and got inside. While the sheriff walked around to the driver's side, Michael was half-tempted to run. But he shook his head against it. He'd only get in more trouble when he was caught later. Sheriff Valenti hopped into the driver's seat and started up the vehicle. "Buckle up." He said. Michael rolled his eyes but did as he was told. He then crossed his arms tightly over his chest and breathed out heavily through his nose. The sheriff simply shook his head and started off down the road back to the trailer park. The drive was spent in silence but Michael's head was more than alive with conversation. The night had gone from bad to worse all in a matter of hours. He could never get a break, it seemed. He realized that everything bad that happened to him was all because of one moment and he knew it'd never get better. He promised himself one day that it would though. It had to get better. He made himself believe that even as Valenti took him home to a drunk foster dad who, would no doubt, punish him once the sheriff left. He wanted to laugh at loud at the situation but kept his features placid. Throughout the time he'd been with Hank, there was one thing they could both agree on. And that was making sure no one found out things weren't exactly as they seemed. No teachers ever questioned him. His social worker never caught on. And even the sheriff had no idea. It was quite simple. Hank wanted the check and Michael didn't want to have to leave Max and Isabel again. He couldn't let that happen. Knowing that Hank only wanted the money hurt him but he also had his own agenda. So he dealt with it. And he'd probably deal with it for a long time. At least until he was old enough to be on his own. But until then... it was back to the dirty old trailer he despised so much. He still wanted a house. He'd be in a house right now if he hadn't been so careless. He might even already be asleep on Max's bedroom floor by now. His mouth sagged even farther, if that were possible. At least he didn't have to tell Max and Isabel about this. He knew he'd only get lectured. It just wasn't right. He shouldn't have to listen to another ten-year-old tell him off. He had enough adults doing that. But Max was the sensible one. Michael wasn't. Max was responsible. Michael wasn't. Max was God's gift to every parent. Michael only wanted to be a gift to just one. He stole a glance to his left to look at Valenti as he drove him home. He inwardly snorted. He hated using that word. Hank's trailer wasn't his home. It never would be. He wondered for a moment what it must be like to be the son of the sheriff. He wondered if Kyle ever got punished. If he was the sheriff's son, he'd be sure not to get in any trouble. Or at least, he wouldn't get caught. But he did get caught. He bet Kyle wouldn't get in that much trouble. He had a feeling that Valenti was a grounding you sort of a man. That beat what Hank usually chose by a long shot. Michael's stomach suddenly began to churn. He really didn't want to go back there tonight. ********** The vehicle stopped in front of Hank's trailer and Michael involuntarily tensed up, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he fought another urge to run. He wondered if the sheriff could tell he was afraid. Being afraid only made him angry and he tried his best to look unphased. There was no getting around this. He knew what was going to happen and he just had to accept it. He was caught. The sheriff began to get out of the vehicle and Michael's heart rate skyrocketed. He panicked. "Can't you just let me sneak back in?" He asked in a rush. The sheriff gave him a sympathetic look and one side of his mouth twitched upward. Yeah, right Guerin. "I'm afraid I can't do that, son." If he calls me son one more time... "Come on, it won't be that bad." Yeah, that's what he thinks. Michael let out a sigh, quietly unbuckled his seatbelt, and was soon standing at the door next to Valenti, who knocked a few times before it seemed someone had finally heard him. Hank swung the door open swiftly. "What?" the older man slurred. His eyes first fixated on the sheriff and then on Michael, who shrank away slightly. Hank stood straighter and tried to look composed. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Whitmore. I found Mr. Guerin a little too far away from home. Guess he got lost." Valenti said, chuckling. Michael could tell the sheriff was trying to lighten the situation and even though he silently was thanking him for that, he knew it would do no good. "Guess so. Well I thank ya, Sheriff, for bringing him home safe. These kids today. Gotta keep your eye on them 24/7." Hank told him, holding out his arm and signaling Michael to go inside. Michael looked down at his feet as he quickly made his way past him into the trailer. "I know what you mean. I've got a son Michael's age. He's always doing something to trip me up. But I guess that's what kids do. Gotta keep us on our toes. You have a nice night now." Valenti said, tipping his hat at Hank, who smiled in return and watched the sheriff leave. Once he was gone from sight, Hank closed the door and turned around. Michael was nowhere in sight and he quickly made his way back to his room. The door was shut and apparently Michael had quickly put something up against it to keep the older man out. "You better open this door, you little son of a bitch! Don't think you're gonna get away with bringing the sheriff back here! Now open the door!" Hank yelled. "No!" Michael yelled back. It wasn't long before Hank started to break his way through Michael's feeble barrier that he'd made with his half empty dresser. Michael braced himself on one side of his bed while Hank stood at the other, a thick leather belt in one hand. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay?! I won't do it again!" Hank ignored Michael's fearful apologies and advanced on him. Michael tried to run around him but was caught and cried out as the belt made contact with his lower back. He bit his bottom lip as he was hit a second time... a third time. Tears stung at his eyes, matching the pain the belt had inflicted. He wouldn't cry yet. Not until Hank was gone. The older man shoved Michael on his bed and walked out of the room and sat back down into his old chair in front of the tv. Michael slowly got up from his bed and closed his door quietly. He then went back to his bed and buried his face into his pillow. Then, and only then, had he let the tears escape his eyes and soak the cotton of his pillow case. Through his tears, he made himself a promise right then. He threw away all the of the sheriff's nice gestures. He threw away his smiles. Because when it all came down to it, he was the enemy. Adults were his enemy. And he'd never trust another adult for the rest of his life. The End