A/N: Ladies and gentlemen, (although, it's probably mostly ladies XD) I'd like to present a chapter that's very near and dear to my heart: It's the first thing I've written after the only case of writer's block I've had in years! Adam and Lawrence got me through it! Yay for that! In fact, I'm going to thank them by actually allow them to get along for another whole chapter…

7: A Reached Out Hand

When Adam complains too much about his life, his mother usually says, and her voice always gets a little sharper edge, that he doesn't know how she grew up.

Adam knows. He knows exactly how she grew up.

He knows what parts of the town she lived in. He knows what she had to do to survive. He knows all of that.

But that doesn't matter. He keeps complaining, and it's not just because he's whiny. It's for the exact same reason as he drove Lawrence out just now.

He'd rather live on the street. He'd rather live in a dumpster. He'd rather be a Jew and live in fucking Germany during World War II.

Anything. Anything is better than here.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The rage, the boiling, burning, a giant beast that's inhabited his body but doesn't fit into it, pressing against his skin, about to explode.

Lawrence is so angry. He's angry in that way he gets more and more over the years, and when he does, he always gets so scared of himself.

He has too many things to take care of to go home like this.

But that's Adam's fault, too. Everything's Adam's fault. He's furious, and that's Adam's fault. If he goes home right now, it's either mom, or Lou's pleading, blue eyes that'll pay the price, and that's Adam's fault, too.

Goddamn Adam. Fucking goddamn Adam.

Lawrence walks faster just to release some of his adrenaline before he gets back home.

Fucking Adam. Fucking Adam who gets all that money. Fucking Adam who doesn't even get how lucky he is.

Fucking Adam, fucking goddamn fucking stupid Adam who walks around in that fucking Sex Pistols-t-shirt and doesn't even show up for half of the classes that Lawrence recycled cans all summer just to get into! Fuck him, fuck him…

Lawrence thought he'd calm down if he walked really fast, but he's wrong. His childish anger increases with every step he takes. He gets home in about half the time it took him and Adam to get to his place.

And Lawrence still hasn't gotten why he's really angry.

Not even when he opens the door to the trailer and sees the faces of the people he has to care about in a way that's not healthy for anyone, and do so for the rest of his life whether he likes it or not, does he realize that he'd give the world to care as little as Adam did.

A cloud of warm air, thick and smelly and sticking to his face, hits Lawrence when he walks through the door. Already there does his mood drop a little further, because he knows what he's going to see before he even looks around.

He'd know it by his gut if it'd never happened before. But as it is, he's seen it so many times.

The air is heavy with cigarette smoke, Lawrence sees it swirling in the lonely ray of light streaming through the window. He can almost taste the smell of evaporated beer, dried sweat, a door that no one's opened since he left for school.

Fucking Adam. And fucking mom. Fuck her.

Lawrence feels nails drawing blood from his palm.

Fuck her. Fuck her.

"Mom."

He can't even call it out. The anger is a stone on his vocal chords, a weight on his limbs.

And of course she doesn't wake up. Of course she doesn't even register the word 'mom.'

Real moms listen to nothing but that word. Real moms have trained themselves into light sleepers, because if their kids need something, they're going to have to get up quickly, they have to be ready to be there for them, give them everything, or just themselves, because that's enough.

This woman gave birth to Lawrence. To Lou, to Daniel.

But the one hand that sticks out from under her covers is not a mother.

Lawrence walks up to Daniel's crib. He's lying in it, of course, but Lawrence's heart retracts in a sudden, sharp ache when he sees that Lou is lying in it, too, her bony arms are wrapped around his neck. Like he's her teddy bear.

Like she has to sleep here, because he's the only comfort she's got.

Lawrence reaches into the crib. Tries to ignore the pressure in his tear ducts.

"Lou," he says softly and touches her cheek. "Lou, wake up."

Lou doesn't react at first. Then, one of her eyes open to a blue slit, before she whines something and buries her face in Daniel's cheek. Lawrence smiles through his sorrow.

"It's okay. You can sleep. I just wanted to tell you that I'm home now."

"Okay," Lou mumbles, and her blue slits close down again.

Lawrence pauses. But he has to ask.

"Did mommy make you anything to eat today?"

Lou yawns. Daniel rolls over in his sleep and reaches his tiny hand out, places it on Lou's shoulder.

His hand is just as scrawny as hers.

"No, she didn't want to," Lou slurs and presses Daniel closer. "But we went out when one of those guys came to see mommy, then we found a hot dog next to a dumpster. We split it, Daniel got the biggest part."

Lawrence feels something warm and burning rising in his throat.

"That's really sweet of you, Lou," he says softly. "But I'm going to let you sleep now."

She hasn't listened to his permission, Lou is asleep before Lawrence even touches her cheek one last time and then straighten up.

Fuck her. Fuck her.

Lawrence feels it in every fiber of his body.

He hates her. He hates her for never becoming a mother.

Almost as much as he hates her for not even having the energy to pretend.

Yes. Lawrence hates her. But he swallows it, he stands there, opens and closes his fists a few times before he's calmed down enough to take a few deep breaths and deal with the situation in a responsible way.

That's what he does. Because he's Lawrence. Lawrence Gordon. And Lawrence Gordon doesn't explode, no matter how close the match get to the tank of gasoline.

Lawrence Gordon takes a few deep breaths, takes care of everything, plays the part of the caretaker and the provider, all those parts no one's ever played in his family and that he has to play to keep them alive.

Even though the steel that holds the gasoline from the match gets thinner every day.

It's almost as thin as his skin by now.

Lawrence opens the door again, leans out. Pretends not to notice that it tastes better out here, that he'd save himself so much trouble if he closed the door behind him and never opened again.

"Wendy!" he calls out.

He knows she's near. Wendy never goes out of hearing distance when Lawrence is away.

Not because he asked her to, but she always sneaks around the trailer, listen carefully. She doesn't go inside if it gets too noisy. Or too quiet.

"Wendy!" Lawrence yells again when she still hasn't showed up. "Would you come here a minute?"

It takes another couple of seconds before Wendy's crow's nest of a hair sticks out from behind the corner. They say hi, and Lawrence hugs her in a way he hopes seems less desperate than he feels, but she knew something is wrong the second she heard his voice. He should've gotten that by now.

"Are they okay?" Wendy asks, and before he can answer, she excuses herself in such a remorseful way that Lawrence's heart aches for her, too. "Should I've checked up on them? I thought about it, but Lou always sleeps this time of day, anyway, so I figured that…"

"Wendy," Lawrence cuts her off softly.

If she only knew how much he owes her.

Wendy shuts up immediately, even though the self-loath doesn't leave her expression. Lawrence puts a hand on her shoulder.

"They're sleeping because mom hasn't given them anything to eat today," Lawrence says, tries to pretend like he actually has the ability to be calm about all this. "But we do have some food, it's just she who's… Would you just wake them up and give them something from the fridge? I have to go and… Talk to someone. Okay?"

Wendy nods.

"Okay."

"Thanks."

"Who are you going to talk to?"

Deep breath. He shouldn't be ashamed.

"Adam."

Wendy's big, brown, Manga-eyes get smaller when she furrows her brows.

"Adam?"

Lawrence waves her hand dismissively.

"I'll tell you when I get back. It's a long story."

Wendy nods. Slowly. She's used to believing everything he says, but her eyebrows don't straighten out.

"Okay. See you later, then."

Lawrence nods, too. He squeezes her shoulder one last time before he walks away, with almost as quick steps as before, but more because of fear than of anger.

The feeling of bones and skin and nothing else in Wendy's shoulder has left a black print on his hand.

There are so many slim shoulders he has to save.

xxxxxxxxxxx

It takes Lawrence a while to find Adam's house again. They all look the same in this part of town.

Polished brass numbers on the doors. Fallen pedals from chestnut flowers dancing across the porches. And the people around them giving Lawrence weird looks.

For a second, Lawrence actually understands why Adam is so angry. How devastating the boredom must be after a while. But then he remembers that all the houses in Lawrence's neighborhood look the same, too, since they barely qualify as houses.

The same dusty tin roofs. The same cracks in the hallway doors.

Maybe every place is the same? Lawrence thinks and steps up on the porch he thinks is Adam's. Maybe we're all split up in groups, and that gets too much for everyone after a while?

But he shrugs that thought off as soon as he knocks on the door.

He'd rather get sick of college than at parenting his mother.

Mary opens the door almost straight away. Lawrence smiles politely and asks if he can see Adam. She nods and leads him through the halls to Adam's room, and Lawrence tries to talk to her like he'd talk to Wendy on the way over there.

He has to bring her down to his level somehow. He feels worthless enough in here as it is.

Lawrence doesn't even knock on Adam's door before he opens it, slams it shut behind him. Adam startles, he's been lying on his bed with his feet on the pillow and his head by the foot, since if there's anything he can do to prove that he doesn't belong in this world, he will. Johnny Rotten's jagged shrieking presses against the windowpanes, and Lawrence walks straight up to the CD-player and turns it off. Turns to Adam, his fists clenched, the wound in his forehead throbs with his heartbeat.

"Give me money."

Adam still doesn't seem to comprehend that Lawrence has voluntarily showed up at his house. His mouth is slightly opened, and eyes are someplace else.

"Excuse me?" he says, almost politely, after a few seconds of silence.

Lawrence pretends not to hear the sarcasm in his voice.

"Give me your money. You don't want them, and I do. I need them, in fact. Give them to me."

Adam sighs, liftss his eyebrows briefly. His slim shoulders rise and fall, and Lawrence waits.

"Okay."

Lawrence exhales.

"Good. Thanks."

He's not going to show his gratitude. They don't have that kind of relationship. Hell, it bothers him that they have one at all.

Adam gets off his bed and walks up to a jar standing on a shelf next to his window. Lawrence hears the crisp rustling, and he gets happier than he's been in a long, long time.

"You know this isn't going to make you happy, right?" Adam says before he turns around.

He didn't pick a very good time to say it. When Lawrence sees the bills in his hand, they seem to be the key to his salvation, and when Adam notices that, he sighs again.

"Lawrence," he says, and Lawrence forces himself to look at him. "Do you know that?"

Lawrence scoffs and looks down on his shoes.

His worn, leaking, two-sizes-too-small-shoes.

"Don't tell me you've bought that," he says and looks up again. "Seriously. That's communist bullshit, the whole 'poor people are happy, too'-thing, it's just the politicians' way to excuse that there still are people who live in car wrecks and recycle cans to get into high school. People aren't happy if they live hand to mouth, or when their little sisters look like one of those native African kids on 'Save the Children'-posters. It would be nice if they were, but they're not. Now, please give me the money."

Adam holds out the bills, but when Lawrence reaches for them with trembling fingers that he tries to ignore, Adam yanks them away again, fixes Lawrence with his gaze.

He looks so serious. Not even angry for a change.

"Lawrence, this is two-hundred bucks," Adam says, in an almost light-hearted way. "It'll buy your family food for a week. It won't get your mom to stop turning tricks."

Lawrence takes a step closer to him. But he's not angry right now, either.

He's excited, euphoric, devastated and split open like a raw wound, his emotions are the blood. Anger doesn't fit in him right now.

"Right now, I just want to buy food for my little sister," barely above a whisper. "So please, just give me the money."

Adam holds out the bills, and Lawrence takes them. He might even catch the hint of a smile before he turns around and starts to leave.

Lou's begging eyes are staring at him. They're carved into the door in front of him.

And Adam is left in his room, sits down on his bed, and his smile grows bigger when he realizes that he's both pissed his parents off, and might not come home with a busted lip tomorrow. Another day's work.

AW! They didn't beat each other up! Now, that's personal development on a high level! ;) Anyway, please review!