In a tournament, the fighting stops when you land a point. But in the real world, it's not about scoring points. It's about being a winner or a loser. And there are no losers in this dojo.

"Point, Hawk," announced Bert, raising his arm to waive a red flag.

It was the third day Sensei Lawrence had been away from the dojo. He was on bereavement, they'd been told, attending to the death of a friend of his, one of the original Cobras from back in the day. Sensei Kreese had taken charge of that day's lesson again in his absence, and once more he had the students sparring against each other in full combat.

Hawk had just knocked Mitch on his ass, and the other boy groaned when he had to pick himself back up, rubbing a sore shoulder as he did. It almost wasn't even fair. The only ones in that dojo that would've stood a chance against him were Miguel, Aisha, and maybe Tory. But it didn't matter to Hawk. A fight was a fight, and he was ready to win this one. Mitch was simply easy prey.

Mitch cast him a look of fear as Sensei Kreese called, "Fight!" Hawk took off, practically leaping from the floor to deliver a brutal elbow drive against Mitch's shoulder, sending the other boy spiraling around. Taking advantage of his opponent's dizziness, Hawk knelt down and swept his leg, bringing Mitch back to the floor, where Hawk hit the final blow with a punch to his chest. "Winner, Hawk," declared Bert.

"Better luck next time, Ass-face," Hawk said with a mean smirk at Mitch as he made his way to sit down on the sidelines. That made three straight victories in a row, after he'd already decimated Chubs and Red previously. Hawk felt untouchable. He might've felt that the medal of honor hanging from around his neck under his gi was giving him good luck, but he didn't need luck. Hawk had skills.

The dojo still looked gutted, since a good chunk of the students left to join Miyagi-Do instead. Chris. Nathaniel. And the others. Fucking traitors. They couldn't handle being badasses, they wanted to go and listen to Mr. LaRusso's kumbayah bullshit. That's what Hawk told himself, anyway. It was easier to convince himself of that than to admit the role he had played in driving them away by vandalizing the Miyagi-Do Karate Dojo, which proved to be the final straw for them when Mr. LaRusso had come busting into Cobra Kai demanding to know who'd done it.

Whatever, thought Hawk. No big loss. He'd successfully weeded out the quitters, that was all.

Sensei Lawrence should've been happy about that. But he hadn't been, in the slightest. Sensei Lawrence was completely furious, angrier than Hawk had ever seen him before, yelling at all of them that he never taught them to do anything like that. Hawk had found the line that even Sensei Lawrence wouldn't cross. When he demanded to know who'd done it, Hawk was so put off by his sudden temper, afraid of what he might actually do to him if he found out, that he kept his mouth shut, earning the entire dojo punishment with his silence.

Guilt did catch up to him, and Hawk had thought about confessing his misdeed. He considered approaching Sensei Lawrence, to try and explain why he'd did what he did, and admit his own confusion as to why his teacher would be so upset over it. He still didn't understand Sensei Lawrence's change in stance about showing mercy, but if ever there was a time to learn, that would've been it. But Sensei Kreese had told him to say nothing, that he would take care of it. After that, Sensei Lawrence had abruptly left to be with his friend and hadn't come back since. In the mean time, Sensei Kreese kept his promise and protected Hawk.

From where he stood to the side, observing the students, cross-armed and stern-faced, Sensei Kreese jutted his chin out. "Nichols, on the mat."

"Shit," muttered Nichols under his breath, but he nevertheless stood up and walked over to the center of the mat. He and Hawk gave one another a customary bow, then took their fighting positions. As soon as Sensei Kreese gave the signal, Hawk unleashed a roundhouse kick on his enemy, which Nichols impressively blocked. But, faking him out, Hawk spun around and delivered a hook kick to Nichols's back, sending him stumbling forward. The other student barely caught his footing, just in time to get punched in the side by Hawk's fist.

"Point, Hawk."

Hawk grinned uncannily at his challenger while they circled back to their original positions, taunting him. "Jesus Christ, aren't any of you gonna give me a real fight?" Nichols got into fighting position again, but Hawk could tell this guy was just too intimidated by his fury to be a real threat; he would be too busy trying not to get pummeled to go on the offense.

His assessment proved correct when Sensei Kreese told them to fight. Hawk swept in, grabbing Nichols around his ribs, and tossed him to the ground, much as he did during his fight against Robby during the All-Valley Tournament. But when he dropped down to deliver the finishing blow, Nichols defensively curled up, springing his foot out on reflex and delivering an audible *crack* as the ball of his foot made contact with Hawk's nose, sending him staggering backwards, hands flying to his face. "Holy shit, man, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that!" Nichols apologized, rushing to his feet, but when he approached his opponent, Hawk pushed him away viciously, revealing a bloody mess beginning to pool from his nose onto his upper lip.

Just when Miguel and Aisha got ready to stand up and help, a voice from aside quelled them with a single question. "What are you waiting for?" All the students looked over at Sensei Kreese, who stared at them like he didn't understand what the fuss was about. Glaring at Hawk and Nichols, he told them, "Finish the fight." Nichols appeared uneasy about these orders, and looked to Hawk for a response.

It was Miguel who spoke up first, however, pointing out, "But Sensei, Hawk's bleeding pretty bad, shouldn't we at least check that his nose isn't broken?"

Sensei Kreese gave Miguel an impenetrable stare, but then smiled and shrugged his hands out towards Hawk. "Why don't we let Hawk decide whether or not he should quit?" he suggested with chilly amiableness, his white teeth flashing behind his smile.

Hawk could feel every eye on him in the dojo at that moment, every stare, just as he had that split-second he'd thought Sensei Kreese was going to expose him as the one behind wrecking Miyagi-Do. He felt gawked at, and Hawk hated being gawked at. They were all waiting for him to make a decision. There was only one he could make. "I'm good. I'll finish the fight," he said with a loud sniff. What else was he going to do, be a pussy?

So even though he had white spots clouding his vision, he resumed a fighting stance and glowered at Nichols; the effect was even more pronounced with the blood beginning to trickle down his chin. "Fight!" called Sensei Kreese. Hawk whaled into Nichols, blocking his feeble punch with his arm before delivering a fore-fist thrust against his chest, knocking him down to the floor with the force of his hit.

"Winner, Hawk," declared Bert.

That would teach Nichols a lesson he hopefully wouldn't soon forget.

Nobody was ever going to hurt him again.

Sensei Kreese gave a small nod of approval and then announced, "Alright, let's change it up. Robinson and Diaz, you're up next." While Aisha and Miguel stood up and took their spots, Sensei Kreese motioned for Hawk to come over to him, and his student obliged.

"Let me see," said his instructor, taking Hawk's face roughly into his calloused hands. Sensei Kreese tilted his head back and peered at the damage, using one of his thumbs to apply a bit of pressure to the top of his nose, using the other to wipe some of the blood from his student's upper lip, revealing the scar underneath. "It's not broken, you're alright," he declared methodically, giving one last glance at his nose before glaring into Hawk's eyes sternly. "Remember, pain does not exist in this dojo, does it?"

"No, Sensei," answered Hawk. Sensei Kreese released him, and he then walked back over to sit down on the mat. Tory immediately knelt beside him, holding out a wad of gauze in her hand she'd just retrieved from the first-aid kit.

"Here you go," she said, sitting back down, and gave him a pat on his shoulder. "Good job."

"Thanks." Hawk took the gauze and pressed it against his nostrils like a tourniquet, turning his head up in an effort to stop the blood flow. His nose would undoubtedly be sore for the next couple of days, but it was worth it. Because at least he was a winner. That was all that mattered.

I think you need a healthy dose of inner peace.

As soon as the game ended at Coyote Creek and their Senseis dismissed them, Hawk left. The Red Team all wanted to celebrate their surprise last-minute victory that Stingray had earned them with his sneak attack, but Hawk just wasn't in the mood after his battle with Miguel. He couldn't stand to see that look on his friend's face, the mixture of frustration and disappointment he leveled at him when their eyes met across the woods. He knew Miguel was angry at him for what he'd done, mad that Hawk would fly off the rails like that and not only trash the Miyagi-Do Karate Dojo, but also steal the LaRussos' medal of honor. Maybe he was also mad that Hawk didn't confess to it when all of the Cobras had been punished for the deed, too.

What right did Miguel have to judge him, thought Hawk bitterly as he drove down the highway. Just because Miguel was still pining for Sam (even though he was supposed to be dating Tory now), that was the only reason he would be upset about any of that business with the LaRussos. He'd really let his feelings for a girl come between them? What happened to bros before hos?

And yet, Eli found himself feeling ashamed, because he did value Miguel's opinion. Maybe more than anyone else's. Now his friend thought he was being an asshole. Worse still, he was absolutely right. Eli couldn't deny that.

Not wanting to go home yet, Hawk drove out to the mall to kill some time. The place was pretty packed, and yet he felt more alone there than if he had been in solitude back in his room. Maybe shopping would improve his mood. That used to always help after a particularly bad day at school, going to the mall and picking up the latest issue of a comic book or a new piece of memorabilia of a favorite show, that would help perk Eli up some.

What would Hawk do, though?

After doing a once around, and deciding there were no stores that interested him yet, he went to the food court, the site of his fight with Miyagi-Do, and ordered himself a basket of fries and a Diet Coke. Hawk parked himself at a table, propping his feet on top of it. Mindlessly munching on the fries, he played the battle over and over in his head, still wondering where it had went wrong. He needed to learn from his mistake, so he never lost to them again. Hawk guessed his biggest slip-up was trying to come at Robby from behind again, because that time Keene had been prepared.

A sudden shadow blocking the light in front of him grabbed Hawk's attention, and he looked up from taking a sip from his soda to see one of the mall cops from before frowning down at him. "Feet off the table," said the security guard, tapping on Hawk's sneakers with his baton.

"My bad," replied Hawk with a smug smirk, slowly bringing his legs back down.

The mall cop arched an eyebrow and shook his head. "Just stay out of trouble this time, you little punk. I'll be keeping an eye on you."

"Sure thing, anything for Valley Mall's Finest," quipped Hawk, flashing the guard a peace sign mockingly. As soon as the mall cop turned around to leave, Hawk's smile melted back into a glower, and he flipped his hand around to shoot the one-finger salute at the guard's back.

After finishing his food and tossing the trash away, Eli wandered around the mall aimlessly some more. He stopped by Under Armour and caught a sale on some tees and a hoodie, but that was the extent of his real shopping. It just didn't have the same magic that it used to. He passed by Quarter World; too childish. He walked away from Gamestop; too nerdy. He avoided ThinkGeek altogether; hell no.

Somehow he ended up walking to the front of the comic book store. People of all ages were inside, flipping through graphic novels, combing through boxes and boxes of back issues, there was even a D&D session set up in the back that had drawn quite a crowd. They all looked like they were having fun. And Eli started to remember, he, too, used to have fun in there. It drained him to remember all the times he and Demetri had went there after school, and to know he'd never get to do it again.

Standing there outside the entrance, watching people come and go, Eli felt a sudden profound sadness.

Until he locked eyes with the owner of the shop. As soon as the owner cast a warning glance his way, Hawk scowled and turned on his heel, trudging away. Whatever. What he did he care about any of that nerd shit? That comic book guy had done him a favor by permanently banning him. He had saved Eli from himself, from succumbing to that weak-willed sissy part of him that still wanted to enjoy geeky things.

Hawk wanted to scream at himself whenever he got nostalgic like this. Didn't he remember how bad things used to be? Had he so easily forgotten how pathetic his life had been before Sensei Lawrence showed him he was a sniveling little nerd who needed to embrace the way of the fist? What did Hawk have to do to make that lingering melancholy go away?

He simply needed to get out of the mall. The temptations were too real. If he didn't book it, he might end up leaving with fucking Mystery Science Theater DVDS or some shit. And if he did that, he might as well have just walked right over to Miyagi-Do and handed them his balls in an envelope. He couldn't risk a relapse, better to just remove himself from the attractions.

And do what? Whatever the hell he wanted. Hawk had a fake ID, the choices were practically endless. If he wanted to, he could go find a bar right at that moment and get so shit-faced that even Sensei Lawrence would be impressed. And Hawk almost did. Going back to his car, he thought about asking Siri where the closest bar was, just so he could say later that he'd done it. After all, it wasn't like it was the first time he'd be drinking underage.

But he really didn't want to get drunk right now. What he wanted was to relax.

When was the last time he even felt relaxed?

Instead of asking Siri for directions to a bar, Hawk somehow ended up opening the Instagram app on his phone. His feed was full of photos from the Red Team, who'd celebrated their win at the local Applebee's. Scrolling down, Eli stopped when he came across a picture of Moon. She'd posted a selfie of herself at the beach, looking as happy and carefree as she always did. One never would have suspected she was recovering from a breakup.

She still hadn't blocked him. Hawk had no idea why. A small, hopeful part of Eli wanted it to be because Moon secretly regretted breaking things off, that she still loved him. The more rational part of him knew there was no deeper reason for why she hadn't blocked him, that just wasn't the sort of thing Moon would do to anyone.

Eli's hand ghosted over the crescent moon tattoo on his collarbone. Whenever his thoughts drifted to Moon, it felt like cement had dried in his chest.

Enough of that shit, thought Hawk. Was he really going to get emotional over some chick?

But looking at pictures of Moon did give him an idea for how he could relax. So, tossing his phone aside and turning on his engine, Hawk drove away from the mall, and back towards town.

Eli could remember just a little over a year prior, there had been no marijuana retailers, no legal ones anyway. Now their city was full of them, truly a booming industry. So when the first dispensary tossed him out after not feeling his fake ID, he simply drove a couple blocks over and tried another one. He had no issues getting inside this one, and was greeted by a whole wall lined with more types of cannabis than anyone, besides the most ardent stoner, could imagine or identify, and whole shelves of pot paraphernalia. It was almost overwhelming.

The first thing he did was go over to one of the shelves and snatch a lighter, knowing he'd need one of those. Then he walked across to another shelf to look at the methods by which people could smoke weed: bongs, rigs, vaporizers, bubblers, bowls, some of these things looked so intricate that Eli had no idea how they even worked. He stuck to what he knew, and picked out a glass pipe, like the one he'd used that night in the park with Moon after Valley Fest. Now all he needed was some actual weed.

"Hey, brah, what are you looking for?" asked a budtender, walking from behind a counter to approach Hawk. Eyes flashing up to his mohawk, he added, "Sweet spikes, man!"

"Thanks, G," replied Hawk, still looking at the nearly limitless variety of choices lined up behind the counters. Just what was he looking for here? He had no clue, he was completely in over his head. But he couldn't give off that air, he had to keep his cool; otherwise the employees would figure out he was just a kid and didn't belong there. Confidence was the key, as always. "Maybe you can rec me something. My bitch has been busting my balls lately, and my boss just won't stop reaming my ass over dumb shit, I'm getting it from all ends. If I don't get to relax soon, I'm gonna lose it."

The budtender nodded understandingly. "I hear you. Sounds like you need an indica strain. We got Hash Plant, Shiskaberry, Kosher Kush, Herijuana, Northern Lights. Anything in particular you got a preference for?"

Hawk just stood there for a minute with a blank expression on his face. Just how completely burnt did some stoner have to be to come up with these names? Eli impulsively picked one that at least had a word in it he recognized. "Uh, Kosher Kush, yeah, I'll take some of that."

"Alright, and how much you need?"

What was this, 20 fucking Questions? How arduous did they need to make it in order for someone to just get some weed? Hawk mentally scrambled to remember how the stuff was measured, and recalled hearing at some point, "Just give me an eighth, man."

The budtender nodded and returned behind the counter to retrieve the marijuana. Hawk watched as he packed it and put it, the lighter, and the glass pipe inside a bag by the cash register. "Okay, just gotta see your ID real quick and then we can ring you up." Hawk retrieved his fake ID from his wallet and handed it over. The budtender squinted his eyes at seeing the name, and gave a skeptical back and forth between the ID and Hawk's face. Hawk was worried that maybe he wouldn't fall for it either, and that he was going to have to try for a third time somewhere else.

But the budtender just shrugged and handed him his ID back, taking his money and completing the transaction. Score another win for the Hawk. "Thanks," he said, turning to leave.

"Just be careful with that stuff, Mr. Hawkman," called out the budtender with a sly smile. "It can be pretty potent if you're not used to it." Hawk just scoffed, rolling his eyes as he left the dispensary.

He drove and parked his car at the far end of a Wal-Mart parking lot close to his neighborhood, where he then took out the weed, lighter, and pipe. Remembering how Moon had done it, he packed the marijuana into the glass pipe, then lit it, taking a big hit through the mouthpiece. He didn't expect it to have an almost fruit-like taste, making it more pleasant than whatever type Moon had him smoking that night.

Hawk took another couple hits, taking in big breaths, holding it for a couple seconds before unleashing the smoke back out his mouth; he briefly wondered how long it would take to get the smell of reefer out of his car, but then tossed the thought aside, knowing he could deal with that later. It didn't take long for the body buzz to hit and his muscles to unwind. It felt good. He leaned back his car seat and puffed some more, trying his best not to think about Moon as he did it, with little success.

Moon had called him a bully. Was she wrong? He belittled the new Cobras all the time, called them degrading names, and justified it because that's how Sensei Lawrence had treated him when he first joined Cobra Kai. He took his frustrations out on Miyagi-Do so completely because at least they were an enemy he could actually fight. He could have them serve as convenient proxies for all the people who'd hurt him that he'd never get to have closure from, even if those students weren't the ones who'd done him the initial harm, because at least it was something; Miguel had gotten to beat up Kyler and his gang, Aisha got her revenge on Yasmine, but what did Hawk get? Where was the resolution for his resentment? And he'd turned on his best friend, because it was easy for Hawk to project his insecurities and shame onto him; Demetri saw through Hawk's bullshit, he always did, and he had the audacity to not completely hate himself for being a nerd.

Eli took another big hit from the pipe, blowing the smoke into his car, letting those heavy thoughts weigh down on him.

Moon was right. Hawk was a bully. But so what, thought Hawk? What was his alternative? Should he just go back to normal? Go back to being the sniveling little dweeb with the mousey hair, the dorky clothes, the pussy who would rather lock himself in a bathroom stall and cry than actually stand up for himself? If that was his only choice, then Hawk was fine being a bully.

Because the person Hawk bullied the most was Eli. He, more than anyone else - more than the new Cobras, more than Miyagi-Do, more than Demetri - deserved it. Nothing that Kyler, Brucks, Yasmine, or any of his other bullies had ever said could match the vitriol that Hawk leveled at him on the daily. At least with the others, Eli could escape the abuse, because he didn't live with them; even with the online bullying, he could turn his phone off and get some reprieve. But Eli couldn't escape Hawk, because they were the same person.

Hawk wouldn't tolerate any bit of weakness because that reminded him that he was still Eli, he was still that meek boy beneath the hardcore badass, nothing he did would ever change that, and, sooner or later, everyone was going to figure it out. And, in the mean time, Eli could live with all the self-hatred because, as Hawk, at least he could protect himself from external threats now. He would do anything to keep from being bullied again.

But those stressful thoughts slowly started to leave him as Eli continued smoking, and the pot began to leave him sedated. That budtender was right, this really was some potent stuff. Hawk loved it. He loved it because it let him see the big joke behind all of the shit he'd gone through of late. Him, becoming the bully? All because Eli was a cowardly little shit who was too scared to give up being Hawk? That was so fucking hilarious. Hawk couldn't help but bust out laughing at that.

It was a good thing he'd decided to smoke so close to his home, because if he'd had to drive any farther back than he did, he probably would've crashed the car. Somehow he made it home in one piece, despite how utterly blitzed he was as he practically stumbled through the door.

"Hi, honey," said his mother, setting down a plate at the kitchen table. Hawk laughed a little under his breath, finding her choice of word funny; he certainly was. "Dinner'll be ready in about ten minutes, why don't you go wash up?"

Food sounded so good right then, and Hawk's stomach growled at smelling the aroma of lamb shoulder with sour plums. "Yeah," he responded lethargically. Now he just needed to find his way to the bathroom. But when he tried walking towards the hallway, his feet staggered over themselves, and Eli tripped to the floor. It was the most hysterical thing he'd ever done, how could he not just laugh at himself lying there? God, what a loser.

"Oh my God, are you alright?" asked his mother, running over to help him stand back up. Put off by his self-deprecating chuckling, she immediately sensed something was wrong. Seeing his heavy-lidded eyes and goofy smile, she went into full Mom Mode. "Eli, look at me," she said, taking his face in her hands. Hawk settled his wandering vision on her, oblivious to the look of extreme concern on her features. "Honey, your eyes are red." Catching a whiff of a pungent odor, Ruth leaned forward and sniffed the distinctive stench coming off her son's clothes. "Are you high?!" she asked disbelievingly.

Shaking his head, Hawk chuckled and lied, "Nah." Of course he lied. It was practically second nature to him by now. But he couldn't lie his way out of this one, definitely not in the state he was in. His mom didn't buy it for a second.

"Simon!" called out his mother, leading his father to come in from the living room. She swiftly told him her suspicions, and his dad could confirm that, indeed, their son was high off his mind. "Eli, did you just drive back like this?" demanded his mom, her eyes wide and heated.

"Don't worry about it," he answered sluggishly. His eyelids were getting really heavy now, and his mouth tasted like cotton balls.

That response just set his mother off more. "Are you out of your mind?! Do you realize you could've been killed? What on Earth has been going on with you lately?" she asked, every word anxious and fearful, gripping his shoulders to keep him from simply falling over again. But her words had no effect on him right then, he was too out of it to register the severity of what he'd done. Getting no response, Ruth looked to her husband and asked, "Should we take him to see Doctor Cohen?"

"No, I think he'll be okay," Simon said. "Looks like whatever he took was some kind of relaxer. He just needs to sleep it off. C'mon, son." He wrapped a hand around Eli's shoulder and led him back towards the living room.

Hawk put up some weak resistance, but his muscles were too relaxed to make it much of a fight. "But I'm thirsty," he objected, noticing how dry his mouth had gotten. Yet, a nap sounded good too. But he really was thirsty. He tried to reach back towards the refrigerator, but his dad pulled him away from it.

"Nope, no drinks before bed," his father reminded him, pushing him gently all the way to the sofa. "Take a nap, we'll wake you up in a couple hours to talk about this." Hawk's hazy mind tried to think of another objection. He was thirsty, hungry, and sleepy all at once. Sleep won out, though, as soon as he laid down and his head hit the cushion. He only barely registered his dad tossing a blanket over him before he was out cold.

When Eli groggily cracked open his eyes again later, it was darker out. Someone had turned off the living room lights, but he could see the brightness coming from the kitchen, the shapes of his parents sitting at the table. After a couple minutes, as the effects of the reefer started wearing off, he could make out their voices, too. He was still so relaxed, however, that he didn't move from his spot, but instead quietly listened in as they talked.

"…think we should at least take his TV and laptop away," said his father, sitting crosslegged in his chair, arms crossed. "At least until school starts. Maybe limit his phone use while he's in the house, too." So they were talking about punishment. Well, what did Hawk expect? It was bound to happen sooner or later, that he would get caught in a lie and get grounded for it. Now he just felt ridiculous. He should've come in through his window, not through the front door. What had he been thinking?

Clearly, he hadn't been thinking at all.

"What about his karate lessons?" asked his mother, her arms laid out on the table, wringing her hands. "Should we put those on hold?"

"If we separate him from his friends, he's only going to act out worse," pointed out Simon Moskowitz, pushing his glasses up his nose. At least his dad understood, thought Hawk with relief. He could live without some of his electronics for a while, if he had to. But not without Cobra Kai.

Ruth retorted to her husband, "But he's already getting worse. He's always moody and snappish, and he's lying to us, Simon. Remember, he lied to me directly about starting the fight at the mall. I don't know what's happened to him lately, but whatever it is, it's escalating out of control." So his mother didn't really believe him when he lied about not starting the fight with Miyagi-Do. It was Hawk who had been suckered. She'd set him up, given him the chance to come clean, and he'd failed.

"Something is stressing him out," said his father. "His bed-wetting's got worse again, three times this past week. It only gets this bad when something stress-related's going on. But he won't tell me what."

"Do you think it has to do with his girlfriend breaking off their relationship?" asked his mom. "I know these teen romances come and go, but it was his first, and you know how sensitive he is."

His dad gave a shrug in response. "Maybe. But he was already getting temperamental with us before that. I think it's a bigger problem. I've tried talking about the situation with Rabbi Dershowitz, she recommended a couple child psychology books to check out. But from the sounds of it, she thinks maybe Eli's masking depression with anger."

"Depression?" asked his mother, voice almost cracking on the word. "But things seemed to be going so well for him for a while. I didn't mind the haircut, because I thought it made him happy, and it seemed to give him a boost of confidence. And he's gotten more friends, we always wanted that for him. And he hasn't told us about anymore people picking on him. I don't understand what would be making him sad."

His father shrugged again. "I don't know, either. At least before all of this change, he came to us with his problems, at least they were easy to spot. Now, I have no clue what's going on with him anymore."

An unexpected cry from the kitchen made Eli lift his head from the cushion a little. "Mom?" he whispered, his voice as dry as sandpaper. But neither of his parents heard him, because suddenly his mother was covering her face with her hands, tears falling thick in the ferocity of her open grief as she cried.

"Oh Simon, our boy's so sad," she sobbed, her shoulders shaking even as her husband stood up to try and comfort her. "He's sad, and nothing I do can make things better for him."

Clenching his teeth, Eli squinted his eyes shut and rolled over to face the back of the couch. Guiltily, he covered his ears, blocking out the sounds of lamentation coming from the kitchen. He hadn't meant to make his mother cry, he'd never wanted to do that, and he couldn't listen to the sounds of her misery knowing he was the cause of them. When had he turned into such a shitty son?