BK

He comes up about five minutes later and I can't help but wonder if he's going to still be angry with me. Hell, I'd be angry with me. He doesn't say anything for a moment and I just sit there in the middle of his bed waiting. I watch as he does a few things: gets some clothes off the floor and throws them in his hamper, slips a few papers into his book bag; random things like that and then I start to get bored. Anxious. Fucking tired of waiting.

"I'm here you know."

"I know."

"You're ignoring me."

"I know."

There's a smile in his voice. I'm tempted to get off the bed and go over there and force him against a wall but…no, I can't do that. He would kill me if I jumped on him like that – probably. He stops doing stupid random 'ignoring Brian' things and sits down on the edge of the bed. Or maybe instead of forcing him against a wall I can force him on his back – on his bed. Obviously, that wouldn't work out. He's probably still thinking about giving me the third degree.

"What'd you talk to your mother about?"

So, I talk about his mom instead.

"She's gonna be home late. She has a meeting at work."

So…that means we have the entire house to ourselves?

"How late?"

"She's not sure but…she said my dad would probably be home early."

Oh, great. So we don't. And we have to spend it with that bastard. He speaks again, his voice slightly hopeful.

"But…early for him could be, like, midnight."

"Why would he be home early anyway?"

Justin shrugs and he looks slightly down at the idea of his father coming home period. I scoot over to the edge of the bed. This would be the perfect time to make him feel better with my 'make Justin feel better make out' techniques. Then again, I wouldn't want him to feel as if I was taking advantage of him and…he wouldn't kiss me anyway. He's still probably being anal about hurting my face, though, it seriously wouldn't hurt. Hell, it'd probably make it feel better.

I cautiously place a hand on his shoulder.

"Give me the third degree. It'll make you feel better."

He smiles over at me, worried and down expression immediately gone. See? I'm so fucking good it's not even funny.

"I won't give you the third degree."

"Oh, but why?"

"Because you caved and apologized."

"It's about time that you acknowledged that fact. I didn't get a kiss or anything."

Still smiling, he leans over, his head slightly cocked to the side as if he's going to actually cave in, himself, and kiss me and just as I move forward to do so he pulls back, amused smile on his face. I sigh, exasperated and flop down on my back acting as if what he had done had been excruciatingly irritating. In a way, it is because I want him so fucking bad. He flops down next to me, arm gently resting on my chest and pulling himself against my side.

"Is this ok?"

"I'm fine, Justin."

"Just making sure."

"Why don't you tell anybody?"

I obviously can't tell him to mind his own business. I mean, I'm in his house. Plus, it doesn't seem to be working anyway. "Because I don't." He sighs, heavily, and shifts so that my arm is under his head and his head is just under my chin. The hand on my chest begins to move, fingers stroking up and down. If it had been anyone else I would've thought they were doing it on purpose – just to sexually frustrate me by touching me as much as possible but…this is Justin. And he's…innocent.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't you tell me about your father?"

"Because there's nothing to tell."

"I still would have liked to know that the asshole was, well, being an asshole."

He sighs again, his fingers stop, and he lifts off of me, holding himself up on his side. "Stop talking about me and talk about you. I would have liked to know that…this was going on." We just simply stare at each other for a few moments. Neither of us wavers. He's a stubborn bastard. And, I guess, I am too. I'm the first to blink and look away, heavily sighing, sitting halfway up with both my elbows supporting my weight.

"I'll admit to everything if you kiss me."

JT

He's a clever bastard.

Not that I don't want to kiss him. I very much want to. I've wanted to since the first time I saw him, I guess and ever since we kissed that first time, well, my desire has increased, I'll admit. I stare at him for a moment and then look up at my ceiling, sighing like it's the most horrible offer that's ever been made. He raises an eyebrow as if I'm stupid for not jumping at the opportunity. I smile slightly and sigh, letting him know that I give in.

I would have sooner or later anyway.

"I guess."

He grins triumphantly.

"You act like it's torture."

I smile and shrug.

"Let's get this over with."

He shakes his head, "Am I that bad?"

"No, you're extremely good. I just hate being bribed."

"I know I'm extremely good. And I hate not being kissed by hot blonds that I'm sitting next to on their bed."

I feel my cheeks heat up just slighty but I try and gain my composure by rolling my eyes. "Will you just kiss me already?"

"I said you had to kiss me."

"Oh, fine."

He meets my mouth halfway and he immediately presses his body down on mine, pinning me down on the bed. His hands hold my wrists up next to my head as he all but devours me. A few seconds later his legs are on either side of me, his cock is grinding against mine, and his mouth is on my neck. "Brian!" I know I'm being stupid – actually trying to stop this because, well, I can't deny what my body wants but…I have to. I finally manage to convince my arms to pry out of Brian's hands and push him away, completely breathless. He smiles, satisfied.

"You said kiss – not ravage."

He doesn't say anything.

"Now, spill, Kinney."

I cross my arms over my chest and scoot myself to the very end of the bed so he won't be able to tempt me as easily. He smirks at this but stays put, which, in its self, is very surprising. He leans back against the headboard and, I swear, he could make a profession out of lounging. I bet no one can lounge as good as he can.

"My mother's a frigid bitch and my father beats me. The end."

BK

My answer makes him flinch – it's barely visible but it's there.

He blinks, worries his bottom lip with his teeth, digesting it actually being said.

Out of my mouth.

"How can you do that?"

I raise an eyebrow, "Do what?"

"Act like it's nothing when it's something? Don't you realize that this is a life threatening situation? Your father could kill you! Don't you see that? Do you even care? Don't you know how bad you're fucking yourself over by not asking for help?"

I sigh, shaking me head.

This is why I didn't tell him in the first place.

I look back over at him and am shocked to see that his eyes hold a wet gleam to them. He doesn't have tears in his eyes – he doesn't. I blink, swallow and – shit – I don't know how to deal with these types of things. I watch, absolutely quiet, as he gets off the bed with his hands clenched at his sides and his face frowning over at me. I can tell that he's using everything he can to hold back the tears that want to roll down his cheeks.

"You're an asshole."

I won't let him get to me.

"So I've heard."

It only makes his current emotional status worse.

"You don't care about anyone except your fucking self! You don't give a shit about the fact that maybe someone, me, would actually be miserable if something happened to you! You just don't give a fucking shit."

I do, though, I do.

"You just don't give a fuck!"

I hope no one walks in downstairs. I wouldn't be surprised if someone could hear him across the street. I get up off the bed and take a step towards him. He takes a step back at the same time; he keeps his distance. I step forward again and this time grab him by the wrists and pull him against me. He struggles to get away, yelling at, calling me every name in the book. I wait for him to start punching me in the chest with his fists like the people always do in the movies but he doesn't and I realize it's probably because he doesn't want to hurt me.

"Get off of me!"

I wrap my arms around his shaking body. He's crying freely now, no longer caring if he's crying or not. He continues to try and get out of my grasp but I hold him tighter against me. I hope I don't cut off his blood circulation.

"Justin – Sunshine, calm down."

"Don't 'Oh, calm down, Sunshine' me!"

I wrap my arms tighter and sufficiently get him to stop squirming, but he's still yelling at me through loss of breath and salty tears. I place a hand on the back of his head and bring his face into the crook of his neck. "I'm sorry, Justin. I'm sorry." I don't know how many minutes pass with me whispering "I'm sorry" to him over and over again but he stops yelling and relaxes in my arms, my neck and the color of my shirt probably soaked by now with his tears but…I don't care. I run the hand that's not on the back of his head up and down his back and kiss him lightly on the head.

"Are you alright?"

I think it's pretty safe to say that Justin's not alright.

He pulls back. His eyes are bloodshot. I run a hand through his hair and let him take a small step back; I give him his space. He doesn't answer me for a few minutes. I watch as he tries to work an answer in his head and, when he finally looks back at me, he doesn't say anything. He just looks sad and…hurt. Hurt that I don't tell him shit and hurt that I don't care about what he feels about all of this except – I do care.

"Justin – you're wrong."

He doesn't say a word – only blinks over his red eyes.

"No matter what you think, how you feel-I do care about how you feel. You know I don't make a big deal out of things. You know that I don't like to make a big deal out of things,"

"But this is something you should make a big deal out of! Don't you see that?"

I inwardly sigh in relief when he doesn't yell.

It's a cross between whimpering and normal speaking.

"Can you please calm down?"

"How can you expect me to calm down about something like this?"

"Can't you see that I'm alright?"

He shakes his head and I know he's looking at the bruises on my face. It's been worse, though, believe me. Surprisingly, it's gotten better since we moved. It might be because I'm out more or, maybe, my dad's just been getting drunk a lot more now, which makes it hard for him to actually walk so he can't walk to my room and come attack me. I take a step forward, tell him this, tell him to relax. He shakes his head one last time, sniffling.

"I won't talk about it anymore – but I can't promise that I won't worry."