Scott, what are we going to do with you?" The amused voice in his head was like a nightmare come true.
Scott shifted in his sleep and frowned. He had dreamt of Mr. Sundry before. Horrible, horrible nightmares. He felt cold fingers on his wrist and inhaled sharply. His father usually woke him up before Mr. Sundry could touch him.
Stop screaming, you'll wake the dead.
Of course Jimmy wouldn't know about that. He probably thought Scott was reliving some awful beating from the past. Scott certainly never told him.
"Go away." He murmured.
"Not this time."
Scott opened his eyes and sat up, glaring at Mr. Sundry through a curtain of dark hair. The greenish streaks had faded, leaving a chemical-looking blond in their wake. He liked the effect, but he missed the colors.
"What are you doing here?" He demanded. He looked around for the first time and realized he had no idea where he was. "What's going on?"
Sterile green walls. The lonely beep of a heart monitor. The smell of antiseptic. He was in a hospital. His head hurt.
"What am I doing here?" He growled. Mr. Sundry looked at him sadly. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand resting casually on Scott's leg. Scott wanted to push him off but he was too tired.
"Overdose." Mr. Sundry said. "On cocaine. Scott, what am I going to do with you?" He repeated. Scott pushed his hand away and bent his legs, leaning forward onto his knees.
"You aren't going to do anything with me." He whispered. He breathed in the flowery scent of bleach, his breath heating his face. "Please leave now."
"On the contrary, I've suggested a plan that social services, and your father, seem to like." Scott looked up, eyes wary. "You're going to be staying with me for a little while. How does that sound?"
His heart stopped. He could feel it, in his chest, as every last drop of blood was squeezed before it shriveled between his lungs.
"No." He whispered. "Please don't do this to me. I just want to go home." Mr. Sundry reached out to cradle his cheek. "Please." He begged. "Let me go home."
"Sneaking out." The guidance counselor clucked his tongue affectionately. "Snorting coke. Drinking. Like high school all over again, don't you think?"
"Except this time you don't have a desk you can bend me over." Scott spat, flushing at his boldness. Mr. Sundry laughed.
"I have one of those at home." He sneered. Scott felt his blood freeze in his veins. Gently, Mr. Sundry leaned over and kissed him. "I'll have to be careful with you." He said mildly. "Drug overdoses are a serious thing."
"I want my dad. Please let me see him." Scott pleaded. Mr. Sundry grabbed his upper arm and hauled him to his feet. "No, I don't want to go."
"It's either with me or to jail." Mr. Sundry threatened. "And either way, it'll happen Scott. The question is, me or some skinhead shit in the bunk next to you?" His grip on Scott's upper arm was painfully tight. When he let go, there were white finger prints.
"Okay." Scott said quietly. "Alright, I'll go."
"Good boy." Mr. Sundry handed him a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and his ripped black Vans. He stared unabashedly as Scott changed, his movements stiff and embarrassed. "Let's go."
The nurses didn't seem to notice Mr. Sundry's arm draped around Scott's shoulders. They glared at him as they typed his discharge, just another cokehead getting a get out of jail free card. They emerged from the darkness of the building into an unfairly sunny day.
The entire drive home, Mr. Sundry kept his hand on Scott's knee. There was a little smile on his lips. He even touched the lip ring a few times.
"Your hair is so pretty, Scott." He mused, catching a few strands between his fingers. He pulled tight, pinpricks of pain blooming on his scalp.
"Thanks." Scott muttered.
They pulled up in front of an apartment building, and Mr. Sundry led the way up to his rooms. Once they were inside, he locked the door, grabbed Scott's arms, and kissed him.
His teeth clicked against Scott's, causing him to cry out in pain. Mr. Sundry took the opportunity and shoved his tongue in Scott's mouth.
"You're hurting me." Scott protested, trying to pull away. Mr. Sundry forced him into the room, sitting down on the couch and kissing him again.
"God, you have no idea how long I've waited for this." He murmured. He reached down and grabbed the hem of Scott's shirt. "Lift up your arms." He commanded. Scott looked to the floor and wrapped his arms around himself. "I said lift them up, damn it!" Mr. Sundry yelled. He grabbed Scott's wrists and yanked the thin shirt up and off him, then pushed him back.
"I- I changed my mind." Scott stammered. He tried to stand, but the older man was too strong. He pinned him down with his knee. "Let go. I don't want to."
"Doesn't matter what you want anymore." Mr. Sundry breathed. He lifted his shirt high enough to expose his pale belly, marked with a thin pink scar. "You put something in me that didn't belong. Now, I'm going to return the favor."
He chuckled at the look on Scott's face as he twisted to get out of his grip.
"Stop."
He prayed under his breath. God, give him the strength to change things that he could change.
With a strong upward kick, Scott forced Mr. Sundry off of him and sprawling across the floor. He darted toward the door, but almost instantly, Mr. Sundry tackled him, pinning his hands over his head.
"You belong to me, Scott." He said breathlessly. "We belong together. How can you not see that?" He lowered his head and kissed Scott's neck. It tickled, and he trembled.
Did they belong together? He hadn't thought about it. They had been through a lot, even though they were on opposite teams, so to speak. He paused a moment while Mr. Sundry's hands traveled lower and lower, just to consider the possibility.
He heard the ringing of a belt being undone.
Fuck that.
He slammed his knee up towards Mr. Sundry's groin. He missed his target, but he hit the sensitive skin of his inner thigh and that worked well enough.
Grabbing his shirt, Scott scrambled to unlock the door. He felt Mr. Sundry's nails rake down in his back, and he stifled a cry, sprinting down the hallway. He took the steps two at a time and dodged a woman coming through the front door.
Outside was freezing, and he struggled to get his shirt on while simultaneously running. He could hear footsteps behind him, but he was afraid to look back.
The streets confused him. He was unfamiliar with this particular district. He turned a corner onto a street full of club and kept running until he ran straight into someone leaving a bar, which sent him to the ground.
Bobby.
Scott couldn't believe his good fortune. He was breathing wildly, looking in all directions as Bobby wrapped his arms around his waist and tried to pull him up onto his feet.
"He okay?" Someone asked. Bobby was yelling something in his ear, but he was still looking for Mr. Sundry. "Bobby, man, you gotta take that kid to the hospital. Wait here and I'll get my car."
"No!" Scott shouted. He paused to catch his breath. "No, it's okay. I'm happy to see Bobby. I was looking for him."
"You guys go on." Bobby ordered roughly. His friends raised quizzical eyebrows, but did as he told them. Bobby sat him down on the edge of the street and patted his back. "Alright, calm down. What happened?"
Scott took in a shaky breath, trying to fill his lungs. They felt like they were tightening. He tried to breath again, and it hurt.
"Slow down." Bobby insisted. "It's okay. Just tell me what's wrong?" Scott coughed hoarsely and leaned over.
"I'm gonna be sick." He groaned.
"Okay, okay." Bobby said soothingly. He helped Scott stand up again and guided him into an alley. "Just take your time." He held Scott's hair back while the smaller boy vomited into a trash can. "Tell me what happened. I can't do anything unless I know what happened."
"I want to come back." Scott whispered.
He felt tears sting the corners of his eyes, and he pressed the heels of his palms against them to make them go away. He took a deep, shuddering breath, following Bobby blindly to his car.
"Alright, kiddo, hold on." The car pulled into the road, and Bobby drove him back to Evelyn's house.
The only place Scott considered home.