Evelyn and Jerry were at work. Angel had gone out with some friends, celebrating a one-month anniversary with his new girlfriend, a pretty Latina named Sofia. Jack was out with Brandon.
Scott had been living with the Mercers for nearly a week now. He was sitting in the living room, watching a hockey game with Bobby.
"My team is the ones with the black leaves on the back." Bobby explained, pointing to the screen with the neck of his beer bottle. Scott rolled his eyes.
"I know who your team is." He snickered. "I hope they lose." He laughed when Bobby jumped on him, growling.
"Brat." He grumbled.
Suddenly they were much too close. Scott's breath hitched in his throat, and Bobby leaned down and slowly kissed him.
It wasn't like Mr. Sundry, which hurt a lot and made him feel dirty. It wasn't like Brandon either, which had been awkward and unplanned. It was a little bit like kissing Marley, only Bobby didn't taste like beer pretzels and spit. Kissing the two of them felt normal and safe.
Bobby was surprising himself, kissing his foster brother. His fifteen year old foster brother. He tried to stop himself, honestly, but he could not help it. Scott was so small. It was like holding a girl, with his long hair and narrow chest. He hadn't meant to make him uncomfortable, but of course fingers on his stomach was reminiscent of Mr. Sundry and he pushed Bobby off.
"Sorry." Bobby muttered. Scott wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and brought his knees to his chest. "It was an accident."
"No, it wasn't you." Scott said quickly. "That- that wasn't the problem." Bobby leaned back, lacing his fingers over his stomach and waiting patiently. "I thought- for a minute- it just felt like- like Mr. Sundry." He blushed.
"I'm not him." Bobby said patiently. "I told you, it was an accident. Don't worry."
"Everything's an accident." Scott said cryptically. He propped his chin up on his fist and stared blankly at the television. Bobby cocked an eyebrow, but Scott didn't elaborate his strange statement.
"I thought you said you weren't a fag."
Scott nearly choked and Bobby jumped to his feet, seething, facing Mr. Sundry.
"How the fuck did you get in here?" He snarled. The guidance counselor ignored him, staring almost sadly at Scott. "Get out. Leave him alone." Bobby persisted, trying to grab his arm.
"Don't touch me!" Mr. Sundry snapped. He pulled away and brandished a gun. "Only Scott can touch me."
"B-Bobby." Scott faltered. Mr. Sundry lunged for him and he darted away. "Make him stop."
"I'm doing this for us." Mr. Sundry said. He jerked his arm free of Bobby's grip. "So we can be together. So he won't touch you."
"I don't care if he touches me!" Scott whispered miserably, not stopping to think about how that sounded. It certainly made Bobby pause. "I don't want you to touch me."
Free, Mr. Sundry tried to grab Scott again. Bobby was too distracted to grab hold of him properly, and he held up the gun.
"Let us go."
That was all he said. Then he squeezed the trigger. Bobby's face twisted into something like confusion. He looked down and touched the bloodstain on his shirt, growing rapidly larger.
Scott stared, terrified, as Bobby sank slowly to his knees, feebly trying to stem the flow. His lips moved soundlessly. Mr. Sundry held the gun up and stepped toward Scott.
"You shot him!" He said hysterically. Mr. Sundry nodded. "That is my brother. You shot my brother."
"He wasn't kissing you like a brother." He had a manic gleam in his eyes that Scott didn't understand. "I can kiss you like that. Not him."
Scott paused for half a second, and then ran to the kitchen. He slid on the slick tiles, his sneakers scrambling for purchase. He could hear Mr. Sundry behind him as he headed for the door.
An arm wrapped around his waist. Mr. Sundry threw him against the counter and pressed against him.
"Let go!" He screamed, thrashing. "Bobby!"
He was crying and he didn't even realize it. Tears streaked down his pale cheeks and he drew in a shaky breath.
"It's okay." Mr. Sundry kissed his eyelids and his lips, embracing him and holding him close. "I'm here now. I've got you."
"P-please let me go." Scott begged, coughing and crying. "Don't do this. Please don't." It hurt to cry this hard. His throat ached and his body felt light. "Mr. Sundry, I'm only fi-"
Mr. Sundry cut him off by pressing his lips firmly against Scott's. His teeth bit down. Not quite hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough. He pulled back and ran his fingers across Scott's temple. "It'll be quick, I promise." He said, pulling the gun out again. "There's nothing left to get in our way, Scott. I took care of your dad for you. He won't ever touch you again."
"My- my dad?" Scott whimpered. "What did you do to my dad?" Mr. Sundry didn't answer. "You- you couldn't have. What did you do to my dad?" He repeated, voice rising.
"I'll shoot you first, okay?" Mr. Sundry said. "Then, I promise, I'll shoot myself. We'll be together forever, just like we always wanted."
Scott stared at the gun. The gun that killed Bobby. Mr. Sundry raised it and pressed it against his temple. He smiled, holding his wrists together.
"I love you, Scott." He murmured. He cocked the gun.
Then he frowned, letting out a distorted whine, and looked at his chest. Behind him, Bobby pulled the knife out and pushed him aside. Scott felt himself hyperventilating again. He wiped his eyes with shaky hands.
"Bobby." He wailed. "What am I gonna do?" Bobby started forward, and then remembered the knife. He looked around for a place to put it, finally reaching over setting it on the counter.
Then he grabbed Scott around the waist and pulled him into a tight embrace. His shoulder was wet where Scott was crying. His stomach hurt. Man, did his stomach hurt. His knees buckled, and he found he was suddenly looking to Scott for support.
"Bobby, I have to take you to the hospital." Scott said firmly. He wiped his bloodshot eyes and looped Bobby's arm over his shoulder.
"I'm fine." Bobby slurred, slowly. He rested his head on top of Scott's, putting his fingers under his chin and tilting his head back so he could kiss him. Scott let him for a second before pulling away. Bobby smirked. "One day." He sighed.
Scott had never driven a car before, but he did a pretty good job of navigating to the hospital. He helped Bobby out and brought him into the ER.
Doctors in white coats and nurses, who seemed awfully nosy, put him on a gurney and wheeled him out while Scott signed him in.
He called Evelyn and left a message at the house, and then he walked out and drove Bobby's car back to the Mercer's.
He didn't stay there. He shoved his clothes into a backpack and drove to his father's apartment. There was yellow crime scene tape across the door. He ducked under it, studiously ignoring the puddle of blood on the floor, and went into the bathroom. Under the sink, taped to the cabinet walls, was a baggy of his father's drug money. Two thousand dollars. That was plenty.
"Bye dad." Scott muttered in the driver's seat, smoking a cigarette and driving to the bus station. "Bye Evelyn. Bye Mercers." He abandoned the car in the parking lot and bought a bus ticket to Arizona.
As he waited in the lobby, staring at the big official clock, he thought to himself, Goodbye Detroit.