TWO

The sun shone warmly in the mid-afternoon at the end of the school day. Children and teenagers headed in different directions, talking and laughing with friends or siblings. While many of them, especially those under the age of twelve, headed home, others grouped with their friends to gather at a favorite hangout.

Brian, the middle school and his cruel classmates now far behind him, shifted his schoolbag on his shoulder as he reached the open gates of the park. He hesitated for just a moment—more out of guilt than any uneasiness he felt—before he walked through. As the day before, he found the park mostly unoccupied, which he was once again thankful for. This time, no group of teenage girls sat together having a picnic. The only one who could be seen was Lane, sitting beneath the same tree they had sat under yesterday as he munched on a burger, a paper bag and drinks beside him as well as his discarded schoolbag.

As Brian approached, he felt his stomach growl in protest when the smell of the food reached his nose. He was starving. Once again, he had been refused any money for food at school. He wondered how long they planned to starve him this time before they relented.

When he reached his companion, he tried to avoid looking at him so he wouldn’t be tempted to stare at his food. He shrugged off his bag and dropped it on the grass. Then sat down beside Lane, trying to ignore the hunger pangs of his stomach, which became worse now that he was right next to the boy and could smell the alluring aroma of the burger meat very distinctly.

Lane picked up the brown paper bag beside him and tossed it into Brian’s lap. “Lunch. Hope you’re hungry since I went to the trouble to get you some. Two cheese burgers.”

He held back the urge in confiding how hungry he really was. He only smiled gratefully. “Thank you.” Resisting the temptation to attack the food, which would give away how long it had been since he’d eaten, he reached into the bag and took out a burger. Unwrapping it, he carelessly dropped the paper wrapper beside him and took a bite of the sandwich.

Lane finished off his burger and dusted the crumbs off his jeans. Then he reached for his drink—a chocolate milkshake—and took a sip. “There’s a milkshake for you, too,” he said, picking up the other cup and straw and holding it out to him.

He accepted it gratefully. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a milkshake. For a moment, he wondered how someone as nice and caring as Lane had earned the unsavory reputation he had. None of his foster families had been nearly as kind as thoughtful as the young man beside him. He quickly finished off the two burgers and then drank the milkshake.

Once both he and Brian had finished their drinks, Lane reached into his school bag, pulling out a small brown paper bag that had been stapled shut, handing it to his young companion. “This stuff is powder, so you’ll have to snort it. It’s the best choice since you wouldn’t want that foster family of yours finding out. Now, this stuff isn’t cheap and you’re a new user, so don’t use more than a teaspoon of the stuff and not all the time or it’ll finish fast.”

“Okay.” Brian nodded in agreement. He wondered what it was but didn’t ask. The name didn’t matter anyway.

“Now, remember, don’t do it where you can be seen,” Lane advised. “And don’t let anyone know you have it. If someone does find out, I’ll try to help you and make sure you don’t get into anything you can’t get out of, but do not—absolutely do not—ever mention my name.”

“I won’t,” Brian promised. “Wild horses won’t drag it out of me.”

Lane’s lip twitched in amusement and the intimidating gray eyes sparkled for a short moment. Reaching out a hand, he thumped Brian gently on the shoulder. “You’re not a bad kid. Life just gave you a rotten hand, like it did me. One day, we’ll both find our way out. If you ever want to see me or talk to me, just come here under this tree. I’ll come by here every day for a little while.”

Brian smiled, a light of hope and joy igniting his eyes. No one had ever made such an offer—to listen to his word and problems—before. “Alright.”

Lane stood and brushed off his jeans. He collected the crumpled paper wrappers and empty disposable cups, stashing them into the brown bag that had held their food. “I’m going to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow if you stop by here again, alright?”

Brian nodded, planning on doing just that. It was a novelty to have someone to spend time with who was nice to him, even if said someone was much older. “Okay.”

With one last smile, Lane slung his school bag over his shoulder and took the paper bag with him, ditching it in one of the trash cans before walking out the gates.

Brian decided it was time to head home. He stuffed the package he’d been given into his bag and stood. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he left the park. He then started on the way to the Michaels home, dread and anxiety curling in his stomach; they were his constant companions when he thought of returning to that house.

When he reached the the house minutes later, passing through the gate, he hesitated at the steps. He knew his foster father wasn’t home from work yet though, and that encouraged him to step forward and start up the stairs. Charles usually returned home just a few minutes before sunset, and he saw no signs of the car.

Turning the knob, he entered the house on silent feet, treading softly with the hope the rest of the family wouldn’t hear him. Even if his foster father wasn’t present to whip him, the rest were still intolerable between the harsh, cruel words thrown at him by his foster mother and sister as well as the brutal beatings he received from the boys. His hope that he wouldn’t be noticed, however, was banished when his foster mother and her four children stepped out of the den together.

Anna glanced at him with a mixture of disdain and disapproval. “You’re home.”

Brian chose not to respond. He looked between her and her teenage children without a word.

The triplets exchanged smirks as they watched him with what he’d always interpreted as cruel smiles. Their sister stared at him with disgust.

“Finally decided to come home, brat?” Fredrick addressed him. “Too late. There’s no lunch left for you.”

Jared and William laughed.

Anna glowered at him. “You’re late. You know you’re supposed to be home right after school. You should have been here an hour ago.”

Brian shrugged, again choosing to remain silent.

“Gone mute, dummy?” Jared jeered.

“He’s forgotten how to use his voice,” William said, his voice mocking. “He was never very intelligent anyway.”

“Got that right,” Natalie added. She looked at him with a malicious smirk. “Someone like you will never amount to anything. You’ll be living on the streets soon enough.”

Brian remained silent, staring at her and her brothers without comment.

Anna let out a huff of impatience. She paid no mind to her sons’ and daughter’s hurtful comments and cruel remarks. Brian’s tendency to avoid answering questions or replying to anything said to him aggravated her. “Go to your room,” she said sharply. “If you can’t come home on time, I don’t need to feed you.”

Brian shrugged again and walked past her, inwardly relieved Lane had generously given him something to eat, but that was not something he was going to tell them. As he passed, William stuck out his leg, tripping him. He heard the teenagers laugh as he fell. Angered and hurt, but knowing he couldn’t defend himself against them, he pulled himself up before they decided to do more and continued on his way to his room without looking back. Their cackles echoed in his ears, but he ignored them.

When he reached his bedroom, he locked himself in to keep them out and away from him. A key to his bedroom was a luxury in the house he was always grateful for. Dropping his bag to the floor, he quickly opened it and pulled out the paper bag he’d been given. The cruelty he was dealt each time he entered the house pushed him, demanding relief, and the drugs he’d been given was the only answer he had.

He carefully opened the package where it was stapled, making certain not to spill the white powder contained inside. Mindful of Lane’s instructions, he poured a small amount in the palm of his hand—which he assumed was the measurement that had been recommended—and inhaled it. He wiped his powder-covered palm on his jeans when he finally succeeded after a few tries, carefully closed the package and tucked it back into his bag, and then sat on his mattress.

The effect hit him faster than he expected. Within minutes, the anger, pain, and resentment faded away, and an unreasonable euphoria arose inside him. He was happy—so happy. He looked around the room, pupils dilated from the effect of the drug, and let out a small giggle. Objects seemed to move and everything appeared comical. He threw himself across the mattress, eyes on the ceiling. Between giggles he began to sing old nursery rhymes and lullabies he could vaguely recall his mother singing to him. In some corner of his mind, he agreed with Lane—the drugs did help.

❄️❄️❄️

In the mid-afternoon, restaurants, stores, and other businesses were busy as children and teenagers left school and adults left work. The commercial side of the neighborhood became hectic as teenagers crowded into restaurants and diners, hanging out with their friends, and younger children poured into stores to buy sweets and snacks with their allowance or what was left of their lunch money before heading home. The sounds of voices and laughter, from children and adults alike, filled the air. An unexplainable, exuberant happiness seemed to surround everyone.

Lane, eyes steely and cold, silently observed the happiness and joy that seemed to float around the area with cynicism and repulsion. Beneath that seemingly happy exterior, he was certain, there was evil, pain, and hopelessness. It was a lesson he’d learned from his own life. No one could be sincerely happy. It was just a moment that would pass when they remembered the truth of their own living circumstances.

Even now, though he had escaped the terror and horror of abuse and had security through the well-built façade of a heartless monster everyone despised and feared, he wasn’t happy. He pushed himself through life and forced himself to survive it, but he didn’t believe he could find that happiness he was certain others only feigned and didn’t truly possess. It didn’t exist.

He turned away from the sight of the nauseatingly joyous people around him and walked on, carrying the bag of beer he’d bought, his schoolbag slung over his shoulder as he trudged in the direction of the local park. Though he was significantly underage to be drinking alcohol according to state law, most stores which carried it never bothered to check identification as long as the buyer looked old enough. His height and build made it easy enough to pass for someone of twenty-one; and the rough hand life had dealt him gave him the look of someone much older than sixteen.

As he reached the gates of the local park, he entered, not particularly surprised to find it empty. Since he’d started hanging out at the park more regularly, children had been warned away from it by their parents and guardians for the duration of time he was known to visit it; they were hanging out and playing in other places. It didn’t bother him to know that his presence was chasing others away. He enjoyed the peace and quiet as a result; it meant he wouldn’t be interrupted by the loud sounds children had the tendency to make when they played—the sounds of their laughter and happy screams only aggravated him.

He stopped at the oak tree he’d taken to sitting beneath on his visits. Setting down the bag, which carried exactly two bottles, at his feet, he dropped his schoolbag beside it. He grabbed one of the bottles, popping off the top, and took a long gulp as he leaned against the tree trunk, his gaze on the open gates.

His thoughts wandered to his day at the local high school, which had gone as usual—teachers glared in disapproval or tried to pretend he didn’t exist, students avoided him, and his dealer tried to get more money off him for a new shipment of drugs that had just arrived. Sometimes he was tempted to give up school completely and drop out, but he forced himself to continue with the reminder that one day it might pay off, which was the only thing that kept him from joining the ranks of high school dropouts.

There wasn’t anything he actually found enjoyable about school. His classmates feared him, his teachers despised him, and he didn’t have a single friend. Though he did occasionally date some of the girls he went to school with, it was out of loneliness and boredom rather than any interest, liking, or attachment in regards to them, and those relationships never lasted for very long.

His thoughts turned to young Brian McPherson. He wondered if he would show up today and assumed he probably would, especially since the younger boy’s foster family made him miserable and he was always trying to spend as much time away from them as possible. Most would probably find his interest in Brian, especially due to the significant age difference, strange, if not alarming. However, Lane saw himself in the younger boy and decided if there was anyone he knew that he was willing to count as a friend, Brian would probably be one.

Brian walked through the gates minutes later, as Lane had assumed he would. The hard day he’d had with the usual shoving, tripping, and beatings as well as having some of his belongings taken or destroyed showed on his countenance. He had a moody, dejected expression on his lean, angular face, and his steps were slow and dragging, his mind still dwelling on his disastrous day. 

As he approached the tree, Lane gestured for him to sit down. “How was school?”

“Terrible,” Brian grunted, dropping his bag to the ground before seating himself beside the teenager. “They won’t leave me alone. They took my inhaler, too, and Charles said he won’t get me another. I guess he’ll be happy when I die from an attack.”

“You have asthma?” Lane asked with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Yeah,” Brian mumbled. “They keep taking my inhaler.”

“I’ll get you another,” Lane said generously, relieved he had money left over from his last paycheck. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

Brian brightened, smiling in relief. “Really? Thank you!”

Lane smiled. “You’ve got to learn to fight back though,” he said firmly. “My classmates wouldn’t dare to touch me or my stuff.”

“How?” Brian asked. “I don’t know how, and there’s so many of them...”

Lane smiled. “I’ll teach you, and once you get them scared of you, numbers don’t matter anymore. Hey, why don’t I come to school with you tomorrow and, you know, give your classmates a good scare for a while?”

Brian lit up at the thought and beamed. He knew that if he showed up to school with Lane, his foster parents were bound to find out he was hanging around with him, but he didn’t care. No one else seemed to want to help him, and Lane’s presence could possibly give him a reprieve from the bullying for at least sometime.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Lane decided with a grin. He reached for the other bottle, popping the lid off and handing it to Brian. “Here—something to take your worries away. Cheaper than drugs, but just as effective if you have enough.”

Brian didn’t hesitate or ask questions. He took the bottle and took a quick gulp. He definitely needed something to forget the day he’d had—which, along with having his inhaler taken as well as the usual beatings, had consisted of having his head dunked the toilet and his things thrown out of the window—but he cringed as soon as the taste touched his tongue. “It tastes awful...”

Lane shrugged. He’d become quite accustomed to the taste of the low-quality alcohol he bought. “That’s why it’s cheap, kid. Gotta ignore the taste and just drink it up if you want it to work.”

Brian lifted the bottle to his lips, taking another gulp, and tried not to react to the strong taste. Though it was almost like taking bitter-tasting medicine, he figured that if Lane said it worked, then it would.

“Did you try out the stuff I gave you?” Lane inquired curiously.

Brian nodded. “It was really great. You were right. It does take away everything for a little while and make you feel good.”

Lane smiled. “Of course.”

“But it didn’t last so long, and I didn’t feel so great afterwards,” Brian admitted in disappointment.

Lane lightly thumped his shoulder and sighed. “It’s always like that, McPherson, but as long as we can feel happy and great for a little while, I think it’s worth it...”

Brian slowly nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah—I guess so.”

Lane picked up his bottle and drained what was left. Then he stood, picking up his bag. “I need to get to work now. See you tomorrow, McPherson.”

Brian sighed and nodded. He didn’t want to particularly part from Lane. As long as he was in the other boy’s presence, he felt noticed, and more importantly, he felt he was cared about in some way. Now he would have to return home and be reminded of how worthless and unloved he really was.

Lane dumped the bottle in the trash on his way out, and then walked out of the gates to hurry to the job he held at one of the small local diners. It was the only way he could pay for the rent of the small, dinky apartment he lived in or the food, drugs, and alcohol he consumed.

Brian watched as the other boy walked away and disappeared from sight. Then he finished the drink. Though he knew he wasn’t supposed to be drinking it in the first place—and neither was Lane—it wasn’t worse than the drugs he had already started using. Following his friend’s earlier example, he tossed the bottle in the trash. Then he retrieved his school bag and started on the way home.

By the time he left the park, Brian was already feeling woozy from the alcohol. A few minutes later, he was having trouble thinking straight. He stumbled home, trying to the recall the right directions as he struggled to walk without tripping over his own feet, especially since the ground appeared to be moving of its own accord. He was too drunk to even recall just why he dreaded returning home. He nearly fell on his face several times. Laughing, he began to sing the only songs he knew—old nursery rhymes and lullabies. People stopped and stared at him, and he laughed more.

By the time he reached the house, over an hour had passed; it had taken him that long to reach the right house because of the intoxicated state he was in. As he started up the stairs, he tripped, nearly banging his face on a step, but his hands supported his weight and he only caught his chin. Giggling, he managed to pull himself up, using his hands as support, with difficulty. The weight of his schoolbag on his back, which carried several heavy textbooks, made it even more difficult, but somehow he managed. When he finally got to his feet, he weaved from left to right, nearly toppling over but grasped the doorknob for balance just in time.

As he opened the door, he lost his balance and almost fell, but grasped the handle again. He stumbled inside, a drunken grin stretched from ear to ear, his eyes glazed from the effect of the alcohol. He didn’t even notice his foster father sitting by the door waiting for him, as usual. He closed the door and started to make his way to his room, trying to keep his balance, still unaware of his foster father’s observation.

Charles watched Brian’s movements with suspicion. He was moving strangely, as if he was drunk. He didn’t think it was possible that the twelve-year-old would have actually gotten alcohol and dismissed the idea. The very thought that a child under his guardianship had dared to get himself drunk was degrading. It was probably exhaustion, he decided.

“Where have you been?” he barked. “Do you realize how late it is? This is not the time you’re supposed to be home!”

The loud voice echoed in Brian’s ears and he turned to face his foster father. The usual fear and dread didn’t register because of his drunken state. He stared at the man, his drunken smile pasted across his face. “Oh, it’s you...” he slurred. “This house...very hard to find...”

As soon as he saw Brian’s eyes, it was evident that he was on something, and his slurred speech confirmed it. He jumped up and strode over to the boy, grabbing him by the shoulder. “What have you been doing?”

Brian grinned up at the man. “Having fun,” he managed to say. “You...never let me do anything.”

The instant he spoke, Charles smelled the distinct, repugnant scent of alcohol on his breath. It confirmed his suspicions so he wasn’t completely surprised at the discovery, but he was enraged. “You’re drunk!” he bellowed. “How dare you get yourself drunk while living under my roof!”

Brian didn’t react as he would have if he was sober. Instead, he giggled. “Drunk...I’m drunk?”

The sound of Charles’s shouting brought his wife, sons, and daughter out of the den and into the hall. All five stared at Brian in shock.

“He’s drunk?” Anna inquired, unable to believe her eyes. “Where would he even get the alcohol? He’s twelve!”

“Not that hard if he found some high school kid who was willing to share,” Jared commented, staring at his foster brother. Drinking was against the rules. Neither of their parents touched alcohol, and they weren’t allowed to either. It was a shock to see Brian dare to return to the house in his condition.

Mercilessly, Charles pushed Brian against the wall, causing him to bang his head. He picked up the whip and began to thrash him at any part he could reach, not even bothering to pull off the schoolbag though it was a slight deterrent. Since he couldn’t touch the boy’s back, he whipped his legs, arms, shoulders, and even slashed him across the face.

Barely in control of himself, Brian could not remain silent and stoic as he usually was during beatings. Falling to the floor from the the impact of the floggings, especially since he wasn’t stable on his feet to begin with, he started screaming in pain. He began to struggle, hitting and kicking at his abuser, but it only made his guardian thrash him more.

Finally, Charles tossed down his whip and turned to William. “Bring his stuff. He’s out of here! We can’t keep him anymore. It’s gone far enough. I’m not putting up with his shit anymore!”

Nodding, William headed in the direction of Brian’s bedroom with quick, long strides. Moments later, he returned with the black duffel bag that his foster brother had brought to the house when he’d moved in with them two years ago, which he’d quickly stuffed the few belongings Brian had into. Then he held it out to his father.

Charles took the bag and opened the door, tossing it out on the steps. Then he pulled Brian up by the arm and pushed him out the door, schoolbag with him. “You’re out of here, Brian! I’ve dealt enough with your crap! Don’t even think of coming back!”

Brian lost his balance as he was pushed out and fell, hitting his forehead on the ledge of the steps. His hands stopped him from rolling down the stairs. Wiping his eyes from the tears of pain, he looked at the duffel bag beside him as his intoxicated mind tried to comprehend what had just happened. Slowly, he rose and then took hold of the duffel bag. He wasn’t nearly stable enough to carry the bag, so he started to drag it with him by its strap as he stumbled down the steps.

Brian wasn’t even sure where he was headed, but he eventually found himself standing before the open gates of the local park. Since he didn’t know where else to go, he dragged himself inside. He stopped when he found the tree he usually sat beneath with Lane.

Without thinking of the dangers of being a young, defenseless boy alone at night, where predators could possibly be lurking, he released his duffel bag and managed to pull off his schoolbag, dropping it to the grass with the other. Then he curled up on the grass beside them and quickly fell asleep, both emotionally and physically exhausted.

❄️❄️❄️

The sounds of loud voices, shouting, and screaming disrupted the silence of the night. The shabby apartment building, located on the outskirts of Marigold Place, was covered in graffiti and the rooms were in bad shape, in desperate need of repairs and plumbing, which was given no attention to by the careless landlord. Those who lived in it were forced to endure the condition of the apartments, due to being unable to afford better.

Lane, stretched out on his bed, stared into the darkness of his bedroom, trying to ignore the loud sounds. He usually had a difficult time falling asleep, his mind bringing back tragic memories of a childhood he wanted to permanently forget. The disruptive noise coming from neighbors didn’t make it easier. In fact, the shouting and screaming were strong reminders of his childhood, making the cruel grip of anxiety attack him, though his father was nowhere nearby and didn’t even know where he was.

The minutes ticked by slowly, yet slumber didn’t come to him. Eventually, everything became quiet and the building seemed to be at rest, but he wasn’t. Instead, he continued staring up at the ceiling in the small, dinky apartment he occupied as his home, his thoughts wandering to the abuse he’d endured in his early childhood until he’d gained the courage to pack up and leave. Each time he tried to push back the memories, they returned to him.

Over an hour had passed when Lane became fed up of trying to sleep, throwing back the white sheet that covered him and sitting up on the ratty mattress that he slept on as he sat up. Leaning over to the side he switched on the lamp placed on the nightstand beside his bed, which he had plugged in the wall.

The dim light gave a glimpse of the bad condition of the apartment Lane lived in—something he would not have chosen if he could have afforded better. It was a two-room apartment with a kitchen and bathroom. Most everything in it hadn’t worked at the time he’d moved in. He had done most of the repairs himself when he’d discovered the landlord was useless since he couldn’t afford to spend money on an electrician and plumber when every cent counted.

The walls were cracked with age, the curtains that hung at the bedroom window chewed through—most likely by a rat or mouse—and even the large-sized mattress appeared to have been attacked and gnawed through. The small closet that was just a few meters away from the window, which he kept his clothes and some of his other belongings in, was missing a door and had been that way since he’d moved in two years ago. It was not the kind of living quarters one would choose unless in dire circumstances.

In the corner of the bedroom was a collection of planks and pieces of wood of different sizes and shades that had been taken from a variety of places along with the tool set he owned, waiting for the day he’d have enough pieces to make something useful from them. Since he could not afford to buy most of the things he needed, Lane had made the effort of becoming quite skilled in the use of his hands to make many of those things, including the bed he slept on and the nightstand beside it. Though both pieces of furniture looked quite odd in appearance because of the different shades and sizes of the pieces of wood holding them together—which had taken months to collect—they were quite sturdy and reliable.

Stripped down to just his undershirt and boxers, Lane stood up and left the bed to search the room for the clothes he’d discarded earlier, deciding to head out for a walk, something he usually did when he couldn’t sleep—which wasn’t rare. Locating his jeans and T-shirt, tossed carelessly on the floor in a corner, he picked them up and put them back on. Then he retrieved his socks and sat down on his bed again momentarily to pull them on.

Running a hand through his dark, rumpled hair as he got to his feet and left the bed, he stepped out of his room and made his way to the front door, passing through the lit-up hallway. As he reached the exit, he stopped to pull on his worn black-and-white sneakers. Then he let himself out, slamming the door shut behind him. He locked it before making his way down the cracked staircase and through the dark, dusty halls of the building.

He pushed through the glass door of the building and out into the night, relieved to escape the dust, cobwebs, and must that was too much for his nose to take. He took a deep breath of fresh air before striding away from his apartment and down the well-lit street with no particular direction or destination in mind. He wasn’t particularly surprised when he turned in the direction of the local park and found himself standing before its gates. Sometimes, he enjoyed visiting the park after nightfall when it was completely empty to enjoy the peaceful silence and fresh air.

He entered and strolled down the usual path that led to the tree he often sat beneath. That was when he came upon a small figure sleeping under its shade. He halted for a moment, taken by surprise. When the moonlight illuminated the features of the other occupant, he instantly recognized Brian. Then he noticed both the boy’s schoolbag and the duffel bag. He made quick conclusions and decided that either he’d been kicked out of his foster home or he ran away.

He dropped down to a squat and studied Brian, troubled by his presence and what could have possibly happened to him if he hadn’t found him. You dumb kid, do you even know the things that could happen to you if some pervert found you?

He noticed several cuts on the boy’s face and cringed. He shook him gently by the shoulder. “Hey... Kid...”

Brian was unresponsive, so he shook harder. “McPherson, Brian, wake up, man...”

Brian groaned, but he didn’t wake up, and Lane came to the realization that he’d made a big mistake by giving him an entire bottle of beer when he’d never had alcohol before. The effect was obviously very strong.

Lane leaned back, staring down at Brian thoughtfully. He couldn’t possibly leave him passed out in the park, easy game for any sexual predator, especially those who preyed on children. He would be safer in his apartment, he decided, but since the younger boy obviously couldn’t wake up, he would have to carry him. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too heavy.

Though Lane was scorned by the adults and looked upon as cruel and cold by almost everyone, he wasn’t truly as he seemed; it was merely a façade for the broken person he was inside. He was just a teenager with problems who had found an escape in his addictions. He was neither heartless, nor cruel, and in his mind he was helping Brian the only way he knew how, even if it was wrong.

He reached for both the duffel bag and schoolbag, slinging both over one shoulder. Then he lifted the sleeping boy, who was much lighter than he’d expected, making it far easier to carry him than he’d hoped. That discovery worried him as he realized it meant Brian was quite underweight for his age and size, which obviously meant his foster family was probably starving him since he knew who they were and that they could very well afford to keep their charge more than decently fed.

With a sigh, he turned to leave the park with the bags and Brian. Gently carrying the boy partly in his arms and partly against his shoulder, he started on the way back to the apartment. He thankfully met no one. The last thing he needed was rumors flying around that he’d attacked a child and carried him off somewhere—the most likely story people would come up with if they saw him.

When he finally reached the graffiti-covered apartment building, he pushed his way inside with the opposite shoulder of the one Brian’s passed out form leaned against. Then he walked up the rickety stairs to his floor, slightly struggling with the difficulty of carrying the boy as he tried to watch his step.

He finally reached his floor without any mishaps or witnesses and then made his way to the door of his apartment. He somehow managed to get the key out of his pocket without dropping Brian or the bags and unlock the door. Pushing it open, he entered the small apartment, kicking the door shut with his foot.

He carried both Brian and the bags into his bedroom. As he carelessly dropped the bags by the door, he gently placed Brian on the bed, which was thankfully wide enough for two people to share. He was relieved to finally put down his weight. Though the boy was light for his age, he was still heavy to carry for a long period of time.

He watched Brian for several long moments before he momentarily stepped out of the bedroom to lock and chain the front door. Then he switched off the hallway light as he made his way back to the bedroom. When he returned, he readied himself for sleep again, pulling off his shoes and socks and stripped back down to his undershirt and boxers. Then he pulled off Brian’s shoes and socks as well, discarding them by the foot of the bed.

Lane considered it likely that the younger boy would probably be staying with him for now. Though he didn’t have an actual account of what had led to Brian sleeping off his drunken state in the park, he had a good idea of what had probably occurred. Whatever the case turned out to be, he definitely wouldn’t mind having him for a roommate.

He’d probably enjoy Brian’s company since he liked him, and his presence would probably distract him from the thoughts and memories that plagued him during the hours he was sober. Switching off the lamp he’d turned on earlier, he settled down on the mattress beside his still and silent companion and covered them both with the sheet. This time, when he closed his eyes, he fell asleep almost instantly.