#tag:thread

Just as he was about to put Ben’s book bag away for the summer, he spotted one last piece of paper at the bottom. A beautifully drawn portrait of himself and his best friend Dexter, with the words I have two dad’s written at the top. Chris couldn’t help but to laugh a little bit at the picture; taking note of the dark brown squiggles that made up Dexter’s hair. ❝ Amazing. ❞ The word bubbled from his mouth as he stood, prepared to show it off like the proud parent he was. 

As he walked out of Ben’s room, through the apartment, and across the hall to Dexter’s place; he found himself stuck on the two dads aspect of it all. Chris had identified as heterosexual for the entirety of his life. Then he met Dexter and it made him question it all without actually thinking about what it meant. For the last two years; the three of them have done almost everything together. Dexter took Ben to school when Chris was working and his brother was unavailable. Dexter took Ben places just for fun. Dexter stayed for dinner. Dexter stayed the night. It was no wonder Ben saw him as another father figure. Chris was just so oblivious. 

❝ Pasta! ❞ Chris shouted as he opened the door to Dexter’s apartment. It was one of the many secret words he used to identify himself upon entering so his friend didn’t take him out with a baseball bat. Sure, there are other steps he could have taken; like knocking, but that wasn’t as fun. ❝ I have something outstanding to show you, so where ever you are -- come forth. ❞ He threw himself down onto the couch, drawing in hand. ❝ Please and thank you. ❞

-- 🚫 Carter could see even from a distance that there was one more person than he invited to hang out. Narrowing his eyes, he took one last drag from his cigarette and put it out on the bottom of his shoe. He wasn’t a nice guy to anyone - not his girlfriend, not his best friend, not even himself. That’s why it stumped him to notice an unfamiliar face sitting at their table. 

It took him a moment to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t amazing in conversation, especially with someone he didn’t know. The group of people Carter considered his companions -- it took them an incredibly long time to surpass the outer most layer of his once intangible shell. He didn’t know what they were thinking, but it made him want to get back in his truck and go somewhere else. 

❝ The fuck is this? ❞ He questioned upon entering the diner. Carter would have cared regardless, but it would have been less of an altercation if he had known someone else was tagging along. He slid into his usual spot, eyeing his friends closely. Carter wasn’t the type to mind if he hurt someone’s feelings. If he was uncomfortable; there was no hiding it. His buddies didn’t get any special treatment. After a minute or two of silence and blank expressions, Carter pulled a bag from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. ❝ I don’t fuck with new people, and I don’t want to share my drugs with you. ❞

-- 🚫 Carter watched from the ground as his skateboard was carried off by a group of teenagers, their laughter echoing loudly in his ears. He should have considered that he couldn’t take five people on his own; despite his strength. Now he was weak, knowing he had been defeated. BLOODY KNUCKLES hit the pavement, supporting his weight as he stood. He wiped the front of his shirt with his trembling hands, struggling to gather air in his lungs. Things like this didn’t happen to Carter. He wasn’t vulnerable. He never allowed himself to be. Now he was standing there in the middle of the street in asscrack nowhere, and his most prized possession was gone -- in the hands of people who wouldn’t appreciate it the same way he did. Carter didn’t even care about the money they took from his wallet. Anger wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the way his blood boiled like an open fire in his veins. He was seething.  

❝ FUCK! ❞ He shouted as loud as his throat would allow, fingers curling into his hair, tugging until he couldn’t feel the pain. He knew people were watching from inside their homes, mocking him for the tears forming in his eyes even if he wouldn’t allow them to fall. He hadn’t felt this worked up in a while. All he could think about was finding them and beating their faces in. ❝ What a fucking pussy. ❞ He mumbled to himself, leaning over to retrieve his cracked phone from the grass beside the road. ❝ Just letting them take your SHIT like you’re some little bitch. ❞ He wiped his face off and began walking without a destination in mind. He didn’t care where he ended up; he just wanted to get out of there. It shouldn’t have made him feel like less of a man to be hit, to be hurt, but it did. 

HOURS PASSED before Carter made his way to the city. He felt dirty. He wanted to shower. He wanted to pretend it never happened, but he knew that wouldn’t be possible with the gash above his eye and the bruises forming like black masses along his skin. He knew that his girlfriend wouldn’t let him get away with going to sleep without an explanation. He didn’t want to admit that he lost a fight; especially not to her, but he was running out of time to hide. He knew he’d have to call her eventually. It wasn’t until he got to the bus stop and remembered he had no way to pay for a ride home that he pulled out his phone and reluctantly dialed her number, ignoring the way the broken glass cut up his finger tips. ‘I hate this. I hate this. I fucking hate this.’ He felt immense relief when he got her voice mail, thinking that it would buy him some more time to collect himself. The words wanted to cling to his tongue, but he forced them out like he did every time he needed her to get him out of something. ❝ Hey. I don’t know where you are, but. I need you to pick me up. Okay, bye. ❞