Hidden Play: The Return 《COMPLETE》

Chapter 32

Zion's POV

Kurt holds up his hands in surrender. The remaining liquid in his bottle sloshes to and fro. His foot catches the end table, and he stumbles to the ground, groaning when his face smacks against the linoleum kitchen floor. He curses before trying to pull himself into a sitting position, but the effort proves too much for his inebriated state.

Fucking coward.

He peers up at me from his fetal position, green eyes drowning in a film of drunken regret.

"Don't cry," I snap, crossing my arms over my chest. "You don't get that luxury."

Kurt sniffles and manages a weak nod. Seeing him like this - drunk and disheveled - brings back childhood memories. It's the way I remember his parents. Every time I came here as a kid, they'd be drinking or already drunk. I realized if he was in an environment like that, he was likely to end up like them too.

It's why I spent the entire summer before freshman year begging Kurt's aunt to take him in. To give him a chance at living under a better roof. In a better home.

"Please," Kurt mumbles. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

He wipes at the dribble from his mouth, wincing at the movement. "Like'm trash. Worthless."

My nostrils flare, and warring emotions twist inside me. I tear my gaze from his pathetic state and glance around his childhood home. His mom's tacky knickknack dolls are still lined up on the shelf in the back, smaller than I remember them being. Just as creepy, though.

Everything smells like old socks, broccoli casserole and cigarette smoke. The carpets have earned themselves a few more stains over the years. More dust has collected. Other than that, not much has changed. Same frayed rugs, sunken couches, and peeling paint.

"You 'member when we became friends?" Kurt whispers, pulling my attention back to him.

I don't respond. I simply stare down at him. A whisper of a smile spreads across his lips, and he looks at the wall, as if reliving the memory all over again.

"It was on the playground in third grade," he mumbles. "Those assholes for were pickin'onme for being the chubby kid. You ran'out there and gave 'em hell. We were inseparable ever since."

I remember it. He was the 'fat kid' in our class. The 'smelly kid.' The 'poor kid.' A group of boys surrounded him on the playground one afternoon at recess. It was drizzling and the grass was wet and soggy. They backed him into a corner where the teachers couldn't see and told him to roll around the mud like a piggy. They laughed and threw rocks at him, oinking until he was curled into a ball and sobbing into his hand-me-down shirt.

Kids can be cruel. Although I was immature, I knew what they were doing was wrong. I put a stop to it and defended him, protecting him as best I could. No one pushed him around again - no one. Even that young, I realized the way the kids looked up to me and followed my lead. It was the first time I used the clout for good, protecting the kid who needed it most.

"What makes you think this would be any different?" I question with a deep frown.

Kurt's expression clouds with confusion.

"I was never the bully," I mutter under my breath. "I was the one who stood up to bullies. I was the one who defended the underdog."

My tone is fierce and dripping with bitterness. He stares at me and blinks once, twice. His inebriated, mental cogs slowly spin to try and make sense of it. I'm here to stand up for the one being bullied. The one he bullied. I know if I kicked his ass right now that he wouldn't utter a word. But Broncs wouldn't want that. He doesn't do 'an eye for an eye' kind of revenge. Somehow, he rises above it.