f o u r t e e n

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"I know," Tyler says, and immediately wishes he could shove those words back in his mouth because Josh's mocha eyes go dark.

"What," Josh says softly, C major lips pulling back to bare tiger-growl teeth, "did you say?"

"I'm sorry, Josh," Tyler says immediately.

Josh exhales in a way that Tyler can only describe as red-green-orange, like a stream over a bed of jagged crystal. Perfectly dangerous.

"I'm sorry," Tyler repeats.

"You don't-" Josh takes a deep breath, "you can'tunderstand, okay?"

"I-"

"You have no idea what it's like," Josh growls, "to be terrified of going home. No idea what it's like to be frightened of your own parents." He stands up, pacing the best he can in the cramped space of the treehouse. "You have no idea what it's like to have to hide whenever your dad gets too drunk and destroys whatever he comes across, and your mother is too high to care. You have no idea what it's like to use your body to protect your sisters, your little brother. You don't know the fear that runs through you when your father pulls out his belt because he's feeling pissed off and needs something to take it all out on. You have no idea what it's like to be whipped as hard as a grown man drunk on cheap liquor and anger can manage. And let me tell you something, Tyler." He stops pacing and turns to look Tyler in the eye. "It. Hurts."

Tyler swallows hard. "I- I'm sorry-"

"Sorry, sorry," Josh sneers. "Everybody's fucking sorry."

He resumes pacing. "Everything is blue-black," he repeats. He pauses, frowning. "For me," he adds.

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