Safe Place

10; Chance

When Sonny got home, his heart was racing, and his book was latched tightly in his arms against his heart. He pushed open the door, arms and body shaking and peered inside. There was no wailing or moaning or screaming. Sonny took a step in and closed the door behind him. His eyes widened in the darkess, and his heart dropped sourly.

The apartment was completely trashed. Before, Sonny had loved how their home had always been in a slight disarray. It made him feel more at home because the house wasn't near perfect and neither was he. But now... There was just something disturbing about how dismantled the whole room was. The stacks of records that had once stood so neatly now lay sprawled across the floor. The one floppy pillow, now a pitiful sack, had been ripped open and clumpy stuffing was scattered on the bed and floor. There was broken glass and various puddles along the floor. Posters had been ripped from the wall, their tatters strewn around. Sonny took a step forward and looked further.

In the kitchen, the cabinets were all open. Pots and pans were all over the floor. A large bag of cereal had been split open and round, colorful off-brand cereal pieces dotted every surface. The microwave was on it's face on the floor, and Sonny noticed the cord had been cut.

There was the sound of retching and hacking.

Sonny raised his eyes, and he could see the bathroom door ajar, light streaming out in an oblique line across the linoleum. Sonny took a few cautious steps towards the door, his trembling legs struggling to keep him up, book clutched tightly around his chest. When he pulled open the door, there was his friend, vomiting violently into the toilet, entire body quaking as his body twitched. Sonny could only stare at his sores, the ones Joel had caused on his cheeks and neck. They were red and raw and new. So terrible, so awful to be staring at, but Sonny couldn't take his eyes away.

After several painful minutes, Joel stopped, spit into the toilet once or twice, flushed, and then, he stood slowly and his eyes fell on Sonny. He glanced over Sonny for a moment, blood-shot eyes hesitantly examining the boy before he pushed past him into the kitchen, stalking by and flopping onto the couch. Sonny took a breath and then turned, following Joel. He knew he had to speak. He knew it was completely crucial for him to say something, anything.

Sonny stood in the doorway, wringing his hands and holding the book to his chest. "You... You hurt me, Joel," Sonny whispered, "I'm.... I've got bruises."

"Well, shit, Sonny," Joel snapped, his back to the teenager as he buried his face in the mattress, "Good fucking evening to you too."

Sonny winced. That was so incredibly rude. He took a step forward. "You threw me to the ground," Sonny whispered, feeling tears in his eyes, "You were hurting me. I... I felt like I was at home... and not in the good way."

"You actually think I meant to hurt you?" Joel said, a harsh laugh in his voice. He sat up and faced Sonny, a line of moonlight across is pale and bloodied face, "Don't tell me you got all worked up over that? Jesus, Sonny. I was just having fun, and I got out of hand. I know you're a pale, awkward virgin bastard, but don't tell me that you're expecting to restrain me on what I do. Don't even start."

Tears ran down Sonny's face, and he was glad it was dark and Joel couldn't see. "Joel!" Sonny gasped, his voice breaking, "I don't know what you took, but don't anymore! I hated it! I hated what you did!"

"Shut the fuck up, Sonny!" Joel finally snapped, throwing his hands in the air, "You're not my fucking mom, so don't act like it, and shut your goddamn mouth like you usually do. If you're just going to act like a bitch, go away."

Joel was different. Sonny didn't know if it was the remnants of the drugs, but something had changed. His voice was louder. His words were ruder. He was different.