Baby Fat

thirty-seven

Broken. Beatened. Battered.

Broken.

"No." Corrie denies stubbornly. "I can't. You know I can't."

Devon sighs. "What do you mean you can't? You won't even tell me his goddamn name."

"If I tell you then you will Google him. You're going to search for him," Corrie groans. He rubs his left eye. Broken.

"What am I supposed to do, Corrie?" Devon shouts. If Devon shouts anymore Corrie's new nurse is going to walk in and ask him to leave. They can't be loud in the Armonia Day ward, unlike Jack Coats. They're under tighter and stricter watch.

"You can't yell here," Corrie shakes his head. "We have to be quiet."

"Tell me, Corrie. God-fucking-dammit, just talk to me about him. About something. For over a month I've been coming to see you, and be with you, and just try to support you because I know that this time is more than hard on you. But I'm drowning. You don't talk about therapy, or your day, or anything."

"I don't have anything to say about it."

"You don't have anything to say about one single thing? What am I supposed to do? Continue on like this? Because I can't! I'm--I just can't." Tears well in Devon's eyes. He turns away from Corrie's intent stare to wipe them away.

Broken.

"Look. I can't talk about Noah. There are some parts of my past that I. Can't. Talk. About. Stop pushing me. You know how you can't talk about your sexuality with your parents, or with anyone? I don't ask you to do so, either. Your parents still think you're doing club soccer, or band practice, or staying with your supposed girlfriend."

Corrie crossed a line, he knows. He wants to take it back, especially when Devon spins back around on his heel, a tear rolling down his cheek. Corrie wants the words "I'm sorry" to come out of his mouth. Instead, his mouth feels like it's closed shut with glue.

Devon doesn't know how to respond. Corrie's right. He's right.

Battered.

All Devon does is hide from the truth while simultaneously attempting to pry it out of Corrie. Hypocrite. Broken.

With a deep sigh, all Corrie says is, "Please leave." That's all he's ever saying to Devon. They only fight. There's too many problems here. None of them can be fixed. "Please."

"No. Please," Devon whispers meakley. He doesn't want to go. Devon's never been much of fighter, but he knows leaving isn't going to fix anything.

But staying might not either.

"Leave!" Corrie demands. No more pleading, praying, begging. "I want you gone."

"Look at me," Devon begs. His hand brushes Corrie's chin before forcing Corrie to make eye contact with him.

Corrie's fill with tears. This is tearing him apart. This relationship. The guilt. His mother. Bradley. Him. Everything around him was falling to pieces, crumbling at a simple touch in the hopes of repairing it.

The purest things tremble in fear of Corrie turning them dark.

With his hands shaking, Corrie takes Devon's hands into his own. "Go. I don't want you here."

"Stop lying to me."

"But I'm not lying," Corrie whispers. He feels so defeated, so empty. Hollow. He pulls his hands from Devon's warm ones. His face goes cold. "Get. The. Fuck. Out."

Devon doesn't budge. He stands there blankly.

Corrie's insides bubble, burn, scream. He feels it start in his stomach, scorching him, begging him to let it out. It. Wants. Out. Corrie's fingernails dig into his palms hard enough to draw blood. He doesn't want to let it go. "Fucking go."