SMITTEN🌹⌠J.T⌡

ix

10k reads!!! that's so so amazing!! thank you all so much!!

also, i don't think many of you noticed, but if you pay attention to josh's dialogue in the last chapter when he was beating up mikey, you might just find some similarities to the words josh's dad used...

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A BEER BOTTLE.

Someone had thrown a beer bottle at Joshua.

The cuts, the bruising, it just made sense. It was the only logical explanation.

Tyler slumped, swallowing the lump in this throat and rubbing his eyes. It was way past his usual bedtime, but he couldn't sleep without figuring out how Joshua had acquired his injury.

A beer bottle, a beer bottle.

Tyler suddenly felt sick. Sighing, he turned off the computer in front of him and leaned back in his chair.

"And, by the way, I don't willingly pick fights with my old man."

Joshua had clearly been talking about his father, and Tyler knew he couldn't have sustained those injuries from Michael Way, so they had to have come from Joshua's father.

A broken nose, significant bruising, lacerations, Joshua had been limping for crying out loud.

Sure, Tyler had been hit a couple (way more than a couple) of times by his mother, but this? This was plain and simple parental abuse. And on Joshua? Tyler had only known the boy a week, and he knew he was not one to just take a beating like that.

Or maybe he was.

It all started to make sense. That's why Joshua didn't want Tyler to come to his house for the project, that's why he seemed constantly littered with injuries when no fights had been reported, that's why he would resort to violence over the smallest of conflict.

Tyler's hands met with his face, groaning.

Joshua was projecting.

Every fight he lost with his father, he made up for by winning countless others, projecting the anger he couldn't take out on the one person he wanted to and taking it out on another, it was common among those abused by their parent.

Tyler realized with dread that Joshua was home right now, living under the same roof as his abuser! He could be getting beaten right n—

Tyler stood up with a jolt, eyes wide. He has to do something! He had to go there now!

Scrambling, Tyler snatched his phone from the desktop and hurried out of his house's library, racing down the stairs and toward to front door. He grabbed the car keys from the bowl next to the door and threw it open.

The cold January wind hit him like a slap in the face, knocking the sense back into him.

Tyler blinked, his mind clearing as a rosy blush covered his face. He slowly shut the front door and walked almost sluggishly toward to the kitchen. He slumped down into one of the bar stools and hid his face in his hands.