Dirt

35

Knox

It's one of the worst things I've ever seen. 

I've experienced plenty of punching in my life. Either for talking back or for my sexuality. None of it happened under the hand of my own mother. It hurt then. I still pushed past it. They can taunt you they can hurt you temporarily. But their never a permanent mark on your body.

Seeing Princeton tore at every emotion in my body. His face was fucked, his body bloody. He held his wrist closely, he limped in clear pain. The ring of stitches in his bicep -I knew it was from a broken bottle. Nothing could leave a mark like that.

I seized up when we first saw him. I just wanted to hold him, I wanted to push back his hair, kiss him on his forehead. Actually holding him was something I've missed. The wincing and whimpers tried to balance that out. 

I've never tried so hard not to touch someone. especially Princeton. But every move I made brought the opportunity to hurt him farther. The thought of hurting him farther nearly made me sick. I had to push myself not to get too close to him in bed. I even considered not sleeping in my own, sneaking to Grace's. That idea was dragged down by the look in his eye and the tone of his voice when he asked me to sleep next to him. I could never deny him, even when he was giving me mouth back or asking stupid things. 

Waking up to the movement in the bed and the subtle noises coming from next to me scared me too. Remembering he was drunk when we picked him up didn't make anything better. 

I've always had a clue that Princeton's not as pure as he appears. I could tell the way there were bottles all over his trailer, even in his room. Or how every time I saw him leave the trailer he tried to take a subtle swig of whatever was near him. I saw the flask in a glimpse as I passed his locker, I always found it odd he carried two water bottles. 

I knew he was more like his dad than any of the boys would admit. I just never guess it was bad enough he would do it at work. His McDonald's uniform shredded, bloodied, drenched in alcohol. I always thought he was stronger than that, clearer than that. 

As much as I wanted to be angry about it I don't know if I can. 

Just disappointed. Sad. 

I think he knew it too, the way he turned away from me as soon as he swallowed the pills. I wanted to say something. But a sleep-fazed mind and conflicted thoughts didn't give way to anything. 

In the morning he was still so tired. I slowly had to pull myself away from him, silently cursing myself for touching his stomach in my sleep. I could have pressed his bruises. I could have hurt him. I had to pull away from his peaceful figure. His hair wild, his eye swollen shut, lip split down the middle. He looked too graceful to be adorning his wounds. 

If anyone in the world didn't deserve what happened it would Princeton. He's worth too much.

When I managed to pull away, fixing the covers back on him, I turn away to see Roger glaring at me. I had refused to tell him what was going on last night no matter how much he pressed. Grace had to break up an up and coming fight, Roger let it go for the night. Only because he had to call people and I wanted to go back and make sure Princeton was okay.

The minute we woke up he was back on. He pestered me all the way into the kitchen where Kelly, Tim, Grace, and some man I don't know were eating fruit and biscuits. They all looked alarmed at Roger pointing his finger in my face while I tried to get a cup of coffee. Honestly, I barely slept last night. 

The man looked like a wreck. He also looked liked look Princeton just a pinch. I'm slightly inclined to believe this is Princeton's older brother, Stan. He only further pushed the theory when he perked up at Princeton's name.