Deals With The Devil's Spawn

Midget Porn

“What's he in for?” he asked, curiously and I glanced up to give him an unimpressed look. He raised an eyebrow.

“Right, like you don't know. I'm pretty sure the entire state of Pennsylvania knows,” I muttered, bitterly. The night my father had been dragged out of our home in handcuffs had been broadcast live on every state channel, the entire town hearing about it in a few minutes. Every other secret that nailed the coffin shut on my mother's social life had surfaced the very next day.

“I don't listen to town gossip,” he argued, and I gave him a dubious look. When I glanced away, refusing to answer his earlier question, he lowered his head to avoid banging it against the bleachers and moved closer to me, lowering his body to the ground. I turned towards him and watched with amusement as he tried to fit his large frame under the bleachers, the top of his head pressed against the bottom of them. I huffed a silent laugh when he growled and shifted his weight, giving himself a little more room.

When he was finally in a position that allowed a little room to move his head, he turned towards me and held a protein bar out. “Here, you have to eat something. It's not good for you to not eat anything all day.”

I gave him a puzzled look. “How do you know I haven't eaten all day?”

“I know things,” he replied, shrugging a shoulder as if that should explain everything. It didn't.

He tried once again to give me the protein bar, and when I didn't take it, he sighed and placed it on the ground next to me, pulling out another one from his jean pocket and tearing open the package.

“Um, how did you know where I was?” I asked, suspiciously, while grabbing the protein bar off the ground and slowly tearing open the package. He gave me a quick glance, before smirking.

“Are you always this suspicious of people?” he mumbled around a mouthful of his bar. I bite into the bar and gave him a look.

“Are you always going to avoid my questions, with an unwanted opinion or question?” I replied with a huff.

“I don't do that,” he answered, with a frown, shifting again, but this time he seemed to have forgotten the bleachers over his head, banging the top of his head on them. We both winced simultaneously.

“Are you okay?” I asked him, fighting the urge to reach up and rub his head to soothe the pain. I was blaming that completely innapropiate thought on the nurses at the hospital I volunteered at. I'd spent so much time around them that they were starting to rub off on me.

He gave me a puzzled look and I vaguely gestured towards his head. “Oh, right, yeah I'm fine. I've had enough hockey pucks to the head that I hardly feel a hit like that.”

“I've always wondered why you guys play that sport, it's so violent,” I muttered mostly to myself, the words escaping before I could stop them. I hadn't meant to say them out loud, I didn't know what his reaction would be and I didn't want to purposely hurt his feelings. I knew how obsessed and defensive the players could be.

“We grew up with hockey. It's part of our family, we're not Cavanaugh's without hockey,” he replied with a small shrug. He crinkled his empty protein bar package and stuffed it into his pocket.

“You know you never answered my question,” I reminded him. Folding the package of my protein bar, I secured the uneaten half and placed it neatly into my backpack. When he didn't answer, I turned back to him to find him staring at me with a frown. “What?”

He shook his head and looked away. “What question?”

I sighed. Well, I guess he'd just answered the question whether he would answer my questions with some of his own. Still, I gave him the benefit of a doubt and asked once again, “How did you know where I was?”