HIDING - every scar has a story

39. How he is.

Jon frowned. "You don't belong in foster care."

The word made Cary's stomach roll. He pressed his lips tightly shut. He could do it. Nobody was going to want a kid with his record, but he already knew how to put his head down and survive someplace toxic. He would shunt from one house to another until he was old enough to live on his own. If he had a problem with that, there was no one to blame but himself.

His hands shook as he jammed the smokes back in his pocket. On second thought, he felt too sick to smoke another.

Jon said, "Cary, I want you to stay with us. We could be your family."

The word, the idea, reached into his chest and yanked him tight. "Shut up, Jon. You don't know what you're talking about."

"We have room for you," Jon said. "If you're not too proud to share. At least here you would be with people who know you."

Cary's fists clenched so his battered knuckles ached. No fucking way.

Jon got up. "I'm going to ask my dad for you."

Cary shot to his feet and hit Jon so hard he went head over heels onto the grass. Cary was on top of his chest with his fist pulled back to hit him again before Jon got his breath.

Jon's nose was bleeding. His arms were flung wide, gripping the grass. He looked up at Cary with the same terrified, stubborn face he'd used to face Todd.

All in. All that was left to do was pound every ounce of hate he had inside him into Jon and get the hell out.

Cary stood up and dragged Jon to his feet. He had a handful of Jon's sweater; they were face to face. "Hit me."

Jon tried to pull away, wiping his bloody nose on his sweater sleeve. Cary yanked him close and slapped his cheek with his open hand. "Hit me. Come on, do it."

Jon threw his hands out like he was falling. "I won't. Cary. I don't know why you're mad, but I'm not going to fight you back."

He was crying. Cary shoved him away, out of his reach. Jon turned from him and stumbled, lifting an arm to protect his head as if Cary would be on him again if he fell. Cary watched him go, wrapping his hand over the cuts in the crease of his elbow. They itched and he hated himself so fiercely he could have torn the skin off his arm with just his fingernails.

Cary looked around the yard, at the garage, and the back alleyway that led to the bus stop. He couldn't stay here in Jon's house with Jon and his sisters and mother. Pete was the only one he didn't think he could hurt. His fingers slipped on his skin; he was scratching and he couldn't help it. He made himself stop, clenching his arms around his body until he could find a hiding place where nobody could see he was bleeding. He went to Jon's room to pack his bag.

{Pete}

Pete heard the back door bang open and leaned back in his office chair to check the hallway. Jon blew by with his hand cupped under his nose. Pete found him bent over the bathroom sink. The sight of his son's blood running crimson down the drain jolted Pete with adrenaline.

"Jon, what happened?"

Jon didn't look at him, hitting the tap on full. "It's nothing."

Pete stared at him, appalled. "Your nose just started bleeding?"

"Dad, I'm fine. Just leave me alone."

He tried to think what had just been going on to explain what he was seeing. "Did Cary hit you?"

Jon straightened, pinching the bridge of his nose hard. He didn't answer but he didn't need to. The truth was in his face. Pete's eyebrows lowered as he turned to find the other boy.