One

Getting kicked out of your house isn't the most pleasant experience.  I would know.  I'm not allowed to set foot in my parent's house again until I "change my ways".  They told me never to come back, and so i left.  I packed two suitcases, put them in my trunk, and drove away.  I could say that I drove for miles and miles, but that would be a lie.  I only drove for about fifteen minutes to my best friend's house, and parked in heir driveway.

"What are you doing?  It's three in the morning, Rick!" Matthew said as he answered the phone.

"Come on, you know you love me" I said with a laugh.

"I'm in your driveway.  Wanna let me in?"

"Sure."

"Thanks, bro.  You're  the best."

I hung up.  It wasn't long before the door was open and he knocked on the hood of my car. I got out of the car and went to the trunk.  He helped me with the suitcases and I locked the car.  A little while later we were settled in his room; a hot, steaming late of leftover waffles and bacon was between us.  Like every other time, Matthew prodded me to talk.

"You got kicked out of your house again, didn't you?"

I shrugged.  I wasn't in the mood for talking just yet, so I took a few gulps of milk and picked up 

another waffle.  Matthew crunched on some bacon and stared at me.  Ashamed I looked away and sipped some more milk.  Before I knew it, tears were burning in my eyes.  

"You had two huge suitcases packed in the trunk of your car, you're sitting on my floor trying not to lose it, and you're still trying to convince me that your parents didn't kick you out?"

"Maybe I'm just sick of them..." I said shakily.  "Maybe...maybe I wanted to move out."

"Rick, please.  As bad as your parents are to you, you have too good a heart to ever do anything like that"

I knew he was right.  A tear slipped out of my now-closed lids and down my cheek.  I opened my eyes, sighed, and chugged the rest of my milk.  Suddenly I realized I was extraordinarily full, so I sprawled out on the floor to alleviate my cramping stomach.  

"Talk to me," Matthew said quietly.

"My dad went through the history on my computer," I said, sighing with what felt like humiliation.

"But he always does that."

"I forgot to delete some things"

"Oh..."

For a moment neither of us said anything.

"Go on." he said.

I breathed out a sigh of relief, grateful that he hadn't asked the loaded question--"Like what?"

"He said some stuff, then basically kicked me out.  I can't go back until I 'change my ways', he said."

I knew he knew that there was more to the story than what I was saying, but I kept it to myself.  I wasn't ready to tell the whole story just yet.  The best friends are those who don't pressure you into telling anything you don't want to tell.  Matthew was definitely my best friend.  I got up and shoved Matthew off the bed, then pulled off the blanket.  I rolled up in it like a burrito and said,

"Night, bro."

"Dude, what the heck? I'm gonna freeze!"

"Oh come on, get over yourself."

"Whatever dude."

~///~

The next day, I wake up before Matthew and take a long, hot shower.  The water burns and stings, but it soothes my emotional pain.  I shut off the water, toweled myself dry, and got dressed from the waist down.  While I brushed my teeth, Matthew walked in.  He stood frozen, pale, in the mirror.  I straightened.

It wasn't like he'd never seen me shirtless before.  We were guys--we saw each other shirtless all the time.  I stared at his reflection in the mirror.  He didn't say anything, but he walked over and wrapped my up in the biggest hug he'd probably ever given anyone.  I felt more ashamed than I had in my entire life.

"Did it hurt?" he asked softly, making my ears tingle.

I shrugged.

"I'm worried about you."

"I don't want to talk about it, Matthew."

"I'm still worried about you."

"They kicked me out.  Why worry about it?:"

I let out a sigh and pushed away from the sink.  He let go of me, and I gave him the bathroom for his use.  I wandered downstairs, hoping that Mrs. Reese was up and cooking breakfast.  I pulled on my shirt as I entered the kitchen.  

"Oh hi, Rick," she said sweetly.  "I didn't realize you spent the night."

"It was kind of last minute," I said, shrugging.

She nodded knowingly and smiled.  The Reese's knew that I had a hard home life, but they didn't know nearly as much as Matthew.  The best friends are good at keeping secrets.  However. the Reese's were always good to me.  They were always there when I needed them.  

"You hungry?"

I nodded.

"Good," she said, "because I'm fixing omelets.  

My stomach growled, as if in celebration.

"Any way I can help?"

"No, no, no--I know you cook all the time at home.  You deserve a break."

Thanks, I guess," I mumbled, feeling embarrassed. 

I sat on a stool at the island.  

"Besides," she went on, "I know you probably had a long night.  Did Matthew talk your ear off?  I certainly hope not."

I chuckled.

"No worries, Mrs. Reese.  It was a long night, but it wasn't anyone's fault."

"Okay."

Matthew cam downstairs and slapped me on the back.  I winced, but no one noticed--thankfully.  

"You hungry bro?"

"Totally, dude.  Are you kidding me?"

"You're always hungry, man."

"Yeah, well..."

I let my voice trail off.  I didn't want to remember the taste of acid after throwing up that morning.  Some things in life just makes you sick.  For me that was all too true.  After breakfast was done, I retreated to the basement and curled up on the edge of the sofa with my sketchbook.  Time passed quickly, more than I can remember.  I was nearly done with the beginning sketches of a woman when I felt two hands on my shoulders.  My face flushed.  

"Ooooh, Mara--the faceless woman of Rick's imagination."

"Hah."

Matthew plopped down beside me but didn't say anything.  My signature character was always the same girl--with long red-black hair, thin, and long legs.  I never drew her whole face.  Matthew convinced me to make up a name for her, and I chose Mara.  It means bitter, and it fits.  Women have always tasted bitter to me.  

When I was five years old, my mother drove me to a park and left me there for three days.  I didn't eat, sleep, or talk the entire time.  When she came back, I was never more happy to see her.  That had all been punishment for "making" my dad break my arm during a fight we'd gotten into.  I think that's the first memory I have--probably because it was the middle of winter.

"I'm worried about you." 

Matthew's voice brought me back from the vault of memories I preferred to keep closed.  

"Why?"

"You threw up this morning.  And don't lie to try and say that you didn't because I heard you get up.  I heard you do it."

It was quiet for a few moments again.

"Is this what they kicked you out for?"

"No... They found stuff on my computer, remember?"

"Oh yeah..."

"I sent you an e-mail.  You know which one.  It meant a lot to me, so I didn't delete it.  I meant to print it off, but I never actually got around to doing that. 

 Well...  My dad read it.  And your reply."

I stalled for a few moments, and realized that he was holding my hand.  I let out an angry breath.

"He thinks that I'm...that we're....gay.  He called me all sorts of insulting names as usual."

"Then he beat you."

I nodded, surprised that I could admit something so easily.  

"With what?"

"His fists.  He threw bricks at me as I walked out the house."

Something inside kept me talking, and everything came pouring out.

"It's not the first time, you know.  Usually I buy stage make-up to cover up the bruises on my face and my hands.  When I was five, he broke my arm, but when we went to the ER we said it was from a fall.  When I was ten, I blacked out and fractured two vertebra because he beat me so badly. "

By now tears were streaming down my face and he was hugging me.  I think he was crying too.  I pulled away and wiped my eyes and sighed long and hard.

"It's col.  I'm used to it."

"No... It's not."  He sighed.  "I'm sorry that I responded to the email the way I did.  I had no idea that this would happen."

"No, don;t apologize for the e-mail.  Please don't.  It was one of the best things I have ever read in my life." I pleaded, sounding like a baby.

"And I'm sorry for never noticing the..."

"No." I cut him off.  "Don't you worry about that.  They're psychotic."

"Which is why you should move out."

"I will, eventually..." I said reluctantly.

"Dude, we graduate in less than two months.  My parents are going to pay for rent for my apartment as long as I'm in school.  You should move in with me."

"Maybe..."

"I'm not lettiing you stay at your parent's house--"

"Like they'd let me, anyway.  You know I have nowhere to go."

"You could live here.  Screw living down here in the basement, you could have 

my room.  You're family."

"Thanks," I said with a sigh.  "I'll think about it, okay?"

I pulled the sketchbook back on my lap and started to add the color to Mara's hair.  

"I don't want to give you a choice...but okay."

I was glad he left it at that, but I have never wanted anything more than to be forced to stay with my best friend.  

Author's Note

I know it might be confusing right now, but keep in mind it's only the first chapter. Things will flesh out. Other than that, any thoughts would be appreciated. (: