The Right Write Rite

Ugly.

Us two.

I don't think he knows.

When we sit in silence in the group home kitchen.

Especially on a night like tonight. He has not actually seen my face yet, but I know he has heard.

It was another bad placement. They took me away like always, and it pissed the guys off. I would always kick and scream and hope that they would just leave me alone, but its always the same. I would eventually come back, either rejected or taken away in an ambulance.

He was reading like always. I didn't have to turn around to know that his pale hands would be angrily clenched around the faded, yellow pages of For Whom the Bell Tolls. He always read Hemingway after an episode. Concentration on him was hard when I tried to get the lemon pepper crust to stick on the steaks. I ached all over and I could barely keep my eyes open. This was a record foster home. Definitely top five, but I was trying to make the best of the situation. Cooking a big meal to say I was really alright.

There was a hard close of the book as I heard him breathe in a heavy sigh. I knew he was getting ready to speak. About to start a ritual that we were used to, but I didn't know that tonight was going to be different. The hairs on the back of my neck began to stand on end when I heard the rustling of his clothing as he moved to stand up. Well this is different. I also was not expecting to feel those big hands wrap around my waist. There was flinching. It was an involuntary reaction, but as he moved to pull away, I stopped him. Willing and hoping that I had not scared him off. The warmth of his body once again pressed against my back, "Tonight the rainbow seems dimmer."

I smiled. He always referred to my sunny disposition as the rainbow. Saying that each color represented me in some way, but I always just thought it was a joke that had stuck. Permanently, "Just tired, Bureaux. I've had a long couple of days."

A chin on my shoulder. I could feel his breath in my ear, "I had an episode while you were gone."

I sighed. Of course I knew that. Andreas had told me the second I had arrived back at Green Valleys while Jerry was poking and prodding me. They were trying to make sure I was alright, my guys. Always so afraid I would come back to them changed. To scarred from the dozens of foster homes that the dumbass child welfare system had chucked me into. He had whispered the horrific event in my ear. The way that Bureaux had stood in the middle of class on Thursday and proceeded to through his desk across the room. How he had stormed from the class and stormed down the hallway, screaming obscenities at anyone who got to close. They didn't find him until later, Clay calling them all into the dark, putrid stench of the boiler room. Still shaking and breathing heavily. When they pulled him out of the room, Andreas told me that he kept repeating my name. His head shaking angrily from side to side, "Yeah. Andreas told me."

Hands tugged at my waist as they tried to turn me around. I pulled against him, dropping my eyes to the vegetables that I was cutting. He jerked again, I resisted. "Stop it!"

The harsh growl next to my ear had me frozen in place, "You don't want to see it B."

"Yes. I. Do."

The battle scars were ugly to me. The testimony to the horrible shit that I had had to endure this week. They just showed my cowardice. That I didn't fight hard enough to keep those mouth breaking bastards away. I turned anyways, knowing the need to keep him clam would outweigh my own self- consciousness. His dark eyes widened in horror as he got a good glimpse of my face. I had gotten 40 stitches. Keeping the large gash that moved along my cheeks and up over the bridge of my nose closed. My left eye was swollen shut and I had a fat lip that stuck out obscenely from the rest of my mouth. One of the hands around my waist moved up my arm and neck in a slow gentle caress that had my already drooping eyes fall closed. I flinched as he caressed the stitches along the bridge of my nose, "Knife?"

I shook my head at I got a look at the guilt that swirled around him. It tainted him and made my sad. I hated to see him like this, but it was unavoidable. Every time I was forced to leave this would happen. He would have an episode. I would come back messed up and we would try to pick up the pieces. Not only him, but the rest of the guys as well, "Got smashed into a glass coffee table. The doctors say the scar is permanently."

My answer held my sadness as my eyes went to the floor. He gently grasped my chin and brought my face back up. He didn't care, "One more thing to kiss."