There was absolutely no denying that Devon was angry when Jonathan walked up to his house the next morning. It was a Saturday, and Jonathan really had nothing else to do, so he paid a visit to his dear friend, only to hear from quite a distance away Devon's abrasive voice screaming at Kirsten. He was standing, towering over her, and she was sitting in one of the porch chairs, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“How could you let him do that to you?” he shouted, and Kirsten closed her eyes and choked on a sob.
“I don't know, he was just so... charming,” she cried. Jonathan quietly stopped at the bottom of the stairs and watched the scene before him. Devon ran an aggravated hand through his hair and groaned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jonathan patiently waiting.
“Hey, Jon,” he quietly said. Jonathan said nothing in return, so Devon turned back to his sister. “Kirsten, you're thirteen.”
“I know,” she sobbed, and Jonathan noticed something odd about her composure. Her arms were folded tightly against her stomach and her legs were pressed tight against each other. It was almost as if she was trying to disappear into herself. “I don't know what I was thinking, I'm sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing to me? None of this affects me, Kirsten, it only affects you.”
“Devon, please, please don't tell anyone.” She looked up at her brother with bloodshot eyes, desperate for his cooperation. “Especially not mum and dad.”
“Don't tell anyone what?” Jonathan dumbly asked before he thought about it. He hadn't meant to intrude on their moment, but since he had anyway, he figured he might as well join them on the porch. He leaned against the railing and looked at Devon, who was wearing the most worried expression on his face.
“Looks like someone's let some curly-haired bastard take her virginity.”
“What?” Jonathan looked quickly at Kirsten, who was sobbing uncontrollably, clearly ashamed of herself. He felt a crashing sound soar through his ears, and for a second he was afraid his legs had given out, but it was just the sound of his brain exploding.
“I know, right?” Devon said. “Why would you let some slimy- oh, God.” Devon opened his eyes wide and lowered his voice, “You did let him, didn't you?”
“Yes!” Kirsten shouted. “God, Devon, he's not that bad! And anyway, I actually asked-” The three were silent for a few minutes, only the sounds of the world around them playing dully in the background. “Jonny, do you think I'm disgusting now?”
“Um, a little,” he answered, though truthfully it was not for the reason she thought it was. Kirsten tightened her eyes and let loose a massive stream of tears. Jonathan thought maybe she was trying to dehydrate herself to death.
“Kirsten,” Devon said in a hoarse voice, “there's no way you can be, you know... with child, right?” For a second it seemed as though Kirsten was going to cry even harder, if that was possible, but she actually stopped. Her eyes slowly shifted to her brother, and her jaw dropped a little.
“Oh...” She covered her mouth with one hand, and held her stomach tighter with the other. Meanwhile, Jonathan was having a silent panic attack, and everything was spinning. He left the pair of siblings, almost without excusing himself, and tried to walk home without collapsing. He managed to do so, though he was trembling horrifically the entire way. When he finally got home he rushed past his parents' nagging questions and ran to his room.
There was no way it was true. Chris wouldn't have done that. He told Jonathan- he promised Jonathan that he would never do anything like that, because it would ruin his reputation. It was just impossible.
Why, then, would Kirsten tell Devon about it? She was evil, yes, but not that evil. And she was certainly convincing.
Chris promised him, but he also said that he couldn't promise what would happen that night. Did Kirsten say she asked for it? She was going to say it, anyway, and Chris had told Jonathan that he needed to play the part with utter persuasion. So, if it did happen, it was all fake, just an act.
But it still hurt.
Jonathan stayed in his room for most of the remainder of the weekend, staring hopelessly at the ceiling and wishing his fate were different. There was hardly anything else for him to do, since he was so crushed, and he obviously would not have the opportunity to speak to Chris until Monday afternoon. His mother tried to talk to him, but he just ignored her until she went away.
“Are you sure you're OK?” Penny asked Jonathan, once again standing in his doorway despite her earlier rejection. “Jonathan, you've been in here all day, and-”
“I'm fine, mum,” Jonathan droned, not moving at all. Penny nervously shifted around, hoping that her son would stop blocking her out of his problems.
“All right,” she reluctantly gave in, and closed the door as she left to give him privacy.
On Monday, the lunch table was the quietest it had been in the history of Jonathan's school career. Jonathan hardly ever spoke during this time, but Devon's boisterous voice usually colored in the silence. This was far from the case now, as Devon was totally spaced out, staring at his sandwich with the most nauseous look on his face.
“Hey, man, if you're gonna puke, turn that way,” Crack said, pointing at Steve, who was sitting on the other side of Devon.
“Yeah, I don't think so!” Steve retorted. “If you're gonna puke, why don't you go over there?” Steve nodded towards a group of boys on the other side of the cafeteria, and Jonathan didn't even have to turn around to know who he was talking about.
Devon looked up and over to where Steve had gestured, and his nausea turned to pure hatred. He clenched his fists together, hands shaking like crazy, and tightened his jaw until he couldn't tighten it any longer. The veins and muscles in his neck were prominent, and his breathing became very heavy.
“Whoa, man, calm down,” Crack urged, placing a hand friendly on Devon's shoulder. Devon shrugged it off with as much force as he could muster, but soon calmed himself down. His gaze returned to the uneaten sandwich in front of him, and he let out a hefty sigh. Jonathan carefully observed his friend, feeling helpless and, unbeknown to everyone else, absolutely caught in the middle.
As soon as school ended, when Jonathan finally had the chance to talk to Chris, he nearly ran to the alley, figuring that Chris would already be there. He wasn't, but it was only a few minutes before he showed up. During the wait, Jonathan leaned against the side of the building and prepared what he wanted to say. Should he be direct about it, and flat out ask Chris what happened, or should he subtly hint at it? He thought about it over and over, but still couldn't reach a definite conclusion by the time Chris walked up.
“Jon, what's wrong?” Chris immediately asked, because Jonathan was looking at him with so much disdain.
“I know,” Jonathan simply replied. Chris searched his face, his eyes filled with the hope that Jonathan wasn't talking about what Chris thought he was talking about. He couldn't find what he was looking for, though, so he began to stutter a response.
“Jon, I...”
“So, it is true?” Chris stared deeply at Jonathan, then slowly nodded. Jonathan clamped his eyes shut and let his head fall, too upset to care, and Chris whimpered feebly.
“Jon, I told you that I didn't know what was going to happen, and I needed to-”
“You didn't have to sleep with her!” Jonathan shouted with so much anger that Chris jumped a little.
Chris spoke with wide and frightened eyes as he said, “It was the stupidest thing for me to do... She wanted it, but I should have said no. This is all my fault.” He paused for a moment, and for the first time since it happened, he realized what he'd done. “I... I should have thought about how jealous it would make you.”
Jonathan took a deep breath and fought back his angry tears. “It was all an act?”
“Yes,” Chris sincerely replied, but something in the back of his head told him that wasn't the right thing to say. Though, Jonathan seemed happy with this response, so he felt a little relieved.
“I have to go.” Jonathan pushed himself off the side of the building and began to leave, stopping only when he was right next to Chris. He tried to summon the courage that he had set aside earlier, and mumbled, “I love you.”
“I know,” Chris smiled, “I love you, Jon.” Jonathan looked at the big, blue eyes that were amorously staring at him, involuntarily smiled back, then walked away.
As he made his way to his mother's car, he wondered how she put up with him being so late everyday, and why she hardly ever asked him about it. He was grateful she didn't ask, though, as he probably wouldn't be able to come up with very many excuses. After all, you can only forget your books so many times.
“So, your father won't be home this evening,” Penny casually said as she began to drive away from the school.
“He won't?” Jonathan asked, a slight excitement growing in him. Life was always easier when his father wasn't around.
“No, apparently he's going out drinking with some people from work.”
Jonathan's excitement lapsed and he sank in his seat a little. “I thought he stopped drinking.”
“So did I,” Penny bitterly muttered. Jonathan sat in silence as he looked out the window, watching the pavement fly by beneath them. Alcohol and Randall were never a good mix.
For years, Randall had been a raging alcoholic. Sometimes he would gulp through three drinks in an hour, and he wouldn't be drinking for just the one hour. He would never have admitted it, though, even if he had believed it. That was just the kind of person he was.
He was rather abusive while intoxicated, too, always yelling and screaming over tiny, unimportant things, which, while it was not even so out of the ordinary in his sober time, made Randall into even more of a beast. Jonathan wasn't positive, but he was pretty sure he recalled his mother being badly bruised quite often during his childhood. And he knew his mother wouldn't have said anything about it to anyone.
But Randall had slowly cut down on his drinking, until one day he realized that no alcohol had passed through his body in the longest time he could remember. Since then, he'd been sober for nearly three years and seemed to be in control of his problem, but the news that he was going out drinking was absolutely horrible. Jonathan only hoped that his father would continue to control himself, even with the vile substance floating through his system.
“Jonathan,” Penny finally spoke, gently and with as much caution as she could. She paused momentarily, trying to phrase her words correctly. “He's not a bad man, your father... you know that, right?”
“He's not?” Jonathan disbelievingly said, and sighed when he received a look from his mother. “I suppose he could be worse.”
“He's not a bad man, he just likes things to be his way. Don't we all feel like that?”
“I guess, but there's a way to keep your feelings and actions separate,” Jonathan replied. “I would know.”
Penny furrowed her eyebrows and glanced at her son. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Freezing with the realization of what he actually meant, Jonathan quickly coughed and spat out, “Oh, and like you don't do what dad asks even though you don't agree?”
Penny deflected her son's response, as she knew he was right, and said, “Just cut him some slack sometimes, all right? It's not easy being the head of a household, and he's really not a bad man.”
“Fine,” Jonathan unhappily grumbled. For the remaining duration of the car ride, Jonathan noticed just how often the conversations he had with his mother ended in some sort of tense or awkward silence, or both. They usually began that way, too.
Like at dinner that night, when the only sound in the room was the clock on the wall slowly ticking away, and the sound of forks scraping lightly against nearly empty plates. Jonathan was initially all right with the silence, an anti-social way of his, but his mother was clearly uncomfortable with it, which in turn made him uncomfortable.
“Mum, I feel like we should be talking or something,” Jonathan said, dropping his fork on his plate and looking at his mother. She too let her fork rest on her plate, and clasped her fingers together on the table.
“Talking about what?” she asked with curious eyes.
“I don't know,” Jonathan shrugged and looked away. “It's just too quiet in here.”
“Well, Jonathan, you can always talk to me, you know that. If you ever have anything you need to get off your chest, or if you want to ask for advice, I'm always here.”
“Oh, no, I didn't mean- I didn't mean that I had anything to say,” Jonathan said, “just that, well... sometimes we chat, and it's a nice way to fill the silence. But I don't have anything to talk about.”
“Oh,” Penny said, sounding rather disappointed. She lifted her fork again and looked at it distastefully, but ate the food it held anyway. “Um, I'm getting a little tired, I think I'm going to have a rest upstairs.” She pushed her chair back and stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress as she took her dinnerware over to the counter and left it sitting there without even putting away the extra food. Jonathan curiously watched as she did so, honestly baffled at his mother's sudden odd behavior. And he felt as though he'd let her down somehow.
The real let down came when Randall arrived back from his night out. Penny had returned to the kitchen to clean up what she had left behind, and Jonathan was quietly doing his homework at the kitchen table. The front door creaked open, then slammed shut, and a stumbling man burst into view through the kitchen doorway.
Jonathan looked up from his textbook and over to his father. Randall's eyes were bloodshot and glassy, and Jonathan guessed that he had trouble controlling himself.
“Randall!” Penny brightly welcomed her husband. She finished drying the plate she held and set it down on the counter. Jonathan was unsure of why she was so bubbly, because his father was obviously in a bad state. She perkily pranced over to Randall and kissed him on the cheek.
“Hey, Pen...” Randall slurred, then paused to hiccup, “Penny. What's for dinner?”
“There's a plate of steak and mashed potatoes left for you. I can heat it up now, if you want,” she said. Randall nodded, and Penny was soon off to supply her husband with food. Randall stumbled over to the seat next to Jonathan and collapsed, shaking the table and nearly making Jonathan slash a line through his paper.
“Hey, dad,” Jonathan said, trying to hold his breath as the stench of alcohol sailed through his nasal passage. “Have a nice evening, I take it?”
Randall lowered his eyes, which were going in and out of focus, at Jonathan and groaned. “Why don't you go do that in your room?”
Jonathan took one look at his father and began to pack away his things. “Gladly,” he quietly mumbled, and much to his dismay, Randall heard.
“What did you say?” he asked, raising his voice. Jonathan stood up and stared at him with tired eyes.
“As you wish, sir,” Jonathan clearly and defiantly said. Before he left, he shot a glance at his mother, who was giving him a horrified look. He should have felt bad for getting his father all riled up and then leaving his mother alone with him, but he was too disgusted to care. He snobbishly grabbed his bag from the table and stormed off to his room.
“What's his problem?” Randall asked, looking at his wife for an answer. She was staring, though, at the place where Jonathan had just been moments before.
“I wish I knew.”
