And there was a deeper fantasy, one even more absurd, that Justin didn’t want to look at too closely. It was the one where that didn’t matter to Del because he was that good. And someone that good deserved better. And that deeper fantasy came with a deeper fear too, because what if Justin asked if they could stay with Del and Del said no? Even imagining that happening felt like someone had stabbed a cold blade through Justin’s gut. And he didn’t think Del would say no—Del was good—but he also didn’t want Del to want him to move in because it was the solution to all Justin’s problems. He wanted Del to want him to move in because he loved Justin and needed him in his life, and he was too afraid to ask if they were there yet.
It was complicated and terrifying and confusing, and Justin’s eyes pricked with tears as he scrolled through his messages.
Hey. Everything okay in there? Missed you guys at breakfast.
He wished now that he’d said he missed Del too.
Justin looked up as Uncle Steve loomed in the doorway of the kitchen. He was swaying slightly and had one hand curled around the doorjamb for balance.
“Who are you texting?” Uncle Steve’s eyes were narrow.
“The—the kids’ sitter,” he said. It was a half-truth, at least. Del was the kids’ sitter. He was also a lot more.
“Al told me something interesting tonight,” Uncle Steve said. “Something about you.”
Justin rose from his chair, shoving his phone in his pocket. He made sure he left the chair out, keeping it between him and Uncle Steve. Maybe…maybe that would slow him down. The back door was behind him, so there was a good chance he could—
No. Not with the kids in their room. He couldn’t leave the kids.
He watched Uncle Steve warily.
“Nothing to say, huh?” Uncle Steve asked. “Nothing to say about how the whole town says you’re nothing but a little fag?”
Justin flinched at the hateful word.
Steve stepped forward, unclenching his hand from the doorjamb and curling his fingers into a fist. “Is it true?”
“The—the neighbor who babysits is gay,” Justin said, stumbling over the words. “He’s been helping me out, and maybe some people have seen us hanging around together.”
He hated himself as much as Uncle Steve hated him in this moment, he thought wildly. Where was his earlier revelation that he loved Del? Del was everything to him, and Justin hated every word that spilled out of his mouth in denial of that.
“Oh yeah,” Uncle Steve said, his eyes still narrow as he took another step forward. “He’s been helping you out? Have you been helping him out too, Justin? A little something for something?”
Justin shook his head. The denial was easier this time, because it wasn’t like that with Del. It wasn’t an arrangement or a trade or a price.
“Don’t lieto me, you little pussy!” And suddenly Uncle Steve was right beside him, a hand on Justin’s neck, pushing him down to his knees. “Don’t you fucking lie to me!”
Justin tried to twist away, but Uncle Steve kicked him in the ribs. The blow was sudden, and sharp, and left him struggling for breath. “Don’t! Please!”
Uncle Steve sat down on the chair Justin had vacated, and leaned out and grabbed him by the hair. He pulled his head back, and Justin felt his ribs shift as he was forced upright again. Pain stabbed him. He saw another figure in the kitchen doorway: Al. Al was standing there, watching, a beer in his hand like this was entertainment.
“Always knew there was something wrong with you,” Uncle Steve said, wrenching Justin’s head back further. “Always knew.”
A part of Justin wanted to laugh, because how was that even possible? How could Uncle Steve have known Justin was gay when Justin hadn’t figured it out himself for the longest time? “Uncle Steve, please—’
“Tell me the fucking truth!”
It wasn’t a strange sense of peace that flowed over him in that moment. It was something more like resignation. The truth didn’t even matter, and it sure as shit wouldn’t set him free. But Uncle Steve wanted to hear him say it, and Uncle Steve always got what he wanted. He always had.
“I’m gay,” he said. “You’re right. I’m gay.”
He didn’t even have time to close his eyes before Uncle Steve punched him in the face.
* * * *
“Steve?” someone said voice pitched high and anxious. “Steve, maybe you should…”
They didn’t finish the thought.
Steve always got what he wanted.
Justin stared up at the light in the ceiling and tried to curl away from Uncle Steve’s fists, from his feet, but he could hardly move. He was going to die here on the kitchen floor. Everything was hazy and dim and the world tasted like blood. He hurt so much, and yet a part of him couldn’t really feel it. Too dozy. He was…
He was scared that if he closed his eyes he wouldn’t open them again.