The Boy [mxb]

12

I can't believe my luck when I look around the table.

At least, it feels like luck. I happened to be raised by amazing people. Some people's parents get drunk and beat them half to death, pass precious time in a haze of drugs, neglect them and stand idly by while they face the storms of life alone and unguided. These kids are raised depressed, sulky, lazy, spiteful, disrespectful towards authority, disrespectful towards their own bodies, bad at commitment, and plagued by the consequences of their poor decisions.

But it's more than luck. My parents taught me good moral principles, raised me right, made me into the man I am today. They came to this country with nothing, worked hard, and made it. They're an example I'm grateful for.

And yet, there's a nagging feeling, a feeling this is all too good to be true. Too good to last. The calm before the storm.

Ciel starts fidgeting in his seat halfway through dinner with a scowl on his face. It's obvious his booty hurts because of the lack of fat cushioning.

After dinner, I stand in the living room with a glass of cider, talking to the guys.

"Yo, I got five years in LA and I look at New York and say fuck that," Reagan snorts, draining his beer. 

"I get it," Ken affirms. "LA is a...cesspool of sordid immorality and crime - unlike anything else in the country, the world. And right beside those celebrity sickos in their lush, gated communities lies the nation's largest population of homeless people. Twisted."

"Yeah, it's fucked up..." Jackson acquiesces. "But. NYPD has been getting bent over for much longer than LAPD."

Preston nods.

"True. Basically all terrorist activity hits New York. Every year we get fucked hard, no lube."

"Hey, speaking of getting fucked hard, no lube," Reagan exclaims. "About you and Ciel..."

"Uh, no," I huff drily. "He's nineteen. I'm twenty-six. Full stop."

"He's an adult-"

"That logic is disgusting; nineteen is a teenager. His brain is liquid. No thoughts, head empty. I think I was literally the dumbest l've ever been at nineteen."

"I know what you're doing here." Ken peers at me thoughtfully, twirling his glass. "You've put so many nutcases away, you're afraid of becoming one yourself."

I sneak a glance at the kitchen where Ciel is chatting with my parents.

"Look. When I met him, I didn't know how young he was. Now that I do... I'm not interested."

"Okay." Reagan raises his hands defensively. "So, what's the plan?"

"Well, Ciel has to go to school."

"I agree," Preston echoes. "A degree is the fastest way out of homelessness. He can get a job, build a life for himself..."

"Question is, where's he gonna get the tuition money?" Jackson cocks a brow.

"I'll take care of it." I square my shoulders resolutely.

"Uh, Dare, the department's well-funded, but it's not that well-funded."