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TW: MENTIONINGS OF SELF-HARMING MATERIAL, CHILD ABUSE. CW: SOME CONTENT IS NOT SUITABLE FOR YOUNGER VIEWERS. VIEWERS' DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
"SIT ON THE COUNTER, I'LL BE RIGHT THERE," Marty says softly, ordering JJ to sit on her bathroom suite countertop. She had snuck him through her house, considering it was past her parents' bedtime. She turns on the mirror light only as she leaves to search for the medical box downstairs. It would be too bright in the small bathroom. She's always felt comfortable in the darkness, she also happens to be environmentally conscious.
JJ's been in here before, the first night he came to her house during Hurricane Agatha. It was less lived-in then, he had noticed her Xanax pills sitting peacefully, opened, but untouched— now, it's hidden away. He had also noticed razor blades packaging in the garbage, three or four of them huddled together in the corner as if she contemplated cutting herself that night. But he had to come. And he's glad he did.
He perches himself on available countertop space, picking at some thread from his shorts. He didn't even bother to look in the mirror, he knows he looks bad but it would be nothing compared to how he's been.
His father had built him strong enough to withstand a few punches and hard kicks to his chest. Luke has broken his bones, bruised his ribs, burned cigarettes on his son's delicate skin.
Scars scattered on his back from where a sharp piece of a broken beer bottle sliced up his spine, it bit off pieces of skin as he tried to duck and scramble away.
They're faint lines now, years of sun damage and other bruises became its coverup. No need to rummage through mom's old makeup, he's learned that lesson. Why risk his dad catching him? The names he would be called; ranging from faggot to tranny to sodomite. He was only eight. He didn't know what those words meant, he just knew they were bad. Why risk the humiliation, the shame, just for another beating he'd have to cover up? If the cuts were open and really bad, he'd go over to John B's and steal the heaviest sweatshirt imaginable— even on scorching hot days.
One thing he would never do, never in a million years, is asking for help. He loves his father. He hates his father. But love and hate is the same thing. The opposite of love is indifference. And he cares too deeply about his father to be taken away. His father is all he has in remembrance of his mother.
"Okay, I'm back," Marty whispers, startling JJ from his thoughts, and shuts the door behind her. Her arms are full of supplies, including a speaker. Her smile drops as he doesn't greet her back, not even a smile, just staring at the yellow wall. "Are you feeling okay?" She asks, putting her stuff down and stepping over to be in his gaze. She reaches up, pushing some blond locks away from his eyes, before checking the temperature of his forehead.
