Memories {A compilation of Britin short stories}

Story 22: How Could You Do This?

"How could you do this to me? How!?"

"Do what?" Brian said, his brows knitting together, confusion written across his face. "You're going to have to be a little more specific."

"Don't play fucking dumb, Brian. You told my parents where I was. You said you wouldn't!" Justin had run away from home and for a good reason too. He hadn't told Brian the reason, but Brian said he wouldn't say anything. But he had.

"You're a teenager, Justin," Brian answered simply, wearing a mask of indifference. "You need to be back with your parents."

"You don't even know why I fucking left!" Justin paced back and forth. He shook his head and grabbed his jacket. "It doesn't even fucking matter. I need to leave before they get here." He headed to the door.

"Okay, okay. Jesus!" Brian rolled his eyes. "Would you quit being such a fucking drama queen? I didn't tell them where you are. I just told your mom that I saw you. For all she knew, I saw you at a bar or something." He grabbed Justin's arm, stopping him. "Would you just fucking stop for a minute?"

Justin pulled his arm out of Brian's grip. "No. You shouldn't have said anything! You want to know why I left? My dad found all my drawings of you and my stupid magazines and hit me with the TV cord until my mom begged him to stop. I have a bruise on my back the size of fucking Texas!"

"Alright, I get it! You have shitty parents. Welcome to the club," Brian said, pulling Justin back and away from the door.

"Shitty parents that you would just hand be back over to. Right?"

"I never said that. Would stop putting words in my mouth and just fucking sit your ass down?"

Justin groaned and sat down on one of the stools, grumbling to himself.

Brian followed Justin. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "I told you, you're mom called me, freaking out because she couldn't find you. I told her I'd seen you, but I didn't specify where. For all she knows, you're probably still out, walking around on the streets. You've got nothing to worry about."

Justin rested his head on the counter. His dad had never been the ideal father of the year, but he had never been this bad. He had never hated Justin, had never hit him to the point where his skin was badly bruised. Being rejected by his family was new to him and he didn't like it.

Brian stood there, leaning against the counter, watching Justin for what seemed like ages. Sure, the kid didn't know how to leave well enough alone, and he could be annoying as anything, but there was no way in hell that he deserved this kind of treatment, especially just for being who he was—himself.

Letting out a sigh, Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. He walked over and picked the landline up off its cradle. "I guess I can make a call to the Debbie Novotny House for Wayward Fags," he suggested, juggling the phone in his hand. "See what she has to say about all this." He stared at Justin's back for a moment, waiting for the younger man to answer.

"Yeah, sure." Justin knew he could trust Debbie even if he hadn't known her that long. He knew what she used to do for Brian when he had a bad time at home.

Brian glanced over his shoulder at Justin's less-than-enthusiastic response, but chose not to comment. He quickly dialed Debbie's number, holding the phone to his ear. He spoke to her for a moment before letting out a sigh. Brian walked over to Justin, holding out the phone. "She wants to talk to you."

Justin took the phone from Debbie. He didn't speak in the same tone he had spoken to Brian with. Debbie talked to him about not needing his parents acceptance and being who he was and that her door was always open for him.