Why is it so Wrong, Yet Feel so Right? (Boyf Riends)

6

A/N

Okay, so this deals with abuse so if you're sensitive to stuff like that, don't read. I'll make a brief summary at the end of the chapter and put these, ***, When it comes up and when it's over.

I push the thought away and continue. We go on for a while just having an intimate moment. By the time we're through, Christine's neck is close to completely covered in bruises. She pushes me away gently and gets up, probably to put some concealer and foundation on her neck. What? I have an acne problem and I'm extremely self conscious about it. Of course I know what I'm doing.

Christine comes back and sits on the bed next to me. She smiles a presses a kiss to my acne filled cheek. "Hi.", she smiles, looking me directly in the eye.

"Hey.", I reply as cool and smoothly as possible without the squip.

"You're a dork.", she laughs and punches me lightly on the shoulder.

"But you love me anyway!", I smile cheerily.

"Of course I do.", she looks to the side before her eyes widen. "Oh yeah, I ordered you more concealer. Why can't you order it yourself?"

I groan and roll my eyes. "Because the mail guy knows our house and those people decorate their boxes and I don't want him getting any ideas that I'm gay or something.", I mumble.

Christine nods slowly with a confused and questioning face before grabbing my chin. She moves her fingers to push on my cheeks so my lips pucker. I smile to the best of my abilities before we both burst out laughing. I pick up a pillow and throw it at her. Before we know it, we're in the middle of a full on war. Pillows are flying through the air. I'm doing awesome parkour tricks, well, maybe just jumping from her bed and onto chairs but it still counts. My phone's ringtone resonates through the room. Christine groans at the interruption.

I jump down and grab my phone. Why is Michael calling? I slide the bar on the bottom of the screen and answer. Michael's heavy breaths can be heard coming from the speaker. "Michael? What's wrong?"

***When Michael's voice finally comes through my heart breaks a little. Panic strikes me through the chest. "Th-they're at it a-again. They're b-being c-crueler than u-usual.", Michael takes a sharp breath.

"Are they still there?", I ask in a panic.

"N-no. J-Jeremy please come o-over, o-or l-let me stay a-at your h-house? S-sorry i-if I-I'm bugging you o-or anything.", he starts mumbling, his sobs growing louder.

"Michael, take deep breaths. I'll come pick you up. My dad won't mind. You aren't bugging anyone, trust me.", I say trying to keep my voice steady. Showing my panic will only make Michael worse.

"O-okay. Stay o-on the phone?"

"Of course.", I hold the phone to my chest to cover the speaker. "This is an emergency. I'm sorry Christine."

A sad look crosses over Christine's face but she smiles anyway. "It's okay. I'll see you tomorrow?"

I nod. "Thanks.", I say and dash out the door, not caring what I look like right now. I run all the way to my house and jump in my dad's old junk car. The drive to Michael's went by quickly but you never feel safe taking any amount of time. As I approach the house, I look into Michael's window. Through the blinds, I can make out the faint silhouette of Michael hunched over on his bed.

I park the car and run to his front door. I grab the key out from under the fake rock and open the door. I run to Michael's room to see him with his knees drawn to his chest with his arms wrapped around them and his head resting on top. My heart breaks a little more. With a calm face, or so I assume is calm, I sit down on the bed next to him. He flinches and tenses up.

"Michael, it's me."

He looks up briefly, his eyes red and puffy from crying. I gasp. There's a large cut going from under his eye to almost the corner of his mouth and large bruises scattered all over him. Stupid homophobes.

He gets up quietly to get a bag. Once he finds one he's at work to pack everything necessary. He finishes rather quickly and looks at me with sad eyes, sniffling a little. 

"Ready?", I ask. He nods. "Does it hurt to talk?", I ask, suddenly remembering the cut is on the part of his face that moves the most. He nods again. I walk over to him and hug him tightly. He hesitantly wraps his arms tightly around me and sobs into my shoulder. I don't mind. Why would I mind that my shirt is getting wet? Oh right. My best friend's parents are beating him senseless.***

I'm going to protect him with my very life.

A/N

WOOOO STORY PROGRESSION. Well that might not be a good thing considering what happened in this chapter but nonetheless, stuff will get better. Probably. Unless I want to end it with angst. But I won't do that because I hate when stories do that.

Okay so what you missed is Michael has bruises and cuts from his homophobic parents. He's forced into silence from a cut on his face and Jeremy comforts him. That's basically the gist of it.