Remy looked out his front window as he heard a voice from outside grow louder over the sound of the rain. The voice was male and rough; mean. Unable to make out most of the words until he lifted the front window just a crack. He was still very new to the neighborhood. He just moved here over summer break for his fathers' new job offer, so he didn't know anyone yet.
"You're just another useless piece of shit. Just like your mother. . . I knew I should have left the moment she told me. . . . If I did, I wouldn't be here suffering. . . I wouldn't have a faggot for a son. . . . " The man rambled on more, but his words got harder to hear over the rain and the slurring.
Remy didn't see it at first, but he could see it now. The glass bottle the man held shined in the light from the front porch of the home. The male pushed the boy down hard onto the ground. Watching as he stumbled some. Trying to get back up, but the man didn't let him get that far before he kicked at the boy. Just barely missing his head but hit his shoulder hard enough to send him off the front steps and out into the rain. A yelp, leaving the boy as his body smacked against the wet sidewalk.
"I think a night outside might toughen you up some. Be a real man for once." Barked the male before chucking the bottle at the boy, the bottle making contact, then shattering on the concrete.
The sound of the male slamming the front door startled Remy even from across the street in the safety of his own house, he could feel the slam shake the whole neighborhood.
It wasn't till then Remy noticed he had been holding his breath this entire time, afraid of being caught. Watching silently as the boy slowly picked himself up from the ground. One hand holding onto his hurt shoulder as he moved back to the porch. He didn't even try to knock on the door or go back inside; he just sat there.
Remy had this wave of feelings wash over him. His gut, telling him to go out there. His parents were out for the night, and they really couldn't afford a sitter or knew of anyone they trusted, thinking surely they'd be mad he left, but if they didn't know about it then it wouldn't hurt them.
Pulling his raincoat out from the front closet, darting across the two-way street without looking or even thinking twice about it.
"Hey," Remy spoke, his voice shaky, still startled by the older male that laid just behind the door he was now standing in front of.
The kid didn't say anything. He didn't even lookup.
"So . . . " What was he going to say that wouldn't make him look like some creepy kid. "Ummm . . . "
"Well, spit it out." Spoke the boy finally.
"Do you wanna come to my house?" Not creepy at all.
"No."
"No! Ummm. . . I'm Remy. Or the Noob."
That's what the kids called him at school.
"The new seventh-grader." He spoke, finally looking up.
It was a small school. So when someone new came everyone knew about it. Remy gave a quick nod, then looked towards the door as he heard the stomping grow closer.
"He's not going to come back out."
The words were little reassurance for Remy at the time, but it caused his mind to wonder if maybe this wasn't the first time something like this had happened to the kid. The porch light flicking off, leaving them in the dark.
"I have pizza bites and soda . . . " Remy offered.
"Pepperoni or cheese?"
"Pepperoni."
"Pepsi or Coke?"
"Mountain Dew."
Without another word, he got up and moved off the porch slowly. Still holding onto his arm as he headed back into the rain, making it halfway down the walking path before Remy caught on.
"You sold me with Mountain Dew." Smirked the boy for the first time. "I'm Spencer, by the way."
Remy threw off his jacket quickly, shutting and locking the door behind them. Questioning himself again as to what he was doing.
"Umm. . . the kitchen is just through there." He motioned, "If you want some dry clothes, I might have some that would fit. . . . "
Spencer was honestly soaked and kind of dripping on Remy's hardwood floors as he stood there.
"Dry would be nice." His voice low, as he turned, looking around the place a bit.
He could see their home was already far better than his own. Things stopped getting done once his mother skipped out years ago. He couldn't tell you the last time something was cleaned besides the space his father liked to call Spencer's room which was nothing more than an oversized closet.
"My room is upstairs."
Remy once again motioning with his hand to follow. Spencer was quite a bit taller than him, but there had to be something that would work. Running through the few things he had put away since moving in, slacking on the whole unpacking part of the move because he didn't want to be here. Twelve years old and ripped away from the only place he's ever known.
"Maybe this. . . "
He pulled out a tee-shirt from his old school and some basketball shorts that were currently loose on him.
Spencer didn't think twice as he pulled off his wet clothes, wanting to be dry. He couldn't afford to get sick and miss any more school. Threatened, to be kicked out as it was. It wasn't till after the fact that it crossed his mind that maybe he should have asked where the restroom was to change. Remy staring at him, which made him feel uncomfortable, so he quickly blurted out.
"I'm not a fag."
There was hate in his own voice. Hate for his father but even more hate for himself.
Remy puzzled, he knew what the word meant but didn't know why Spencer felt the need to say that he wasn't one. Questioning the hate had in his voice as well. Opening his mouth to say something but nothing came out.
"I know you heard my dad yelling. Everyone hears him . . . you're just the first that actually did something."
Remy was staring but not about what his father called him, but at the fact that Spencer had been hit more than just what he saw tonight. His chest was covered in bruises.
"Are you okay?" Concern in his voice for a boy he didn't even know.
Spencer feeling his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment, Remy had been eyeing his fathers' handy work and not for any other reason.
"It's whatever. I'm fine. Had worse." He brushed it off. "I'm hungry."
Spencer changed the subject. It wasn't something he cared to talk about or be talked about. Nothing was ever done about it, so he gave up on it.
"Right." Smirked Remy, "I also have ice cream too."
"Chocolate or Vanilla?"
"Chocolate, of course." Laughed Remy as he raced down the stairs to the kitchen.
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