Then, the vomit wells in his throat.

Jacob has to rip away from Elliot’s hand as he clutches a nearby sink and takes out his entire guts into it. His forehead begins to feverish, but Elliot is quick to come behind him and try to pull his hair back.

When he looks up in the mirror, seeing Elliot behind him makes his stomach hurl again. He kicks Elliot’s legs for him to move back, which he only does with a snarl of confusion on his face. His mind is swirling with images from the therapy office. Videos of men, in all sorts of positions and scenarios, all of which he’d have to take that stupid pill, choke it down his throat, with a bucket beside him. He’d learned to be quiet, and what to eat to make it easy on his stomach, but homework was the worst. This was his homework, and it was working.

Elliot doesn’t touch him when they leave, though he has to stop by the girl’s table to tell them they’re heading home early. Jacob had wiped his mouth, drank some water from the tap, and left his vomit in the sink. Elliot had collected their umbrellas from their original seats.

Ascending the stairs they came from, Elliot doesn’t say anything, but his head is held high. Jacob can’t do anything but look at his feet and hold his umbrella like a sick Victorian child.

The thick metal door closes behind them. “I’m so sorry.” Jacob sighs, his breath still stinks of peanut butter and jam, Maddy’s choice of meal. Water patters against their umbrellas, but Elliot doesn’t seem to mind this or anything at all.

“It’s okay, it happens to the best of us. Do you think you can eat?” He asks with a smile.

“Yeah, I-”

“Hey faggots!” A disembodied voice comes from the left as the two reach the top of the stairs. Jacob’s hands are on his knees to catch his breath as two boys approach, young teenagers, with greasy spiked hair, dressed in leather and patches, trying to be their own generation’s greasers. Elliot seems completely unfazed.

“Let’s just go,” Elliot demanded, but the boys were coming closer, one of them swinging a small chain on his side. They’re halfway down the block already, and Jacob is trembling like a small dog in the weather.

“I didn’t say you could leave!” One of the white boys shouts, Elliot backing up into Jacob, waving his hand for him to run, but his feet won’t move.

This is where I die. Jacob takes a few steps, but when he notices Elliot isn’t moving, he can’t bear to leave him to get whipped, or worse. “Back off, okay?!” Jacob calls out behind him, Elliot whipping his head around to see if he truly heard what he said. “We aren’t gay, we’re business partners. Leave us alone.”

The boy on the left snickers, raising his chain as he slashes down, barely missing the two men. “Listen here, Queers! You think we want you here?!” His upstroke slices Elliot’s arm, ripping through his jacket, luckily only one layer deep. It’s only when looking closer that Jacob realizes it’s covered in small barbed wire.

“Get on the floor!” The second boy screams.

“Jacob, get to your car,” Elliot says shakily, looking down at Jacob. “I got this.”

“No, you don’t!” Jacob snaps back when the first boy tackles him, concrete slamming against the back of his head, his tailbone cramping from the sudden weight. Jacob lifts his arm to block the boy by the neck, who raises his whip in a glowing blur of barbs and glimmering light.

Before he knows it, his hand rips out of his pocket, switching the blade out and stabbing up into the boy’s stomach. A warm red pool begins to spread against his white The Stooges t-shirt, the boy gasping for air as he stops in his tracks.

The second boy pulls him off, compressing the wound with his hands. “H-he stabbed me!” The first one says, looking up at his friend. It’s only now Jacob realizes they must be in high school, fifteen or so. “He stabbed me!”

Jacob scrambles to his feet, blind in confusion and heart-pounding fear. He can’t stop staring at the wound, knowing it’s all his fault, not knowing how deep he cut, not knowing how many layers he inadvertently pushed through.

Elliot grips Jacob by his collar, who dropped his umbrella in the haze, and books it down the street. Though Jacob keeps looking back, watching the rainwater soak the blood throughout his shirt, his friend frantically looks for a phone box.

“Get back to your car!” Elliot stammers, Jacob now following close behind, no need to carry him like a cat by the scruff.

“I don’t have one! I walked here!” The upright boy runs the opposite way, flagging down a shop owner about to close.

Elliot reals his head back and groans, squinting against the rain. He fumbles for his keys, stopping just short of a black ‘65 Ford Mustang. “Get in!”

Jacob obeys, buckles, and clutches his head with his hands as he leans forward. “God, I’m so stupid! I stabbed a child, he was a kid!”

“He threatened you first. Nobody has to know it was us.” Elliot’s voice is calmer than he expected. The engine sputters to life, and Elliot rips the wheel, pulling out onto the street. “For all intents and purposes, I wasn’t here, you weren’t here, and we met up at your place and spent our time there.”

“I stabbed a kid, I stabbed a kid…” Jacob repeats, rocking back and forth. “This isn’t right, we have to go back!”

“No! No! We’re not going back, you’ll get lynched, do you understand me?!” Elliot slams his fist on the dash. “You don’t tell anyone about this, and I won’t tell them you stabbed someone. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” Jacob whispers, tears swelling his face, before blowing into a full sob. “I'm so scared, Man!”

“I know, I know.” Elliot’s voice is panicky, but he still manages to drive undetected. “C’mon, I need you to give me directions to your place. Calm down, just breathe and let me take you home.”