When Lance gets to Justin's house, he pulls into the drive and sits and waits. The door slams open and Justin is running out, throwing angry words over his shoulder. Lance can hear yelling coming from the house and then Justin's in the car saying, "Go, go."

He's out of breath, slumped in his seat. Lance glances over and sees that Justin has a nice shiner coming up. He purses his lips and says nothing. He's said it all before.

Justin stares out the window. "Damn, I need a drink," he says, voice cutting over the wail of PJ Harvey on the radio. Lance shoots him a look, which he catches and he says, "What?" defensively.

"Oh hell," he curses, slumping further. "I fucking sound like him, don't I?"

"Kind of, yeah."

"Fuck."

Later that night, Lance watches Justin lie about the bruise and only order cokes. Chris shoots looks at him and Lance, but says nothing. Lance wishes someone would say something.

Justin jokes a lot about getting banged up, about skateboarding being extreme. The bruises are rarely visible, and you wouldn't know they were there except sometimes he'll roll up his pants leg or shirt sleeve to show off a spectacularly colored patch of skin. Other times, someone will grab his arm or shoulder and he'll wince. He usually doesn't have marks on his face. He says it's because he has good reflexes. Chris jokes that if they were better he wouldn't be bruised at all. And Justin shoots back that you gotta feel to live.

Chris wonders what happened to his reflexes tonight. And who really hit him, because he thinks he knows. He wants to take Justin home, put ice on his eye, make him talk, lick the bruise hot under his tongue, lick into his mouth, bite the smooth, pale juncture of skin and neck. Which is why he says nothing and Justin and Lance go home. He feels like a failure and a miserable human being. He can't even bring himself to repeat his good advice about straight boys to JC. When Joey drops him off at home he pulls the warmest blankets he has up to his chin. He still shivers all night long.


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