Seaborn puts an arm around me. “I hate it too.”
“I can’t breathe.” I squeeze my eyes shut.
“I’ll drive you back to the apartment.”
I’d usually not let anyone else drive my car when I’m in it, but I willingly get in the passenger seat because my hands are shaking so bad I’m not sure I could work the stick.
“I want to kill that motherfucker,” Seaborn says as we get in the car.
“Me too.”
“Why does he go with him?” he asks, shaking his head.
“To protect me.”
Seaborn stares at me so long, he misses the light changing, and he gets honked at. “Fuck.” He goes and is the only carthat gets through the light. “Has it always been about protecting you?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.” I don’t know if I’d be able to live with myself.
“You can’t control what he does. He gets to decide what kind of relationship he has with his parents. Good or bad.”
“I know, but I still hate it.”
“Are you going to go with him?” Seaborn parks, and we get out of the car.
“I don’t know.”
He does a double-take. “What would stop you?”
“What if he’s drafted by one of those boy’s club teams? You think it’s good if I go while he’s fitting into that?”
“Listen, I know I’m the last person to give you good advice since I will end up on a different team than the guy I’m seeing and it will probably end very poorly, but yeah, I think you should go. If Ktytor and I had a chance to end up in the same place, I’d take it in a heartbeat.”
“I don’t want a team to ice him out because of me.” I open the door. “What are you going to do?”
“Catch up on homework. You?”
“Same. Can I hang out with you?”
“You know you can always hang out with me.”
An hour into studying, I find out Seaborn has never seen Drag Race, so I put it on in the background, and we laugh.
“After you all are drafted and sign your little contracts, we are going to a drag show. I can’t believe neither of you has been.”
“I’m down. I’m sure Ktytor will be, too.”
The front door opens, and I start picking up my stuff.
Seaborn laughs. “Don’t be stupid.”
I flip him off and dump my books in my room before turning to the stairs.
He stands at the top of them, waiting for me. I wait to see what he does. When he realizes I’m not moving, he walks over to me, picks me up, and carries me to his room.
“That’s one way of doing it, I guess.”
He grunts and lays down, wrapping us both in his comforter. He presses his face into my neck. I stroke my fingers through his hair and hate this. It makes me so angry that his father can do this to him. I can’t stand being so helpless in it.
