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“He was scared,” I snap at him and step into his line of sight so he can’t see Stone anymore.
“He doesn’t scare me.” Stone’s voice trembles.
I turn around, cup his face in my hands, and tilt it up until I can look into his eyes. They’re luminous with unshed tears. “Why?” I whisper.
He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything before he presses his lips together like he’s holding back a scream. He swallows hard and he looks into my eyes like his life depends on it.
“I’m fucking bleeding, can you have your little moment later?” Weston groans from behind me.
“He’s just a kid, let me get him sorted,” I say in annoyance over my shoulder, and tense when Weston struggles to his feet.
His face is pale and waxy. Pain etched in lines that crease his forehead and bracket his mouth. He takes a few steps and then slumps into one of the chairs.
He needs medical attention. But first I need to get Stone out of here. “Are you ready to go back to school? I’ll take you.”
“I’m not a kid.” Stone stands, arms crossed, glaring at me.
I sigh in frustration. His lack of remorse rankles. I know he’s got the courage of his convictions, but he’s gone too far.
“Yes, you are. And you stabbed someone tonight when you shouldn’t even have been here. You should at least apologize.”
He steps back like I slapped him.
“I thought he was hurting you,” he says, his little hands balled into fists.
“No, not at all. What we were doing is what boys do with girls they like.”
“Is he your boyfriend?” Stone asks and I frown, my brow furrows so deeply that it gives me an instant headache.
“No, honey, I...” I have no idea how to explain this thing between me and Weston.
Weston hefts himself up with a grunt of pain. “We’re fucking and that makes me much more than her titty sucking boyfriend.”
I wish he’d act like people on tv when they got stabbed and pass out, or something. “Shut up,” I snap.
“You shut the fuck up, you bitch,” he grits out, his finger pointing menacingly at me. His face is contorted by outrage as he staggers toward me. I’m not scared of him, but I take an instinctive step back.
“Stop saying bad words to her,” Stone yells.
“What are you, five years old?” Weston taunts, raising the pitch of his voice in a mocking mimic of Stone’s.
“I’m ten and a half,” he levels a contemptuous gaze on Weston. “I’m glad I stabbed you, you dirty mouthed jerk,” And then, he lunges at him with so much force that he manages to drag me forward a few steps before I can stop him.
We
ston’s howl of pain before he falls to his knees makes me jump back in surprise. He drops to his side on the floor clutching his balls and moaning in agony.
Stone’s little face is grim, his eyes wide and on glued to Weston’s now prostrate, writhing body. “I kicked him,” he says like he can’t believe it himself.
I reach out to him. He eyes my hand warily, but when I cup his shoulders and pull him into a hug, he comes willingly. He wraps his arms around my waist and hugs me tight.
Even in the midst of this disaster, affection and love overwhelm everything else, and I hug him back. “You don’t have to be afraid,” I murmur into the top of his sweat-dampened hair.
“Like hell. If he’s still here when I get up, I’m gonna skin that fucker alive,” Weston grits out, spittle foams in the corners of his grotesquely contorted mouth.
“I thought he was hurting you,” Stone roars suddenly and pulls away from me with a violent jerk of his little body.
We all jump at the same time when the sound of the emergency vehicle siren rips through the quiet air. They’re closer now.
