Since Kyle didn't seem like he was going anywhere, I shuffled up and made room for him on the bed. I guess I've forgiven him. I mean, he was drunk; he didn't mean to make me feel used. And walking out in front of a car was just overreacting. It's not like we'd even fallen out or anything. I stay curled up, kind of hugging his waist.
"Sure there's nothing I can do?" he asks. I give him a tiny nod and he kisses the top of my head. I close my eyes, doing my best to ignore the sincere clicking of the cops' shoes on the hospital floor. Kyle stays cuddled up to me on the bed, also trying to ignore the cops as they walk over.
"Mr. Thomas?" one of them asks. Kyle glances up at them.
A few hours later, Kyle and me are escorted onto a plane and told we will be escorted by local cops at the other end, and that Kyle's mom's car will be returned to her soon. For a while, Kyle keeps asking if I'm okay until my nods and smiles convince him to chillax a bit. I sit there quietly, just feeling kind of sick and trying to take up as little space as possible.
"Damien?" he asks after a while, apparently worried by me being quiet again.
"You know you can tell me if something's wrong, right?" I nod and only half notice as he looks at me, biting his lip. He tries to chill out again, but I can tell he still thinks something's wrong. I shift a little and rest my head on his shoulder, shutting my eyes. His hand tangles in my hair and we stay like that for a while until my shoulders start to ache from the awkward angle. I sit up and hug my knees to my chest, making Kyle instantly pull out the worried face. "You okay?" I nod, putting my chin on my knees.
"I'm sorry I got us caught," I mumble.
"It's fine, doll. I'm just happy that car didn't kill you," he says. Well I'm glad one of us is happy about that. I mean, that's probably just the withdrawals talking, but whatever. It'd be better than feeling like shit. I grunt quietly, keeping what's on my mind to myself. "What?" he asks.
"Nothing," I mutter.
He kisses the top of my head, "Tell me."
"There's not really anything to tell."
I nod and flash him a tiny smile, "yeah. You just worry too much, babe."
"Sorry," he says, his cheeks flushing a little.
"S'okay." He buries his head in my neck and I put an arm around him. We fall asleep and stay like that til we land.
For the whole journey from the airport to home, Kyle hardly lets go of me, and if I didn't think I would end up being sick, I probably would've clung to him.
The cop car pulls over at my house first, and I glance out, seeing my parents stood at the door, waiting for me. Mom looks like she's not slept in a week, and dad just looks pissed off.
"Good luck," Kyle says, planting a little kiss on my lips. I kiss back, not really wanting to get out of the car. The door's opened and cop hands pull me up out of the car. I don't have the energy to argue as I'm pushed away from Kyle. He looks like he's about to cry. Seriously. You do this to us and expect us not to plan to fuck off again the moment we've got a chance?
Mom wraps me in a crushing hug the moment I'm within reach, not really giving me an opportunity to look over as the car drives off to take Kyle back to his place. My dad marches me inside when she finally lets go.
"We've been worried sick about you," he starts off, not sounding at all like he was worried - just angered by the thought of me being with Kyle. "All you've done is prove you're not capable of looking after yourself again. I've suspended access to your savings account until further notice, confiscated the keys to your car, and booked you in to see Campbell tomorrow for more counselling. I hope you've learnt your lesson, Damien. I've just about had enough of your shit. You stay away from Kyle from now on, too." With that he leaves, slamming off to his study.
I just stand there in the hallway, staring at the empty spot where he'd just been. Mom puts a gentle hand on my arm, steering me through to the living room.
"D'you want anything, honey?" she asks, and I look at her dumbly. I want to be away from here, I want Kyle, I want dad to stop being such a dick.
"...I ran out of methadone the other day," I tell her, my voice barely more than a whisper as I try to quell a wave of nausea. She gives me a sort of tired smile and nods.
"I'll just get my purse."