Page 131 of The Locker Room

“I"ll take you!” God. Wasn"t that the least Xander could do?

Chris shook his head, still looking at his hands. “No, baby. I don"t

want you driving back alone.”

“Fuck that,” Xander whispered. Just like when he was a kid, when

he was living in that little apartment, just himself and his couch, he was

afraid of voicing anything out loud. If he shouted too loud, his mother

would hear him. If he shouted too loud, the authorities would know.

Sometimes, when he"d been in that room, by himself, huddled under his

blanket without heat and trying to sleep, he would bury his face into that

old musty couch and scream, just scream and scream and scream, until

his throat was raw and he"d exhausted any of his fear or his panic or his

hunger into the sweaty-breathed, ugly plaid-covered stuffing, and had no

choice but to sleep.

He stood up and started to pace, not bearing to look at Chris, hardly

bearing to think about him, not there in their bed that night.

“Fuck that,” he said more loudly, stronger. He wasn"t that kid

anymore. He wasn"t. He had some control here, dammit. He wasn"t cold,

or hungry, or about to disappear. Chris would miss him if he didn"t man

up. He needed to man up.

“Fuck that!” he shouted, and then something shattered across the

far wall. He looked down at his hand, and then looked at the dent that the

The Locker Room 113

lotion bottle had made when it had shattered against the gold-painted

wall.

“Xander?”

Xander took his concentration from the dent and the scattered

lotion and blindly sought Chris, who was still sitting on the bed. “Yeah?”

“You can come in the town car, right? It"ll take you home.”

Xander nodded. “But… you….”

He was standing up, across the room, and suddenly, it was like he