Piece by Piece

3. Rebellious Teenagers

It was so strange how Davyn wanted and didn't want to go home at the same time. On one hand, he craved for the news. On the other, he dreaded them because there was no scenario in which any of it could be good.

Maybe Mom is better. Maybe they'll let her out.

Then, he'd at least have Ron off his plate. As it was, he actually had to make sure he'd gone home before setting off himself. He would never hear the end of it if he left him there.

After a tour of the middle school section of Saint Agnes Academy, he finally found Ron in a secluded space between two buildings, together with his much larger friends. He looked tiny in his fluffy winter jacket while the others were defying the frigid February chill in cooler-than-though leather jackets.

Davyn headed for them, taking in each and every one of the boys, noting their height, built and aggression level. It was something his father had taught him since his early school days, and he'd applied it so much, it was a deeply ingrained skill he couldn't help but use.

Ron's friends looked like trouble, three of them taking drags out of cigarettes. Davyn seriously hoped they weren't all thirteen.

"Ron, come on, let's go," he called as soon as he was within hearing range.

His baby brother turned to him, his face scrunched in a disgusted frown. Davyn fought the impulse to rush over and smack him and kept his pace even. He didn't call out again, but stopped next to him. He was much taller than all of Ron's friends.

"Just fuck off, Davyn," Ron muttered, turning away from him.

Yep, this seemed like the perfect time to smack him. But the pain inside his chest was smothering him and he was convinced Ron felt the same. Except Ron was a desperate kid who had never been able to express his feelings without aggression and wanted to impress his dimwitted friends. Davyn was much better than that.

"Please, I need your help at home."

Ron's shoulders untensed, and he turned to him with curious eyes. "With what?" His voice had dropped the hostility in it.

"It's chaos in there. We need to organize and decide what we're going to do next. I don't want to do this with Freider."

The vote of trust worked like charm. Ron mumbled a goodbye to his friends, rolled his eyes as if his family was the biggest pain in the ass, then followed Davyn towards the car. They stayed silent on the way there, but once Davyn started the car and drove off, there was no reason left for the pretense.

"I know you have it rough, Ron, and we're in the same boat," he said, his voice quiet. "But if you ever speak to me like that again, I'll punch you so hard, the last of your baby teeth will fly out."

"I don't have any baby teeth--"

"Ron!" He stopped at a headlight and turned to him. "What are you trying to prove? Who are you trying to impress?"

He didn't answer, just crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. Davyn glared at him for another few moments, but then he had to drive off as the light turned green. The air in the car became stuffy, and the light tinge of cigarette smoke seemed to poison what was left of it. Davyn had no idea why, but that tiny detail lit a bonfire inside him.

"Have you been smoking?"

For a few moments, Ron stayed very still. Then, he slouched in his chair and huffed. "Please. You're the smart one. You saw they were smoking right next to me. It got in my clothes."

That was very possible, but Davyn wasn't convinced. "You're too young to start doing stupid shit, Ron. Give it a few more years when your brain is in better shape."