12. Benji #2
I promised myself I’d make up for how I’d treated Sam by protecting him, standing by him, and making sure no one hurt him again.
Pete had seen us together now. So had his buddies.
What if, later, when I wasn’t around, they went after Sam?
I had to make sure they knew what would happen if they ever laid a finger on him.
Unlike the others, Sam stepped in front of me. His eyes pierced me, as if he wanted to say it was okay, that he was used to being called names, and I should let it go.
I shook my head.
“Benji,” he whispered, but he didn’t say more.
I laid my hand on his shoulder and let it rest there. Somehow, as if he suddenly understood, he nodded and got out of my way.
“How cute. Look at the boyfriends,” Pete sneered as he raised his fists.
Wasting no more time, I lunged forward, aiming with my right fist for Pete’s cheek. One punch—hard enough to hurt for days, yet weak enough not to knock him out or break his jaw—was all I needed to send a message. I gained momentum, faked left, my eyes twitching to his chin, and?—
He ducked.
My full force hit nothing but air, and then— crack.
His fist smashed into my jaw from below.
A sharp pain exploded through my head. My ears rang. The others gasped.
Pete had never been a good fighter. Not once.
Ever since he decided he’d rather take a punch from me than listen to me call him out on his bullshit, I’d made a rule not to swing first. Even when we were kids, I was always slightly bigger and stronger, which made it easy to dominate every fight.
Not that there were many. I’d gone out of my way to avoid him whenever I could, even if it meant inventing excuses to skip family gatherings or pushing my pharmacy runs late into the night so I wouldn’t bump into him or his dad.
It didn’t always work, like on Monday, when I had to pick up meds for Mom, and we briefly bumped heads in the parking lot, ending with his prick of a father screaming at me.
Come to think of it, the last time our fists had done the talking was more than a year ago.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t realize he’d been training.
I stumbled back over a pebble and hit the ground.
“See?” Pete laughed. “I told you on Monday, you’re nothing but a piece of shit.” He stepped closer, looking down at me like he’d won the war. “And finally, I got to give you the receipt.” He drove his right foot forward and kicked me in the ribs.
“Stop!” Sam shouted. It pulled Pete’s attention, but not his foot.
My nostrils flared. I couldn’t let this stand. If Pete walked away from this thinking he’d won, he’d become unbearable. Worse, Sam would still be a target. I clenched my jaw, swallowed the pain, and used the split second Pete was distracted by Sam to kick my left foot into Pete’s leg.
He cried out, the sound echoing through the trees as he lost his balance and hit the ground next to me.
I didn’t wait. Still a little dazed from his punch, I scrambled up, grabbed his shoulders, and shoved him down face-first. He twisted and tried to wriggle free, but I was faster.
I got on top of him, forced his arm behind his back, and pressed his ugly face into the dirt.
“One uppercut won’t take me out,” I growled.
Pete struggled and put everything into getting away, but it was no use. There was a reason cops liked this hold; it was almost impossible to escape.
“You feel like a big man, now, huh?” Pete yelled. “But wait till I tell everyone what I saw. Yeah, that’s right. You didn’t think I missed you two sitting there arm in arm, did you?”
I shoved his face harder against the stone, an angry growl rising from my throat. I leaned closer but made sure my voice was loud enough for everyone around to hear what I was about to say.
“Go ahead. Tell everyone. And make sure you let everyone know that if they mess with Sam, they’re messing with me, too. That means you, your buddies, and even your dad. I don’t give a shit. I’ll take on all of you if I have to.”
“To defend someone like him? Pathetic. ”
I twisted his arm a little more, extracting another yelp from him before I let go. He writhed on the ground, holding his arm as if he wasn’t feeling anything in it besides pain. I stared down at him.
“Grow up, Peter. The only one pathetic here is you. We’re not in high school anymore. You can’t bully people and expect everyone to clap like it’s funny.”
The ringing in my ears surged as I turned away, but it wasn’t bad enough to stop me. I walked toward Sam, who stood frozen with wide eyes.
“Let’s go,” I muttered and headed down the path through the grove without looking back. Not at Pete. Not at his dumb friends. Not at Sam.
He was close behind me, his steady crunch of branches matching my pace. The farther we got away from the others, the more the ringing in my ears faded, and the night sounds returned—crickets chirping and wind threading through the trees.
By the time we reached the wire mesh fence, I still didn’t slow down. I crouched at the hidden entrance and peeled it back, desperate to get Sam out of here, far away from them, away from it all, where no one?—
“Could you please stop for a second?” Sam yelled.
His voice hit me like a slap. There was no trace of thankfulness in it, just raw frustration. It was the first time I’d heard him sound like that; the brightness usually laced through his words was gone.
A gust of wind swept through the clearing, and I finally felt the same cold he’d probably been dealing with all night.
I turned toward him.
Sam’s eyes were red, watery, and swollen, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing my head with both his hands and forcing it down so I was staring at the ground.
Out of reflex, I batted his hands away. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Don’t you notice that you’re bleeding like crazy?”
My hand flew to my head, my fingers dipping into something warm and sticky.
“You look like a freaking serial killer,” he said, softer now. “Let me at least look.”
“It probably looks worse than it is,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “It always does.”
“Benji,” he said again, and this time his voice cracked with genuine worry.
“Ugh. Fine ,” I scoffed and bowed my head so he could do whatever he needed.
His fingers worked gently through my hair, brushing it back, tracing around the wound. His quick breaths were cool against my skin.
“You must’ve hit something when you fell,” he said, half to me, half to himself. “It doesn’t look deep, but still, let’s hurry back and get it cleaned.”
“You don’t have to take care of me,” I said harsher than necessary.
“And you didn’t have to defend me. But here we are.
” Sam let go of my head, his hands moving to my shoulders, steering me away from the fence.
“Let me do it,” he said, stern enough to make it clear that he’d decided to take charge.
His fingers went through the wired mesh, pulling it back, opening the way for me to climb through.
“I don’t need your help,” I shot back, my chest swelling to match his tone.
“Well, too bad. I already decided to get you home safe.” Sam stared at me, still holding the fence, daring me to argue.
Believe me, I wanted to. I wanted to snap, to be mad at him, to say something mean and take back control. But what really drove me crazy was that he was right. Even if it was just a minor wound, it should be cleaned.
“Fine,” I sighed. Without any more complaints, I crawled through the opening, and when I was on the other side, I grabbed the mesh so he could follow.
“Take it easy,” he said, hesitating. “You don’t need to?—“
“Well, too late,” I cut in, not letting go. “I already decided to hold it for you.”
He paused. His lips twitched, but then he growled in the same tone, “You’re pretty stubborn.”
“I guess that makes two of us.”