Page 45 of Wrath

His glazed eyes narrow. “I know that’s not true. As soon as you heard the shower, you were picking the lock to get an eyeful for your sketch collection.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’d say nothing.” He looks down at himself. “What do you think, though? You’ve seen a lot of dicks, right?” His mouth does something that’s a cross between a cruel smile and smirk.

“Fuck you, Ezra.”

“You been wanting to?” He smiles, but it looks like it hurts. His whole face is tight with what must be a killer headache.

“You look like you feel like shit.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re being stupid,” I say.

He steps into the shower, angling his hips away from me as he does. When he’s in there, his low voice says, “You sound like a guy who wants to be outed.”

“You sound like you’re scared of going. Do you have a phobia or something?”

“Only of you sliding into my bed at night.”

“Don’t be a homophobe, fuckface. It’s not a good look.”

“I’m not afraid ofallthe homos. Just the ones that come into the bathroom when I’m naked.”

“Yeah, I came in here to see you naked.” I roll my eyes.

“Did I pass your boner test?”

“You’re such a dick.” I can’t suppress an amazed laugh.

“Why don’t you go draw it now? Do they know you’re gay at church?”

My stomach flips at that thought. “If you tell them, you’ll fucking regret it.”

“Oh look, the twinky little cello boy is making threats now.”

I’m not going to take this shit from him, so I step out and shut the door just hard enough to let him know he can fuck off without alerting my mom.

I’m so pissed, it takes almost an hour for me to realize he got exactly what he wanted. I left Ezra alone. I knock on his bedroom door again, out of nothing but a sense of obligation.

“Not dead yet. Sorry,” he calls from the other side of the door.

He’s so hostile. And so fucking volatile. I wonder what the hell is wrong with him.

Twelve

Ezra

August 5, 2017

My very own journal. Wowzers, I’ve always wanted one of these! You can call me Mark Twain, baby.

Yeah…no one is reading this shit. I don’t care what Paul the supreme ruler of the fuck-up empire told us. I’m going to guard it with my life, and at the end of my time here, I’m going to burn it.

I’m at Alton, if you can’t tell. Whoever YOU are. I guess no one. Pretty sure they’re never going to check these things. There’s no reason to write anything at all, except I can’t sleep.

Anyway, today was the day. Got on a plane that flew from Richmond to the Bangor Airport in Maine. Some curly-haired woman in a white T-shirt with “Alton Academy” on the pocket was waiting for me right there where I got off the plane- just in case I tried to run.

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