Unearthed (The Dungeon Black Duology 1)

Shit, Max would’ve done the same thing. The fact that Scott’s dad was a raging alcoholic had only made things more difficult. That shit didn’t just shut off when the problem takes a hike. It continues on as its own fucking problem. A problem, as it were, that would be the end of Scott’s mom, when his dad forced her to get in the car. Forced her to ride with his dumb drunk ass as he headed into town for more beer.

Scott couldn’t have known that was going to happen. He’d thought he was doing his mom a favor. If Scott wasn’t there then his dad wouldn’t be pissed, which meant his mom would stop getting beat up. Sadly, her escape from domestic violence was brought to her in the form of an oak tree. Slamming at sixty-five miles an hour right into her side of the car.

But her quick death didn’t comfort Scott. Evidently, nothing did, with the exception of drugs. Although that wasn’t really comfort. More like a closet. Where he could shove shit for the duration of his buzz. What he found in his abusive boyfriends, however, Max could understand a bit more. Scott found punishment there that he felt he deserved. For failing his mom. For being a piece of shit. Defective. Perverted. A reject. All things that warranted a life of misery. His self-inflicted dues between each high.

From what Max deduced, after Scott’s mom died but before he and Scott met, Scott’s life consisted of two things: getting wasted as much and as often as physically possible between bouts of emotional and physical abuse from his boyfriends. It’d been the most fucked up arrangement of symbiosis Max had ever imagined. These assholes would give Scott a couch and some drugs, and they’d take from him any way they wished. Their paid for, personal blow toy-slash-punching bag to throw away as soon as they got bored. Just the thought of it made Max want to punch something himself. In fact, he used the inspiration often when he worked out at the gym.

On good days, however, he focused on the positive. On how Scott was so much better now. Like night and day. Well, almost at least. Because, again, Scott still had his rough patches.

But fuck it. So did Max. Probably everyone did. Yet Max still couldn’t help hoping that one day soon he’d have helped Scott kick his old ways for good. Help the kid realize that he didn’t need to punish himself. That he never did anything wrong to begin with. Truth be told, Max had already said as much tons of times, till it felt like he was just beating a dead horse. He could see it in Scott’s eyes, how the things Max was saying just weren’t fucking registering. In one ear and out the other. Like his brain just wasn’t buying what Max was selling. It was frustrating as hell, watching Scott disregard his words, most of the time before he’d even finished speaking them. Like an insta-switch inside Scott’s thick skull would shut down the second it registered where Max was headed. So fucking obstinate. But it wasn’t Scott’s fault. He was damaged goods, just like Max.

But Max wouldn’t give up. He’d fix that kid. Fix him if it was the last thing he did.

Cutting a tight left into their tiny kitchen, Max snagged a water bottle from the fridge. No beer for him yet. Too much homework, damn it. Then subs that needed him sober after that. He unscrewed its cap and took a swallow.

“Yo, Scott,” he called, heading down the hall. Silence. Was he even home?

Max pulled to a stop in front of Scott’s room and gave a little knock. “Scott? You in there?”

“Uh… Yeah… I’m here.”

The door was ajar, so Max pushed the thing open. “Hey, bud. How was work? Luke said you totally missed the—whoa.” Max froze in his tracks and stared at Scott, then clenched the living shit out of his teeth. “What the fuck happened to your goddamn face?”

Scott’s lip was swollen, there was dried blood in one of his nostrils, and the right side of his face was all red.

Eyes down, Scott shrugged where he sat atop his bed, propped kind of crooked against the wall. “Got into it with Jeb. He was being a dick. Whatever. I’m over it. Moving on.”

Max’s brows scrunched tightly. He shook his head. “Moving on my fucking ass, Scott. Jesus Christ.”

Scott didn’t look up. Just fiddled with his phone. Legs bent, forearms propped on his knees. “Relax, Max. I’m fine. Just wanna forget about it.”

Max snarled. “Where is he? Where’s that motherfucker live? I’m gonna beat his fucking ass for this, Scott.”

Scott winced, eyes still downcast, and shook his head. “Please don’t, Max. I’m serious. That’s not your job. You’re not my fucking babysitter.”