He repeats it like a mantra, every day of his goddamn life. It’s what he tells his mom, when she can stop long enough to notice. What he tells the teachers at school when he keeps appearing in their class with bruise after bruise. When he gets so exhausted he passes out in their class. What he tells Eric when he wakes up, hungover and guilt ridden.
Everything’s fine.
Everything’s fine.
Everything’s f i n e.
It’s what he says to himself when he’s fixing himself up,
trying not to stare too hard at the bruises. If he does that,
he thinks he might go insane and he’s got to keep sane.
He can’t lose himself in it, they need him. He knows he’s
in over his head, he’s known that since the first time Eric
laid a hand on him.
But he’s handling it.
Another lie he repeats, like if he says it enough it’ll magically become true.
Wishful thinking, but he has to believe it. He has to try to believe that he can handle it. His mother certainly can’t – not that he thinks she’s w e a k. She just has so much on her plate, already. How do you think she’d handle finding out one of her sons has completely gone off the deep end and the other is now a willing victim of abuse?
(Yes, he knows how FUCKED UP it is. He should seek help. He should tell. He s h o u l d. He wont.)
Because he’s “handling it”. He’s doing what’s necessary. And if that means he has to deal with a few blows every now and again (every other day, now, it seems), then that’s just what he’s gotta do.
He most definitely does not have it handled.