[for Nicki and Lloyd] after the fight
It's been a few says since the fight, if you can really even call it that. Miguel prefers not to, thinks it's better in the long run if he thinks about it as that time he got pissed and beat up a stranger for no reason.
Or, you know, one of the many times he's done that, and not even one he got caught for. It shook him up about the same, though, the way the Midsummer party had--he'd started to get used to it, here. Being safe, getting along with people well enough, not worrying about what lurked around the corner.
And he's not really worried about that now, because if anything's lurking around the corner, it's probably him. That's the feeling he took home with him that day, dripping from his nose and mouth, face swollen, unable to decide if he was proud or not.
Today he knows he isn't, having finally made his way to the compound for a shower. Now he's prodding at his bruises in front of a bathroom mirror, licking his split lip and wondering if the other guy really does look worse off. He should let the clinic clean him up, but then he might have to explain it, and then he might have to talk to his new shrink, and he doesn't think he needs a doctor to tell him why he beat the shit out of some mouthy white boy in the woods.
Mouthy white boys always get beat by somebody. He's just not so sure it had to be him.
Or, you know, one of the many times he's done that, and not even one he got caught for. It shook him up about the same, though, the way the Midsummer party had--he'd started to get used to it, here. Being safe, getting along with people well enough, not worrying about what lurked around the corner.
And he's not really worried about that now, because if anything's lurking around the corner, it's probably him. That's the feeling he took home with him that day, dripping from his nose and mouth, face swollen, unable to decide if he was proud or not.
Today he knows he isn't, having finally made his way to the compound for a shower. Now he's prodding at his bruises in front of a bathroom mirror, licking his split lip and wondering if the other guy really does look worse off. He should let the clinic clean him up, but then he might have to explain it, and then he might have to talk to his new shrink, and he doesn't think he needs a doctor to tell him why he beat the shit out of some mouthy white boy in the woods.
Mouthy white boys always get beat by somebody. He's just not so sure it had to be him.