他用闲着的那只手把他的头发从他眼睛上拿开，咆哮吧。roman。这是一个完完全全不同的问题。他被他吸引，就像……像一只旅鼠到那该死的悬崖。一个船锚去到水里。艹。当他开始下楼走向拖车时，他看见灯还关着；像是他的母亲决定呆在外面庆祝一下。当他走下最后一级台阶，转向温暖的里面，有人撞向他，把他撞向栏杆并且压着他喘不过气来。Hands,ripping the umbrella away，揪住他的头发，迫使他把头转回来。roman出声了：“我警告过你和letha的事，peter。我警告过你。”
As the gypsy's nostril's flared, his nosejumped up in a snarl as he tried to catch his breath在同一时间侮辱roman，“他妈的——嗯——和跳吗？找不到你的——嗯——，就过来向别人骂粗话？”他的心跳得很快，他的帆布夹克已经湿透了。他眯起眼睛挡雨，尽他所能地把手支撑在栏杆上往后推。
roman叫喊的时候他滑倒了，从台阶上摔了下来然后一屁股坐在在了泥泞中with an undignified slap。peter转向他，然后在转身向拖车门之前闭了一会儿眼睛，“小心，roman——你会毁了你的鞋子。”
他不明白为什么另一个年轻人那么仇视他，无法面对他为什么已经从暴力中半硬了。因为你搞砸了，peter，fucked in the head。这次他真他妈的会杀了你，他会的。你没看到他该死的瞳孔！
冲击来的非常快，与生俱来远比人类迅速的动物反应让恐惧冻结了他紧靠在上颚的舌头。他猛地把门打开，连滚带爬到屋子里面，slipped inside and slammed it behind him,flicking the lock before backing away；他耳朵中的铃声渐渐平息，他可以听到水一半滴在地毯上，一半滴在瓷砖上。他蹑手蹑脚地前进，慢慢地，试图把他和窗口的距离拉开但却还是凝视着门。接下来，他知道，他被绊倒在厨房的桌子下，然后地板嘎吱嘎吱地响，他感到鼻子破了，他头晕，他在从冷空气进入拖车后的爆炸中颤抖。
袭击他的人的声音很冷漠，近乎平静，但peter知道这是一个不好的迹象；他试图通过顺着他的脸留下的生理泪水找到roman，pulling himself back in a scramblingcrabwalk。高个男子把他的头发从脸上梳到后面去，伸手拿了一把椅子，然后转过身，关上破损的门和楔入椅子下方的把手说：“现在应该工作了。”
peter在桌下，明知他自己陷入了困境但他太迷茫了以至于不知道该做些什么。他是个该死的白痴甚至有一瞬间希望罗马发现他和letha。他有什么地方不对劲…peter能感觉到，不是因为药物。什么东西被突然折断成两半，rattled loose, been freed——他的心下沉了一截，他就要遭殃了。
roman慢慢地脱掉了外衣，丢在门旁边的扶手椅上。他走近了一步，卷起衣袖，一次一个，微微噘着嘴唇，眼睛一眨也不眨。然而peter的眼睛看着四面八方，试图找到一条出路，泪水已经有所消退。他动了动站了起来，罗马的视线立刻就落在了他的身上，用力地抓住他的脚踝把他从桌子底下硬拽了出来，抛到沙发上，“Ah, ah, noneof that now？”
He pushed his hair out of his eyes with his free hand, growlinga bit. Roman. That was a whole other problem. He was drawn to him like a...like a lemming to a fucking cliff. An anchor to water. Fuck. As he began down the stairs toward thetrailer, he saw that the lights were still off; looked like his mother'delected to stay out and celebrate. As he stepped off the last stair and turnedtoward the warmth of inside, someone slammed against him, bending him halfwayover the railing and stealing his breath with the force of it. Hands, rippingthe umbrella away, tangling into his hair, jerking his head back. Roman'svoice: "I warned you about fucking Letha, Peter. I warned you."
As the gypsy's nostril's flared, his nose jumped up in a snarlas he tried to catch his breath and insult Roman at the same time, "Fuck'em and -- huh -- jump? Couldn't get your --huh -- rocks off, had to come overand rough-ough someone up?" His heart was racing, his canvas jacketalready soaked through. He squinted against the rain, bracing his hands againstthe railing and pushing back with all his might.
Roman yelped as he slipped back, tumbling off the step to fallon his ass in the mud with an undignified slap. Peter turned on him then,locking eyes for a moment before backing toward the trailer door,"Careful, Roman -- you'll ruin your shoes."
He couldn't fathom why he was antagonizing the other youth,couldn't come to grips with why he was already half-hard from the violence.Becauseyou're fucked up, Pete, fucked in the head. He might fucking kill you for realthis time, he might. Did you see his goddamn pupils--!
"Been doin' some drugs and fuckin' some cheerleaders,Roman? Busy night..." Peter only hesitated for a second as his heelbrushed up against the first step, peering at the blonde man shifting to sitcross-legged in the mud, shapely mouth parting to let out a quiet string oflaughter. The hairs all along Peter's neck and spine jumped up, followed bywhole-body gooseflesh.
The brunet turned quickly then, reactions more animal than humanas fear froze his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He threw the door open,slipped inside and slammed it behind him, flicking the lock before backingaway; as the ringing in his ears went down, he could hear the water drippinghalf on the carpet, half on the tile. He crept forward, slowly, trying to keephis distance from the window but also peer out the door. The next thing heknew, he was tripping backward into the kitchen table then crunching to thefloor, dizzy from a broken nose and shivering from the blast of cool airgushing into the trailer.
"You fucking idiot, why would you stand right behind thedoor like that?"
His attacker's voice was distant, almost calm, and Peter knewthat was a bad sign; he tried to pinpoint Roman through the reflexive tearsrunning down his face, pulling himself back in a scrambling crabwalk. The tallman smoothed his hair back from around his face, reached forward to take a chair,then turned, closed the broken door and wedged said chair underneath thehandle, "There. That should work for now."
Peter was halfway under the table, knowing he was corneringhimself but too disoriented to do anything about it. He'd been a fucking idiotto think even for a moment he wanted Roman to find out about he and Letha. There's something wrong with him... Peter could sense it, drugs aside.Something had snapped in half, rattled loose, been freed -- and he had asinking feeling he was about to get the brunt of it.
Roman took his coat off, slowly, draping it over the armchair bythe door. He took a step closer, rolling up his sleeves one at a time, mouthpursed, eyes unblinking. Peter's eyes, however, were darting every which way,trying to find a way out now that the tears had somewhat subsided. As he made amove to stand up, Roman was on him in a flash, grabbing his ankle hard andtugging him roughly from under the table, toward the couch, "Ah, ah, noneof that now."
Groaning at the trail of blood smearing onto the floor from hisface, pain glittered all the way down Peter's spine in bursts,"Ro-Roman--" He wanted to say more but he couldn't find the words,couldn't decide what it was he wanted -- his desires were so at odds with one another.He felt schizophrenic, he felt fear and lust in equal measures.