Can't Stay Away

A few days later, I woke up to find Brendon sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at me. The look on his face worried me. I sat up so that my face was level with his.

"What's wrong?" I asked, reaching out a hand and touching the side of his face gently. He closed his eyes, sighing. When he opened them again there was pain in his eyes. He reached his hand to touch the side of my face, but not as gently. He put pressure on my skin and I flinched slightly, forgetting about the bruise Brendon had given me the night after his mother's funeral. His hand slid off of my face, landing on my knee. Brendon looked down, and when he spoke, I could tell he was crying.

"I'm exactly like my father," Brendon choked out. My eyes widened in shock. Where had this come from?

"What?" I asked. "Where did you get that idea?"

"My father hurt me," Brendon said. "He gave me bruises. I do the same thing to you. I hit you. I actually hit you."

"Brendon," I said. I grabbed his chin gently and moved his face up to make him look at me. I stared him dead in the eyes as I spoke to him. "You are nothing like your father."

I saw his eyes flicker to the bruise on my face, and he shut his eyes.

"Brendon," I said again. He looked down again and I noticed that his shoulders were shaking slightly as he continued to cry. "Brendon, please look at me."

He didn't budge.

"Please, Brendon," I said. "Just look at me for a minute."

Slowly, Brendon lifted his head until his gaze met mine.

"What goes on between you and me is completely different from what went on between you and your father," I said. Brendon shook his head, his eyes watering more. "Brendon. Did you like it when your father hit you?"

"No," Brendon said, looking at me as if I was slightly crazy.

"How about if I hit you?" I asked. Brendon looked away.

"Well, that depends," Brendon said.

"Brendon, I only ever hit you if we're having sex or making out," I said. Brendon looked up at me and smirked.

"I love it when you hit me," Brendon said. I smiled smugly.

"See. You're not like your father," I said. Brendon frowned.

"But we only established that I like it when you hit me," he said. "What about when I hit you? Do you like it when I hit you?"

I leaned forward until my face was an inch away from his, and smirked.

"I love it," I murmured before kissing him.