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Whizzer Brown's Tight Knit Family

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Whizzer watched Marvin hit his wife, well his ex wife. Whizzer watched the man's calloused hand, the hand that had held his shoulder on late nights in front of Marvin's crappy TV and the hand that had groped Whizzer rough in their nights of passion, strike across Trina's face. For once in Whizzer's time knowing Trina, she was completely nonreactive, not even a scream or a whine. Whizzer would have screamed, no Whizzer probably would have moaned. He would have done more than just stare at Marvin, until Mendel came up behind them and pulled his wife away. Marvin reached for her, the woman who had held his name for years; the woman who he had just hit.

Whizzer didn't have any idea what to do, he wasn't a part of this family anymore. He was never really a part of this family to begin with, this was Marvin's family. Whizzer didn't have one. Marvin had thrown him out, Marvin had dumped him, he didn't deserve to be here. He didn't deserve to watch Trina tell Marvin that she wasn't ashamed to love him and he certainly didn't deserve to watch as Jason tried to reach his father but Mendel held him back.

So Whizzer left.

He walked away and did something he never wanted to do before, something he never even thought of. Later, walking in the cold six am New York City streets, Whizzer was disgusted by what he did out of spite. What he did was in spite of Marvin, the man who insisted Whizzer be his housewife of all things. It was in spite of Trina, the woman whom he felt sorry for, even when Whizzer had been apart of the anger that caused her ex husband to strike her across the face. In spite of Jason, the kid who damned it be, had captured more of Whizzer's heart than Jason's father had at that point. And even in spite of Mendel, cause why not the hell not blame someone else too?

Whizzer fell into the legs of a woman.

The sentence repeated over and over again in his head, like a taunt from his subconscious as he stumbled his way through the streets of New York. Around him, people are busy. New York was Whizzer's favorite place to be when he did something terrible, which is most of the time, because everyone is judging everyone equally. We all look down at the people that walk next to us, even if they were objectively better people. It was the beauty of the city after all. It captured all the washouts of the world.

It never used to be any different to Whizzer anyways. Some dreamed of a city where dreams came true, where stars were born and blasted off into fame. To Whizzer, New York City was just the place he went after he was thrown out of his childhood home with bruises on his face and open wounds on his arms. He made what little belongings he had, the ones that sat in his suitcase in his left hand that would occasionally hit against his leg as walked now, by screwing men of all kinds. Shapes, sizes, ages, ethnicity. Anyone who wanted to have his hands on him, for the right price of course, could do so.

It was safe to say there had been no one like Marvin. No one to keep him detained from that life of sex to money to sex, for so long. For what was it, 9 months? No maybe 10. He didn't care, that was gone. So was the life of living as Mendel's son's mother's ex-husband's lover. Not that he needed to care for Mendel or any of them at all, even if his heart lurched, as he rambled off relations, at the faces that came to mind.

What he needed to focus on now was a place to sleep, food in his stomach, and probably a shower. That's really what he was thinking of when a man on the street grabbed him from behind and pushed him up against the wall of an alleyway. He definitely wasn't thinking about Marvin's rough finesse as the man shoved a knee in between Whizzer's legs to keep him place. And he certainly wasn't thinking about the emotionally manipulative, yet incredibly arousing, comments Marvin would whisper into his ears when the two would be in a similar position.

The man was propositioning sex, and Whizzer wasn't listening. Unless the man could offer a warm bed and some lukewarm food, which based on the overwhelming 'closeted' aura that Whizzer got from him had Whizzer assuming probably not, he would decline. Of course that earned a couple good kicks to his stomach, one to his groin that had him bent towards the dirty cement of the alleyway, and a punch or two to the face.

It wasn't until moments, or hours Whizzer didn't really pay attention to how long he'd been hunched over in the alleyway, later when an older woman came by to help him. She said about emergency contacts, and he rambled off the only one he knows. Marvin's. She pulled him into a nearby building, a barber shop, and demanded to use their phone. Whizzer shook his head, Marvin wouldn't answer, and he instead politely asked her to point him in the direction of Berkeley College dorms.

"Who are you looking for, dearie?" The lady was nice enough. She didn't seem to judge Whizzer too harshly, didn't ask a lot of questions despite insisting that she lead him to a safe place. Safe, he scoffed in his brain, he didn't necessarily have that.

"My sister." Whizzer growled. Not quite sure whether it be based on the name or the pain in his entire body that he wished would just knock him out already instead of slowly consuming him.

She asked what his sister's name was, and Whizzer didn't feel like answering. Didn't feel like giving a name that could care less if he was on the streets or in a ditch. Well, that was what he assumed anyway.

He didn't think that when he opened the door his younger sister would be struck with look that just read worry. Quite frankly Whizzer didn't believe the 19 year old was capable of any worry at all, especially for him, and yet there it was. As she closed the door after thanking the old lady, she turned to him and manhandled him into a hug so tight he felt like he was wearing a corset.

Wouldn't be the first time, he thought to himself, as his sister pulled back to give him a slap upside the head. "What the hell, Whiz?"

He groaned, not wanting to endure the unnecessary telling of how he ended up at her doorstep, so he instead walked over about five feet and face planted onto her couch. She laughed, running a hand through his hand as she passed to the bathroom, most likely to get him a towel or something that would clean up the bloody lip he'd earned.

"Who did you screw over this time?" Her voice got louder as she came closer to him, tossing the wet towel against the back of his head. "Or should I just say screw?"

"I didn't screw him." Whizzer groaned, reaching behind him to take the towel that was currently soaking his hair. "That was the problem."

"Dad would be proud." She said, kneeling down next to him to clean up the blood splattered across the lower part of his face.

"Rosemary." He whined, not at the towel of course he wasn't a bitch, but of course the mention of their father. Using the term loosely of course, since Whizzer didn't exactly consider the man father of the year.

"What have you been up to?" She asked, because of course she had to ask.

"What I've always been up to." He groaned, smacking her hand away as he turned over onto his back. She smiled at him, always the ever knowing little sister. The only one in their entire spectrum of a household that seemed to ever completely understand everyone else. Probably because she was the youngest, Whizzer thought.

"One guy? Or many?" She asked.

"You're talking about the guy who beat me up right?" He knew she wasn't.

"You know I'm not." She replied.

Whizzer groaned again, his entire body felt like it a fly being smacked at by a crappy father in a wife beater. Probably was a wife beater. Like Marvin, something sour in him said. No, Marvin didn't beat Trina, (or Whizzer, for that matter) he was selfish and arrogant but not an asshole. He just hit her. Once.

"How long since I called you last? Nine months?" He asked.

"Ten months. Said you were getting some pretty gifts from guy with a horrible fashion sense." She said, throwing the towel in a basket by the bathroom door. Whizzer didn't know what to laugh at; the quip that he often shared with Marvin over how long they'd been together, or the brief description of Marvin.

"One guy." Whizzer said, determined not to praise Marvin too highly because he knew Marvin wouldn't give him the same kind of praise. "One hell of a guy."

"I'm assuming he's not around anymore." Rosemary motioned for him to move over, letting her wrap her arms around him as the two tried to cram next to one another on the small crappy college couch. "Did you like him?"

And at that moment it all washed over Whizzer, like a sudden downpour. The scent of Marvin's dollar store shampoo as the smell clung to his wet hair that he never did anything with despite Whizzer's constant nagging. The feel of Marvin's crappy dress shirts that ended at the elbow and his hairy covered arms clutching onto Whizzer in old nights. The scowl of Marvin's lips, the color of his eyes, everything that ticked Whizzer off in their moments together now made him ache. Ache for it all, the fighting, the cuddling, the kisses Whizzer never gave, god it hurt. It hurt more than the bruises on his arms, and the cut on his face.

He refused to cry, he would not give Marvin the satisfaction despite the older man there to see him, so his chest moved up and down. A silent sob, with no tears falling down his face. His sister didn't hold him closer, didn't whisper reassurances in his ear. The Browns didn't do that sort of thing, it was always tough love or no love with them.  Rosemary smiled (not a happy one she wasn't that heartless) but she ran her fingers through his hair, kissing his shoulder.

"Poor Whiz. You loved him, didn't you?" Rosemary asked, and Whizzer didn't reply. He didn't have the energy to deny it anymore but he certainly wouldn't agree. Not when the man had thrown Whizzer out, struck his wife in front of Whizzer, didn't even care what happened to Whizzer.


"I'll make dinner." She had said sometime after, getting up and leaving Whizzer on the couch as he let sleep consume him.