Sal had taken an hour-long subway bus to get to New York where his uncle lived and Sal wasn't even sure if the older man would want him around. Sal knew logically that his favorite uncle wouldn't kick him to the streets when he was injured and upset, he wasn't like that. Sal bit his swollen cheek as he sat outside his uncle's apartment door, back against the wall, waiting for them to get home. Sal looked awful, even he could admit that. His lip was nasty with a deep gash, it turned his mouth a nauseating crimson and the tainted metallic taste didn't help his gut churn any less.

His stomach felt sick with nerves and hunger, he hadn't eaten breakfast that morning but he'd eat a cow if given the chance now, even with the bleeding mouth. A dull throb was starting to make its appearance more noticeable, another cut on his temple with bruises painting his face. Sal was worried his uncle would assume it was his father, Michael, who had hurt him but it wasn't. Sal's eyes burned fiercely at the mere thought of his classmates, the bus stop.

Sal was too aware of how much discrimination was being forced onto him because of his skinniness, and the memory of the boys snarling out slurs as they beat him was burned into his mind. Sal didn't think he liked other boys, but he also didn't see a problem if he did. He was raised by his father to not act out too much, hell, Michael even called Sal homophobic things from now and then so Sal was reminded not to be weird at school. Sal wasn't weird, though, and it wasn't his fault that the other boys thought so.

Sal scrubbed an aggressive hand against his eyelids to get rid of the burning tears that threatened to spill, he couldn't break, not now, he could hang on at least until his uncle got home. Sal felt foolish for running from home but he stifled the emotion, if he hadn't run then Michael would've followed through with his childish threat of rolling up to the houses of the kids bullying him with his patrol car. Sal already faced enough hatred from his classmates.