Love is Always Write Anthology Bonus Volume

read "abomination!"
    "My birthday present," he announced. "All that fucking work, and they still win."
    I wanted to throw it. I didn't. Alan put his finger by a Post-it note and opened the Bible to another page. Genesis 19, the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, with certain verses highlighted.
    The book held at least ten more Post-it bookmarks.
    "You know there are Biblical scholars who say this is all misinterpreted, right?"
    "Lukas…" he pulled out the paper that was the first bookmark, "it doesn't matter. They win." He buried his face in my leg, waving the paper as he did. I took it and opened it.
    It was a piece of notebook paper folded around part of an article from the Cauldron, the arts review and calendar run by a campus club. Under a full-body picture of Alan posing as Doctor Frank'n'Furter was the caption " Transferring in as a junior, newcomer Alan Lacroix struts his stu— "
    The paper was a letter. It started with "Dear Son" but "Son" was in quotes. With a question mark.
    "We tried," the letter read in cramped handwriting. "We tried to raise you right. You were wrong from the beginning and nothing but a disgrace, but we loved you like the son you didn't want to be and we kept trying. No more. You're twenty-one and it's time to be a man. Not one dime, not one tear you'll get from us until you act like one. Your precious college won't give us a refund, so consider your semester of perverted promiscuity a last fling on your parents' money."
    It was signed "John and Debbie Sue Lacroix." Underneath, in the same hand but messier and smaller, was written like it made a difference, "Prayer without ceasing until you come back to us, my baby boy."
    "This—" I had to stop, clear my throat around a lump of rage, "this is crying out to be set on fire."
    "It still doesn't matter." Alan wiggled deeper into the comforter, withdrawing from me.
    "If it doesn't matter, why are you so upset?"
    "Lukas," he said, curling into a ball smaller than I would have believed possible under the comforter, "go home."
    I patted him and went to take out some fury on the bathtub before I went hunting his parents or dragged him out of the blanket to convince him that at least one person thought he was everything wonderful in the world.
    Yeah, no way that could end badly, Lukas.
    When I came out rain was falling past the window, and some of it was coming in. Alan was still curled under the comforter, completely hidden. I went to close the window and he swore.
    "What the fuck does it take to get you to go away?"
    "I told you. It's not happening." The Bible lay on the table where I'd set it when I got up. "Alan, do you want this damn book?"
    "No."
    "May I toss it out the window?"
    "I want to do it." He rolled off the couch and onto the floor, stood up still entangled and almost fell on his computer. I steadied him and he didn't notice, too busy snatching up the Bible. He flung it with all his strength and it smacked the brick wall before tumbling out of sight.
    "That felt good," he said, looking around. "Let's burn the letter too."
    I grabbed the ashtray, found the letter. He found his lighter. I grabbed the glass of water I'd brought him when I first arrived and reminded myself there was a fire extinguisher in the hall if we needed it.
    "Arson is bad," he said, glancing at me with a grin as the paper caught.
    "So's littering," I said, jerking my head at the window.
    "I'm just wrong all ways," he said, tilting the paper as it was engulfed. In seconds it was a crumbling bit of char. "I want to burn more things," Alan said, watching the wind pull the smoke out the window.
    "Why doesn't the letter matter?" I asked. "Don't you want to stay?"
    He snorted. "Lukas, I'm a crazy bitch. I won't last to get kicked out." He held out his hand to me, palm up. I didn't know what else to do so I took it in both of mine. "Watch my wrist," he said, and made a fist. The vein stood out; across it lay three white scars. "Helluva party trick, isn't it?"
    "Alan…" That was what Mallory knew. That was why she'd been so worried. Alan took his hand back, scooped up the comforter and hid under it again.
    "I went to the pharmacy for my refills," he said from his turtling, "and they told me my insurance was canceled. I freaked, but then I calmed down. It's been years. I figured I could handle it." He chuckled, sharp and sardonic. "Oh yeah. I can fucking handle it."
    "So you're on medication and they took you off their insurance?" I just couldn't absorb it.
    "If you're