Rules only exist so that people can break them. One person takes control, the other takes it back. It’s pointless. Meaningless. This is why I don’t believe in rules.

I allowed him to make rules so that I could show him how meaningless they are. To me, anyway.

Trouble is, those rules did mean something to him. And he broke them. Very nearly all of them, in fact, as I found out later when he decided he wanted to tell me about it.

He was “sick of the game,” which I found just fascinating since I wasn’t aware it was us that were playing. I was dead serious. It’s funny the problems that boy creates for himself. Entire arguments have taken place that I didn't even know about until after he’s said he forgives me. Then I’ll laugh, and he’ll be mad all over again.

So he tells me he’s sick of the game, and I say “Fine” because it doesn’t make much of a difference to me. This is one of those things that exist only in his head, and he’ll take care of it himself. I fuck him then turn around to go to sleep.

He makes a big production of sighing heavily and laying on his back staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

“What is it, Justin?” I say without moving.

“Nothing,” he replies, and it’s just dripping with implication.

At this point I roll over and roll my eyes, preparing myself for what could become a long night. “Okay then, hypothetically, if it wasn’t nothing, what would it be?”

“I want to say I’m sorry.”

My lip curls involuntarily. “Sure you’re sorry. I know you are. So what?”

“That’s all,” he says, then looks away. I wait quietly for him to continue. Soon enough it all gushes out like it always does.

“Brian, I swear, I meant to follow the rules. I tried. But the way the guy was looking at me, I just couldn’t treat him like –"

Like I would have. That’s what he wanted to say.

“I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“So you kissed it all better and sent him home. Fine. End of discussion.”

He hesitates for just a second, and I grit my teeth.

“I fucked him twice, Brian. I didn’t want to, really, but it just happened. So I’m sorry.”

I suspect he’s sorry about more than just breaking the rules, but I keep it to myself. As far as I can tell, he cleaned up his mess. “Don’t be,” I say. “Things do happen,” I say. And I kiss him on the forehead and smile gently and he knows he’s not in trouble. Comforted, he goes to sleep.

The thing is, I know him, and I know it didn’t “just happen.” He broke his rules intentionally, to show me that he could. Either that, or he did it to beat me to the punch. Only I wouldn’t have broken them. Why would I? That would just give them meaning.

Usually when I watch him sleep, he looks beautiful and angelic. Tonight, I don’t know how he looks. Maybe he’s just beautiful. Just a little different.

Why? Because he got me, that’s why. This is a game and it’s mine and he beat me. He’s winning. And I care.

I look at him and I’m almost proud. He’s finally learned. And I find myself wishing I hadn’t taught him so well.
Because now . . .

. . . now that I . . .

Now he’s dangerous.

end