My new friends are not happy. Curly won't stop screaming. Apparently, the fork missed his carotid artery, but there's still a lot of red stuff.

  Three of my friends drag me away. The red stuff keeps coming. I wonder if Curly will go away, like the others did.

  My friends drag me to Sir's room and put me in the chair. I look at Sir, my cheek goes red again, and I look away.

  Sir doesn't look happy. "Why did you do it?"

  "I didn't like when he made me feel hot, sir."

  Sir shakes his head. I think I've made him sad. "Tell me, psycho, what did I say happens to bad boys?"

  "They get punished, sir." He's nodding and smiling. Maybe he's not that mad. He comes and stands in front of me, putting his hand on my chin. It's not as bad as Derek's. He lifts my head—am I supposed to look at him? I can't help it. At least he doesn't make my face red again.

  He strokes my cheek. I've felt this before. I know what's coming.

  "You are such a bad boy..." he sounds like a cat. I gulp. "Aw, are you scared?"

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  "No, sir." He laughs. How do I always miss the joke?

  "Do you know what your punishment is going to be, my little bad boy?"

  "No, sir." Sir pulls me up and guides me to his chair.

  "Bend over my lap, boy." Now he sounds like a dog.

  I bend over his lap. His legs are hard, and so is something else. He pulls down my trousers and boxers. I don't like people touching my butt.

  And then... pain. "Count them, bad boy."

  "1, 2, 3... 28, 29, 30." My butt is also red now, and there's wet on my face. I thought that only came from Momma.

  "Apologies, you little psycho."

  "I'm sorry." I flinch at another sudden hit. "I'm sorry, sir!" Now he's touching it again.

  I want to be a good boy. Bad boys get punished.

  My friends watch and laugh. Maybe they're not my friends.

  Sir keeps touching. His hot air is by my ear again. "Does the little psycho want to be a good boy?" I nod. His mouth touches my neck. I thought only Curly and Momma's friends did that.

  My tummy feels like it's turning over. "Stop," I whisper. He doesn't.

  "Stop," I say quietly. He doesn't.

  "Stop making my tummy turn!" Sir laughs. More pain. Ten minutes later, "I—I'm sorry for shouting, sir. It won't happen again." And his touch is back.

  My not friends take me back to my Bar Room. Curly's not there, my bracelet and necklace are chained to the bed.

  I don't have to share my bed.

  Momma came to me that night, she didn't look happy. Her friends also came, I wonder if they can still make me feel hot from there.

  They can't.