Some more about the story. The original has some language, but I've edited it out for the web.

Cicero came back with Aunt Cecilia and his cousin a little after sunset. Despite his feeble protests, Aunt Cecilia had insisted that, in return for her supplies, Cicero owed her. They drove past the border and headed on through the expanse of nothingness for hours. Cicero watched the fence line roll along the side of the road, whipping back and forth relative the cars movement, just escaping lashing them by a trick of perspective. He watched a hill disappear behind them and sighed.

Cecilia pulled off onto an exit. A suburb tucked off of the road slowly came into view and Cecilia drove the car into a gas station. She got up silently and got out, locking the door as she left. Cicero waited until she was safely in the convenience store.

“Traitor,” he hissed.

“What was that?” his cousin asked mildly.

“You,” he leaned over the seat to look at him, “You could have said something.”

His cousin looked pale in the moonlight. He peeled his flesh off of the glass and looked Cicero in the eye, “You know that’s not true.”

“Yes you could have. You could have SAID something! You could have ****** nodded once or twice,” Cicero hissed, his hands balled into fists as though he was ready to hit him.

His cousin’s eyes grew cold, “You’re very funny Cicero. You know that’s my blood running through her veins right, now.”

“How was I supposed to know that she’d use you,” Cicero grunted, “You, Zion… you knew that what she wanted from me.”

“You knew, too. Frankly, I think it’ll be good for you,” Zion’s reply was even, emotionless.

“Oh? Really,” Cicero did strike him this time, but he grabbed Zion around the throat, his large hand crushing in on his cousin fragile trachea. Zion grabbed his hand feebly, fighting desperately to breath, “My life is hell. I see myself in a mirror, I can’t go outside, I can’t even have a ******* relationship. On top of that, Aunt Cecilia and Henry are trying to run my life from Wyoming and you are telling me that I should just give up? That I should just move back with them and FORGET all of that?”

He threw Zion back against the seat, the force splitting the threads and leaving a slight human shaped dent in the cushion. Zion breathed in heavily, his ribs vibrating in pain. Cecilia got back into the car.

“Really Cicero, be nice to you cousin,” she scolded.

Cicero said nothing.

She tossed a magazine in the back and fired up the car, “Don’t act like I didn’t see that. Really, Cicero, I’d think you’d be more mature.”

They pulled out of the gas station and drove home.

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