Splintered Hearts

Twenty Six

Noah

I walk slowly through the living room and open the door, then freeze.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

Well, that’s not where I left him.

Clutching the strawberry plushie, Jamie sleeps soundly in my bed. Quietly setting my bag down, I go to my dresser, desperate to remove these jeans. Slowly peeling off my clothes, I throw on shorts and a baby tee that says, I’m not gay but twenty dollars is twenty dollars.

“Noah?” Jamie’s eyes flutter open.

“Hey.” The deep bruising under his eyes makes me uneasy. Jamie has good days and bad days, and today’s been a bad day—I’d practically had to force-feed him his meds this morning. Mark and I had made plans to go to lunch, but I hadn’t felt good about going. Jamie insisted, claiming he would sleep. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

Running my fingers through his soft black hair, I can’t help but smile. “I’m sorry.” Leaning into my touch Jamie practically purrs. “When did you end up in here?” Not that I really mind but Jamie had been in his own room when I left.

“After you left.” Squeezing the plushie, he lays his head against it. I’m not sure what chokehold this damn fruit has on him but I hope he likes what I got him today. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” My thumb runs along his temple.

“It’s more comfortable. Smells like you.” That last part was said softly, but there’s nothing soft about the rush of heat that floods my stomach. “How was lunch?”

“It was good.”

“I’m glad.” The twist of agony on his face as he struggles to sit up breaks my heart. “I can hear you thinking from here. I just need to get up. I’m alright. I want tea.”

“I’ll make you tea.”

Jamie snorts. “No thank you.”

“Fuck you. I can make tea.”

“I don’t even think you can boil water without burning it. Can you just help me up?”

“I got you something today.” I help him upright while he takes deep breaths. What the hell did he do to hurt himself this badly? Jamie looks suspiciously at the bag I’m holding in my lap.

“Is it a sex thing?”

“Everything is a sex thing if you believe in yourself.” Chuckling, he takes the bag from me. “We went downtown and I saw this at one of the stores we went into.” Jamie opens the gift bag, frowning as he looks inside. “Since you seem to like”—he takes the fox out of the bag, looking at me—“plushies.”

“You found this?”

“Yeah, that gift shop with the touristy gifts. I thought it was cute, and since you love foxes... You like?”

Jamie smooths his fingers over the fake fur.

After staring at it a moment he nods subtly. “Yeah, I do.” He pets the fur gently and I notice him sway a little.

“Come on. Up we go.”

Jamie throws the blankets off, leaving him in a pair of plaid boxers and a dark blue sweater. He takes my hands as his legs struggle to swing over the side. If he wasn’t a giant and I actually had some arm strength this would be easier.

I place my hand gently on his lower back to steady him, hearing him hiss, “This fucking sucks.” My fingers slip under his shirt and I flinch at the alarming heat. “I’m okay.” Jamie looks down at me with a smile I feel everywhere. Then his eyes travel down. “Where the hell do you get those shirts?”

“Magic, baby.”

Unloading my bag of books, I busy myself while Jamie’s outside. I don’t know why he’s trying to keep what he’s doing out there a secret. I don’t give a shit. From the grayish hue of his naturally tan skin, I know he doesn’t feel well. The pain is a lot and I don’t mind if he can ease it, as long as it’s safe.

The sliding door opens, letting in the night air which is mixed with sweet smoke. “Do you want tea?”

“No, I’m okay, thank you. Feel better?”

“What?”

“I don’t know how that stuff works. Is it instant?” Jamie chews the inside of his cheek. “I don’t care. Whatever you need to do to feel better.” I’m not sure how I’m going to sort these books out. I really need a damn shelf. The stacks of books around my room are getting out of control. I want the perfect one though.

“I just feel weird.”

“I’m not some Virgin Mary, Jamie.” Although I’ve never tried drugs of any kind, I don’t judge anyone who smokes weed. It helps Jamie’s pain and relieves his nausea from said pain.

“It’s not instant. It doesn’t take long, though. Want me to make you anything?”

“I’ll make something in a minute, just relax.”

Jamie nods, finishing up. “What is all that?”

“Your mom let me have first dibs of the book sale they’re having this weekend. Mark took me after we ate. Oh! Look!” Grabbing my prized possession of the day, I can’t help the beaming smile.

Jamie turns, taking it in with a huge grin. “Amazing. You don’t have that copy?”

“Nope.” I look at the pink and purple cover, feeling so fucking happy. The illustrations are quirky and gothic. Stirring his tea, Jamie takes a seat across from me.

“Can I see?” I hand him the edition of Alice in Wonderland . “Wow.” As he flips through, it’s hard to ignore the smudging under his eyes. “The illustrations are fucking creepy. I love it. It’s like horror with a childish twist. That’s a great find.” He hands it back and my stomach swoops.

I watch him as he takes a sip. “Good?”

“I love tea.”

“How’s the pain today? From one to ten?”

“Nine point seven.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jamie sets his cup down. “I’m alright, just a bit dramatic. I’m more uncomfortable than anything, and sleeping is a bitch. It shouldn’t bother me. I’ve always been a shit sleeper, but this is different—I’m constantly uncomfortable. I didn’t think I’d be this sore after a week.” Taking another sip, he keeps his eyes locked inside the cup.

“Are you tired now?” His tired eyes meet mine then look away, but he nods. “Are you sleeping with me tonight?”

Jamie’s lips purse as he nods. “Can you...”

“You want me to spoon you, don’t you?” I laugh.

“Pressure on my back. That’s all.”

“Sure thing. Let me eat something first, and then we can go to sleep.” I’ll listen to an audio while Jamie sleeps. I’m not really tired, and I don’t think my mind will let me relax right now.

“Can I teach you how to make something?”

“What?”

“Stuffed shells.” Finishing his tea, he gets up, grabbing ingredients from the fridge and cabinets. “It’s easy to make... well, the way I’m about to show you.”

“I don’t know how good I’ll be.”

“It’s not that hard, we’ll keep it simple.” He grabs a glass pan, some bowls, and a pot. “This is one of the first things my mom taught me to make. Grab the mozzarella and ricotta from the fridge, please. I have everything else.” I take the ingredients out, hyperaware of Jamie’s sluggish movements. “Turn the burner on. We can get the pasta going while we make the filling.” I wash my hands, then let Jamie do the same. “This is the recipe. I don’t need it but you can look at it. Just put the ingredients in the bowl for the filling. I’m doubling it for Xavi and Bri. Going to make them a pan while we’re at it.” I do what the directions say, with some slight guidance from him. It’s not hard at all, and for a moment, I can’t believe I’m actually making something. Jamie moves on muscle memory.

“I love Bri. She’s incredible.” I envy her talent and secretly want to be her test dummy. She texts me daily with new designs she’s trying, and for my opinion on makeup and the clothes she’s making. The way her mind works is insane. She’s so creative. “I love when she does my makeup.”

“She loves to experiment on us.”

“She’s done yours?” I ask.

“It’s hard to say no to her. She’s a pincher.” He smiles. “She’s really artistic. Makeup is her thing, but she’s a badass painter too. One time, she did my eyes all smoky black but then added like, purples and blues with white dots, making it look like the night sky across my eyes. It was awesome.”

“I’m trying to picture that.”

“I’m sure she’s got a picture somewhere.”

Mental note—ask Bri for that immediately. “Can I ask something a little personal?” And a lot embarrassing. He nods, stirring the pasta and splashing olive oil in the water. I have to push. I hate that the things Ben said to me stuck. I can’t help it though. “Do you think I’m too feminine?” I hate this feeling, the insecurity of it. “That I like to paint my nails. The clothes I wear. The makeup. Stuff like that I mean, I—”

“Those aren’t male or female traits, they’re just traits. Anyone can have them. I like your nails, your clothes.” Jamie’s smirk grows wicked. “I like the perfume you wear, and that pink lip gloss.”

“Like to taste it, I’m sure.”

“It doesn’t taste great, I’ll be honest. I love to look at it. It makes your lips look so good.”

“How do you feel about lingerie?”

That makes him frown. “Where is this coming from?”

“I guess I’m just curious.” About how you feel about me.

“I don’t give a shit about strict gender bullshit if that’s what you’re wondering. If you’re fishing for a compliment about how fucking incredible your ass looks in a thong... Fine, I may need to see a firsthand account to freshen my memory if you want me to give you an honest opinion about it.

I laugh. “So noble.” But I play along, turning and thumbing the waistband of my shorts, pulling it under my ass to show off the red lacy thong I’d slipped into.

“Fuck.” Jamie shakes his head as I right my shorts. “Fucking perfection. If I was in better shape I’d rip it with my teeth.”

My smile widens, then splits across my face. I’m not sure why I wanted Jamie to give me my flowers, but it feels good. So many guys act as though they like me only to disappoint me or keep me a secret.

Setting the cheese block down, he turns to me, grabbing my chin and tilting it up to look at him. “I like the way you look. I like the way you behave, and I love it when you don’t.” Heat turns his eyes molten. “The clothes, the makeup, your sassy fucking attitude, your wicked mouth and the words that spill out of it. I like everything about you, Noah.” Jamie’s eyes flick to the lips in question. “Can I kiss you? Just one?”

“You’re supposed to be behaving.”

“Just one. That’s all I want.”

How can I say no?

He kisses me slowly, just the way I like. Careful not to tug him to me like I want to, I cup his face, moaning against his lips before his tongue slips inside my mouth. Cool metal runs against my tongue. I don’t want this to end. Ever.

Jamie tries to pull away but I don’t let him, kissing his lips before he begins to laugh. “Okay, okay, easy killer. Don’t distract me.” I relent, placing a final kiss on the bridge of his nose, then his forehead.

“Point taken.” Jamie kisses the top of my head. Fuck, this is all too domestic and normal and wonderful.

“I don’t give a shit about what you wear as long as you’re happy.”

“No toxic masculinity.”

“Homophobic people are weirdos.”

“What do you mean?” I mean, I agree, but I need to hear this.

“Being that involved in a stranger’s relationship? It makes zero sense. It’s like an obsession. It’s weird. Who honestly thinks about someone else’s sex life that much? Who makes legislation based on someone else’s romantic life like that? It has nothing to do with them, yet they’re obsessed with it. It’s weird. Racists, misogynists, bigots of all shapes and sizes. They’re weird and creepy. Maybe if you could make your own wife happy once in a while, Ronald, you wouldn’t be so worried about what Juan and Dexter are doing in their happy home.” Jamie puts the cheese into a large mixing bowl. Throwing the shells into the boiling salted water, he reaches above me to grab two jars of sauce.

“Very good point.”

“Don’t tell my mother I didn’t make the sauce from scratch. She’ll have my ass then say I was trying to poison Xavi. One thing you need to learn if you’re going to be around us is that Xavi is baby—Lia’s pride and joy.”

“He’s the favorite.” I laugh.

“She’ll never admit it, but yes. Just promise.”

“I . . . promise.”

“No, you need to make a pinky promise.” He raises his pinky and I laugh at how serious he is. “She’s never laid a hand on me but I swear she will make me see lights.” Laughing, I entwine my pinky with his. “That’s a binding contract.”

“Man, I should have negotiated.”

“Can’t. Locked in now. It’s already signed and on the record.”

“What’s the fine if I break it?”

“Life in prison.” Jamie’s eyes darken. “Chained up to my bed. Most likely naked. Never allowed to leave.”

“Ah, that’ll get really awkward when I need to use the bathroom.”

Shaking his head, he pops the lid off the jar and empties it into a pan. “You always have to ruin my fantasies with reality.”

“It’s a talent.”

Jamie shakes his head, draining the pasta then resting it briefly in ice water, before transferring it to a clean bowl. “Two spoons.” He pours olive oil over the shells. “So they don’t stick.” Then taking one of the spoons, he starts to fill the shells and put them in the pan. It’s a monotonous rhythm that’s comforting.

“Can I ask something, about your birth mom?”

That makes him freeze and look at me. “What do you want to know?”

Carefully placing stuffed shells in a pan, I don’t feel afraid, I just don’t want to upset him. “What happened? How did you get taken and put into foster care?”

“Damn, that is a question.”

“You don’t have to answer. I was just curious.”

Jamie’s lip quirks. “Of course you were, little fox.” Jamie lets me fill the shells while he watches my hands, and surprisingly, he answers me. “The first time I can remember my birth mother hurting me was when I was like three or four. I assume it happened before that. We were at a store, I remember, and I knocked something over and it broke. She whipped me with this stick she had, on the backs of my thighs, when we got home. I remember how shocked I was and how much it hurt.

“I was careful. Sometimes, things I would do would set her off; other times, it was just random. Taking a nap. Coming home from someplace. Watching TV. It was like a rage that fell over her. I got really good at hiding the welts and bruises. There was a period of time she was putting her cigarettes out on my arm but then she got a call from the school. Nothing came of it, though. There were some times when I wouldn’t eat for days, and I think the only reason she fed me when she did was so I wouldn’t get too skinny, and people would notice. I was eight, I think—or nine—though, when that changed and someone noticed. The night before, I’d accidentally burned the dinner I was making for myself, and she beat me so hard I couldn’t sit down. I missed school for one day, but when I went back the day after, I still couldn’t move well.” Jamie stops abruptly, placing another shell into the pan and stepping back.

“You alright?”

“Just a minute.” I set my spoon down, looping my arms around his waist before laying my head against his chest. Jamie wraps his arms around me, resting his chin on the top of my head. I don’t want to move from this spot, wrapped in his arms and scent. A calm washes over me. “I don’t talk about this stuff.”

“To anyone?” Hearing his heart beneath my ear, I close my eyes and listen to the steady thrum.

“Not details, no.”

Pulling my ear off his chest, I look up at him. “You don’t have to continue.”

Pressing his lips between my eyes, Jamie pulls out of my hold and goes back to the stove. “It’s okay. I want to tell you.”

Something lights up behind my rib cage. “Would you like to ask me a fun question before you continue?”

“Yes.” Jamie stirs the sauce before going back to stuffing the shells. “Can it be dirty?”

“It better be dirty.”

Thinking a moment, Jamie grins. “What is a place you’d like to have sex?”

“I have a fuck-it list.”

“A fuck-it list?”

“Yes. A list of places and situations I want to be fucked in.”

“Really. And how many have you checked off?”

All my humor dies with the truth I’m about to tell him. “None.”

Looking confused, he finishes up stuffing the shells. “How?”

“I, uh... I want to save it for the person I end up with. When I start marking things off, I want it to be with my person. It’s something I want to share. Keep it fun and interesting.”

“I have no doubt you’ll keep your boyfriend entertained.” He may as well have punched me. I want him to want to be that person, but I have to understand that it just won’t be. Jamie doesn’t want long-term. This is friends with benefits... that’s all. “Can you tell me one of the places?”

“Sunset. I’ve always wanted to do it while the sun sets.” While the man I’m with looks at me like I’m the best thing that has ever happened to him. In this scenario, I picture Jamie. Above me. Fucking me slowly. Looking as if I created the universe just for him to live in.

Jamie clears his throat. “It’s my turn to finish, huh?”

“Only if you want to.”

“One second.” Putting the aluminum over the top, he slides one tray into the oven and the other into the fridge. “I’ll text Xavi tomorrow to come get it.” Setting the timer on the oven, he turns to me. “Fine ass on the counter.” I laugh, looking back. I use my arms to lift myself up onto the counter as Jamie steps between my legs. My arms are like fucking magnets wrapping around his neck.

“When CPS was called they finally took it seriously. If I had known what was coming, honestly... I wish I’d just stayed with her. Meeting Lia was pure luck, but everything before that was hell. Some homes were okay—most were not—and others were pure evil. I know the system is as flawed as the government that runs it, but it’s ironic to me that they’re taking kids out of bad situations only to put them in worse ones.”

“The devil you know.”

“Exactly.”

“What about your father?”

“Some dude my mom met after coming to the States. I don’t even know if he knew she got pregnant. She used to tell me she would have aborted me if she hadn’t found out so late. She was so tiny she didn’t even know she was pregnant until I started moving. She thought she had an ulcer... Nope. Just little old me saying hey, if you could not drink tonight I’d appreciate it.”

“Is she still alive?” I don’t even know whether that’s something he would know.

“No. She died when I was nineteen. A case worker came to our house and told me. I guess she wanted to know whether I wanted her things, but by then I’d been with Lia for three years. I had a family and friends. I had everything.” I don’t miss the emphasis on had, but Jamie’s eyes are glazing a bit.

Instead of saying something, I tug him gently closer to me, kissing his chest. “Thank you for sharing.”

“Food’s almost done.” Jamie helps me down, grabbing a wine glass for me. “Can we finish that book tomorrow?”

“Yes please!” It’s become our thing. We listen to an audio while I update my journal and he draws. It’s quiet and calm, and I fucking love it.

It’s nice, but it isn’t permanent.

The timer dings, startling us both. Jamie gets up, pressing another kiss to my hair before taking out the trays. They smell incredible.

They taste even better.

We make conversation, but I can’t focus on anything other than the things we’ve shared tonight. I’m not sure what it means. All I know is how I feel, and right now, I feel incredible.