Chapter 2 Some Fun
My room is different from the last time I lived here. Cleaner, but cluttered with moving boxes filled with stuff from my old apartment. The walls are blank, unlike when I was a teen, when they were filled from floor to ceiling with posters. Hot movie stars, Transformers, that sort of thing.
The most important item—the bed—is the same as when I was a kid, though. It’s a full with dark blue covers, fluffy pillows, and a bunch of happy memories. My teenage years were a fun time; my countless one-night stands would agree.
After dumping my duffel bag on the floor, I sit on the bed, letting out a deep sigh.
Barely got any sleep last night. They woke me up before sunrise. No goodbyes, no gathering my shit—just sign the damn paper and walk.
Now I’m back in this house that doesn’t smell like me anymore, even if almost everything is the same as I remember it: the fridge still smells like old socks, Oliver still thinks yelling makes him sound grown, and the photographs lining the wall still showcase our past lives.
Our little family of four—happy, the way we used to be.
One thing’s different, though: now there’s some kid with eyeliner in the kitchen wearing a collar.
He’s cute, that’s for sure, but there’s something sharp about him too, something defiant. Most of all, that collar around his throat says it all.
The memory of my finger hooking into the silver ring and his little gasp as I pulled him forward… The way he glared at me, unflinching, without fear, but with unmistakable arousal behind his big brown eyes. The whole encounter has me smirking, even through my exhaustion and sullen mood.
He’s just my type: a shy, horny boy who silently begs for something he can’t put a name to. They’re all the same; as soon as they lay eyes on me, they both hope and fear that I’ll give it to them.
All in due time, though. For now, I’m too tired to even think straight. Before I crash, I make a few phone calls and arrangements. If I’m going to live here for the summer and maybe longer, I need to make it at least bearable.
My last thought before I fall asleep is of that kid with eyeliner. He might make this summer more than bearable. He might even make it fun.
When I open my eyes, the sun’s still up, which is unexpected. Something must’ve woken me up.
“Mason?” The culprit makes himself known in the form of my little brother knocking on my door. “Can I come in?”
“Ugh.” I groan loudly and sit up, groggy and still feeling like I didn’t get enough rest. Oliver should know better than to wake me up when I’m napping.
Another knock. Little bro must really have a death wish today.
“Yeah, yeah. Come in, then. Fuck.” I drag a hand over my face, feeling like a hundred-year-old vampire who just woke up from his slumber.
Oliver opens the door and scuttles inside.
Unlike Mom, he never came to visit me in lockup, so I haven’t seen him in over a year.
A lot seems to have happened in that year; he’s not the same boy I remember him as.
He’s had a growth spurt; everything about him seems wider and sturdier.
His jaw, his shoulders, his mouth. But he’s still got an uncertain, awkward teenage vibe about him. He’s still my baby brother.
“Can we talk?” he asks, rubbing the side of his arm.
“About what?” I mutter. About how you weren’t exactly overjoyed to see me after over a year?
Oliver sighs. “Look, I didn’t mean to freak out like that. I just… I thought Lane and I would have the house to ourselves.”
“Who is he anyway—your boyfriend?” I ask.
Oliver tightens his hands into fists. “No, but he’s my best friend. And he’s staying over for the summer.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. Nice. “Just like me, then.”
“Yeah. Just like you,” Oliver says begrudgingly. He probably thinks he’s being low-key, but my little brother has always been bad at hiding his emotions. “That’s… kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to continue, but when he doesn’t, I roll my eyes. “I’m on pins and needles over here, little bro. Tell me what you want to say so I can go back to sleep.”
“Um, so the thing is…” He looks me in the eye for the first time since he entered the room. “Stay away from Lane.”
I blink. “That’s what you wanted to tell me?”
“Yeah. I mean… I saw you in the kitchen, and he’s, like, your type.”
I smirk. “How do you know who’s my type?”
He glares at me. “You haven’t exactly been subtle about it.”
So yeah, maybe I brought home a couple of twinks here and there when I was still living at home and exploring my sexuality, and yeah, maybe we were being a little loud while Oliver was home after school before Mom came home from work, but whatever.
“Either way, I want you to stay away from him,” Oliver mutters.
“You’re being awfully possessive, baby bro,” I say, winking. “Are you sure he’s just a friend?”
Oliver scowls. “Do we have an agreement or not?”
I lean back, hands behind my head. “Maybe you should let your little friend make his own decisions.”
“It won’t be a decision if you have a say in it.”
I sit up straight. “What are you implying, little brother? You calling me a manipulator now?”
“I’m saying you don’t play fair. And Lane is…”
I rise from the bed. “He’s what?”
Oliver looks sideways. “Never mind.”
I take a step toward him. “Well, let’s get one thing straight. I just got out of a place where someone else set the rules for me. I’m not about to take orders in my own damn house.”
“It’s not your house; it’s Mom’s,” Oliver says, voice going high-pitched. “And mine.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s mine too, and if you don’t like it, take it up with Mommy.”
“She’s in Europe; she can’t do anything.”
“And you can’t either.”
Oliver glares at me, and I glare back. I didn’t want it to be like this between us, but he started it—first by waking me up, then by trying to order me around like a fucking prison guard.
I just came from a place where other people set the rules, but here, I set my own kind of rules; I’m not about to let Oliver set them for me.
Oliver clenches his fists at his sides like a child having a tantrum. “What are you going to do?”
“With what?”
“With him.”
“You want to know details?” I ask with a smirk.
Oliver shakes his head. “Lane isn’t… Lane’s different.”
“Yeah?”
“You can’t just… use him and then discard him like he means nothing.”
“He’s over eighteen, right?” I ask casually.
Oliver sours further, and his voice cracks at his next few words. “Yeah, but it’s none of your business either way, ’cause you’re not going to do anything.”
“Well. It’s like I said, Ollie: I’m not about to take orders in my own house.”
Oliver shakes and trembles all over, like he’s about to hit me or something.
The thing is, maybe I would’ve left that goth kid alone if I’d thought he wasn’t worth my time. But now that Oliver’s so adamant I stay away, the temptation only becomes greater. Oliver should’ve thought of that before he woke me up and tried to act all high and mighty.
“Any other rules I won’t follow?” I ask. “Or are you gonna let me go back to sleep?”
Oliver’s mouth tightens, and he turns around like a dog with its tail between its legs. “I hate you.”
“Thanks for the warm welcome, by the way,” I tell him as he rips the door open and slams it shut.
Later that night, I’m in the kitchen trying to hunt down some meat. I’m sick to death of prison slop and the junk from the commissary. I could eat a whole cow.
I don’t find shit in the fridge, though, and the cabinets are filled with childish junk like chips and candy. Rolling my eyes, I grab one of the candy bags in lieu of anything else and start scarfing it down.
Oliver and Lane are in the living room, playing an Xbox game on the big-screen TV.
I watch Lane quietly, or more like study him. That mop of messy black hair covering his pale forehead, the black makeup lining his eyes, his slightly upturned nose, and that collar around his neck…
Oliver glances at me suspiciously, and the moment he catches sight of the bag in my hand, he shouts, “Hey, that’s Lane’s!”
Lane sends me a quick glance and then turns back to the game. I would’ve preferred his gaze to linger, but maybe he’s too shy. I kind of like that more, to be honest.
“It’s fine,” Lane says. “He can have some.”
“See, Oliver?” Smirking, I keep eating the candy, eyes firmly fixed on Lane. The sour sugar stings my tongue. Too sweet. Like him, probably. “Some people are willing to share.”
It might just be my imagination, but I see Lane’s cheeks deepen in color the longer I look at him.
He’s gripping the controller too hard, his back stiff, feet tapping, eyes fixed on the TV, as if he’s trying not to acknowledge my stare.
I can’t see it, but I feel him sweating.
His throat bobs as he swallows and blows a strand of his messy hair out of his eyes, his jaw jutting out as he focuses on the screen.
I chew the sour candy, smirking as I stuff them one by one into my mouth. Candy bag in hand, I pass the kitchen island, and before I leave, I feel Lane’s gaze on the back of my head.
He’s Oliver’s best friend. That should be reason enough to leave him alone, but no one’s ever accused me of good decision-making. After all, there’s a reason I landed in lockup to begin with.
I thought this summer was going to be boring as fuck, with all the parole rules and housebound bullshit, but maybe it won’t be so boring after all. Maybe I’ll even have some fun.
Oliver wants me to stay away? Then maybe he shouldn’t have let someone like him move in.