Chapter Ten Smells Like Teen Spirit
CHapter ten
Smells Like Teen Spirit
Present day
Monday, Aaron knocked on Rahul’s door. No answer.
Tuesday, he knocked again. No answer.
Wednesday, he pushed a piece of paper under the door with his number on it. Then went to his first pole dancing session. He learned he had another talent. And when he returned buzzing, there wasn’t any message from Rahul. Nor any delightful meal to come home to. He ate someone else’s frozen pizza.
Thursday, he looked up BSc Engineering timetable and waited outside one of the first year core lectures. Rahul didn’t come out. And no one Aaron asked even knew who he was.
Friday, he’d had enough, decided he didn’t care all that much and passed Rahul’s closed door without so much as a second glance.
He’d just have to go hungry.
He knew he was fixating on the shy kid to get his mind off other things. Such as Dr Kenneth Lyons. When he’d applied to this course, this university , he’d known the doc was a major player here. Associate professor on the very course he signed up for. One of the main reasons for him to be here. So he could look him in the eye. Learn from him. Learn about him. To ask him all those questions burning on his tongue. He’d never, not in a million years, thought he would become obsessed with him.
To take his mind off the potential implosion of that revelation, he focused on Rahul.
But Rahul wasn’t there.
In the kitchen, he toasted some bread that wasn’t his, and searched the cupboards for something to have with it. Most of the arseholes he shared this flat and kitchen with had padlocked their cupboards, but one was open and the only thing in there was a jar of Marmite. He fucking hated marmite. But hated dry toast more, so scraped some over his sliced half and half.
“Oi, that’s mine.”
Of course it would be Archie’s. There couldn’t have been anyone else in the whole damn Chepstow Hall housing fifty students, and this Flat Two containing ten, it could have belonged to. He’d steered clear of the arsehole all week. Kept his nose clean, too. Been to all his lectures. Seminars. Even did his reading. It was almost like he was trying to be the professor’s pet. I wish. And on receiving the timetable of when he was supposed to see the dreary welfare officer and talk about his feelings , he’d responded with a positive. He was looking forward to it. He’d missed winding up his therapists. Making them think he was a narcissistic sociopath.
He never showed his true self.
Ever.
What would that achieve? People expected him to be a certain thing. So he was a certain thing. Slap a label on him, he’ll be it.
Aaron twisted from the bin, facing Archie. The bandage stretching across the arch of his nose had Aaron chuckling. He didn’t need the damn thing. It had been a week since the incident. Probably thought it scored points with the girls. Cause fuck knew he needed the help there. Aaron had done him a favour.
Aaron held up the jar of shit. “What? This?”
“Yeah. Take your fucking hands off it.”
“Bit possessive, there, Arch. Of your…” Aaron read the label, kitting his eyebrows together as if the recipe of ingredients was the most fascinating text he’d ever read. And he’d just finished The Psychology of Criminal Conduct, 6 th Edition . He arched an eyebrow. “Yeast extract?”
Archie stepped farther into the kitchen. “I said, put it down.”
“Or is it the vegetable juice concentrate that has you all tightfisted? Vitamins? B12 and folic acid.” Aaron peered back at Archie. “You know who they give folic acid to, right? Pregnant women. Are you pregnant, Arch?”
“Fuck you. Put it down.”
“You’re very irritable. That can be an indicator of a lack of B12. I guess now your mum’s fully severed that umbilical cord she fed you with for eighteen years, your nutritional intake has suffered.”
“Put. It. The fuck. Down .”
“You should eat more of this.” Aaron waggled the jar. “Might settle those irritants. Helps with depression, too. Are you feeling sad? Do you miss your mum tucking you in at night?”
“I ain’t telling you again.”
“Because you’ve forgotten?” Aaron winced. “This can also improve memory function.”
“You don’t put that down, I’ll smash your gay fucking face with it.”
Aaron laughed. “My gay fucking face?”
“Yeah. Your gay fucking gay face.”
“It’s not only my face that’s gay.”
“Don’t want to know.”
“You brought it up.” Aaron cocked his head, then chucked the jar in the air and caught it. “How do you plan on smashing my ‘gay fucking face’ when I’m the one holding it?”
“You think I can’t wrestle that out of your puny hand?”
And there it was. The common misconception he’d suffered with for years. That, because he was shorter, slimmer, didn’t work out at the gym, or play any team sports, he was a pushover. Blokes considered him non-threatening. But it didn’t take muscle and brawn to win a fight.
It took planning and creativity.
And callousness.
“Go on then.” Aaron waggled the jar.
“What?”
“Smash my gay fucking face with it.” Aaron blew him a kiss. “See, I think you like looking at it. Certainly can’t get enough of it. Do you masturbate to me?”
“Fuck off.”
“And all the fuck this, fuck that. Just let me know if you want to fuck.” Aaron took a step closer. He was a head shorter than Archie, so Aaron had to peer up to meet his gaze. “I’m not completely opposed to bending the straight.”
“Get the fuck away from me.” Archie pushed him with one finger, obviously believing that would be enough to deter him.
Unfortunately, Aaron was in a foul mood. He hadn’t eaten all day. Hardly much all week. He’d had to sit in a lecture watching Dr Kenneth Lyons prattle on about the five different crimes in psychology. And he’d been so fucking hot doing it that Aaron had stared at him. The whole time. Because Kenny had scraped back his hair into some sort of messy knot, accentuating his cheekbones and the dark stubble that Aaron could still feel rasping his skin. And Aaron swore the doc dressed in the most tailored and figure hugging clothes he owned solely to mess with Aaron’s head.
Fuck, he was horny.
Aaron raked a hand through his hair. “Not until you say sorry.”
“What the fuck for?”
“One, you’re a grass. Snitches get stitches where I’m from.” Actually, stitches wouldn’t fix the wounds on those who made mistakes in his world. But he figured he owed Archie a chance. If he walked around the place in his boxers, he was eye candy at best. Aaron could jerk off to him. Switch his spank bank material from Dr Kenneth Lyons to this one. “Two, you hurt my feelings.”
Again, not really possible.
“You’re a fucking freak.” Archie jutted his chin. “Why don’t you go suck your boyfriend off? He’s had the right idea. Staying outta my way. Not stinking out the place with that slop he calls food.”
“Oh, shit, Arch, look.” Aaron pointed a finger at Archie’s groin. Archie looked down instinctively. “Your racism is showing.”
Archie bolted upright. “Fuck you, Nancy boy.”
“This flirting is making me very hot.” Aaron fanned himself. “Although we could work on the delivery.” He lowered his voice to seduction levels and inched in closer, warm breath wafting into Archie’s face. “Let’s try it this way: fuck me , Nancy boy.” He dipped away to look Archie up and down, lingering his gaze on his football shorts and biting his bottom lip in suggestion. “Now, I’m usually a bottom, but I could totes make an exception for you.”
Archie punched him. Clean in the face. He deserved that. And, fuck, it felt fantastic.
Aaron toppled back, arse hitting the round table. He smiled. Then pressed the back of his hand to his eye, already feeling the bruising. He’d wanted to go out tonight. His new crew from the pole dancing society were all in the SU. And now he’d have to go with a black eye. That just made him mad. So he gripped the jar of marmite, fingertips whitening around the glass.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” Archie spat in his face. Not with the words, but with a globule of his rancid saliva.
Aaron wiped the spit from his cheek, savouring the few seconds he had to make a choice. He drifted his gaze to the marmite jar still in his hand. Not reading it. His mind was way too much of a whirlwind for that, meticulously planning, calculating and detailing. Creating . Heartbeat like a war drum, each thud stoking the fire within him, he twisted out of the placid expression that might have given Archie reason to believe he’d won this round, and with cold fury consuming him, he clenched his fingers around the jar. Then, in one brutal swing, he smashed it down on the table beside him.
Gooey, dark marmite oozed like tar, smearing across his cut fingers, crimson droplets mingling with the brown sticky paste. Archie had no time to react, and Aaron smirked, bolting forward. Archie stumbled, spine crashing against the counter behind, with a gasp of surprise emanating from his throat when Aaron brandished the jagged edges of the glass inches from his groin, tracing up inside his loose football shorts.
Aaron pressed his knuckle into Archie’s inside thigh. “Somewhere inside there is your femoral artery. Very important. Carries vital oxygen-rich blood to your lower half. Can cause quite a lot of damage if severed. And if left, can cause death.”
Archie might have pissed himself, and Aaron’s sadistic glee had him understanding a little more about himself. See, he didn’t need therapy to know who he was. He just needed provoking .
“You’re fucking mental!” Archie ground out between fierce pants of terror.
“Might be.” Aaron stepped away, removing the sharp edge of the broken jar from Archie’s leg. “Now, say sorry.”
“You’re actually fucking crazy!”
Aaron angled his head toward the corridor. “Number five would like an apology for what you said about his mum’s food.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Aaron snorted. “Wow.” He checked over the broken jar, his fingers congealed with blood and tar. “You really do love it or hate it.”
“I ain’t fucking living here anymore.” Archie bolted off, back to his own room, slamming his door and rattling the flat.
Aaron sighed, chucked the broken jar in the bin, then meandered out to the corridor and stood outside Rahul’s room waiting for movement. He knocked.
“Rahul, mate. One down.”
A door opposite opened, another lad poking his head out. Aaron wracked his brain for the name. Tom? “Archie’s a prick.”
“Yeah.” Aaron didn’t ask Tom why he hadn’t come to anyone’s aid a moment ago.
“Said some shit to Rahul on Monday.”
“What did he say?”
“Pretty much what he said to you.”
Aaron assumed Rahul might not have handled it in the same way he had, though.
“Ain’t seen him since then.” He nudged his chin at Rahul’s door. “Might have gone home.”
Aaron nodded, then went into his own room and, as the door slammed, he grabbed a tea towel from the university’s welcome pack and wrapped it around his bleeding fingers, collapsing on his single bed.
After settling his pulse, he launched up, opened his door and bolted out of his flat, out the residential building, over the grass mound separating his block to the next where, beneath an archway, sat the duty office. A queue ran from the desk to the door and outside, students all waiting to tell the officers in charge that their lights didn’t work, or they didn’t have the right change for the washing machines, or whatever other first world problems inconvenienced their stay on campus.
Aaron snaked around them all to the front.
“There’s a line.” The woman behind the desk peered up over her glasses. “Wait your turn.”
“I need access to room five, flat two, Chepstow Hall.”
“You need to wait at the back of the queue.”
“Ain’t got fucking time for this.” Aaron punched his fist on her desk.
“Raising your tone with me won’t get you anywhere. Did your mother not teach you any manners?”
Always with the mother.
“You might find out what my mother taught me if you don’t give me access to room five, flat two, Chepstow Hall now .”
Linda picked up a phone. “I’m calling security.”
“Perfect. Thank you.” Aaron put his hands together in prayer. “While you’re ratting me out, getting me another ten weeks in welfare, tell them Rahul…” he paused, realising he didn’t know his second name. He was doing all this over a bloke he’d spoken to twice. He really was projecting all his pent up shit. “From room five, flat two, Chepstow Hall hasn’t been seen for a week. Engineering, year one. I’ll be outside.” He pointed to the door. “Waiting for my Good Citizen badge, which you can sew onto my fucking foreskin .”
Aaron marched off, bounding through the queue of students, and didn’t bother going back to his room. He was too antsy. Riled up. So he went where he always did when he felt himself tipping over into his dark side.
Dancing.
* * * *
The Student Union bar was a sticky floored, black walled, grotty, dingy, torn fabric boothed, shit music sort of place, but it was closer and cheaper than jumping the two-hour train ride to London to get his fix from Inferno. He’d texted Mel to let her know he was on his way, and she waved at him from the bar where she stood with Lottie. She pointed over the horde at the bar, a silent ask if he wanted a drink. He shook his head. He didn’t need a drink to get out of his head. What he needed was beats, rhythm, music . So he made his way down the three steps to the dancefloor.
The music was of the pop variety. Taylor Swift. Lady Gaga. Usher. Whoever was the flavour of the month. Not Aaron’s first choice, nor were the clientele mingling with their plastic cups of beer on his floor, but it provided enough for Aaron to stop thinking about things he couldn’t change. Stop fixating on Dr Kenneth Lyons. And so he danced, tracks merging to the next, drenched in sweat and other people’s drink, until someone spooned up behind him.
Aaron let whomever it was to continue for a while. Sometimes, human contact was human contact. He might have even leant into them, lolling his head back onto a hard shoulder, allowing the hand on his hip to drift up into his T-shirt and cop a feel of his sweaty, sticky skin. He could even feel a hardness growing against his arse, none of it rousing. Not as rousing as deep, dark eyes staring at him across a bar while sipping on neat whisky.
“You’re a fucking treat,” the bloke spoon-grinding with him said into his ear.
Northern accent. Lancashire. Preston, probably.
Aaron twisted around. Taylor. The bloke from the LGBTQ+ society. Looking pretty good with his jeans and a V-neck, textured and highlighted hair, gradient shaving along the sides, and blue eyes looking at him as if he wanted to eat him.
Nothing new there.
What was new was whether Aaron would let him.
“You smoke?” Aaron called over the music.
“No.”
“Shame.” Aaron went to leave, but Taylor grabbed his arm to prevent his escape.
“I’ll come with you.”
Aaron shrugged, then sauntered off, back up the steps and through the throng to the doors which led outside to the smokers’ hut. Darkness had set in around the campus, only the streetlamps lighting up the shelter, and Aaron dug into his pocket to retrieve his vape. Taylor met him there, clasping his arms around himself. It was unusually chill for an October evening. Especially as the sun had been out in the day. It was as though the world was prepping for the festival of Samhain.
“What happened to your face?” Taylor said, leaning into him.
Aaron took a drag of vape.
“And your hand!” Taylor grabbed his hand, checking over the cuts Aaron hadn’t bothered to clean or hide.
Aaron let Taylor fuss over him. Not because it was nice. Or he got something from the attention. But because Taylor might believe either of those. Eventually he took his hand back for another lungful of poison.
“Prick in halls,” Aaron said, blowing out the vapour. “Threatened to smash my gay fucking face, so I stopped him from doing that.”
“Jesus, Aaron. Did you report it?”
“No.”
Taylor folded his arms. “Why not?”
“No point.”
“It’s a hate crime.”
Aaron laughed. “You can be off duty, y’know.”
“I’m never off duty. Not when shit like this happens to people like us all the fucking time. You can’t let him get away with it.”
“I didn’t.” Aaron held up his cut hand, then took a drag of his vape.
Taylor gave him a look reminiscent of the ones he used to get from Jayden, the bloke in his care home who’d been a big brother to him for a while. So Aaron, for whatever reason he couldn’t explain, tucked a finger into Taylor’s belt loops and pulled him forward. He stumbled into him and Aaron, an inch away from his face, blew out the menthol vape and kissed him. With tongue. Taylor hummed into it, tongue looping around his as if searching for something he’d lost and roaming his hands around Aaron’s hips to his arse.
If only he felt something.
Aaron backed away. Slipped his vape into his pocket, then wormed out from Taylor. “See you around.”
“You going back to your room?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I come?”
Aaron laughed. “You gotta try harder than that.”
“C’mon! Least give me your number.”
“Haven’t you learnt you need to earn your treats?” Aaron spun, then turned back, sauntering off through the campus toward his Halls.
It was quiet when he got back. Most of the lads were out or asleep. So Aaron used the opportunity to lie flat on the floor, peeking beneath the tiniest gap under Rahul’s door. The light was off. Couldn’t see a thing. So he jumped up, sighed and went into his own room.
He’d done his good deed for the day.
Maybe for his lifetime.