26. Hotaru
By the time we climb into the window of my room in fresh clothes and shoes from my bag, the sun is due to color the sky in less than an hour. Every sign of what we’ve done has been thrown away. The body and chains have been doused in bleach and are hidden in a well so abandoned, we had a hard time finding it even though we knew where it was on a map. The clothing we’d worn and tools we’d used were bleached and distributed among various bins along a meandering route back to school. The journey took us several towns away from the scene.
I wipe the sill clean with a towel I placed near it before we left, and then close and lock the window. It’s still dark, but the distant footpath lamp light gives enough illumination to see.
When I finish, I find Arlo standing in the center of my room watching me. We haven’t said more than a couple of words to each other since everything went down. I know how much races through my brain. I’m sure his is a messier place.
“Why don’t you hit the shower first?” I point toward the bathroom. “Knock when you’re done, and I’ll grab one.”
His hands shake by his sides, and I want nothing more than to pull him to my chest and tell him that everything will be good now that his uncle is gone. Things will be better.
I have a feeling they won’t be good. Not for a long time.
“Go,” I urge him. He complies with weak movements as though all the fight has drained from him.
I hope it has. I hope he never has to use the immense power he holds within himself ever again.
The door closes, and the shower turns on a moment later. He doesn’t bother with the light, and I’m grateful. It’s less to draw the eye.
I put my grandfather’s clean wakizashi behind my bed where I kept it, and the now empty duffel in the closet. And then I strip to my boxer briefs, pulling the night off me like skin and tossing it into the hamper. A deep breath fills my lungs, and I exhale the screams that have echoed in my head for the past few hours.
Then I wait. Twenty minutes later, the shower is still running, which isn’t a long time for most people. For Arlo, it’s an eternity.
I knock on the door gently.
There’s no response.
The halls are quiet still, so I don’t want to knock any harder. I crack the door open. “Arlo? Are you okay?”
A soft sob is my answer.
No, he’s most certainly not okay. Why should he be?
What we did was fucked. Justified in our minds. But. Oh. So. Fucked.
“I’m coming in.” I push into the small room and open the shower door, terrified to find him cutting himself once more.
Arlo’s head hangs low. His shoulders bob with each muffled cry. Water cascades over his beautiful body. A body I can’t fully appreciate. Not with him in such a state.
“Did you clean off?” I grab his towel from the rack. He nods, and his sobs settle, but shivers take over.
“Good.” I reach around him and turn off the faucet. Before I can get it off, several droplets hit my arm. It’s so cold I have to control the urge to jerk my hand back.
I wrap his towel around his trim waist and tuck it into itself. His skin is ice to the touch. I grab my towel, drape it over his shoulders, and then tug him out. With efficient hands, I scrub them over his covered skin, trying to dry him and generate heat at the same time.
“I…I…I’m s…sorry.” Arlo’s lips are blue, and his teeth clack together. I want to grab his face and press my lips to his.
“Don’t be.” Dragging my gaze away from his mouth, I work my hands over his chest, his back, and then drag the towel up to his hair.
Once that’s dry, I leave it around his shoulders, grab the hand towel from the sink, and dry his legs and feet.
“I…I am.”
I stand and grab the towel around his shoulders. I tighten it and force his gaze to mine. “I am not sorry about what we did tonight. You’re free, and you are all that matters.”
“No.” His head shakes. Clumps of his wet lashes blink me in, as if for the first time since he went to be broken on holiday. “I’m s…sorry for shutting you out.”
My eyes close to keep my tears at bay. He doesn’t need them. Especially not tonight. I drag in a breath and smell Arlo’s skin. I smell the ashes of our hopes and dreams.
When I blink him into view, his eyes are sad. Somehow his sorrow doesn’t distract from his beauty. The sharp angles of his cheeks, the slope of his nose, his proud brow, the strength in his jaw, the plump of his lips, and the small but deep dark windows into his soul make his face the perfect specimen to be captured by an artist’s brush. He is living art. August and unmooring, all at once.
“Protecting you is all that matters. If that means protecting you from me, that’s what I’ll do.”
His head shakes. “I trust you completely.”
If he knew the devious things rolling through my mind at any given hour of the day, where he’s concerned, he might not trust me so implicitly. I nod and steer him to his small built-in dresser with an even smaller wardrobe inside.
“Get dressed and get in bed.” I leave the door to the bathroom open. “I’m going to shower and bring my blanket in here for a change.”
He nods, and I leave while I can. I strip and shower quickly, also under cold water. Only it’s not because I’m too despondent to care. Nope. It’s because my dick is thick and hard and bobbing up my belly, begging to be drained.
I flinch against the cold. Eventually, my dick does too. I dress, grab my comforter, and make my way to Arlo’s room, stalling in the doorway.
He’s on his side with the covers clutched to his chin. I can’t tell if his eyes are open in the dark room. He’s too far away. So I wait.
A gap at the front side of the bed indicates he made room for me. Still, as much as I long to lie next to him. To hear his breaths as he sleeps. To feel them on my skin. To have his weight close. I don’t take it for granted.
He pats the bed.
My heart skyrockets, shooting into a thousand confetti pieces that tickle my ribs.
I walk slowly over to the bed and lift myself onto the mattress. I’m about to lay my feet next to his head and my head by his feet like we always used to do.
“Hota?”
My stomach drops.
“Yeah?”
“Will you put your head up here? I…want to see you, so I know where I am.”
I shift and do as I’m asked. There’s nothing I’d rather do right now. That’s not entirely true. I’d love to pull him close and hold him tight, but this is so good my blood thrums. For so long, he’s been hiding away from me, but now, in the dim moonlight, he allows me to look my fill.
I would have written off anyone else long ago. Hell, I’ve never given another person the opportunity to get close enough to hurt me. Arlo has hurt me to my very core. Still, I take what he gives and am happy about it. I know he gives me all he can. His scars are deeper than mine. His hurt is greater.
I love him. More than my sanity. More than myself. I love him.
Toxic or not. For better or for worse. Isn’t this what true love is?
Love is not convenient. Love is not equitable. People say love is a choice, but with Arlo, loving him seems to be knitted into my genetic material. My hair is black. My eyes are so dark brown that they appear black too.
I love Arlo Becker Judge.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“Anything you need. I’m your guy.”
The hint of light filters in through his window and casts onto his face. His eyes light up at my words. The corner of his mouth tips up. His shuddered breath rocks the whole bed.
“Hota?”
“Yeah, Arlo?”
“Without you, I wouldn’t have made it.”
My throat goes tight and burns. “You’re stronger than you know. I look forward to the day you realize it.” I mirror his small grin. “There will be no stopping you.”
His smile falters. “What if…?”
“Ask me anything,” I offer.
“What if I can’t ever be how we were…” He stumbles and starts several times, trying to broach the topic of our intimacy without actually saying it.
A tear slips from my left eye. It’s buried in the covers, and I don’t worry about him seeing it in the dark. “Then we’ll be how we are.”
“I know you need more.”
I shrug. “You might too, one day.” I shrug again. “Maybe you won’t. Either way, we’ll be together through whatever comes. Yeah?”
He nods. “Yeah."
We just look at each other for a long time until neither one of us can keep our eyes open.
Arlo’s alarm blares. I jerk awake to full sunlight pouring into his room and the sounds of a cat dying, or at least the equivalent. His horrid music. I lurch up, hit the off button, then blink my friend into view.
He blinks the room into view, then yawns. “I’m shocked we went to sleep.”
“I’m shocked you didn’t have a nightmare.”
He grimaces. “Don’t think I slept long enough for one.”
“We’ll see tonight,” I say, bobbing my shoulders and staking my claim in his bed for the foreseeable future.
He nods and rubs sleep from his eyes. His hair is going everywhere, and he’s never looked more delicious. His chest is bare, and the covers hang around his belly button.
I lick my lips and drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. We have class in an hour and fifteen, and we have to eat before that. Thank goodness the great hall is equipped for and accustomed to the mad dash of students.
As we move about our day and the days that follow, it’s surprisingly easy to get lost in the routine of life with Arlo back by my side. Sure, there’s worry, but I hide it well. Arlo throws himself into schoolwork, reading, and the gym. Though his life no longer depends on his peak fitness, maybe his mental state does. He never misses a day, and therefore, I don’t either.
We’ve carved out our old routine, but now we’re in his room at night instead of mine. It’s old and new at the same time, and great. The more days that pass, the more he talks about everything and nothing.
One night, we’re in his room, and he’s lying in his bed, his nose buried in a book about economics—snooze. I’m at his desk, finishing the last keystrokes of another commission. He sighs. It’s a heavy, drawn-out thing. I swear I can almost feel the breeze from it on the back of my neck.
The corners of my mouth tip up. “You know that’s not required reading for any of our classes. If it’s that bad, you don’t have to finish it.”
“It’s not the book,” he huffs.
I turn in the chair, the commission forgotten.
He’s still hidden by the thick text. Though I know he’s not looking at it. His fingers are too white from his death grip on the hardcover.
“You break it, you buy it.” I chuckle, aiming for levity. “And who the fuck wants to own World Economics, Volume Four ?”
“Me, someday.” He settles the book onto his chest and rolls his head until our gazes lock.
“Nerd.” I wink.
It earns me a half smile and a long-drawn-out, “Yeah.”
“Spill it, nerd. Or I’ll have to dunk your head in the toilet and shove you into a locker.”
He laughs and scoffs. “We don’t have lockers.”
I know they’re only in the locker room, but at least he’s fully grinning. Then his grin fades.
“What if…” His Adam’s apple bobs. “If they find him, we’re fucked.”
It’s taken a lot longer than I expected for him to come out with it. The worry that’s bounced around my skull for the past six weeks, of course has been bouncing around his too. It’s like a weight on our shoulders. It’s always holding us back. It always will. The new way of things.
In setting Arlo free, we also chained the what-if scenarios around our necks.
“You can’t let it hold you back.” I tell him the words I need to hear. “We were careful. Anything linking us is destroyed.” Except my grandfather’s wakizashi, which will link me to the crime, not Arlo. Something I’m completely comfortable with. I wish I’d been the one to end that sorry excuse for a human.
“What about?—"
“It’s clean. There’s no link.” I smile, hoping to convey confidence.
“I won’t let you go down for it.” Arlo sits up, kicks his legs out from under the covers, and tosses the book aside. “Not a chance.”
My molars grind. All my levity vanishes. “You’re not linked to the scene.”
“I’m his nephew,” he whisper-screams. The revulsion of that idea rolls off him in waves, from the sneer of his upper lip to his heaving chest.
I draw a deep breath, knowing I need to calm the situation. “They can’t prove anything.”
His dark eyes flash wide. The muscles in his jaw flex. He rips his shirt off with one hand at his nape and gestures to the scars all over his stacked torso. “Can’t they?”
“You know the only thing that proves...” I can’t help my snarl.
“Yeah, that I had motive.”
I stand and walk to the edge of the bed. I press my hands into the mattress and get my face so close, I can feel his rapid breaths on my cheek.
“No,” I growl. “It proves that I had motive. I love you, Arlo. It’s my grandfather’s sword. It’s my searches on the computer: distances to his house, the location of the well, the top sites for our soiled clothes.”
“I thought you wiped all that.” Arlo chokes.
“I did, but I can also get it back if I need to.”
His mouth falls open. I want to kiss it. Instead, I narrow my gaze on his.
“Neither of us are going away for it. They’ll never find him. If they do, they won’t connect the dots. If by some chance they do, you will not go away for it. I will."
“You’re insane. Why would you…” His stunned gaze flits about my face.
“I told you, I’m your guy.” I shove from the bed, close my laptop, and head for the bathroom. “Now get back to that titillating book of yours and stop worrying.”
“Hota?”
I grip the doorframe and turn. “Yeah?”
“I’m your guy too.” He fiddles with the balled-up shirt in his lap, but he looks me directly in the eyes.
My smile is immediate. His words warm my chest and make my arms tingle. “Yeah, you are.”
His gaze lowers to my stupid tenting pants.
The longer this thing goes between us, the harder it is to hide my morning wood, my evening wood, or my midday wood. But I dutifully ignore it out of respect.
I wonder, as I have for a while now, what will happen when I can’t ignore it any longer.
“I wish I could help you out,” he whispers.
Fuck! Me too.
“Hey?” I bark, drawing his gaze up again. “Nothing a cold shower won’t cure and nothing that changes things between us.” I narrow my gaze. “You hear me?”
“I hear you.” He nods.
“Now, back to it.” I point at his book. “When you’re finished with that boring thing, I want a full debrief on how you’ll rule the world.”
“Sure thing.” He gives me a small smile, and it’s all I need. His happiness. His comfort. Fuck my dumb dick.