Chapter Nine
Kayden
“Caleb’s coming over?” I gape at Mom, and she looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Sure, hon. Why wouldn’t he? He comes over most Sundays. It gives your dad and him some time to hang out outside of work.”
Well, when she puts it like that, I guess it makes sense.
They are, after all, friends. Best friends.
In case I forgot. Which I haven’t. I rub at my face, the memory of the shit show yesterday at the restaurant flashing before me.
That woman, Stacey, Caleb’s ex or whatever…
If that wasn’t a red flag, I don’t know what is.
Just when it felt like we were getting back on track to being around each other without this strange tension between us, Caleb’s past showed up in stilettos and bright red lipstick.
I sigh, leaning against the kitchen counter.
Mom’s making roasted chicken for lunch, and while it’s one of my favorite dishes, all my appetite has gone out the window.
I need to get my emotions under control before Caleb shows up.
The undeniable attraction that’s been growing and growing since that night he came over to my place is one thing, but I’m almost positive he’s attracted to me, too.
The way he looks at me and touches me in that subtle way.
The way he held my hand yesterday, guiding me through that ocean of people at the garden center.
I could almost make myself believe it could be real, and that I could have someone in my life like that, spending my Saturday afternoons in quiet togetherness.
But I know Caleb. He’s a flirt at the core.
He’s not someone I have any business whatsoever starting anything with, even if he’d want to.
It’s just too close to home, and I know deep inside that I can’t just be another one of his sexual conquests.
I can’t. Then I’d rather stick to getting myself off on Pulse.
Like last night. Fuck, that was hot. It’s like I become a completely different person.
Or maybe not exactly a different person, because I’m still me; it’s just another side that surfaces.
A more blunt and bossy version of me. I’ve known for a while now that I have a kinky side and that I enjoy the game and the teasing.
I like mouthing off just as much as I get off on being told what to do.
In that space, where I’m just an anonymous handle, I can allow myself to be that version of myself.
No one knows I’m trans there. It’s not something I hide, but I don’t advertise it either.
I’m just a guy who enjoys fucking around with other guys.
Well, one other guy, if I’m being honest. There’s just something about him that makes me feel all bold and uninhibited, wild even.
Maybe it’s his somewhat polite and proper demeanor.
It stirs something up inside me. I want to ruffle his feathers and make him go absolutely crazy with desire.
I want to unravel him, like I did last night when he sent me a picture of his cum covered chest and abs, and ‘you fucking wrecked me’ written underneath it.
I knew from his profile picture that he was pretty hairy, but damn, watching those thick white ropes of cum intermingled with his thick, dark chest hair?
That was so fucking sexy. Briefly, I wondered what Caleb would look like, his broad chest heaving as he slowly came down from his orgasm.
An orgasm I had brought him to by fucking my hole with my spit-covered fingers.
“Kayden?” Mom frowns at me, a bundle of beets dangling from her fingers.
“Sorry, what?” My voice comes out croaky, and Mom tilts her head, then leans in and holds the back of her other hand against my forehead.
“You’re not coming down with something, are you, sweetie? You look a little flustered.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Dad says you’ve been putting in a lot of hours at the office. Maybe you should take it easier this coming week. You know you don’t have to prove yourself to Dad. He already thinks you’re brilliant.”
I try to suppress a groan. “I know. And I’m really fine. Truly. It’s just hot in here with the oven on.”
“Okay, sweetie.” She smiles tenderly. “So, beets or no beets?”
I scrunch my nose. I’ve never liked beets. They taste like earth and iron. “No beets.”
“Sure thing. Wanna help me out?” Mom points at the vegetables she’s lined up on the kitchen island.
“Sure.”
We work side by side for a while, listening to the radio, and Mom’s favorite folk music radio station. She asks me about Emily, and I tell her I need to call her and catch up soon. I miss Emily. She’s been my one true friend throughout the years.
When I’m done chopping the vegetables, I hear the distinct purr of Marilyn pulling up in the drive, followed by Caleb’s deep, velvety voice as he calls out Dad’s name. I instantly feel hot and flustered again. I can’t be around him right now. I just can’t.
“I… uhm… I think I still have some stuff in my room that I could use at the apartment,” I tell Mom.
“Sure, go on, sweetie. Thanks for your help.”
“Of course.” I pause in the doorway to the hallway. I turn around and take Mom in, her lips moving quietly to the song on the radio. She’s wearing the apron. My chest fills with gratitude and a deep sense of humility. “I love you, Mom,” I say softly. “It’s really good to be home.”
She looks up, smiling fondly, her eyes shimmering. “Oh, I love you too, sweetie. I’m so happy you’re settling in. We’ve missed you.”
I nod, then turn around and head for the stairs just as the front door opens and Caleb bursts in with Dad in tow, howling with laughter at something. I sprint up the stairs before Dad can ask me if I want to join them out on the back deck.
As soon as I’m inside my old bedroom, I lean back against the door and close my eyes, exhaling shakily.
I bend over, my hands resting on my knees as I try to steady my racing heart.
It’s just fucking Caleb, I tell myself, but it’s like the words don’t register in my brain.
I’ve never reacted to anyone like this before.
It’s pretty fucking scary, and it needs to stop.
Once I’ve managed to keep my heart from escaping through my chest, I take in my old room.
The signed Perfume Genius poster above my bed.
The ocean-blue comforter with the matching pillows I picked out with Mom in Colchester.
A shelf filled with awards from the state championships in high jump, even one from the regionals.
My desk is pretty much as I left it the last time I was home: piles of old school books that I should probably start putting away in the attic, a music magazine open on a feature of my favorite band, The Emberline.
I’m thrust back to my teenage years, buried under my comforter, reading one book after another in bed, as I try to escape into a world where I felt more at home than I did in the real one.
One of my favorite books is still lying on the bedside table, a pride bookmark stuck somewhere in the middle.
Starting from Scratch by Jay Northcote. That book changed my life.
It made me feel less lonely, giving me hope that I wasn’t wrong at all.
That there could be love even for boys like me, men like me.
Men who were born in a different body than the one I have now.
I used to stay up late, reading the book from cover to cover. It was my fucking bible.
I pick it up and brush at the front; the picture of the protagonist, Ben, almost as familiar to me as my own reflection in the mirror.
I used to be so jealous of Ben because he had what I didn’t.
A flat chest with scars underneath. A boyfriend.
A guy who loved him for exactly who he was.
I blink my eyes as tears blur my vision.
I’m still jealous of Ben because he still has what I don’t.
Not in physical appearance, perhaps, but in life.
He has love. Unconditional love in its purest form.
I want that so badly, too, but I don’t know if I ever will.
It’s such a lonely feeling not to know if I’ll ever have it despite everything I’ve gone through.
It’s not that I don’t think I’m a real man if I’m not loved by another man.
It’s not that. I just really fucking want it.
I might have shed that hood that Perfume Genius sings about, but I’m still afraid of what people will see now that I’m no longer hiding.
I plop down on the bed and place the book beside me.
It feels stupid to be jealous of a fictional character.
Instead, I reach for the crystal ball standing on my bedside table.
It feels cool and heavy and oh so familiar in my hand.
I wipe at my eyes as I stare into the glassy myriad of colors.
Turquoise, indigo, violet, pink. Caleb got it for me for my twelfth birthday.
I’d been eyeing it in one of the tourist shops down at the marina for some time, and one day, when I was lost in thought, staring at it in the window, Caleb drove up behind me.
‘Hey, K. You need a ride home?’ It wasn’t unusual for Caleb to give me a ride home from school if I ran into him.
Usually, I’d jump at the offer because I loved driving with him in Marilyn, but this particular day, I didn’t feel like going home.
I’d had a shit day at school, which wasn’t unusual either, but that day had been extra shitty because Trent Dawson had noticed that I was starting to fill out my T-shirt.
‘Boobs,’ Trent had smiled at me in that goofy way of his.
‘Nice boobs,’ even. I’d felt absolutely gutted, like someone had taken the sharpest knife in the kitchen and cut me right open, then pulled out my heart and stomped on it repeatedly.
The pain at his harmless words had been so blinding and unexpected that I’d had to escape into the girls’ bathroom, with Emily right on my heels.