Chapter Two #2
lights down below. God, they had
been idiots when they’d been teenagers. They
should have stayed the way they were before, wild and free in their
little forest.
Now?
Now he couldn’t even hoist his ass up to lean
against the barrier, and wouldn’t be able to keep himself balanced
if he got Lucas to boost him.
“You think I’d die if I wheeled myself over
the edge?” he asked.
Lucas peered over at the terrain. “How many
times have you fallen down that hill? Ass over teakettle half the
time, too. Never more than a few bumps and bruises.”
He was right. Shit.
They sat in silence for a while, and then
Lucas said, “You think that’s what happened the night of the
accident? Think you were trying to kill yourself?”
From anyone else but Lucas, the question
would have led to an explosion. Sean had yelled at his mom, his
sister, the police, the doctors, his fucking therapist—he didn’t
fucking remember, okay! Leave him alone! How the fuck should he
know what happened? And he’d said mostly the same stuff to Lucas,
in the past.
But this night? In this spot? He shrugged. “I
can’t remember. But—yeah. Probably. I’d definitely been thinking
about it.”
Sean kept his gaze locked on the town lights,
but his peripheral vision showed him Luke’s slow nod. Not panic,
not disgust, not sorrow. Just calm acceptance. It gave Sean the
strength to say a little more.
“Dick move, obviously. I
mean—getting drunk, getting behind the wheel. Didn’t have the guts
to full-on kill myself, so I just did something so stupid I
deserved to die. But,
fuck. Imagine if I’d taken someone else out. If someone was dead
because I got drunk and did something stupid.”
“Yeah,” Lucas said, his
voice still calm, but with an extra note of something in it.
“Imagine how shitty that
would be.”
“Oh. Right.” Because Lucas had spent three
years in the pen after killing a guy in a drunken bar fight. Shit.
“Uh—”
“You’re an idiot,” Lucas said. It felt like
forgiveness.
“I’m smarter when I drink.”
“You really, really aren’t.”
They were quiet for a little
longer, until Lucas said, “You want to tell me what’s going on at
your place? What was your mom so upset about? And was that
the priest there?”
“You noticed that, huh? You got a type? Did
his little priest collar get you hot?”
“You got it,” Lucas said easily. “That’s
exactly how it went. Too bad he’s Catholic—the Anglicans are a bit
more relaxed about all that.”
“Things still good with—your guy?
Your—boyfriend, or whatever?”
“His name’s Mark. If you
don’t want to use the labels, you could just use his name.”
No. If Sean started using
his name, it would be one step closer to accepting that he was
real. That Luke was—not gay. It wasn’t really the
gay that Sean had a
problem with. But he really didn’t like thinking that Luke was in
love. Not with some stranger.
“My physiotherapist is gay.” Strange
direction for Sean to take the conversation, but Luke could handle
it.
“Yeah?” Just about the same level of polite
acceptance as Luke had shown when Sean admitted he’d probably tried
to kill himself. “That’s the kind of thing you guys talk
about?”
“I guess. I mean—he was probably trying to
insult me, somehow. I can’t really remember the context. But he’s
pretty—I don’t know. Some shit he just takes, and then other stuff?
He’s pretty feisty.”
“He was trying to insult you by telling you
he was gay? That’s a subtle approach.”
“Not insult me, I guess.
Like—goad me. Is
that a word? He was trying to get me mad, so I’d work out harder.
So I wouldn’t quit.”
“Because he knew you wouldn’t want to look
weak in front of a fag.”
“Well, I sound like a bit of a dick when you
say it like that.”
“How do you want me to say it?”
I don’t know.” Sean moved—he actually moved
his goddamn thigh—to kick at the snow in front of his chair. But
there was no lower leg, no fucking foot to move. He just kind
of—twitched. Absolutely pathetic. “He’s brown, too. The physio. Not
Muslim, though. Sikh.”
“That’s what Anala was, right? That girl you
liked in—seventh grade? She was only here for a year. Wasn’t she
Sikh?”
“Yeah,” Sean said. It felt like he was
confessing to something.
“She had really nice skin. She kinda
glowed.”
Yeah, she had glowed. And he’d liked looking
at her, and she’d liked looking at him, for whatever stupid reason.
But she’d moved away and she was probably off living a beautiful,
perfect life somewhere, and if she ever ran into him again she’d
look at him with shock and pity and he’d want to—well. He’d want to
die. Nothing new, there.
“I won’t let him touch me with his bare skin.
I make him wear gloves.”
“Your physio?”
“Yeah.”
“Please tell me you’ve developed some weird
germ-phobia or something. Fuck, Sean, don’t tell me you did that
because he’s got brown skin.”
Sean didn’t answer, which was clearly answer
enough.
“Fuck.” For the first time all night, Lucas
sounded genuinely upset. “You’re not a fucking racist, Sean. You’re
pretty sexist, and you’ve got some issues about gay people,
but—Sean.” Lucas shifted around so he was standing in front of
Sean. “Look me in the fucking face and tell me you give a good
goddamn whether someone with brown skin touches you.”
“Maybe I did it because he’s a fag, not
because he’s brown.”
“Maybe you did it because you’re a dick.
You’re hurting so you want everyone else to hurt, too. Sound
possible?”
Sean didn’t answer, but Luke
seemed perfectly happy to continue without Sean’s input. “And
that’s probably what you mom was so worked up about, too. Am I
right? Not you being a dick to some physiotherapist, but you being
a dick to everybody. I saw Corey the other day—your own brother, that kid who
used to always tag around after us and who’d do any damn thing you
told him to—and he said he was saving up to move out. He’s in
fucking high school, Sean. Why does he want to move out of the house?”
“Well, he won’t fucking have to. Mom’s
throwing me out.”
“Good.”
“What?” Surprising how much Luke’s response
hurt. The one person Sean had thought he could count on.
But Lucas wasn’t acting like he’d just
betrayed his best friend. He was staring Sean down, daring him to
disagree.
“I said it’s good. You
should have moved out years ago. She should have
kicked your ass out years
ago. And you don’t want her feeling sorry for you, right? You don’t
want her treating you like you’re fragile just ‘cause your legs got
chopped off? If you’re being a dick at home—and I absolutely
believe you are—then she should
kick you out. Good for her.”
“What the fuck am I supposed
to do? Where am I supposed to go? I’ve got no fucking
legs, Lucas!”
“Boo hoo, you big pussy.”
“What? Fuck you, asshole.
My legs are gone.”
“I guess they cut a bit too high and took
your balls, too?”
Sean had no more words.
There were sounds in his throat, straining to get out—incoherent screams of
shock and outrage, roars of anger—but he bit them back. He was…
Lucas was… this whole fucking situation was…
“She say when she wanted you out?” Lucas
asked, and the son-of-a-bitch was back to being calmly
pleasant.
Sean couldn’t answer.
Lucas didn’t seem to care. “You can stay at
my place for a while if you want. Mark’s down at some conference in
Boston—since he stopped being a priest he’s gotten all involved in
the political side of being an Anglican. Says he’s got more power
as a lay member than he ever had when he was an employee. Anyway,
he’s not back until Tuesday. The spare room’s yours until then, if
you want it. The whole house is one floor, and there’s a ramp.”
“I can’t stay there when your boyfriend’s
home?”
“You start saying his fucking name and stop
wrinkling your face up like that whenever you refer to him, and we
can talk about it. But you’re not going to live there forever,
buddy. We’re not looking for a permanent roommate. I’m saying a few
days to give everyone at home a chance to cool down and give you
time to find a better plan.”
“A better plan,” Sean echoed dully. A plan.
It seemed absolutely impossible. Pointless to even try. But Lucas
wasn’t known for being overly optimistic, and he seemed to think it
was a workable next step. “For what?”
“For the rest of your life, eventually. But
for now—for talking to your mom, hopefully in a way that doesn’t
leave her sobbing and you looking like you want to murder a priest.
And then probably for finding a place to live. Figuring out how to
be as independent as possible.” Lucas kicked the wheel of Sean’s
chair, not hard, but enough to make a point. “You need to get your
balls back, son. First step probably involves getting weaned off
your mommy.”