Chapter 2
Owen
He has been clean off drugs for six months, or at least he was until twenty minutes ago.
Now, he’s as high as a kite, sitting in a small park on a bench outside The Tivoli, one of the few gay bars in Kansas City.
He’s trying to come to terms with the fact that tomorrow morning he’ll be leaving for freaking Van Buren.
His aunt agreed to take him in as a favor to her sister, while he himself had little choice in the matter.
He owes his parents a lot for helping him out after the arrest that almost landed him in prison for soliciting drugs.
Luckily, it ended up being reduced to rehab and two years of probation.
He wasn’t guilty of what they had accused him of, but he was going downhill, destined to end up dead if he didn’t get his shit together.
He doubts a small town like Van Buren could offer reasons to risk his probation, which was the main reason his mom insisted he stay there.
He might be twenty-five years old, but he has no money to his name and a criminal record—not to mention a failed attempt at a career when he had to drop out of art school.
He should start viewing Van Buren as an opportunity for a fresh start, but he can’t help but wish it wasn’t in the middle of nowhere. Why couldn’t he have relatives somewhere exciting like New York? Even Kansas City feels too small by now, so a town like Van Buren would likely feel like a street.
He’ll have a better chance of getting hit by a meteor than finding a decent gay club.
Maybe it’s for the best. I don’t need any more clubbing at this point in my life.
Clubs were where his downfall began, with beautiful men and forbidden substances he should have known better than to fall for.
“Yo, Big O! Haven’t seen you in ages.”
Owen tenses, no longer feeling high and happy. He sits straighter on the bench, the music from The Tivoli playing far away in the background. He wanted privacy when he unwound, but he’s already regretting that decision.
“What, no hello?” Lee steps into the light, all muscles and tight clothes. His hair is dark and pointy, like little spikes that grow from his skull.
“Oh, hi.”
Lee sits next to Owen, leaving little space between them. His aftershave smells cheap and blunt. “You’re looking good, man.”
Owen can’t bring himself to speak. He wonders if this is a coincidence or just plain bad luck.
“I said… you’re looking good.”
“Oh, yeah, thanks. You too.” He used to think that Lee was hot, but now he can’t stand the sight of him.
As part of rehab, Owen learned not to blame others for his mistakes, but he can’t help but blame Lee for being a part of what happened, for making it so easy for Owen to get drugs.
He was always too trusting, and Lee realized that early on.
Lee slides even closer, and Owen tenses even more, feeling like a wound-up wire that’s about to snap.
“I heard you were leaving town.”
Shit. “I don’t have much choice. Need to clean up my act and all.” He tries to smile, but his lips refuse.
“Where you heading?”
Owen clears his throat. “A small town in Arkansas.”
“Which one?”
“Arkadelphia.” It’s a real town, and he’s been spreading around that lie because he doesn’t want anyone looking for him.
“Why all the way in Arkansas?”
“My father has family there.” Owen glances at his watch, only to remember he doesn’t have one. “Listen, I need to go. The bus leaves early.”
He begins to rise, his brain floaty, but Lee grabs his hand and flashes a smile. “I haven’t seen you in ages, Big O. Sit.”
Owen reluctantly does. He hates being called Big O, even though he’s taller than the average person.
“If I remember correctly, there’s still this small debt you need to close. It was three grand back in December. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it’s closer to ten grand by now.”
Owen’s balls tighten, as does his throat. He remembers that debt perfectly, and how Lee refused to accept most of it back in December, claiming he could wait until Owen had it in full. And now it’s fucking ten grand?
“Somebody needs a new accountant,” Owen says, sounding braver than he feels. “I’m not paying you back ten grand. I can probably spare three if—”
Lee slams his fist into the side of Owen’s head. The pain slices through his skull like lightning.
“You were saying?”
Is this the part I beg? But Owen is over this city and the people he allowed to pull him down to the gutter.
He realizes that Lee isn’t going to let this slide, so Owen can at least give him a true reason to bitch about.
He slams his forehead against Lee’s nice and symmetrical nose, feeling the bone break.
He didn’t mean to hit so hard, but now Lee’s nose is bleeding.
Guess I’ll be leaving now.
He jumps to his feet and dashes out of the small park.
He’s still high and hurting from that punch, but there’s enough adrenaline in his body to push him forward.
His long legs hit the pavement as it dawns on him he should have gone the other way, back to the bar where he knows people.
Now he’s running through dark alleys that smell of trash, and the sound of footsteps is getting stronger.
He doesn’t dare to slow down, his eyes darting in search of a place to hide or to find people.
Lee won’t be so brave with eyewitnesses around.
“Slow down, motherfucker!”
He glances back to see Lee running toward him, a shadowy figure in the narrow alley. Owen turns a corner and realizes too late that it’s a dead end. He should turn around and find another path, but Lee’s footsteps are too damn close.
He looks for something to use as a weapon, but all he sees are trash cans. Lacking any better choice, he grabs a metallic lid and holds it like a shield, watching in fear as Lee turns the corner, smiling with his chin and mouth covered in blood. He spits on the ground and walks forward.
Owen squints at the sight of Lee holding something that glints under the light of a nearby streetlight. It’s a knife, because of course things have to get even worse.
“You were always too stupid for your own good,” Lee says as he slowly walks closer, sounding strange with his broken nose.
Owen walks back until his back presses against a stone wall. Sweat slides down his ribs.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to fuck up your pretty face,” Lee says, swaying the knife as if he’s trying to hypnotize Owen.
He tries to listen for the sound of people, but they’re alone out here. Still, he opens his mouth and calls, “Help!”
Lee rolls his eyes and calls louder, “Help! There’s a pussy here who’s about to get stabbed!”
No one replies, and no one’s coming.
Owen wonders if this is where he dies, in this smelly alley that even homeless people don’t bother going into. He should have stayed home during his last night in the city and kept his head down until he was miles away from his past.
But he has been through too much to die out here at the hands of this man.
Owen rushes forward, holding the lid firmly in front of him. Lee’s eyes go wide, and before he can strike with his knife, Owen slams into him like a raging bull.
The impact is strong enough to make Owen lose his footing, but he’s able to regain his balance, while Lee slams against the ground.
He grunts in pain, but he’s still holding the knife, and there’s murder in his eyes.
A voice in Owen’s head urges him to use this opportunity to flee, but another voice urges him to send a message.
Guys like Lee won’t back down otherwise.
With another shout, Owen slams the metal lid on Lee’s chest, or at least that is his plan. Since he’s still mildly high, and there isn’t much light in the alley, it makes his aim less than accurate.
He gasps as he realizes it was Lee’s head that he slammed the lid on.
Lee begins to spasm, spitting blood with his eyes rolling back. Despite the lack of light, the dent in his forehead is unmistakable. For a second, Owen wonders if he always had that dent, but that’s stupid.
At the sight of blood spreading around Lee’s head, Owen stumbles backward. His heart pounds as he watches in horror a man taking his final breaths.
“Oh, shit. Lee? Lee!”
I shouldn’t stay here, and I shouldn’t leave the lid with my fingerprints behind.
He watches Lee for a few seconds more, waiting for his chest to show any signs of movement, but it remains flat as a board.
Owen forces his legs to support his body, which feels three times heavier than normal.
Still holding the lid, he mumbles a pointless “Sorry,” then runs as fast as he can into the night.