Sage
TEN
I kissed my best friend. I kissed Mac. That’s not true—I tried to fucking devour him. I thrust my tongue in his mouth and wished it was my cock. I was so goddamn hard from a kiss and some grinding.
To say I’m confused about what’s happening is an understatement.
I’m confused why we are sitting here, staring at each other like I didn’t just flip the script.
He’s looking at me like he can read every thought in my head, and I let him.
After last night, I can’t go back to pretending I don’t think about him differently.
I got jealous. Of Sawyer. Of fucking Sawyer. He hugged Mac and checked him out like he had a right to do so, and I saw red. I wanted to break every finger that touched him, punch him till his eyes were too swollen to see.
It’s not like me. Hell, I fucked my ex, Martha Feltcher, against her car for everyone to see. I don’t get jealous. I don’t get possessive. But Sawyer’s hand on Mac made me go berserk.
When I woke up and he was gone, I had a moment of panic. I thought maybe I’d pushed him away, that he left me again. That there was a repeat of him sneaking out of my bed to disappear. But I heard him in the kitchen, and my heart settled.
I don’t remember the walk back here. But I remember clearly climbing into my bed, and Mac climbing in after me. I remember the feel of his muscles under my hand, his cock rubbing against mine through our clothes. I remember the press of his lips and the feeling of my fingers tugging on his hair.
If he says this was a mistake, or he regrets it, I’ll back off. I won’t let some hard ons and daydream fantasies fuck up my chance to have him back in my life.
Up until that night, I would have never thought he’d run from me. But he did. He snuck out of that same bed and left me. He’s a goddamn flight risk.
“Don’t leave.” My words hang in the air between us, holding so many emotions I can’t seem to get out of my mouth. But he gets it, he always gets me. His eyes soften and his mouth tips up into a small smile.
“I’m not leaving you. Not again.” My heart slows. I didn’t even realize how fast it was beating until now. Air gushes out my mouth.
“Good. Asshole.” He smiles. Not a nervous smile, or questioning smile, but a full-blown grin. What is going on? My stomach swoops down, like when you’re on a rollercoaster and it plummets down a steep hill.
“Dick.” He’s still smiling, even when he takes a drink. We settle into drinking our coffee, talking about the party. Up until I lost my cool with Sawyer. Everything is normal, it’s us. All the nerves that I’ve ruined, everything fades into the shadows.
When I saw how Sawyer was looking at him, it was like something snapped. Red washed over any logic, and I just wanted his fucking hand off my Mac. He looked at him like he wanted to mount him, and I hated it.
I like Sawyer well enough, but with his hand on Mac, I hated him. Even now when alcohol isn’t helping my decision making, I want to punch the prick.
“Wanna go to Earl’s? I haven’t been there in years, and I’m craving some grease,” he says, standing from the table to drop his empty mug in the sink.
We used to go to Earl’s after every night of heavy drinking. The food’s absolute shit, but it’s cheap and Earl always made sure to give us extra. Called it trailer-trash discount.
“I’m down. You paying?”
“Oh wow. Kiss once and suddenly I’m expected to pay now?” He drops that down like it’s no big deal. I fucking love him for that. Ripping off the Band-Aid before it gets infected. Before my doubts and fears corrode everything.
“Damn straight. I expect full payment for the best kiss of your life.” He laughs a deep belly laugh, but he doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t try to belittle what happened.
“Fair enough.”
Two years apart, a decade of friendship, Dave, my mom, a drunken kiss couldn’t ruin us. We are still Mac and Sage. Everything can go back to normal.
A tiny whisper in the back of my head taunts me with the truth. You don’t want normal.
The whisper might be right, but I want my best friend more. I’m not willing to mess that up just to figure out whatever gay or bi awakening is happening.
I’m just glad I didn’t add another thing we can’t talk about.
My Mustang won’t start—every now again she decides to just take a break from doing her job. But this time, smoke is curling out from under the hood. Mac tells me he’ll take a look at her and see what he can do, but he requires sustenance first.
So, we are forced to walk to Earl’s. It’s only on the other side of the park. A shitty diner next to an even worse dry cleaner. A quick five-minute walk I was hoping to avoid. Partly because the sun is burning through my fake Oakleys, and partly because we’d have to pass Mac’s old place.
I avoid going over there. But Mac seems adamant we get some burnt and greasy eggs. So, like most shit, I go along with it for Mac.
It’s quiet in the park. Everyone is recovering from the party or passed out from whatever bullshit they got into. Only the birds and the gravel crunching under our shoes fill the air.
Mac’s old lot is worse than it was two years ago. Everyone’s grass is dead, but somehow this grass looks past dead. Weeds choke the side of the trailer, one of the windows is held together with duct tape and high hopes, and the front door is wide open.
Squinting, I see a leg sticking out of the door. Mac must see it, too, because he stops short, staring at the door. It’s gotta be Karen. His mother. I sigh, already seeing how this is going to go.
“Mac.”
“I should—”
I grab the back of his shirt, pulling him back the step he took towards the trailer. “I won’t judge you for walking away. We can ask June to stop by.”
“She’s not June’s responsibility.”
“And she’s not yours, either!” I don’t mean to yell. I fucking get it—I cleaned Mom up more times than I could count. Changed her clothes when they were covered in vomit, but Karen isn’t Mom. Karen is a neglectful bitch who has put Mac through enough.
“Please. Let’s just go,” I beg, because I know what’s going to happen next. Karen is predictable and pathetic. “Please.”
“It’s fine. I’ll just check on her then we can go to Earl’s, yeah?” He bats my hand off his shirt and jogs up to the trailer.
The closer I get, the more I can smell. Like death and piss. Karen is passed out in the doorway. A dress that I think was supposed to be yellow is now muddy and brown, hanging off her emancipated body. Track marks line her arms, between her fingers and inner thigh.
“Karen!” Mac gently shakes her as he kneels next to her skinny body. Karen flops around on the ground with each shake. “Karen,” he repeats slightly louder.
“F-fu-fuck off,” Karen slurs half-heartedly, trying to smack Mac’s hand away.
“Mac. She’s fine, let’s go—”
“Mac?” she asks. Her voice is confused and scared all at once. “My Mac?” she asks again. Fighting her body to cooperate, she lifts herself into a sitting position. Her eyes are bloodshot and glazed over, but they latch onto Mac.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Mac whispers quietly. Karen lifts her hand and places it on Mac’s cheek. A mother’s caress, more gentle than I’ve ever seen her. They stay like that for a moment. Mac ever so slightly tips his head towards her open palm.
“Mac. My Mac. Why? Why?” Her face slowly morphs into something ugly, something sinister.
“Why what, Mom?” Her face hardens in an instant. All the tenderness she had just vanishes. Mac tenses up, moving his face away from her hand.
“It’s your fault, you fucking faggot.” Her hand pulls back and slaps across Mac’s cheek. I watch the twenty-two-year-old man shrink into the child he was. She slaps him again, a harsh smack that has Mac’s head turning to the side.
“It’s your fault! You made him do it,” she repeats, gearing up to strike him again. But I can’t take it anymore. I jump the step up and grab her wrist in a tight grip, yanking her hand to the side.
Her crazy eyes shift to me, and she bears her yellow and brown teeth. “You!” she sneers. She tries to rip my hand off her wrist, but she’s so frail and fucked she can’t. I feel the delicate bones of her wrist pinch together under my fingers.
I know Karen is a victim, too. I know what Dave did, took and forced of her, but right now I see the vile bitch who tormented Mac. I don’t see a victim at all.
“You! You took Dave away! It’s your fault!” Her voice is shrill and sharp. Mac stays frozen on his knees, cheek red with his mother’s handprint, just watching her. Karen continues to try and pry my hand off, snarling at me the whole time. When I don’t move or let up, she finally looks at me.
“Y-You.” Karen’s fight starts to die. Her screams turn into sobs. Giant alligator tears start to stream down her face, leaving a clean trail along the grime. “You…took him away,” she sobs. I release her wrist, and she quickly hides her face in her hands, shoulders shaking as she cries.
I’d forgotten how up and down the comedown from heroin can be. Karen’s been snorting, shooting up, or smoking anything she could get her hands on since before Mac was born. But the past two years, it’s been mostly heroin.
Mac hasn’t moved. A statue. I’m not sure if he understands what she’s saying right now. Not sure if we will have to talk about one of the things we refuse to talk about. I tug at my hair, unsure what to fucking do.
“I got this, honey,” June says behind us, walking over in her bathrobe and house slippers. A sad smile is on her face. Always there for me, June. “You two go on to Earl’s. I’ll make sure Karen gets inside.” She pats Mac’s shoulder, and that seems to break the trance he was in.
“June…uh…thank you,” he says, rising on unsteady feet. I stand, too, quick to offer him a steady hand. He doesn’t pull away or stop me, so I take that as a good sign.
“Don’t mention it, baby. You have some grits for me.” June pats Mac’s cheek, the one not marked by his mother’s hand, and moves towards the mess that is Mac’s mom.
Looks like it might be time to come clean. I only hope Mac understands.