22. Mac
TWENTY-TWO
MAC
Sage bellows a snore right into my ear. I jerk awake, pulling away from the fucking beast next to me. We’re in the big bed in Mom’s room, but he’s plastered himself to me. A leech that snores like a bear. But even his horrible morning breath can’t stop me from smiling.
I’m somewhere I thought I’d never be. Sweating next to Sage as he continues to snore and blow hot breath in my face. But he’s here, I’m here.
There’s probably more shit we need to talk about. I mean, the whole killing my dad thing shouldn’t be just the blurb. But I can’t bring myself to care. I tried. I mean, it’s my dad, right? Every time I come back empty, though.
The anger I had for Sage that he didn’t tell me is gone, too. I knew he’d hate me for leaving. I knew it as I slunk out the front door like thief.
He never talked about how much his dad leaving fucked him up, but he didn’t have to.
I knew. I knew when he would text his mom when she was out, just to make sure she was coming back.
I knew it when he would flip if I left a party or whatever before him.
I’m not surprised he never told me. I’m not sure I would have told him if the roles were reversed.
I just hope he understands why I left now. He kissed me after, so I’m gonna say he does. I thought the whole conversation would end with him punching me in the face. Not kissing and frotting till we came.
An old, analog alarm clock starts to blare out its shrill wake up call. Loud and jarring. I quickly slap the top to make it shut up. Sage grumbles and replasters himself to my side, throwing his leg over my waist.
Which reminds me. Dear God, we should have cleaned up before we fell asleep. Dried cum is fucking gross. He must feel it too, a deep urgh has him pulling away from me.
“Shower and get out,” he grumbles, hiding his face into the pillow. I laugh and slap his ass hard, making him grunt and moan simultaneously. I decided to remember that response for later use.
“Fuck off, asshole,” he grumbles into the pillow.
“I gotta get to work. Was supposed to be there at 9:00.” I hop off the bed, stretching my arms over my head. This bed is so much better than the couch and the twin. No going back.
He turns his head, squinting at the clock. “Then why set the alarm for nine-thirty?”
“Because I don’t wanna be late.” He narrows his eyes and grumbles something before turning back around.
After a quick shower and a cup of old coffee, I’m driving to work. The Mustang is running smoothly. So much better now after I did basic maintenance. Today is the first day the damn car started without me having to threaten it.
“Good morning, Henry!” I shout into the garage, figuring he’s already in his office. I hardly recognize my voice; it sounds too damn cheerful. He pops up behind the hood of an old Ford pickup, scowling and angry.
“You’re late,” he grips.
“I’m always late. This is just the time I show up.” He grunts and ducks back beneath the hood of the truck. I hear him muttering under his breath, but he doesn’t say anything else to me.
“Still fussy?” I ask, moving towards the truck he’s working on. It’s been here for months; it’s a piece of shit, but Henry won’t give up on it.
That seems to be his favorite past time. Helping lost causes, like he did for me. Bringing me back to life after Dave tried to beat the gay away.
“I’m not fucking fussy,” he tells me all fussy like. In the two years I’ve known Henry, he’s never told me much about himself. For a long time, it was just about me. Just about the shit I was going through. It never really dawned on me how tight lipped he was about his own life.
I know he was a medic in the army. I know he was married for a minute. I know it didn’t end well, and he almost lost the garage because of it. He doesn’t have kids, I don’t think. He has a favorite pair of work pants. And he helps random kids half dead on the side of the road.
“What’s going on with you?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but it comes out sounding more accusing. After a deep sigh, he slams the hood closed with more force than required, and glares at me.
“You moving out of the apartment for good?” he asks instead of answering. The swift changes in conversation is a common occurrence when it comes to Henry.
“Yeah. I am.” Sage and I hadn’t really talked about that, either. But I’m not fucking leaving unless he forces me out. I’m talking Dave-style forces me out.
“Ok.” That’s it? He wipes his hands off on the dirty rag. His face looks fucking weird. Like he’s doing complicated math in his head and nothing is adding up.
“Why?” His eyes jerk to me like he forgot I was standing here.
“Someone I know needs a place to crash. If you’re done with it, I’ll give it to him.”
“Who?”
“No one.” He walks past me toward his office. His face goes back to the deep thoughts from before. His broad shoulders pinch together under his work shirt. Obviously it’s not no one, but I decide to let it go for now. Henry can be a mean son of a bitch when you push too hard.
“Alright. Well thanks for letting me stay there for so long. I mean, you took a shit ton out of my paycheck to pay for it, but still. You didn’t have to do that.
You helped me more than I can say…so thank you.
” I’ve thanked him before. Over and over again I’ve thanked him, but he looks at me with a look I’ve never seen on him before.
“Did I really help you? I mean beyond picking your sorry ass off the side of the road?” he asks, his head tilted to the side. Studying me. looking for signs of…something.
“Of course you did, Henry,” I tell him with full sincerity. I don’t think I would have lasted these past two years without his help. Without him giving me a purpose at the garage. I even appreciate his bitchy comments and constant nagging.
He grunts, finally satisfied with whatever he sees. “You’re welcome, kid. Glad you’re doing alright.” He knocks his knuckles against a toolbox and nods to himself. Then he’s gone, closing himself in his office.
My first shift back at the garage after I moved into the trailer, I filled him in on everything. Telling him more than I probably should have. Definitely more than he wanted to know. After my rant, he patted my back with a heavy hand and told me he was happy I’m doing alright.
Henry is like the dad I never had. A younger, sexier dad. A Daddy, if you will.
By the end of the day, I’m geeking to get home. Unlike yesterday’s nerves, this is a new kind of anticipation. Like bubbles under my skin, all light and airy and shit.
Henry spent most of the day in his office, only coming out to help a customer and bitch at me about not cleaning up after myself.
Even his shit mood can’t wipe the smile off my face.
I feel a freedom I haven’t felt in years.
I feel light. After living in fear of Dave for two years, I’m not used to this feeling.
Not looking at shadows, expecting the boogeyman to strike.
Not living with a chunk of myself left back in Sage’s bed.
Everything feels like it’s in the right place, and I can’t stop smiling.
I am curious though, who the fuck is moving into my apartment? My old apartment. I’ve moved up in the world, or back, technically. I now live back in a trailer instead of a storage closet. So I will call that success.
But I’d live anywhere if Sage was there. In an alley, in a cardboard box, on a train. Ok, the joy has fucked with my head. I’m now thinking like I’m Dr. fucking Seuss. I shake my head, but the smile stays.
After wrapping up with a customer, I’m getting ready to leave for the day. A short guy wearing a baggy hoodie walks into the open bay doors.
He looks around the garage with shifty eyes, waiting for someone to jump him or cataloging all the shit he can steal. His hood is pulled up, and all I can see are thick, black curls peeking out the sides.
“Hey. Can I help you?” The guy recoils. His face jerks to me, wide eyed and suspicious. He’s attractive, has a strong jaw, and high cheekbones. Maybe Egyptian. His eyes are a light brown with thick, long lashes. He looks like he’s around my age, maybe a year or two older.
He shuffles on his feet, hiking the black and white checkered backpack higher on his shoulder.
He looks like he might be homeless—jeans with large holes in the knees and a few stains on the fabric.
His backpack is falling apart; only one strap seems to be functional, held together with a copious amount of duct tape.
“Yeah. Uh. Henry here? Henry Hevia?” His pale, brown eyes continue to flick around anxiously. Acting like a goddamn junkie casing the joint.
“And you are?” Something about this guy is off. He’s way too anxious and jumpy. When I take a step towards him, he jumps backward, almost tripping on his scuffed-up Vans.
“I’m Aken.” Both of his hands grip tightly to the strap of his backpack, the tan skin of his hands bleaching white.
“Stay here,” I command. I turn around and head towards Henry’s office, casting suspicious glances back at this Aken character. I bump into Henry as he walks out of his office. He’s scowling down at his phone when I crash into him.
“Hey there’s a guy here for you. Says his name is Aken.” Henry’s scowl deepens. “I can tell him to fuck off.”
“No. No, it’s fine.” He stuffs his phone into his back pocket and runs his hand over his cropped, short hair.
“It’s just surprising when someone is actually on time.
” He pushes past me, walking towards Aken, cracking his neck and pulling back his broad shoulders as he goes.
Kind of like he’s preparing for a fight.
Now I have to stay. A peek into the life of Henry is rare, and I’m fucking curious. When Aken sees Henry walking towards him, he bites his lip and shifts from foot to foot. Looking like a kid about to be in trouble.
“Aken.” Henry’s voice is terse. Not rude, but not exactly a warm welcome. Very Henry these days.