Eleven
Jace
“You should pay attention to the movie. We can’t keep coming back to see the same one,” Nate says, tilting his neck away from my ravenous mouth. I don’t listen, and just continue to lose myself in the taste of his skin, licking along the pulsing vein in his neck.
“Jace. The movie.”
I shake my head, nipping my way to his mouth. Our tongues seek out one another, increasing the hunger we both share, and the movie on the screen falls away with the rest of the world. His hand tugs at the front of my shirt, his teeth knocking against mine. Our breaths are heated, mouths sloppy and wet.
Gasping for air, we break away and I kiss the tip of his nose, stroking his cheek. “You know I didn’t come out here with you for the movie.”
“No? Why not stay home then?”
“Because I want this with you everywhere I can have it.” I press a chaste kiss to his mouth.
“Luckily there will be so many other places. We’ll be hours away from here soon, sharing an apartment off campus together.” He strokes my fingers lazily, his face beaming in the small light the bright screen brings.
“We will. But people will learn who we are to each other eventually. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can’t seem to break away from my name.” Or the darkness lingering in me. I’ve kept it mostly at bay here, but what if I lose control and forget the right way to love him?
“You will. Everyone there will know you the way I do. They’ll see what I see, not your name or your past. Not everyone is small-minded like most of the dipshits in this town.”
“Yeah, maybe. But sometimes I think you see only what you want to see when you look at me.”
His eyes lock on mine, fingers sweeping through my hair. “I see all the parts that matter most. None of us are perfect. All of us are winging life and making mistakes along the way.”
Normal mistakes. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” I say, knowing it’s what he needs to hear. What I need to be true. The nightmares are feeling real again, pulling me down into the dark when I feel him slip from my arms in our sleep. What woke me up last time was looking in the mirror and seeing my dad’s face underneath layers of dried blood. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, using the pain as a distraction—a short escape from my torturous thoughts.
“I know I am,” he squeaks, wrapping his fingers around mine while shoving popcorn into his mouth.
I kiss him one more time before reverting my attention to the movie. Leaning his head on my shoulder, he jumps when the killer emerges from the curtains, and I wrap my arm tightly around him, laughing when he buries his face in my shirt, shielding his eyes. “Tell me when it’s over.”
“Why do you always choose a scary movie just to purposely miss all the best parts?” I rub my nose in his hair.
“I’m not missing anything when I can still hear what’s happening,” he says apprehensively.
I laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek when he finally lifts his head to look at the screen again. “That’s true, but seeing it all is so much more fun.” The more memorable the scene, the better. I’d rather think about all the horrors someone else lives through than my own, mostly because theirs aren’t real. It’s all an act for entertainment purposes. In the end they scrub off their makeup and go home, but I can never leave my movie. I’m forever looking over my shoulder, waiting for the men my father owes to come collect, or for him to get free and drag me back to the basement.
For the cops to decide I’m also guilty and lock me up in a different dark place. For most of our neighbors and others in town to finally convince them it’s where I belong. Every time someone is reported missing or is jumped in an alley all eyes point to me. Why would it be anyone else?
This is the curse my father left me with. He damned my future before I could have one. I will forever be his son, the boy who helped his father seal the unwanted, disturbing fates of many who are unable to have a voice ever again. He left me with all this guilt and hatred toward myself. All these what-ifs. What if I’d run out of the house sooner? What if I’d ignored the lies he fed me and listened to all those victims before it was too late for them—before they disappeared forever.
I haven’t looked him up in years and he hasn’t tried to contact me. At least not to my knowledge. I know he’s alive, though. I know because everyone around me can’t stop talking about him being up for parole. My mom and dad can’t hide it from me forever, and I can’t keep avoiding the news either. He might get out some day and I worry what will happen when he asks me to come home. Will who I’m trying to be now tell him where to shove it, or will the scared boy inside me quickly obey?
“Then you can keep being my eyes for me and tell me what you think I’ve missed,” Nate says, bringing me back to him, And I try to stay there, I do, but when he and the movie go quiet my brain works overtime, taking me away to places I wish I could avert my eyes from the way Nate does with scary scenes.
“Look at me, boy,” my dad would say. “This is who we are and what we do.” His dark eyes grow larger in my head, his hand reaching out the way it did when I was a kid. I shake his image away and pull Nate’s hand further into my lap instead, folding my fingers around his so tightly his nails dig into my palm.
I feel the pain they bring, and focus on Nate’s glowing eyes as they widen at the scene unfolding on the big screen. I push down harder on his hand until my dad’s fading face is nothing but a black hole. Nate looks at me, and as if reading my mind, he drags his nails over the skin of my wrist in soft circles. The sensation is different from pain, tickling a little and slightly gentle, but just as effective. He shows me I don’t need punishments to feel better about enjoying life, and I don’t need pain to stay with him either. And right now, with his eyes boring into mine, he’s saying, “Look at me. You can be whoever you want . . . do whatever you want.”
And with him right next to me, showing me another way and showing me him, I feel more reassured. He goes back to watching the movie and my gaze bounces between him and the screen. When he hides his face again, I paint him a perfect picture of what’s happening, and he continues to remind me what I’m supposed to be doing by creating new sensations on my skin. I’m here on a date, watching a movie and making Nate feel safe from all the monsters on the screen. Because I want to always be who he said I was, and I will be, for him if not for myself.
“Your dad is the nightmare people ran from, and you are the type of person who wakes them up so they can be okay again.”
Stroking his cheek and nudging his side, I point to the screen when it’s finally safe for him to open his eyes. He moves away from my shoulder, blinking those pretty blues open, and I feel like I really am the person who’s made it all okay for him tonight.
“How many more times do you think this guy’s gonna pop out?” He holds his hand close to his face, pressing his cheek to my arm.
“You know he can’t get through the screen, right?”
“As far as you know.” He snaps his eyes to me.
Smiling, I shake my head. “Well, we’re also in a car, so if that happens we can always use it to get way ahead of him.”
“They always catch up. You know that.” He swallows down more popcorn, the scent of butter mixing with his sweet shampoo.
“If he does, you can use me as a shield and I’ll tell you when it’s safe to lift your head again.”
“I doubt that’ll work when it comes to real life.”
“It will as long I’m here with you. I’ll make sure of it.”
Nate jumps out of the car first, using a magazine from the back seat to shield his head from the rain, and I rush after him. Droplets of water splash over my face, soaking my hair, and I almost stand still so I can surround myself in it a bit longer. I could if I wanted to. I could stay out here and play in the rain for hours. No one would stop me. I smile, slowing my steps and lifting my arms. Nate looks back at me, the magazine flopping over his head barely holding together.
“What’s taking you so long?”
I smile, looking up at the sky and slightly parting my lips. It’s so damn freeing—the smell of dew, my shoes scraping over the concrete, and the dark sky opening up above me. All of this is so far away from everything that was in my dad’s house, and even further from the cold, grungy basement. Maybe that’s why staying is more tempting.
“You’re getting wet,” he says with a touch of amusement in his voice.
“I know.” My lips tilt higher and I reach up, pretending to touch the sky.
“Get your ass inside. You’ll trail water onto the carpet,” the voice in my head says, and I shake my head to my dad’s words, spinning around.
Tossing the magazine onto the sidewalk, Nate rushes my way and grabs my hands. “I guess we’re staying outside for a little longer.”
I blink down at him, pulling his body closer. “We can go inside if you want. You’re getting soaked and starting to shiver.”
“So are you. You know, I’ve always been curious about what it’s like to kiss in the rain.” He stands on his tiptoes, his mouth so close I can taste the warmth and cinnamon from the pretzel he made us stop for before heading home.
“You don’t think it’s the same as kissing in the shower?” My breaths mingle with his, my tongue begging to be closer.
“Do you?” He tilts his head, one side of his mouth lifting.
“No. This is nothing at all like being in a tiny space, surrounded by white tile walls and a glass door.” I smash my lips to his, loving the cool night breeze wrapping around us and the sky putting on a light show to prove how much better this really is.
When our clothes hang off our bodies and we can hear the water slosh around in our shoes, we rush into the house. Neighbors turning on their porch lights around us have us ducking our heads, laughing as Nate gets the door open with his key. The first inside, he starts stripping in the entryway, kicking off his shorts and shoes once his shirt is off. With his hair dripping and plastered to his skin he smiles, slowly moving toward me in nothing but his white briefs that leave little to the imagination.
They’re as wet as the rest of his clothes, making them see-through, but still acting as a barrier between us when he presses his body to mine. He lifts up my arms, pulling off my shirt and tossing it to the ground, and shakes water from his hair. “We’re getting water everywhere.” He drops his hands from my pants and goes still when his eyes meet mine. Can he hear the raging storm inside my head? Sometimes I feel like he can. It gets so loud it shakes me from the inside, causing the outside to tilt.
Nibbling on his bottom lip, he looks down at the small puddle on the floor and back to me. My jaw tightens and I step back onto the small rug in front of the door, tugging at my pants. Quickly moving forward, he stops me and yanks me closer to the living room. “You know what? It’s okay. Water can easily be dried up.”
“I’ll get a towel,” I say quickly, but he holds on tightly to my hands, making it impossible for me to get away.
Shaking his head, he sways back and forth. My shoes leave more wet spots as he drags me around the coffee table. “Tell me what’s happening in that head of yours,” he whispers.
“A whole lot.”
“Too many thoughts spinning out of control?”
I nod curtly, gliding back and forth with him.
“Then let’s find something that’ll make you focus on the world spinning instead.”
With his hands tightening around mine, he pulls me toward a large empty space between the kitchen and living room, spinning me around with him. Putting more space between us, he leans back a little with so much trust in me, moving faster in small circles until we’re both falling on our asses and laughing hysterically.
The room still spins as I reach for him, and he reaches for me back, kissing my lips. We’re both off balance, sharing more laughs as we try to stand up. I’m the first to fully reach my feet, and once the ground finally feels like it’s stopped moving beneath me, I lift him from the floor, yanking him closer to me.
“Better?” he asks, his voice almost too quiet.
“Much,” I say, rubbing his smile with my thumb. “So much better.”
“Shall we go get dressed for bed?”
I slip my fingers into the back of his underwear. “We should go to bed but skip the being dressed part.”
“Okay. Well, let me help you with these then.” He helps me out of the rest of my clothes, taking his time and being very gentle. Once I’m in only my underwear, like him, he runs to the bathroom to grab a towel, dries the floor, and leads me to my room. We crawl into bed and he drags the covers over us before curling himself against me. Warmth radiates off him as I wrap my arm around his waist and tuck my leg under his.
He gives me hope that everything will be okay. That I can one day leave all the bad parts of me behind, along with the bad memories. Then I close my eyes and the darkness shatters all my confidence, bringing me closer to everything I hate—everything I fear.