7. Deke
Deke shifted the backpack between his feet so it sat deeper under the seat. He’d hoped to have time to at least fix his face and change his clothes before the audition, but they’d given him almost no notice. He tried to catch glimpses of his reflection whenever the bus was in the shadow of a building but the sun’s brightness kept foiling his plans.
Finally giving up, Deke turned his head forward only to find wide brown eyes peering over the seat at him. He waved to the little girl. She giggled and waved back, then disappeared only to pop up once more. Each time she appeared, a little more of her face showed until her whole tiny face was visible.
She couldn’t have been more than three or four. Her carrot red curls fell over her shoulders in kinky waves, and she wore a hot pink jacket that should have clashed with her bright hair but didn’t. She seemed to have decided that Deke would be her entertainment for the duration of her bus ride, making silly faces at him, delighted when he returned them.
The man beside her ignored her, too engrossed in some game on his phone. Some sports game. Deke had noticed it when he’d first taken his seat. Typical. Deke knew what it was like to have a sperm donor instead of a parent, to grow up in a house where you were treated like a roommate, not a child.
Maybe he was just projecting. Yeah, he was probably just projecting. Before he could give it much thought, the bus jolted, brakes hissing as it rolled to a stop. The man stood, grabbing the little girl’s hand. When she didn’t budge, continuing to stare at Deke, he gave the girl a tug that Deke found too aggressive for his liking. She kept looking back over her shoulder at him, but she didn’t appear worried or distressed.
At the last minute, the girl turned, making one final silly face, giggling when Deke returned it before she disappeared. She reappeared on the sidewalk seconds later, her father still watching his phone as he dragged her along behind him.
Deke sighed, slouching in his seat, before unlocking his own phone. He smiled when he saw San had tagged him in a photo he’d taken just a couple of hours ago. The two of them stood on either side of a large painted mural—an ode to ‘90s hip-hop—they’d painted on the brick entrance of a tiny not-for-profit dance school deep in the inner-city. The mural Deke had left in San’s hands no more than fifteen minutes ago after receiving an invite to audition for a small theater nearby.
He was going to decline before San pointed out that the location was only a little ways away. He’d been right, it wasn’t far, but it was too far to walk, so he’d grabbed his backpack and hopped the bus.
There’d been no time to change either. He’d managed to avoid getting paint on his clothes—a Balenciaga hoodie and a pair of Prada wide-leg cargos he’d thrifted about a month ago—but his face and hands were dotted with what appeared to be hot pink, lime green, and highlighter orange freckles.
Hopefully, the casting director would be benevolent given the short notice. His phone buzzed with a text. He grimaced, noting the myriad of texts from his brothers. He’d been avoiding looking at them all day.
What the hell. Might as well rip off the Band-Aid.
Asshole #5 (11:07am)
Dad said come get your shit by tomorrow or he’s setting it on fire on the front lawn.
Asshole #2 (12:43pm)
Hey, dickbag. Where the fuck are my Adidas sandals? I know you fucking took them, bitch.
Asshole #4 (1:31pm)
Stole your scent blocker. It’s not like you’re ever gonna need it. You know, being defective and all.
Asshole #3 (2:10pm)
Hey, loser. It’s been three fucking days, get your ass home. Dad’s having a seizure that you’re still not back. Grab me Taco Bell on your way home. I’m fucking starving.
Asshole #3 (3:30pm)
Where the fuck are you, shit stain? I’m starving.
Asshole #3 (3:45pm)
I hope you’re dead in a ditch somewhere.
Deke rolled his eyes. Ah, family. He shook his head, relief flooding him as he realized for the thousandth time that he never had to go back there. Like always, the last three days at San’s place had been paradise—a quiet, peaceful paradise where the only fighting was over what was for dinner and who had to do the dishes. Nobody called him a loser, a bitch, damaged, a dud. They just accepted him, unpresented and everything.
He kept waiting for them to change their mind, to tell him he had to go. It’s not like he could pay rent. Not yet. He was looking for a job but there really wasn’t much out there for a high school dropout. He couldn’t even cook. He was great at art and make-up and acting, but when it came to life skills, he was woefully lacking.
A little red notification popped up on Instagram. Unlike his text messages, he didn’t have to worry about what hate he’d find there; he’d blocked his brothers on social media years ago. It was a message from Fen. Well, from Fen’s account. The attached picture was of Fen and Seth, in their very adult work clothes, huge smiles plastered on their faces as they made a thumbs-up sign like dorks.
Fen
San told us you got an audition. Yay! Break a leg.
As he watched, twenty heart emojis, three excited hamster stickers, and a GIF of a jumping baby goat with the words “I’m so excited” on it appeared. Deke snorted. They were so cute. Cute and small, always trying to make everyone else happy even when shit sucked for them. He had never been a fan of toxic positivity, but Fen and Seth just exuded this light that he always wanted to bask in. They were older by almost four years, but he still wanted to watch over them.
It was hard to believe they had the jobs they did. Fen slept in boxer briefs covered in llamas, but as a cryptographer, he had access to top-secret government information. He was a badass hacker, too. He still looked like someone would card him buying a lottery ticket.
Seth spoke six—six!—languages. Deke barely spoke one. But Seth had also tripped in his ducky slippers, no less than four times, all because he kept trying to walk and drink at the same time, chasing the straw with his lips instead of holding it with his hand. How were they the same people in that photo?
When the bus slowed to a stop, he jumped up, making his way to the exit, hopping off and giving the driver a wave. He just shut the doors in his face. Rude. He checked his phone and the GPS, noting the sketchiness of the area. He wasn’t scared, just cautious. Theaters, especially little ones, were often in old, run-down neighborhoods, though this looked more run-down than usual.
He had to walk another two blocks to get to the audition site, frowning when it appeared to be an office building. Still, he shrugged it off. It was just an audition; maybe they didn’t have access to the theater yet. He really wished he’d had time to shower and change. While he’d been stashing clothing at San’s and the co-op, he’d taken his usual change of clothes out of his backpack to carry some of the paint supplies.
Maybe the director was a label snob and they’d be so dazzled by Deke’s impeccable taste that they would be willing to overlook that he was sweaty and covered in neon paint speckles. It would be fine. He could do this. He totally had this. He took a deep breath and let it out, picturing all those excited hamster stickers.
He still had ten minutes. He stood at the front steps, cupping his eyes with his hands to see past the mirrored coating on the glass doors. The lights were on but there was nobody at the front desk. Had they left? He checked his phone again, looking at the time and address. Both checked out. Maybe they were in the back with the other actors looking to try out?
Since nobody could see him, he used the door’s reflective surface to try to fix his inky black hair, hoping the director was a plain ol’ beta and couldn’t smell the paint and dried sweat radiating off him. He gave a furtive look before crouching down to open his backpack, grabbing his deodorant and quickly applying it before dumping it back in his bag.
He took one more deep cleansing breath, then stepped through the door, surprised at how chilly it was inside. Just then, the door separating the front desk from the rest of the building opened. A blond man with a beard and gold wire-rimmed glasses gave him a friendly smile. “Deacon?”
Deke nodded, watching his chances of gaining style points go down the drain. The man wore a navy blue sweater vest over a white t-shirt and jeans so new they had creases in them. He looked like that college professor that always tries too hard to be one of the kids. Except for his hair cut. Barely a half inch at the top and high and tight on the sides. Standard military cut. Deke’s dad still cut his hair that way and he hadn’t been in the Marines for ten years.
He wrapped an arm around Deke’s shoulders, drawing him farther into the space. “I’m Aaron, the director. Come on in.”
“Where’s everyone else?” Deke asked, a sudden bout of nerves making his stomach churn.
Aaron let him go just long enough to open the door to the inner office. “Oh, the auditions were done for the day but Larry asked me to wait for you. Said you were a real talent.”
Lawrence Saperstein had never said a kind word to Deke’s face the whole fucking time he’d known him. It was weirdly comforting to know he didn’t talk shit about him to potential jobs. “Oh, sweet. I’m sorry, I obviously didn’t have the script so it’s going to have to be a cold read. Is that okay?”
The man nodded. “Yeah, of course. How would you have gotten the script on such short notice? Come on in so you don’t have to do this in the lobby.”
Deke might have been unpresented, but he still had instincts and his were screaming that something was off. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention, and his heart was thudding heavily against his ribs. He wished he could smell whether he was in danger or just imagining things.
“Can I take your bag?” Aaron asked, still holding the door for Deke.
“No, I’ll hang onto it if it’s okay with you,” he said, his head on a swivel.
The reception area gave way to a hallway, and at the end of that hall, plastic sheeting swayed gently from the air conditioning.
When Aaron caught him staring, he laughed. “Sorry, we’re renovating. Gutting all the interior offices and turning them into a large theater.” He gestured vaguely. “This will be our office space.”
“Oh, cool,” Deke managed absently.
Aaron led him into a small room with an open door. There was a small table with two chairs and nothing else. “I’m just gonna…go grab that script for you, yeah?”
“Yeah, no problem.” The door was almost shut when Deke said, “Hey, do you think I can use your bathroom before we get started? Long bumpy bus ride.”
Deke watched as the man seemed to glitch. His overly friendly demeanor cracked for a split second before returning to its original state, pinging something deep in Deke’s lizard brain. “Sure. Uh, like I said, things are under construction so they’re not exactly ready for the public.”
Deke shrugged. “You should see the bathrooms at the co-op. I’m used to it.”
He gave a stilted nod. “End of the hall, past the plastic, then bang a left. It’s the first door on your right.”
Deke nodded, hauling his backpack over his shoulder, gaze shifting downward, then up, only to do a double take at the sight of Aaron’s shoes. Boots. Black military boots, tucked under his jeans but there nonetheless. Deke would know them anywhere. He’d had to polish his dad’s once a week from the time he was six.
There was nothing overtly weird about it on its face. Some people just had bad taste. But something was off. Why did he look like a college TA from his neck to his calves, but his head and feet were all military? Was he reserves maybe? Or was Deke about to get jumped?
Fuck. He didn’t even have any money. Or a weapon. As he followed Aaron into the hallway, he shook the thought away. Who would go to such elaborate measures for a mugging? Calling his agent? Setting up an audition? To rob him? It was absurd.
Still, once they were both in the hallway, Aaron’s odd behavior continued as he placed himself squarely between Deke and the entrance, pointing him towards the bathroom. Deke gave a fleeting smile then turned, following the man’s instructions as a small voice in his head whispered that this was it. This was how he died.
Just past the plastic was another corridor with a dizzying amount of doors. He quickly found the supposed bathroom, his heart hammering. He had no idea what was on the other side of that door. He squared his shoulders, not above trying to thwart his attacker by beating him with his backpack.
He yanked the door open, snorting out a self-conscious laugh as he realized it was, in fact, just a bathroom. He was so stupid. Still, something told him to shoot a message to San. Just in case. He locked the door, then pulled his phone free, sliding it open and typing out a text, letting San know that something seemed off then adding the address almost as an afterthought.
At least if he died, they’d know where to look for his body. He dropped to his knees, jerking open his backpack, looking for anything he could use to defend himself if this was some kind of really elaborate robbery. There was only a balled up towel and two small cans of spray paint.
It wasn’t exactly tear gas but it was better than nothing. He took the cans and slipped them into the ridiculously large pockets on his pants, snorting. San had made fun of his pants, asking if he planned on smuggling a family of raccoons in them. But they masked the small cans perfectly.
He turned the water on and washed his hands just in case they were listening.
They? Who’s they, Deke? You sound fucking insane.
His phone vibrated. San. He swiped his phone open, staring wide-eyed at the single word all in capital letters. RUN!
Goosebumps erupted over his whole body, and he felt suddenly both cold and clammy. He put his backpack on properly, then swung the door open.
“Hey, Aaron?” he called, hoping his voice sounded normal. “I think I need to?—”
He had just enough time to register a blur coming at him, then pain exploded behind his eyes, knocking him backwards as the world tilted on its axis. His eyes watered and his nose was running like a faucet. His mouth tasted like he was sucking on copper pennies.
Two men, both little more than blurs. Deke couldn’t focus. Were there two of him, or was he seeing double? Neither scenario brought him any comfort. He tried to clear his blurry eyes, but the two men seemed to coalesce in front of him, as wavy as mirages in the desert.
“Just relax, kid.” He didn’t recognize the voice. “We just want to talk.”
“Then why the fuck did you hit me?” Deke managed, everything on his face throbbing.
“It was an accident,” Aaron said. “Someone just got a little overzealous.”
“You’re the one who said he seemed sketchy,” the other man argued.
“What?” Deke said. Was he losing his mind? Was this real? He couldn’t deal with all the saliva in his mouth, but when he spit on the floor, it was just a pool of red. Blood. It was blood on his face. Blood in his mouth. He quickly ran his tongue along his teeth, something unclenching when he realized they were all where they belonged.
Just as he raised his head again, he took another hit, this time to his chin. “What the fuck?” he slurred, his head pounding so hard he half expected to see cartoon stars over his head.
“Why’d you hit him again?” Aaron snapped.
“Because I don’t want him trying anything stupid,” the stranger said, talking more to Deke than Aaron, like he was warning him.
“He’s not gonna do anything stupid. Right, kid?”
Clearly, Aaron didn’t know who he was dealing with. Thanks to having a dickhead father and seven older brothers, Deke had learned a long time ago that if it came down to the safe thing or the reckless thing, Deke would choose reckless every time.
“Just relax, okay?” Aaron said. “We’re seriously not looking to kill some little kid. We just need some information you have.”
“Information from me?” Deke asked meekly, hamming it up.
“You’ve been staying with Fenton Fletcher, right?” Aaron asked gently.
His vision was clearing more and more each second. “Yeah?”
“Do you have a key card to get into their place?” not-Aaron asked, taking a threatening step forward.
“A key card?” he stalled, just needing to be able to see enough to run.
“For the front door,” not-Aaron snapped.
Of course, he fucking did. Morons. “Yeah, why?”
“Hand it over,” not-Aaron said.
Deke felt like someone had tried to cleave his head in two, but he could see. It was blurry, but he no longer felt like he was on a tilt-a-whirl.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay, sure,” Deke said, making sure to let his voice tremble just a bit. “Just…just don’t hurt me, okay? I’m barely old enough to drink.”
He jammed his hand in his left pocket, pretending to dig around, making sure to look panicked when he couldn’t find it, then shoving his hand into the depths of his right pocket.
“Oh, here it is,” he said, relieved.
The two men looked at each other, smirking. Deke pulled the paint cans free, firing them directly into their eyes, relief washing over him as they began to scream. They tried to rush him, but they were blind. He ducked between them, running through the open bathroom door, legs burning as he ran faster than he ever had before. He didn’t even slow to open the door between the offices and the front desk, just threw his shoulder at it like a defensive lineman, then hit the glass doors.
Then he was free. Sort of. Were they right on his heels? He bolted to the left and just kept running, the silence growing until the only sounds were his ragged breathing and his sneakers scuffing the pavement. He came to a stop, sucking in breaths, looking around.
Fuck.
He’d gone the wrong way. There was nothing but a narrow corridor with no way out. He couldn’t double back. He’d run straight into them. For the first time in his life, being unpresented could have worked in his favor. If only that fucking douchebag hadn’t smashed his nose. Now, he smelled like blood and body odor. They’d track him no matter where he went.
He wanted to scream, spinning in a circle, stomach lurching as he grew dizzy. There was nowhere to turn, no corridors, no broken windows, no doors even. Only a row of four green dumpsters stood back to back.
Deke whined but didn’t give himself time to think. He whipped his hoodie over his head, dropping it right in front of the first dumpster, then vaulted himself up and over the third one, burying himself under a heap of black and white garbage bags until he could barely breath from all the plastic pressing down on him. He couldn’t see the sky which he hoped meant they wouldn’t see him.
They’d never smell him mixed in with that many smells. Deke tried to breathe shallowly, lying there waiting for the sounds of the men. It felt like hours before he heard them slam through the glass doors of the building, one of them growling, “Which way did he go?”
It had likely only been minutes, but time seemed to be flying by one second and dragging the next.
There was a moment of hesitation and then the other yelled, “That way!”
Deke had no choice but to lie there, unmoving, as he listened to boots scuffing over pavement, the sound growing closer and closer. He held his breath as they stopped before the dumpsters. There was the sound of someone banging on metal. “It’s just his fucking sweatshirt,” not-Aaron growled.
“Fuck!” Aaron shouted. “He probably took off the other way. We’re just wasting time.”
Not-Aaron scoffed. “If you say so, but you’re calling this in.”
“Why me?” Aaron snapped, almost comically indignant.
“Because you’re the one who didn’t take his backpack, Einstein,” the man said, voice dripping with disdain.
“How was I supposed to know he was going to paint bomb us?”
“I don’t give a shit. I’m not calling operations and telling them that some skinny wannabe actor got the jump on us.”
Deke laid there, just listening as the voices faded, still arguing. He laid there long after. He might have laid there all night just to be safe. He was afraid to move. Until he heard a familiar voice.
“Deke!” San shouted.
“San?” he called back, wrestling himself free of the garbage pile. “San!”
Once more, he listened as footsteps beat a path towards him, but, this time, they were welcome. Deke was covered in something wet, his feet refusing to give him enough traction on the side of the container to free himself. San stood on the edge, gripped the waistband of Deke’s jeans and pulled hard, almost sending him flying.
“I forget you’re an alpha sometimes,” Deke said, his words sounding fuzzy at the edges.
He stood but immediately regretted it, head spinning.
“Oh, my God. What happened? What did they do to you? What did they say?” San babbled, his hands poking and prodding at his injured face.
“Ow. Can we please get out of here before they come back?” Deke begged.
He looked down at his once white t-shirt, now covered in God-only-knew-what and that was it. It was the last straw. He had just enough warning to turn his head before he started puking. He wasn’t sure if it was the head injury, the unknown substances that had soaked through his clothing to his skin, or just the smell of him. But once he started, he couldn’t stop.
San stood beside him, rubbing his back as Deke hunched over, bracing his palms on his knees as his stomach continued to heave until his muscles cramped even when there was nothing left. When it was finally over, San led him to his beat-to-shit Honda Civic.
“Your car’s gonna be so gross,” Deke groaned.
“Get in the car, Oscar,” San said, opening the door for him.
“Was that a Sesame Street reference? You’re fucking mean. I almost died.”
San blinked at him, voice flat as he said, “I use humor as a coping mechanism. It’s either that or I hug you for the next forty-eight hours straight.”
Deke met San’s gaze. “Option B doesn’t sound terrible, but I really need a shower.”
“Or three,” San said, wrinkling his nose. When Deke glowered at him, he gave a soft laugh. “Okay. Okay. Let’s get you home and cleaned up, then I’m going to need you to walk me through everything that happened. Step by step. Got it?”
Deke leaned his head back on the seat, eyes already closing. “Got it.”