Chapter 6 #3
He nods eagerly, and I get to work. I do the outline first; that way, if he taps out, I’ve got the base ready, but he sits like a champ. I start the colour, blending and shading them to give a 3d effect, the alien’s skin glistens, and the swirls of the space setting bring it to life.
The door creaks open, and I glance around to see Scott peeking around the corner. When he sees the customer, he pulls back.
“You good, Scott?” I shout after him.
He peers back around the corner. “Erm, yeah, fine, I just. Erm. Where are my clothes?”
Dave stares between us, and I grin at him, winking. “Washing Machine. Stick something of mine on.” He nods and runs back upstairs. I chuckle.
“Boyfriend?” Dave grins. Raising an eyebrow and smirking at me.
“Nah, best mate’s little brother. Got shit-faced and passed out. I had to go and get him last night.”
He nods. I can sense the “We’ve all been there, mate”, and I get back to finishing up. Once I’ve wiped him down, I wrap him up and go through the aftercare again.
“All the info is on the form you filled in. I’ve emailed you a copy.
Any problems, give me a shout.” He shakes my hand, and I lock up behind him.
I crack the door open and listen from the bottom of the stairs before heading up.
When I get to the top, I hear Scott talking.
I know I shouldn’t, but I hang back, tab-hanging on every word.
“I’m sorry… I don’t know. I woke up at Killian’s… No, it’s not like that… I’m still here… No, don’t come and get me. It’s fine… I’ll see you soon… Yes, I am sorry, Derren, Derren?”
I push into the room. He jumps back and hangs up. “Killian, you scared me.”
“Who else were you expecting?”
He shakes his head. Before he can overthink it, I step into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and grabbing out the bacon.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“Erm, lunch or maybe breakfast yesterday.”
I shake my head at him. “You were out of it, you know. I’ve never seen you drunk. So out of control. Anything could have gone wrong. What happened, kiddo? Who were those guys you were with, and why the fuck were you in that place?”
He blows out a breath before staring me down. “It was a date, supposed to be a date. He picked me up, and his mates were there, and they were drinking, and I kinda… ya know… had one then another, but I hadn’t eaten. I guess it was a little much.”
“You guess, huh? They’re not the kind of guys you should be hanging around with, Nerd.”
“Why not?” he snaps, defiance spreading across his face. I place the bacon in the pan and turn to him. Resting my hip on the counter.
“They’re not good guys, Scott.” I fold my arms over my chest. “You shouldn’t be going to places like that. They’re not good for you. They’re dangerous, Scott. Guys like you shouldn’t be in places like that.”
“How do you know who they are and what they’re like? And what do you mean, guys like me?” He stands abruptly and storms towards the door. I step into his way and grab his arm.
“I know guys like them, Scott.” He tries to pull away.
“You don’t know him, though. He actually likes me, Killian. He really likes me. For me, as I am.”
“Scott, he’s not good enough for you.”
“How the hell do you know?” The fury that contorts his face makes me dig my heels in. I just need to get through to him.
I soften my voice, hoping he’ll listen. “Because I am guys like him, Scott.”
He pushes past me, heading for the back door. “You’re not my brother, Killian. You can’t tell me what to do and who to like.” He storms out of the flat and onto the steps. He freezes. His shoulders shoot up to his ears as he shudders.
“Shoes, dickhead.” I chuckle at his unfortunate mishap.
He scurries back inside, pushes past me, and stuffs his hand into the washing machine, dragging his clothes and shoes out. He retches as he clutches them to his chest. The cold, damp fabric fills his arms, and he turns and storms back out again.
“Carry your puke-infested shit home, you mardy fucker,” I yell out of the open door as the wind whips around him. I wait until he strides across the courtyard to the back gate.
He tries to slam his hand against the button, but drops everything.
He curses, kicking the wet pile of clothes.
His shoes are still in there, too. He winces and jumps a little, lifting his now-injured foot as he kicks his bare toes into one of his shoes, snatching them up, then standing awkwardly while the gate starts to slowly open.
Because I’m a wanker, I click the button again to close the gate, then chuckle when he glares at the flat before turning and slamming his hand against the button. The gate groans and then starts to open again.
I turn back to my bacon, pull out a plate, throw it all on, grab the loaf and ketchup, and slide onto the sofa.
Fuck him and his tantrum. I stuff slice after slice of bacon onto a piece of bread and flick the motorbike racing on.
I know I could have handled that better, but something about the whole situation irks me. I don’t want to see him get hurt.