by Dawn Sister
"Want some Hot Chocolate or something?" I ask him. He shakes his head,
No thanks. He signs wearily.
He sinks into my sofa and I watch his dejected, desperately pale figure with concern. He hasn't spoken a word since he discovered his home in tatters. When the Sheriff asked him anything he used sign language or wrote it down. I want to cry for him but I know that won't do any good because he needs me to be strong.
We haven't even talked about him staying here although there is really nowhere else he can go. There is no way I would have considered leaving him standing amidst the ruins of his home, so after the cops and forensics had made a sweep and taken what evidence they could find in the dark I helped him sort through the hell that was his bedroom and gather some personal affects before bringing him over here. There wasn't that much left intact. Whoever has done this had even gone to town on his clothes with what the cops thought might have been some kind of utility knife or box cutter. Even Sheriff Jefferson was surprised and shocked by the level of violence and destruction. I dread to think what might have happened if Cal had actually been in the house. In fact, it's making me feel quite sick.
He managed to find some personal stuff intact that was hidden beneath a fallen dresser otherwise he appears to have lost everything. Who the hell would do something like this? I have no idea. There weren't even any clothes that were salvageable. I'll have to find something of mine for him to sleep in. I'll have to take him shopping for something more tomorrow.
He looks the picture of dejection, but strangely enough, apart from the initial shock, he doesn't appear to be in much of a state of shock now. It's more like inevitability that I sense from him, like he was expecting something like this and it was only a matter of time. Who goes through life expecting things like this to happen? God I want to hold him so much but I know that would be such a very bad idea at this moment in time
The truth is, if I touch him in such an intimate way I'm afraid I won't be able to stop and my lack of self control is not what he wants or needs right now,
"Should I show you the guest room?" I ask him, for want of anything better to say. He shrugs. I grimace because he's spent almost every day here for the last two and a half weeks, of course he knows where the guest room is, "I don't know about you but I need to go get changed." I tell him and he nods, "I'll find you something to get changed into as well. Most of my stuff should fit you."
He's slimmer than me but sweats and t shirts are pretty flexible,
"Thanks Jake." He says, the first words he's spoken out loud in hours. He meets my eye with his usual intense gaze, his eyes dulled by weariness but still stunning, "Thanks for everything."
"Hey!" I say, as I kneel in front of him and hook my finger beneath his chin, "No problem, really." There's a ghost of a smile on his lips, "No problem at all and just so you know, you can stay here as long as you need to okay?" He nods, his eyes brimming with unshed tears which just serves to make the blue even more alluring.
I stand before I lose myself in that sapphire gaze and leave to fetch him some clothes.
When we return to the living room, changed and looking less dishevelled, we both fall thankfully into our now usual positions at either end of my sofa. I thought perhaps I might have lost this one to one time after I got better. However, I don't like the fact we are back in this position again because at this moment he has nowhere else to go.
This is a totally shit position to be in. I lean back into the sofa and groan, rubbing my face and running my fingers through my hair in frustration and anger at what has happened. I need a drink,
"I'm getting a whisky, Cal." I tell him after catching his eye. "I don't know about you but I think I need something stronger than warm milk."
Cal signs something that I don't quite catch but his expression tells me his opinion of my drinking habits,
"I promise I won't have a hangover in the morning." I tell him and he shakes his head,
"Not what I said, old man!" he tells me and I narrow my eyes as he smirks. At least he's smiling and talking now,
"What did you say then?" I ask with a chuckle.
He smirks some more, his dimples beginning to show as he shifts his position to sit a little straighter,
"I said I wasn't going to put your ass to bed this time if you get drunk." He tells me and I feel he's turning a corner after the shock of finding his home completely ruined.
"Yeah well, that's the beauty of living on your own though, Cal." I tell him, "No one to care where the fuck you sleep."
"But last time you were trying to sleep on your front porch." Cal reminds me.
I lean towards him and flash him an impish grin,
"I wasn't sleeping." I tell him, "I was singing, and waiting."
Cal widens his eyes,
"Waiting for what?"
"An angel." I tell him before jumping up and moving to the door. When I turn around he is regarding me with shock, "Whisky?"
"I never drank it before." He says still wide eyed and flushed,
"Ha!" I point my finger at him, "You've never lived." I disappear from his sight so I can't say anything more. Not that I'd be able to because I am shaking inside after what I just told him.
Judging by the look on his face he understood I was talking about him. God, do I even know what I'm doing? We need to talk about what's going on here, but I know now is not the time or the place. That doesn't stop me continuing the momentum though. He ran from me after that kiss and I have no idea if it was because he spooked himself or if he thought it was a big mistake. Whatever the reason, we need to talk. I don't want things to change. Friendship is good for me. Friendship is easier, especially if months down the line he finds someone younger and fitter and better. At least then I can still be his friend.
I return to the sofa with a half full bottle of Scotch whisky and two glasses. I place them down on the coffee table and pour a measure into each one as he watches me with interest. I hand him a glass but stop him as he goes to sniff it. He regards me curiously, one eyebrow raised in query,
"You can do this one of two ways." I tell him. He gives me a bemused smile as if he thinks I'm crazy for trying to tell him how to take a drink, "You can sip it, or down it in one." He screws up his face, "Personally I think other spirits are for downing in one. Whisky is for sipping. Either way it's gonna hurt the first time." I put the glass to my lips, then lower it, "A bit like sex I guess." I tell him with a wink then I take a sip.
He snorts and blushes furiously then sips at the amber liquid in his glass. His eyes almost pop out of his head and his hand shoots to his mouth as he fights not to choke,
"Jesus, Jake." He croaks as his eyes water. I obligingly pat his back,
"Told you!" I say with more than a little smugness, "It ain't called Fire Water for nothing, I'm tellin' ya!"
He takes another sip with much the same results then places his glass down on the coffee table,
"I think I might pass." He says with a disgusted grimace,
"Wimp!" I challenge him. He narrows his eyes defiantly, takes the glass back in his hand and downs the lot.
I cannot help my bark of laughter as his face goes bright red and he splutters,
"What the hell are you trying to do to me?" he squeaks. I pat him on the back again,
"I'm trying to distract you." I say brightly, "Is it working?"
He regards me with still narrowed eyes before barking out a laugh as well. It's rare he makes a sound when he's laughing. I know my job is done when he does. I hold up the bottle with raised eyebrows,
"Another? The second is never as bad as the first." Cal regards me sceptically but holds his glass up to receive another measure.
I place the bottle on the table and sit back into the cushions of the sofa. Cal takes up the same position at his end of the couch, nursing the whisky glass on his chest.
"This isn't gonna stop me!" Cal breaks the silence. I sit up to look at him,
"What do you mean?" I ask with a confused frown.
He waves his glass around in the general direction of his house,
"I mean this sick act of vandalism; it's not going to make me want to go back."
"Back where?" I ask, realisation building slowly in my alcohol slowed brain, "Cal, do you know who might have done this?" Cal shrugs and shakes his head,
"I don't know who did it, but I do know if certain people found out they would be on my doorstep tomorrow telling me I'm not fit to live on my own, that I'm not capable."
"But that's bullshit, Cal. This isn't your fault." I gasp, brushing his arm with my hand, "Who do you mean anyway? Your parents?" Cal sits up and shakes his head, holding his glass out for a refill.
I hesitate before giving him one more measure,
"Make that the last one." I warn him, "This stuff can hit you all at once." He rolls his eyes but thanks me, sipping from his glass and sinking back into the sofa,
"My parents are dead, Jake." He tells me quietly, his voice void of emotion. I sit up with a splutter and a gasp,
"What?" This explains why he's on his own but it couldn't be any more tragic. "How? When?" I realise this might just be too much information for him to be expected to share. I shake my head, "God, I'm sorry. I'm too nosy for my own good. Don't answer if you don't want to." Cal shrugs,
"It was a car crash, just over three years ago." He tells me,
"Shit, Cal." I feel terrible for him. I knew there was something tragic about him but this is just horrible, "How did you cope, have you been on your own all that time?"
He shakes his head,
"I was seventeen and still at school. I needed a guardian until I was twenty one, until I could legally inherit everything that my parents left me." He takes another sip and doesn't even react this time, I guess I should watch that the two he's had already don't catch up with him too suddenly, but I'm far too distracted by his tragic past, "My Father's brother and his wife became my legal guardians and they were really nice at first, but then they tried to get control of my parents' estate by controlling me." Cal tells me and I realise what he is telling me is unfolding into a story of epic proportions, "When they discovered I couldn't be manipulated so easily they tried to have me declared mentally incompetent because I'm deaf and because of other stuff as well. That would have meant they could control the estate after I came of age."
"They were after your money?" I ask, wondering what he could mean by 'other stuff'. He nods, "They obviously didn't succeed."
"No," he gives an ironic snort, "The two lawyers employed to sort out all the legal stuff were good friends of my parents. They got wise and made sure my Aunt and Uncle couldn't get their hands on any of it."
"Do you think your Uncle and Aunt could have had something to do with trashing your house?" I ask incredulously. He shrugs,
"They're religious nuts, Jake." Cal explains to me, "I don't really think they would be capable of doing something so horrible. Breaking the law isn't their style. Breaking spirits is though."
"Most people would see having your home trashed as an attempt to break your spirit, Cal." I point out and he makes a face as he considers what I've said, "They could be involved in this." He shakes his head,
"They haven't attempted to get in touch with me since I left even though they know where I am and whilst I didn't expect them to give up so easily, the worst I expected was for them to come quoting bible passages. They just aren't the kind of people who would do something as drastic as this. It has to be a coincidence." He looks at me hopefully. I shake my head, feeling bad, since I'm about to dash his hopes,
"The truth is, Cal, things like this just don't happen here. I've lived here over twenty years and I've never heard of anything like this." I tell him, "Oakwood Bay has a very low crime rate. Sheriff Jefferson might be a bombastic pain in the ass but he's good at what he does." Cal nods sadly in understanding,
"Even so, I just can't believe they'd go this far." He says sadly,
"People can do all kinds of unexpected things when money is concerned, Cal." I tell him, "Maybe you should tell the Sheriff about your Uncle and Aunt just to be on the safe side." I suggest. He nods wearily,
"I guess." His head lolls to one side and I see that the whisky is catching up on him. I catch him as he sways in his seat, "Whoa!" he gasps with a laugh, "You weren't kidding about it catching up were you?" I chuckle,
"Come on sunshine." I say with more than a little affection in my tone, "Time for bed I think."
He lolls his head to the other side so he's looking at me sideways, a relaxed, slightly goofy smile on his face,
"If I have a hangover in the morning it's your turn to play nursemaid." He tells me before he actually passes out on my couch.
Luckily he's already in sweats and a t shirt so I don't need to undress him. Just as well really. I throw him over my shoulder and carry him to the guest room where I lay him gently down on the bed. I cover him with the blankets and quilt and make sure he has some water on the night stand for when he wakes up. I consider leaving some painkillers too but I decide to wait and see how he feels when he wakes up. He's young and he might not even suffer that badly. I never used to.
I stare down at his peacefully sleeping form and I'm struck by how very young and vulnerable he does look. He has no one looking out for him and I feel responsible for him somehow. What was I even thinking allowing him to kiss me the way he did? He doesn't need that right now or even ever from me, especially after everything he's just told me about his family. He needs a friend more than anything else.
Whether it's wise or not I can't help brushing some stray locks of his beautiful blond curls from his face and leaning down to kiss his perfect forehead.
His hand moves like lightening to cup the back of my neck in such a firm hold I can't move. I'm in complete shock because I'd thought he was totally out for the count. His eyes shoot open wide and he regards me, not with shock, or anger but with such longing it takes my breath away,
"Don't go." He whispers. My breath leaves my body all at once at the meaning in his words and his expression. But I can't do this, not now, not ever,
"Cal, I can't stay. We need to talk about this." I tell him. He shakes his head,
"No talking." He slurs, "I'll just close my eyes. I won't see what you say."
"Cal, you are drunk, I won't take advantage of you in this state."
"Meaning what?" he asks angrily, "That you think you'd be taking advantage whatever state I was in?" I swallow at the swiftness with which he throws my words back at me. I guess he isn't quite as drunk as he made out, "You think I'm not old enough to know what I want." He accuses; no hint of a slurred word. I shake my head,
"No, I don't think that at all, Cal," I tell him, because I don't. He needs to know that, but he also needs to know he's safe with me. We cannot do this now because when he wakes up in the morning and discovers what's happened he will leave and never come back. "I think you're drunk and your ability to choose is compromised."
"Not a good enough excuse." He tells me, "You want this as much as I do. I felt that when we kissed, Jake. Don't deny it, and don't forget who it was that actually got me drunk in the first place." He accuses. As he says this he pulls me over him with surprising strength and determination and his hips thrust up into mine which pushes our groins together,
"Oh, god." I gasp, as I feel his cock, warm and hard against mine, "I did not get you drunk to sleep with you." I feel I have to tell him, "That was not my intention at all."
"So, whatever the reasons, it makes no difference." His eyes are intense, pulling me in, forcing me to give in, "We are both adults and we are both capable of making the right decision."
"Is this the right decision though, Cal, really?" I ask him,
