My Side of the Story

by Will Davis

  I mean, for fuck's sake, we're not living in the sixteenth century here! he goes, When this kind of thing happens there's benefits and councils and all that crap that's been set up to help people out! To help out guys like you.

  Luckily he doesn't sound like he knows anything about it, which is good 'cos if he'd been anything like Mum he'd have reeled off this whole list of things we could do probably, and I'd have had a hard time talking my way out of it.

  I'm like, Listen, we've done all that stuff. Sometimes shit happens and there's nothing you can do. Trust me, we've tried. If we could just stay here for a few days . . .

  I kind of make my voice go all pleading and desperate. I sound like a total prick but Jon still looks like he might be setting forth on a trip to guilt city. But then Al spoils it by saying, I don't know, Jaz. Maybe there is something we can do. Maybe we should just go home and try again.

  Jon's whole face is like, exactly what relief looks like. I'm almost ready to kill Al for saying that, but she's making these eyes at me like she's a drowning woman or something.

  Jon's like, I could even drive you if you wanted.

  I kind of hate him for saying that. He says it so fast it's totally obvious he's desperate to get rid of us. He wasn't jealous that Buddy took us out today, he was just annoyed probably 'cos he thought we were settling in. I think back to him taking my hand last night and how I felt bad about lying to him. But some people just deserve to be lied to.

  I'm like, I can't go back. I just can't. Maybe Al can work things out with her alcoholic parents, but there's no way I can with mine. But it's OK, Jon, I can find some other place to crash. I understand that this is a hassle for you and I don't want to put you out or anything.

  Al winces when I say that about her parents. I think it's a pretty funny joke, since it's easier to imagine Mr and Mrs Rutland deciding to go gay than it is to imagine them as alcoholics. But Al's sense of humour is well and truly like, over. There's this pause which lasts for eternity, in which there's like, whole bales of tumbleweed blowing through, and then Jon lets out this great long sigh which sounds a bit like trapped wind that's been stored up all day, only coming out the wrong hole. I mean, from the way this guy sighs you'd think I was asking him to donate a lung or something.

  Jon's like, But surely you've got to at least call them.

  I'm like, You're not hearing me. They don't give a shit. They think I'm the Antichrist. By being here and not there, I'm Doing Them A Favour.

  Jon looks at Al.

  Is it true? he goes.

  I wait for Al to fuck it all up, but she suddenly develops this urgent need to go to the bathroom. She kind of brushes my shoulder as she passes in this way like she maybe meant to do it, like she really wanted to hit me or something. Left alone with Jon I decide to try some waterworks to see if that'll clinch it, but I can't seem to make them happen. I hate that about crying - you can never do it when you want to. At least I can't, though The Nun always seemed to have it under control.

  Jon's like, Well, I guess you can stay here for now, but it can't go on. We've got to figure something out. You've got to go to the police and at least talk to them. You can't just run away. I mean, have you even thought about your future? Jesus . . . Jon suddenly turns all pale like some thought has just occurred to him. You must still be at school!

  It's like, issue central here. But he's looking kind of sexy again, and I start to wonder, despite myself. I mean, you can't not think about these things, so I go, I thought you liked me.

  Jon's like, I do. I mean, I did - but now it's different.

  He sounds kind of like he's backing out of it or something. Like he doesn't want anything to do with me on that front, which pisses me off, 'cos I know he likes me, 'cos of everything that's come before.

  I'm like, Why? It's not illegal or anything.

  Jon's like, Yeah. But it just is. I don't screw around with kids, Jaz. I can't do it. My dad left my mum for some guy half his age and it took me all my life to forgive him for it. And of course it didn't work out either, because all this guy was interested in was . . .

  He trails off, probably aware of the fact that he's heading straight for the cheesiest outburst in the history of anything. He stands up and goes to the cupboard and opens it like he's suddenly remembered he had something in there he wanted to find. But all he does is clink the cups around like they needed to be rearranged or something. Then he goes:

  I want to help you out. Really I do. I'll let you stay here, if it's OK with Bud. For a few days. But you have got to figure some stuff out. If you're not going home then you need to contact the police or someone. I mean, don't you have any relatives?

  At this point an alarm on his watch goes off, which is lucky because if I had to answer any more questions I would have probably told him where to shove it and just shovelled on out there and gone looking for a hostel. I swear some people just don't understand when to quit. Jon closes the cupboard and goes, Listen, I've got to get ready to go out.

  I'm like, Oh. Where to?

  It's not that I'm angling for an invite or anything, but Brighton is supposed to be the cool place to go out, and I've heard they're pretty lax about the whole age thing getting into clubs. And since we are his guests and all I guess I figure maybe he can give us some pointers or something.

  But Jon's suddenly like, redder than red.

  Actually . . . I've got a date, he says, looking at his feet like he wishes they would do more of the talking. I'm like, Oh and whatever.

  He goes and I sit there feeling really shit, 'cos I kind of still fancy him and all even if it's not the whole butterfly-effect that it was when I first saw him. I get up and go into the living-room, where Al's sitting on the couch/bed looking like she's been infected with chronic unhappiness or something. She doesn't say anything to me, and I don't say anything to her. We both just sit there, and then I lie down. I don't mean to sleep but the second my eyes are closed that's what happens.

  19

  The next thing I know I'm being shaken awake by Al, and it's like she's been transformed into a totally different person. She's all excited and giggly. I swear it's like she's gone through some space warp to a parallel universe and swapped with an alternative version of herself.

  She's like, Come on, you've got to get up, we're going soon!

  I'm like, Huh. Going where?

  To Bar None - Buddy's taking us, she goes, Come on!

  There's this funny smell in the air. I notice that Al's like, dressed in her famous floral gown, and is holding a drink in one hand and also a spliff in the other like, totally ready to go. There's these clinking noises from the kitchen and Buddy's singing some naffo pop tune in this weird falsetto like Justin from The Darkness.

  I'm tired, I say.

  Oh no you're not! squeals Al in this massively OTT way like we're in a pantomime or something.

  Are you going to get out of bed? she goes.

  I'm like, I thought you hated him.

  Al shrugs. She's like, He's not so bad, in this voice that makes it seem like I was the one who had reservations. Come on! she shrieks.

  Suddenly I notice something about her that tells me all I need to know about this sudden change of identity.

  I'm like, What's that's in your nose?

  Al's fingers leap up to her nostrils and she giggles and runs to the massive ornate mirror Jon and Buddy have hanging in their living-room. She peers at herself and makes a few snorting sounds.

  Ask Buddy! she goes like it's the coolest thing ever, I'm sure he'll give you some too!

  I like, roll out of the bed and start rummaging around in my backpack for some better clothes. Al comes and plops the drink next to me and then hands me the spliff. Then she goes back to the kitchen and a second later I hear her distinctive laugh, which she could probably sell to a film studio as the sound effect for a foghorn. The idea of Al mixed with coke of the non-cola variety is a bit disturbing. I mean, we're talking about someone who normally gets wasted on cider and black
currant. But quite frankly I don't care. In fact, if it means she stops acting like someone's pissed on her grave I hope she spends the rest of her life in some kind of stupor.

  I'm still kind of peeved that Jon just went out on this date. I mean, I know I've got no right to be or anything, I'm not a complete idiot. But still, I'm like, here, wide and open, so it's like, what's the deal? I don't care about feelings or anything though, don't get me wrong. I've just got a massive hard-on for him is all.

  Anyway, so we troop out to this bar. It's not all that. I mean, it's pretty OK I suppose, way better than Starlight. It's got proper podiums and dancers and the barmen are all totally drop-dead. So are half the people here actually. In fact it's like a full-on orgy and there's nothing just OK about it. But I'm just not feeling it for some reason. I'm still sleepy and the spliff hasn't helped matters.

  Al loves it. She practically creams like, multiple times. She keeps going, I can't believe how amazing it is here! like this kid at Disneyland or something. It's so not cool, but she kind of gets away with it. I never really noticed but the thing about Al is that she's kind of cute when she's excited, in a none-gross cute kind of way. I mean, she can't compete with anyone in here or anything, but she has this quality to her which is kind of sweet.

  Buddy spruces up pretty well too. There's still all that fuzz but most of it's hidden under his shirt, and he kind of looks a bit devilish with his hair all slicked back. He seems to know just about everyone in the club, 'cos they all sort of swarm around him when we go in like he's this human magnet or something. Al like, stands next to him like a bodyguard, and pretty soon she's talking to everyone in the club as well, while I kind of end up at the sidelines. I don't know what it is, I've just got this lump in my throat. I kind of miss old Starlight a bit, even if it is like, right at the bottom of the coolness scale.

  Buddy keeps buying us cocktails. It's just as well since between us we've got about enough money for one shot of something. I drink all these Long Island Iced Teas, which I've never had before but which are pretty tasty. I'm wasted pretty fast too, because when I go to lean against the bar I slip and catch my elbow. But it doesn't matter, 'cos no one's paying much attention to me anyway. They're all, like, standing on each other's shoulders trying to talk to Buddy.

  After a bit I start to think I'm gonna keel. It's ultra-hot in this club and they start playing this Latino music, and everyone starts swirling around to it like their mission in life is to turn circles. Just watching makes me feel dizzy, and I end up like, clutching on to my stool for support.

  Then Buddy appears from nowhere. It's well weird 'cos I could have sworn he was over the other side of the room – he just comes up to me and asks if I'm all right, and suddenly I know what he's thinking. But he also suddenly looks kind of sexy. He looks into my face like he's so worried about me he doesn't care about anything else, and I tell him I'm fine and that I just need some water. Let's get you to the bathroom, he goes.

  I'm like, Sure, 'cos it's blatant we're gonna be having a fumble. Thing is, I'm so wrecked I can hardly even see straight. I look back at Al but she's being chatted to on all sides by like, a whole gang of women in sparkly dresses.

  In the bathroom, I get some water from the drinking fountain and feel a tiny bit better. The place looks like it's decorated with real gold. It's like the opposite of the dingy old toilets at Starlight, which look like someone shat and wiped the walls with it.

  Buddy's like, So you want a line? and I'm like, Sure, even though I'm hardly still even vertical here.

  We go into the end cubicle and he takes out this great big bag of powder and empties a bit on the toilet seat. Then he carves out two lines.

  He's like, This is quality stuff. You dig?

  I'm like, Yeah. Sure.

  He takes out this rolled-up note which he has to practically hold and jam up my nose for me. But I eventually manage to do the line he's cut for me, and then we start kissing and his hands are like, touching me all over. I'm suddenly struck that I'm not sure I want to be here, 'cos close up he's not so hot really, and his breath isn't great either, which really is hell when you're trying to kiss someone. But it's too late to be saying No, and the coke gives me this buzz anyway, and I do kind of feel myself responding a bit.

  Buddy leans close and whispers in my ear, Let's go back to the flat.

  I'm like, OK, but only because I don't seem to have a free will any more. I'd have probably said the same if he'd asked if I wanted to take a dip in the urinal.

  I feel bad about leaving Al. Even though I'm trashed beyond trashed I do think of her. But she's obviously having a great time and is clearly like this novelty or something to all the people here, so it doesn't seem so terrible. I try to say something to Buddy about it though, that we should let her know or something, but he's like, She's a big girl, she'll get a cab back, and I'm like, Yeah. Which is totally forgetting that she's got no money or anything.

  So we jump in a cab (there's like, an army of them waiting outside) and pretty soon we're back at the flat. Jon doesn't seem to be here, which is probably just as well 'cos I'm all over the place and he'd probably freak big time if he saw me fooling around with Buddy. I'm still not sure I want to be doing this, and I do make this like, token effort to like, grab hold of the kitchen table as we pass. But Buddy takes my hand and totally like, carries me up the stairs to his bedroom. Which is quite something. I think he kind of wants me to start admiring it, but I'm in no condition to start licking his ego, so instead I start kissing him, and he starts kissing me back like he wants to eat me or something.

  The whole thing is a total Lynch-fest. It's not that different to when I was hit on the head really. It's like time isn't quite working like it's supposed to, because the next thing I know I'm on the bed and Buddy's got his clothes off, and I'm reaching down to take off mine and whoops, if they're not off already. Then Buddy's all over me. He's like rash, I swear. I can feel his stubble, like, everywhere. It's not even a turn-on, but you can't really tell someone to stop when they're in the throes, so I just lie back and deal with it, and try to thrash about a bit too so he doesn't think I'm a total vegetable in the sack.

  Then he does that thing to me which gays are, like, famous for doing. I'm not even expecting it or anything, and I don't even remember him turning me over or whether or not he even puts on a condom. But I remember the pain, because it's like a firecracker's gone off up there. Seriously, Nothing can prepare you.

  Buddy's like, moaning, Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeahhhhh! like he's a cowboy or space cadet or something. Meanwhile it's like I'm being impaled. I grab the sheets with my fingers and dig my nails in, 'cos there's not much else for it. All of a sudden it totally makes sense why women in labour always want someone's hand to squeeze. I taste my own tears which are streaming out of my eyes like in total torrents.

  How is it? Buddy shouts to me at one point. I'm like, Are you for real? but he's not listening, or else I don't say it out loud. He just doesn't ever stop though. It's like being humped by this machine. This really hairy machine.

  The really weird thing is, as he goes at it, I start to not care about the pain. I mean I'm actually kind of glad that it's painful. I can hardly explain it, but it's kind of like I want him to hurt me. Like I want him to punish me because I feel like a bad person. I feel like a bastard to be honest. I don't know why, I just do. All these horrible feelings are swelling up inside me and I feel really frightened all of a sudden, like I'm a little kid who's lost in this big dark city, or something equally tacky like that. It's kind of like Buddy's fucking these feelings out of me, and even though it's painful, it's a good painful, because it's replacing those bad feelings with a pain you can actually like, feel.

  I close my eyes, and then I have this image of Fabian and me. It's a memory. We're in class together waiting for the teacher to arrive, like, back in Year One. He's trying get me to prick my finger with a compass point and exchange blood with him like they do with wounds in films in order to swear their allegiance to
each other or something. I'm going, No way you freak! and Fabian's calling me a pussy and then stabbing his own finger. Then he sucks on it and grins at me. I see all this blood on his front teeth and his lips are all stained with ink from chewing his pen. He always chewed on his pen like it was a stick of gum or something. But this is where the memory stops being a memory and becomes like, this freaky vision, 'cos I suddenly find myself staring at the headboard of Buddy's bed and I can see Fabian's face, like, superimposed over the top of it. It's totally the coke and weed and alcohol combo, but it seems so real I'm like, the definition of disbelief.

  I'm like, What are you doing here? to Fabian.

  In between his pumps of pain Buddy shouts to me, I'm giving you the best fuck of your little young life, my dear!

  It's like, whatever - all I can focus on is Fabian's face in front of me. He's still got ink all running down his lips and he's smiling in his own special freaky way. He's holding out his finger to me, but it's not just his finger that's cut. Instead his whole hand is covered in blood and it's like, oozing out of this gash in his wrist - it's a totally unfriendly apparition to be seeing. He's not saying anything but it's like he's still trying to get me to mingle my blood with him so we can be one and the same or something.

  I'm like, You've got to be joking.

  Buddy's like, Oh no, baby, this is no joke!

  Then Fabian starts to fade away. As he does his face kind of stops smiling and looks really sad, like he's sorry to be going. I'm kind of sorry too, because I remember about how he's dead and how he attacked Fuck Face with his knife for me. The next thing all I can see is the headboard.

  Then it kind of hits me that I have no idea what I'm doing here. There's this sound like someone shrieking and I kind of come to and realise where I am. Maybe it's the coke wearing off or something. But suddenly I'm ultra-conscious of what's going on - of the fact that I'm being screwed from behind by this guy in his room in Brighton. Of the fact that I've run away from all these problems at home. And that I've left Al alone at some club.