by Riley Parks
Jackson wanted Evan for life.
Jackson wanted to be tangled up in Evan every night and beside him every day.
Jackson wanted mundane moments and stupid arguments; he wanted it all, way more than he’d ever dreamed of.
He’d never felt so trapped, holed up in circumstances that were beyond his control. Being a Demon had always felt liberating and empowering. He owned the streets with his brash attitude and trigger-happy fingers. He loved the way his gang revered him and others feared him. But now, his affiliation seemed like a life sentence, creating distance from the person he wanted to be nearest to most of all.
He needed Evan closer, especially after what had gone down earlier that morning. As commonplace as it had been for Jack, he knew it would impact his boyfriend. He decided he was going to ask Evan to move in with him, at least for a while, and then never let Evan leave.
They could make it work. Evan was there every night anyway. Jack needed an excuse to get pissed off at Luke so he could tell him not to come over anymore. Jackson sighed, thinking how complicated it was going to be, but it would be worth it. He wanted Evan all the time and the only way for that to happen was to create a safe space.
Maybe he’d leave Amy with the apartment and get another one. He’d keep a bunch of his shit at the old place and move Evan in to the new one. It wouldn’t need to be much, just a place where they could be free.
The idea of having their own place where they could walk around naked and fuck as loud as they wanted sent a tingle up his spine. That’s what he’d do. He’d have to move some more product, but it would be financially feasible to have both places. Hopefully his boyfriend would be down to take the next step.
He lit up a cigarette as he turned onto Grant, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. When he’d thrown Tamara out, he’d been so thrilled to have the bed to himself and not need to share his space anymore. It was crazy how Evan had changed everything. Jack had never been able to tell Tammy that he loved her, but with Evan, uttering those words was second nature.
Thinking of spending a lifetime with his ex had been awful, while considering a life without his lover was completely terrifying.
Fuck, he was gay.
He wondered what life would be like for them if they weren’t into the shit they were into. Would they have still met? Fallen in love? Maybe they’d be guys who went out for beer and watched the Bears. They’d eat takeout on the couch in their little house in the suburbs while complaining about the percentages of their 401K and interest rates. He’d probably be in finance and Evan would be in sales and they’d be boring as fuck.
There were probably benefits to living a humdrum life, but it would never be theirs. They weren’t built like that. They were issues and mayhem twisted up in a crazy fucking love and he wouldn’t want it any other way. He’d take a hard life with Evan over easy shit any day.
Still, he knew his boyfriend needed help. Evan had told him a few weeks ago that he intended to kick his habit and, as Jack suspected, hadn’t been able to without help. He knew better than to get too involved, push him too hard. He could’ve reminded him every time Evan blew a line that he’d said he wanted to stop, but it wasn’t as if Evan didn’t know. The beast had him heavy in its claws and the only way to pry it off was to get some real fucking help.
Jack had to take Evan to rehab, at the least outpatient. As independent as Evan seemed, Jack knew his boyfriend needed to be cared for, held down and loved, shown his ass was worth it. Evan had spent too many years around too many people who hadn’t given enough of a shit about him. Jack was intent on loving him enough for all of them.
Selfishly, he knew that caring for Evan like that would heal Jack, too. It was powerful to love someone that intensely, to be connected to another person in such a visceral way. Getting lost in those feelings allowed him to think outside of himself, let someone else in. Just as he’d felt compelled to protect Amy when they were growing up, he’d do the same for Evan, steal him away from his situation and make him safe. Neither of them were saints—far from it—but maybe they’d save each other, sins and all.
As he turned onto St. Lawrence, the pound of weed in his backpack felt heavier at the sight of the three cops and a German Shepherd standing at the entry to the alley beside his apartment.
“Fuck,” he muttered, gnawing on the inside of his cheek and dropping his cigarette to the ground so he could stomp it out. He glanced behind him, wondering if he had enough time to bolt in the other direction, but when he heard the deep bark of the police dog, he knew it was too late. He sighed and walked forward.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our favorite Jablonic,” Officer Marks said with a sarcastic grin. “How’re you doing on this fine day, Jackson?”
“Was doing pretty good until I saw you fat fucks,” he replied, raising his eyebrows as he approached them. “Know some people like the smell of bacon in the morning, but I ain’t ever into pork.”
“Talking a lot of shit for a guy who’s got our Dottie here barking,” Officer Green taunted.
Jackson glared at the dog who was snarling angrily at him. “Yeah, well I’m always pissing bitches off.” He shrugged and attempted to walk past them, well aware that a pound of weed would get him a year and a half for intent to sell, and Evan’s baggie of coke would round him out to a solid two. If he was black or didn’t have the money for a lawyer it would be at three to five. America the beautiful.
He felt his heart begin to pound frantically in his chest. Prison never scared him, but doing time away from his addict boyfriend, who was knee deep in gang shit, sure as hell did. All of his daydreams of their own apartment, away from it all, began to drift from his mind as soon as he heard Marks say, “Not so fast, Jack. We’re going to have to check that bag of yours.”
“Thought you would,” Jackson said as he tossed his backpack to the officer. Turning around, he placed his hands behind his back and awaited the cuffs, wondering if Evan would be down for him or if he’d move on to some other guy, stumble onto another life, just when Jack thought they’d be starting theirs.
The metal clasped tightly around his wrists by a disinterested policeman, who was going through the motions while Jackson stood frozen. He needed to get ahold of Evan, tell him what was happening, but he didn’t know his number and wouldn’t have access to his cell phone. He’d have to go through Amy and have her reach out to him.
For years he’d stepped up for his sister and now he’d expect her to do the same. He knew Evan would resist, but Jack would take care of him through his sister, the best he could.
He couldn’t imagine how Evan would take this news while he was reeling from the events of the morning. The timing couldn’t be worse, but that seemed to be their lot in life. Jack hoped Evan didn’t spin more out of control than he already was—Jack’s unpredictable, impetuous tornado of a boyfriend. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing them not to let his emotions leak out.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”
“Yeah,” Jackson rasped with a wry laugh. “Go fuck yourself.”
“Always been such a charmer, Jablonic,” Green huffed as he shoved Jackson into the back of the patrol car. “Think I’ll let that one slide. Eyes look a little misty and I hate to see a grown thug cry.”
Jackson shot up his middle finger and then pressed the heels of his hands against his glassy eyes. For the first time in his life everything had felt so right; he wondered how over the course of two hours it could all go so wrong.
As the car pulled away from the curb and made its way to MCC, Jackson got himself in the prison state of mind, systematically rebuilding his walls and purging his body of its vulnerabilities. He couldn’t let even an iota of his demeanor appear soft. He had to be made o
f stone, which he could be when the man holding the hammer that shattered him was on the outside, and he was going in.
He walked into the prison with his lips pursed tightly, chin tilted up and fists clenched into balls, ready to fuck up anybody who tried to mess with the good time he intended to do so he could get back into his boyfriend’s arms.
He ran shit on the streets and he’d do the same in the joint. He needed to come in strong and then fade into the background.
He’d done it all before.
He knew the score.
It was time to get to work.
33
It was awful to see his roommate lying dead on the hallway floor, and it was even more disturbing knowing that he killed him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Evan stared down at his hands, surprised they were capable of what they’d done. He’d never been soft, but he’d always felt more human and compassionate than he had in that moment. Even though he’d recognized the panic in Jamal’s brown eyes, he hadn’t hesitated. Maybe he could have worked it out with him, sworn him to secrecy, but he wasn’t willing to live his life constantly worried about when the other man would open his mouth to spill his secret. When it came down to it, it was either him or Jamal, and Evan had made his choice.
Still, it was difficult to get his roommate’s look of terror out his mind. And the blood…so much fucking blood. It wasn’t that he was skeeved out, but really thinking about who it came from made it nauseating. The blood that was splattered all over the hallway had carried oxygen to Jamal’s brain and flowed in and out of his heart. It had kept him alive, until Evan had killed him. He decided that the sight of blood was more worrisome when he was the one who had caused it to spill.
He forced himself to stand, knowing that he had a minuscule window of time to do everything that Jackson had told him to do. Before picking the gun up, he crouched over Jamal and pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket, intending to find out if he’d been on the phone with anybody when he was repeating “They’re fucking faggots.”
Man, Evan hated that word. Just thinking that someone would have the audacity to reference him and Jackson like that had Evan feeling significantly less remorse. His reprieve from guilt was short-lived when he saw that Jamal hadn’t called anybody and a string of text messages that seemed to explain why he hadn’t gone on the drug run with Kane and Luis.
Ma (9:16am): I feel bad you had to cut your trip short for me.
Jamal (9:20am): Quit it. It’s not a big deal. Going to grab the papers I printed out from your patient portal at the Clinic & bring them to the hospital. Don’t want them redoing tests they already did & charge u more.
Ma (9:23am): Can’t afford this stay anyway, son. You know that.
Jamal (9:24am): I got you, mama. Already told u that.
Ma (9:25am): This cancer’s too expensive for the both of us. Not worth fighting it. I’m going to bleed you dry and die anyway.
Jamal (9:25am): Told u not to talk that way. I’m going to take care of u. We’ll beat this 2gether. Going to grab the papers n come see u in a few.
Ma (9:26am): Love you Jammy
Jamal (9:27am): luv u more ma
The acrid taste of bile rose up Evan’s throat and permeated his mouth, causing him to jump to his feet and run to the bathroom. Hunching over the toilet, he vomited until he had nothing left in his system and then dry heaved some more. It seemed with one murder, he’d killed two people. As he cupped his hands and rinsed out his mouth, he thought back to conversations with Jamal, trying to remember if he’d brought up his mother. He might have once or twice, but Evan had made pretty good practice over the years of blocking out the words “mom” and “dad.” They were empty titles to him, but clearly they weren’t to Jamal. He was somebody’s son. A woman who gave a shit about him would mourn his death, a death that Evan caused. He gave up just filling his mouth with water and splashed his whole face with it instead.
He wanted to curl up in the fetal position with Jackson wrapped around him, telling him that everything would be a’ight. When he told him shit like that, he actually believed it. Jackson had a way of settling him down like nobody else could. Evan needed that reassurance, but he knew he couldn’t call him; Jack had too much to do.
Evan started with the worst thing first. Squeezing globs of black and blue paint onto a paper plate, he dunked his brush into them, letting it get saturated as he leaned all of his paintings up against the baseboards. After taking one last glance at his hard work, he smeared the paint over them, one by one, obscuring the subject in each. As much as he loved the smell of acrylic, he found himself repulsed by it when it was used to ruin pieces he felt so deeply about. At least he had the real thing to stare at until he could paint him again.
The scent of bleach wasn’t much better than the acrylic. Painstakingly, he wiped down Jamal’s phone and then the AK-47 before tucking it into a duffel bag. He zipped up his jacket, threw on a beanie, and headed out into the brisk September day.
The weather was perfect and he would’ve been able to enjoy it more if he wasn’t walking to a dumpster to toss the gun he used to kill his roommate, who was still lying in a puddle of his own blood. It seemed that murder was a great way to ruin a nice day.
Evan dumped the gun in the dumpster a few blocks away from the grocery store Jackson told him to stop at. Evan decided to take a moment to smoke a cigarette outside the entrance. He wasn’t in a rush to go in and buy a bunch of food he wouldn’t be able to stomach. What he really had a craving for was coke. He wished Jackson hadn’t taken all the drugs. If there was any time he wanted to get high as hell, it was now. It was probably better this way; no doubt part of the reason Jack took them to begin with. Evan knew that he couldn’t talk to the cops fucked out of his mind, but damn he needed something. Drugs or sex. Sex and drugs. Drugs and Jackson. Jackson. He needed Jackson. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and opened his texts.
Evan (10:35am): Want u baby
Evan (10:35am): need u riding my cock right now
Evan (10:36am): fuck my stress away
Evan (10:37am): want to kiss u 2 not just fucking
Evan (10:37am): never just fucking with u
Evan (10:39am): going to be over soon
Evan (10:39am): even tho ur ignoring me
Evan (10:40am): ily koala
He sighed at the lack of response and put his phone away. He decided to get a few of Jackson’s favorite things in the store: two containers of Pringles, a few Twix bars, and some Gatorade. If his boyfriend was pissed for choking him too hard earlier, he’d surely soften once he saw Evan came bearing artificially flavored gifts.
Though he considered taking the long way home to avoid calling the cops, he knew that the sooner he got it over with, the quicker he’d be able to see his man. Before opening the front door, he threw a brick through one of the windows, figuring if they were making it look like a robbery they should probably go all the way. He waited until he’d been home for a few minutes to call 9-1-1, unsurprised when it took them a half hour to get there.
Shootings in the hood weren’t top priority.
Once the cops got there, it wasn’t difficult to channel some level of panic. When he really stopped to think about what had happened, stress wasn’t a stretch. They asked him tons of questions, but he had answers for all of them. He’d spent his whole life lying to the police; doing it was second nature. He could tell by the way they were going through the motions that they weren’t pressed by the case. Gangbangers ending up dead wasn’t much of a loss to them. He’d be surprised if they even followed up. It wasn’t lost on him that the best way to get away with murder in America was to be a white man standing over a black body.
The whole process was over before he’d felt like it had even begun. Questions gave way to nods, then hums and blank stares. He almost wished they would’ve grilled him more, at least pretended that Jamal’s life mattered, which, Evan realized, was an ironic thought considering he took it.
With his head stil
l spinning, he left the house to make his way to Jackson’s apartment. All his anxiety began to wane as he rode the elevator up to his safe space; a haven he could wrap his arms around, a shelter that would tell him everything would be a’ight. He knew something was wrong as soon Amy answered the door. Her face was ashen and drained.
“Jackson was arrested,” she informed Evan as she locked the door behind them.
“For murder?” he squawked, barely recognizing the tone of his voice.
“What?” She narrowed her eyes, shook her head, and let out a sputtering sigh. “You know what…I don’t even want to know, do I?”
“Probably not,” he relented, biting his lower lip. “What then?”
“Drugs. He thinks they have him on intent. Probably going to have to serve two,” she said, wiping a tear off her cheek.
“Years?”
She nodded.
Drugs. His drugs. Once again, drugs had found a way to fuck up not only his life, but the lives of people around them. He wished he hated them as much as he should have. When tears began to stream from his eyes, he wondered if he was truly crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. He’d probably had reasons to but none had ever felt as devastating as this.
Amy placed her hand on his shoulder and though he was quick to shrug it off, she put it right back where it had been. Without any further protest, he allowed her to pull in for a hug and hold him while he cried. It was as though twenty-one years of pain had found a way to flood out of him right there in his boyfriend’s living room.
He had so much to cry about he was concerned that now he’d started, he’d never be able to stop.
Through all the tears, Amy held him tight, and though she didn’t grasp on to him like a koala, she did a’ight.
