by Wilde, Ora
Hayden’s eyes darted up, as if he was in deep thought. Was he preparing his next move? Was he strategizing about the physical confrontation that was quite imminent at that time? He was taller than his two would-be adversaries, but they were so much bulkier than he was.
He didn’t stand a chance...
He should just walk away. Let it go. I could run towards the other end of the hallway, and all will be alright. No one had to get hurt.
But that wasn’t the way he was.
“Well,” he started to reply, still with that smirk that surely irked the two jocks even more. “Fuck tradition... and fuck you!” He yelled at his antagonist, giving him a pair of dirty fingers right in front of his face.
Gary was stunned by Hayden’s display of sheer bravado.
“I... I know what you’re trying to do,” the blocky guy said. “You want me to hit you. You think I’m that stupid, huh Summersmith? I know who your father is. Fuck! Everyone in the damn world know who your father is. And if I punch... or even just lay a finger on you... he’d be quick to sue me. Isn’t that how rich guys are, Summersmith?” he asked sneeringly. “Isn’t that how your father is? Protective of his only heir... his oh so sweet darling of a baby?”
I saw the rage in Hayden’s eyes as he rammed his elbow on Gary’s nose.
It was then when all hell broke loose.
Gary shoved Hayden so hard that he almost lost his balance. Almost. Hayden was quick to recover. He saw Gary’s arm swinging towards him, his massive fist ready to pound on his beautiful face. But Hayden ducked with impressive agility. And just as Gary’s fist parted the air above his head, Hayden struck him with his own punch, right on his burly opponent’s gut. That blow staggered the brute, making him fall on his knee before his worthier foe.
“As I was saying...” Hayden continued to say, mockingly, pompously, smirkingly... with nary a trace of humility in his being.
Then, all of a sudden, he was tackled from behind by his fallen foe’s partner. Herbert’s sheer weight was able to bring Hayden down on the floor, right beside the spot where Gary was kneeling.
The noise of fists pounding on flesh followed. I looked at the heap of humanity on the floor. I couldn’t distinguish who was who. They kept turning and rolling, with each trying to wrest control over the other. A large group of students converged in a circle around the source of the commotion. Some were egging them to keep going with screams of fight! Fight! Fight!
Finally, a couple of guys intervened and tried to separate the feuding trio. They pulled the two jocks away from Hayden, and once the smoke cleared, my heart sank at what I saw.
Battered and bruised with some parts of his shirt ripped off, he lied on the ground, unmoving.
He didn’t deserve that. Yes, he was arrogant and rude and hardheaded and egotistic... but he shouldn’t have sacrificed his wellbeing like that... not at my expense. No one... absolutely no one... has ever done something like that for me. I didn’t deserve his valiant act.
But then, I saw something that made my heart beat even faster.
There he was, lying on the floor with his arms and feet spread apart as if he was preparing to make snow angels on the concrete... yet, something inexplicably strange and mystifying formed on his face...
A smile.
An imperious, conceited smile.
Chapter 33
HAYDEN
I told her I was okay but she just wouldn’t listen. And she once called me a stubborn bastard?
I licked my lips and tasted blood. It was was sweet. It’s been quite some time since I cut my lip... even a longer time since I busted it. Eighth grade, I think, when I called Cedric Wharton - the school’s resident bully - an uncircumcised fag. It was not a politically correct thing to say, and if I uttered those words today, I’d get into a whole lot of trouble. But it was grade school, and derogatory terms like that were as normal as pranking the nerd by filling his bag with dung. It still got me into trouble, though. A busted lip, yes. But I had to tell my mother about the pencil that pierced Cedric Wharton’s hand... and the medical bills we had to pay for his recovery.
My mother.
That was the last year I spent with her.
Often, I wondered... what if she was still alive today? Would I be as aimless as I currently was?
“Maybe...” Phoebe suddenly said.
“I beg your pardon?” I asked her, puzzled as to why she said that word.
“I mean... maybe it would be better if we’d just sneak you in my room,” she continued.
“Ah. So... is that your idea of a booty call?” I gave her a knowing smile.
“Shut up, Hayden,” she mumbled, looking at the cab driver who was ferrying us home, intimating that we should avoid talks that could possibly be misunderstood.
She was right. The cab driver was bringing us home and he could easily recognize it as my father’s residence. If we would give him the slightest idea that we were having an affair, he could simply sell that information to some reporters and we would be the subjects of scandalous headlines on the front page of many tabloids by tomorrow. My father wouldn’t like that.
But I certainly would.
“No, really,” I said with reinvigorated delight. “Why else would a girl like you - my sister - invite a guy like me - your brother - to her room?” I emphasized those familial words to ensure that the cab driver heard every one of them. I looked at him through the side mirror. I saw him darting some quick glances towards the mirror above the dashboard, wanting, perhaps, to see if we were serious. My smile got even wider.
“Shut up, Hayden,” she repeated, gritting her teeth to mutter her words.
I chuckled the whole time until we reached our house in Beverly Hills. I handed a hundred bucks to the cab driver and gave him a wink. I asked him to keep the change. I wanted to tell him that it was alright to share what he learned that night, but he was too overjoyed with the money I gave him that I doubt if he even understood what I was trying to say.
“Quiet,” Phoebe instructed as she removed her sneakers, the Retro Jordans that we bought almost two weeks ago. Does she even have any other pair of rubber shoes? “Don’t let the maids hear you,” she added.
“Why do we have to do this?” I asked her. “Oh... sneaking around turns you on, eh?”
“For the love of God, Hayden! Just hush... okay? We’ll sneak into my room and I’ll... I’ll patch you up. You look like a mess. We wouldn’t want anyone to see you like that.”
I looked like a mess? I haven’t stared at the mirror to discover how badly I was beaten up. I was feeling okay, though. Some pains, here and there, but nothing major.
“Why your room?” I questioned her decision? “Why not my room?”
“Because all the things I need are in my room,” she answered, as she entered the main door and looked around, trying to determine if the coast was clear.
She held my hand... her touch was eerily warm and tender and, admittedly, quite comforting. She led me towards the spiral staircase. She tiptoed her way up the flights of stairs, motioning me to do the same. I just gave her a consternated look.
“I’m fine,” I told her as she hugged the walls of the hallway while proceeding to her room. “There’s no need for this.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she opened the door to her chamber and pulled me inside.
She opened the lights and I saw that she has yet to unpack her things. Three luggage bags were there, two by the cabinet and one which was already open lied on the bed. I sat beside the spread-out baggage.
She went to one of the unopened suitcases and unlocked it. She grabbed something from its content... a smaller bag that seemed to be filled with bottles, among other things.
“What’s that?” I asked. “A bagful of vibrators?”
He gave me a sharp look before sitting next to me.
“You shouldn’t have done that, you know?” she said as she opened the small sack and pulled out containers of what looked like alcohol or some variations the
reof, cotton, bandages, and other similar stuff. It was a medicine kit, as I belatedly realizes. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed,” she added.
“Right,” I sarcastically replied. “I thought I did pretty well, considering there were two of them.”
“Pretty well?!” she raised her voice with anger borne from deep concern. “Hayden, they had you pinned on the floor! They were punching you like you were a lifeless sack of potatoes.”
“But I didn’t tap out,” I sniggered.
“What?”
She didn’t get the reference.
“Never mind,” I said.
She applied some red liquid on a piece of cotton and rubbed it on the upper portion of my cheek.
“Yowawouch!” I reacted as it stung like hell. “What the fuck is that?”
“Mercurochrome,” she answered. “To clean up your gash.”
“I... I have a gash?”
“Yes... a big one.”
“What?!”
I quickly turned to the mirror on the dresser in front of her bed, and for the first time since that incident, I saw myself.
I looked like shit.
I was expecting a black spot under my left eye, but I wasn’t expecting it to be big enough to cover the entire area around the socket... and there was one for each peeper. I looked like a fucking panda. The gash that she talked about was there and it was longer and wider than I thought it would be... like an unzipped fly exposing the flesh inside. I knew my lips were busted, but I didn’t anticipate that they would look that swollen... I could’ve easily mistaken my kisser for a camel’s pout.
“Geez... how long will I look like this?” I asked her, hoping she’d have an educated answer.
“I’m not really sure,” she replied as she continued to apply the red liquid over my cut. “Your lips should be healed in at least three days. Your wound isn’t deep, but the skin is spread wide. We can have it stitched at the school clinic tomorrow. That’ll speed up its healing. But your eyes? Well...” she paused as she clicked her tongue. “That may take a couple of weeks.”
“Fuck!” It was the only response I could give considering how frustrated I was about what she shared.
“I can go check for some pineapples and papayas from Chavo, though.”
“Why? You’re hungry?”
“No, silly. We’d slice them up and apply them on your eyes. That’s supposed to reduce the inflammation and expedite the healing process.”
“How... how do you know all this?” I asked, impressed by the knowledge she displayed.
“From my dad,” she answered.
“He’s a doctor?”
“Nope. He’s a paramedic. Or maybe, was a paramedic. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Nope. I haven’t talked to him, nor have I seen him, in years.”
“Oh.”
“He wasn’t really that present while I was growing up... well, I mean as present as a child would expect from his father. He was always on duty. And he almost always got calls to report to work even during his days off. Emergency response... that kind of stuff.”
“Maybe a lot of people needed pineapples and papayas.”
She laughed.
“Maybe. Eventually though, my mom discovered why he was always away.”
“Why?”
“He had another family. In the same state, but farther north in Benton.”
“I... Phoebe... I’m so sorry to hear that.”
It was the polite thing to say. But my heart was actually numb when it came to sob stories like that. I didn’t really care.
“Yeah... well... it is what it is,” she said as she dried off the Mercurochrome with a new piece of cotton.
“How young were you when your folks got divorced?”
It was then when it struck me. If I didn’t care, then how come I found myself asking too many questions about her private life?
“Oh... I was very young,” she replied. “Around eight or nine, I think. I can barely remember his face.”
“Don’t you... I don’t know... maybe stalk him on Facebook?”
“I don’t.”
“Why?”
“There’s no point to it.”
“How come?”
“The past is the past. If I feel sorry about myself for what has happened and continue to hold on to something that will not even make things better, I’d just be unfair to myself. I’d only miss out on the important things that I should be focusing on instead.”
“Like what? College? Your future?”
“Among others, yes. Like my mom’s happiness. Like getting to savor the joys of having a new family. Like having a big brother, for a change... a protective one at that, so it seems.”
What’s wrong with this girl? She’s so positive... so sanguine. Doesn’t she realize that her absurd optimism would prove to be her undoing?
“You’re talking about how overwhelmingly irresistible I am to you that you’re struggling to cast such feelings aside by calling me your big brother?” I derisively asked, just to remind her not to be overly buoyant.
She was actually taken aback by my attempt to kid her. I thought I even saw her swallow some air.
“I’m talking about that stunt you pulled in school,” she said as she applied some gel-like substance on my lips. “That was very... big brotherly.”
“Was it? Or could it be possible that I just scuffled with them because I didn’t like their nineties-style hair?”
“Perhaps,” she responded with a smile. “What struck me most, though, was what you said before you got into that fight. About family being family, and you having to do everything you can to protect me.”
“What’s so surprising about that?”
“Because I never knew you felt that way.”
“Maybe I didn’t mean it,” I uttered.
I saw the disappointment emerge from her face. She wanted to discuss the topic even further, but my riposte made her speechless in dismay.
“Besides,” I added, “I have other... feelings... that you don’t know about.” I gave her another naughty smile.
“W-What do you mean?” she asked, her voice trembling with innocence.
I held her hand and drew it away from lips. I led it towards the waistband of my jeans, inside the edges, past my boxers, until it touched my cock. I saw her eyes widen and her mouth open up... either in shock or some Freudian inclination she wasn’t aware of. I clasped my fingers over hers, and helped them close to get a good grasp of my already hardened shaft.
And as icing on the cake, I let out a grunt just to let her know how pleasurable that was for me.
But then, I felt something very, very different. A burning sensation, like my dick was on fire.
“What the fuck?!” I yelled in pain as I drew her hand away from my manhood. I quickly stood up, unbuttoned my fly, and instinctively blew some air towards my cock. It wouldn’t help, of course, but it was the first thing that came to mind at that moment of panic. Exaggerated as it may seem come tomorrow, but at that instance, I felt like my entire life flashed before my eyes... along with some questions that may have sounded rhetorical, but they demanded immediate answers.
What?
How?
Why, God, why?
I rubbed the trunk of my cock and felt some kind of sticky liquid that had a strong, minty feel. I recognized it as the same gel that she applied on my lips before I attempted to seduce her.
Then I saw her.
Laughing like a child. Friskily. Heartily. Ardently.
At that moment of torment, when I thought my dick would turn to ashes and crumble, she made me see her under a different light. Her laugh... her zest... her impossibly positive outlook in life...
Why did I despise them so much?
And why did I find them so contagious?
“That’s Chinese lip balm,” she struggled to explain between her exuberant chortles. Her tummy might’ve ached because of her cackling, as she held her stomach
and curled into a ball. “It’s only meant for puffy lips. It’s not meant for skin... more so...” she tried to regain her composure as laughter devoured her once again. “More so... not for skin as thin as the one you have down there!”
“Shit!” I said. “What should I do? Should I wipe it off? Wash it? Should I take pain relievers?”
