by J P Barnaby
He didn’t want to think about the stuff collecting on the bottom of his socks as he moved over to the other side of the mattress and climbed on carefully. If he simply dropped onto it, the force would shoot Patrick out into the floor. As funny as that would have been, he didn’t want to haul the man back into bed again. Anthony jerked the covers up over them and snuggled down. The temperature downstairs certainly registered far lower than upstairs.
“You still awake?” Anthony murmured to the darkness.
“Almost,” Patrick responded.
“What happened tonight that upset you so badly?” He reached over and touched Patrick’s arm, squeaking when the arm closed in over him.
“Danielle dumped me.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
He felt Patrick shrug, but the arm stayed around him. Anthony decided it could stay there. Patrick wouldn’t remember anyway.
“Not your fault. She got transferred to New York and I couldn’t go with her. We hadn’t been together a year. It’s not like we were going to get married or anything.”
“I would guess that it still hurts.”
“You ever had a boyfriend?”
“No. No one ever wanted me.”
Patrick shifted and finally let go of Anthony, settling into the bed and closing his eyes.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
Eleven
THE SHRILL ring of his cell phone crashed against Patrick’s temples with the force of a sledgehammer. He tried to roll over but couldn’t get any leverage with the body half on his. Patrick’s dick tried to show some enthusiasm at Danielle’s proximity, but the inside of his mouth tasted like a rabid hamster’s cage. No morning fuck for them.
As the shroud of unconsciousness rolled away, his stomach recoiled. He took several long, deep breaths to try to stop the onslaught of his stomach contents from spewing over the bed. When he cracked one eye open, the cooler in front of his face confused him. Nothing made sense. He had no memory of the night before and was almost afraid to turn his head and see who lay in the bed beside him.
Like bad cable reception, pictures started to form in his head: getting dressed for his date, Danielle sitting on the couch, and then the drive to the store. The pictures were broken and warped leading into the eye of the storm: smashing bottles, screaming, Anthony.
Anthony.
The mattress beneath him felt like the inflatable kind, like the one from upstairs, the one Anthony slept on. He couldn’t think about it anymore. Patrick didn’t go to bed with a seventeen-year-old. He certainly didn’t go to bed with a seventeen-year-old boy. Even drunk, he couldn’t have strayed that far into insanity.
“Are you awake?” a timid voice whispered in the darkness.
Oh fuck.
That’s exactly what I did.
“Yeah,” he managed, a wall of regret and pain stacking brick by brick in his chest. Patrick cracked an eye open. A mass of soft, shaggy brown hair filled his vision, and he took another long breath.
“How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said honestly. “I think that depends on if either of us are naked.”
“Neither of us are naked.”
“Thank fuck for that.”
A long pause stretched the air between them. Patrick felt the tenuous mattress shift violently, and the warm weight across his chest and arm disappeared.
“Well, thanks for that ego boost,” Anthony said.
Patrick’s eyes were open just far enough to see Anthony grab a discarded pair of jeans off a nearby case of… something, he couldn’t tell what. Then he threw on a pair of shoes without bothering to tie them and stalked toward the pint room and the stairs beyond. Patrick tried to sit up, to follow, but his hangover slammed him back down onto the mattress with the force of a giant, invisible anvil.
He closed his eyes and took stock, tried to formulate a plan, but his brain battered the inside of his skull. Everything seemed so far away: the john, the bottles of water in the cooler, and especially the container of aspirin in his desk drawer. He’d have to crawl across the Sahara to reach any of it. Somewhere above his head, he heard the cooler door open and close, but he couldn’t make sense out of it. Then he heard it again. Before Patrick could turn his head to look, a bottle of water appeared from thin air, dangling in front of his face like a mirage.
“Here. I brought you some Tylenol too,” Anthony said. “I’ve had my share of hangovers and they suck.”
“You’re seventeen, how could you have had your share of hangovers?”
Anthony snorted and pushed the bottle closer to Patrick’s face.
“I’ve known my way around a bottle since I was about twelve.”
Patrick didn’t say anything to that. Nothing filtering into his head at that moment made any sense, so he decided to deal with it when his brain stopped trying to claw its way out of his ears. When he took the open bottle of water, Anthony dropped three pills into his other palm. He didn’t question it; he just swallowed them.
Time didn’t have the same meaning in his head as it did on the clock. When he checked the round monstrosity on the wall, ten a.m. seemed so fucking early. He could have just lain down in the last fifteen minutes or so. Instead, it would be time to open the store soon for Kevin because the pop-up reminder on his phone indicated he and Danielle were supposed to be at Sandy’s for a backyard barbecue today. If he called and cancelled, especially after waking Sandy up last week to help the kid, she’d murder him.
“Anthony?” he mumbled, trying not to let the sound rattle around too much in his head.
“Yeah?”
Patrick took a chance and lifted his head. The ache sent him crashing back down onto the makeshift bed. Instead, he lifted an arm. Yes, that worked a little better. He waved Anthony over and took his other hand off his eyes. The room came into focus again, still dark, Thank you God. The bed dipped next to him.
“I’m going to Sandy’s for a cookout today. Would you like to come with me?”
Silence stretched between them as Anthony considered his answer. Patrick turned his head to the side, trying not to vomit all over the only bed Anthony had. He took a slow, deep breath in through his nose and blew it out through his mouth.
“They won’t want me there.” Anthony’s whisper barely registered over the roar of the cooler mechanics.
Patrick forced himself into a sitting position with his legs stretched out in front of him on the inflated surface. Turning his body to face Anthony took too much effort, so he merely shifted so he could see the boy wrapped around himself as he huddled at the top of the bed, his back resting against the shelves of booze and his knees pressed to his thin chest. Overgrown hair hung in his eyes.
“Of course they do. So do I.”
“Why?”
“I want you to come with me. You can’t spend all your time cooped up in this store.” Patrick rested a hand on Anthony’s arm.
“People never seem to like me very much.”
“I like you. Come on, I need to call my brother and then stop by my place and shower. You wanna run upstairs and get ready while I do that?”
“I don’t have anything nice—”
“Shorts and a T-shirt will work just fine, kid. There’s no need to impress.” Patrick smiled a watery kind of half grin through the pain radiating through his temples. He wanted to go home and spend the day in bed, but he owed Sandy for coming to look at Anthony’s car. Plus, he had to tell Sandy about him and Danielle before she heard it somewhere else, or they’d never find his body.
“I… whatever,” Anthony said finally. It took the kid a long time to unlock the arms wrapped around his gangly legs and stand, but eventually, he climbed off the bed. Patrick watched and expected him to head straight upstairs, but instead he leaned over one of the boxes to grab something off the vodka overstock shelf. He held it out wordlessly and Patrick recognized it as his cell phone.
“Do I
want to know how you ended up with my cell phone?”
“Your brother called and you yelled at him. I took it to keep you from throwing it against the wall.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Damn, now he really had to call Bren.
After a long and expansive sigh that made his head throb, Patrick pressed the speed dial and called his brother. With each ring, his heart grew heavier. He didn’t remember Bren calling the night before or what he might have said, but it couldn’t have been kind. When the lifeless automated voice told him he’d reached voice mail for the third time, Patrick hung up and tried a different tactic. He switched to text instead.
I know you probably don’t want to talk to me right now, but I’m sorry about last night. I promised you I wouldn’t turn off the cameras so I’m sure you saw it all. The kid said you called and I yelled at you. I don’t remember it, but I’m sure I was an asshole. I’m sorry.
The screen stayed blank for a long time, long enough for Patrick’s heart to pound with adrenaline-spiked fear. He didn’t want to think about Bren not being able to forgive him, or…. No. No, nothing had happened to Bren. He was fine, just stubborn.
He thanked God when his phone chimed with a text notification from Bren and slid his thumb across the screen to open it.
Smash it all. I don’t give a fuck. Asking you to stay and help was asking too much. Sell it and go.
The text hurt like a physical blow, a slap to the face. Bren didn’t want him there anymore. It was a blessing and a curse rolled up into one tightly wrapped, fucked-up little package. He could have his life back, but he’d only have it without Bren, his only family. No. No way that would happen.
When he glanced up, Anthony had come downstairs, his lanky body fit into a pair of loose jeans with a T-shirt, looking every bit like the scared, lost boy he was. The boy who took care of your drunken ass last night, and the boy who slept in your bed.
“Okay, let’s try that again since you didn’t hear me the first time.” Anthony took a step forward. “Are you okay?” Water glistened in his hair and spotted a few places on his light-colored shirt.
“My brother hates me,” Patrick said, looking away from the compassion in Anthony’s gaze. He didn’t deserve compassion. Bren needed him, and he’d let his brother down. He felt sick.
“My brother hates me too; I know how that feels.” Anthony shrugged. “You get used to it and you go on with your life.”
Patrick squinted up at Anthony. “Have you ever tried to fix it?”
“I don’t want to fix it. The feeling is pretty mutual. But your brother doesn’t hate you. He’s just pissed off.”
Patrick sighed and let his head fall back. He spoke to the ceiling. “Let’s go over to Sandy’s place. I’ll stop by after that and see him, give him some time to cool off.”
“You’re sure it’s okay that I go?”
“I want you to go. Does that help?”
“Yeah,” Anthony murmured. Patrick wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear it, but it tugged at something in him.
“Sean should be there, the stocker you took over for. He’s Sandy’s cousin. That’s how he got a job at the store. So you’ll have someone your age there.”
Patrick realized, too late, that judging from Anthony’s glare, he’d said the wrong thing.
“I just meant that maybe you won’t feel so out of place with strangers.” Patrick rubbed his temples and wished with all his might that the Tylenol would kick in. He couldn’t think with his head throbbing in time with the band marching around inside it. “Christ, cut me some slack, my head is going to fall off. I don’t need anyone else mad at me right now, though I seem to be doing a spectacular job of pissing people off today.”
“Whatever.”
“Fabulous. I need to stop by the house first and shower. Are you ready?”
“Yeah.”
As Anthony grabbed his shoes from the floor, Patrick wondered if the kid knew another word. Yeah seemed to be his default answer. Instead of commenting further, he swiped his thumb across the phone he still held and started a text to Sandy.
Small change of plans. I’m bringing the kid instead of Danielle. I’ll explain when I get there.
They were climbing into the RAV4 when he got a response.
I wanted you to bring the kid anyway.
“Sandy said she wanted me to bring you anyway.” Patrick held the phone up and waved it at Anthony, not so he could read it, but to illustrate the point. The sunshine that broke through the clouds in Anthony’s eyes made him want to kiss Sandy. He didn’t get to see Anthony smile often, but it made him happy.
“That was really nice.” Anthony pushed his chestnut hair away from his eyes and smiled a shy, secretive smile.
“Sandy is good people, and her husband is a great cook. It’s got to be better than the takeout you’ve been living on for weeks.”
“I don’t know. That pizza place has pretty good food, and it’s cheap. I don’t mind so much.”
Patrick pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the townhouse. He’d rented it on a whim when he got back to Detroit, thinking he’d only need it for six months, maybe a year. He’d just signed his third lease last month, so Bren was shit out of luck if he expected Patrick to leave. He’d have to pay two months’ rent if he broke the lease.
The silence in the RAV4 turned painful at the last stoplight, almost as bad as the headache pounding in his temples. “Have you heard from anyone back home?” Patrick asked, grasping at straws for a topic of conversation.
“I haven’t checked. I look for e-mails from Jay, but nothing.”
“You said you have two brothers, right?” Patrick asked. Anthony nodded and kept his gaze focused out the passenger window. “Have you heard from the other one?”
“Yeah. He’s pissed at me.”
“Because you left?”
“Probably. He told me to come down to Indianapolis and stay with him if I didn’t want to stay with our parents, but I can’t exactly do that. Plus it’s his girlfriend’s place. Totally awk.”
“Yeah, at least here you have the entire apartment to yourself. Even if it’s not much of one.” Something in his gut told him that wasn’t the whole story, but he didn’t press. He wanted to help Anthony settle there. Maybe it was just selfish. If he couldn’t leave, he wanted someone to stay with him.
“And I don’t have to listen to people doing it at all hours… oh wait.” Anthony smirked.
“Oh damn, you didn’t?”
“Yep. I heard something and thought someone was breaking into the store, so I came downstairs. I grabbed a bottle to defend myself and, well… I’m sure you know what I saw.”
“Oh God.” Patrick would have put his hands over his face if he weren’t driving. “I’m so sorry, Anthony. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”
“It wasn’t my position that was an issue,” Anthony said with a laugh.
“Point taken, but still….”
“Besides, it was hot.”
Patrick couldn’t have heard that right. “I’m sorry?”
“I’ve never done that. I’ve seen some porn, but I’ve never seen two people having sex right in front of me. It was kinda hot, even if it was a chick.” Anthony’s fair skin reddened from the top of his T-shirt to his hairline, but he kept up the bravado.
Patrick couldn’t go along with it. He couldn’t talk to this kid about bending Danielle over some cases of beer and fucking her. Though he’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on to know Anthony had watched from the shadows. He hated the depravity of it, but apparently, depravity was the new black.
“So, uh, you said you were going to turn eighteen soon, right?”
Anthony laughed at that. He sat with his foot pulled up onto the seat and his thin fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, his black, chipped nails barely visible.
“I’m legal in about ten days.”
“It has nothing to do with you being legal. I was just cur
ious.”
“Sure.”
Patrick peeked over to see a wry grin on Anthony’s face and couldn’t help the answering expression on his own. They pulled up to the townhouse, and Patrick climbed out and made it halfway up the walk before he realized Anthony wasn’t behind him. He turned to see him watching through the windshield, his face a mask of hesitation.
“You can stay there if you want, or you can come in the house.” He waited. Either the boy trusted him, or he didn’t. It took a long time for him to reach over that four inches and open the door. It took even longer for him to take the same half-dozen steps up the drive Patrick had made.
“You could have stayed in the car.”
“Yeah, but it smells like cheese.”
“Like the good kind of cheese you put on fries with chili?” Patrick asked.
“No, more like the stuff you find behind the couch after a week or two.”
“Ew.”
“No kidding.”
Patrick glanced over his shoulder to make sure Anthony followed him up the trio of stairs to his front door. He unlocked the door and held it open behind him.
“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I’m sure you’re hungry. I’m going to go upstairs for a quick shower, and then we can take off.”
“You’re gonna dress after that shower, right?” Anthony asked with a raised eyebrow. Patrick laughed, feeling a little lighter than he had in days.
“Maybe.”
“Good enough.”
Twelve
ANTHONY WANDERED through the downstairs of Patrick’s townhouse. He found a wraparound couch set off by waist-high speakers on either side of the enormous sixty-inch television on the wall. He kept walking, past bookcases lined with movies, and stopped in front of the entertainment center. An Xbox 360 sat in a place of honor in the center, flanked by the cable box and a Blu-ray player. Maybe sometime he should see if Patrick would let him come over and log into the Xbox with his profile. Maybe he could get Jay to talk to him. It wasn’t even that he wanted to live with Jay anymore. He liked Patrick. He liked being on his own. He liked working toward something. In his parents’ basement, he had everything he could have ever wanted, everything except friends and purpose.
