by A Zukowski
inside Chris, something he has never experienced in
his life.
Alex is definitely complicated, and Chris is
emotionally closed off. Perhaps they’ll be a good
match after all. A match not quite made in heaven.
~~~
Alex is hitting the speed bag when Dex comes up
beside him. “Hey, how’s it going, son?”
Alex stops. The scent of sweat fills his nostrils,
interspersed with the grunts of the other boxers.
“Good.” He picks up again. He has tried to keep his
stamina up, first in prison, and then at home.
Coming to the club to use the equipment feels
natural to him, even though he still has no wish to
box professionally. The small club is exactly what he
needs right now. He was hoping to tire himself out
enough to sleep for a while tonight.
“Your punches are almost as good as when you
were competing, Alex,” Dex observes.
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“Thanks. I try to keep it up.” Alex stills the bag
and tilts his head a little to Coach’s side. “I see
Devan’s working on the footwork.”
The teenager is practising on the workout ladder,
and he’s quick. Coach has always taught Alex to
work on his feet diligently because that’s often the
downfall of a heavyweight—being slow in their
movements.
“Yeah, he’s doing well. Why don’t you spar with
him for a bit? I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”
Alex considers Coach’s advice. He said he
wouldn’t train others, but watching the youngster so
absorbed in his drill, how can he refuse? After a few
moments, he exhales. “Okay.”
He picks up his headguard and approaches
Devan. “You finished with that? Wanna spar with
me?”
Devan stops dead and stares at Alex with wide
eyes. “Yeah. Defo!”
He quickly picks up a headguard and they move
over to one of the rings. They start slow, then build
up speed. Alex focuses Devan on various techniques
—punches, movements, footwork, body positions—
and Devan learns fast. The concentration on his face
gives Alex a much-needed boost of energy, too.
Devan reminds him of his younger self with all the
passion and love for boxing. Focusing on something
physical helps kids like him to temporarily forget
about whatever shit’s going down at home.
Alex feels the old flame reigniting in his heart. He
was only here to train, but the sparring exercise has
pitched him against someone for the first time in
five years and he loves it. Devan reacts like a
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sponge, soaking it all up. The teenager reminds Alex
of himself, of being free in the ring. If only that
freedom could stay with him when he stops
sparring.
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CHAPTER 7
COLOURS
ALEX IS DOING press-ups and sit-ups in his room. It’s
almost impossible for him in the confined space, but
some days the gym feels too oppressive.
After twenty minutes, he can’t ignore the angry
noises emanating from Chris’s room.
He has heard it all before since the walls in the
flat are paper thin. Listening to Chris and his
partners fuck is torture because it sounds like porn
without the visual. Arguments with his lovers are
frequent occurrences, too, and they are the worst
kind of intrusion for Alex when his mind is already
scrambled.
Shall I put some music on to drown it out? It
sounds like something else today, prompting Alex to
stop the workout. He concentrates and listens, his
breathing slowing. The flat is quiet apart from the
altercations
currently
taking
place
in
his
neighbour’s room.
Thump. Something heavy drops on the floor.
“Fuck right off! Get off me, you fucking cunt!”
Chris raises his voice.
Alex strains to hear the other person. “You freak…
stupid whore.” More bangs against the wall.
“Fuck’s sake,” Alex mutters under his breath. He
hates himself for wanting to intervene and protect,
but he can’t ignore this. The arguments so far
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haven’t escalated to violence, but this signals that
something vicious is about to erupt. It reminds him
of fights he had with Sam when they were both
drunk or drugged up. Even then, he would never lay
a finger on her except that one day. But there’s no
doubt that Chris and his latest partner are getting
into a physical fight.
Alex stands and moves over to outside Chris’s
door. Bump. Bang.
“I said, get your filthy hands off me!” Chris
shouts.
The other voice sneers. “Yeah, you were begging
for my dick not so long ago.”
Against his better judgement, Alex presses his ear
against the door to listen.
There are more movements in the room, and the
man dry laughs. “You’re gagging for me, aren’t you?
Don’t get all virginal on me, Chris. If you want kink,
you only have to say.”
“Get off me! I’m sick and tired of your bullshit. I
don’t need to beg for anything.” Slapping. Clap.
Clap.
“Yeah? Is that why you’re a fucking prostitute?”
Wham. Against the wall.
“Fuck right off. Twat!”
Adrenaline rushes to Alex’s head. Before he can
talk himself out of it, he bangs on the door. “Chris.
Chris. Open the door. Don’t make me break it
down.”
The noises stop momentarily.
“Who the fuck is that?” the unfamiliar voice asks.
“My flatmate. Now piss off.” Chris calls out, “It’s
okay, Alex.”
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No, it’s not fucking okay. I’m not going to be
fobbed off.
“You do let everyone use your arse, don’t you?
Dirty slut.”
“If I’m a slut, you’re a filthy bastard!”
A knock. Thwack. The man curses. Good. It
sounds as though Chris is giving the other guy hell.
But enough is enough. Alex pushes the door,
hard, assuming it’s locked. It isn’t and it hits the
wall with a thud. The heap on the floor is Chris,
wearing only a pair of small briefs and black lace
tights that are ripped in a few places. His soon-to-
be-ex kneels in front of him, pressing him against
the wall. Both of them look up at Alex with wide
eyes. Alex quickly scans Chris and can only see a few
small bruises. Good, but not. His dark eye make-up
has smeared, though. Chris rubs at it, and Alex’s
chest tightens. He turns to survey the other man.
Now, who’s this clown?
The man stares at Alex in shock. A black eye and
bruise on his left cheek confirm who was winning
the fight. He’s shorter than Chris but bulky and full
of bulging muscles—a gym rat with t
attoos—and
dressed in a vest and tracksuit bottoms. Alex sees
red, imagining the twat touching Chris.
Chris’s assailant stands, challenging Alex, who
towers over him. “Who the hell are you?”
“Alex Whale.”
The other man steps back; recognition flashes in
his face. He’s about to make a comment.
Thump. It all happens quickly. Chris’s knuckle
reddens straight away when it connects with the
guy’s right cheek. The boyfriend falls on the floor,
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landing on his arse.
“What the fuck?” He stares at Chris, then back to
Alex.
Chris frowns at his ex with a cold detachment that
Alex has never seen, arms crossed at his front. He
picks up the guy’s jacket and throws it to him
without a word.
Alex pulls the guy up and pushes him out of
Chris’s room, almost lifting him clean off the floor.
The man smells of alcohol and other chemicals.
Before he can protest, Alex has deposited him
outside the flat and shuts the door in his face.
He bangs on the closed door. “Stupid whore.
Chris, you’ll fucking regret this. I promise!” Alex
waits until the messy footsteps down the stairs have
faded and the loud crack of the front door stops
reverberating before returning to Chris’s room.
Alex’s heart aches when he sees Chris sitting on
the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, hands
covering his head. Alex steps close and sits next to
him.
Chris looks up, rubs his eyes again and smears
the black kohl even more; it matches the nail
varnish. Alex notices the red lipstick, too. He’s
looking less thrashed than his latest ex, all things
considered.
“Thanks, but I want to be alone now.” His voice
quivers ever so slightly.
Alex knows better than to tell him not to get
involved with the scumbag in the first place, but
Chris is so upset and vulnerable Alex wants to stay
with him, so he stubbornly sits there. He wants to
hold Chris, chasing away his sadness.
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Chris doesn’t ask him to leave again. He retrieves
a bottle of make-up remover and cotton wool and
cleans up his face, reverting to his porcelain skin.
He finds a discarded T-shirt and pulls it over his
naked torso. Then he opens his tobacco tin and
starts making a joint, his hands shaking.
Alex gazes at him and resists the urge to hold him
and kiss his blues away. He stares at Chris’s shaved
chest. Shaved everywhere.
Chris regroups, skilfully rolls the joint and takes a
toke. He scants sidelong at Alex. “Say whatever the
fuck you want to. Or fuck off.”
Alex knows whatever he does will rile Chris, but
Chris needs him. He lets himself be distracted by
the couple of holes in his tights.
“Did you dress up like that for him?” As soon as
those words come out, Alex regrets that he might
have sounded jealous. Stupid mouth of his.
Chris rolls his eyes. “No, I don’t do that for
anyone. That’s what I am today.”
Alex frowns. “What do you mean? Do you like
wearing women’s clothes? I mean…I can dig that.”
Chris tuts.
“I’m not a cross-dresser, Alex. I’m gender-fluid.
Queer.” Chris blows smoke and it obscures Alex’s
vision. “Have you heard of that?”
Alex shakes his head. “No, not really. I mean, I
know you’re queer. Enlighten me.”
Chris gives Alex another eye-roll for emphasis. “I
am a woman or a man. Some days I’m both. It
depends.”
Alex racks his brain to digest this latest Chris-
related information, seemingly fundamental to who
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Chris is, but he admits defeat. “Is it an escort
thing?”
Chris stubs out the joint. “What escort thing?”
“Is that because of what the guys want?”
Chris shifts away from Alex. “I give my clients
what they want. What I perform sex-wise has little
to do with my gender.”
Alex is afraid to think about what Chris does
perform.
“Ah. Do you want to cut off your willy?” Alex
scratches his chin.
Chris stands up and pulls at Alex. “Get out. Get
the fuck out of my room.”
Chris’s voice is steady, but it betrays resignation
and weariness. Alex lets Chris drag him up but
instead of leaving the room, he pulls Chris into a
hug, forceful and firm, wrapping Chris’s lithe body
in his arms. He cups Chris’s head and lets it rest on
his firm shoulder.
“I only want to know more about you,” he
whispers for Chris’s ears only. “Whoever you are,
the scum has no right to abuse you. What would’ve
happened if I wasn’t home?”
Chris pushes Alex but doesn’t try too hard to get
out of the hug. “Fuck you. I’d have kicked him out,
too, without your stupid arse. Who do you think you
are? Waltzing in here and pretending to rescue me!”
Yeah, yeah. Chris would have won the fight
without Alex’s interference, but that’s not the point.
Alex already knows Chris is a fighter. He pulls Chris
back and squeezes tighter. The scumbag has no
right to hurt Chris, and that’s that.
“For your information,” Chris’s voice is muffled
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against Alex’s neck, “I finished with him and he
freaked out.”
“Damn right. You’re not dating the creep. Why
did you even go out with someone like that in the
first place?” Alex is aware he sounds possessive.
Well, maybe not. He’s truly baffled. That’s all. In his
eyes, Chris is perfection and no lover is good
enough.
“He wasn’t so bad. They all eventually flip,
though. It’s because of my personality, my gender or
my profession. Usually all three.”
“I’m still here,” Alex says. “I like your personality.
You’re rather unique and special.”
“You’re a masochist and stupid.”
“You’re keeping your dick, too. It’s good, cuz you
look good with it.”
Chris laughs. “Yeah, but my gender has nothing to
do with what’s between my legs and how I use it. Do
you know how many times I’ve been asked if I want
to cut off my dick? ‘You’re either a boy or a
girl.’…‘You can’t be whoever you want to be.’…‘You
must be sick to dress in women’s clothes.’…‘Do you
want surgery?’…‘You are mentally ill.’ Or the worst
one—‘ What are you?’”
Alex blinks as he digests this. “Okay.” He hasn’t
let go of Chris. He wants… them, he supposes…to
stay in his arms forever, to keep them safe.
“Talking of which, I gotta pee.”
Alex smiles and lets Chris go. Chris takes off their
tights and walk out of the room. Alex stares at the
shapely and pert bottom, clad in the smallest black
briefs.
When Chris comes back, Alex stands. “I guess I’ll
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leave you in peace.” He heads towards the door.
“You can stay if you want, if you’ve got nowhere
to be.” Chris wrings their hands. Alex turns back,
raking his fingers through his hair. “I’ll go and
brush my teeth.”
Chris turns away from him. “Yeah, that’s a good
idea.”
~~~
Alex joins Chris in bed later. The whole thing sags
under their combined weight. Alex awkwardly
moves his arms about, unsure where Chris wants
them. Like last time, Chris grabs him and winds
Alex’s arm around their chest. Alex inhales,
allowing himself to be intoxicated by Chris’s unique
scents—jasmine and spice and all things nice.
He wants to hold Chris all night and more, and
that desire scares him. It’s best not to start anything
right now, what with his emotional and
psychological state, but he can’t suppress his
attraction to Chris at all.
“So, you are basically a tranny?” Alex feels the
smooth skin of Chris’s back.
“You shouldn’t use that word.”
Alex plays with the soft, short strands of Chris’s
hair. “Oh, I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Is it not
politically correct?”
“No, it’s not.”
Alex kisses Chris’s neck. “Okay. I won’t use it
again.”
“I’m not transgender. I also don’t want to
transition. I like my dick enough too!” Chris
tightens Alex’s arm around themself some more.
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“And I am okay with the rest of me. I like shaving,
and some days I want to put on my make-up. I feel
pretty and natural that way.”
You are pretty,Alex wants to tell them, but he
remains silent so he can hear Chris talk because
their whispers in the night are the best sounds in
the world.
“My appearance doesn’t define me. Some days, I
love my make-up. I feel like that today. Sometimes I
want to be bold and careless. I can behave the way
most boys have been brought up to behave. Do you
understand?”
Alex
has
seen
Chris’s
different
gender
presentations. “Uh-huh.”
“Does it…me…does it bother you I’m like this?”
Chris sounds cautious and hesitant, without the
brashness they usually present to the world.
Alex smiles, even though Chris can’t see it. “I like
