by Marcel Miska
BEHIND THE HORIZON
Marcel Miska
“I want us to be free”.
“We will be, Fabio. I promise”.
Marcel Miska
Copyright 2016 © by Marcel Miska
Contact:
[email protected]
All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, photocopying , recording or otherwise without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations in completely coincidental.
BEHIND THE HORIZON
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
Minnesota had the best experts in his mother’s particular type of cancer – stomach cancer – but in the end it had been a horrible place for her to die. Any place where he watched his mother wither away into a husk of herself was a horrible place, but Minnesota was a special purgatory. Fabio was – for the next eight months – a minor, and that meant that upon his mother’s death, he became a ward of the state, with all that entailed.
The roads around McKinley, Minnesota were all the same: trees and more trees, occasionally broken up by a few local, family farm plots. It was mostly federal wilderness reserve land with pockets of habitation here and there that roughly followed old logging roads. His mother would have said it was a serene place with no interest; it was pretty and peaceful enough, but not a place she’d bundle him off to in order to photograph. They’d lead a spectacular, nomadic life after his father had left the family when Fabio was a toddler, and years of watching the world through his mother’s camera lens had given him an artist’s eye for the world. Whenever they would pick up their bags to move yet again, she would always say to him "Fabio, there is so much beauty in this world! You can’t see it sitting in one place!" Inland northeast Minnesota, though, was fine, but nothing spectacular and it was just his luck he’d end up in a foster home in a place like this.
The social worker next to him – Denise – was a pleasant enough woman, and Fabio was grateful for her silence on the long car ride up from Minneapolis. A portly, no-nonsense Middle America type, she wasn’t one of those motherly figures, all fawning and sympathetic looks, with empty reassurances that everything was going to be all right. That was another thing he appreciated about Denise; she was a realist. Maybe it was the fact that she’d only be responsible for him for a matter of months, but he appreciated her candor anyway.
He wasn’t delusional. He knew a backwater place like this would not be exactly… welcoming of people like him. More accurately, people of his sexuality. During his travels with his mother, Fabio had found that in the middle of the country there existed an inverse relationship between trees and tolerance: the more trees, the more bigotry. Thankfully, his mother associated herself mostly with other artist types who often had even more complicated attractions than his own, and they’d never spent enough time in the woods with other people for it to matter much one way or another.
McKinley wouldn’t be a walk in the park, but he could keep his head down for the handful of months he was going to be there. How difficult could it be to keep a low profile in a town like that? It wasn’t as if his dating prospects were going to be great, and beyond wanting to hold his boyfriend’s hand in public, there was no reason anyone in McKinley ever had to know.
***
The LaPorte home was pretty much par for the course, as far as rural Minnesota went. Rough, unfinished clapboard defined a squat, one story house with an attached garage. A mown lawn circled the property, bounded on one side by a copse of trees and the other a chest-high wooden fence marking where the neighboring property began. It was quaint and livable, even if Fabio longed for the thrum and bustle of a city. Any city.
Denise regarded him in silence for a few heartbeats over the rims of her glasses. He could feel her eyes on his face, but he didn’t meet her gaze. Nothing productive could come of it; so he gazed down at his lap where his hands lay still, twined together and naïve.
“I’ll walk you in. Remember, you have my number if you need it”.
Fabio wouldn’t need it. There wasn’t much Social Services could do unless his life was actually in danger, and their priorities didn’t lie with kids about to age out of the system. He’d met Ron and Kathy LaPorte once before, briefly; they were probably closeted bigots draped in the robes of piety like a lot of folks around these parts, but they wouldn’t physically hurt him. They were doing it for the money, not that there was much to be had. The longer he stayed with them, the more money they’d get. They wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that meager income. And if they never found out about him, they’d never have any reason to even think about it.
They met Kathy, in a pastel pink cable-knit cardigan, at the door. Her toothy grin and teased up hair took over her features, broken up only by the heavy, clumpy mascara clinging to her eyelashes. Now that he was here, in her den, that gummy smile took on an almost predatory tone. If the past few months in the wake of his mother’s death had taught him anything, though, it was that he could handle himself.
“Fabio!” she drawled, drawing out the first syllable in his name like they were great old friends. “Welcome to your new home, for the time being! Ron’s down at the shop for a few more hours yet, but let’s get you settled in”. Her hazel eyes were sharp and observant; she had the look of an animal about her. She was a homemaker, involved in her church and a few local ladies’ guilds, and upon meeting her Fabio had immediately seen the intensity of a woman whose potential had been repressed. Fabio would almost feel bad for her, but the hungry look in her eye let him know where he stood. He wasn’t a person to her but rather an asset; income, to be sure, but also a social commodity through which she could establish her superior Christian humility and service to those less fortunate.
After twenty minutes of pleasantries or so, Kathy led Fabio and Denise to the back of the house. “Fabio, this will be your room! It used to be our son Ryan’s… I told you he’s a sophomore at Carelton, studying economics. Wants to go to business school”. She spoke over her shoulder as she walked down the dimly lit hallway. “If you’re thinking about college in Minnesota, I’m sure he’d love to talk to you!”
As if he’d stay in this place. Beyond the intolerance, he wanted nothing more than to get away from this cold, unforgiving state where his mother died. No, he’d go somewhere sunny and warm, forget about this taiga that would always remind him of his mother’s death.
“Here we are!” Kathy exclaimed, turning around just inside the doorway of the room at the end of the hall. Her persistent chipper attitude was already grating on Fabio’s nerves. He risked glance at Denise, but she was already looking at him with a mix of sympathy and warning. God, he was going to miss Denise.
The social worker clapped her hands once and kept them clasped in front of her. “Well, why don’t you get settled in a bit while I go over some particulars with Mrs. LaPorte?” Between them, Kathy turned that big smile his way before pivoting, directing it toward Denise, and ushering the other woman out of the room and down the hall.
For the first time in so many hours, Fabio was blessedly alone. The room was what one would expect from a high school boy: twin bed with a dark blue quilt, sports paraphernalia on the walls, basketball hoop hanging off the back o
f the door. A calming light slate color covered the walls and it reminded him to breathe; he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath. He sat down on the bed heavily, letting his eyes slip closed before heaving a deep sigh. He could hear the murmuring of the two women talking on the other side of the house and some birds chittering away outside the open window. A deep-seated exhaustion settled into his bones and his eyes fluttered open, drawn at once to the lush greenery outside.
Idly, Fabio wandered over to the window. The yard spread out before him, bordered by dense Minnesota forest. A verdant bed of flowers clung to the patio like a life raft, plucked out in the pinks and yellows of high summer. When Fabio recognized the petal pink flowers closest to the house, his heart stuttered.
“Peonies,” he whispered softly. His mother’s favorite. Large, delicate globes of cotton candy bobbed gently in the slight breeze of the hot, June day, and Fabio wished he still believed in portents and signs.
Fabio watched the wind tousle the flowers and brush across the treetops and tried to absorb some of the calm. Some time later, Kathy’s voice floated down the hall, approaching.
“Fabio, dear, Ms. Walker is about to leave. I thought I could give you the dime tour before Ron gets home and I have to start dinner”. Her head popped through the doorway, talons clacking against the frame. Fabio turned to look at her. “What do you say?”
He mustered up a smile, and that seemed to be what Kathy was looking for. She waved for him to follow her and he obeyed.
Chapter 2
The house was nice enough. Certainly it screamed “stability” and “American Dream” more than any place he’d ever lived with his mother. A three bedroom, two bathroom ranch and an acre and a half, it was everything people around these parts aspired to.
The neighborhood itself was much the same: the houses varied in structure and design, but they all had the same feeling of small town Americana about them, nestled as they were in the heartland. Kathy chattered at him, about who lived in each house they passed and neighborhood gossip. They didn’t see any people, however, until they approached the LaPorte home after making a loop around the block.
“That there, that’s the Kane house,” Kathy said, gesturing to a plain, white colonial in the lot next to the LaPortes’ house. As they approached, an equally plain-looking woman with dusty brown hair and brown eyes stood up from where she must have been bent over on the other side of the wooden fence separating the two yards. A bright smile lit up her unremarkable features when she spied the two of them.
“Kathy!” she exclaimed, before her attention shifted to Fabio. “This must be the orphan you’re taking in!” She clucked her tongue. “What a handsome boy! I’m sure you’ll be breaking hearts around here in no time!” She gave him a conspiratorial wink and he could feel his brows knitting together, but he succeeded in giving a fair approximation of a friendly smile.
“Oh, yes!” Kathy replied, laying a hand on Fabio’s shoulder and pushing him slightly toward the fence. “This is Fabio.”
Fabio kept the perfunctory smile on his face – he’d had to do a lot of such smiling in the recent months, what was one more? “Hello, Mrs. Kane. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Oh, honey, the pleasure’s mine!” Some movement off to her right seemed to have caught her eye, out of Fabio’s line of sight. “Boys! Julian! Christian! Come meet the new neighbor boy!” She turned back to Fabio with a warm smile. “My oldest, Julian, is the same age as you. I imagine you’ll be starting school together in September.” She leaned in, crossing her arms across her top of the fence. “He’s a good kid, I’m sure you’ll be fast friends. It’ll be nice to know someone going into your senior year in a new place!”
It was then that the boy in question, Julian, ran in from the backyard, skidding to a stop next to his mother, a flush high on his cheeks.
He was, in a word, beautiful. Where Fabio was slight with dark brown hair and caramel colored eyes, Julian had sandy blond hair set off by skin kissed bronze by the summer, sprinkled liberally with caramel freckles. Taller than the rest of them, the fence stopped just under his broad chest. As if that weren’t enough Julian’s, moss green eyes were warm and wild like the lush bayous of Louisiana. They sparkled with a cleverness that made his crooked, jocular smile mischievous. Fabio was entranced. Julian’s eyes were on him and his mouth was moving, but Fabio didn’t hear a word.
“Sorry, what?” Fabio replied lamely. Julian laughed; it was bright and tinkled like wind chimes. Fuck.
“I asked how you were liking McKinley so far,” the other boy replied with a smile.
“Oh, it’s… it’s good, so far”. Fabio collected his wits. “I’ve only been here for about an hour, but the town seems nice.”
Julian crooked an elbow over the fence and Fabio couldn’t help but notice the lithe muscle playing under his golden skin. That t-shirt was a gift from above. “Well don’t you worry, I’ll show you everything there is to see around here.” He laughed. “Not that there’s that much to see, mind, but we’ll find some way to entertain ourselves.” Julian cocked his head toward Fabio and honest-to-God winked. Fabio could feel a slight blush rising up his neck, but he recovered enough to chuckle in a way he hoped didn’t sound as panicky as he felt.
Being friends with Julian was certainly going to be an adventure, at the very least. Fabio was grateful to have an ally going into this, though. The fact that he was a young Adonis didn’t hurt either, frankly.
***
Ron LaPorte was a burly man and his handshake was rough and strong. He was the quintessential townie, in Fabio’s experience: large, dull, mindless but convinced of his own superiority. It doesn’t come as any surprise, then, that during the first dinner they share he proves himself every bit the bigot Fabio had banked on him being.
“Did you hear about that Dan O’Neill, down there in Ramsey county?” he asked, between bites of Kathy’s serviceable meatloaf. “That fag that’s been their state senator said he’s running for governor. Can you fucking believe that?” He turned to Fabio, reflexively. “Excuse my French”. Fabio knew he wasn’t apologizing for the slur.
He swallowed. He’d been expecting this, but the words still felt like a slap across the face.
“I don’t know how that fruit got elected in the first place”. Ron took another vicious bite of meatloaf, chewing around his words, teeth bared.
“I don’t know, hon,” Kathy answered, tsking as she served Rob another piece of meatloaf. “It would just be easier if they kept to themselves, you know? I don’t know why they feel the need to be so… public. People don’t want to hear that sort of thing”.
“No, I’ll tell you how,” he pointed to Kathy with his fork, continuing as if he hadn’t heard her. “Those fucking bleeding-heart liberals down there in the Twin Cities, that’s how”. He grunted in disgust as he quaffed his beer.
Fabio, for his part, was proud of the poker face he managed to maintain while this small-minded couple ranted in front of him, like he was complicit in their prejudice. Like any rational person would agree with them. He wasn’t sure if they had forgotten that he’d lived all over the country, from San Francisco to Boston, or if they really thought most people shared their views. In either case, Fabio wasn’t going to be the one to point it out. He’d known going into this that he would likely never be able to be out, but it was still a knife to the chest. Yet another place to wear a mask, to be lonely. His only consolation was that he was seventeen; when he turned eighteen in eight months, he could leave this place and its small-mindedness in the dust.
Chapter 3
Lying in bed, the loneliness came in waves. Crashing surf eating away at his composure with the darkness, broken up only by the weak moonlight casting an indigo filter over this foreign room, pressing in tighter and tighter, threatening to suffocate him.
The thought of jerking off, sullying the sheets laundered by his joke of a foster mother, struck him. He snorted softly at how horrified the LaPortes would be to learn about hi
s proclivities, what he’d masturbate to under their roof. A buff, strong fantasy of a man who could pull Fabio into his chest and kiss away the pain of this world.
Fabio’s hand drifted how to the waistband of his boxers, fingertips trailing along the elastic. He took a deep breath and could almost smell the earthy, woodsy scent of his fantasy man’s skin, feel the heat of it against his own. His fingers slipped into his underwear and ran down the inside of his thigh, pushing the fabric down as they went, giving his cock a wide berth while he let his imagination run.
Softer slopes of sun-burnished muscle flitted across his mind’s eye. This man wasn’t built like the first had been, but his hands were strong as he stood behind Fabio and they left trails of hot electricity as they ran up his own biceps, squeezing gently but with intention. They pulled Fabio back into his lover’s chest while slick lips trailed kisses along the underside of his jaw.
Fabio’s fingers inched closer and closer to his erection. His cock was very much into the way the fantasy lover’s dry, warm hands settled at his waist and pulled their hips flush together. He could feel the other man’s arousal, a long, hard line of heat against his backside.
Fabio finally closed his fingers around his dick, sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation and imagining it to be the hand of the man in his fantasy instead of his own. The pressure was just right; he knew just what to do, including the little circle and pull at the head that always left Fabio panting.
The tingling heat built and his hand moved faster, gripped tighter. Fabio’s other hand twisted in the sheets and pulled, clawing his way toward climax. He was close. The urge to feel the fantasy man’s lips on his own was overwhelming; he spun around to devour the other man’s lips only to meet green eyes and freckle-dusted cheeks. Julian.
