Seeking Enrique

by Austin Bates

  “Did you finish the book?” Jules asked, nodding at the stack of notebooks.

  “Hm? Oh, the Luther book? No. Can’t finish that one ‘til we have power.”

  “So what’s all this?”

  “Something I dreamed up in high school that I finally got down on paper. Nothing to do with Luther, I probably won’t even try to get it published.”

  “Then why write it?” Jules asked.

  Rick frowned at his breakfast, considering the question.

  “Because it needed to be told,” he said finally. “Demanded to be told. Sort of hit me out of nowhere and insisted that I write it.”

  “Huh. What’s it about?” Jules asked, picking up a notebook and turning it over as if it would have a synopsis on the back.

  “A subject utterly alien to the series,” Rick said vaguely. “You wouldn’t be interested.”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t interested,” Jules pointed out. “Come on, you can tell me. What new genius idea has the great Enrique come up with?”

  “See, that’s why I don’t want to tell you. The idea isn’t new, it’s ten years old. It isn’t genius… at least I don’t think it is, it’s pretty mid-range as far as speculative fiction goes… and it wasn’t written by Enrique, it was written by Ricky D.”

  “Ricky D?”

  “There were lots of Rickys in my class.”

  “Gotcha. So what old mid-range speculation has the one-of-many Rickys come up with?”

  “Better. It’s a story about a boy… probably a teenager, haven’t pinpointed an age yet… who inherits a crystal. A perfect icosahedron….”

  “Icosahedron?”

  “Twenty equal triangular sides. Anyway, this crystal reflects perspectives. For example, if three people witness something that two people participated in, the crystal will reflect that moment in time from five different perspectives. He calls it his truth stone. It doesn’t just show images, either, it projects the thought processes and emotions that the person was feeling into his brain as he watches the moment play out in the crystal.”

  “Sounds like it could get redundant really quickly,” Jules said, frowning. “How many different ways are there to see the same thing?”

  “As many different ways as there are witnesses,” Rick said. “Everybody will see it and hear it a little bit differently, because they’re all standing in different places and interpreting it through different filters.”

  “What do you mean by filters?”

  “Well… okay, look at it this way. Let’s say you grew up in a household where red is the color of the devil. No red was allowed in the house, and your parents would freak out at the sight of it on TV or in advertisements, and tell you that people who like the color red are all going to hell, they’re sinners, blah blah whatever. With me so far?”

  “Red is bad. Got it.”

  “Okay, so you’re walking along with your friend, who did not grow up in a household like that, and they see a pretty red dress in the window. They swoon over the dress and want to try it on. Now, freeze. This person, who was your dear friend two seconds ago, is now dangerous. She’s seeing a pretty dress, and you’re seeing a manifestation of the devil, even though you’re both looking at the same thing.”

  “Hm. I get your point, but that’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”

  “Okay, something more subtle then. Take you, for example.”

  “Me?”

  “Your sexuality, for instance.”

  “Okay,” Jules said, instantly defensive.

  “See, you already know where I’m going with this,” Rick chuckled. “You see two men walking down the street holding hands, you might envy them. You might not even notice them. To you, that’s perfectly normal behavior. The zealot behind you, however, sees the destruction of society and flies into a rage.”

  “I see. So what if everybody in the crystal had essentially the same upbringing?”

  “There would still be differences in perception simply because of who they are. Let’s say they’re watching a fight, right? A fight between two girls. A straight guy watching might find it funny, or hot even. A girl watching it might find it distressing. So the two perspectives would still be different, with no other change besides their gender.”

  “Okay, remove that variable and all other variables. Straight twin brothers watching a catfight.”

  Jules eyes were alight with interest now.

  “Oh, easy. One of them is a pacifist, the other isn’t. One sees a travesty, a failing of humanity… the other sees a valiant battle for dominion.”

  “Interesting,” Jules said, stroking his smooth beard. “So what did you see last night?”

  Chapter Eight

  “Last night?” Rick repeated.

  “Yeah. I’m curious.”

  “You mean when we fought?”

  “Before we fought, when we were going through the books.”

  “Oh, um… let me think.”

  Last night felt like ages ago. He’d lived half a life in the pages of his notebooks between then and now, and it was difficult for him to conjure up a clear memory of what had taken place.

  “Well… we were going through the books and talking about adventures. You said this was an adventure, I said that it wasn’t. Then you said you knew how to make it an adventure. I’m not a big fan of having them, I would much rather write about other people having them, and I was thinking you wanted to go explore the woods in the snow or something crazy like that, so I declined the offer. Then you started abusing my books, then you lost your mi… temper.”

  Jules gazed at him for a long moment, his elegant eyebrows furrowed in thought. Rick shifted uncomfortably, wondering if he’d said something wrong.

  “So… when I said I could make it an adventure, you thought I meant getting lost in the woods?”

  “Or something,” Rick said quickly. “I figured an adventure meant danger. I’m not real fond of danger.”

  Jules chuckled, then laughed, falling into full blown hysterics on the couch.

  “What?” Rick asked, bewildered.

  Jules was laughing too hard to answer. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he gripped his sides. Rick’s face flushed hot, and his discomfort morphed into an angry ball in the pit of his stomach. He crossed his arms over his gut and squeezed, glaring at the back of the couch.

  “You’re frikken’ adorable,” Jules wheezed.

  “I’d say thank you, but I don’t think it’s a compliment in this context,” Rick spat.

  “No, no, it is,” Jules gasped. “Oh my god, I get it now. I’m sorry I went off on you,” Jules said, collapsing into giggles again.

  Rick turned his back on Jules, slamming his dishes in the sink to wash them. He scrubbed the design off of his plate before Jules wrestled himself under control. He rinsed the dishes and slammed them into the drainer, shattering his coffee cup when he missed the rack.

  “Damn it!” he cursed.

  He cleaned up the mess then noticed he was bleeding.

  “Just keeps getting better,” he muttered.

  He stormed to the bathroom to find the first aid kit and got himself patched up. When he was finished, Jules was sitting up on the couch with a sincerely apologetic look on his face.

  “Sorry,” he said again. “That took me by surprise. You are absolutely right about perspectives, and I was an idiot not to consider that.”

  Rick looked at him sideways, waiting for an explanation. Jules sighed, fighting back a grin.

  “When I said adventure... I meant we could make it more fun. Being stuck in here.”

  “With, like, board games or something?” Rick asked, still not understanding.

  Jules nearly lost it again and bit his lip hard enough to bruise it.

  “No,” he said, clearing his throat. “I meant… oh, it doesn’t matter what I meant.”

  “Yes, dammit, it does,” Rick said heatedly. “You don’t get to scream at me and laugh at me and not explain anything!”

  J
ules lifted to his feet slowly, his eyes ablaze.

  “You don’t get to tell me what I get to do,” he said.

  Rick took a step toward him, vibrating with anger.

  “Since you stepped in my door, you have been nothing but awful to me. The second you can leave, I want you out of my house.”

  “Not happening,” Jules said sternly, closing the space between them. “The second we can leave, we are going on your tour.”

  “You can take my tour and shove it up your ass!” Rick shouted.

  “You have to be so damn stubborn?!”

  “I’m stubborn? That’s rich,” Rick said acidly. “If you weren’t so bullheaded, you’d tell me what the hell your problem is!”

  “My problem?!” Jules shouted.

  They were nose to nose. Jules gripped Rick’s lapels and yanked him, pressing a hard, hot kiss to his mouth. Rick was too stunned to react, then warmth rushed over his body, pricking up the hairs on his arms, igniting his groin. He gasped as Jules released him.

  “My problem is I’ve been wanting to do that since the second I saw you,” Jules said quietly.

  Rick’s eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. He snapped his mouth shut. Say something! Say anything! His mind screamed.

  “Oh.” Yeah, not helpful, he thought.

  Jules gazed into his bewildered eyes. His belly curdled on his lust when Rick didn’t react. He could taste the rejection in the air between them, and he watched his career slip away before his eyes. Rick didn’t want him. Steven didn’t want him. Jules, who was usually confident in himself to the point of arrogance, was suddenly face-to-face with the crushing realization that the problem was, in fact, himself. He was flawed, deeply flawed, and those flaws—hidden beneath success and satisfaction—had risen to the surface so silently, so subtly, that they were ruining everything he’d worked so hard to build.

  He dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back. Rick was still staring at him warily, tucking into himself protectively. Jules raked his fingers through his hair and turned away, blowing out a breath. He’d crossed the line, he’d crossed all the lines, and he was trapped with it. There was nothing he wanted more than the freedom to dissolve their partnership and run away, back home, where he could distract himself with work until he forgot any of this had ever happened. Bury the embarrassment, the anger, the shame, bury all of it under mountains of work and never look back. He cursed the snow and whatever nonsensical environmental glitch brought it on.

  “I didn’t quite catch that,” Rick said breathlessly. “Could you repeat it?”

  Jules did a double take.

  “What?” he asked, startled.

  Rick crossed the room hesitantly, stopping a hairsbreadth from Jules.

  “I said… could you repeat that?” Rick said.

  Realization struck Jules, and his heart skipped a beat as he moved to kiss Rick. Tension gave way to a different kind of friction, and they melted into one another even as their tongues battled for dominance. Jules’ hands traveled of their own accord over Rick’s slender body, fitting perfectly in the subtle contours of his frame. Rick’s ass fit perfectly in the palms of his hands as he pulled him close, grinding his hard heat against the answering bulge in Rick’s pants.

  Rick pulled away, trembling.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

  “We could just keep doing that,” Jules murmured, moving his body against Rick’s.

  Rick shook his head. His eyes filled with tears as he backed away. He met Jules’ eyes for a fraction of a second before he fled up the stairs to the comforting embrace of his bed. He launched himself into the very center, wrapping his arms around his knees, leaving Jules stunned and bewildered on the floor below.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered to himself. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  Memories of clumsy teenage romances flooded his mind, and he cringed as each scene played out in his head. Relationships weren’t the right word for them. They hadn’t been relationships, they’d been experiments. Long, drawn out, painful experiments which proved to him beyond a shadow of a doubt that he simply wasn’t fit company for humans. Now Jules… friendly, competent, crazy Jules… was pursuing him, and he had no idea how to handle it. He’d never been pursued before, not really. His two romances happened sort of by default; they were all each other had because they had both been terribly awkward and hormonal, all that teen angst packed into socially anxious little packages.

  This felt different. This was different. For starters, he was a full-grown adult. He’d always assumed that, as an adult, he’d know how to handle something like this instinctively; simultaneously, he had assumed that it would never happen and he would be a confirmed old bachelor until the day he died. He’d made peace with that eventuality. Now Jules was trying to change the story, and he didn’t even have an outline to refer back to.

  “A story,” he said, with a flash of genius.

  He would do what he always did when he got stuck writing a scene he’d never experienced first-hand. He would read someone else’s account of the same thing, to get an idea of what to do; or, in many cases, what not to do. He relit a candle on the night table, and searched his bookcases. What he was looking for would likely be in the pink or red section of his bookcases; stories like this seemed to market themselves to match Valentine’s Day. He found what he was looking for, and brought the romance novel to the bed. The candlelight was just barely bright enough to read by, though he would have preferred the fireplace. He made do. If he wanted to use the fireplace he would have to encounter Jules, and he wasn’t ready for that.

  Meanwhile, Jules paced the floor. He started up the stairs once and changed his mind. He walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, then shut it again.

  “Idiot,” he muttered to himself.

  He steeled himself, determined to run up the stairs and confront Rick, to resolve this once and for all. Two stairs up, he turned around. Rick had run away for a reason. Jules had already crossed the line, he wasn’t going to compound that by cornering Rick against his will. Frustrated, horny, and confused, Jules retreated into the shower. He cursed a blue streak at himself for letting his lust rule him like a damn teenager. Then, unable to get the feel and scent of Rick out of his mind, he took matters into his own soap-slicked hands.

  Calmer and saner after the shower, Jules took a risk and headed up the stairs as quietly as he could. What he saw stirred him up all over again. Rick was lying on his stomach, reading a book in the candle light. Something about his calm intensity, his oblivious vulnerability, rocked Jules to his core. He struggled with the impulse to drape his body over Rick’s, to use every tool he’d ever learned to seduce the introverted author. He knew he could get what he wanted, the way one knows the way to their own bathroom in the dark.

  But he didn’t want to take it if it wasn’t given freely. He didn’t want to trick or pressure Rick into anything. He realized that the little he knew about Rick’s everyday life painted a picture of a man who didn’t function on the same plane of existence as everybody else. Jules had spent two days assuming that Rick was sending signals; signals that most other people would have deliberately chosen. Rick, however, was an innocent. Jules didn’t know what to do with innocent people, though the idea of having a sexual pupil nearly drove him mad with lust.

  Swallowing the impulse like a bitter pill, Jules crept back down the stairs. He spent the evening alone, behaving as though he were the only person in the cabin. Once night fell and exhaustion crept up behind his eyes, Jules curled up on the couch and attempted to fall asleep. The glow from the candle above scattered light over the rafters, reminding Jules that Rick was there, just out of reach.

  Jules hadn’t prayed since he was a small boy. That night he broke his streak. He prayed for clarity and guidance the following day. None of the gods he’d been educated on would have helped him with his particular crisis, so he prayed to the universe at large, sending a cosmic S.O.S. to any higher being
who would notice or care that a gay man, trapped in a cabin, was so desperately attracted to someone so terrifyingly fragile.

  Upstairs, Rick was learning the language of love as interpreted by a woman named Nora. Rick heard her voice through the lines of the page, and he loved her. What he loved more were her characters, so lifelike, so flawed; sort of like him. He saw love and sex through the eyes of a woman, reluctant to love and frightened to engage with people. Her journey was different from his own to be sure, but the feelings were a transparent roadmap, flexible to circumstance, adaptable to personalities. This, Rick thought, he could work with.

  He devoured the entire story before morning, then slept on it for a few hours, absorbing the pertinent details into his consciousness. Rick hadn’t read many romance novels before that one; they had never seemed relevant to his life or livelihood before. Now, he was depending on one to help him navigate both of those.

  He dreamt of treacherous waters and smudged maps, of mermaids leading him to destruction, and a double rainbow on the horizon.

  Chapter Nine

  Jules awoke early, troubled by conflicted dreams. He checked on Rick, who was sleeping soundly, his book on his chest and a smile on his face. Jules softened as he gazed at Rick’s guileless face. He decided to do the one thing he could do under the circumstances. He brewed coffee and cleaned the house, then scoured the cupboards for ingredients. He intended to wake Rick at noon with a big breakfast and an apology for his beastly behavior the night before.

  Rick stumbled down the stairs at quarter to noon. He didn’t say a word, but walked straight to the bathroom, where he remained for nearly half an hour. When he emerged, he was scrubbed clean and bright-eyed, eager to start the day.

  “Good morning!” he said cheerfully.

  “Morning,” Jules replied, surprised. “You’re in a good mood.”

  “The wind stopped,” Rick told him, as if in explanation. “I think the storm’s just about blown out.”

  “That is good news,” Jules said enthusiastically. “You hungry?”

  “Famished.”