“It’s me.” His mom. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
The door opened. “You busy?” She held a colorful bag in her hand made of paper nice enough to suggest it came from some type of upscale store but small enough to limit what it could contain.
“No.” Sam had seen those bags before.
His mother followed his gaze. “I got you something.”
But surely lots of stores used small gift bags like that when they sold stuff. “Is that…”
His mother held it out.
Sam took it. He tugged out the white tissue. The small box at the bottom with the picture of a cell phone had a bow on it.
A cell phone.
Maybe it was a joke. Sam opened the box. A shiny new smartphone gleamed against the black foam packing. “Uh…”
“You don’t like it.” His mom dropped her shoulders. “I know it’s not the latest model—”
“What?”
“But it came with a really good plan.” She pressed her lips together. “If you really don’t like it, I can take it back.”
Take it back?
Worry shadowed her eyes, and she twisted her hands until she followed Sam’s gaze, then she dropped them to her side.
“Mom? Why are you giving me a cell phone?”
She stood straighter. “I thought you wanted one.”
He had. Somedays he felt like he was the only kid in high school who didn’t own one. Even middle schoolers had cell phones, and he didn’t.
“Yeah. And you told me straight up when I’m eighteen, seventeen if I got a job and bought it myself.”
She shrugged. “You’ve been doing really good in school this year. I figured you’d earned it.”
“I got suspended. I’ve never been suspended before.”
“And that wasn’t your fault.” There, the flash of anger, the strength Sam associated with his mom, erased the doubt, the worry, the…fear.
Sam slumped. “Mr. Serghi told you, didn’t he?”
His mom opened her mouth but wound up looking away. “He expressed concern about a couple those boys following you home.”
“Following me isn’t breaking the good behavior bond.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m aware of that.”
Which probably meant she’d tried to have them arrested for it and been denied. Again.
“And you think a cell phone is going to do what a court order can’t?” Sam smiled, and his mother scowled at him.
“Of course not. I just want you to have a way to call the police if they come after you again.” There was something in her expression that made Sam ask.
“You talked to their parents, didn’t you?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “I’m your mother.”
“Didn’t do much good, did it?”
“No.”
There was more. Sam could see it. “What else did you do?” He set the phone on his desk. It might not have been the latest model, but it seemed to have all the bells and whistles. “Mom?”
“I called Judge Keller.”
“What? Why?”
“Monday, Judge Keller is coming over for dinner, and I’m going to talk to him about taking out a restraining order since our local magistrate seems to think I’m overreacting.”
At least Sam kept his jaw from hitting the floor. “Why don’t you just have the whole family arrested?”
“If he’ll sign a warrant I will.” She turned.
Sam stood. “No, wait. I was kidding.”
She turned back around, and the seriousness in her expression sent Sam a step back. “And I’m not.”
Yeah. Sam knew. He dropped back into his chair.
“I don’t care if you never speak to me again. It would be worth it if it meant you were safe.”
Sam picked up the phone and flipped it over and over in his hands. “I’d always talk to you.”
His mom stepped closer. She started to reach for him but stopped. Sam nodded, and she cupped his cheek.
“Thank you.” Sam held up the phone. “For this.” He shrugged. “And for talking to Judge Keller.”
“You’re welcome.” She stepped back, hesitated, then finally pulled out of reach. “Just don’t use it in class.”
“I won’t.”
“And you’ll call me when you head to school, when you get there, when you get ready to leave, when you arrive at Roshan’s, then come home.”
“What about when I go to lunch and back to class?” Sam laughed.
His mother didn’t.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll call.”
“Sam?”
“I promise I’ll call.”
Some of the tension left her frame.
“What am I supposed to tell Becka and Patty?” Sam’s sisters had nagged their mother for two years to get them a phone. All their friends had them, why couldn’t they.
His mom sighed. “I got them cell phones too.”
Sam raised his eyebrows, and his mother gave him a resigned look.
“It was easier than dealing with an epic meltdown.”
“Definitely would have been epic.”
“I considered it, though.” His mom laughed. “Then I could have recorded it and put it on YouTube. The phones would have paid for themselves.”
Sam made a face. “You’d never do that.”
His mom huffed. “You have no idea how expensive those phones were.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Sam held it closer to his chest.
“I know you will.” She turned to the door. “And Sam…”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
She left, and Sam set the phone on his desk and opened his laptop.
Marcel backed out onto the street, stopping beside Sam’s mailbox. His father headed out to his car and offered Marcel a smile and wave along the way. Marcel returned the greeting with a tip of his chin.
Sam’s father drove away, and a few minutes later, Sam came out of the house and headed up the drive. He stopped by Marcel’s car.
“You do realize you don’t have to give me a ride, right?”
“I do realize.”
Sam shook his head and went around to the passenger side and got in. He positioned his bookbag on the floor at his feet. “My mom got me a cell phone.” Gratefulness laced Sam’s tone. It did not match the scowl on his face. He put on his seatbelt, and Marcel drove.
A mail truck parked at the corner. The carrier got out with a box. Three little girls with their backpacks jostling over their shoulders walked with their mother.
The middle school bus crossed the intersection to the exit of the subdivision and halted.
Cars pulled out of their driveways, some with parents, some with kids and parents. They passed the girls and their mother.
No one stood in the shadows under the trees, or alleys formed by groomed hedges.
Sam leaned forward in his seat, attention beyond the confines of the car, scouring each yard, and every intersection between the streets in the subdivision. Marcel stopped at the entrance. The bus pulled away, he followed.
“See, they weren’t even out there.” Sam smiled, but the worry still darkened his gaze.
In time, it would fade, but not before he faced what he feared. A moment all people experienced. “Do you have your phone with you?”
Sam blinked like the question caught him off guard. “Yeah, of course. My mom practically threatened to staple it to my forehead.”
Marcel dipped his chin. “I am not sure it would work as well if she did that. And it would be painful.”
“That was a joke.” Sam cocked his mouth.
“Ah.” Marcel let himself smile.
Sam did the same until Marcel pulled to a stop at the light. A group of kids crossed the street. One of the boys stalking Sam among them.
“I was hoping he’d catch the flu.”
The young man was alone, bookbag over one shoulder, pushing his way to the head of the gro
up as if reaching the sidewalk proved something. But under the aggression, the sneer on his face, the way he moved with his shoulders back, forcing others aside, there lingered the slight hesitation of his footfalls. Small flinches when someone stepped into his blind spot.
The reflexes honed from survival.
There were no bruises on his arms or his face. But the skilled abusers knew how to hide their work.
At least until it no longer mattered.
The light turned green, and Marcel passed the growing gaggle of children pulling ahead of them. He took a right onto the road leading to the high school.
“Do you think I’m a coward?” Sam still had his gaze out the window while he twisted his hands in the hem of his T-shirt.
“I do not.”
“I mean, I’m riding with you in the morning to avoid them. And at school, I’m late for class so I won’t get stuck in the hall. I skipped lunch yesterday because they were in the cafeteria. They usually eat outside, but…” Sam sank lower in his seat. “I feel like a coward. I feel like I should stand up to them, but—”
“You cannot stand up to an army.” No man could. They’d tried, and it cost them their life. One of the first lessons Marcel learned. An opportunity was useless without advantage.
Patience killed clean. Sometimes that patience meant waiting over a decade until all the pieces could be moved within the rules of the game.
Sam snorted. “They aren’t exactly an army.”
“Three on one is close enough.”
The line turning into the high school ended at the corner of the block. Marcel pulled in behind an SUV.
“Would you hide?” Sam turned in his seat. “If you were me, I mean.”
“I would not.”
Sam nodded. “You just wouldn’t give them the chance to beat you up.”
Marcel followed the buses into the high school parking lot. Kids filed out of the yellow behemoths.
“What did you mean before when you said that?”
“I would kill them before they had the chance.”
Some of the color left Sam’s cheeks. “I don’t think that’s an option for me.”
The bus in front of them pulled away. “No. I suppose it is not.” Marcel moved up. Children crowded the breezeway.
“You don’t have any other ideas, do you?” Sam picked up his backpack from the floorboard?
“I told you, Sam, I only know how to kill.”
“And you never do anything else?”
“Sometimes there is no other answer.”
“But if there is?”
Those situations had been few in Marcel’s life. And when they did happen, it was usually a short-lived solution. “That is a question you must answer on your own.”
Sam closed his eyes for a moment. The worry and fatigue in his expression aged him far beyond his years. “Thanks for the ride, I guess.” He opened the door and got out.
Marcel waited until he was inside the building before pulling away.
Ben counted Jacob’s breaths, each one a measure in time tracking the white lines of the afternoon sun as they traveled over the bed where they lay.
For the first time in what felt like weeks, Ben had slept and there’d been no nightmares about Yvette, just the memory of Jacob’s touch, his mouth, the feel of his hands.
The warmth expanding in Ben’s chest, fueling the ache, the confusion in his heart, the want, the apprehension…
Not because he felt those things, but because he had no idea what it meant. Because he’d never felt them before. Why now? Why with Jacob?
Ben wanted to blame the situation, but he couldn’t.
“Aren’t you tired of staring at me yet?”
Ben’s cheeks heated up. “How long have you been awake?”
Jacob opened his eyes. “Not long.” He smiled, and the heat in Ben’s cheeks moved south.
“You okay?” Jacob rolled over on his side, facing Ben.
“Yeah.”
“No soreness?”
Soreness…
Ben rubbed his face.
“Hey, it’s normal. Especially if you’re not used to it.”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? I have some stuff you can put on if you’re not.”
“They make stuff for…” Ben couldn’t even say it.
Jacob propped himself up on his elbow. “Yeah, they make stuff. You want some?”
Did he? Or did Ben want to keep that dull ache and subtle burn? “I’d rather go get something to eat.”
“If you plan on sitting down, you might want the cream.”
“I’m okay. I promise.”
Jacob narrowed a look at Ben.
“Yeah, okay, it stings a little, but…” Ben sat up.
Jacob rolled on his back and tucked his arm behind his head. The position put the long, lean lines of his body on full display.
“Did you always know you were gay?” Ben had no idea why he asked, other than the mix of want and fear.
“Pansexual.”
Ben squinted. “Excuse me?”
Jacob grinned. “I’m attracted to someone because of who they are, not because of their gender or how they identify.”
“There’s actually such a thing?”
“Well, obviously, cause here I am.”
Attraction to someone because of who they were? Not gender. What else was there?
“Something tells me you’ve led a pretty sheltered life,” Jacob said.
Ben wasn’t going to argue. “I guess I have. Didn’t seem like it, though. I mean, I grew up in the city. I knew not everyone was hetero, but…” He leaned forward. “So what does that make me?”
“It doesn’t have to make you anything.” A shadow passed behind Jacob’s eyes, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Sleeping with a man doesn’t even mean you’re gay.”
“Then what does it mean?”
Jacob stood. Thin pale scars crisscrossed his ass cheeks. “It means you wanted to have sex, experiment, see what it was like, get off, you decide.”
Did this happen for those reasons? A spring tightened in Ben’s stomach.
Jacob picked up his jeans, flashing his hole, and perfectly groomed crack. The urge to reach out and touch had Ben wrapping his hands in the sheets.
Would Jacob let him fuck him?
He wanted to. But not just once. He wanted time to learn Jacob’s body, to know what he liked, what he didn’t like. Ben needed to have the power to give him pleasure. Considering Ben thought he knew what pleasure was before now, accomplishing that goal would take a while.
Ben dropped his gaze. “Sorry, didn’t mean to stare.”
“You going to get dressed?”
Ben slid to the end of the bed. He picked up his boxer briefs. “Since you’re pan…pan…”
“Pansexual.”
Wow, that felt so strange to say, yet at the same time fit the man in front of Ben. “Yeah, pansexual. Since you are…would…I mean…”
Jacob sat down beside Ben. There was nothing but kindness, worry, and maybe a bit of concern in his eyes.
“If the circumstances had been different,” Ben said. “Would you be attracted to me enough to date?”
“I don’t know.”
The air in the bedroom thinned, and Ben’s lips went numb. He should have never asked. Hell, he should have never expected any other answer.
Jacob folded his hands in his lap. “I’ve never dated anyone.”
Ben ran the answer over in his head. “No one?”
“No. I never had the chance.”
“Why not?” Someone like him had to have more than enough opportunity.
Jacob picked at a small hole in the knee of his jeans. “In my family, you didn’t date. You met someone at church and married them. Sex was only to make babies, nothing else.” He hugged himself. “My family wouldn’t even discuss the idea of sex. And since I had to share a room with my sisters and younger brother, I was too fucking scared to even masturbate becau
se I’d wind up in front of the preacher, getting counseled on all the ways jacking off would send me to hell.”
“How did you meet…?” Him. The man who’d whored Jacob out.
Jacob flicked a look up and shrugged. “Remember that part about getting caught jacking off? I got caught, and I’d spent most of my weekend getting lectured. It was Monday, I was pissed, humiliated. I was due home by four because I had another appointment to copy passages out of the bible. To pray. To repent. To listen to all the ways I would fail my family unless I changed my ways. You name it.” Jacob shrugged. “And I was late. An hour late. So I’d be lucky if all I got was a lecture. I was so depressed about the whole thing. I’d sat through most of my classes, thinking of how I could run away. Then how I could just off myself and make it as messy as possible to piss off my parents.”
Ben winced.
“But I went home. And when things got ugly…” Jacob’s gaze went distant. “I wasn’t big at fourteen, but I was taller than my dad. I think sometimes he took offense to that. I also think that’s why he never thought twice about hitting me.” Jacob sneered. “But that day, I hit back. Right in the nose. Broke it too.”
“Damn.”
Jacob nodded. “That pretty much sums it up.”
What else had happened? The question teetered on the tip of Ben’s tongue.
“I started skipping school just to get away from everyone. I’d take the bus to the city and hang out with some other kids. Fooled around with a few of them. Started staying overnight, then a couple of days. Anything not to go home.” Jacob dropped his shoulders. “Someone who knew my parents saw me with another boy.”
Ben sucked in a breath.
Jacob nodded. “I used to get upset about it. But now, looking back? I think I wanted someone to see us.” Jacob gave a sad smile. “I came home one Saturday evening and found all my stuff piled in the front yard by the road. The locks on the door had been changed. When I knocked, no one would answer. They were in there, right there in the dining room eating dinner. I beat on the window, but none of them would look at me. I just didn’t exist anymore.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“I know, but…someone should be sorry.”
“Why? It doesn’t do any good?” Sadness made Jacob’s eyes dark.
Ben picked up Jacob’s hand.
SICARII: Part III Page 3
