Darkness Matters

by Jay McLean

  Milky says, “Brad said we could use your washer and dryer. Hope that’s okay.” She motions to me. “Andie’s going to do it, which leaves me all alone.” Milky giggles at his silence and drops her voice to a husky whisper, stepping closer to him. “You want to fool around?”

  Vivid blue eyes shift to mine and then away again so fast I would’ve missed it if I wasn’t slightly obsessed with staring at him. His gaze moves to Milky’s feet, head shaking quickly, side to side, cheeks almost as red as the time he said I was all soft, feminine curves and perfection.

  A door opens, and Bradley’s voice cuts through the tension. “It’s the comeback queen!” he shouts.

  Noah drops his sandwich. “Fuck off.”

  “Who’s the comeback queen?” Milky asks.

  “Your—” Bradley starts to answer, but Noah cuts him off with a “Shut the fuck up.”

  Bradley chuckles. Milky skips over to him and says, “You’ll do.” Then she drags him by his shirt back to the room he just left, slamming the door shut after them.

  Noah stares at the door as if it’ll lead him to Narnia.

  “Milky’s um... confident,” I say, my voice struggling to get through my nerves.

  His eyes slowly move to me. Then he blinks, dark lashes dusting his still blush-colored cheeks. “Here,” he says, taking the basket from me and settling it on the kitchen island. He points to the assortment of fillings in front of him. “You hungry?”

  I am. I skipped breakfast and lunch, planning to spend the few dollars we had left at the laundromat. “Are you sure?”

  He nods, not once making eye contact. “I can, um... I can make you something.”

  I sit on a stool on the other side of the counter. “I can do it.”

  His lips form a smile, but his eyes don’t follow.

  “So...” I say, grabbing two slices of bread and trying to edge toward some more clues to his mystery. “What’s the deal with the comeback queen?”

  He shakes his head, his gaze on my shoulder. “Nothing important.” He clears his throat. “Your sister—she’s kind of wild, right?”

  Shrugging, I take one of everything on the counter and build my sandwich. Then I glance up at him, only to see him look away the second I do. A smile pulls at my lips. I try to force it away. “She is.”

  “How do you feel about what she does?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Stripping for money? It’s kind of an odd choice for a career.”

  The heaviness of my heart triples, my chest no longer able to hold its weight. It dips to my stomach and is anchored there, pushed down by the choices she’s made for me. “You can judge as much as you like, but Milky—she’s the realest person I know. And she’s headstrong, you know? There are so many girls out there who become victims of society or relationships... to guys,” I choke out. “Milky knows what she wants, and she takes no prisoners.” I shrug. “I admire that about her.”

  The silence that stretches is deafening.

  “I’m sorry, Andromeda,” Noah finally says, the sincerity in his apology slicing through my thoughts. “I didn’t mean to offend. Honestly.”

  “I know,” I say quickly, looking up at him.

  His eyes hold mine.

  One second.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  They don’t veer away, and my smile returns, widening when he delivers his own heart-stopping one.

  I grab the bottle of mustard and ask, “How are classes going? Picked a major yet?”

  His shoulders relax, his exhale audible. “They’re going fine, and no. I think I’ll be forty by the time I decide.”

  “You’ll get there. You’re still young.”

  Nodding, he runs the backs of his fingers across the stubble along his jaw. “Listen I—”

  “Oh fuck, yeah! Baby, right there! Fuck me right there!” Milky’s voice and her words have my eyes widening, my body tensing, my hand forming a fist around the bottle of mustard, squeezing, causing a stream of yellow sauce to fly through the air, across the counter and... right onto Noah’s bright, white shirt.

  I gasp.

  He laughs.

  Milky says, “Oh yeah! Fuck fuck fuck. Yeah!”

  Jumping off my stool, I try to fight the embarrassment of my reaction and race around the counter toward him. Clearly, my brain’s stopped working because my hands are fisted in his t-shirt, trying to yank it off him so I can add it to my laundry while he spins in circles, arms raised, trying to brush off my hands.

  “I’m so close! Oh God!”

  “Take it off!” I shout.

  “What?” Noah huffs.

  I hold his arms at his sides, forcing him to stay still. “Take it off!”

  “Why?”

  “So I can wash it!”

  “Oh” is all he says, but he doesn’t move.

  I grasp the hem and lift, revealing the band of his boxers peeking above his jeans. My mouth goes dry at the smattering of hair below his abs, and I moan—out loud—completely out of my mind with desire. No longer in control, my hands have a mind of their own as they lift his shirt higher and higher, Noah’s arms rising to accommodate my crazy task.

  His chest comes into view, my knees buckling at the sight of him.

  It’s been so long.

  Too long.

  My fingers ache to touch him.

  His arms are free now, but his cap catches in the neck hole, and my hot-as-hell neighbor’s struggling, laughing, having no clue to the meltdown I’m experiencing, and Milky shouts, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  “Give it to me!” I yell, hand out to take Noah’s shirt, cringing at the sounds of the bed creaking, the headboard slamming against the wall.

  “Oh God, Brad!”

  “It’s Bradley!”

  “I don’t care!”

  The second I’m in possession of the mustard-stained garment, I throw it in with the rest of our dirty clothes and head for the laundry room off the kitchen. I dump the clothes in the washer and then... I stare at the machine because it’s all lights and buttons, and I realize I have no idea what I’m doing.

  Heat presses against my back, Noah’s arm reaching around and above me to get the washing detergent off a shelf I wouldn’t have been able to reach without him. He makes quick work of getting the washer started. Then he leans against it, his arms folded across his broad, bare chest. His gaze takes me in from head to toe, over and over, and I swallow my lust. “What?” I whisper.

  His eyes meet mine, holding them captive.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because,” he says, leaning forward, his mouth to my ear, his breath hot against my neck. “You’re fucking incredible, Andie, and I can’t not look at you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Andie

  The mysterious boy of my dreams left me.

  I’m being dramatic.

  What I mean is: yesterday, after he whispered words that had my body bursting into flames, Noah ran upstairs and left me alone, waiting on my laundry and Milky to get her fill. Three times.

  Two weeks ago, I was simply longing for company; now I was craving the way a certain blue-eyed boy made me feel. So, when Milky said that Bradley had invited us over for dinner the next night, a Monday, one of the two nights Milky and I are home together, I jumped at the chance for even a glimpse of the boy who’d been invading my every thought. But it’s been two hours, pizza has been had, and now we’re sitting around the coffee table, an epic game of Jenga set up in front of us, and my cravings have yet to be satisfied.

  His car’s in the driveway.

  He’s home.

  In his room.

  And he hasn’t come down once.

  I’ve tried to come up with subtle ways to ask Bradley about him. I even thought of an excuse to head out and knock on his balcony door so my sister doesn’t clue in on my juvenile-type crush. But alas, I’ve kept my mouth shut, pulling and pushing block after block, hoping the Jenga walls I’
ve built don’t come crashing down.

  “It’s your turn, Andie,” Milky says, pointing to the tower.

  I reach out, pull a random block, and grimace when it wobbles, shifting beneath the weakness I’d just provided. A phone sounds from somewhere in the kitchen, and three heads turn to it, but no one goes to answer.

  It stops.

  Starts again.

  Stops.

  Starts.

  Bradley sighs, stretching out his once crossed legs to stand. He strides to the bottom of the stairs, looks up and calls out, “Dude, your alarm’s going off!”

  My heart picks up pace, my senses on end, like a fat kid eying cake... knowing he’s about to get a taste of his heart’s desire.

  Upstairs, a door opens, and I sit up straighter, eye the staircase.

  Noah’s denim-covered legs appear on the stairs. His hands are next, and the moment his feet land on the level floor, his gaze snaps to mine, his eyes wide.

  I quickly look away, flick a random block in the tower in front of me.

  The alarm stops, and then footsteps closer, closer, closer. “Jenga?” he says, sitting down next to me.

  “What’s the alarm for?” Bradley asks.

  “New Bill Nye show on Netflix.”

  “Nerd!” Bradley shouts the same time I say, turning to Noah, “I love Bill Nye!”

  “Me too,” he says around a smile so confident, my stomach swarms with butterflies.

  I chant, because I’m lame and apparently just as nerdy as he is, “Bill! Bill! Bill! Bill!”

  Milky laughs. “How do you two even society?”

  “Noah struggles,” Bradley says. “Fuck, tell them about that time I bet you a hundred bucks to use a pick-up line on that girl at the gym.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Who? Noah?” Milky asks, switching her focus to Noah. “You mean to tell me you actually spoke to a girl without turning red?”

  “Pre-comeback,” Bradley says.

  “Fuck off with that shit already,” Noah mumbles.

  “So, you didn’t speak to her?” I ask.

  Bradley: “He did. For a hundred bucks, wouldn’t you? But that’s not the point. Tell them your pick-up line.”

  “Fuck. Off.”

  “Puh-lease,” Milky says, hands clasped under her chin. “I need to hear it.”

  “No.”

  “Please?” I ask, and the boy sighs. With his gaze on the table and his cheeks the perfect pink, he murmurs, “Are you made of copper and tellurium? Cause you’re C u, T e.”

  I bust out a laugh while Milky’s eyes narrow. “I don’t get it.” She turns to me. “Do you get it?”

  I nod, wipe a stray tear from laughing so hard.

  “You’re an asshole,” Noah tells Bradley, and then he huffs, swipes all the Jenga blocks with the back of his hand.

  “It’s sweet,” I assure, placing my hand on his forearm.

  “Great.” Noah rolls his eyes. “A pity touch.”

  “What does it mean!?” Milky shouts.

  “Something only geeks understand.” Bradley sighs, starts picking up the blocks.

  I manage to contain my laughter to a simmering giggle, while Milky asks me, “Would it have worked on you?”

  I nod. “For sure.”

  Noah pumps his fist. “Bill! Bill! Bill! Bill!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Noah

  Jenga turns to Monopoly, Monopoly turns to Battleship. It’s only when I question why Bradley brought these board games with him that we realize they don’t belong to either of us. They belong to Miles. And when that realization sets in, we all release whatever we’re holding and rush to the kitchen sink to wash our hands, our faces, anything else that may have had contact with anything that’s ever touched him.

  I scrub down the coffee table with bleach, before joining the rest of them sitting around it. “So, what do we do now?” Bradley asks.

  I offer, “Bill Nye?”

  “No.”

  Andie giggles, the sound turning my insides to dust. I should offer her the TV in my room to watch it if she wants. I mean, she did practically undress me yesterday, and no lie, I wanted to do the same to her. In the confines of the small laundry room, I almost did. Last night, alone in bed, my thoughts ran free, unrestrained from my will. In my head, I stripped her naked, lifted her onto the washer and took her right fucking there. Swear, I actually felt her nails dig into my back when she came around me. I shot my release into a dirty sock, laughing at myself. I hadn’t jerked off in years as much as I did in the two weeks since the night at the diner with Andie. Realizing I’m getting hard, I clear my throat, adjust my t-shirt so it somewhat covers my lap. Yeah, definitely not inviting her to my room.

  Milky slaps her hand on the table. “You know what we should play?” She looks around the room. “Blackjack!”

  Andie’s eyes snap to her twin sister’s, mirrors of gunmetal gray. “Why would you say that?” Andie says, her voice suddenly as broken as she looks.

  Milky lowers her gaze; a mood switcher, a game changer. “It was just a joke, Andie, come on...” For the first time since I’ve known them—under Andie’s wrath—Milky’s confidence wavers.

  Andie stands, her hands balled at her sides. She glares at her sister, her pain found in the misery of her quivering lips. “Maybe I’m sick of being a fucking joke.”

  “Andie!” Milky calls out, right before the door slams.

  I wince at the sound and quickly get to my feet. “I’m going to bed,” I tell whoever is listening. Then I run upstairs, across my room, out to the balcony, and down the stairs. I cup my hands around my face and peer into their house, seeing Andie storm into the living room, her stance rigid, her hands balling, flexing. Over and over.

  Ignoring the thumping of my heart, I knock, stepping back when Andie’s stormy eyes shift to the glass sliding doors. Infinite moments pass before she approaches, and I can’t help but release the breath I’d been holding.

  Andie steps up to the glass, her eyes meeting mine, tears clinging to her lashes. She says, just loud enough so I can hear, “Not right now, Noah.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She shakes her head, then draws the curtains. But I can still see her, see her face, see her pain, see the liquid sadness form a path of devastation down her cheeks.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Andie

  Over the past three and a half years, I’d taught myself to sleep facing the wall, to not allow anyone to hear my weakness—my sobs—as I cried myself to sleep.

  The walls have been replaced by the back of the couch, but everything else is the same. When the front door opens and closes, and Milky’s footsteps sound from the entry, through the kitchen, and toward my “bedroom,” I hold my breath.

  I will not show weakness.

  “Are you awake?” she whispers.

  I will not show fear.

  “Andie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

  She moves closer, and I release the breath, slowly, silently, then hold it again, letting the tears build behind my eyes. As if it wasn’t enough that the boy next door was slowly taking a piece of my heart, but having Milky use my past to pierce that same organ, squeeze the life out of it, and rip it to pieces in front of said heart-stealer—it was too much.

  My sister says, as if it’s supposed to make things better, “I’ve always been mean, Andie. You know that. I say stupid things to put people down so I feel better about myself. It’s always been that way. Especially with you.” She takes in a breath, lets it out with a whoosh. “Will you just nod or move or do something to let me know you’re awake and that you hear me?”

  I don’t move a muscle, don’t make a sound.

  She sighs. “It’s probably better that you’re asleep anyway because I don’t know that I could say this to your face.” She pauses a beat, then adds, “I’m sorry, Andie. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry for the way I treated you growing up. I’m sorry I didn’t see what was happening to you unt
il it was too late.” The tears force their way out of my closed lids, and I shudder a breath—a single sob, a single sign of my weakness. She adds, “But most of all, I’m sorry for hanging up on you that one time you came to me for help. Because before then, you never did. It was always me going to you. Me screwing up, and you saving me. And I probably never thanked you. Until now. This, what we’re doing, this is my way of thanking you. Andie? Are you awake?”

  I sniff once, fight back the onslaught of emotions. “Nobody could’ve seen it coming, Milky.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Matteo Rossi

  You were putty in my fucking hands.

  When the old folks next door asked me to come over for afternoon tea—as if that was shit people still did—I fuckin’ went. Not because I wanted to, but because I suspected that if I didn’t, they’d be all up in my business. And that was the last fuckin’ thing I wanted.

  Then I met you two: The Twins.

  Honestly, I had my eye on you girls since I saw you walking home together in your fuckin’ school uniforms. Made my cock hard just watchin’ you. Always had a thing for the school girls, y’know? You were the kinda girls I got off on corruptin’ when I was your age. Sweet, wholesome girls. The beginnings of curves in all the right places. Perky tits. Innocent smiles. The ones who swore they were saving themselves, then a week later were on their knees taking my cock in their mouths because I so much as looked at someone else. Those girls wanted to be claimed. Wanted me to take what they’d held sacred in the backseat of a car and then right afterward, they’d pray to God that it meant something. It never did. They were the type of girls who married at eighteen and had three under three by the time they were twenty-one while their husbands got off on cheatin’ on ‘em. Occasionally, they’d be the one to stray. I was the kinda guy they strayed with. Not the one they fuckin’ married.