The day goes slowly until around six when I spot a flash of dark hair walking in. I grin before I can stop myself. He grins back and comes up to the bar again.
"Hey Kelly," I say. "Want another shitty beer?"
"Maybe a touch less shitty than the last one." I pour him a glass and slide it over. "You tell your boss you're quitting yet?"
"Yeah. Hey, could I start part-time next week? He wants a week to find somebody else." Kelly shrugs.
"Sure. But only if I get something for it." I glance around the bar, scowling. No one's close enough to hear us, though.
"What do you want?" I growl. His eyes go wide and innocent.
"I was thinking a free beer but it looks like you had something else in mind. I mean, I'm willing to negotiate." He sips his beer, looking at me through his eyelashes.
"Fuck you, man, no free beer here." I glance around the room once more and lower my voice. "But we might be able to arrange something. Can I come over tonight? We can- discuss business." I sound like a fucking idiot. I've always been bad at being coy. Flirting is Lydia's shit, not mine. When I try to copy the stuff she does I just look stupid. But still, it sounds better than saying "I want you to fuck my ass" in front of ten people.
"Yeah, our business could wait till then."
He pulls me straight to his room when I'm done with work and fucks me against the wall. I've never had standing sex before, and I still don't know how I feel about him fucking me face to face. It feels pretty great though, and by the time we're done I'm a sweaty mess. We sit next to each other on the bed, smoking.
"How long have you been gay?" I ask. He laughs, glancing at me in disbelief.
"I've always been gay." He shoulders me, and I realize we're both still naked. I wonder if I should get dressed. But I don't mind that much. And it's a hell of a lot easier not to when I'm this sweaty. "Just like you've always been straight." Is there sarcasm in his voice? My body stiffens. "I mean... you are straight, right?"
"Yeah, I'm fucking straight," I mutter, grabbing my shirt and throwing it on. I don't move away from him, though. "I just like stuff up my ass. Nothing gay about that."
"Doesn't have to be gay," he says, shrugging. "You don't like kissing guys or anything. You just like it up the ass and most girls aren't into that." So he wasn't mocking me after all. Maybe he kind of got it. I relax a little.
"Right."
"I'm cool with that. You've got a great ass, for a straight guy."
"Yeah well. Your cock's not so bad either." I'm suddenly way too hot, uncomfortable. I pull myself away and grab my jeans. They're not even all the way on by the time I'm out the door, giving him a last wave.
Lina's got some new boy over when I get home. They're watching some stupid reality show. I sit in the recliner and stare the guy down.
"Who're you?"
"Blake," he says, giving me a scared look.
"Blake what?" Lina scowls at me.
"Blake, sir." I chuckle inwardly. This one's better than the last one. Lina's scowl deepens, and behind his back, she makes a throat-cutting motion. I decide to take it easy on him.
"I mean your last name, kid." His face relaxes.
"Oh. Jackson, sir."
"You Tommy's little brother?" He smiles at me. Everybody loves Tommy.
"That's right." Cool. It's good to know I'm not going to kick another high schooler's ass. There's no challenge in that. Hardly any rush from it. Plus, even if the kid's a total shithole, you kinda feel bad when you make em cry. Lina leans into him, and their hands curl together. The motion is so natural between them, so easy. It's weird, I'm jolted back to Kelly's hand brushing against mine, if only for a moment. That had felt natural too I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. Too confusing. My head was confused at the time, and it's not now, so I don't want to think about it. Instead, I focus on the shitty show. It's one of those reality dating shows with lots of drama and bullshit. Lina's really into it. How the fuck is she related to me? My first urge is to text Kelly. How fucking weird is that? I ignore the urge. Instead, I smoke a joint, have a beer, and call it an early night.
Kelly's shop is in a nice area about a twenty-minute bus ride from my house. I feel underdressed in my torn jeans and an old t-shirt. I fucking hate riding the bus. Honestly, it's one of the main reasons I work so close to home. By the time I get off, I'm a bundle of nerves. I stand on the corner for a few minutes, watching the shop. I nearly jump out of my skin when two hands clap my back. I whirl around, hand automatically going for my waistband. My pistol's not there. It's just a reflex. Kelly grins at me.
"What, you want to scare me to death before I can even start?"
"Save the boss some money, maybe he'll give me a raise."
"What's the job like?" I ask as we cross the street together.
"Easy. We overcharge rich assholes and take a day on jobs that take an hour. Lots of free time. Only six of us, counting you. Eight if you count Sheila and the boss."
"Who's Sheila?" A bell rings as we walk through the door and I answer my own question. She's an older, worn-down lady with bright red hair. You can tell she's smoked most of her life. She's got those rough wrinkles around her lips, the kind you can tell don't come from smiles, and her skin has a grayish tint. Once again, I wonder if I should quit smoking. I don't really give a shit about the cancer thing, but I like being pretty. She looks up as we get closer, bored eyes running quickly over my body before turning back to her phone.
"New guy?"
"Gio-"
"G," I say firmly, shooting a look at Kelly. She glances up, eyes tired.
"What, you think you're some kind of gangster?"
"No, I just hate my name."
"Good. We don't tolerate that shit over here. Come to work and stay out of trouble or find another job." I nod and she looks back down to her phone. Staying totally out of trouble can't happen. I still need the loan shark money. But aside from that, I can keep my nose clean. Kelly grabs my arm and pulls me to the back. I pull away from his grasp but follow. The garage is huge. It's got four cars jacked up at once, and guys walking around in blue jumpsuits. They wave at us as we walk down the concrete.
"This is Gio. Gio, this is everybody. He's good with motors."
"Call me G," I correct as fast as I can.
"You'll catch on quick," says one of the guys, whose name tag says Mark. "Most of the cars that come in here are old. All work the same way."
"Yeah, I'll have him shadow me for a week or so. Get the hang of it. C'mon." I follow him to the corner of the shop, where a row of blue jumpsuits sits. He hands me one. I look it over suspiciously. God dammit, the fucker put Gio on the name tag.
"You fucking kidding me, Kelly?"
"Hey, man. I don't know how to spell Giovanni."
"Do you know how to spell fucking G?" I ask. He just grins wider.
"Don't be a pussy. Put it on." Grumbling under my breath, I put it on, thanking god there's not a mirror around. Like I need to be reminded of that stupid nickname on my chest. Slips over my clothes well enough, though, so there's not much to complain about. We spend the day going over basic shit I've known since I was a kid, but Kelly's a pretty funny guy. Easy to talk to. So the day's bearable overall. We catch the same bus back. He looks at me, a smile in his eyes but not his lips.
"You comin' over?" Three words he's said to me before. Three words that aren't any different than the shit we've already been doing, but suddenly an image of my father fills my head, ugly and imposing, his face curled into a disgusted grimace as he mouths the word fag. Another image fills my head, a far darker one, one I only see in my nightmares. The body that wasn't my fault. Well. It was. But I didn't spill the blood. I walk off, my hands in my pockets. I think Kelly's calling after me, but I can't turn. I can't see him. I can't deal with that right now. My blood's pounding hard through my temples and I have black spots in my vision. I need to smoke a bowl. I need to get the fuck out of there, away from the bus with its suffocating closeness, its hot smell of bodies p
ressed together. Too much.
7
There are people in the living room, but I don't see who. They might call out to me too, but the blood's rushing through my ears so loudly I can't hear anything. Black spots hang in my vision lazily, reminding me to breathe. I take a few slow breaths in and out, and the dizziness fades. I slam the door. The room's empty. My pipe waits on the desk. I load it quickly and take in a few deep breaths of smoke. I'm on the floor. I don't remember sitting, but the carpet's strong beneath me, holding me up. I take another hit and close my eyes, feeling the smoke flow through me. My breathing is slowing naturally now, and the rush in my ears is gone. My head is pleasantly fuzzy once more. Fuzzy and full of things that aren't Oliver Kelly or my father, or the other man, the one whose name I never even fucking knew. How pathetic is that? He died because of me and I never knew a damn thing about him, except that he was gay.
I down a couple swigs of vodka and spend the night listening to rap I hate while my sister and her new boy flaunt around the room like newlyweds. I complain, but really I don't mind. Lina's a distraction. And it's weird seeing her happy. Most of the time she mopes around like the chick in that vampire movie like she's got some kinda monopoly on sadness. Not with this straight-laced kid who calls people sir, though. I decide I like him. I down another couple inches of my handle of vodka and pass out.
The bus is crowded and hot. My sweaty hand grips the metal bar, sliding down the smooth surface. Dad's beside me. He smells like whiskey and sweet-vinegar hospital smell. His eyes are wild. I can't look at them. I look around. There he is. He's alive, his face vibrant, young. He catches my eye and smiles. There's something in that smile that makes me grin back. It's almost a leer, something with a promise in it. The bus stops. I lurch an inch forward and back. He tilts his head at me. Gets off. I make some excuse to my dad and follow.
"You comin' over?" the guy asks, giving me that look again, his eyes dragging fingertips over my body. I don't think. Don't need to think. I just nod.
The scene changes. A tiny studio apartment and I'm up against a wall, kissing the guy I just met. Door bangs open. Three gunshots and I'm alone. Gasps from the body on the floor and blood, so much blood. His hands shake as he tries to put it back in his body. I'm frozen. A fist hits my face and I fall to the floor. Fall onto the body which still gasps. It's warm. Bloody shaking hands grasp me and I pull away horrified, only to feel more blows raining down on me.
"No son of mine's going to be a fucking faggot. You hear me?" Red on my hands, hot and runny, red on my cheek where I fell. He pulls me up, shoves me to the bathroom. "Clean yourself up. We won't talk about this again." I wipe off the red, trembling, and in the mirror, I see tears on my cheeks. When I've gotten most of the blood off, I walk to the door. My father stands over the body, his eyes full of rage.
"Fag," he hisses. He spits on the corpse he made, kicking it. The body stays still. He grabs my arm. We're back on the bus. My jacket's stained, the world spins, his face swims in front of me again, panicked, desperate, grasping, groping onto life before he finally lets it go and his eyes go blank and horrible-
I bolt up, covered in sweat. My throat is hoarse. I wonder if I've been screaming, but my brothers sleep peacefully around me. My cheeks are wet with more than just sweat, and I wipe at them, glancing down at my hands in the dark. I rush to the bathroom, turning on the light. A sigh of relief escapes me. Just tears. Still. I take a long shower, trying to reset my nerves. Trying to get that dead face out of my mind. That was the first body I'd ever seen. But the worst part wasn't that day. Sounds fucking heartless to say it, but the worst part was afterward, waiting and wondering if any pigs would come knocking at our door to take me away. They didn't, of course. Who the fuck cares enough about another dead fag to hunt more than a few blocks away? Who cares enough about anybody in Upper East to look for the killer for more than a day or two? And I wasn't in the system back then. So we got away with murder.
I dry myself off and look in the mirror one more time. My face is clean. As clean as it ever fucking is. There's no fucking way I'm getting back to sleep, so I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Kelly. If I want to keep my job, I'll have to be cool with him. I can do that. We've just got to stop with the fucking. I can do that too.
Sorry about earlier. Don't want to fuck anymore. Not into it. Cool if I still work with you?
I pace the room, waiting for him to tell me to get my own fucking job. Wouldn't blame him. Why would he care if I've got a job if I'm not fucking him? It's past two a.m. He's probably asleep anyway. If I get a reply at all it won't be until morning. My phone buzzes and I grab it from my pocket so fast it leaves skid marks.
I'll try not to stare at your ass too much then. Cya tomorrow at 9.
I've still got a job. Who gives a shit if things are weird? For that much hourly, it's worth it. I collapse onto the couch, relief finally hitting me. My body's crashing. That's the worst part about any adrenaline rush. The huge fucking crash afterward. I didn't think I'd be able to sleep, but with all the adrenaline, all that's happened, I'm exhausted once more. I don't want to sleep. But my eyes are too heavy and I'm too weak to resist.
I barely make it to the bus stop on time. Kelly's there waiting for me. I shoot him a look, daring him to mention anything that happened yesterday. But the fucker just smiles.
"Morning, Gio. We got a 2017 Lexus in last night. Mark's fucking ecstatic. You still just doin' a half day?"
"Uh- yeah. Harry needs me at the bar. That cool? Don't want to piss off the boss."
"I told him you were training this week. Plus everyone's too psyched about the Lexus to notice you're gone. Nicest car we've had in a while. You worked on newer cars?" Things are normal. We talk until the bus gets there. I hold onto the metal rail and my hand slides down a few inches. My breath catches in my throat and I remember to breathe. I hate buses. The claustrophobia, the smell- the old dude jerking off in the back.
"Hey, dude, what the fuck, there's kids on here," I shout. He smirks at me but puts his dick away. "Fucking pervs, man. God, I hate the bus." I can't believe I just admitted it out loud. Kind of makes me sound like a sissy. Kelly doesn't seem to care, though.
"I'm saving up for a car. Got about two thousand socked away. Might even let you ride in it sometime, if you say please."
"Two grand saved up and you're still wearing those shoes?" They're falling apart. I can see three holes from where I'm standing. "Shit, man, good will's got kicks for twenty bucks."
"Sooner I get a car, sooner I'll get shoes. My cousin's got an old one but he wants three for it. I figure a couple more months and I'll have one in time for winter."
"You're a crazy mother fucker. You know that, right? As many kids as you've got to take care of and you saved two grand? Not too many people down here do that." He shrugs and sends me that grin again. I don't want to see it. Not here on this bus. It would ruin it, that stupid grin of his. It doesn't belong in this stupid place. I look away.
The morning goes well. I'm even allowed to help change a fucking flat. Apparently, Kelly's boss thinks all new employees need to be trained before they start working on the cars. I don't even mind that much. It's nice to have a refresher. More than anything else, I'm relieved Kelly hasn't tried to make it weird. Things are normal between us. And if he's over to the side chatting up some fuck named Dave, what do I care? I watch them out of the corner of my eye. Dave's hand lingers on Kelly's arm a second too long. A flash of annoyance hits me. We're at work and they're over there flaunting themselves in front of everyone? I storm over and get between them, trying to remember I'm at work too. I can't kick Dave's ass. I can't even really say anything, because what fucking right do I have?
"You dicks gonna work or sit around all day suckin' each others' cocks?" Dave shoots me a grin.
"Saw you getting your hands dirty today, Caruso. You gonna join the men soon?" There's a challenge in his eyes, a kind of competitiveness that lights me up. When a guy looks at you like that on my street, you beat him
down or you get beat down. This place claims to be more civilized. I sneer at him.
"Not the same way you join the men, Dave." He furrows his brow, his cheeks flushing. "But I bet in a few months I'll be all caught up. I'm a quick learner. At my last job, they fired a guy cus I was doing twice the work he was. Wonder who they'll can here?"
Dave's looking at me like he wants to kill me. That's good. If he hits me first I can claim self-defense for putting him in a coma. But Kelly's pulling at my arm, giving Dave a disarming grin.
"He's just fucking with you, man. Hey, let's get that drink soon, yeah?" Dave nods, his expression lightening a fraction of an inch as we walk away.
"That guy's flirting with you. It's not just a drink, he wants to put his cock in you." He looks at me, raises an eyebrow and lets go of my arm.
"Do you think so?" His eyes study my face carefully.
"It's fucking obvious as shit. You gotta watch out for guys like him."
"Why do you care?" I run a hand through my hair and scowl.
"I don't give a shit. Just- you could do better. If you're going to be a fag anyway." He grins at me, and my scowl deepens.
"Alright. Well- thanks. I think. C'mon, I'll show you how to fix a busted radiator."
A car horn blaring sends me running out of the house the next morning. If whatever fucker out there wakes my dad and causes a whole thing for Lina or Christian I'll kick his ass. I stop dead in my tracks as I see Kelly hop out, a wide smile stretching across his face.
"Did you fucking steal this?" I ask. It's in decent shape, a little dented but nothing some quick bodywork couldn't fix. A little Camry with the windows intact. There's no way he got this for just 2k.
Sharp Edges: An Urban Gay Romance Page 5
