by Zane Menzy
Hearing his sister’s name cut at Damon’s heart, his mouth running dry, desperate for some water. After a lengthy battle with leukaemia, Victoria had passed away six months earlier. She was the best little sister anyone could ask for. The only unfucked up person in the whole family; the only good apple of a rotten bunch.
She had been in so much pain and fought so hard, but in the end, it was all too much for her sick, broken body and at 1:35 a.m. on March 16, 1997, she passed away, leaving this shitty world behind as Damon and his parents sat with her listening to Joan Osbourne’s One of Us—Vitoria’s favourite song. Her final ragged breaths faded in perfect time with the end of the pop hymn.
“Damon,” Jenna said, trying to get his attention.
He shook his head, freeing his mind of the sadness. “Yeah?”
“Promise me you will leave this drama for me to handle okay?” She walked across to stand in front of him.
“You’re not going to hit me again are you, mummy?” Damon said in the sweetest, most pathetic voice he could muster.
Jenna laughed, whacking his arm. “Don’t talk like a girl, Damon.” She rolled her eyes. “I want you to just focus on your exams. You need to work hard or you may not pass.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Damon scoffed.
“I only gave you beauty, darling. It was up to your father to give you the brains and I think he may have failed considering the stunt you pulled tonight.”
Damon’s jaw dropped, his face gasping into a grin. “Mother of the year material you are, Jenna.”
She walked back to the wine bottle sitting on the counter. “You know it!” She poured herself another glass. “So, do you promise you will leave this be?”
“Cross my heart, hope to.... die” Damon smiled, embarrassed about his choice of words
“Please try not dying.” Jenna sipped her wine, holding in a pained laugh. “You really do know how to create an awkward moment don’t you.”
CHAPTER FIVE:
Queer Ears
Jason and Matt were nestled on the lounge floor, gradually drinking their way through the quiet Tuesday night. Sitting inside drinking seemed a good choice considering the wild weather outside. Spring was dumping a surprise storm over Port Jackson, an incredibly noisy one. Outside the wind howled while rain pelted the windows like war drums.
Matt’s father was down at the pub, allowing Matt to treat the house as his own liquor den with the cheap, nasty vodka Jason had turned up with an hour earlier.
Matt sat there, trying not to laugh each time he looked at Jason who was decked out in his own unique take on fashion. Jason’s small, compact body was decked out in flared bright red pants, the tightest white t-shirt Matt had ever seen and homemade, black, PVC sleeves slapped up his arms. To top off the unique look, Matt’s eccentric guest had sprinkles of gold glitter clinging to his perfectly quaffed hair.
A jubilant grin appeared on Jason’s face. “So… tell me. Did you walk in on Damon bumfucking Todd Jenkins?”
Matt rolled his eyes at his hopeful friend. “No, sorry, I can’t say I did.”
“You know, Matty, you could have just lied and told me you did. Gee, you’re such a dream killer,” Jason teased.
“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind the next time you visit.”
“Thank you,” Jason said, he looked around the messy lounge, dinner plates scattered across the coffee table, empty beer cans littering the floor. “Now that you’re cleaning other people’s homes, maybe you can try cleaning this place up?”
Matt laughed at the bluntly honest comment. “Don’t hold back, Jason.”
“Don’t worry, girl, I never do.”
“Boy!” Matt exclaimed.
“Whatever,” Jason droned. “Seriously, though. This place is a fucking mess since your mum left. No wonder the poor woman went the way of Stephanie, she probably wanted a tidier housemate.” Jason smiled letting Matt know he was joking.
Matt scanned the bombsite that was his lounge. The whole house was in dire need of a clean but neither he or his father were inclined to lift a finger. “Yeah, it’s a bit untidy isn’t it.”
“A bit! It looks like the French have come to town to test some fucking nukes!” Jason screeched, his high-pitched voice stinging Matt’s ears.
“You wanna lower the octaves a bit, Mariah Carey?” Matt patted his ears, feigning hurt. “Remind me not to walk alongside the beach with you, a fucking Killer whale will probably jump out and land on us thinking you’re it’s mother or something.”
Jason’s jaw dropped in exaggerated shock. “Ooosh, you know I’m way more Whitney, bitch.”
Matt laughed, dribbling streams of vodka out his lips that he wiped away with his sleeve. It was nice to see Jason again so soon after his last visit. It was not a common occurrence to see the busy terror more than once a fortnight, let alone twice in the space of a few days.
Aside from Jason, Matt didn’t have any other friends who visited. If truth be told, he didn’t even have any other friends. He knew this made him a tragic loner, but he had high hopes that next year at university he would find his place in the world. Port Jackson didn’t cater to freaks and shy weirdos. It was the stronghold of preppy princes and princesses. At least with crazy Jason he had an ally—albeit an always busy one.
“Anyway, how did your first day at work go?” Jason asked.
Matt shrugged. “It wasn’t too bad, I guess. When I turned up, Mrs Harris… I mean Jenna.” Matt shook his head. “She insists I call her Jenna.”
“I bet she does.” Jason smirked, twirling his skinny fingers through his long fringe.
“What’s that mean?”
“Well, she is one of those tragic bitches who want to feel young and hip and not admit she’s a crypt keeper.”
“She hardly looks like the crypt keeper.”
Jason waved a finger in Matt’s face. “Don’t let her outward appearance fool you, Matty Pie. Underneath the piles of makeup, litres of hair dye and touches of surgery—yes I have heard whispers—she probably looks like a reptile.” Jason giggled at the insults he was dishing out. “She’s probably like that movie V, you know when the human mask peels off and her face is all green, oozy and lumpy underneath.” He hitched his eyebrows up, grinning.
“I’d still ride with her in her spaceship,” Matt said, unperturbed.
“Ha! I bet you would, you desperado. Anyway, what were you saying?”
“The day wasn’t that bad. I turned up; she gave me a list of chores and a list of cleaning products that must be used… like it has to be certain brands and nothing else. She gave me fifty dollars and sent me down to buy the stuff I need and let me keep the change.” Matt had been pleased by this, because even though they were expensive products she requested, he still ended up with just over twenty dollars change to call his own.
“Nice. So, what dear friend, did she have you clean?” Jason asked, taking the piss.
Matt counted out the list on his fingers, “Skirting boards, stair banister, vacuumed the downstairs and cleaned the oven. The fucking oven that was a nightmare!”
“Oh, they are horrible things to clean, aren’t they?” Jason said.
“Agreed,” Matt concurred.
“When do you get to clean the bedrooms, and more specifically Damon’s room?” Jason flashed Matt a devious gaze.
“You sure are keen for me to report back some juicy gossip aren’t you?”
“No… all I ask is you tell me what sort of porn mags you find and bring me back something of his like a hairbrush so I can cast a love spell.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Neve Campbell.”
Jason laughed then closed his eyes. He started quoting from the witchy movie Matt was referring to, “Light as a feather, stiff as a board, light as a feather, stiff as a board.”
“Speaking of stiff things… how was your date with Wild Bill?” Matt asked.
“Wild, of course,” Jason smirked. “So flaming wild that he wants to take me out again tomorrow nigh
t.”
“Taking you out? Or parking up in some abandoned car lot to do whatever it is you do.”
“No, like out to dinner. Like a real date.” Jason’s eyes lit up.
“Wow… he must really like you,” Matt said.
“Of course he does. Who wouldn’t?” Jason pouted his lips, striking a model-like pose.
“Oh… I hope you can pull off looking like a real woman then.” Matt paused to take a mouthful of his drink. “Could be a bit awkward otherwise.”
Jason’s face flushed with irritancy. “As soon as I paint my face and put on whatever frock I steal from my bum-blister of a sister—love her to pieces—I ALWAYS look like a woman!” He narrowed his eyes, leaning his face in towards Matt’s personal space. “And just so you know; Bill is actually taking me out… as Jason.”
Matt waved his hand, twisting his face. “Poo, your breath stinks, Jason.”
Jason reeled his face back, cupping his mouth with his hand and breathed in his breath. “No it doesn’t.” He sniff-tested again making sure. “What of?”
“Cock and if I’m not mistaken a whole heap of shit.” Matt laughed, flinching when Jason whacked his arm playfully.
“You’re a funny bitch tonight, Matty Pie. Would you like a stage so you can perform a stand-up show?” Jason tilted his head. “Oh, wait. You’d run out of material within a minute, so leave the jokes to me, please.”
“Nar, I’d just look at your face and I’ll be on a roll again.”
“Like the ones on your back from when you were fourteen,” Jason snapped back.
Matt laughed off the weight dig. It wasn’t packed with any real malice coming from Jason. Classmates were another story. Although not outright bullying, vile voices at school would whisper behind his back derogatory comments about his heavier days. His mum had always insisted he would shed the weight but Matt never believed her. Turned out she was right.
Jason piped up again about Bill, “He wants to take me to some restaurant called Portofino. It’s down by the harbourfront. Nice food apparently.” Jason’s eyes glazed over with what Matt assumed were happy thoughts about the food. “Afterwards, if he’s lucky, I’ll let him dine out on me.”
“Okay, I don’t need to hear that,” Matt said, cringing.
Jason shrugged, unfazed. “If you ever bother to have sex, then I would listen to your stories.”
“Would you?” Matt was surprised to hear this. “Why would you want to?”
“Because you’re my friend, silly. Not to mention sex stories are the best!” Jason nodded, backing up his claim.
“Well, when the end of the world happens and I finally get a girlfriend, I’ll let you know how it goes.” Matt grabbed the bottles of vodka and orange juice from the coffee table and topped his glass up.
Jason looked at him like he was a lunatic. “You don’t need to date someone just to have sex, Matty. There’s this thing we like to call one night stands.”
Matt put the bottles back on the table, gulping a greedy mouthful of his fresh pour. “Nar, I want to do it with someone special when I finally do the deed. Help make it something awesome to remember.”
“Did you just hear what you said? And you don’t like me calling you girl.” Jason laughed.
Matt mashed his lips together, not wanting to let out defensive words.
Jason clasped his hands together, giving Matt a sincere look. “Come on then. Tell me what your ideal first time would be?”
“Do you really want to know?” Matt furrowed his brow, suspicious of Jason’s interest.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t. These queer ears aren’t just painted on you know.”
Matt put his drink down gently on the carpet, lowering his voice, “I would have the bed all freshly made and the room smelling nice as and have bowls of nice treats nearby.”
“Treats like what?” Jason asked.
“Stuff like chocolates, olives, biscuits—”
“Biscuits?” Jason crinkled his nose. “Aint nothing sexy about a biscuit.”
Matt laughed. “Shit, I don’t know, just… bowls of nice things that me and her both like.”
Jason nodded. He waited for Matt to continue.
“And I would have the stereo playing lightly in the background, making sure something good is on when we do it, so we have a song that is all ours.”
“Sort of like a wedding song, but a fuck track!”
“Exactly!” Matt said, a grin making a brief appearance across his face. “That way, whenever she hears the song, she will think of me.”
“I like the sound of this plan,” Jason said, his face beaming with agreeance. “I expect to be the first person you tell which song you choose.”
“Of course.”
“Just make sure it’s a short song, though.”
Matt frowned. “Why’s that?”
“Cos I imagine the song will last longer than you will.” Jason burst out in cheesy laughter.
“Dick,” Matt chuckled. He knew his first time would last longer than that. He could feel it in his bones.
CHAPTER SIX:
Keep Dreaming
Damon woke up saturated in a wave of dread. His mouth screamed out for liquid, he frantically reached across to his bedside table for a glass of water. He quickly placed the rim of the glass to his mouth, tipping it up greedily. In three big gulps, he downed nearly the whole glass.
He placed the glass back down, exhaling, trying to calm his thirsty nerves from the dream that had torn him awake. Damon looked beside him and saw Zoe snuggled up still sleeping. Thank god, I didn’t wake her, he thought. He wasn’t a fan of Zoe staying over. Not because he didn’t want to share his bed, but because these dreams were fucking embarrassing. Most nights he would wake up sobbing, his cheeks wet with tears from the recurring scene his sleep would take him to.
It was the same dream every time. Victoria in her deathbed, her lips cracked and dry, her frail body motionless. Damon would be sitting beside his dead sister, shaking her arm, begging her to wake up—come back to life. Then she would….
Victoria would sit up, looking fresh and happy. She would talk with him, ask him how he was and tell him how lovely heaven was and how much she missed everyone. Damon liked this part of the dream, it was comforting and felt real. But the comfort was short lived and the next part felt even more real.
Victoria’s face would slowly turn sad, her lips drying out again. She would stare at him with an accusing glance, demanding, “Who will bring the water?”
Damon would panic and hunt around the dream room, searching for water. Victoria would repeat the question impatiently, “Who will bring the water? Who will bring the water?”
Sometimes in the dream there were flowers beside her bed, they too wilted and faded, their empty jar crying out for water. Even if Damon found water in the dream, Victoria wouldn’t drink it, she would shove it back at him and say, “No, Damon. It’s you who needs the water. Who will bring the water?” Her eyes would leak tears and she would shake her head at him, “Who will bring the water?”
The sight was pitiful and heart-wrenching. He couldn’t convince his sister to drink the water, she would only keep pushing the glass back at him, still insisting it was he who needed water. Her sadness was so potent that he would find himself bursting into tears in front of her before waking up in the land of the living, crying and reaching for a glass of water, drinking it down.
He hadn’t told anyone about the dreams. That would be too embarrassing, a guy his age crying from a nightmare. He knew how pathetic it sounded.
As a result from his sister’s desperate dream pleas, Damon had begun visiting her grave every Friday after school. Taking her fresh flowers and refilling the vase of water that sat in front of her headstone. He hoped this appeased her. So far it hadn’t, but he would keep doing so ‘till he knew she was happy and the dreams stopped.
∞
When Damon awoke in the morning, his eyes were greeted with Zoe’s petite figure resting atop his arm,
the blanket draped over her naked body creating a sexy shape Damon wanted to mould like clay. With hungry fingers, he pulled the blanket from her, letting his hand glide down the smoothness of her bronzed skin. Damon knew she was only pretending to be asleep; he didn’t care.
He let her play the role of startled girlfriend being woken by his wet tongue licking her side, his throbbing cock poking her behind.
Last night’s spontaneous storm had rained down like spiteful bullets, gifting Zoe the perfect excuse to call her mum, insisting she couldn’t make it home in such rotten weather. Absolute rubbish of course, but her hypochondriac mother had bought into the tale of the dangers of wet driving.
Another part of the story that had been made up was Zoe staying at one of her girlfriends the night, studying, when in actual fact, she was at Damon’s and the only subject they were covering was anatomy.
Zoe was leaving the next day for a week-long holiday to Bali with her family. This inconvenient getaway meant that this would be the longest Damon would go without sex since he had lost his virginity at fifteen. He didn’t like the prospect and his cock liked it even less.
Damon’s father insisted Zoe stay in one of the three spare rooms, which she did ‘till a little after midnight when Damon had crept hopefully into her room, serenading her with horny pleas for a cuddle. Zoe resisted just enough to make it exciting then caved at the last moment like Damon knew she would. Together, holding hands, they snuck back in the hallway to return to his bedroom.
As Damon led Zoe through the dimly lit hall, Jenna had glimpsed sight of them from the doorway of her bedroom. The loved-up pair stopped in their tracks, waiting for the parental grilling. It never came. Jenna just cast them a disappointed look and carried on walking to the bathroom, muttering, “Don’t ask me to babysit.”
The deliciously snarky comment didn’t dampen the young couple’s burning desire; they rushed into his room for their cuddle which was soft and sweet—how it always was. After spritzes of romantic praise and quiet, gentle pumping; the pair had fallen asleep with their bodies tucked together protectively.