by Zane Menzy
Matt shook his head unsure what to do. He needed to speak to Damon. Ask him where things stood between them. He knew this was grasping at straws but if he had to stay a secret in Damon’s closet, then so be it. He would—begrudgingly—be fine with that. Even just being fed the crumbs of Damon’s affection were worth going hungry for.
Nope, everything will be fine, he told himself.
Just as the school bell blared, signalling the end of lunch, Matt began to feel better. It wasn’t all doom and gloom. He may not have Damon all to himself but he could still have secret pieces of him. Special, sacred pieces. Zoe could have him now at school but matt knew that later today—when he was due to clean the Harris household—it would be his turn. He would venture up to Damon’s room and he would get his piece of perfection.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE:
A Man’s Heart
Jenna paced the kitchen, fury tainting her pretty face. Another delivery sat on the front steps of the house, rotting, waiting to be cleaned up. The prick had bided his time perfectly to do another filthy drop of disgusting material. Not shit this time, but rotting chunks of meat.
Within half an hour of Damon and Colin being out of the house, Jenna had heard thudding against the door. At first, she thought it was an impatient visitor or Mormons coming to share their religion. It was neither. Outside, bolting like a coward, was the worst mistake of her life running to the safety of his car.
This had been going on for far too long, but she had no idea how to stop it. The prick had dirt on her for what they did together. That kiss in that damned spot under the stairs.
To begin with, it wasn’t gifts of shit and muck on her doorstep, it had been flowers and love letters. Desperate attempts to convince Jenna to let him kiss her again. Of course, she had told him it had all been a mistake, one that could and would never be repeated. Once his hopes had been firmly dashed was when the grotty shit flinging had begun. This is when Damon and Colin had realised something was going on.
Jenna would normally classify herself as a fighter but even fighters get tired, and Jenna was so very, very tired. Night after night, tossing and turning in bed, she worried if the bastard would ring the house, inform Colin or Damon about what they had done together. The thought of it all made her sick. None of it was fucking fair. She was paying the price for a moment of weakness. A moment of weakness that had come in her darkest hours. Victoria had only been dead for a week when it happened and Jenna hadn’t been thinking straight.
She had needed someone to lean on, someone to care. Colin had been utterly useless at consoling her and it was unfair to lumber Damon with the burden of a broken mother after he had just lost his beloved sister.
So, in another man’s arms, Jenna found the consoling she desired. A comforting hug that had lingered a little too long, leading to lips that searched for love and hands that went clutching for strength. It probably lasted all of two minutes but it was two minutes that could destroy nearly twenty years of marriage and a life she had built for herself.
One mere whisper of the sin would be enough to destroy her reputation for good. It would certainly destroy her marriage and make Damon look at her in a new, unflattering light.
She had never been the most maternal mother going but she had always loved her children. Despite the lack of hugs and her dislike of being called mum, Jenna had treasured both her babies. Yes, they had both grown up to be spoilt adorable brats with a strong sense of entitlement, but they were both kind souls with a genuine down-to-earth streak; a rarity for children from this part of Port Jackson. Most importantly, both kids were wholeheartedly on her team. Team Jenna. A team that with the loss of Victoria felt so much smaller and if Damon ever found out what she had done—that she had kissed him there—then Jenna ran the very real and scary risk of being the only person left on her team.
Colin had checked out on team Jenna years ago. Jenna knew that in his heart of hearts the man regretted his indiscretions and leaving his old family. Colin never gelled with his new brood quite the same way he had with Sally and his older children. Those kids looked more like him and behaved more like him. Tall, gangly specimens with sensible, dull characters. Harsh but true.
Growing up, Jenna’s mother always told her that if you want to know who a man’s heart belongs to, then look inside his wallet. That morning, Jenna had done just that, sneaking a look inside Colin’s wallet while he was in the shower getting ready for work.
She had coughed out a sad laugh when she opened his slim leather wallet and found a photo of Binky the cat wedged prominently inside. No pictures of her, Damon or Victoria to be found. She had shaken her head, refusing to be made sad by the sight of a fluffy feline. Colin was an idiot if he didn’t know the real value of what he had at home.
Jenna walked to the steps looking at the ghastly mess still slathered along her front porch. She shook her head and loudly declared, “Fuck it.” She wasn’t cleaning it this time; she would leave it for Matt to do when he arrived after school.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR:
A Dying Heart
The walk from school back to the Harris household had been trekked under the unforgiving heat of an afternoon sun determined to bake the land. When Matt arrived, he found Jenna waiting for him in the kitchen, her hand extended, holding a new list and another fifty dollars for his impending effort.
As quickly as she shoved the list under his nose, she was off, out the door in a flash, leaving him alone in the big house. Matt took it as a compliment that she trusted him enough to be alone in her house—again. Matt realised this meant Damon must never have mentioned his indiscretion with the underwear. If Damon had, then there was no way Matt would be trusted to be left alone… he probably wouldn’t even have the job.
The first job on the note was written in bold capitals: CLEAN THE FRONT PORCH ASAP! Matt had suspected this would be on his list of things to do. As he had arrived he had carefully stepped around the gunk of reeking, rotten meat sprawled along the steps.
He knew better than to ask why there was a stinking mess on the front porch, remembering his father’s inside gossip that the family were being plagued by a phantom crapper. As gross as the mess was, Matt was just relieved it was rotting meat and not human shit he was cleaning off the home’s fancy frontage.
While Matt hosed and scrubbed down the steps, he ran through conspiracy theories as to who was targeting the Harris family and why. The jealousy in him locked in on one fucked-up scenario he couldn’t shake off. A jilted gay lover of Damon’s. Is there more than just me? The thought that Damon had more than one skeleton in his closet was completely plausible. Don’t be silly, Matt told himself. It’s your mind throwing you a red herring.
Once Matt was done cleaning up the steps, he made his way inside to begin vacuuming the entire downstairs. Vacuuming wasn’t usually a task he minded but when the house covered as much floor space as the Harris home did, then it was a fucking nightmare.
Matt started in the kitchen, working his way room by room towards the overgrown lounge at the other end of the house. By now he was absolutely knackered.
He put the vacuum cleaner down and wiped his wet brow. “Fuck, it’s hot today,” he mumbled to himself. He marched over to the bay window that jutted out towards a private, impeccable-looking courtyard. Marble tiles lined the surface, decorated with strategically placed plants and poncey garden statues.
At the far end of the courtyard, under beams covered in lush vines, was a garden bar to serve drinks on the warm summer evenings. Lucky bastards. Matt shook his head, disgusted by the wealth, yet greedy to have his own plush palace one day with similar features.
In the distance, he could see the edge of a large swimming pool. Its cool, refreshing water shimmered like a tantalising prospect. Matt pulled forward his t-shirt, getting a whiff of his hard work pouring from him in streams of sweat. If he had his way he would drop the vacuum cleaner, rush outside, strip his clothes off and jump right in. Matt was so busy daydreaming about wading naked i
n the water he hadn’t heard anyone come in. It was only the sound of heavy thudding footsteps above his head that he realised someone was home. He looked up at the high ceiling, following the direction the feet were heading. The noise continued to the far end of the house. Damon’s room!
Matt felt a flurry of excitement knowing Damon was back. He went to run upstairs and join Damon in his bedroom, ask him how he had been since they were last together. Tell Damon how much fun he had had at the party and how sexy it was to feel him inside him that way.
Matt stopped himself at the foot of the stairs, shaking his head. But he was a fucking prick today, Matt reminded himself. Don’t go chasing him like a desperado.
Matt obeyed the sensible streak in him for all of a second before launching his feet up the stairs in snappy steps, racing towards Damon’s bedroom. He latched onto the handle of Damon’s door, reeling it open and stepped inside with a big smile on his face.
“Hey, Damon. How are—” Matt stopped dead in his tracks. The words in his mouth drying up at the sight in front of him. Damon and Zoe wrapped in a cuddle on his bed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were alone.”
Zoe giggled from underneath Damon who hovered above her. “We were until you barged in,” she said. The comment made it clear Matt’s intrusion was just that—an intrusion.
“Sorry, Matty,” Damon said, without taking his eyes off Zoe. “Did you want something?”
Matt tugged on his t-shirt, trying to come up with an excuse. “Uh… no. I um just came to ask if you had any glasses for the dishwasher.”
Damon looked over at his bedside table. “There’s a couple over there.”
Matt nodded, slowly entering the room to go retrieve the glasses. He collected them in his hands, carefully holding them so not to spill any water. He glanced out the corner of his eye, catching a glimpse of Damon’s strong arms; arms he wished were pinning him down for a cuddle instead.
Zoe sighed loudly. “This is kind of awkward. Can you please go already?”
“Sorry,” Matt mumbled, walking away with the clattering glasses.
“Don’t you want him to watch us, babe,” Damon said cheekily to his girlfriend.
Matt gulped, hurt pounding in his chest at Damon’s use of the word. That’s my word, not hers!
“Eww, no thanks.” Zoe laughed. “No offence, Miles.”
“His name’s Matt,” Damon said, correcting her.
“Whatever,” Zoe replied.
“Not whatever,” Damon said, a level of sternness in his voice. “A good-looking dude like that wouldn’t be called Miles.” Damon turned his head, shooting Matt a wink.
Matt felt the hurt leave his chest, replaced with a warm pride at Damon’s compliment.
“Homo much,” Zoe giggled.
“I’m only a homo for you, lesbian.” Damon buried his face into Zoe’s neck, smothering her skin with kisses like Matt wasn’t even in the room. “Come with me, you!” Damon got up from the bed, pulling Zoe up by his hand, dragging her after him to the ensuite and slamming the door behind them.
Matt stood still, willing his feet to move but they refused. Jealousy tore at him like manic piranhas. Suddenly, the ensuite door opened up again and the sound of the shower flowing filled the room. Damon poked his head out, looking across at Matt, “You can go now, buddy. I don’t think you need to hear us.” He smirked.
“Damon,” Zoe’s voice snapped from somewhere behind him.
“Coming, babe,” Damon called back to her. He gave Matt one last smug grin and closed the ensuite door.
Matt waddled out the room with the glasses in his hands, making his way back downstairs to the kitchen. He was stunned. He sat down at the kitchen bench trying to calm his mood that swung like a yoyo. On one hand, he was happy to hear Damon say—in front of Zoe—that he was good looking. It had felt like he was defending him. That was nice. What wasn’t nice, though, was Damon’s blatant disregard by taking Zoe into the shower, right in front of him. Letting Matt know exactly what they were about to do.
Matt didn’t know what emotion to give into. Just before he was calm enough to go back to the lounge and resume the vacuuming, Matt heard screaming coming from upstairs and a loud crashing sound like something had been thrown. What the hell is going on up there? Matt crept to the hallway, looking up the stairs.
“Get your filthy fucking hands off of me,” Zoe’s voice screamed before heavy stomping came towards the stairs. Matt flung himself back inside the kitchen, hiding behind the doorway.
“Calm down, babe. Please. It’s not what you think,” Damon’s desperate plea echoed down the stairs.
Matt heard the angry couple storming down the stairs towards the front door. He pressed his back against the wall, slinking slowly to the floor, hoping they wouldn’t come into the kitchen.
“Just stay away from me, Damon,” Zoe screeched. “Don’t touch me, don’t call me and just… go away!” Zoe let rip a scream filled with raw emotion that made Matt’s ears want to bleed.
THWACK. The front door slammed shut.
Matt could hear Damon’s furious breaths followed with a frustrated yell, “FUCK!” A loud whack came from the hallway. The angry young man had either just kicked or punched a wall.
Matt swallowed a nervous lump in his throat. He rose to his feet, knowing he had to go see what was wrong. He warily stepped into the hallway and saw Damon standing with clenched fists, his body trembling in a rage. His face was cut and he was bleeding. “Are you okay?” Matt asked. “You’re bleeding.”
Damon swivelled his head ‘round, glaring angrily at Matt. “Yes, I’m fucking bleeding. She just tried scratching my fucking face off.”
“Why would she do that?” Matt asked concerned.
Damon marched straight up to him, pushing his hands into Matt’s chest, knocking him into the wall. He grabbed Matt by the scruff of his shirt, pinning him to the wall. “Because of you, faggot.” Damon’s green eyes were wild, burning with pure hatred. “She just found the sneaky bite marks you left all over my fucking arse.”
Matt’s stomach dropped. His shaky voice answered, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, and how fucking convenient you never told me they were there.” He kept staring directly into Matt’s eyes, not letting go of his anger.
“I thought you knew,” Matt said innocently, trying to wriggle free from Damon’s tightening grip.
“How the fuck am I meant to know they are there? I don’t have eyes in the back of my fucking head.” Damon let go of Matt’s shirt, raising his hand till his fingers were wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard. “You’re just a sneaky little cunt.”
“It wasn’t on purpose,” Matt gasped. “Let me go.” He clutched at Damon’s strangling hold, desperate to free himself. Damon reeled his other hand back, then swung it forward with brutal force, punching Matt hard in the stomach. A searing heat walloped Matt’s gut, stabbing down into his groin. Matt’s eyes watered as all the air in his lungs evaporated. He panicked, desperate for breath, squirming, his feet trying to kick Damon off.
Damon finally let go of his throat, stepping backwards. Matt keeled over, clutching his injured stomach, choking ‘till he got his breath back.
Once Matt was breathing fine, Damon pushed him back into the wall. “This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? Ruin my relationship with Zoe, have me all to your fucking self?”
Matt shook his head. “No. It’s not like that.”
Damon kept pressing him into the wall. “Like fuck you wouldn’t. You’re just a nasty piece of Poverty Peak trash.”
Damon’s choice of words fired out like flesh tearing bullets. This wasn’t the Damon Matt had come to know. “I would never do anything to hurt you, Damon. Honest.” Matt pleaded with his eyes, desperate for Damon to believe him.
Damon wiped his face that was still bleeding, he lathered the blood up in his fingers and pressed the redness onto Matt’s face, smothering him with it. “Here, cunt. You can have as much of me as you want.” He gathered mor
e drips of blood from his injury, smudging it down Matt’s cheeks. He slurped back on saliva and leant forward spitting it up over Matt’s eyes. “Now get the fuck out of my house, faggot.”
Matt wiped Damon’s spit and blood from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Damon. I’m really sorry. I’ll do anything you want to make it up to you.” He grabbed hold of Damon’s belt, trying to jostle it open. “I’ll swallow again.”
Damon whacked his hand away, laughing. “Fuck off, Matt.”
“You can fuck me again, hard as you like. Just like the other night. No condom. You can do anything you want.” He touched Damon’s chest. “Please don’t stop liking me,” he whispered, feeling his eyes well up with tears.
Damon took a deep breath, plucking matt’s hands off his chest. He lowered his voice to a gravelly, ominous tone, “Get your filthy fingers off of me and leave.” He stepped away, pointing at the door.
“But…” Matt said. Tears began rolling down his cheeks.
Damon shook his head.
Matt gagged on sadness, bursting out with uncontrollable sobs. He prayed for Damon to apologise, wrap him in his arms and say sorry for the misunderstanding. But it didn’t happen. Matt’s tears meant nothing to Damon.
“Just fucking leave, Matt.” Damon shoved him towards the door, pushing him outside.
Matt fell forward onto the porch, landing heavily on his knees. He scrambled to his feet, wiping the blood, spit and tears from his face. He made a rush for Damon who stood guarding the entrance. He grabbed hold of Damon’s t-shirt, slipping his hand up underneath and rubbed Damon’s abs. “Just let me say sorry, babe. Please,” Matt begged.
Damon scowled, seething with rage. “I told you already, whore. Don’t fucking touch me!” He ripped Matt’s hands away from his stomach, then fired a punch into the side of Matt’s face.
The surprise punch sent Matt crashing back to the ground. He sat there dizzy, rubbing his punched cheekbone, in disbelief of what was happening. He looked up just in time to see Damon slam the door shut, locking him out of his house and beautiful life for good.