Xavier: A Men of Gotham Novel

by Daisy Allen

  "Yes! There's a VERY vicious family of squirrels just around the corner from here. If you hear of an attack on the news tonight, you’ll know it’s because you made me walk home alone." I pout and she laughs and it sounds like every clichéd lovestruck description you’ve ever heard.

  We get to our feet, brushing the dirt from our hands and clothes.

  "See you here tomorrow? I have Sundays free,” she asks, sliding her arms into the backpack straps.

  I nod, "Sure, sounds good."

  "What time?"

  I bite back the urge to say the earlier the better. "9 a.m.?"

  "'K." Then she leans over, and presses a kiss to my cheek before pivoting on her foot and skipping away. She's halfway across the basketball court before I can react, and even then, it's just to press a hand to my face.

  ***

  My father left us almost two years ago, to the day.

  He didn't die, he didn't pass away, he wasn’t on a sabbatical to find himself.

  He left.

  He packed up his things, folded his clothes, each and every one of his shirts, his two pairs of work pants. Bundled up his socks, two by identical two. Pressed them into the empty pockets of his suitcase, and walked out the door.

  In his head I imagine he imagined he looked like the hero shot of a lion walking through a ring of fire, untouched. Except that it was a ring of children he'd selfishly fathered.

  Among them, a pair of identical two-year-old baby boys.

  "I can't do this anymore," is what he told us.

  Like ‘doing this,’ taking care of your own family, is something you can just wake up to one day and decide that no, it's just not to your taste.

  My mother wasn't there the exact moment he walked out. She maintains that he'd been gone long before then and the only difference after was that there was more room in the closet.

  For what, I'm not sure.

  If I had to draw a picture of her, of how I think of her, she'd be wearing her diner's uniform, in varying degrees of cleanliness.

  It makes me sad to think about, so I stop.

  I flip over onto my back, the sky still dark outside my window.

  Yesterday afternoon replays in my mind like a film reel; every frame, every second, somehow my brain retained it all. Scratch that, it retained everything that pertained to Malynda, everything else is like white noise. Just the background to her shining star.

  The film starts with her appearing out of nowhere at work, every inch of her long legs clung to by that pale pink Lycra, making me breathless. My body is already awakening to those images of her, the hem of her tunic only just reaching her upper thigh, hiding the descent of her leotard disappearing between her legs.

  Damn.

  I'm hard.

  I don't know how I can control it when I'm there with her, but right now, my body feels like it's almost bursting with the need for release.

  Over her.

  I let my hands wander downward as I continue my replay. The way she'd bend and twist, picking up her art supplies from the ground, reaching up on her tip toes, elongating from the tips of her toes all the way to the tip of her index finger as she reached as high as she could on the wall.

  Then, when all the exertion became too much, her pulling the tunic from her body, using it to dab at the sweat glistening on her neck before throwing it to the ground by my friend.

  The memory makes my hardness twitch, and I grab it, almost out of comfort.

  "Fuck."

  My eyes squeeze shut, holding onto the image of her against my closed eyelids.

  I'm going up to her, my hands on her neck, sliding down her long, slender arms, her skin so soft under my fingertips.

  I can almost feel the heat from her against me as I imagine pulling her close, my lips already on her neck, breathing her in.

  The hand around my cock grips tight and moves fast.

  Too fast for the slow, burning, sensual thought of her in my mind.

  The scene jumps, and suddenly it’s her hand wrapped around me and my hips thrusting into her fist.

  "I want you so bad," I whisper both in and out of my daydream, and I strain to hear her tell me she wants me too.

  My breath is ragged in my own ears as I can feel it coming. Me. Coming.

  "Faster," I tell her in my head. And she complies, her eyes on mine as I feel my body fall over the edge.

  "Oh, fuck. Fuck." I groan as I come. My eyes never leaving hers, making sure she knows it's her that makes me feel this way.

  My head falls back onto the pillow, dizzy.

  God, I want her.

  I want all of her.

  All of that sweet, sunshiny, sexy, effervescent, creative body and mind that makes her her.

  For all of the ways she makes me me.

  ***

  The hallway light is on when I get up to get a glass of water; there’s a flash of a figure running between the kitchen and my mother's bedroom.

  "Oh, Xavier! Thank god, you're awake. I have to go into work, Peggy's sick, so I'm taking her shift. I'm so tired but you know I have to take it." She dabs at her face with a sponge covered with something like putty to hide her tired eyes. My heart twinges for her, but also for myself.

  "Mom, I've got plans today."

  "Honey, I don't have time to discuss this. I need you to take care of the boys. Okay?"

  I feel my fists curl into a ball. But I know it's not her I'm mad at. She doesn't deserve me making her feel even worse.

  "Yeah, ok. Don't worry about it. I'll... I'll take them to the park or something."

  "Oh, thank you! I promised them something fun this weekend, they'd love that."

  "I’ll think of something,” I nod, even while my heart sinks.

  She throws me a tired wave over her shoulder as she disappears out the backdoor.

  "Has mommy gone to work again?" Brian asks, startling me. He looks so small, hidden in the shadows, rubbing his eyes as he stands in his pajamas.

  "Yeah, buddy.” I go over and give his shoulder a squeeze.

  "But she said she was goi-..."

  "She couldn't help it. We'll do something fun today, okay? How 'bout we eat cereal from the box and watch some cartoons?"

  His face lights up. "Without the twins?"

  "What twins?" I answer and give him a wink and he giggles.

  By nine a.m., all three boys are up, breakfasted, dressed, but nowhere near ready to leave the house. I’m not sure what it is, but something about needing to leave the house at a certain time seems to trigger their bladders. By the time the backdoor swings closed behind us, it’s almost ten o’clock.

  "Fuck," I curse under my breath, checking my watch, one hand on each twin as I yell at Brian every fifteen seconds to stay close as we head to the basketball court.

  "You said a bad word,” Michael, the younger twin points out.

  "No, I didn't.” Sometimes it’s hard to refrain when they’re around.

  "You said ‘fut’ I heard you,” he insists.

  "Fine, I said ‘fut.’ Don't tell anyone."

  "What will you give me?" he asks, and I realize four-year-olds don’t get enough credit for being the master manipulators they are.

  "Well, how ‘bout I let you say ‘fut' one more time, but you can’t tell Mom."

  He thinks about for a moment, and then nods.

  “Fut!” he yells, beaming proudly at both winning the negotiation and getting to curse without repercussion.

  "Now, no more, okay? Mom doesn't like us saying naughty words. That was the deal."

  He nods, willing to respect the sanctity of his given word.

  "Where are we going, Xavier?” Hamish, the youngest of us all, asks.

  "You'll see. Now hurry up."

  As we half-walk, half-run through the abandoned school yard, I pray that she hasn't left. She's becoming like air. And I'm addicted to the high that breathing her gives me.

  I spot the back of her skirt billowing in the wind as we round the corner and into the basketba
ll court, and the tension I didn’t know I was holding in my chest relaxes.

  "Oooh, are we going to play basketball?" Brian shouts.

  "Um, yup. You want me to teach you, so here we are,” I say, half-truth that it is.

  "YAY!" The three of them cheer. The sound of their voices drifts across the court and she turns around, scissors and glue gun in hand.

  "Hey! I didn't know if you were going to make it!" she says as we walk up to her.

  "Sorry I'm late. I had to..." I gesture my head to the six eyes staring at her unblinking. "Um, guys, this is my friend, Malynda."

  "Hey guys! Nice to meet you!" She shoots them all one of her 1000-watt smiles.

  For once in their lives, they're completely mute. I don't blame them. I was like that for the first week of knowing her.

  "Guys! Stop staring! Why don't you go over to that hoop and start throwing the ball around and I'll be right there,” I urge.

  They stare at her for another moment, before Brian finally regains function of his brain and breaks the silence by bouncing the ball. In an instant they're off and running, one in each direction, yelling each other's names.

  "Sorry," I say again, shrugging, not wanting to add more to the explanation of why I have three in tow today.

  "Aw, shush. Don’t worry, I was actually here early anyway, I couldn't sleep. I laid awake thinking about what I wanted to add."

  I laid awake in bed thinking of you stroking me, I wanted to say, but don’t.

  "Okay, well, I'll be here. Keeping guard. And keeping them alive. You create.”

  She just gives me a bright smile in response.

  It takes a toddler yelling out my name to tear myself away from her and to stop myself from pulling her into my arms like I'd dreamed this morning.

  Almost two hours later, she turns around to see the four of us walk back from the court to her.

  “Hungry?” she asks.

  "Starving!" I say, throwing the ball to Brian.

  "Who won?"

  "We did!" Michael yells out, lifting his arms into the air.

  "Well, it was the three of you against me,” I clarify.

  "Yeah? Can I play next time?" Malynda asks.

  Michael splutters, "You're a girl."

  "Oh, I get it, you're scared ‘cos I'm a girl, I'm obviously better at b-ball than you,” she taunts him, winking at me.

  My brother’s not sure how to respond and she laughs, poking him in the stomach.

  “Hey!” he grumbles, swatting her hand away.

  “How ‘bout this? Me and Xavier, against you three, whoever gets the most baskets in five minutes buys the others ice cream!”

  “But we don’t have any money,” Brian responds.

  “Then you better win!” She steals the ball out of Michael’s hands and runs toward the basket, whooping as her first throw nets her a clean basket.

  “Your girlfriend is crazy, Xave,” Brian points out.

  “She’s not my girlfriend, but yes, she’s a little nuts.”

  “Just like you,” Michael giggles as I chase him over to the hoop.

  ***

  "And I want three scoops, double choc chip and with chocolate fudge and chocolate spinkles."

  "Mikey, there's no way you're going to be able to eat that,” I say, horrified.

  "Yes, I will! I never get to order what I want and since Malynda's paying, I can!" he insists.

  I gesture to the server at Dairy Joy to make them super small scoops and she gives me a wink. We're pretty used to kids ordering way more than they can eat. We've both also had the experience of being the ones who have to clean up, once the kid discovers just how much they can really fit in their tiny bodies.

  "That's not nice, Mikey! Don't take advantage of Malynda's generosity,” I scold him.

  He pouts, “I'm NOT, I’m taking advana-avtaga, um…”

  "Advantage…"

  "Advantage of her being bad at throwing baskets!"

  Malynda throws us all a look of mock hurt and the boys all dissolve into laughter, clutching their respective ice creams as we follow her to an empty table in front of the ice cream parlor.

  It's hot and the ice creams are melting fast.

  There’s silence for the first time since this morning as we all race to lick up the drops of ice cream dripping down our arms before they reach our elbows.

  It's a losing battle for Hamish and before long, there's more ice cream on his arms and legs than left on the cone. He doesn’t care, he gives me a big chocolate covered grin as he laps at his treat like a parched dog.

  I can only shake my head and grin back, glad that they had some fun today. I take a bite into my own chocolate dipped cone and savor the crackle. I love that sound. It's the breaking of a shell to reveal secrets hidden beneath it.

  "Oh. I think... we're losing one," Malynda speaks first, tilting her chin toward Mikey.

  She’s not wrong, he's struggling under the sheer weight of his ice cream, barely making a dent in the giant dessert he’s cradling with both hands, but he's not giving up despite the distinct green color that's creeping up his neck.

  "Er, hey, buddy. Why don't you take a break, yeah? We'll take it home and put it in the fridge and you can have it later,” I urge him, though I predict it will be in vain.

  "No! You guys will eat it!”

  "No, I promise it's all yours,” I try to reassure him.

  "Make Brian and Hame promise too,” he begs.

  "Guys…”

  "I won't eat it, Mikey, I pwomise,” Michael’s twin says, giving him an earnest, chocolate covered mouth grin.

  "Brian," I nudge him with my elbow. But he doesn't say anything, just grins and reaches out to Mikey's ice cream with his finger.

  "No!” Michael cries, twisting out of his brother’s reach, and taking the ice cream with him. “I told you!"

  "Bri!" I yell.

  "Fine, I promise, geez. I don't want his germs anyway, he's licked all over that thing,” Brian sulks, popping the last of his cone into his mouth.

  Michael smiles triumphantly back at his brother, finally letting go of his sundae. I check my watch, and as much as I want to stay, to be with her every second that I can, the twins need a nap.

  "Okay, guys, have you thanked Malynda for your ice creams?"

  "Thank you, Malynda,” they repeat in unison. They've recovered from their initial shyness, but their respective crushes on her are still evident. I don’t blame them.

  "Thanks guys, but save up those pennies. Next time, you'll be paying for MY sundae and let me tell you, I'm going to ask for EXTRA cherries!"

  She says the last word while jumping up from the table and pretends to leap toward them, making them scatter across the front of the Dairy Joy in a chorus of screams. Her laughter penetrates my ears and echoes inside of my brain for a moment, and I forget where I am. Her laugh does things to her face that her smile doesn't. It breaks up the elegant structure of her jaw, her cheekbones puffing out, her eyes crinkling.

  "What?" she says, noticing my stare. I thought she'd be used to that by now.

  "Nothing. I just like hearing and seeing you laugh."

  She reaches out, her hand squeezing my arm. The gesture surprises me. Other than the hug she always gives me before we say goodbye for the day, something about today, maybe because of the presence of my brothers, I think we've both been especially aware of our bodies and their proximity to each other’s. I look up into her eyes, her smile softens, and she leans in a little closer to me.

  "Hey, lovebirds." A voice speaks up just then and we both turn to see a crowd of kids from Malynda's high school strolling up to us.

  The guy who'd fought me is standing at the front of the pack, his face plastered with a smug expression. I feel Malynda's eyes on me instantly, but I keep my gaze locked on him, and remind myself my brothers are there.

  "We were just leaving. You can have this table if you want,” I say, trying to keep any animosity from my voice.

  "Oh, don't leave on my acc
ount. In fact, why don't you sit down and join us, you can tell us all about what's been going on with you two," he replies, the sarcasm dripping like melted tar.

  "Shut up, Jack," Malynda says, as she presses up closer to me, her hand slowly snaking around my wrist. "Just leave us alone." I can feel her body buzzing, tense. I want to snap my fingers and have us both magically disappear from here.

  "Oh, that doesn't sound very nice, babe. I haven't done anything but be nice since I got here. Right? I mean, have you all heard me say anything mean?"

  His crowd snickers and says no, almost in unison.

  "Let's go," I say softly to Malynda, giving her hand a soft tug before picking up Michael's sundae. She nods and we push past the pack.

  "Where are you going?" he says, pushing back, not letting me through. His breath is hot against my face. He's not that much taller than me, but he's big, shoulders stretching far beyond mine.

  I know he can throw a punch. My eye has barely recovered from the one he landed on me before. I'm thin, I'm fast. But punch for punch, I can't go up against him. I know that. Best to just avoid it altogether.

  "I'm going home. I don't have any beef with you, I just have somewhere to be." In the corner of my eye I can see Brian and the twins coming in behind the group. I give them a shake of my head, but it's too much to ask them to understand to just stay away.

  "You might not have a beef with me, but I have a beef with you." With a swipe of his hand he flings Michael's ice cream out of my hold and it goes flying to the side, scattering ice cream and nuts and cherries all over the path in front of the store.

  "Oops," he says, his voice flat and cold. "Shouldn’t you go clean that, parlor boy?"

  "No! My ice cream!" I hear Mikey cry out, and I see Brian grab a hold of his little brother’s arm, holding him back.

  "What the hell did you do that for?" Malynda shouts, pushing ahead of me and getting in Jack's face.

  I can see his jaw tighten as he looks down at her. His fist curling and uncurling.

  "Get your slut girlfriend out of my face. Before I make her,” he spits and I wonder how he’s still alive to take another breath.