Sick & Tragic Bastard Son

by Rowan Massey

  The moment I would lose him was getting so close it was starting to burn. But I didn’t want to pull away from reality and end up with one of my blackouts. I felt completely clear with my lights taking care of the tumor, but I couldn’t let him find out from Lottie. I couldn’t take any chances.

  Wanting to hold onto that clarity, I focused on what was real right then and there. He was the same person I’d internally raged against my entire life. I’d pushed the knowledge that he was my dad to the back of my mind most of the time, but I brought it to the forefront on purpose so that I could stare it down, giving our moment all the honesty it deserved. This was the last day I’d be committing incest with my dad and I didn’t think I’d ever get over what I’d done. Yes, I’d fucked up. Even if being in love with him was wonderful, I’d made a wonderful thing sick before it had even happened. I squeezed him tight.

  “I want to feel stuff,” I told him, the words were incredibly lame compared to what I was thinking.

  “Let’s do kinky things that don’t hurt you, okay?” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  He raised himself a little and pulled the blindfold up on one side so that I had a one-eyed view of him. I smiled and nodded so he pulled it back down. He raised himself off of me and his hands moved my arms back into position above my head.

  “Wait,” he said. “Be right back. Don’t move or I’ll just put you to work painting the walls naked.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I grinned to myself while he was gone. I knew he’d gone down to get lube and condoms from his bag. The old, empty house offered no sound proofing and even in socks his footsteps were clear as day, floorboards creaking under his weight. At one point, the noise stopped altogether and I wondered what the hell happened, then I realized he was making me wait. He was standing somewhere, letting the seconds tick by. It made me giggle to myself and bounce my feet in anticipation.

  When his padded footsteps came back into the room, he straddled me again and took my chin in his warm hand, shaking my head gently side to side.

  “Such a good boy,” he said in the baby voice he used with Remmy when he thought I wouldn’t hear him. Even when he was trying to be kinky he couldn’t stop being his sweet self.

  “Do I get a reward?” I asked.

  “Yes, I’m very fair about that. Positive reinforcement.”

  Just because I was excited, I laughed while his hands undid my pants and yanked them off. The sound of him taking his own pants off made me bounce my feet again and he laughed with me.

  He started grazing his fingertips up and down my body, from my ribs to my toes. It was something that might have been awkward if I wasn’t blindfolded, but it put me on edge in a nice way. When his hands gripped my ankles and started running back up my body, I started to hear music. Lots of violins went from a soft breeze of sound up into a soaring, slow melody. He kissed me and I literally heard trumpets. It was loud, downright deafening, and gave me a wave of euphoria. I couldn’t help arching. My arms were dying to touch him. He sensed it and pushed my arms into the mattress.

  “Don’t you dare move,” he said in a deep voice.

  I nodded but my legs hadn’t been fake tied so I wrapped them around him. He kissed down my chest and stomach, then moved away. For a moment I thought he was grabbing the lube, but he grabbed my dick and starting licking and kissing everything between my legs.

  Voices in harmony—a whole choir. Drums with resonance that acted like waves in my blood. There was such a roar of sound, I couldn’t hear myself when I groaned and orgasmed too soon. His hand stroked me through it and I knew he was saying something but his voice was lost in the noise. My arms were a little numbed so I stopped pretending and reached for him, touched his face, and he kissed me. When he tried to take the shirt from my face, I stopped him. There was too much emotion for him to handle seeing. He would think I needed my pills. Maybe I did, but I didn’t want to believe the music wasn’t just the lights helping me enjoy myself.

  His hard cock was pressing into my hip and I wanted to take care of him. Afraid I would sound strange without being able to hear my own voice, I maneuvered and rolled us over until I was on top.

  Time went into fast forward and I was deep throating him. I did everything I knew to do to give a good blow job, all the things I knew he liked.

  When I felt his dick pulse in my hand, his cum dripping over my fingers, a gong sounded in my bones and vibrated my body with unbearable intensity. It was paralyzing. I fell onto my side. My lungs worked for air. But he pulled me into his arms and the sensation faded out. All the noise was winding down, going back to soft violins.

  I took the blindfold off. He was scared or at least overwhelmed. I probably looked the same way. Expecting him to make a quip like, “I should blindfold you more often” or maybe start kissing me deeply, I didn’t say anything. I could hear myself trying to catch my breath; my hearing was back. He wasn’t doing anything but looking at me.

  I sat up and wiped my hand and face off on the shirt. Maybe he was disappointed that he hadn’t fucked me, but that wasn’t like him. The tense vibe between us reminded me of that first night when we were still strangers and he’d told me his story. We’d both felt weird in the morning. It made sense to be tense again because it was time for me to tell my tale.

  “That was kind of wild,” he said softly. He rubbed my back.

  “Is that bad?” I asked.

  “No, but I can tell a big difference from when you’re taking your meds. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, but turned away from him, picking up my clothes and fussing with them before putting on my underwear. It wasn’t that I was upset, it was that I was so full of emotion in general. Being insane was a lot of work. Soon he would understand. From the beginning there had been a gap between us where all my secrets were. Now I knew we were the same. I hoped having tumors and lights in common would make things easier.

  His arm snaked around my waist from behind.

  “Don’t get dressed,” he said. “You have to talk to me.”

  He waited and I tried to figure out how to time things. He was right. I had to talk to him, but not quite yet. He would know everything by morning.

  My secret would be easier for him to bear if we were connected by lights. I could get away from him while he slept, burn the tree, gather as many lights I could in my arms, and bring them to him. No, it was too much of a chance. What if the lights from his tree didn’t work the same? What if I couldn’t gather them or couldn’t travel with them? I’d have to get him to go back to the tree with me.

  “Stop thinking so hard,” he said. “We can start with whatever’s going on in your head right now. Tell me about why you went off your meds. I’m not getting onto you. I just want to know. Okay?”

  I nodded. “I’m better. I’m not confused or anything. Everything is clear now. Everything.”

  “What’s everything?”

  It was a good question. I turned so I could look him in the eye and took his hand, putting it over my heart.

  “I have a…”

  God, was I just going to say it? Just like that? I had to say precisely the right words so that he would understand just enough so that he’d be satisfied that I’d talked to him. I’d even written a note about it in my lying notebook. When you are pressed to tell the truth, you can tell them something that doesn’t matter as much as the main lie. That way, you get forgiven for the smaller secrets and they still don’t know about the big secrets.

  “I have a tumor in my brain,” I said. His eyes widened with shock and he hung his head. His hand gripped at my chest. “Getting confused and the blackouts and all that… it’s alright now. I don’t think I have any bad symptoms anymore. It’s been better. A lot better.”

  “Zander…” His eyes were sad, begging. He shook his head. “I’m not stupid, baby. If you have a brain tumor, it’s not something that will just go away.”

  His eyes widened and lost their focus for a second, like
he was realizing what he’d just said.

  “It’s still there but it’s controlled now,” I said.

  “Controlled? I don’t understand. What exactly did your doctor say?”

  I turned away and grabbed my pants, but he took them out of my hand, tossed them back onto the floor, and pulled on my arm to make me face him.

  “Don’t be scared to talk about it, baby. Do you know how much I care about you? Let me help. Please.”

  I went weak when he said that. Knowing how much he cared about me as my father was awesome, but knowing he cared about me a lot as his boyfriend—the guy he knew about and spent every day with—that was amazing. I leaned in for a kiss but he backed away.

  “Please,” he said again.

  I was cornered. Why had I told him about the tumor in particular? Bad move. Of course he wanted to know about doctors and shit. How was I supposed to tell him my tumor was different. I didn’t need chemo, I’d only needed lights.

  “Zander, you don’t seem better. Okay? You seem worse. Whatever just happened…whatever that was…I’m not complaining, believe me, but so much is going on inside that head of yours. You were shaking, baby. Are you in pain?”

  It was scary hearing him say that. I didn’t know what I’d appeared to be experiencing from his perspective. What had I done that was so alarming? I liked having extreme emotions. It was better than doing drugs sometimes; better than any high. I didn’t want to feel the way everyone else did. The music had been wild, but I’d liked it. He’d liked it. It hadn’t been the tumor. I was sure. The lights had made the music. I hoped we could listen to the music together after I burned his tree down.

  “I’m not in pain,” I told him. “It never hurts. There’s a lot of emotion. I used to see things that weren’t there or whatever, but now I know what’s real. I’m not confused. I’m doing great. I really am.”

  He nodded slowly but his expression told me he was not anywhere near convinced. We stared at each other, him upset, me trying to keep calm.

  “Did you bring your pills with you or leave them at home?” he asked.

  “At home? I don’t go to my mom’s anymore.”

  “Do you have them?”

  I had them in my bag but didn’t want to tell him that. There was a heavy silence.

  “I won’t let you stop your treatment,” he said, dead serious. He looked ready to force feed them to me if he had to.

  “That isn’t a treatment. It just makes my symptoms go away, and I don’t have symptoms anymore.”

  “Yes, you do.” He said, sounding incredibly sad. It was breaking my heart so much that it physically hurt. “As soon as we get back you have to get on whatever treatment you’re supposed to be on. You aren’t thinking right.”

  “Okay,” I said, “for you. I’ll go take one right now, okay? Please don’t be upset, daddy. I’m alright. I promise.”

  He gave me a stiff nod and turned to pick up his clothes. We got dressed. From the slow way he moved I could tell he was solemn. As we went down the stairs together, I felt like I was being escorted by a guard like a convict. He stood with his arms crossed as I fished around in my bag until I found the little box and took one. As soon as I crushed it in my teeth, he turned and went into the kitchen. I couldn’t tell if he wanted some space or what, but I followed him because there was nothing else I could do. We sat down across from each other at the bare table. Some of the cabinet doors were open, shelves empty. The fridge was unplugged, doors left open so it could dry out inside.

  “Are you sure you’re not in pain?” he asked. I could see the agony in his eyes. They watered and a few tears streaked down his face. He quickly wiped them away.

  “I’m not in pain,” I told him, leaning forward and putting my hand out for his. He clenched onto my hand and stared hard at the table. “I’m not going to die. It’s not that kind of tumor,” I assured him.

  He gave me the same look he’d given me when I’d try to say I was better, but he didn’t say anything.

  “What if we just work on the house?” I said. “Let’s turn on the music and clean, or paint, or whatever. If we keep slacking off it won’t get done in time, right?”

  “No, forget the house. I only care about you.”

  “Well, I’m fine and I want to get to work.” I gave him a smile, hoping to put us in a different mood. “The living room looks pretty rough, right? Where’s the paint?”

  He only shook his head and didn’t answer. He was squeezing and rubbing my hand as if he was playing with clay.

  “I’ve had this since I was a kid, remember? I couldn’t tell what was real or imagination. There’s been good times and bad times. Even when my brain is acting up sometimes it’s wonderful, like just now.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Yeah,” I continued. “I was hearing some amazing music. It was beautiful, so loud I couldn’t even hear myself. I’m sorry if you said something I couldn’t hear.”

  I’d expected that information to help but he was frozen in shock. All the crazy stuff was my norm. I tried to imagine it from his point of view and felt stupid for thinking he would be comforted by hearing that sometimes it was great.

  “Sorry,” I said again.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said, but automatically.

  “Look, I’m not going to just die from it when I’ve had it for this long. I’m not dying.”

  That seemed to work. He blinked and took a deep breath but then asked, “What kind of treatments did your doctors suggest?”

  “Um…” I thought fast and figured I could tell him a technical truth. “I’ll get a scan in a few days. They gave me another prescription for the same thing, but only for a few days to last me until they do the scan and get results.”

  He nodded and gripped my hand until it almost hurt.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” he asked.

  Damn, since he knew about it, I had to actually go do it. I imagined grainy images of the monster weaving around in my head. It was creepy. Would the scan show my lights? It would be funny if it broke the machine or baffled all the sciency lab coat types.

  “I guess I’m kind of nervous,” I said.

  He reached out and put a hand on my skull as if he were scrying for something. I hung my head and let him touch me.

  “I’ll be right next to you,” he said, and I smiled.

  I could tell he was holding back tears, but he smiled too. I put his palm against my cheek.

  “Can I tell you things a little at a time?” I asked. “We can get to work and I’ll tell you more tomorrow.”

  “Okay, it’s a deal, but no backing out. It’s time to be open with me.”

  I got up and went around the table to lean down and kiss him. He stood and we hugged each other tight for as long as we wanted. A few tears soaked into my shirt. It was terrible to see him cry; harder than the first time he’d cried with me. I was scared of what his reaction would look like when he knew the full truth.

  We let go of each other and talked about the house. A lot of stuff had been left in the car with its windows down so we went out and hauled it inside. The last tenants hadn’t done any cleaning before they left. Clay said that would be the biggest bit of work he wanted to do. He wasn’t just renting out anymore; he needed a buyer to show interest so it had to look nice. We started the work upstairs and would work our way down.

  With a Bluetooth speaker blaring rock music, I wet a rag in the bathroom sink and went around wiping all the dust from the windowsills, base boards, and ceiling fans. He got some paint from the attic space and started touching up the hall and bathroom.

  Every once in a while, I would catch him looking at me with worried eyes. All I could do was smile and lighten the mood by trying to sneak up on him every once in a while to smack his ass. Remmy seemed bored so I played tug with him with one of the rags, causing it to rip. I let him keep it and take it to another room to tear apart in privacy. That managed to get a smile out of Clay but it was a sad smile.

 
Good memories—that was what I had to give him. It was my only chance at making him understand. He had to know that he knew me. My lies didn’t change everything. I was still me. I was still Zander, who he cared for, and Lysander, who he loved.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Zander Age 18

  CLAY ONLY EVER slept for about four hours at a time. I almost always woke up to him reading in bed or in his den. It was plenty of time to sneak away but I was a little worried that he would be a light sleeper in an unfamiliar place. I was even more worried that Remmy would screw me over.