Bleeding Like Me

by Riley Parks

  “Wait, she thought she was going to bang Evan?” Jackson was skeptical.

  “Mmmhmm.” She nodded. “Guess he’s bi or something?”

  “I don’t know what he is,” he replied, taken aback by the information. He had no idea if Evan was into girls, and chided himself for assuming he wasn’t. The thought of Evan fucking anyone else made Jackson feel nauseous, and it was even sicker to think of him fucking Tamara. “So Tammy liked him?”

  “Seemed like it. Talked about him a lot after he left, and seemed pretty disappointed. He’s cute, but she’s not over you, so maybe she just smelled the money.”

  “What money?” he huffed, well aware from the confession of his prior homelessness and the quality of his cocaine that Evan wasn’t rolling in cash.

  “His money. Never thought you’d be interested in a North Sider. That surprises me more than you being into a guy, to be honest,” she answered with a shrug.

  He couldn’t blame Amy for thinking that Evan was North Side. After all, Jack had too. There was something about the red hair and freckles that made him seem way softer than he actually was. “He’s South Side.”

  Amy screwed up her face in disbelief. “Really? Are you sure? I don’t know many South Side guys that would be caught at some hipster bullshit place like The Drexel. He and his friend seemed pretty fucking comfortable there.”

  “I’m sure they are. Fuck.” He rubbed his forehead and let out a wry laugh. “They got him on the party crew. You got to check your credit card and make sure nobody’s buying shit with your number.”

  “Wait…he’s a Demon? How have I never seen him around? Is he new?”

  “Um, no. He doesn’t roll with us,” Jackson stated, immediately regretting opening his mouth. He was actually more ashamed to admit that Evan was a Klown Killer than he was for Amy to know that he was into dudes to begin with.

  “He’s not…” She shook her head vehemently. “Jack.” She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice was growing shriller, as it always did when she was getting stressed out. “He’s a KKz?

  “I didn’t fucking say that,” he replied, trying to keep his temper even. He wanted to blow up and tell her to fuck off, but he knew that he’d seem shadier if he did.

  “You didn’t have to. They were both wearing red the other night. Holy shit. I don’t know why I didn’t put it together.” She was on her feet now, pacing the room. “I can’t fucking believe this, Jackson. What the fuck?”

  “Stop, all right?” He sighed. “Just sit the fuck down, you’re making me dizzy.”

  She threw her finger up at him. “Do you know how bad this is? Like, you have to know how bad it is, right? Do you even know if he’s into you? He could be using you to get pictures and shit and put a mark on your fucking head.”

  “Ames,” he warned, his voice dropping low. “Don’t talk about shit you don’t know about.”

  “Oh I know about it. I know that we can’t trust Klown Killerz. I’ve known that my whole fucking life. We were taught that shit in the womb. How could you?” She let out a sputtering breath. “I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe it. Are you crazy? If anyone finds out you’re not the only one who’s going to get killed. I’m going to get killed and then they’re going to make Luke eat our toes or some shit before they kill him.”

  “You seriously need to chill the fuck out,” he ordered. “Sit your ass down and shut the fuck up.”

  She did as she was told, recognizing Jackson’s tone and knowing that she should comply.

  “I trust him, okay?” he said softly. “He’s not going to do shit.”

  “You have feelings for him.” She glared. “You said it wasn’t like that, but it is.”

  “Told you not to talk about shit you don’t know about, Amy,” he stated again. “Go cancel your credit card and tell Tammy and Kylie to do the same, all right?”

  “Jackson, if this gets out…”

  “Go,” he demanded, sighing when his sister left the room.

  None of what Amy had said fazed him as much as the fact that Evan could be into girls and that he was on the party crew. Two things that really rubbed Jackson the wrong way.

  They were going to have a talk.

  Soon.

  20

  Evan didn’t paint people. The curves of their bodies and angles of their faces never interested him as much as cityscapes. The circumstances of his life had compelled him to create new worlds that he could get lost in rather than reflect the features of the people he ran from. He constructed buildings from their foundations, making them taller and stronger than he felt. He adorned edifices with countless windows, always left open or cracked so hope could pour in and fears could seep out. Tree-lined streets reminded him how to breathe, pumping oxygen through the atmosphere, off the canvas, and into his lungs.

  He didn’t paint people until the day he no longer desired the anonymity of his cities. The streets didn’t feel like his escape anymore, not like Jackson did. Cerulean skies gave way to pale blue eyes and bus routes to pink pouts.

  Evan didn’t paint people until he painted Jackson.

  His features were perfect; from the gentleness in his eyes to the thickness of his thighs, the fullness of his lips, to the cuts of his hips. Evan had noticed how gorgeous Jackson was when they first hooked up, but it was different now. A man who had been so brash and hard was dropping his guard, and the moments of softness only made him more breathtaking. Jackson was the most beautiful contradiction, so Evan made his paintings the same. Fingers grasped the stems of vibrant flowers while crimson blood poured from an adoring gaze.

  He didn’t get overly excited. He’d learned from an early age how to keep his affect flat. It was easier that way. Becoming too invested led to hurt and while physical pain was manageable, emotional pain was not. The swell of feelings that were surging inside him, coupled with the rush of cocaine, had become overwhelming. Dropping his paint brush to the hardwood floor, he watched as red paint splattered against it. Without thought he pressed his palms against Jackson’s claret tears, smearing them to the sides of the canvas; scarlet sunbursts. The stinging in his eyes prompted him to lift his paint-covered hands to his cheeks and wipe away his own sadness, or maybe it was happiness; he couldn’t tell.

  He sat on the floor for a while, staring up at the painting, idly wondering if he loved it or hated it and what it meant either way. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been studying it when he heard his phone vibrate. Rubbing his hands against his bare torso to clean them off, he crawled to his bed to grab it.

  Jackson (10:46pm): U around?

  Evan (10:47pm): What’s up?

  Jackson (10:47pm): Gotta talk to U

  Evan (10:48pm): Sounds like I’m in trouble

  Jackson (10:48pm): U wish

  Jackson (10:48pm) U R trouble though

  Evan (10:49pm): Heard that b4

  Jackson (10:50pm): I bet

  Jackson (10:51pm): Come over

  Evan (10:52pm): 3 nights in a row?

  Jackson (10:52pm): U got a problem with that?

  Evan (10:53pm): Not at all. Think ur getting attached tho

  Jackson (10:54pm): I’m not

  Evan (10:55pm): Ur not?

  Jackson (10:58pm): Am I supposed 2 be?

  Evan (10:59pm): I dunno

  Jackson (11:05pm): Ur fucking weird

  Jackson (11:06pm): Get ur stupid freckled ass over here

  Evan (11:07pm): Wait I have freckles on my ass?

  Jackson (11:07pm): Ur about to have me on ur ass. When R u gonna be here?

  Evan (11:08pm): Hour. I have to shower. Was painting and got shit all over me.

  Jackson (11:09pm): Tagging aint paintin

  Evan (11:10pm): It literally is & diff kind of painting

  Jackson (11:10pm): With a fucking paintbrush n shit?

  Evan (11:11pm): Like that

  Jackson (11:11pm): U Paint?

  Evan (11:12pm): Yes with a fucking paintbrush
& everything

  Jackson (11:12pm): No shit what do u paint?

  Evan (11:12pm): None of your fucking business. Remember that?

  Jackson (11:13pm): Clever

  Evan (11:14pm): Always. C U Soon

  Jackson (11:15pm): Don’t shower

  Jackson (11:16pm): Wanna C what u look like w paint all over u

  Evan (11:18pm): Fuck off

  Jackson (11:19pm): Don’t

  Evan (11:20pm): Fine

  He didn’t shower, but he did wash his hands and his face, not wanting to look like a serial killer on his short walk to Jackson’s apartment.

  “Where are you off to?” Luis called to him from where he, Jamal, and Kane were hanging out in the living room smoking blunts and playing video games.

  “Fuck off every night now. Never chill with the boys,” Jamal said with a smirk. “You got a girlfriend?”

  “Something like that,” Evan replied, noticing the dubious look he was getting from his little brother.

  “Well, tell her to hop off your dick ‘cause we’re having a boys’ night tomorrow night,” Luis informed him. “We’re going to hit up Teasers.”

  Evan could think of at least twenty things he’d rather do than go to a strip club, but he knew that if he was going to keep up appearances, he had to fucking go. He hadn’t spent much time with the other guys and the fact that they were already asking questions wasn’t great. It wasn’t an issue that they thought he had a girlfriend, but it would be when they started to wonder why he spent all his time at her place and why she never came around.

  It was expected that the girls KKz dated would be down for the gang. They’d hang out and become a part of the scene, doing favors for the guys and bringing around other girls. From what Evan understood, sometimes guys would lend their girls to other members, passing her around like she was a piece of meat to gain respect from the other boys. The thought of it never affected him before, but now, he couldn’t imagine how the fuck they did it. They must not have given a shit about their girlfriends. He and Jackson weren’t like that, committed and shit, but there was no way he’d be offering him up to some other dude. It made him feel pretty fucking sick to think about it.

  “Think she’ll let you go?” Jamal teased as he took a hit off his blunt. “You at the ‘got to ask permission’ stage yet?”

  Evan tsked and shook his head; the thought that he’d ever ask permission to do shit was laughable to him. He’d never be that guy. He wondered if Jackson would ever expect him to be. If he did, he was in for serious disappointment. It wasn’t that he enjoyed letting people down; it was just that he always did. It was better for people to have low expectations when it came to him, and he knew it. The moment that someone starting demanding shit of him was when he ran. He wasn’t sure if it was selfishness or fear that made him that way, but he didn’t spend too much time considering it. Since it didn’t change the outcome, there didn’t seem to be much point.

  “That stage doesn’t exist for Evan,” Kane stated with a slight laugh. “Asshole doesn’t answer to anyone. Never has. Never will.”

  “You’re a stubborn motherfucker then, huh, Goodwyn?” Luis questioned as he sipped his forty.

  He shrugged. “Guess you could say that.”

  “It’s got to be the red hair,” Jamal stated knowingly. “I read this study once that said that redheads are actually more temperamental and stubborn than the rest of the population. They got this devil’s rage inside of them. Real inhuman, no remorse.”

  “Bullshit.” Evan laughed at the absurdity, rubbing his forehead as he did. Jamal was funny as fuck, but he said the wildest stuff and often had Evan’s mind spinning from the stupidity. Still, he kept things interesting enough and that could be endearing.

  “No joke. I really did,” Jamal promised. “I don’t know if it’s ‘cause they’re born feeling like too gingery and shit, but they take that shit out on other people. Like you…” he paused and gestured toward Evan, eyes wide. “I ain’t ever trying to fuck with you. You got real red hair, none of that auburn shit. You were born with that rage. I can see it. You feel too gingery, don’t you, man?”

  “Too gingery?” Kane howled. “You feel too gingery, Evan?”

  “You know, there are times I think I do,” Evan replied with a grin. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t give a fuck about anything. It must be when I’m feeling too gingery. My pubes get real hot, like they’re literally on fire, and I want to punch shit and rage out.”

  “That’s what the fuck I’m talking about.” Jamal nodded. “There ain’t any reasoning with a redhead that’s feeling too gingery. You just got to get the fuck out of the way. That’s it.” His face was dead serious as he shook his head in disbelief that his theory was all coming together.

  “You’re smoking some crazy-ass shit right now. Give me a hit,” Evan said, approaching the bigger man, who cowered as he did.

  “Really?” Luis laughed, putting Jamal into a headlock. “You’re a fucking spaz, man.”

  Jamal huffed and pushed him away.

  “What if a redheaded woman approached you? Real smoke bomb, a’ight? Huge titties, smoking body. Would you fuck her or would you be too nervous that she’d get ‘too gingery’ on you?” Kane questioned a laugh in his voice.

  “I’d never fuck a ginger. No way,” Jamal stated emphatically. “She could be a fucking rodeo queen and I wouldn’t let her ride.”

  “We got to find him a hot-ass ginger and see if he resists,” Kane said to Luis. “It’ll be our own twist on the study.”

  “Don’t sound like a bad idea,” Luis agreed with a grin. “You ever get too gingery and just rage-fuck your girl, Evan? Pound the shit out of her?”

  “Likes it when I’m too gingery. Begs for that shit.”

  “My man,” Luis exclaimed, shaking Evan’s hand with a big smile. “Go out there and break her pussy.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk.” Evan laughed, taking one last hit off Jamal’s blunt before handing it back to the theorist, who took it from him quickly but refused to look into his eyes. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Tomorrow night, man,” Luis reminded him as he left the room. “You better fucking show.”

  “I will,” Evan called back, stopping in his bedroom so he could slide his still-wet painting under his bed and slip a few magnums into his back pocket. Whatever the fuck he’d smoked had gone straight to his head and his mind was swirling with a mix of mostly incoherent thoughts. He giggled as he walked down the dark street toward Jackson’s apartment, curious what his impressions were on the ginger theory. Evan also wanted to know Jackson’s middle name and if he liked pancakes or waffles better.

  Evan didn’t think it would be a deal breaker unless Jack said he liked French toast, because fuck that shit. Evan kind of considered whether to ask Jack if he thought he was Evan’s boyfriend, but then laughed until his lungs hurt thinking it would make him sound like a fourteen-year-old girl. Still, he wanted to know if he was.

  Evan (11:50pm): Hi

  Jackson (11:52pm): Where RU?

  Evan (11:54pm): Almost there

  Jackson (11:55pm): Why RU texting me then?

  Evan (11:56pm): Wanted to say hi & ask if I’m ur boyfriend

  Jackson (11:58pm): R U 12?

  Evan (11:59pm): 14

  Evan (12:00am): ??????? hello?

  Jackson (12:02am): We can talk when u get here

  Evan (12:02am): Do u like french toast?

  Jackson (12:03am): no

  Evan (12:03am): good

  21

  “What the fuck are you asking about French toast for?” Jackson sniped as he swung open the door to his apartment. He was surprised when eager lips pressed hungrily against his, the passion and want evident with every swirl of his lover’s tongue. Grunting when his body hit the wall, Jackson smiled into the kiss as the redhead attempted to tongue his way through Jack, zealous hands traveling up the back of his wife-beater and then down the waistband of his basketball shorts. Large fingers
kneaded his ass cheeks as Evan’s mouth dropped to Jack’s neck and began to suck marks into his skin. “Got to talk to you.” He gulped in air.

  “About what?” Evan asked breathlessly, lifting his head and looking at Jackson with blown-out brown eyes.

  Jack sighed and pointed out the obvious. “You’re high.”

  Evan rubbed his thumb against his nostril and shrugged. “Usually am.”

  “Why?” Jackson studied Evan’s face, searching for the fluctuations of emotion he saw in the early morning hours, only able to find impassivity hidden by carnal desire. “You got a habit or something?”

  “Did I come here for therapy or to fuck? ‘Cause if it’s going to be therapy I’ll go get off somewhere else,” he growled, the venom in his voice sending chills down Jackson’s spine. The anger. The antagonism. He’d seen it many times before; he just hadn’t wanted to see it in Evan.

  “You’re an addict.” Jackson wasn’t sure if he’d uttered the realization aloud but when Evan pulled away, yup, he had.

  “You’re an asshole,” Evan replied, yanking his wrist back and jutting his chin out when Jackson wouldn’t let him go.

  “Where you going? Going to find some other guy to fuck?” he challenged, eyebrows raised high and teeth gnashing into his bottom lip. “That’s what you want, huh? Well, you can go right ahead, but I want you to stay.” He dropped Evan’s arm and threw up his hands in surrender. “Up to you.”

  The redhead exhaled breath noisily and glared. “Don’t say shit about it again. Sick of people telling me what I am.”

  “All right,” Jackson agreed, knowing that it wasn’t a promise he could keep long-term, but would honor for the night. They had other shit to talk about anyway. He looked at Evan, recognizing how closed off he was with his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his back slumped. “Hey,” Jack said softly, resting his hands on Evan’s hips and squeezing them gently. “I like pancakes.”

  “Yeah?” Evan’s mouth broke into a grin.

  Jackson nodded. “Don’t know why you give a shit, but I do.”

  “Honestly,” Evan began with a laugh, “I have no clue. It popped into my head, so I asked.”