Pain Slut
Page 26
She leaned against my shoulder. “What will you do if he’s a criminal? Or if he likes all those Fast and Furiouses or something?”
I shrugged. “Love him. I hope.”
She elbowed me. “Of course you will. You love me.”
“Tell me you don’t like The Fast and the Furious?”
“Those are, like, my favorite movies, babi.”
“Something went horribly wrong somewhere.” I hugged her close. “But I do love you.”
Kamen kept shooting glances at me as we moved both cribs out of the nursery and into the garage. The pain in my tooth was relentless.
“Miles,” he said. “You can’t wait any longer. You gotta go to a dentist. Like, now.”
“Well, seeing as there are no dentists open at 7 p.m., I’m going to have to wait.” I couldn’t keep the irritability from my voice. Every time I moved my jaw, I nearly blacked out from the pain.
Kamen’s gaze shifted to the side, then back to me. “You’re not gonna like this.”
“What?” I shoved the crib farther back against the wall.
“Bobby’s has evening hours.”
I turned slowly toward him and stared. “What?”
“Bobby’s Discount Dentist. They’re open till 9 p.m.”
I shook my head. “No. I won’t.”
Kamen studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he cocked his head. He didn’t look at all angry, but he said, “You stuffy little bastard.”
I thought at first he was joking. But there was something steely in his gaze I wasn’t used to seeing there. “Huh?”
“Why are you too good for everything? Huh?”
“Lay off, Kamen. I’ve had a terrible week.”
He nodded. “I know, but, like, be nicer.”
I gripped the rail of the crib. “So you’re the latest person who’s upset with me because I can’t be what you want?”
“No.” He was still shaking his head. “You are what we all want. We love you. And then you push us all away by pretending we’re not the people you want us to be.” He jabbed a finger at me. “But you love us. Drix, me, Dave, Gould . . . you love us. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t be here. And that’s why we all put up with your shit.”
I swallowed, experiencing something dangerously close to a lump in my throat. “Kamen—”
“Don’t make excuses. And don’t apologize.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Just be nicer, dude. That’s all.”
“Drix hates me,” I said. “You have no idea how badly I screwed up.”
“Then fucking apologize to him and don’t be a dick again.”
Why was that so simple for everyone else?
He pointed through the open garage door, down the driveway. “Get in my car.”
I didn’t budge.
He moved before I realized it. I’d had no small number of unsolicited hugs in the past few weeks, but this was by far the most physically painful. He didn’t let go for a long time. Eventually I stopped trying to get away and leaned forward, my forehead on his shoulder. Brought my arms up and squeezed, as though by holding on to him, I could hold on to some part of me that was always in danger of vanishing. The part that loved people so fiercely and unconditionally that I was terrified to face it.
“Get in the car,” he whispered, a lot more gently. He let me go but kept one hand on my shoulder as we walked down the driveway together.
Bobby’s Discount Dentist was indeed right beside an arcade. The two buildings even had an adjoining door.
“This feels like a place no one leaves alive,” I whispered.
Kamen was texting but looked up. “Do you wanna play Skee-Ball until they call you in? They give you, like, those buzzer things they have at restaurants.”
“You’re not helping.”
But when I was led back to Bobby’s actual office, I found it clean and comforting. The walls featured cheerful posters of smiling people—much different from the usual dental office artwork depicting plaque, the minutiae of a root canal, laser-whitening before-and-afters . . .
I was half-afraid that Bobby would use his drill to get revenge on me for the grammar debacle. I made Kamen come back with me. Tried to explain to him, in a whisper, why I was nervous.
He shut me down. “Dude, Miles. Bobby’s a really nice guy. I’m sure he forgives you.”
Everyone was forgiving me too easily. Except the one person whose forgiveness I needed most.
Why, why, why hadn’t I just told Drix I wanted him to do whatever made him happy?
The procedure was relatively simple. I was given lidocaine, which made me not just numb, but woozy as fuck. Then came the draining of the apparently massive abscess that had formed in the back of my mouth. Followed by some kind of special rinse, which I couldn’t swish around because I was so numb, so most of it just dribbled out the side. I felt thoroughly wretched, though the pain improved pretty much instantly.
Bobby went off to get me a sucker, and when he came back into the room, Drix was with him.
I thought at first he was an illusion—some side effect of the anesthetic. But then Kamen said, “Oh, hey, Drix.”
“Hey.” Drix was looking at me.
“What . . .?” I started. But there was a wad of cotton in my mouth, and it was not helping the drool situation.
Kamen squeezed my shoulder. “I called him and told him you were here.”
“You did?” I mumbled.
“Yeah. I maybe made it sound worse than it was. Like your tooth was falling out and there was blood everywhere.” He shrugged and addressed Drix. “He really was hurting, though. Look how pathetic he is. Don’t be mad at him.”
Drix sighed. Leaned down, in front of Bobby and everyone, and kissed my head.
“You . . . I’m . . .” I searched for the words I wanted.
“I’m here,” was all he said.
He helped me to the waiting room, where Bobby charged me Mexico prices.
“You go home with Drix,” Kamen told me at the door. “I’ll get your prescription filled if I can find anywhere that’s still open.”
“Tha’ you,” I mumbled.
He just waved me off.
I let Drix lead me to his SUV.
He shot me a mild glare as he started the car. “You do look pathetic.”
“’M sorry.” I leaned against the window. “For everything.”
“Leave my heartstrings alone, you wretch.”
He drove in silence. I tried not to drool. Finally I took the cotton out of my mouth. Not sure where to put it, I stuffed it in my pocket.
“I was not good to you,” I said as we passed A2A.
“You hurt my feelings,” he said. “Pretty damn bad.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
We pulled into his driveway a few minutes later.
“I’m a mess,” I admitted.
“I know.” Drix reached over and gently cupped the nonswollen side of my face. “I’m gonna take good care of you.”
Zac’s foster mother, Dana, was tall and thin, with long brown hair, tired eyes, and a bright smile. We met at Mel’s Sandwich Shop, and Dana bought everybody milkshakes, despite my and Drix’s protests.
Zac was . . .
I didn’t have words.
Huge, blinding smile. Black fuzz on his scalp. Giant brown eyes. He wore a tiny cardigan, which I appreciated. Khaki pants, and tiny blue Converse knockoffs. He wasn’t very focused on me—he was more interested in watching the milkshake blender in action, and in pouring salt into his napkin. But I observed the way Dana interacted with him. How frank she was about the situation, about the fact that I was a potential adoptive parent, and that Drix was my boyfriend.
There was no sense at all that Zac had been coached to give me big orphan eyes or to be on his best behavior to impress me. When Drix took Zac up to the counter to get a drink, Dana was honest with me too. About some of the problems Zac was having with bullies at school. About the dreams Zac
had about his mother—he dreamed she was still alive, and sometimes when he woke up, he had trouble distinguishing reality from the dream.
I watched Drix and Zac return with two bottles of juice. For a terrifying moment, I had the sense again that I had misjudged myself. That I was foolish for even thinking I could handle this responsibility. Zac was only five and had been through an event more traumatic than many kids could imagine. What made me think I could keep him safe from a world that was as random in its cruelties as in its kindnesses?
But all that vanished after a few minutes. I could be a difficult person: uptight, obsessive, insecure. But I loved deeply. I worked hard. And I was no stranger to grief.
I could do this.
Zac let Drix pour his juice into a plastic cup. Then he said something in a language I didn’t recognize.
Dana caught my expression and smiled. “He’s been learning Arabic since he was three. And he speaks some French. He wants to be a translator when he grows up.”
“That is incredibly cool,” I said.
Zac grinned at me and said something else in Arabic.
“He’s asking how you are,” Dana told me.
I smiled at Zac. “I’m great. I’m really glad to be meeting you.”
Zac turned to Dana. “Where does Miles live?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Dana suggested.
Zac faced me again, squirming in his seat. “Where do you live?”
Uh . . . Does he want a street name, or a type of house, or . . .?
“I live near Brinkley Park. In a—a house.”
“Do you know where . . . um . . . where, um . . .” Zac was twisting his shirt in his hand. “Where Kellan lives?”
I glanced at Dana. She nodded. “Kellan’s his friend from school. They’re both very into spooky stuff. Right?” She ran a hand over Zac’s head.
“Spooky stuff?” Drix inquired.
Dana laughed. “They love the vampires and the werewolves and the zombies and all that. Gives me nightmares.”
“Not me!” Zac turned to me. “Do you like vamp . . . vampires?”
I bit back a laugh and tried not to look at Drix. “Yeah. I do.”
“Do you like zombies?”
“Uh-huh. I mean, in theory. I don’t want them eating my brains.”
Zac glanced at Dana again. “Can we go to Miles’s house?”
She straightened his cardigan. “Today, we’re just going to stick with sandwiches.”
Back to me. He gazed at me a long while. I felt a warmth toward him that came easily, that didn’t scare me at all. He put his finger on the table and pushed, as though the table were a giant button. “Do you think zombies eat your brains to get smarter?”
“It’s very possible. I’m not sure why they eat brains. Maybe they’re just hungry.”
Zac laughed, as though I’d actually made a joke. Something lifted in me at the sound, and I smiled back. I felt Drix’s presence beside me, peaceful and sure. If he were to take a picture of me now, I hoped I’d see a real smile. That I’d see somebody who knew he couldn’t control the world, but who was starting to find a strange sort of comfort in uncertainty.
Outside, Drix and I accompanied Zac and Dana to Dana’s car, and we said our good-byes. Zac hugged me. Which seemed too scary, too trusting, too much like a promise. But I hugged him back and hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time.
They left, and Drix and I decided to walk to Dave and Gould’s since it was just down the street. I put my hand in Drix’s. Poked my back tooth with my tongue. No pain. Drix had taken good care of me.
I turned to him. “Can I use you? Not for the bucket list, but for the really scary stuff? Advice about school and bullies and not eating vegetables?”
He nudged me. “I’m not gonna be much help. I still don’t eat my own vegetables. But you can use me for anything.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, then made myself say what I really wanted to say. “Do you mind if I love you?”
His smile started slowly and grew. “Not at all. In fact, I’m pretty glad to hear it. Since I’m not altogether un-in-love with you myself.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “Okay.”
He squeezed my hand harder. Until it almost hurt. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed. “Then I want to ask you something.”
“What’s that?”
I stopped walking. “Would you please be there when he comes home for the first time?”
He stopped too. I felt his gaze on me, but it was a few seconds before I managed to look at him. “You’re serious?” he said quietly.
I nodded. “I want . . .” I want Zac to get to know both of us, together. I want him to see our home. “I want you there.”
He stepped closer to me. His head tilted forward, and it reminded me of the night he’d gotten on his knees at Riddle and bowed his head. Like it really did mean everything to him to be able to give.
I didn’t quite know what all I had that I could give in return.
But I was ready to find out.
“Then I’ll be there,” he said softly.
It was nice of him to say it, but he didn’t have to.
I knew.
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Thanks as always to Del, for your patience and wisdom. To Dirk, for answering a burning question. Fred and Angie, for the last-minute French lessons. AJ, for the writing company, adoption info, and help visualizing certain . . . choreography. And to Jen, for the wine-fueled blurb assistance.
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J.A. Rock is the author of queer romance and suspense novels, including By His Rules, Take the Long Way Home, and, with Lisa Henry, The Good Boy and When All the World Sleeps. She holds an MFA in creative writing from the University of Alabama and a BA in theater from Case Western Reserve University. J.A. also writes queer fiction and essays under the name Jill Smith. Raised in Ohio and West Virgi
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Table of Contents
About Pain Slut
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Dear Reader
Acknowledgments
Also by J.A. Rock
About the Author
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