by Amir Lane
Maybe that was a Negative Symptom. A guilt he should have felt but didn’t.
Dr Volson quickly spotted the mistake, a simple mix-up between two variables in the equation. Dieter marked it in pencil to correct with white-out later.
“So how have you been, Dieter? Are you still running?” Dr Volson asked as if he couldn’t feel the firmness of Dieter’s leg muscles.
Sprinters were always lean, practically nothing but muscle, and Dieter was no exception.
“Yeah. But I have to use the indoor track now. I cut half a second off my time.”
“Good for you.”
The hand rubbed a small circle on Dieter’s leg. Dieter let his eyes slip shut just for a moment to enjoy it.
“And you’ve been focusing all right?” Dr Volson continued.
“It’s been a little hard lately.” Oh, bad word choice. “But it’s always harder this time of year.”
“You don’t seem to be having any trouble focusing right now.”
A Shadow danced at the edge of Dieter’s vision, but he was too busy feeling the hand move around to his inner thigh to pay it any attention. He could see his flushed reflection in Dr Volson’s glasses.
“Dr Volson—”
“Please, it’s Steven. Are you uncomfortable?”
With the fact that Dieter’s professor had his hand on his inner thigh, high enough that his thumb brushed the seam that ran along his crotch? No. How would that possibly make him uncomfortable?
“I– I don’t know.”
Dr Vols—Steven pulled his hand away. The loss of warmth was almost unbearable.
“You’re a brilliant young man, Dieter. Absolutely fascinating. The things you see…”
“They aren’t real. It isn’t real.”
“There’s one here with us?”
Dieter nodded. He liked the slow nod that Steven gave in return. There was no judgement behind it, no concern, no caution. It was just a nod.
“Absolutely fascinating.”
“But not real,” Dieter reminded him.
“But if it was real… Sensitives are remarkably gifted people, Dieter. How do you know what is and isn’t real?”
Dieter shifted. He wanted the weight of Steven’s hand back on his thigh. The Shadow rushed past him and clawed at the window. He pushed his hand through his hair, grabbing a fistful of the blond locks and tugging.
“People tell me,” he admitted. “It’s really only the Shadows that aren’t real, though.”
“What if I told you that I wasn’t real?” Steven asked curiously.
This time, Dieter flinched. There were too many memories of people taunting him, trying to make him question reality, to question his sanity.
“I wouldn’t come back here again.”
There was something that looked like disappointment in Steven’s eyes. It made Dieter’s stomach twist. His hand found Steven’s and placed it back on his leg.
“Are you sure about this?” Steven asked, slowly, cautiously.
Dieter nodded.
“Just this, though. Nothing else.”
Steven’s hands roamed Dieter’s thighs, taking in the feel of muscle beneath his jeans, but they didn’t stray any higher.
Dieter knew what Lindy would say about this. She’d say that Steven was taking advantage of him. She wouldn’t be wrong. But it was easy to deny, to pretend that this was mutual. He wanted the warmth that came from Steven’s large hands. The heat in his face made at least that much clear to himself. When the hands deliberately avoided his crotch, he told himself that it was out of respect for his boundaries rather than an attempt to gain his trust for more.
He’d played this game before. He knew exactly how it went.
Dieter pretended that he was the one in control like he always did as he pried Steven’s hands off. The return of that disappointed look almost had him buckling under the weight of it. ‘Touch me,’ he almost said, ‘touch me anywhere you want. Just please don’t look at me like that.’
Instead, what he managed was a curt, “I have to get to my next class.” He pulled himself together and gathered his things, looking anywhere but at Steven.
Sitting through a statistics lecture was not an option right now, not with the way shame burned through his body. His sweater was long enough to hide his erection, and the men’s room was empty. He locked himself in the last stall. Only a few tears escaped as he shoved his jeans and underwear down past his hips.
He’d said no. He’d drawn the line. He was in control. Not Steven, not the Shadows. Him.
A Shadow clung to the wall, a few feet above him. It watched, vaguely human-shaped, as Dieter touched himself in the bathroom stall like a horny teenager. A second one joined, pressing against his back. The coldness of it made his nipples peak through his shirt. He bit back a sob and squeezed his eyes shut.
There was no relief in it. He could feel the Shadows feeding off of his pain, just like they always did. But it was just his imagination. He was alone. He was always alone.
He wiped his hands with a wad of toilet paper and flushed it down the toilet. The stall wall creaked as he leant against it. It was a long few minutes before he could call Lenna to pick him up.
“You okay, querido?” she asked through the phone.
“No… The Shadows… You know how it is.”
“Yeah.”
Lenna didn’t ask any more questions, even when he curled up in the passenger seat of her Jeep. He was sure Aldo would be able to smell everything he felt. If animals could smell fear, why not the rest? But if he did, he either kept it to himself or Lenna had enough tact not to comment on it.
Lindy wasn’t home when they arrived. She was a 9-1-1 operator, without the luxury of a semi-predictable schedule like he and Lenna had. Today, Dieter considered it a blessing. She would take one look at his face, and she would know. And when she knew, she would walk right down to the university and kick Steven Volson’s teeth in. He’d seen her do it before.
Hot water from the shower burned his skin, leaving it red and raw. He couldn’t scrub hard enough to get the filth off. He was fifteen again, crying in the shower because he didn’t know what else to do. Because he’d wanted to be touched. He always wanted it and it always left him feeling dirty.
Skin hunger, a therapist had once called it. The treatment was for Ekkehardt to hug his kid every fucking now and then. But that would have meant showing some semblance of human emotion, and heaven forbid Ekkehardt do something like that. So Dieter sought out physical affection wherever he could get it.
The sound of water pounding down on the shower floor drowned out the hisses that followed him everywhere. It didn’t stop him from seeing the handprints forming on the glass door. The hands dragged down, reminiscent of something out of a horror movie. They quickly disappeared, leaving him to wonder if they had ever been there at all or if it was just in his head. Nothing his mind could come up with would surprise him at this point.
“Please,” he mumbled. “Just one night. Leave me alone for one night. I’ll do anything you want for one fucking night!”
The Shadows only hissed in his ear. One swiped at his face, but the clawed hand passed through him. Dieter stared at it with wet eyes. It screamed, high and shrill. Dieter buried his face in his knees, covering his ears, and screamed back.
A hard knock resonated through the door, and the Shadows scattered.
“Dieter? You okay?”
Lenna’s deep voice boomed through the door.
“It’s—It’s just Shadows.”
Just Shadows. Nothing that could really hurt him.
He stood on shaky legs and turned the water off. His skin felt like it would peel off if he rubbed it.
“You sure?” she asked
“I’m sure.”
Dieter wrapped himself in a towel. He had to support his weight on the counter for a few moments. Between the heat and the exhaustion, he felt like he was going to faint. The mirror was too fogged for him to see his reflection. It was probabl
y for the best. He was sure he looked like shit.
It was early, but Dieter was completely wiped. All he wanted to do was forget everything for a few hours.
“Do we have any whisky?” he asked Lenna, even as he opened the fridge door to check for himself.
“Fresh out. But I made you some tea. Chamomile. It’ll help you relax.”
He took the mug in his hands. He knew Lindy drank it when she had cramps. If it didn’t help, at least it wouldn’t hurt.
Two Shadows materialised, and Lenna shuddered. A draught, probably.
“Do you see them?” Dieter asked anyway, not for the first time.
“Nah. I don’t see shit.”
“Does Aldo?”
“I don’t know. Jaguars are supposed to help communication between living and dead. He’s a little crap at that part. Maybe he’s an Aztec jaguar.”
He frowned. What the hell was she talking about?
“Mayan and Aztec have different idea of what jaguars—My girlfriend in Brazil was an expert in ancient civilisations.”
Dieter rubbed his eyes. Anyway.
“I shouldn’t be seeing them anymore…”
Lenna set her book down. The words on the back were in Portuguese. The cover betrayed it as a romance.
“Listen. I’m no expert in that psychology crap, but I can tell you this: Your sister sees shit, too. I don’t know if it’s the same with Seers and Sensitives, but magic tends to stay da familia.”
“So you don’t think I’m crazy.”
“Never said you were, ain’t gonna now. Not for the shit you see. But mixing whisky with your anti-psycho drugs—”
“Anti-psychotics.”
“Whatever. That is crazy.”
Dieter shrugged.
“Don’t shrug at me. Drink your goddamn tea and get some rest. You look like you’re gonna drop.”
He couldn’t argue with her, couldn’t even chide her for acting like a parent. He felt like he was going to fall asleep any second now. Three trips to the bathroom and half a bagel later, he was beyond ready for bed.
It wasn’t like he had just never checked whether or not he was a witch. He and Lindy had curled up under blanket forts more than once and tried the tests from the books Lindy snuck into the house despite Ekkehardt’s rules against magic. Nothing had ever come of it. Not even playing with Lindy’s growing collection of runes and tarot cards showed that he had any capacity for witchcraft. It made the likelihood that the Shadows were real fairly slim.
There were two bottles of pills on his dresser. One was the anti-psychotics. He hated them and they barely worked, but he had to take them. Maybe he would be worse without them. Why risk it? The second was a generic bottle that he’d filled with over-the-counter sleeping pills. Mixing them was definitely ill-advised at best. Ekkehardt would have an aneurysm if he knew. As CEO of the biggest pharmaceutical company in the country, he knew everything and then some about mixing meds. God knew he’d fended off enough lawsuits about it. But Ekkehardt wasn’t here, and the combination gave Dieter a dreamless sleep. If they’d only had some whisky, it would be perfect.
He swallowed a small handful of pills, dry, and curled up under the heavy blankets. Not even the Shadows shrieking his name could wake him up.
DIETER WAS about to leave the house when Lindy stumbled in. It had been a few weeks since he’d started his… thing with Steven, and he may or may not have been avoiding her on the off chance that she’d pick up on something he didn’t want her to.
“Long night?” he asked.
Her makeup was smudged, and she reeked of coffee and deodorant.
“The guy who was supposed to come in after me never showed. So I had to stay all—” She interrupted herself with a yawn. “—all night.”
Dieter gave her a sympathetic look. He wondered, not for the first time, why she didn’t find a new job or at least demand day shifts only. But she always insisted that she liked her work. Apparently, it worked well with her Second Sight. He didn’t quite understand the details ––– Lindy had never been able to really explain it—but from what he understood, it worked on a trigger system for her. Sort of like being in a constant state of déjà vu or something. The phone would ring, or a caller would say something, and she’d get a vision, or a flash of information, or whatever it actually was. It worked for her, so he left it alone.
“You don’t work today, do you?” he asked.
Lindy shook her head, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. It took raccoon eyes to a whole other level.
“No, but I have to meet with the Awliya later for court prep.”
“What’s an Awliya?”
The word was familiar somehow, but he couldn’t remember where he’d heard it.
“They’re like Muslim witches. Awliya plural, Wali singular. There’s only two of them in town, prosecutors for… Whatever law firm, I don’t fucking… Soaresand fuckever.”
Dieter could practically see each individual brain cell turning off as she spoke.
“You should get some sleep,” he said. “You want me to pick anything up after class?”
He didn’t have class on Thursdays, but the words came out before he could stop himself. She probably couldn’t even tell what day it was. Hell, at this point, she probably didn’t even know what year it was.
“That caffeine chocolate. And maybe a box of chai?”
Dieter nodded. “You got it.”
Lindy trudged up the stairs, and Dieter let out a small sigh of relief.
It was getting too cold to walk comfortably, but Dieter didn’t have the patience to wait for the bus. A thin layer of snow stuck to his boots, revealing the pavement beneath.
An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he made his way up the stairs to SCIE 4250. It was a familiar feeling, one he’d had for the past few weeks. He knew it was a feeling he shouldn’t ignore. He shouldn’t have been here. He should have been at home making sure Lenna didn’t slam the door and wake Lindy when she got home. And yet, here he was.
It wasn’t even about the attention or about being touched or even about sex—not that it had even come up yet. At least, it wasn’t about any of that today. He’d spent the night with Sandra Wu, his running partner and occasional classmate, and she had left him more than satisfied in those departments. He was pretty sure that the marks on his back from her nails were still visible. But he wanted to be called fascinating and gorgeous and he didn’t care if it came from a man twice his age, no matter how much he knew he should. He wanted to be good enough for someone.
The initial shock of their first physical encounter had worn off, and Dieter had fallen quickly into the not-entirely-unfamiliar game.
A feeling of being followed overtook Dieter so suddenly, he almost gave himself whiplash turning around. He scanned the hallway and only saw shadows and Shadows. Still, he lingered for a few moments to be sure before pushing the door open.
“Dieter.”
The purr had a shiver racing down his spine. Okay, maybe he’d lied. It was a little bit about sex. Steven wanted him, and Dieter knew it. If Steven could exploit Dieter’s long list of exploitable attributes, Dieter figured he could exploit that.
“Hey.”
He dumped his backpack on the floor and hung his jacket on the back of the door. The loss of warmth raised the hairs on his arms.
“It’s cold in here,” he said.
“Why don’t you let me warm you up?”
Dieter had heard something similar plenty of times, from both men and women alike. But few of them held the depth and authority in their voices that Steven did. He moved toward Steven and pressed up against his side. An arm settled across his waist. Dieter stared at Steven’s mouth, wondering if he should lean down and kiss him. But they weren’t there yet. This was different from the rest of his flings. This one had to go slow.
They were both aware of the power imbalance between them. Navigating it, taking control without the other noticing, would take some work. But he’
d done it before, he could do it again.
Steven’s hand rubbed at Dieter’s hip, sneaking up to stroke at the skin just above his waistband. Dieter nudged it away.
The forgotten Shadow leaned in, shrieking in Dieter’s ear. Dieter winced and shoved it away. The Shadow only moved around to the other side and shrieked again.
“Stop it!”
Steven pulled back and put some space between them. The Shadow thinned out and vanished with a wail that set Dieter’s teeth on edge.
“I didn’t mean you,” Dieter said, reaching out toward Steven. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
Still, Steven’s breath came out shaky. Dieter didn’t blame him. He was probably waiting for Dieter to reach his limit and start screaming loud enough to draw half the faculty on the floor to the office.
‘It’s fine’ wasn’t the kind of praise and attention Dieter wanted. It wasn’t enough to drive the Shadows out of his mind. He licked his lips and sat up on the empty space on Steven’s desk. Steven raised an eyebrow.
“Let me make it up to you,” Dieter said, dropping his voice in the way that had made Sandra arch and whimper.
It seemed to have a similar effect on Steven. Or maybe it was a reaction to Dieter undoing the top button on his shirt. Either way, it was what Dieter wanted.
“Just look,” he said.
“And if I do more than look?”
Dieter’s mouth dried up in a way that had nothing to do with the side-effects of his anti-psychotics. A part of him wanted Steven to do more than look, but a bigger part of him balked at the intimacy it would bring. He was afraid to cross the line that would wrench any control he had here from his hands. He needed that control.
“Then I leave, and I don’t come back.”
Set the ground rules. Take charge. Don’t let anyone think you aren’t calling the shots.
The advice was supposed to be for keeping a group focused on a project, but it seemed to apply here, too.
Steven leaned back in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests. Dark eyes followed the path of Dieter’s finger as the worked each button open.
The buttons came undone one by one. Focusing on them let Dieter tune out the Shadow—the same one as before, he suspected—crawling up the wall. His exposed nipples, no longer protected from the room’s cool air by his shirt, began to harden. He had an urge to rub them. But that wasn’t the show he was putting on. Not yet.