by Liz Jacobs
Dex felt rooted to the spot in the dingy kitchen.
“We can go back to my room?”
God. Could they, though? Dex pictured them scrunched up on Nick’s single bed, breathing the close air of his tiny room. Dex indicated the door. “’Course.”
+
Two bottles consumed between two guys over the course of a couple of hours was not exactly a recipe for drunken debauchery, but Dex still felt the buzz of it in his bones. Low instrumental music played over Nick’s computer. Sorting themselves out on Nick’s bed had taken some pains, but Dex had finally settled at the foot of the bed, knees drawn up, shoulder propped against the wall. Nick had settled by the pillow, mirroring Dex in position, and they faced each other as they downed the wine.
It was a red, because Dex had thought it’d go best with the meal, but now he was conscious of potentially having purple teeth even as Nick’s turned a shade of maroon. Absurd, but it didn’t stop Dex from wanting him. All it really did was make him want to kiss the traces of wine from his lips, lick it from his teeth, share it with his tongue.
Dex had just finished telling him about Al and his troubles and was wondering what the fuck to say next when Nick asked, “How is Izzy? I haven’t heard from her in a while.”
Dex smiled despite himself and settled more comfortably against the wall. It wasn’t comfortable at all, in fact, but he was scared to upset the equilibrium. “She’s all right, I guess. Confused as all fuck, but she’s Izzy, you know? She’ll pull through.”
“Good. I hope. Is Natali—”
“I think she’s coming around. It’s hard to explain, but she just needs time to get past—” He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Her own stuff, I guess.”
“Is it that she likes Izzy?” His tongue sounded like it wasn’t quite catching up with the words, and you could hear the traces of an accent. Could tell that English wasn’t the first language his tongue had learnt. Dex wanted to hear even more.
“Yes and no. I mean, you have to sort of know where she’s coming from.” Nick was too distracting. He focused on the few books Nick had lined up on his shelf. A couple were definitely not in English. Dex squinted. Or any alphabet he knew. “She had a really hard time coming out, so she sort of believes that if you haven’t sweated blood out of it—” He was making Nat sound like an arsehole. He may not have agreed with her anger, but it wasn’t his anger to agree with. “It’s just hard on her. This came out of nowhere.”
“It makes sense.” Dex waited to see if Nick would offer anything else more personal, but of course, this was Nick. Nick, who only shared when the information was pried out of him with blood and gore. Dex had none of Izzy’s gift of insistence, so he was left to wonder if Nick had a story of his own and if one day he would share a part of it.
Like a padlocked gate, this boy was.
“I hope she comes around.”
“You and me both, mate. Living with the both of them right now is a bit like trying your hand at being Switzerland.”
Nick’s uneven teeth glinted wine-purple in the light. “Sounds rough.”
“You’ve got an accent when pissed, did you know that?”
Nick clamped a hand over his mouth. He mumbled something, but Dex couldn’t make out a single word. He was across the bed before he could think about it and grabbed Nick’s wrist to pull his hand away from his mouth. He felt them both stop breathing for a moment.
“Sorry.” His throat felt like he had gorged himself on wine-flavoured candy floss. Their pulses thrummed in counter-rhythm. Nick’s wordless music saved them from having to hear only their own hard breathing. “What were you saying?”
“You weren’t supposed to notice.” Nick said. It was too quiet in the narrow space between them. Dex became aware of where his knees were digging into Nick’s hard shin, of how small Nick looked this close up.
Dex dropped his wrist and shoved himself backwards. “Well, I did,” he said in a pathetic attempt to restore some balance between them. “It’s not a bad thing, though, is it?” God, he was so obvious. Nick had to know.
“I don’t know.” Nick’s shrug looked like a stilted thing. “I guess I like that I pass. Most of the time.” He picked at the frayed bottoms of his jeans.
“Why?” He wasn’t drunk, but he didn’t feel entirely in control of himself either. Get a fucking grip, Dexter, he’s just a boy you sort of like. His heart beat hard.
“I don’t like—” He huffed out a frustrated breath. “This will sound worse than I mean it, okay, but I just don’t like talking—”
“I’m sorry—”
“No.” A fraction of a smile. “I didn’t mean with you. I just mean in general. It’s always a thing if you have an accent. People are always asking my mom where she’s from, even if she’s buying groceries. My sister, too. It gets … exhausting.”
“Are people arseholes about it?” Of all things to float to the front of his mind, his dad’s face wasn’t what he had anticipated. He pictured their old Sainsbury’s, the one around the corner from his school.
Nick shook his head slowly, like he was really thinking about it. “No, not usually. You know how there’s one thing about you that people focus on all the time, but it’s not the only thing about you, but nobody ever gets past it? That’s sort of what being an immigrant feels like. Except, I mean. It is important. It’s a huge part of me, but it’s not the only part.”
“I do,” he said. He pointed to his own face. “Black.”
They watched each other for a long moment. Nick said quietly, “Yeah. Except I can pass.”
“Do you think that I might want to?” His heart felt hollow inside his ribcage.
“No! God, that’s not … that’s not what I’m saying, shit, I’m sorry. I just always do. I always want to pass. I wish I didn’t, but I do. And I can, because I was young enough when we moved that I lost my accent. God, I’m saying it all wrong, I’m sorry. You probably think I’m such an asshole.”
“Nick, Christ, slow down, mate, I don’t think anything.” Before he could think better of it, he grabbed Nick’s hand. Nick was looking at him almost desperately. “It’s okay. I get it. I’m sorry that it has to be that way.” He let go of Nick’s hand carefully.
“I look like my dad,” Nick said abruptly, and Dex stopped breathing. “I mean, I look mostly like my dad, except just different enough that I never—this will sound awful, but just hear me out—I never looked Jewish. Not like the rest of my family does.” Dex watched his throat move. Nick was so thin, his neck was all fragile definition. “My mom and sister, they’re the most obvious. My sister was walking home once and got threatened on the staircase of our apartment building.”
“Jesus,” Dex breathed. “Was she okay?”
Nick nodded. “I mean, she was upset, but they didn’t physically hurt her or anything. But she was only thirteen at the time. They looked at her face and knew.”
“How?” Dex asked, despite himself.
“Long nose, big hooded eyes. Curly dark hair. She looked like a Jew, so she was treated like one.”
“God, Nick. I’m sorry.”
“Well, don’t be, honestly. It’s done. It’s different in the States. But I just got used to being invisible, and coming to the States and not speaking English made me visible, and I hate that.”
Dex could not begin to wade through all the layers of fucked-up-ness Nick had just spilled between them. He was just near enough a question he thought he could get away with when Nick said, “Anyway, sorry. Guess I’m drunk.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“What about you?”
Door shut again. Dex could have laughed. “What about me?”
Nick sucked in his lower lip, ran his teeth over it. Christ, his mouth. “I don’t know, tell me about you.” It could have been a trick of the light, but Nick’s cheeks looked flushed now.
Lightness stole over Dex. Like bubbles fizzing through his system. “But what about me?”
“Anything. Doesn�
�t feel fair that I’ve said all this crap, and you’ve listened, but you—”
“It’s not crap. Honestly, I like hearing you talk. I mean, if you don’t mind,” he added, the lightness quickly replaced by panic. Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking. “You’re interesting.” Fuck.
Nick, shrinking even more inside himself, smiled. Dex was all tension waiting to be released. “Thanks. You’re—you’re interesting, too.”
“I’m so not, man,” Dex laughed and scooted back, propping himself up on the wall again. He felt like a thread between them snapped as he did so. Tension seeped out. He could breathe again, but he found he didn’t want to, after all. Too late.
“Okay. Well, why were you so grumpy when we first met?” Even as the question left his mouth, Dex could see Nick panic. His own panic hit him full-on in tingling fingers and his stomach dropping to his toes.
“Um—”
“Sorry, that was stupid—”
“No. It was just—” He couldn’t. How could he begin to explain or to attempt to defend himself? “It wasn’t you. To be honest, I was just grumpy in general then. I was—getting over someone.”
“Oh. Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“I’m over it, mate.” He found it was true. “Honest. It’s good to talk about it, actually. Now, I mean.”
“What happened? If it’s okay—”
“Yeah, it’s okay. He cheated on me. For a while, apparently. I didn’t know. Broke my heart, really.”
It was hard to read Nick in that moment. Harder than normal, that is. “I’m sorry. That’s really fucking shitty.”
“It is, isn’t it? Oh, well. At least I found out eventually, I suppose. Reckon I’m better off now.”
“Yes.” They both laughed, sounding so bloody self-conscious.
Dex grabbed his glass from the floor again and took another sip. He was in danger of sobering up, and it was the last thing he wanted. Feeling reckless, he said, “What about you? Anyone back home?”
As soon as it was out of his mouth, it occurred to him he didn’t want to know. What possible answer could Nick give that would satisfy him? What if he did have someone? What then? What sort of someone would it be? And what business was it of Dex’s, anyway, from where Nick stood? God, maybe he needed to sober up, after all.
Nick took ages to respond. “No. No one.”
He had more questions than answers now, but he knew when to leave well enough alone.
“I should probably get going,” he said. It was way past time. He had to get out. He needed air. He needed his own room. He needed to clear his fucking head.
“Oh, okay.” Did Nick sound disappointed?
“Yeah, I’ve got loads of work to do tomorrow.” It was only half a lie.
He got up, barely swaying on his feet, and reached for his jacket. Nick was still sat on the bed, and Dex quashed another reckless impulse. They’d never hugged before. What made him almost do it now? Nick’s posture did not look encouraging of hugs. A thought about how Nick might feel with his defenses down flitted through Dex’s head. Impossible.
He really had to get the fuck home.
“Thank you.” Nick was smiling. “This was nice.”
Dex smiled helplessly in response. “It was. Next time, you cook for me?” It was out before he could stop it.
“Deal.”
“Well, have a good night, man.”
He blinked in the too-bright corridor for a full minute, stood against the door, rooted to the spot. It wasn’t until he finally started walking that he heard the lock clicking shut.
17
It had been over a week since Izzy had told everyone about her night with Ruby, and it felt like most people had accepted and moved on, thank Christ on a bike.
Most people save Nat. Nat was doing her fucking best to pretend like Izzy was just part of the flat furniture.
“Good morning!”
“Hey.”
“What’re you up to today?”
“School.”
Done. Those were their conversations now. Nat avoided Izzy’s room like it was bloody Chernobyl. Was that rude to say, now that she knew Nick?
One night, Izzy waited up for Nat to come home only to fall asleep in front of the telly and wake up at two with a crick in her neck. Nat never emerged from her room the following morning, so she’d probably not come home.
Izzy only talked to Dex about his own crap. Jonny had tried to engage her in an awkward conversation about it once or twice, but Izzy immediately felt herself recoiling. Wasn’t she always the one who told everyone talking about stuff helped? She didn’t want to talk about it. Ever. Not with her friends. They all seemed to understand her anger better than Izzy could.
She felt utterly shut out.
Which led to her avoiding them all the more.
Which made her feel wretched and lonely.
It was all so fucked up.
She had considered talking to Kat once, but Kat was still not past her delighted shock at Izzy’s Surprise Night of Sapphic Romance (was what Kat had called it, because of course she had) and avoided the topic by flirting aggressively. As Izzy did not wish to cause any more strife with her friends, however peripheral, she began avoiding Kat, too.
She began judging her conversations with people. Did it pass the Isabel Is Tired of This Bullshit Test? If the conversation included the words you and Nat, it did not.
“Babe, you have got to snap out of it,” Dex said.
Izzy growled at him as she switched the channel.
Dex did not pick up on her signal and flopped down next to her. Nat was out—obviously—and Jonny had disappeared to wherever it was Jonny had begun disappearing to and coming back with hickeys hidden under clothes. Good on him. It was an excellent way of avoiding the house, too.
“Leave me alone.”
“Not a chance.”
She moved away from him.
Dex sidled closer. Tosser.
“Stop being so bloody annoying!”
“Shan’t.”
He wrestled the remote from her hands and turned off the telly.
“Oh my God! What the fuck d’you think you’re doing?”
“We are not going to talk about Natali.”
“Liar.”
“I swear to God.”
“I don’t actually believe you. What are we going to talk about, then?”
“You.”
“And?”
“Well, we could talk about me, too, but only afterwards, if you’re good. How’s your screenplay project coming along?”
Low fucking blow.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, I promise, but you just haven’t talked about it in a while. I’ve been sort of worried.”
He should have been. Hell, she should have been. It was pathetic, really, that she’d let whatever the fuck it was with Nat block her from writing, but every time she opened up the doc it would just blink at her until she found she’d spent two hours in a fugue state of backreading film blogs or down a makeup tutorial YouTube spiral. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to talk to her advisor, either, because it was so embarrassing. Like, what the fuck, pull your shit together, woman. They’ll say you’re too emotional to work in film.
“I know.”
“She—”
Dex broke off at her furious gaze.
“This will work out eventually,” he continued in a tone that was clearly meant to placate her. Because it was Dex’s soothing voice, though it actually was working. “But you’ve got to—”
“What.”
“Take care of yourself.”
God, she fucking hated the feeling of inevitability right before having a cry. She felt her chin drawing up, lip trembling.
“Iz…”
There she went. Hot tears leaking from her eyes onto her cheeks. God. It was the worst. She wiped at her face, but the tears kept coming, and then she was soaking Dex’s T-shirt with them as he gathered her up against his chest and let her get tears and s
not all over him.
“It’s all right, babe. I’ve got you.”
It was both humiliating and so fucking comforting to have him on her side. The only other person who made her feel all right about herself was her mum.
Well. Nat did, too. Had. Before.
But now it was Mum and Dex.
Her friends loved her. She knew that. But it was different with Dex. A best mate meant you got to blubber on their chest and they made you feel like your mum was holding you. She trembled—crying always made her have the shakes, which she hated—and tried to think again, not just about She Who Shall Not Be Named, but for herself.
The weekend stretched ahead of her, and she thought, fuck it. Fuck everything.
“I think I’m gonna visit my mum.” Her voice hitched on its way out of her constricted throat. Another reason to hate crying, this wretched inability to talk like a normal person.
“Yeah?”
Yeah. She nodded, resolved. “Need to get away, I think.”
“D’you want company?”
Going on a seaside adventure with Dex. That sounded lovely. But mum would be easier with no witnesses.
“Thank you, but I think I’ve got to do this on my own.”
Dex kissed the top of her head again. She loved that he was so outwardly grumpy but such a bloody marshmallow on the inside. “Thanks for putting up with me.”
“Well, same to you.”
“God, we’re a wretched pair, aren’t we?”
“Eh.” She felt him shrug against her. “I like us well enough. I even like your snot.”
She sniggered. “You do not.”
“I do, actually. It’s comforting.”
“God, you weirdo. Let’s see if maybe Friends is on.”
“All right, Snotface.”
“Shut up.”
+
Alex handed over the keys to his beat-up Peugeot without question. “Take care, all right?” He peered at her in a way that meant he wasn’t talking about the car. Alex. She loved Alex.
“Thanks, mate. I’ll return it with not a scratch on, promise.”