When All the World Sleeps

by Lisa Henry

“This is my treat.” Bel tried not to let Daniel’s reluctance unnerve him. He wanted to do this, wanted to give something to Daniel—damn it, why couldn’t Daniel just deal with that? “You like me well enough to let me give you a gift, don’t you?”

  Daniel gave a half smile. “I think you feel sorry for me.”

  “Are you getting out of the car or not?”

  Daniel shook his head. But his smile broadened a little. “Guess I got to. I put you in charge.”

  “Smart move.”

  “We’ll see.”

  As soon as Daniel was out of the car, Bel came around and swatted his ass. Didn’t care who the fuck saw. Then he put his arm around Daniel and they walked in together.

  It felt good to listen to Bel. To know that he meant something to one person in this world. To know that Bel wanted to get him a gift. Which, it was stupid, but it had been so long since anyone had wanted to give him anything—besides maybe a pig’s head or a noose—that Daniel’s pleasure at the prospect had overridden his pride. The pride he knew he ought to have, the pride that should have made him say he’d buy his own damn supplies—if he needed supplies, which he didn’t.

  Daniel wandered through the aisles of the craft store, trying to pretend he had any idea what to look for.

  Bel stayed. Stayed with me for two days.

  Bel seemed just as uncomfortable as Daniel. He picked up a black velvet poster of two kittens playing with a ball of yarn. It came with a set of markers so you could color in the kittens and the yarn. “People really do this shit?” Bel asked.

  Daniel laughed.

  I freaked out. I was awful. And Bel stayed.

  Bel was examining bottles of glitter paint. Daniel glanced around. They were alone in the aisle. He placed a hand between Bel’s shoulder blades. Bel straightened and turned to him. Daniel loved Bel’s face—a little round, a little boyish. The skin was darker and rougher than Daniel’s. There were just the faintest traces of acne scars under Bel’s right cheekbone. So faint, Daniel could only see them in bright light like this. Bel’s chin was stubbled, and he had his usual serious expression. Sometimes that expression held a sense of genuine authority, and sometimes, like now, it looked like the face of a kid playing a cop. Daniel liked those moments. As safe as authoritative Bel made him feel, slightly lost Bel made him feel safer. Because then Daniel knew he wasn’t alone, wasn’t a freak. Wasn’t the only one who just couldn’t fucking figure things out sometimes.

  “What’re you smiling about?” Bel asked softly.

  Daniel leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss.

  Bel smiled. “Shit. You better hurry and pick out your stuff. I need to get you home.”

  “You said you wanted a change of scenery.”

  “Yeah, and now I want to fuck you.”

  “Well, too damn bad. You had your chance.”

  They made their way to the aisle of drawing supplies. “Honest, Bel, I don’t know what to look for. I don’t know what I need when I’m asleep.”

  “How about these?” Bel picked up a package of pencils in different shades of gray and black.

  Daniel took the package from him and looked at the price tag. “Maybe if I was actually gonna do somethin’ with these drawings, it would make sense to pay that much for pencils.”

  He started to put them back, but Bel caught his wrist. Squeezed gently. It wasn’t a threatening gesture, more of a reassurance, a reminder. “Daniel.” Bel’s voice was low. “I don’t want to hear another word about price. You understand me?”

  Daniel gripped the pencils. Felt them shift in the package. “Yeah, Bel.”

  Bel slid his thumb from Daniel’s wrist to the heel of his hand, running it lightly over the still-tender spot where Daniel had dug the nail file in. Daniel swallowed. “You get what you want. I’m gonna get one of those velvet kitten posters for myself.”

  Daniel snorted. “Maybe that’s what I need too.”

  Bel raised Daniel’s hand to his lips and kissed it before letting go. “We’ll get a couple. Have craft time some night when you’re sleepwalking.”

  Daniel shook his head. “You’re so weird. You’re the first person since my college roommate to act like—like what I do’s just a funny thing about me. No big deal.”

  He tensed. He hadn’t meant to imply Bel thought his sleepwalking was no big deal. Obviously Bel thought it was sick and wrong that Daniel had killed Kenny Cooper. Still, Daniel’s sleepwalking encompassed a hell of a lot more than that one night he’d burned Kenny’s house. And hadn’t Bel said he hated Cooper, was glad he was dead?

  “It ain’t a big deal except when it hurts you,” Bel said simply.

  Daniel couldn’t look at him. He put back the pencils and picked up a smaller pack—seemed better to start with less variety, since he wasn’t even sure he’d know how to use the things. Didn’t hurt that this pack was cheaper, either.

  Bel was trying to be nice. And Daniel appreciated it. But it was a big deal. Not just when it hurt Daniel. When it hurt other people. And ever since the episode two nights ago, Daniel hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Clayton. Clayton hadn’t forgotten how Kenny Cooper died. Hadn’t consigned him to quiet memory. It was hard to lay a man to rest when you knew his last minutes had been spent in terror: fighting and choking, desperate and afraid. And Clayton wanted to make Daniel pay for that.

  Daniel understood. He would carry his guilt over Kenny Cooper’s death for as long as he lived, but he was through being a martyr to it. So fuck Clayton.

  He picked out a sketch pad—well, Bel picked it out. It had a sketch of two spheres on the front, intricately shaded to make them look three dimensional, and a pyramid behind them. “It’s like a cock and balls,” Bel said.

  “You got a dirty brain.”

  “Not me. Whoever designed this. It couldn’t’ve been an accident.”

  They got some charcoal too, and an eraser, and then Daniel said he was done. Bel took them back through the aisle with the black velvet posters and got a kitten one and a unicorn one. “You’re not serious,” Daniel protested.

  “Deadly,” Bel said. He grabbed a small package as well, but Daniel couldn’t see what it was. Bel said it was just extra markers for the posters, but he had a smirk that Daniel didn’t trust.

  They drove back to Logan. Daniel was silent while they waited at a fast-food drive-thru for a lunch he wasn’t hungry for. He took out his phone. It was two twenty, but he figured that was okay. Hi, Bel, it’s Daniel, he texted. Thanks for the gift.

  He sent it, and a second later, Bel’s phone buzzed. Bel dug it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. Smiled. He reached over and placed a hand on Daniel’s cheek. Daniel turned and kissed his palm.

  At Bel’s place, they barely made it through the door before Daniel turned and started kissing Bel. Bel dropped the bag of art supplies and pulled Daniel hard against him, cupping his ass. “I’ll get cleaned up,” Daniel whispered.

  “Later,” Bel said. “I want you to strip and kneel for me.”

  Daniel flushed, his groin tightening, a smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, Bel.” He stripped quickly and kneeled at Bel’s feet. He wanted to look up at Bel, but he made himself bow his head.

  “That’s nice.” Bel placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. Ran his nails in light circles between Daniel’s shoulder blades. Daniel’s whole body prickled with pleasure. “You wait here, okay?”

  Bel left the room. Daniel heard him in the kitchen, running the sink. When Bel came back, Daniel snuck a glance at him. Watched him go over to the bag of art supplies, but didn’t get to see what he took out, because Bel looked up, and Daniel bowed his head again.

  Bel was opening something. A minute later, he was right behind Daniel, kneeling on the carpet. Daniel heard a small click, and then something pressed against his back. “Pay attention,” Bel said softly. “See if you can figure out what I write. Then do it.”

  Daniel barely had time to process that before Bel was drawing a wide curve on his shoulde
r with a—a marker? Shit. Daniel tried to pay attention. An unbroken serpentine. An S. The next letter was a T. That was easy. The marker didn’t tickle, just felt nice. Daniel almost lost track of the letters as he relaxed into the sensation. Bel must have run out of room—the last two letters were squished next to Daniel’s armpit. STAND UP. Daniel started to do what he thought Bel had told him to, but Bel kept him in place with a hand on his shoulder. “And . . .” Bel whispered. He wrote what Daniel was pretty sure was KISS ME across the middle of Daniel’s back.

  Daniel waited a second to be sure Bel was finished. Then he stood and turned, pressing his lips to Bel’s. Bel kissed him slowly, deeply, and Daniel’s cock gradually hardened. He wound his arms around Bel’s neck.

  Bel slid a hand down his back and patted his hip. “Go lie on the couch. On your back.”

  Daniel did. Bel gathered the package of markers from the floor and climbed onto the couch, straddling Daniel’s legs. He looked almost giddy. “Body markers.” He showed Daniel the package, which had two kids with their faces painted the colors of some sports team. “Maybe you ain’t the only one who can create a masterpiece. Put your hands above your head. Wrists crossed, like you’re cuffed.”

  Daniel obeyed. He was intrigued by this new game, by Bel’s excitement over the markers—an excitement that was contagious.

  Bel drew for a while on Daniel’s stomach. Daniel tried to look down to see what he was doing, but he finally gave up and stared at the ceiling, enjoying the way the markers tickled, the way Bel’s free hand rested on his hip. “Hold still,” Bel kept telling Daniel, because Daniel’s stomach muscles kept fluttering and tightening.

  “Feels funny.”

  “You’re messin’ up my art.”

  Finally Bel sat back on his heels. “Okay. This is a start.”

  Daniel lifted his head and glanced down at his stomach. He saw two green stick figures. And a few blue squiggly lines. That was about all he could make out. “What is it?”

  “That’s me tryin’ to get you to swim in the river.” He pointed to a red square on one stick figure’s arm. “That’s your damn chemistry book.”

  Daniel laughed. “I can’t believe you really remember that.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Daniel met his gaze. “Yeah. But I didn’t think you would. You had plenty of friends, Harnee’s kid.”

  Bel leaned forward and nipped his jaw. “Well now the memory is preserved in ink.”

  Bel picked up the green marker again.

  Twenty minutes later, Daniel’s body was covered in ink. There were pictures of blocky skyscrapers on Daniel’s chest that were supposed to represent Aiken, where Daniel had gone to college—never mind that Aiken didn’t have skyscrapers. A picture of a police car. An angry-looking rabbit just above his left pec. Bel’s drawings were childish, but Daniel loved them.

  Bel moved on to words. He wrote Daniel’s name down one side of his ribcage. Then KICKS ASS down the other. The word HOT appeared just below his navel, with an arrow pointing down to his cock. BEAUTIFUL on one thigh, the letters warped a little by Daniel’s leg hair. SMART on the other. Daniel had to work not to let it mean anything. Just a game. He’s just playing.

  “What the hell does that say?” Daniel looked at the word Bel had tried to write on his arm.

  “S’posed to be ‘Michelangelo,’ but I dunno how the fuck to spell it.”

  Daniel tried to laugh. “I ain’t Michelangelo.”

  “Who said you were? Maybe I just like his name.”

  “You done yet?”

  Bel grinned. “If you want me to be. I was gonna draw something here, though.” He rolled Daniel’s balls in his hand, then slid his palm up Daniel’s cock. Daniel groaned. Bel kissed his forehead and rubbed his cock until he came quietly, gasping and whispering Bel’s name. Bel wiped his hand on his shirt, then picked up the blue marker. “Hold still.”

  He tipped Daniel’s head back and wrote something across Daniel’s throat. He had to get Daniel to turn so he could finish it on the side of Daniel’s neck. “What’s it say?” Daniel asked.

  “C’mere.”

  Bel helped him up. Daniel winced at the stickiness coating his abdomen, blurring the marker drawings. Bel led him to the bathroom, to the mirror. Daniel studied his body, covered in Bel’s pictures and words. Tried to read the words on his throat. “What’s it say?” Bel asked him.

  “I don’t know. Your writing’s shit, and it’s backward.”

  Bel looked a little hurt, so Daniel tried harder. His throat got tighter as he read. His face burned, but the heat seemed to go deeper than his skin, into his skull, and gathered behind his eyes. It was a game, just a stupid game they were playing, and it didn’t matter what Bel had written. Bel was just trying to cheer Daniel up, right?

  But he kept staring, turning his head, reading the words over and over. Memorizing the scrawl of Bel’s writing.

  In a dark band around his neck, it said, BRAVEST MOTHERFUCKER IN LOGAN.

  In the morning, after Bel left for work, Daniel washed the sweat-smudged words and pictures off his body, sorry to see them vanish from his skin under the spluttering shower. Bel’s sheets were covered in colorful smears. Daniel bundled them into the washing machine. He felt better than he had in days. He was afraid of how much he was relying on Bel, but he wasn’t going to think of that this morning. He was stronger because of Bel, but he could be strong on his own too. He’d promised Casey he’d try.

  After hanging the sheets out to dry, he walked down to Main Street. And reminded himself he had every right to be there, whatever Clayton and R.J. and Brock thought. Whatever his parents thought. Whatever the whole damn town thought. And it didn’t hurt to know that Bel was patrolling somewhere nearby. He was the bravest motherfucker in Logan, wasn’t he? Yeah. Yeah he was.

  Right until he stopped at the gas station for some gum he was.

  He needed to piss, so he went into the bathroom. Just two stalls, both of them covered in graffiti, but more or less clean. He was just finishing up when he heard footsteps and laughter.

  “Hey, Whitlock?”

  Daniel froze.

  “I seen you come in here, Whitlock,” Clayton called. He banged on the door of the stall, rattling it. “You looking for a— What’s it called?”

  “Glory hole,” R.J. said. “You on your knees, Whitlock? You come in here to suck off truckers?”

  Someone whooped with laughter. Brock, Daniel guessed.

  He clenched his shaking hands into fists.

  Where the fuck did these guys get off, doing this to him? Didn’t they have anything better to do? ’Course not. Nothing so pressing on their schedules—drinking beer, driving around in Clay’s truck, shooting squirrels, and talking about pussy—that they couldn’t rearrange if they saw Daniel walking down the street. He hated them. They were fucking worthless.

  “Come on, Whitlock, don’t be shy,” Clayton called. He rattled the door again. “Answer me.”

  “Maybe he’s sleeping!” R.J. said.

  Daniel leaned against the wall of the stall and closed his eyes tightly. God, if only that were true. Because then Bel would walk through fire to save him, and he would look down at his burned hands and watch in amazement as they healed. Except he knew this was no dream, because in his dreams, he never questioned if he was sleeping or not.

  And there was no fire.

  “I told you not to come into town again, didn’t I, faggot?” Clayton called.

  I got as much right to be here as you. But Daniel wasn’t dumb enough to say it. He kept his eyes closed and slid a hand into the pocket of his jeans for his phone. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to prove to himself, and to Bel and Casey, that he could be. For the future. For the times when Bel wouldn’t be there. For the time when Bel looked at him the same way Marcus had, and told him they were done.

  He wanted Bel so much. Wanted to keep him in his life. But how could he, when this was his life?

  “Say something, Whitlock!” Clayton be
at on the door so hard that Daniel was afraid the hinges would break.

  His eyes flashed open. He struggled for breath. He willed his voice to stay steady. “Get the hell outta here, Clayton.”

  And shit, he realized there was a hole in the wall between the stalls after all. Not a glory hole—too high for that—but probably where someone had put their fist through the wall. And R.J. had found it. “I see you, Whitlock!”

  Daniel stared back at him, his heart racing, his guts clenched.

  “He’s got his phone out, Clay,” R.J. said.

  “You gonna call Belman?” Clayton taunted. “You can’t face us like a man, Whitlock? You gotta get your pig boyfriend in on this?”

  Brock laughed, a high-pitched nasal sound. “Pussy!”

  Clayton smashed against the door again, and Daniel jumped. R.J. roared with laughter. “You got him scared now, Clay!”

  Daniel’s fingers shook as he lifted his phone. “I’m gonna call the cops unless you leave right now.”

  “Pussy!” Brock called again.

  “I’ll be seeing you, Whitlock!” Clayton punched the door one last time.

  R.J.’s eye vanished from the hole in the wall, and Daniel heard the three of them laughing as they headed outside again.

  Daniel flipped the toilet seat down and sat. His stomach churned and he swallowed bile.

  Jesus.

  He squeezed his eyes shut.

  Breathe. In and out. In and out.

  He became aware he was humming. He was fucking humming every time he exhaled, and if he lost control of the sound it’d be a whimper or a sob or a panicked scream in the space of a heartbeat.

  He put his head in his shaking hands and breathed until his heart rate slowed again. Until the noise subsided.

  What if they were waiting for him outside? What if they followed him back to the cabin? What if they got him alone, this time without any door to protect him?

  No.

  No more.

  Fuck this.

  Daniel sucked in a deep breath and held it. Rode out the burn in his lungs. Rode out his panic and his fear.

  He was done being scared. They had no right, no fucking right, to keep hounding him this way.