by K. Webster
His eyes open and without his glasses, he squints to make out my features. He’s so fucking cute.
“Morning,” I croak out, my voice raspy from sleep.
“Morning.” He tentatively reaches up and runs his fingertips over my pectorals. “This is a way better view than my hideous blue wallpaper.”
“You can’t even see me,” I tease. “I might look just as hideous as that blue wallpaper. It’s best we keep your glasses away for now.”
“What will we do while you have me in your bed, blind no less?” he taunts, his brown eyes gleaming wickedly.
I roll him over, grabbing his wrists and pinning him. Our dicks are both hard as fuck and I enjoy the hell out of teasing him by rubbing mine against his. He squirms and groans, panting heavily.
“I’m going to make you come in your briefs,” I warn before dipping down to kiss his lips. “Then, I’m going to pull them off so I can lick you clean.”
“You’re so dirty,” he breathes, but doesn’t seem too bothered by that fact.
I laugh, rolling my hips against his. “Filthy, kid. Absolutely fucking filthy.”
Just when I get him close, his Nokia starts ringing from his khakis I dropped in the chair beside the bed last night. He freezes and his eyes grow wide with panic.
“I should answer that,” he chokes out, begging me with his eyes for me to release him.
“Yeah, I guess.” I groan and let him go before falling back on the bed.
He scrambles to pull the phone from his pocket and then says a breathy, “Hello.”
Yelling.
I can hear it all the way over here.
Fuck, his mom.
“Mom—” He shoots me a panicked look. “No, I’m fine—”
She continues to ream him. The confident, happy Malcolm I’ve grown to know over the past several days scampers into the corner as his mother chews him a new asshole.
“Do we need to go?” I mouth.
He nods, tears of frustration welling in his eyes. I quickly climb off the bed and throw on some clothes. He’s still getting a bitch-out of a lifetime as he fumbles to put his clothes on.
“Twenty minutes,” he promises. “I’ll be home. Okay, bye.”
He hangs up and his bottom lip wobbles. I fucking hate what that woman does to his self-esteem.
“Come here,” I croon, pulling him to me for a comforting hug. “Remember, Mal, you’re a grown-ass adult. Okay? She can bitch all she wants, but you’re not a child anymore.”
He squeezes me tight and I don’t want to let him go. I kiss the top of his head, inhaling his familiar scent. Pulling away slightly, I cup his cheeks and kiss his forehead.
“After you talk to her, call me. If it gets bad, call me,” I tell him. “I’ll be back in a heartbeat for you.”
My words settle him and he smiles. “Thank you.”
The drive back to his house is a quick one. We have a couple minutes to spare, so I run into a store to grab him a Mountain Dew and a glazed donut so he doesn’t starve. In the parking lot of the gas station, I kiss him hard and frantic, knowing we won’t get the opportunity in his driveway.
As soon as we pull up, his brother is waiting on the porch, scowling. Well, fuck him. I reach over and squeeze Mal’s hand in a reassuring way and wink at him.
“Call me as soon as you can.”
“I look forward to it.”
Then, he scurries across the lawn and up the front steps. His brother lets him pass, but his furious glare is glued to me. I wave even though I want to flip him off.
He doesn’t wave back.
He hasn’t called yet. Not the entire drive back. Not during the time I took a quick shower. Not as I cleaned up the mess from last night. I’m still pacing an hour after dropping Mal off at his house when my doorbell rings.
Mal.
I rush down the stairs, nearly knocking a picture off the wall as I rush to the front door. When I fling it open, I let out a sigh of disappointment.
Not Mal.
Lennon.
“So happy to see you too,” he deadpans. “Am I interrupting something?”
I shake my head and open the door wider to let him in. “Just waiting on a phone call. What’s up?”
“Can’t a guy visit his best friend on a Saturday morning?”
“A guy could, but said guy is usually too busy having a pity party for one. I didn’t know I was invited.” I laugh as I walk through the living room and into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
Lennon follows me into the kitchen and I note that he’s still wearing his uniform from the night before. He looks tired and overworked.
“To what do I owe this pleasure? Truly. Cut the shit, bud. We both know even when Stacey was alive, we never did this.” I pull two mugs out of the cabinet. “Let me guess. You’re worried about my friend.”
He scowls. “It’s my duty to be worried.”
“Okay, then fess up to why you’re here.”
When he doesn’t answer right away, I check my Nokia for a missed call and then pocket it. The coffee finishes brewing, so I pour us each a cup and fix them appropriately—his with a dash of milk and mine with cream and sugar. I hand him his mug and we take them to the living room to sit.
“What’s up with that girl?” he asks, cutting right to the chase.
I rub at the back of my neck. “She was born with the wrong body parts and she’s been trying her entire life to make the body match what’s inside. What’s it to you?”
“I just…” He sips his coffee. “He, er, she seems like a girl.”
“Because she is a girl.”
“But not technically.”
“Did you really come over to discuss the fact that Sorro was born as Michael Washington and has a penis much to her horror?” I snap, irritated at his interrogation.
He flinches at my outburst. “I wasn’t…I wasn’t hating on her, man.”
“Then what the fuck, Len?”
A heavy sigh escapes him and he scrubs his palm over his trimmed beard. “I just…it made me sick.”
When he notices my fury, he shakes his head.
“Not her,” he rushes out. “The guy who tried to hurt her. She’s just…she didn’t deserve that.”
“Ya think?”
“I wish there were more I could do to help.”
“Are you going to start marching in queer parades with us? The gays love a hot cop.”
He grumbles. “You’re being a dick today. What’s up with you?”
“Nothing.” I sigh heavily. “Everything.”
“Want to share?”
I sip my coffee and shrug. “Mal is unlike anyone I’ve ever been with. Something just clicks with him. I’m addicted to him in ways I can’t even begin to explain. But…”
“But what?”
“He’s not out.”
“Of the closet?”
“Nope. His mom would freak the fuck out if she knew her kid wasn’t straight. Normally I’d tell him to tell her to go fuck herself. But Mal’s different. He’s soft and sensitive. Destroying his relationship with his mom over his sexual preference would kill him.” I sip my coffee again and groan. “I know every person who comes out to their family has to deal with this shit, but I wish I could protect him from it.”
“So you’re fuckin’ him on the sly?” he asks, suddenly all too interested in my sex life.
“We’re not fucking per se, but we’re fucking around. I want to do more, but I want to go easy on him. I want to date him and spend time with him. It’s more than just sex with Mal.”
Lennon’s brows hike up his face. “Wow.”
“What?”
“I just never thought I’d see the day.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I’m not in love.” Yet.
“Nah, it’s more than that. I just never thought I’d see you serious for more than five seconds over anyone but yourself.”
“You’re an asshole,” I grumble. I set my mug down on the coffee table and check my phone f
or the millionth time. Nothing.
“Your favorite one.”
Malcolm
“You’re so fucked.”
Madden’s words are on repeat in my head as I wait for Mom to get out of her bath. She takes baths when she’s pissed. I wanted to call Scott, but since my battery was running low, I put it on the charger in my room and then took a quick shower. But I can’t get my older brother’s smirk out of my head.
“You’re so fucked.”
My anxiety levels are through the roof as I pace my bedroom. I clean it up and then ask Jeeves a few coding questions that he doesn’t have answers to before pacing my room some more. I’d turn on the radio to calm my nerves and listen to something soothing, but I know that’ll just set her off.
“You’re so fucked.”
I wonder if Madden’s hoping I’ll get kicked out so he can take over my room. Sounds about right. At one time, we shared this bedroom growing up, but then he went off to college and had a short stint at the NFL, leaving me in peace. Now that he’s home, I never invited him back. He took up residence on the sofa until he sorts his life out.
I’m just considering calling Scott when Mom’s door creaks open and she storms into my bedroom in her old, pink robe. The same robe I remember from my childhood. She wasn’t always so bitter and angry. When I was young, I remember good times, with Dad. Her happiness revolved around him. The moment Dad bailed when I was nine, she was no longer our happy mom.
“I told you I was going to be out late,” I offer lamely.
Her nostrils flare and she flings up her pointer finger. “First of all, boy, you don’t get to tell me shit as long as I pay for the roof over your head.” She flings up another finger. “Second of all, when you said late, I assumed midnight, not the next morning.” Another finger pops up. “Third of all, I think you’ve developed a serious attitude since you took this job. Not even a week in and you’re acting like you’re a tough little shit.”
“Mom,” I mutter. “I’m sorry.”
“Damn right you’re sorry! Actin’ just like your daddy. That arrogance will get you a house full of kids that you don’t want and a wife who can’t keep you happy. Is that what you want?”
I cringe, shaking my head. Definitely don’t want a wife or a house full of kids. Pass.
“Because it’s so bad, huh?” she sneers.
“That’s not what I meant—”
“What was your black ass doing at all hours of the night? You know if you go out there acting like a damn fool, you’re gonna end up with a house full of kids! I know your piece of shit father isn’t around, but I thought you’d at least learn something from Madden!”
“Mom, stop!” I bark out. “I’m an adult now!”
Whap!
I bring my palm to my stinging cheek and squat to pick my glasses up off the floor. Tears sting in my eyes, but I refuse to cry. That won’t help my case of ‘I’m an adult so please leave me the fuck alone.’ I put my glasses back on my face and rub at my cheek.
She puts her hand on her hip and cocks it out to the side, her brown eyes flaring with challenge. “You were saying?”
“Nothing,” I squeak out.
“Damn right,” she huffs. “So where were you?”
I chew on the inside of my bottom lip, formulating a lie. In the end, I choose the safest option. “Clubbin’ with Scott.”
“Clubbin’ with Scott,” she practically growls. “The same Scott whose feet you kiss and worship?”
I scowl. “He’s my boss and—”
“No boss I’ve ever heard of takes a boy clubbin’ with them and spends every goddamn waking moment with him. Those rich white men like their drugs. Is that what this is about? You think you can keep up with an expensive coke addiction when he drops you for another young kid to make him feel better about himself? Did you get to see a stripper too? What kind of filthy shit did Scott get you into?” Her chest heaves with fury. “Go on now, spill it, boy!”
“Mom, it was harmless,” I try, desperately hoping I don’t cry.
“Harmless? You call worrying myself sick all night long thinking my boy was dead in a ditch is harmless? You’re a goddamn naïve child out there gallivantin’ like he’s a big man with rich Scott. Get the fuck outta my face,” she screams, raising her hand at me again.
I cower, shielding my face, waiting for the blow, but it never comes.
“Come on, Mom,” Madden says calmly. “Why don’t you lie down and rest your eyes? You’re exhausted from last night.”
He shoots me a withering glare, but I’m thankful he saved me from her wrath. When Mom gets on a roll, she won’t stop until you’re curled on the floor crying and begging for mercy. As soon as they’re gone, I shut my bedroom door, flip the light off, and crawl into bed. Silently, I cry at the unfairness of it all.
I’ve finally found happiness in my life. A way to feel like I fit in. And Mom can’t even be happy for me. She’s so damn controlling. As soon as I save up some money and grow a backbone, I’m out of here. Madden can have his room back. I’m done with these people.
Once my tears are dried, I unplug my phone and dial Scott.
“Hello?” His voice is hoarse. Worried. It comforts me.
“Hi,” I croak out.
“How’d it go?”
The stupid tears well in my eyes and I hug my pillow to my chest as I desperately try to hold in my sob. My mother reduces me to a tiny piece of shit to get kicked and stomped on. I can be on top of the world and she’ll find a way to pull the rug out from under my feet.
“Hey,” Scott croons. “Don’t cry, okay?”
This only makes me cry harder, the sounds I’m trying to hold in escaping. Tears soak my pillow and I sniffle. It’s humiliating for my boss, friend, and almost lover to hear me at my weakest.
“Listen,” he breathes. “I want you to just listen since you can’t talk. You’re brilliant and strong. Gorgeous. I’ve had the best time hanging out with you this week. And you continue to blow me away with your work. Just because things suck right this second, it doesn’t mean they won’t get better. We’ll work on your confidence, Mal, together. When you’re feeling brave enough, you have my full support in breaking out of your mother’s hold on your life.”
His deep, rumbly voice works miracles to calm me.
“Why can’t she just be happy for me? Why does she always rag on me?” I whisper. “She always says it’s because I remind her most of Dad. You think that’s why? Does she hate me like she hates him since he ran out on us?”
“No one could ever hate you,” he says with conviction. “She’s just bitter and controlling. How long has he been gone for?”
Too long.
Too damn long.
“About ten years now. He bailed when I was nine,” I explain, hating the ache that forms in my chest whenever I think about Dad. “I remember them arguing. Mom was accusing him of sleeping around on her. At the time, I didn’t know what that meant, but it upset Madden a lot more than me. Dad said she never forgave him for the one time he fucked around, and no matter what he does, it’ll never be good enough. They fought often, and usually made up later. But this time…” I trail off. “This time, he packed a bag, kissed each of us goodbye, and walked out of our lives. Forever, Scott. He never called or came back. When he left her, he left us too.”
“Where is he?” Scott asks. “Have you tried to reach out to him?”
“I honestly don’t know. Mom never tried to get child support from him. She said she was going to raise the family he abandoned all by herself. Mom went to night school, got her degree, and got a job at Lockheed. Never been the same since, though.”
“I’m sorry, Mal,” he says.
“I bet your family is perfect,” I utter unfairly.
He barks out a laugh. “Hardly. My sister Stacey was the troublemaker in our family. She’s older—well, was—than me by seven years. Gave my parents all kinds of hell growing up. I’m pretty sure that’s why my dad’s heart gave out when I was ten.
They always fought the hardest. It wasn’t until she got married and had Britney that she went to therapy to deal with all her rage.”
“Your dad’s dead?” I ask. “I’m so sorry.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Don’t be. Apparently there was a reason behind Stacey’s rage and it stemmed from Dad touching her. I can’t wrap my head around it all, and neither can Momma, but Stacey made sure to let us both know Dad wasn’t the angel we thought.”
“Damn…”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice cracking. “But then she just couldn’t handle her mind. Depression flooded in whenever the anger would fade. One day, while Britney was visiting my mom and Lennon was at work, Stacey swallowed a bunch of pills. Her suicide letter just said: I’m sorry I couldn’t forget. It’s been two years since her death.”
“Poor Lennon,” I mutter. “He seems like a good guy.”
“He is,” Scott agrees. “But he sort of lost his way after that. Took to drinking heavily. It got bad enough Momma took him to court to seek full custody over Britney.”
“He lost his wife and his daughter?” I choke out. “That’s horrible.”
“Len cleaned up and now goes to counseling. He sees Britney just as much as Momma allows. They’re amicable and making it work. Britney was only two when her mom died and mostly doesn’t remember her. I hope one day he can get his daughter back full time. The whole situation is a tragedy.”
“I guess we both have fucked up families,” I tell him bitterly.
“We’re not fucked up, though,” he says with a smile.
“I have severe anxiety and can barely hold conversations with people I don’t know. That’s pretty fucked up.”
“I took up smoking when my sister killed herself because I needed something to calm the pain inside me. We all have our deep-seated issues and cope differently.”
“You have the Nicorette patch now, though,” I tell him with a smile. “You’re getting better.”
“And you have me.”
A knock on my door pulls my attention away from my Ultimate Mortal Kombat 3 game. I pause the game and toss the Super NES controller on my bed. “Come in.”
Madden pushes through, his brown eyes sharp and assessing. “Can I play?”