Humor Me
Disclaimer: This is a story about a romantic relationship between two teenage males. If that kind of story offends you, then please do not read the following story. Also, if you are under the legal age to read stories of this type, then don't. Please do not reproduce this story without permission, since that is a copyright infringement.
Thanks to David for proofreading again!
Ok, I've been working over the holiday, and I did have a lot of free time. I'm starting Chapter 12 now, and I've had it planned that said Chapter will be the finale of this little tale. Thanks to all of you for sticking around. :)
Also, I apologize if my last few chapters have bothered a few people. I didn't mean for my story to make you feel that way, and I hope this chapter can amke some amends to you, or start to. :)
Comments go to dreamer@shell.monmouth.com. Feedback is always very much appreciated.
-Chapter 9-
I puffed out a few smoke rings as I lay flat out on my bed, and watched them drift lazily upward towards my ceiling, growing larger and less distinct as they moved.
Most days, I found little dubious habits like that funny, though not sure why I was amused. Simple minds, simple pleasures, I guess. That night, I was using it as escapism, but the feeling of worry was ingrained in my bones.
I let out a sigh as I took the ashtray off my stomach, and sat up to take a last drag before crushing the cigarette out. Through the thick cloud of exhaled smoke, I glanced across the room and met eyes with my reflection in the mirror above my dresser.
"Mike Bannon," I said to that reflection. "You're being paranoid. Stop it."
Of course, my double who resided in that world separated from us by mirrors did not answer back. I guessed he wasn't convinced of my protests, either. At least we had something in common.
Massaging my face with the palms of my hands, I thought about going hermit for the thousandth time. I'd leave town, and go off and live alone so I wouldn't worry about other people. Maybe I could follow a band, but it would have to be someone new, because most of the bands or acts my folks followed around were either broken up or dead. Sure, the clothes they wore were sedate, and they both had good paying corporate jobs, but sometimes people could see in them the flower children they used to be.
The same pair who were eighteen and in love at Woodstock (the original one), ended up leaving the peace-and-free-love movement, and went establishment in the latter part of the seventies. "World peace is a great goal," my Dad had said to me, when I asked him about his younger years, "but your mother and I were tired of not eating." Some days, I wondered about that decision, and what caused it.
I knew it wasn't me. I didn't figure into the Compound Bannon Equation until much later, after the jobs were secured and the nice suburban home was purchased and furnished. In that kind of equation, how do you symbolize a gay son in the mix?
Duh. Lambda. Damn it, Mike, you're slipping!
Is that what love does to people? Break down their walls while it does the same to their wits? Or is that what happened to only me?
My gaze sought my reflection in the mirror again, beseeching it for an answer. My eyes glanced over the rest of the room, which I kept simple for the most part; dark blue wall-to-wall carpeting with oak furniture stained chocolate brown. The computer desk was made of wood of a lighter shade, with the computer itself newer than that. I had given in to the stereotype I tended to put across and made the screen saver appropriately psychedelic. With the Beatles and Hendrix posters on whatever free wall space I did have, it gave the whole room a nouveau-hippie motif. Far out, man, on the Information Superhighway; that was how I referred to myself.
Most of these thoughts had fled my mind as the sight in the mirror took me by surprise. I had expected to see an obsessed kid again, seeming like half a person, or a small, scared boy afraid of what he was. That wasn't the case. This time, I saw something else.
I saw myself: Michael James Bannon, aged sixteen years, ten-and-a-half months. A bit more of my adult face was starting to push its way through the rounded cheeks, which were still red from not being used to the touch of an electric razor. That redness only made the gray-blue eyes stand out more, especially since the dark circles around them from years ago had finally faded. I smoothed out my hair with a hand, as the darker-brown tips were starting to curl upward, which happened when I let my hair grow to long.
That's all I saw. A teenager. Someone who had had good and bad shit happen to him and because of him. A boy almost a man. And I saw someone who was in love, and worried because it was 10:20 and the mall closes at 9:30, and that's where Jonas said he was going and said he'd call when he got back.
I pushed myself off the bed, the metal support frame squeaking under the sudden applied pressure. I wasn't going to start pacing, and walk myself right back to who I used to be. Jonas said he'd call, and he would. But...as years of counseling helped me to define right and wrong, I found it was okay to worry, and you could miss someone, and care for them without being smothering. It was alright to worry, and it was alright to love.
I chuckled, and headed to the door. Of course I loved him. Hell, I wanted to shout it out to the world, and make everyone love him, and declare war against anyone who felt otherwise. It wasn't the same as Jace; I truly loved Jonas.
Adorable, funny, and very kissable Jonas.
Sarcastic, headstrong, and laughably clueless Jonas.
Attractive, brilliant, and foible-ridden Jonas. Just a normal teenage boy, despite his fervent denial of that fact. A gifted and ordinary kid, and not some flawless ideal I built in my head.
And I loved him for that. That it was an honest love, with the awareness and acceptance of his faults and my own. And he loved me back. He said it first.
I had meant it when I told him that if I did live my life over and over, I'd eschew perfection if it would bring me back to him. I was ready to tell him I was in love with him in the next breath, but he had busted out into tears and said it. I didn't think of how my words would have affected him like that, and he slept in my arms as I comforted his relief and mine with feather-light kisses and enfolding hugs as we slept, facing each other.
I had wanted to tell him for a while, and wasn't sure how to approach it. A few days before that night, at school, was when I decided I had to. I had heard something about my favorite little peasant that took me by surprise, and I knew I would love him until the day I died.
Oddly enough, it had been my newest friend that told me the story: Jonas' recently-returned-from-Student-Exchange friend, Lisa. After knowing her and Dani, I realized two things: For Jonas to be with me while those two formidable women who lived every day at full throttle, and just thoroughly enjoyed life itself, I knew he really loved me and that he was as gay as a fluorescent pink picnic basket. Girls like them made me wish I wasn't immune to women.
That thought made me shake my head, and I stopped halfway down the stairs as I was overwhelmed by a feeling of deep sadness. I'm not attracted to girls, I thought to myself. I never was. I just wished that I could find a way for Dani and Lisa to be happy, too.
Especially Lisa. After we met, it was easy for Jonas and I to accept a second fag-hag. She'd have killed us both if we didn't, and the four of us made a strong little social group. Dani and Jonas were...close, but it was a separate closeness than what he and I shared. I found it amazing how love, now, didn't make me jealous. Lisa was sure to remind me of that often, after we had bonded in the last few weeks.
Until time ended, I would give Lisa a special place in my heart, for being the one to make me realize just how deeply my love for Jonas went.
About two minutes after Jonas introduced us in the hall at school, Lisa asked me to talk privately. I accepted out of curiosity more than anything else, and wondered what she could possibly need to say to someone she just met, who happened to be the significant other in her 'found-out-he-was-gay-while-she-was-away' friend. My mind spun with the possibilities as she led me away from a bewildered Jonas, and turned to face me as we stopped around a corner in the hall, out of Jonas' sight.
"I promised myself," Lisa said, as I leaned casually against the wall, "that if Jonas got into a relationship, I'd do this." As we were alone, or as alone as two students could be in a school hallway, she became a lot more serious.
So, seeing that, I immediately said, "this isn't going to be a cat fight thing, is it? Jonas is at his quota for friends doing that."
She just shook her head, smirking. "God no," she said. "But I heard about that. Do you know what it takes to set Dani off?"
"Nope, but I'm sure the straight guys are distributing pictures of the results all over school. More portable than the usual girl-on-girl porn sites, and Sandy's Q score probably jumped ten points."
I started to grow happier as Lisa laughed. Whatever she wanted to say, she was serious about it. But I found that people feel safer approaching the more sensitive stuff if they're at ease. All I could do was crack a joke every so often, and it did the trick most of the time.
"I wish I'd seen it," she said. "I got real tired of being told I wasn't perfect." She gave me a smile in return for my own. "But I need to ask you something, and it's important."
I nodded. "Shoot."
"It's Jonas," she said, apologetically. I figured as much, since she wanted to be alone. "I wanted to ask you to be good to him. Please?" No matter what happens, even if it doesn't work out, he deserves to be happy, and I don't want him to hurt."
I didn't say anything at first because I realized a few more things as she spoke. One, I didn't picture a time in the future where we weren't together. Granted, I don't think very far ahead in my life, letting Jonas be the organized one who plans everything six months ahead, but the whole concept, of me and Jonas not being together, didn't cross my mind.
The second thing was that Jonas, despite his self-imposed isolation, had more than a few people in the world that gave a damn about him, even if he didn't know it. And some of those people...it went further than that.
"I want to know," I asked. "You love him?"
"Brother-sister like, yeah," she answered me, and tugged on the braid over her shoulder. "And do I wish I could be more? Yes. But I've always known I wasn't for him, and I'm just as happy being his friend." She looked at the ground, embarrassed now. "Doesn't mean I can't care for him."
Slowly, I put my hand on her shoulder, and shot her a questioning glance, in case I was getting too close. After she nodded her assent, I gave that shoulder a squeeze. "You're right, Lisa," I said. "Just because...well, we're dating doesn't mean he can't have friends, or that I'm going to take him away from everyone else." I sighed. I knew where she was coming from. I'd seen the same thing happen to friends I used to have. "I could use some friends too, you know." I still kept in touch with a few friends from my old high-school, mostly through e-mail, and a part of me envied a little what Jonas and Dani had; that history. Not that I couldn't talk to Dani on my own, as I had, but...it was a need I could not readily put into words.
"Of course," she said, and wrapped me in a warm hug. On some level, I liked to believe that we understood each other. Was she feeling like an interloper, too? "I'm just protective of Jo," she went on to say. "I owe him so much." She took her backpack off her shoulder, and reached into the side pocket of it for something.
"That's cool," I answered, trying to hide my curiosity again. What was this about? "I'd give him the world if I could, but he seems happy with what's already there." I gave in with a sigh. "What am I missing?"
"I wanted to show you this," Lisa replied, cupping her hand under something small so that I could see as she hid it from prying eyes.
I tried to keep a casual look on my face as my voice died. I knew what she was holding, since I had seen an older cousin show me the same thing.
It was a 30-Day chip; the ones that Alcoholics Anonymous gives out. Fifteen hundred things I thought of, and I never thought she'd show me something like that.
"Shit," I muttered, bringing my eyes back up to meet her face. "How long?"
"Almost a year," she admitted, casually. I was surprised by the difference. My cousin avoided this topic entirely, and it was only spoken in whispers among my family, and hardly to me at all. Except for my folks. They'd rather I did know, so I didn't grow up naïve. Again. "Honestly? I went through a lot of self-hatred, and I was drinking to dull the pain. And after a while, I ended up driving everyone away." She gave me a soft smile. "Almost everyone."
"Except Jonas," I finished for her, astonished. He...never told me about this.
"Yeah," Lisa said. "Exactly. He tried everything to get me to go get help: asking, begging, threatening...anything. And all I gave to him back then was verbal abuse." She shook her head, sad, before she turned to me and put the chip back into her backpack. "He never gave up on me. And when I finally hit bottom, he was there. He would have dragged me if he had to, but he went with me to the first few meetings. Mike...I just don't want him to get hurt."
"No way," I replied. "I'd die before..." I trailed off as it hit me: I loved him. Plain and simple. I mean, I had thought to myself, up until that point, that I loved him, but it was different now. I would give up everything I had for him, including my life. He wasn't perfect, but I loved that about him, and I had no place to throw stones, considering my own sins. I wanted to watch him grow up, and see him thrive, and be there for him. Not as his possession, nor he as mine, but as a team.
Holy shit. I loved him, and it was for real.
"I'd die before I hurt him," I declared.
"Over-dramatic," Lisa chided, "but exactly what I wanted to hear." She started walking off, and motioned for me to follow. "By the way, we're trading phone numbers. I /will/ know more about this new friend in my life."
I smirked, suddenly sympathizing with Jo. "Of course, milady."
I picked up the cordless in the living room, doing a quick dial of Jonas' house phone on my way to the kitchen. I decided on trying his house phone first, so if he wasn't there, maybe his mom or Shane, if he's home this weekend, would know where he went off to. I never put the numbers for his house on speed-dial. I...I thought it felt invasive. Better that I do remember them than make too many assumptions.
On the third ring, there was the telltale click of a phone being picked up, and a familiar woman's voice on the other end. "Hello?"
"Oh, hi Mrs. K."
"Mike, please, call me Helen."
I chuckled. I learned quickly to like Mrs. Kowalczyk, once I became Jonas' friend in the first place. She has that whole no-nonsense thing going on, but she usually touched it with a bit of wry humor, which is different from the outrageousness I usually get from my parents. Maybe we kids are the sum of how we were raised. But, anyways, she was cool, and was very informal with me, and my own sense of humor played off hers well enough.
"I can't, ma'am," I said, being polite. "You don't even let your own kids call you Helen."
"Well, I didn't spend eighteen plus hours squeezing you out of parts of my body that nothing was meant to be squeezed out of. Ever. Trust me, for that alone, my children owe me the parental honorifics until they're both well into their fifties."
Yeah, I see where Jonas got it from. Some days, I wondered what his Dad was like. Did he balance her out, or were they two peas in a pod, with their outlooks on life? That would be more like my own folks. Jonas doesn't mention his Dad much, and I never pushed him on it.
"Ooo-kay," I replied. "And, speaking of your spawn..."
"He's not back yet, Mike," was the answer. Oh, man.
"No? Ok, file me on the Officially Worried List."
"Already there, young man. Name's right under mine." She sighed. "I'm waiting here. He'll call."
"I know. He's a good kid like that. Just, when he does, have him call me?"
Mrs. K snorted. "If I let him touch his phone again."
Double oh, man. "Ouch," I mumbled. "Grounded?"
"Depends," she said to me. "Possibly a lifer this time."
"Not good."
"Buuuut," Mrs. K. added, "I wouldn't be averse to visits. You know what it's like having him miserable all the time?"
I laughed. "Not as often as you've had, but I've seen it. Heartbreaking."
"For all of us," she said, and sounded like she meant it. "I'll have him set up the tent in the back."
"Your family is fixated on that thing, Mrs. K."
"Helen, please. But, it'd be bad to see it go to waste, and he has such good memories attached to it."
"You're welcome."
"Boys," Mrs. K. sighed into the other end. "Some things never change. But, I will have him call you."
"No problem. I'll be around."
"Bye, Mike," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.
"Bye," I said, as she cut the line.
I didn't like the feeling I had as I trudged into the kitchen, putting the cordless in its' cradle before searching through the fridge for a drink to wash the taste of stale smoke out of my mouth. Not even a call home? That's so not like Jonas. I've seen it. If he didn't call home or do something he was supposed to, he'd freak. Not that he's go running around in circles, but it would move to the top of his priority list, and the stress would be palpable.
Then again, part of me really liked him when he was in that state. Calming him down and relaxing him, feeling his heart rate slow down slowly, and bringing that sedate look in his eyes, it was such a rush for me. Those times, I felt like a healer, and I thought that was a good step forward for both of us.
"That you, Mike?" a man's voice called from another room.
I looked over the door of the fridge into the dining room, which was opposite the way I came into the kitchen. Seated at the table was a woman in her early Fifties, her chestnut hair fading a bit, but still worn loosely, falling in waves to her shoulders. Next to her, as they both looked over an open newspaper at the table, was a man about the same age. What little hair he had on his head, which was a fringe around the sides, had gone mostly to gray, but there was still a twinkle in his blue eyes, like he was much younger than he appeared.
Of course, that would be my parents, and their clothes were more geared towards casual dress, pants, skirt, clean shirts, than the usual Saturday-Night-About-To-go-to-sleep wear they favored around the house at this time of the week. Something else was up, apparently.
"Yep," I replied, closing the fridge door by bumping my hip against it, as I used my free hands to twist off the plastic cap on the twenty-ounce Coke bottle. "Your son, the Man, and all that other stuff." I gave them a sidelong glance. "You two looked dolled up. What gives?"
Mom dazzled me with a smile. "Your father and I feel like catching a movie. There's a few midnight shows left, so we're debating on which one."
I tried not to cough out my soda. "Okay, does anyone see the...wrongness of this?"
Dad arched a brow at me. Least he had that much hair left, and male pattern baldness was always a favorite threat of his. Funny man, my dad. No, really. "Wrong? What do you mean?"
I put my soda down on the table as I stalked into the dining room. "Ok, it's Saturday night, and my parents are heading out to the movies while I sit around waiting for people to not call?" I smirked. "This is like that Star Trek episode you keep telling me about, right?"
"I should hope not," Mom replied, mockingly aghast. "I'd look like hell with a goatee."
Dad laughed, again. "Someone's missing their special someone, huh?" he joked. Hell, it wasn't a funny joke, because I did. Very much so. "Don't worry. We won't be home all that late, and we'll be good."
I crossed my arms with another smirk. "Good? With my mother? I know what you boys are all about. Don't think I don't watch those TV shows."
"I thought it was personal experience," my Mom cut in with, dryly.
I shot her a wounded look as my Dad laughed again. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not that type of boy. I'm a good kid."
"You better me, son," I said, doing my mock-Dad voice. "Or I'm a'gonna have to get my old shotgun out of the closet."
"Which is interesting," my Dad added. "Because we raised you as a pacifist."
"It's a metaphor," I said, indignant. "Just...yeah, I miss him."
"We know, Mike," Mom answered. "He'll be around. So we parents have your permission for a night out?" She gave me another smile. They're right. They tended to be. It's a parent thing.
"Sure," I said. "Just-" I was about to tell them to not do anything I wouldn't do, which would give them a lot more freedom, when the phone rang in that electric wanna-be-bell noise. "And /that,/" I chimed, feeling my insides lift, "would be mine!" I dashed to the phone, yanking it out of the cradle. "Yo."
"Bannon," a male voice said on the other end. Shane? "That you?"
My senses came around. "Shane?" I asked. Been a while since I actually heard his voice. Never really saw him around when I was at Jonas' pad. "Yeah. S'up?"
"I'm in the car, heading towards your place," Shane said, his voice sounding empty. "You'll be there, right?"
I felt everything inside my head fade away, like sinking into quicksand. "Yeah. What's going on?"
"I'll explain on the way. Jonas is in the hospital."
After making sure my folks were out the door ("I'll keep you posted later. Go out and have fun. You've been needing this."), I sat on my doorstep, waiting. I kept the clothes was wearing already on. My favorite corduroys, the cream-colored ones that Jonas likes, and a T-shirt, colored pale purple with a touch of gray, a shade Jonas likes to call 'Early Morning A.M. Suburban' purple.
That color became a recent favorite of mine, after spending a night with Jonas. It had been about two weeks ago when Jonas coined the term for the color in the first place. He was always making up names like that; one of his cuter quirks.
That night, Jonas was staying at my house again. It had been a rough week for both of us, schoolwork-wise, and he and I needed to decompress. We preferred to do that in each other's arms, watching rented movies again. I didn't mind what movies we did have, so long as he was there.
As I sat there, about one in the morning, lying out on the floor with Jonas holding me from behind, I suddenly got a craving. "Hey, Slurpees?"
Jonas snapped back to full wakefulness. "What?"
"You heard me," I said, nudging him. "Let's go get Slurpees."
He leaned forward, and moved me with him. "You're serious," he asked. "You know what time it is?"
"Exactly," I answered, turning around to help him stand up. "And you're halfway asleep. And I feel like a sugar rush."
Jonas shot me a look. "You mean this is you when you're normal?"
"Ha. Ha," I said wryly. "Besides, the more we're up," I added, ticking him under the chin. "It's more quiet time." I smiled at him, moving closer to put my mouth on his.
"Mmmm...okay," Jonas said, as he disengaged. "We'll go."
The 7-11 wasn't all that far away from my house, and we were both used to walking or riding our bikes there. The store was at the end of a local strip-mall: a small row of shops and stores, but not as large and varied as the usual shopping malls. Besides, this one seemed to revolve around competing women's clothing stores, with the 7-11 at the far end.
The cooler air at night, especially after the spring rain that afternoon, seemed to wake Jonas up as we raced out bikes neck and neck towards the stores. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he looked determined to outpace me. That was probably his way of making me pay for dragging him out at one in the morning.
I sighed, silently. I never saw where he was coming from. I've seen him deal with some things by being laid-back, and set off by the smallest things.
I let him go ahead as we turned in to ride through the parking lot. I promised myself to make it up to him later tonight, since I was by that point starting to get an idea of what he liked and didn't like, and what cheered him up when I saw him in a funk. I got a kick out of that; seeing him down and being able to bring him out of it. It was like watching him wake up from sleep, even while awake.
I watched him from behind as he unfurled from his hunch as he realized he had won whatever contest he set up in his mind with me. Even though I was looking at the back of his head, I could almost feel his smile from there. It was minor, and unimportant, but I smiled, too, at his victory. It was one little bit more of confidence for Jonas, and I loved watching his spirit grow like that. Every day, I saw him become more...honest, as a person. Bright kid, no doubt, but he was more normal than he believed. And part of me had a feeling that Jonas liked it that way.
He rose out of his bicycle seat, triumphant as he tilted his head upward. Until I heard the squeak of bike tires skidding across blacktop, I hadn't realized he had stopped.
"Jo," I asked as I pulled up on his right side, dropping the kickstand on my bike once I stopped. "Jonas? What is it?"
He didn't turn to look at me as he spoke. "Do you see that," he whispered, his eyes transfixed on something above him, even as he lowered himself off his bike, propping it up with one hand on the handlebars. The light from the street lamps in the parking lot made his face look washed out, like notebook paper without the lines, and his eyes looked glassy.
After I climbed off the bike, I walked around to his left side, crouching to get my head level with his. If he registered me moving, he gave no sign. What did he see? A UFO? Probably a plane, but what would make him shut down like that?
My eyes went up, and I found myself stopping, too. The heavens above were overcast, a reminder of the rain earlier in the afternoon. Normally, the clouds would be gray in color, blocked by the darkness, but the lights in the parking lot had changed that.
The street lamps used to light the parking lot were the large ones a person normally sees around the malls. Placed about forty to fifty feet apart, each lamp stretched fifty feet straight up, and was topped with the kind of mega-watt halogen bulb that would boil the natural oils on a person's skin if they came in physical contact with the lit bulb itself.
One lamp like that was bright enough. A few dozen of them spaced evenly over an area, like the one Jonas and I were in, changed things. The light reflected off the clouds in the night sky were a pale, ghostly purple-gray, and made it seem sunrise was only seconds away. Coupled with the knowledge that it should be darker outside just made the light seem that much more unearthly.
"I do," I said, feeling myself grin. "That's pretty cool, man."
"Don't like it," Jonas snapped back at me, as he turned to glare. His chest rose and fell rapidly.
As Jonas spoke, his eyes had that look that said his brain just caught up with his mouth. He turned his eyes away from me, fearful and ashamed. "It...just does, okay," he said, still holding his bike by the handlebars.
I didn't say anything as I crept closer, and slowly came up to him from behind. I could see him shaking a little in the light, while his knuckled turned pale over the handlebars as he tried to suppress another shudder.
I understood, or as least I thought I did, what was bugging the little guy. I figured now was as good a time as any to ask, as I slipped my arms around his waist, and pulled him back against my chest. A little bit of damp seeped through his shirt and mine where our bodies touched. I felt his shoulders go stiff as he pushed against me, like hr was trying to hide.
"Jonas," I whispered, as I locked my right hand over my left wrist. "Can I ask you a question?"
"I don't know why," he blurted out. He put down his kickstand with his foot and drew closer to me. As he placed his hands over mine, he said, "The way the sky looks, it gives me the creeps, and I have no...reason why. I'm uneasy, and it makes no sense."
I nodded, looking over his shoulder towards the sky. The clouds moved ponderously slow, oblivious to the two specks of life in a parking lot untold miles below. I inhaled, filling my chest as I tightened my arms around the beautiful blond boy with the explosive hazel eyes. I heard him gasp at the sudden increase of pressure from both sides. "Does this help?"
"Yeah," he breathed. "I wish I had a better answer to your question, Mike."
I let out my breath slowly. "That wasn't the question."
"No?"
"Nope."
"What is it?"
Our voiced sounded stunted, as if the light and clouds could close in around us at any moment. I replanted my feet on the ground, and balanced my weight more on the balls of my feet as I rocked back and forth, with Jonas in my arms. My body grew warm as I started, my skin prickling with gooseflesh where I was in contact with him. I never felt like that with anyone. Not even with Jace. It had scared me at first, noticing how small touches like that could drive me wild. I stopped being afraid, and rode the sensation.
"Why," I asked him. "Not why you're creeped out by the sky right now, but why...do you want to be invulnerable?"
His head turned to the side, trying to look at me where my chin rested on the smaller boy's shoulder. "What are you talking about?"
"I'll start with right now," I replied. "I think you telling me the sky wierded you out is bothering you more than the sky itself." I sighed. "You've been like that lately, and I don't get it. Why are you being so invincible?" I squeezed him again. "I worry about you, Jo."
I heard and felt him sigh, his smaller body expanding and contracting in my embrace. "I thought that was what you wanted," he said. "That I could stand on my own two feet, and be able to take anything. I mean...it's just the sky, but it's creepy, like it6's a fake day." He paused. "I'm not a wuss, Mike."
I buried my mouth in his hair. I needed to watch what I said, sometimes. Jonas took things all way too seriously. "I never thought you were," I whispered in his ear. "Sometimes, things don't make sense, and there's nothing wrong. With being afraid of things, even if you're not sure why you are."
I felt more than saw his fingers tracing the backs of my hands, light and dry as they whispered against my skin. "What scares you for no good reason," he asked me.
I shrugged, lifting him with me. "Clowns. Never liked them."
"Not fond of competition, is it?"
"Smartass."
"I learned it by watching you," Jonas said, dislodging himself from me so he could turn to look at me straight on.
"Fair enough," I said. "But I want you to tell me whenever something's on your mind. Even if you think it's trivial." Then again, what Jonas tended to think of as trivial was not what anyone else did. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, as usual. As good as it felt saying such things, they always put fireflies on speed in my chest. "Love you," I said.
A thousand halogen street lamps were flickering candles compared to Jonas' smile. "I know," he said, and turned his eyes away shyly. He always did that, and if I could ever draw half as well as he could, I'd show him what beauty I saw when he did things like that. "Love you, too," he added, and stepped closer to lean up and put his mouth against mine.
I moaned as our lips parted and his taste filled my mouth and nostrils. Peasant tar tare. It's what's for dinner. We stayed there, locked in that kiss, forgetting everything else.
As I released, I took a stray bit of Jonas' hair from his forehead, and twined it around my finger. "Feel better now?"
"I do," he said, taking my other hand in his as his eyes went up again. "Creepy...but it does look kinda cool."
"I nodded again. "You know, if you take a bit of the Cherry flavor, and mix it with that Coca-Cola flavor they have, we could get Slurpees that are that color up there."
Jonas laughed. The thought that I affected him made me feel...no words could explain it. "Sure, and I'd be up for three days straight, bouncing off the walls like some psychotic leprechaun."
"Nah," I said, robbing his twined hair between my thumb and forefinger. "I've already got a pot of gold, right here."
And I'd give a mountain of gold to feel Jonas' hair in my fingers again. With Jonas attached, of course.
I fought down another urge to cry as I waited on the porch for Shane's car to come around. Whatever happened, I needed to be good. Getting upset would only be another burden, and one nobody needed right now.
He needs me. I need him. Oh, God, please let him be okay. Please...
I shivered as the wind picked up and tugged at my shirtsleeves. I waited, and tried not to find the nearest person and shake them until they told me what happened. Why was Jonas in the hospital? Is he going to be okay? Is he alive?
God in heaven, please...
I left messages on Dani and Lisa's machines, since I figured one would call the other if they went home separately after their 'Girls' Night Out' thing. They'd catch up, and I told my folks I'd call once I heard anything else.
My eyes followed each pair of headlights as they came down the drive. They grew brighter as they headed from, one direction, where Jonas' house was in relation to mine, until they flashed like a dying star for that split second before going past. After that, it would be a pair of red eyes, their tail lights, staring me down as the cars went away. Where was he?
I had half a mind to stand up and start walking to the hospital myself out of sheer frustration when one of those pairs of white, soulless eyes started to slow, creeping closer to the curb like a predator knowing that its prey was close, and it could take its sweet time taking it down.
The Camaro was dark blue, sleek, and kept in top condition. That much was plainly obvious, even to the casual observer, and it was all my brain rally registered as I near-leapt off the porch steps. I bounded over as Shane the passenger door from the inside.
"Nice wheels," I muttered as I slid into the seat. I did mean it; it was a kick-ass car, but I had said it in a way that made it sound like I was supposed to say it, as if from a script I really didn't care for. We both knew we weren't there to talk cars.
"Thanks," Shane said as I buckled myself in. He had the same tone of voice I did, even if a look of relief crossed his face as I settled down. For all the comments, I wondered if Jonas ever saw this side of his brother, the part that looked truly worried. I wondered if Shane ever showed it to him.
The back of my skull thwacked against the headrest as Shane pumped the gas. Were it any other time, I'd have thought he was showing off the pickup on the engine. Not this time. I didn't talk as I huddled in my seat, crossing my arms over my stomach as I watched the world fly by outside the tinted windows.
We were hurtling halfway down the highway when I finally broke the silence.
"Shane," I asked, surprised at how hollow my voice sounded. He hadn't even turned on the radio. "What happened?"
I didn't turn to look at him as he answered, but his voice spoke volumes. There was...a shakiness there I would never have associated with Shane Kowalczyk. He wasn't shake when he drove a sobbing, lovesick little boy home, a lifetime ago. He wasn't shaky when he told that same little boy to get help, and get better. Jonas had admitted to me earlier that he was sure Shane hadn't died since their father died, about eight or nine years ago. Now...I began to think I should have told him to stop the car first.
"I'm not sure on all of it," he started with. "I've only heard second hand. I know some of the cops-"
I shot him a glance, sidelong. "Big surprise, right there," I joked.
The glare I got in return was enough to make me wonder if I was physically able to swallow my own tongue. Not that I blamed him, much, since it really wasn't a time for wisecracks.
"Michael," he said, very softly. "Michael, please..."
I raised a palm in surrender. "Okay, my bad. I just figured we both needed a laugh."
"I know," he said. "But that...it sounded like something Jo would say."
I nodded. He was right. "Yeah. He's...he's the only one that calls me Michael."
His hand came to me slowly, landing on my shoulder like a falling feather before he squeezed it. When I told Jonas, I know he'd never believe me. If I got to tell him...
"Here's what I know," he repeated. "Jo was leaving the mall when some kid waved him over, then...knocked him out or something, put him in his car, and drove off." There was a pause, here, as if Shane had trouble with words. "Someone saw this, and called the cops, since he had the license plate. The cops tracked down an address, found the care there, and went in." He shuddered, his knuckles pale where he gripped the steering wheel with everything he had, as if it were a life raft. "They found Jo in his basement, with the guy over him, sobbing, saying he loved Jo. He...oh, fuck, he went after Jo with a crowbar. From what the cops said, it looked like Jo was tied up, and tried to get away..."
My throat closed up. Oh, God, no...
I had a picture, right then, of life without him. It would hurt, and in some ways, it would never stop. Could I care for someone else, if he didn't exist? Possibly, but I knew in the center of my being that there would always be something missing, something out of place.
God, if I could give my life to keep him safe, then I would. And if it needs to be now, then do it.
"Is," I stammered, trying to get the words to go around the lump in my throat. "IS he...Shane, tell me the truth."
He let out a sigh. "Okay. Last I heard, he was all right. Just a few bumps, and that crowbar broke his arm."
I winced visibly. "Oh, fuck..."
"But they think he'll be okay," he finished. "If Dan did anything else, we don't know about it yet.
"Dan?"
"The kid who took Jo. Dan...Cohen. That was his name."
"Cohen?" Holy shit. I knew that kid. I had classes with him. He did this?
I closed my eyes, turned away and forced myself to be strong. I needed to be strong. He took him. I needed to be okay. And they say Dan was crying, sobbing over his body. He's going to be all right. Dan was crying that he loved Jonas. He'll be okay. Jonas tried to get away. He's still alive. Dan attacked him with a crowbar.
I opened my mouth as I drew in breath, about to let out a scream that would wake the dead when the car lurched under us, and slowed to an abrupt halt.
"We're here," Shane said, which I barely heard. It took a moment to untangle myself from the seat belt as I pushed the door open. Once done, I half-stumbled across the parking lot to the main entrance. I didn't register the automatic doors opening, not my sneakers squeaking along the tile floor. In the back of my head, I heard the heavier tread of Shane's feet, not that far behind.
Halfway down the main hall, towards the elevators, a side hallway emptied into a small waiting room, done up in carpets and furniture in muted earth tones. Some other young man sat at the far end of the room, his head bowed, close to his knees, but I ignored the blond kid once I saw who I expected to see.
Mrs. K. sat on one of the larger couches in the waiting room. Her eyes looked red, as if she had been crying. Had. As in past tense. She sat there, talking calmly with Dani and Lisa, who has both looked like they'd been there for a while. No tears were being shed, but the concerned looks were still there as I skidded to a halt.
Lisa looked up first, relaxing as she saw me. Moving faster than she'd say a girl of her build would be capable of, she was at my side, clutching my hand. Dani had an arm around Mrs. K's shoulders as Shane handed her a plastic bag which was near to bursting. Jonas' clothes, and other stuff. I wondered if Mac was in there.
"Mrs. K," I said, feeling my insides shatter again. "Helen..."
She looked up at me, and smiled gratefully. "It's okay. He's not in any danger. He's resting, and he should be up in a little while."
The words went out from under me again, and I felt the floor rise to meet me as the wave of dizziness swept over me. I'd have had a very intimate encounter with said floor if Lisa hadn't had a firm grip on my hand and shoulder.
"Oh, no you don't," she scolded. As she hauled me back up I returned to my senses. "We've already got out quota for unconscious gay kids, tonight."
"But he's...he's okay?"
"Pretty much," Dani said from her seat. "His arm's in a cast, and some bruises. Not sure about what he's feeling in his head, because he's been out since we got here, but otherwise the doctors said he'll be fine."
I gulped. Information. God forgive me, I had to know. "I nodded to Dani and turned to Jonas' mother. "Helen," I said. "I don't want to bring this up, but considering...why he was taken. Are there..." Oh. Christ, how do you bring this up with his /Mother?/ "Were there any other injuries?"
Silently, Helen stood up, walked over, and kissed me on the forehead. "No, Mike," she said. "I asked, too. There were no signs of assault."
I let out another breath as Lisa squeezed my hand, tight. "Thank God."
"And someone else," Helen said. "The police got to that kid's house in time."
I nodded in agreement again. People did care about others. How cool is that? "Yeah," I said, not sure whether to laugh, cry, or sleep. "Do we know who called them?"
"I did."
Every heartbeat alternately pumped fire and ice into my veins as I recognized the voice. Why him? I didn't even realize who the other boy sitting in the room was. But as he walked closer, next to Shane, I knew.
I turned my face to his, seeing. A face I had mapped out in my head a billion timed. The face that comforted, then almost destroyed the boy that I had been, millennia ago. The same white-blond hair, the same easy smile, and those same enticing green eyes.
At least, I tried to see that face again. What I did see looked similar, but the pain attached to it...was still there. All the anger, all the hurt, all the shame; it rushed upward, squeezing my chest.
"You, Jace," I asked.
He nodded, and there was a look in his eyes that I didn't recognize. Hurt? Sorrow? Pity? He had no fucking right to pity me. No fucking right.
"Yeah," he started, glancing at the ground, as if he couldn't look at me straight on. "Jonas stopped by the restaurant, and we got to talking. He left his wallet on the table, so I ran out after him to give it back. I saw it all happen, but the car got away before I could get there myself.
No one said a word. Then again, they all probably knew the story by now, and knew who he was. And what I was, once.
I learned how to breathe again. "Okay," I said, and dislodged Lisa's hand from mine. "Going outside," I mumbled, as I turned and walked away from the others.
I leaned against the wall as I staggered back outside. I was moving by instinct at that point, as a flood of images poured themselves out in my head. Why was this happening? Why to me? Why to /Jonas?/ He never bothered anyone. Why was he being hurt? What did this whole mess do to him? Why?
As I lit a cigarette, I heard the doors beside me open and close again with the same droning thrum of gears spinning. I didn't even look.
"You know," Jace said, standing out of the way of the sensors so the doors wouldn't open again. "That's a bad habit."
I didn't even give him the satisfaction of a look. "You were the one who taught me how," I protested, and took another puff for emphasis.
He nodded, the look on his face saying he was caught. He did remember. "I regret that," he said.
"Good for you."
"I've been regretting a lot of things, lately."
"Like what," I snapped, giving him a look. I'd have said looks could kill, but God wasn't that nice to me. I did /not/ want to talk to him. I'd gotten along just fine before he invaded my life again. "You regret not getting first crack at Jonas' ass? Another innocent to fuck and forget? Or is that why you were talking to him before?"
Of all the looks, I don't think I had ever seen Jace look hurt. That same expression from just before was back again as my stomach turned to water and my throat started to hurt all over again. He knew guilt, and so did I.
"No, Jace," I said. "That wasn't fair. I'm just-"
"Angry," he completed. "And you have every right to be. I really did some awful shit to you."
I cut him off. "No, you didn't. I wasn't right in the head, emotionally. I wasn't prepared."
"Exactly," he said, and cut me off in turn. "You weren't ready for that, and I shouldn't have fucked you, knowing that." He sighed, and looked at me with such remorse. "I knew, and I did it to you anyway." Another sigh. "I'm not asking you to like me, Mike. I don't expect you to. I don't deserve it. But I am sorry I put you through that. No one deserves that."
I heard all of this in a fog, and forced myself to listen. "You're not the only one at fault," I amended. "I...did some stupid shit to you, too." I shook my head, trying to put myself back in reality. "This isn't the best time to talk about this."
"This is why he was there."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Come again?"
"Jonas came to Smitty's to talk to me," Jace replied, stepping closer. "About you, about us, and why things happened the way they did. He told me how careful you are with him, how encouraging, and how you haven't slept together yet."
I looked upward at the rising stories of the hospital. "Way to be discreet, Jonas," I said skywards, towards whatever room he was in. "Why didn't you /tell/ me?"
"No, no," Jace said. "You're missing it. He likes it that way." As I turned my head down to give Jace a dumbfounded look, he went on. "See, it's how you are with him, how you're not pushing him, and making him be his own person separate from you. He told me that's how he knew you really loved him."
Blink. "He said that?"
"Yeah. And do you?"
"Love him? Yes. In every possible way there is to do it, I love him."
"Good," Jace said. "Because he's so in love with you, it's unreal." He chuckled. "He...thanked me, you know. He thanked me for what I did to you, because if I hadn't, you'd probably not love him like you do."
"He said that, too?"
"Yep. It sounded so...skewed."
"It's warped."
"It was actually intelligently deranged."
"True," I said. "But that sounds so.../Jonas,/ you have no idea." My legs gave way, and I felt the brick wall running against my back as I skid downward. Somewhere inside, I felt everything crumble again, and tears sprang to my eyes. "I should have been there for him." I said, trying to get the words out before the inevitable. "I said I'd be there for him, and I wasn't, and look what happened. I...promised him..."
The last I heard was Jace saying. "He'll be okay," right before the first sob tore through me. After that, all I could hear was my own incoherent crying, and a low comforting murmur of Jace's voice in the background as he put his arm across my shoulders. I couldn't stop. It all hurt so much. And I needed Jonas. I loved him so much...
"Feeling better," Jace asked, about ten minutes later, once I had calmed down, my crying reduced to a few choking hiccups and some shallow breathing. His arm was still there, calm. And that was the only place he touched me.
I nodded, still weak, and mouthed a "Thank you," to him since my throat still felt stiff and closed off.
He had started to pull me back up when the doors opened again, and a small, feminine, redheaded blur burst outside, coming to a stop once she saw us. "Guys!"
"What," Jace and I asked together.
"It's Jonas," Dani said. "He's awake."
-End Chapter 9-