xxx Keith’s POV xxx

“Drive down here as soon as you can. Cam’s in the hospital.”

We do just that. The drive is tense, Coy’s in the passenger seat of his ‘83 Chevy Cavalier with his head on the dashboard, arms slumped between his knees. I stop at a traffic light downtown and sigh, putting a hand on his back.

“You alright?” I say quietly, rubbing one of his shoulder blades.

He breathes deep enough that I can hear it.

“I didn’t want to hear that anyone was in the hospital, not after you …” he says, sitting up. “That was … just … sick. And now Cam’s gone and done something stupid, did Phil say what happened?”

I shake my head. “He hung up.”

He hums. “If it was bad enough that Phil was crying like that, then it’s more than a broken arm.”

“Definitely.” I agree. The light turns green and I speed down main street, hospital looming in the distance, beige-yellow walls dirty and bland above the bright emerald fields of the Catholic school next door. It’s really summer and the sky is a clear blue … I’ve always thought that bad days should be cloudy and dim, and this is definitely a bad day. Coy once put bad days as ‘so depressing that it’s amazing how un-horny you are. You couldn’t get it up if your life depended on it’. I can’t think of a more fitting description for this feeling.

The streets are calm so we park on the road rather than on the roof car park. The sidewalks are heavy with foot traffic from kids on summer hols, giddy with new sunshine and lack of responsibility. I’d usually be doing the same, but today … no. The rain has long since stopped but the feeling stays which is odd because neither Coy or I know Cam and Phil very well, but it’s that parental feeling, I suppose.

It’s hard for us to not hold hands on the walk towards the hospital. There’s sets upon sets of cement stairs navigating up the hill leading to the doors, curse this damn city for being so lumpy. Right near the doors is a covered area with cheap sets of tables and chairs that are chained to the ground, ashtrays bolted to the tabletops for smokers. The last set of stairs looms in front of us, made of pebbles set in concrete, rough and a little slippery. We get in view of the doors, but on the last step before the landing is a boy, sitting with his head between his knees, his arms hanging limply at his sides, knuckles scraping the concrete. His hair’s unwashed and shaggy, but I can tell who it is.

“Phil?” Coy says quietly, standing near the railing a few steps down. A twig from a bush behind his head catches and lifts a strand of his hair. Phil jackrabbits up and stares, beautiful eyes shiny and red with tears. Coy and I hesitate, unsure of what to do or say at a time like this. We watch him stand on shaky legs bare under shorts and he calmly walks down the steps towards us, lip quivering with held back sobs. He pauses in front of Coy, looks down, and puts his arms around him, crying into his chest.

“Uhmm …” Coy stutters, arms out at his sides, staring down at this little thing clinging to him. After a second he puts his hands carefully on Phil’s back, touching him in that way that shows how fragile he sees this boy is. I’ve seen him use the same thing on me. Coy leads Phil to sit down again, resting on the top step. I sit on the other side of him, a tentative hand on his shoulder. He lets all his crying wail into my boyfriend’s chest, I’ve learned not to be jealous. He sits up and sniffs, rubbing his nose with the back of his fist. He looks miserable and tired like the lonely little boy that he is.

“You okay?” Coy whispers so very genuinely, though the answer is blatantly obvious. Phil sniffs again, resting his cheek on Coy’s arm under a tight black v-neck sweater. He stares out over downtown with a blank expression for a moment as I lean forward over my knees to catch a glimpse of his face. The look quickly fades to sadness and he sighs, closing his eyes.

“Cam has AIDS.” he mutters.

Coy jumps and I swear. Fuckin’ unbelievable. Just unbelievable. I keep swearing, hands on my head, gone into full blown panic mode. AIDS, for fuck’s sake?! There’s commercials, there’s warnings, there’s stickers, there’s programs there’s research and he gets fuckin’ AIDS. That stupid little shit.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me.” Coy says quietly, demurely shocked. Phil stares at his knees and Coy gives me a look, wrapping an arm around his shaking shoulders.

“No.” he says simply.

“But, doesn’t it take some time to develop?” Coy tries.

“It’s been a week.”

I sigh. That little bastard.

“Tell me what happened?” Coy says, posing it like a question, such a sweet negotiator. I feel a bit left out, so I slip down a step, rough lacquered rocks scratching the jeans covering the back of my thighs. Phil’s silent and I lean over, resting my chin on his knee, staring up at him with the best puppy eyes I can manage. He looks a bit started at this, but we’re just acquaintances, so I forgive him.

He sniffles, rubs at his left eye, and nods with a deep breath. A man passes up on the stairs but pays little attention; hospitals aren’t places for passing judgement.

“He had sex.” Phil says, looking over the tall apartments and offices lining the city in front of the river. “With someone else.”

Coy and I make similar noises of shock, staying quiet for a few seconds. My too-nosy nature takes over soon enough. “… Who?” I ask, head bobbing a little, chin still on his kneecap.

He squirms. “I don’t know. He won’t tell me. He didn’t say a lot.”

Coy rubs his shoulder, I rub his calf. “What did he say then?”

Phil gets that look again, the look of utter vacancy. He rubs his cheek on Coy’s sweater. “I … well … we’ve been ‘dating’ for a couple months now … but … we … we haven’t had sex. I mean, we’ve done some stuff but not really …” he trails off, a faint blush covering the bridge of his nose.

“What’ve you done?” I ask, curious and perverted.

The blush spreads. I can tell he’s looking for words, but in the end he takes his splayed fingers off the concrete, curls them into a loose fist and mimes pumping the air with an embarrassed-distracted look on his face. Coy gives a small smile and I grin; we both catch his meaning.

“Oh. Okay.” Coy says simply. “You or him?” he asks so bluntly; sex isn’t a big deal anymore, not for us. Five years will do that to you. Plus, a hand job isn’t (or shouldn’t) be that big of a deal to anyone else either. The shaky little boy stares at his shoes.

“Him.” he tells us. “I just don’t … want … to …” he trails off again. Man, he’s uncomfortable with sex. Good lord.

“Hmmm …” I hum. He’s got pretty low self esteem, even through these baggy clothes I can tell he’s got a nice figure. Pudgy, yeah, a little. But nice. I like a little meat on the bones. “So why haven’t you had sex? Or gone any further?”

Another fidget. “I’ve heard … I - someone told me … that it really hurts.” he goes from stuttery to rushed in his next sentence. “Does it hurt?!”

He looks right at me and I know I’m supposed to answer this. I think about it. “God, no. It’s fantastic.” I tell him honestly.

“But what about your first time? Who was it with?” his gaze flicks between both of us.

I raise my hand and point over Phil’s thigh to Coy, and he does the same. Phil groans.

“You’re so luckyyyy …” but he quickly get back to his rant/focus. “And did THAT hurt?”

I toy with the hem of the tight-ish red t-shirt I’m wearing and I think back. I remember the dusty light, the beauty in the glow of his skin … but there’s the other part of it, the not so wonderful part, the crying, the screaming, that icky ripping burning feeling …

“It wasn’t so bad … it gets better!” I lie a little. Yeah, it got better and it was worth it, but those first few times were hell on earth no matter what I told Coy at the time.

Phil glares down at me. “You’re lying. You hesitated. Don’t lie, you know it hurt.”

I squirm on the step, adjusting my rest on his leg. “… A little.”

“See?!” he says loudly. “I’m not doing it.”

Coy pats his arm with a look that says ‘you poor misguided thing’. “What does this have to do with AIDS? Go on.”

“Oh …” that damn look is back, dammit. “He really wanted to have sex.” his voice is careful and guarded. “Really. He tries all the time, and I say no ‘cause I really don’t want to, I mean, I still like him but … that’s too much right now.” he heaves a deep breath, shuddering. “… I told him that if he really liked me, he’d wait. And we got in a huge fight and he kept screaming at me, calling me a wuss and a pussy and then he just left.”

Coy’s reassuring hand rubs him again and I give a sympathetic hum. He goes on. “The rest of this, Lauren told me … he got home the next morning, he stayed out all night and his parents blew up at him, asking him where he’d been ‘cause you know how strict they are, huh?”

We both nod, thinking back to the many shouts of ‘USE COASTERS!’.

“Lauren told me that he just yelled right back at them and they were like … stunned into silence. He told them that he’d …” he swallows hard at this point and from under the protection of his fringe, I see tears drip onto his shorts. His voice becomes shaky. “… that he’d been fucked by more than a dozen guys, passed around like a bag of chips …” he sobs. “… he was covered in bruises and cuts, I went over there to apologize for the fight and I saw him … he looked so angry, he had a black eye and half his hair was in a pigtail, he slammed the door in my face …”

He’s trying to stop crying, gritting his teeth, hunching his shoulders, trembling like the newest aspen. “L-Lauren just convinced him to get tested, she was so upset and she really loves him, he ended up going to the clinic and he’s got HIV or AIDS or whatever the fuck that is, one of those guys had it and they touched him and he isn’t talking to anyone just Lauren sometimes and he fucking cut himself he’s so upset …”

He can’t get any more out. He covers his face with his hands and cries, heavy shuddering sobs and hiccups that sound hollow and horrible. Coy looks devastated and he pulls Phil into him, petting his hand back. “It’s okay, calm down …” he says quietly.

Phil snaps backwards, suddenly very angry. My chin’s jerked off his knee and I sit back, watching him glare at Coy through tears.

“It’s NOT okay!” he says loudly. “What would you do if HE -” he jabs a finger at me. “- left you? What would you do if he got fucked up the ass by not one but a PACK of dirty diseased strangers and he LIKED IT?!” he snarls. “You’d be even worse off than me! You’d be crying too, you couldn’t live without him!”

I’m a little taken aback at his example, I wouldn’t do that to Coy, but I know what he means. He’s doing just what one would expect. I can’t believe that Cam did this to himself and to Phil, that fucking prick. Phil doesn’t deserve this. He puts his elbows on his knees and he puts his face in his hands.

“You can’t live without Cam?” I whisper.

He shakes his head feebly. “I haven’t. ever. It kills me when he’s in Chicago, it fucking kills me. He’s been my best friend since kindergarten, fuck that we’ve only been dating for a few months.” he’s whispering too; some people pass us on the steps. Coy hugs him full on, nose buried in that dirty hair. I watch Phil’s face, first shocked, then nervous, then he closes his eyes in acceptance. My boyfriend gives very good hugs.

“It’s not okay.” he admits. “But it’ll be okay.” he murmurs quietly, rubbing Phil’s back. I feel a bit like a third wheel but I stay silent, slinking up to sit next to Coy near the railing putting my hand on his thigh just because I can.

“Why’s he in the hospital …?” I say dumbly. Does AIDS require hospitalization?

He sniffs and talks into Coy’s shoulder.

“Severed veins. Both his wrists, he did it with a pair of scissors, Lauren caught him.” Another sniff. “They’re giving him a bunch of antiretroviral drugs too.”

Coy and I nod solemnly. “What’re you gonna do?” Coy asks, sitting back as he lets Phil go, opting to grab my hand instead.

Phil shakes his head with a sigh. “No idea. He won’t even look at me. I went up to his room as soon as I could … he wouldn’t stop screaming at me, the nurse made me leave.” he looks behind him to the doors. “Lauren’s up there now.”

I watch Coy’s eyes light up just a little at the mention of Lauren’s name. “Laur? What about his parents?”

Phil stares at him dully, mouth drawing down. “He used to words ‘fucked up the ass’, they never want to see him again. Having a gay son is apparently the worst thing in the world. Right under having a diseased gay son.”

“Riiiiight, I should have known.” Coy says quietly. “Well, can Keith and I go up? Laur’s been known for her fantastic plans.”

It’s my turn to glare now. “Uh, her last ‘fantastic plan’ did THIS.” I tell them both, knocking my knuckles on my left leg, making a plastic thunk through my jeans. Coy blushes sheepishly.

“I said I was sorrryyy!!” he cries, squeezing my hand. “And that wasn’t my fault! Devastated or not, always look both ways before you cross the street!”

I giggle, so does Phil. We’ve obviously told him the Damian story, I like telling it because I win. We haven’t heard from Damian since high school, not really. I don’t feel bad about it - at all.

Phil starts saying something else, but he stops, sighing. “Anyways, can you guys go up there …? Room 227, fifth floor. Remember everything he says, but I’ll be outside the door to listen.”

We nod and stand, brushing off the back of our jeans. Coy kisses me just before the automatic doors part cause there’s a rule of no homosexual making out in hospitals (by our standards, anyways). On hospital grounds is a different story, so we kiss and I grab his ass, then we walk in. Phil’s a nervous wreck, I wonder what Cam said to him …

Coy makes menial conversation, maybe to take his mind off things and I guess it works. I keep looking around, never remembering entering these doors before but I know I must have been in here at some time. Maybe there’s emergency doors, there always is in movies. I wonder if I’ve been through here on a stretcher of some kind, leg hanging on by a few measly strings of meat, bone cracked and splintered, blood dripping onto the floor. Did any other patients see me? Do the nurses remember? The doctors? Probably not, it’s been years after all, I doubt I made a lot of impact being just another dumb kid on a rainy day. I’m suddenly very aware of Merve, clamped onto the stub of my left leg, just below the kneecap. I can take it off if I ever have to, I do when I’m at home sometimes.

I hobble along with Coy and Phil to the elevator, listening and occasionally joining in on their conversations about schoolwork. Phil’s going to RHS now, going into eleventh grade in the fall. He says he’s nervous about career choices, but he’s pretty sure he wants to be a veterinarian (and apparently has an affinity for cats because of it, or kitty-cats as he calls them). Not too worried about university because he gets an aboriginal scholarship (I snort at that).

We keep talking and barely notice when Phil stops walking. We turn to look and he’s staring at a doorway, peeing carefully in. “That’s his room.” he whispers and we backtrack. The door’s open and it’s a small two person room inside. We can’t see Cam, but he’s in there. “I’ll wait out here, but don’t tell him I am.”

We nod carefully. I feel like a spy.

Coy tugs on his shirt and gives me a look, then we go in. Cam’s bed is just inside the door to the left with just a nightstand, curtain and chairs around it. The other bed is fortunately unoccupied, I don’t think any patient could handle Cam. Lauren’s perched on the edge of his bed, one leg stretched next to his, the other dangling against the frame. One of her hands is petting Cam’s hair and he’s looking down at bandaged forearms lying in his lap. Laur sees the two of us first, giving us as awkward smile.

“Hi guys …” she says quietly, loud enough for Cam to hear and he jerks his head upright, piercing terracotta gaze snapped to us. His jaw’s set hard but the red tinge to his eyes lets us know he’s been crying … that takes some of the edge off. I wonder what part of his horrid escapades he’s crying over.

“What do YOU want?” he hisses, throat hoarse. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been yelling at everyone. “Here to make fun of me, faggots?”

If I were a cat, my ears would have flattened against my head. “You’re a faggot too.”

“Keith …” Coy pinches me and says my name in a dangerous tone. He’s telling me to shut up without offending me, but I catch his meaning anyways.

“Not in the squeal-like-a-tied-pig way you are.” Cam shoots back. I hate this fucking kid, my blood’s boiling in my skin and I catch Laur and Coy share a look.

“Right, you’re more the dirty-basement-orgy-slut kind of faggot, aren’t you?”

His glare deepens. “Fuck you, princess. You wouldn’t be so tough without your big boy bodyguard there.”

I can barely see straight. No one calls me a fucking princess, I can kick some ass if I have to, Coy doesn’t own me or fight my battles. I hate this fucking kid, I hate him. “Oh come on, you’re just bitter cause you’re diseased!” and I leap on him, kneeing Laur out of the way. My other knee crushes his thigh and I grab at his hair, holding him still and I punch and claw and generally just hit the hell out of him; I’m not very strong, but I’m fast. He screams and tears viciously at my sides, biting my knuckles whenever he can, snarling like a rabid mongoose. I get a few good punches in on that sick little boney face before Coy pulls me off, yanking my arms behind my back, slapping me sharply in the back of the head.

“What’s wrong with you?!” he screeches.

“He’s a fucking asshole, that’s what’s wrong with me.” is my too snarky yet somehow lame reply, ribcage stinging something mad -

“Oh Cam, fuck …” Lauren swears and holds his arm, blood starting to seep through the thick white bandages. “The stitches came loose again, you little bastard. I’ll get the nurse …” she scoffs and hits me in the head on her way out the door.

Coy grudgingly lets me go, keeping a firm hand around my bicep. Cam’s holding his right arm with his left one, watching the blood spread … those cuts must have gone deep.

“Uh, sorry.” Coy apologizes me and I glower at him for it if I were sorry, I would have said it myself. That damn prick. I do NOT squeal like a tied pig.

“Whatever.” Cam mutters, hair casting a curtain around his face, looking around his shoulders, cascading down his chest over that flimsy hospital gown that I know is pretty uncomfortable. He doesn’t say another word.

“… How are you?” Coy whispers, ever the gentleman.

Cam takes a half minute to answer, and even then it’s grouchy and quiet. “Sore. Sick. What D’you think, I’ve got fucking AIDS. That kills you.” he’s calmer now, but clearly depressed, like Phil said. I figured though, you don’t cut yourself like that if you’re cheery.

“S-sorry …” Coy mumbles, realizing his mistake. “But …” he goes on, ever the peacemaker, even if it’s to an annoying extent. “… why’d you do it?”

Cam looks up quickly now, eyes wide and attentive, scarily so. His tired face breaks out in a big grin, but it’s a malicious one if I’ve ever seen it. “Sexual frustration is a generous thing.” he sneers. “You can’t stop having sex cold turkey. You go fucking nuts. You ever tried it?”

Coy blushes, then shakes his head. I do too. Since we lost our oh-so-innocent virginities, we’ve never stopped, not for more than two or three days. I can’t imagine not getting any.

“It sucks.” Cam concludes. “I was fucking on a regular basis, then all of a sudden that little prick tells me to stop.” he snorts, missing the frustrated look I give Coy. “No idea how tough that is.”

“But …” I try talking now, a little worried that he’ll yell. “You DID stop, right? You love him?”

That stops him cold like a bullet to the head. His odd expression melts quickly when he realizes he’s done it and flashes another malicious grin. “I love certain parts of him.”

Coy’s eyebrows raise and I just blank. “Um …”

“Well I mean, he’s never been officially ‘naked’ …” he begins smiling, making quotation marks with the fingers above his still bleeding wrists. “… but he’s a deep sleeper.”

I blush so hard. Bastard.

“… He’s not that huge, being as short as he is, but it’s a nice dick, you know? You’d be surprised at some of the stuff that’s out there …”

“Cam!” Lauren bustles into the room, waving her hand to shut him up. I guess she heard what he was saying, and chances are good that she’s seen Phil outside the door. An elderly nurse in turquoise follows Laur in, looking upset. She pushes her glasses up.

“You have to take it easy!” she tells Cam, tsking a finger at him. “I don’t want to have to tell you again.” she hauls him out of the bed, his gown fluttering, exposing his pale spine and the top edge of tight black underwear. She holds him by the elbow and tugs him out the door; I hear him spit the word ‘prick’ at someone that I know is Phil. Only seconds after they’re gone, Phil steps in.

He’s crying again, eyes red, tears pouring down his cheeks. He looks devastated but angry at the same time and he stares at the three of us in turn, we’re all silent, wondering desperately what he’s thinking. He walks wordlessly into the room and perches on the edge of Cam’s unoccupied yet still warm bed. Coy makes a thoughtful noise and shuffles closer, unsure of what to say.


xxx Coy’s POV xxx

This is so bad. His tiny little shoulders start to shake again and he starts sobbing. Laur sighs and sits next to him, curling her hand around his arm.

“He’s so horrible …” Phil croaks out, burying his face in his hands. “He’s so mean, he - he saw me … UGH.” he just stops there and breaks into a fresh round of cries. I play with my hands and search for something intelligent and comforting to say.

“Weeeell …” Keith smiles weakly, taking the seat on the other side of him. “At least he said it was nice?”

Phil wails into his hands.

I grab Keith’s arm and I pull; he stumbles to his feet. I kiss him once ‘cause that shuts him up long enough for me to get a word in, and I spin him around and take his seat, looking at him pointedly. “I love you, but you’re terrible at comforting.”

He frowns and pouts, sitting on my knee, throwing an arm around my neck. No matter how old he is, he’s still light as ever and I put my arms around him and look down at Phil, realising that we aren’t really helping the situation by being all cuddly like this. But we can’t help it and fortunately, he isn’t watching.

“… Laur?” I try. She looks up, a little inquisitive. Her hair’s brushed and loose over her shoulders, same kind of body wave that Cam has in his, so different from the tangled mess she had when we were kids. Her lips are glossed and she’s wearing a considerable amount of make-up, she looks like such a girl now. “… what … are we going to do?”

She rubs Phil’s trembling back and a confused look blooms over her painted face. “About what?”

Cam hobbles back into the room. My eyes dart to his wrists, now covered in new bandages, white and fluffy, laced with equally white tape. He’s pouting with a look that says he’d kill me if I told him he was pouting. He walks to his bed, staring at the tissue-like slippers elasticized to his bare feet. He throws himself into bed and pulls the covers over him as best as he can considering that all of us are still sitting on it. As a finale to this magnificent display of melodrama, he tosses his hands into his lap, stretches his legs out and huffs loudly.

“These two.” I finish with a sigh.

Phil stopped crying when Cam walked in and now both boys look up and say “Huh?”

“That’s right.” I say, sounding far more confident than I feel. “You two, you can’t stay like this …” I turn to Cam, a bit of a glare on my face. “You. Getting diseases, blatant disregard for your family and friends and those that love you.” At this point, Cam’s eyes flick to Phil’s and he glares when he sees Phil looking back, then proceeds to shuffle his shoulders and regain his dignity haughtily like a cat. “You need to take your mind off this dramatic shit and just be kids again, for fuck’s sake, you’re only fifteen. You shouldn’t be so wrapped up in sex and teenage politics that you cut yourself and all THIS.”

I give one of Cam’s patented huffs and shut up, resting my chin on Keith’s warm shoulder, nostalgic like an old man, thinking back to my fifteenth year full of videogames, schoolwork and seasons.

“Spare me the infomercial.” Cam snorts, playing with the quilt. “You sound like my mom, but you’re swearing.”

“But he’s not your mom.” Keith says, voice low and dull. “Your mom kicked you out for being cruel and disrespectful.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Cam’s voice is steadily getting louder. “Get your fact straight before you go into another little rant, she kicked me out ‘cause she found out that I’m a faggot.” another snort. “Respect’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Yes it does.” Keith goes on, fighting to stay calm judging on how hard his fingers and kneading mine. “Mothers don’t expect their children to hurt them like you hurt yours, getting home one morning covered in spit and blood and come and god knows what else, then to top it off, screaming at her.” Keith’s voice is getting soft; I can’t figure out what he’s thinking. Cam’s eyes flick to Lauren’s and he lowers his eyebrows angrily; he knows she told Phil, who told us. “It’s emotional hurt, and it goes a lot deeper sometimes.”

Then, all five of us are silent. I let my eyes roam from the close outline of Keith’s jaw, graced with nearly invisible blonde stubble to Phil’s bright yet dark eyes glued to the doorjamb. I look to Laur’s gussied up eyes and lips, pursed tight into a thin like, then to her brother in the bed behind her, thin freckled shoulders pushed back into a thick pillow, features so naturally innocent, big terracotta eyes with thick eyelashes like he was built through a magnifying glass, thin white lips barely a shade darker than his skin.

Keith settles into my arms, bare sandaled toes against the jean on the inside of my calf.

“You need to be kids again.” Lauren says finally. “You need to forget all this and … go to Disneyland or something like that.” then, her eyes and face light up with a long lost brilliance, one I recognize from a certain Thursday in my bedroom. “A road trip.”

The four of us look at her now, even Cam. “What?”

“You two -” she points to Keith and I. “- take you two -” her fingers move in mid air to Cam and Phil. “- on a road trip thing.”

I stare at her. Is that a good idea? Sparks are flying from Cam to Phil and even to Keith. The thought of shutting them in a hot car doesn’t sound all that clever.

“That’s idiotic.” Cam drawls.

Laur’s gaze whips to him. “No, it’s not. Mom and dad used to take us driving all the time and no matter what was going on, it got resolved.”

Cam looks thoughtful for a second, but as all of his more innocent expressions do, this one fades away quickly to a glare. “We were younger, and there aren’t any problems to resolve here. Just leave me alone.”

This earns a sigh from Lauren. “You don’t cut yourself if everything’s tip-top Cam. You can say that this whole thing doesn’t bother you but it does, it has to if you did that. I’m sure Coy and Keith will be more than willing to drive you, right?” she looks to us expectantly.

I blink a few times, moving Keith’s shirt between my teeth. It makes sense, I suppose. Whenever Sasha and I were squabbling we always did something like that, and this IS beautiful weather … we’ve got a few months ‘till school starts …

“What would we take?” Keith interjects. “Coy’s old heap? I don’t think that’ll fit luggage.”

“Oh come on, you guys are filthy rich thanks to Coy being spoiled by his mommy -”

I wrinkle my nose. “Screw you!”

“- so you can definitely afford to rent a minivan or something.” and she looks to Phil, apparently having finalized our position in all this. She gives his shoulder a reassuring hug.

“Hmm? What do you think?

He raises his eyebrows and looks at Cam, who looks back with a venomous, challenging expression. Phil backs down at first, looking at his knees again. “I don’t think this is a very good idea …”

Laur moves a bit closer and speaks quieter. “Don’t think about him.” she smiles. “Just think of Coy and Keith and sunshine and long days and cities. A break before eleventh grade.” she pauses. “Nice?”

He swallows, undeveloped adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He nods.

“And I know that my brother can be a pain, to you more than anyone as of lately,” she smiles. “But he’s get over it, and ignore him ‘till he does.”

She keeps smiling and looking at him, waiting for some answer or response.

“I don’t want to ignore him.” he says so quietly, and Cam tries to lean closer to hear. I watch his lips move but only catch some of his words. “I want him to be sweet and normal like he used to be.”

Lauren sighs after that and Keith squeezes my hand. “Just don’t tell him that.” She stands up and heaves another sigh, brushing her hair back. “You guys talk about the trip, but either way, you’re going.”

“Waitwaitwait,” Keith says. “You guys? you’re not coming?”

“No can do, Derek’s taking the week off, gotta be home.”

Keith huffs. “How dare you get married and break us up like this. I’m insulted.”

She laughs at him. “Oh come on, it’s only been a few months. And what about ME, having to deal with you two and your retarded little relationship? You’re married too.”

A little more of a rare occurrence these days: Keith blushes. I feel my own face get a little warm.

“We’re not married …” Keith tells her, smoothing a few of his fingers against mine.

Another laugh from Lauren. “Please, you might as well be, and you know it.”

My chin’s still on Keith’s shoulder and I open my mouth to give it a little bite. I can’t see if she’s blushing, but I’m going to assume he is, just like I basically assume that we’re married. Lauren’s too right, we have all the marriage qualifications other than a wedding and a licence. We live together, we’re incredibly in love, but we don’t have kids. Who cares? A lot of hetero couples don’t have kids either.

“Well, I hope that stirred something up.” she stands but leans down to Keith, giving him a kiss on the cheek, leaving a red lip-print. “Gotta go, I’ll see you soon! Call me if you need anything.” she ruffles my hair and trots out the door, leaving in a wake of girly perfume.

The four of us are left alone without Lauren as the glue holding us together, we’re silent, looking at each other.

“Do you guys really wanna go on a road trip?” Keith asks bluntly. It really isn’t too bad of an idea …

“Sure.” Phil says off-handedly, watching the doorjamb again.

But this comes as a surprised. Cam doesn’t say no right away. “Where would we stay at night?” he asks.

I think for a second. “Either motels or in the van. We’ll get one with collapsible back seats.”

Cam looks like he’s thinking about it, but he still looks unhappy. Hell, he always looks unhappy.

“Fine. When are we leaving?” he says submissively.

“… You can leave the hospital today.” Phil says quietly, the first thing I’ve heard him say directly to Cam since we got here. “… I heard the doctors talking …”

“Fine. Call me the day we leave.”

“Uhm …” I falter, blindsided. “You don’t sound too excited …”

He looks at Keith and I with that slow spreading smirk that could kill. “Oh, I’m not.”

“Then … why’re you going?” Keith asks.

“Honestly? Nothing better to do. I’m gonna die in five years or so anyways. Now I’ve lost a lot of blood and I’m tired, so leave.”

He mentions slitting his wrists so casually. The only thing that stops me from disliking him more than I do is the fact that he was crying before we came in … he’s hostile, but he’s human. “Okay.” I smile at him, earning a scowl. “C’mon.” I stand and ease Keith off me, spreading a hand over Phil’s back, pushing him gently until he stands up. He looks at Cam who, as his flaw seems to be, looks back for a second with a face not contorted into it’s usual scowl or glare or smirk, it’s got that innocence that I’ve barely seen in him, just a few times today and a split second on his driveway five years ago.

Like now: it’s gone as quickly as it came, morphed into a disgusting snarl at the only boy who might love him.





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