xxx Coy’s POV xxx

Cam came back a half hour later, followed by Phil a half hour after that. They both gave Keith an odd look lost on his sleeping face. Both comment on the mark under his eye (“Go easy on him” and "Did he give that to himself? Ahahaha”) but don’t pursue it too much. Both boys know Keith and I well enough to know that given an hour alone, we’ll definitely end up doing something like this. The two of them stay awake for about forty five minutes to an hour after arriving back. Cam watches TV on the small set mounted to the wall and Phil has a bath.

I sit next to Cam on our bed, reading a book I brought along. More than anything, I’m watching the two of them, trying to figure out how they work, I guess. I don’t spend too much time on Phil, seeing as I can’t because he’s in the bathroom, but Cam is an easy target. He’s slumped next to me with his pillows propped up on the headboard, looking bored as always as he watches an episode of Cold Case Files. I watch him and he doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t say anything. I wonder if he really is as bored as he looks. I won’t be surprised if that was a facade too. I mean, he lies a lot. He seems like he doesn’t care about being diseased, but the bandages on his arms suggest otherwise. He says he doesn’t love Phil, but the slumbering episode in the van says he might. Subconscious can know more than the conscious mind from time to time, and if he really hated Phil as much as he says he does, would he have cuddled him like that? I don’t know. Maybe I’m being an over-reacting hippie.

“Ya know,” he says, apparently talking to me though his eyes don’t move from the screen. “I’m not totally opposed to fucking, if that that’s what you want.”

I think I mishear him “What?”

He looks at me with the dark pupils in those bright eyes dilated. “You were staring.”

I roll my eyes. “That doesn’t mean I want to fuck you.”

“Well, I wanna fuck you, if what you’ve done to your little friend there ...” he points a limp finger at the sleeping Keith. “... is how you usually do things.”

I wrinkle my nose. Is he saying what I think he is. “It isn’t. You want to fuck me?”

“As I said, I’m not totally opposed to it.” he lowers his voice now. “I’d certainly be better than him.” he looks at Keith.

“What?”

He looks at me again, annoyed. “He’s ugly.”

I snap my jaw shut with a click of teeth. “... What?”

“You fucking heard me,” he sneers. “Your boyfriend looks like shit.”

I raise my hand, draw it back and give him a quick, hard, stinging smack to the back of his head. He gives a cry of surprise and his head jerks forwards. He scowls up at me. “You’re just pissed ‘cause you know I’m right.”

I slap him again, right across the face. It leaves an unclear red handprint. I grab a handful of his frizzy hair and yank sharply. He tries to free himself, squirming, attempting to get his feet out from under him. My free hand points to the empty space on the floor between the door of the bed and the cabinet that that tv’s on. “Sleep on the floor.”

“You’re kidding me!”

“Get the fuck off my bed.”

I pull his hair and let go, half-throwing him to the end of the bed. He scowls. “Whatever,” he says nonchalantly, either really uncaring, or just using it to cover up his disappointment in being rejected. He must have been kidding anyhow, no one wants to have sex with me, only Keith. I never get hit on, but maybe that’s because I’m always with someone who’s clearly my boyfriend.

I decide Cam doesn’t get to watch any more TV and I turn it off. He’s using his backpack as a pillow and looks pretty damn uncomfortable. I hope he is, the bastard. With nothing to do, he falls asleep quickly. I fume silently, watching the crack of light under the bathroom door.

Ten minutes or so later, it opens, letting steam billow into the room. Phil’s head pokes out, hair soaked, and he looks around. His eyes eventually fall on Cameron, sound asleep, and he steps out. He’s just wearing a towel, but he has it pulled up under his arms like a lady. He takes careful steps into the room towards his duffel bag. “Are you okay ...?” I ask, referring to the towel being pulled up so high. If he’s hiding bruises, I swear I’ll kill Cam.

“Fine ...” he says warily, stopping movement. “Why?”

“Your towel’s up under your arms,” I say matter-of-factly. Boys wear it around their waists, I think, but leave it unsaid. I drop my voice. “Did Cam hurt you?”

He shakes his head, suddenly a lot more aggravated. I hate to have ruined the nice bathtime atmosphere of his. “No! No. Nothing like that.”

I swing my feet over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge. “Phil, you can tell me if he did something,” I try to coax him, not believing that there isn’t anything wrong. He’s a bad liar. “I won’t tell anyone.”

He shakes his head more and stops looking at me as he pulls clothes out of his bad. When he has an armful of clothes and starts making his way back to the bathroom, I dart up off the bed to step in his way.

“Please tell me!” I plead. “I can’t stand the thought of him hurting you ... I won’t tell him you told me!”

He just shuts his eyes and shakes his head, arms tightening around the clothes he’s holding. He tries to push by me to get back in the bathroom, but he’s nearly half my size. I grab the top part of his towel and yank.

He yelps and drops the clothes as he makes a desperate scramble to cover himself. He grabs the towel at his waist to stop from being completely exposed. I look down at him and he just stares are the carpet, apparently too defeated to cover his torso up again. I don’t understand. “Phil ... There’s nothing here ...”

He shakes his head again. I don’t know what to say. I was just being overanalyzing this whole time? I feel terrible. But then, he changes my mind. “... M’fat.”

I feel like crying after I hear that, and I get it now. I drop down on a knee so he isn’t looking up at me anymore, and I can see his face from under the curtain of hair. He looks like he feels like crying too. I look at his body. A kid’s body, so young looking for his age, barely teenage looking at all. His dark skin is unbroken by acne or body hair. He’s a little bigger than most boys, but that isn’t what I’d notice when I first looked at him.

His eyes flick to mine and tears start pouring out.

“Ohgod, no,” I put my hand on his shoulder (he flinches). “No, no, no, don’t cry, please don’t cry,”

He sobs anyways, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “S-sorry ...”

“No, no, no, no, no, don’t be sorry, I’m sorry ...” I try not to cry but it’s tough. He just looks so sad. “I thought he hit you, I didn’t know ...”

“Naw ...” he sniffs. “... It’s just fat.

“C’mon, you aren’t fat, please don’t cry ...”

“I am too,” he argues. “You don’t have to be nice about it, I’m huge. That’s why Cam isn’t nicer ... He’d trip over his feet for me if I was gorgeous.”

“Cam isn’t nice to you because he’s a douche, not because of how you look.” I pet his wet hair, surprised that he doesn’t stop me. “And I think you’re beautiful. So does Keith.”

He looks at me now, maybe blushing, certainly embarrassed. “R-really?”

“Yes, really. You have such lovely tanned skin, and such strange eyes,” and now I smile even wider. “Keith even wanted to get you into a threesome.”

His eyes go wide for a moment and then he looks down, fidgeting, trying not to smile. “T-that’s nice.”

“And we also think you’re a lot better looking than Cameron.”

He looks down again. “No way, he’s ...” his eyes travel over my head to where Cam’s sleeping on the floor, neck at such an angle that will make him sore in the morning. “... beautiful.” he sighs a little angrily, far from the dreamy sighs of girls in movies. He sounds annoyed and frustrated, most likely at Cam’s antics.

“Well,” I smile and talk quietly like I’m telling a secret. “Keith and I think he’s scrawny and horrible.”

Phil looks uncomfortable now. “Look, you ...” he hesitates, picking his clothes up. “... you don’t have to put him down to make me feel better,” he says, still angry-ish. I’m shocked. “If I think he’s gorgeous and you say he’s ugly, that makes me feel like shit.”

“You’re sticking up for him ...?” I ask, disbelieved.

He nods, lip stuck out in an angry pout.

“But ... he screamed at you today! He spit on you!”

He shrugs as if that’s no big deal. “I’m just glad he’s talking to me.” he gives me a sad smile. “You wouldn’t understand. You have Keith.” and he goes into the bathroom.


xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Phil sleeps in my bed because Keith’s taken all the covers on the other bed and wrapped himself up in them like a flowered burrito. We don’t cuddle or anything like that. Phil stays curled up peacefully near the edge of the bed, looking even tinier when the quilt is pulled right up to his chin like that. When Keith and I wake up in the morning, earlier than the boys, we talk and marvel over them, perched on the left bed, drinking Pepsi from the pop machine outside. I tell him about the unfortunate incident with Phil last night, which confirms both our thoughts on just how insecure he is about his weight. We both, a little shyly, agree that he shouldn’t be so upset, because we think he’s gorgeous. Phil seemed happy when I told him that, I tell Keith, who says he’ll give him more compliments.

I also tell Keith about what Cam said about wanting to fuck me because of how bloody Keith was. That reminds Keith to get some antiseptic on his cuts and after he’s done that, we keep talking. I don’t tell him that Cam called him ugly because there’s no need to, and partly because it just infuriates me. That little chicken-shit bony piece of work has no goddamn right insulting someone as perfect as Keith.

I watch Keith when he talks and those pink lips and blond eyelashes make me realize that I’ve never thought of Keith as anything less than stunning. Even before all this started and we were best friends instead of boyfriends, I was always kind of jealous of his grace and confidence. I thought of myself as a huge awkward idiot back then, and still do. Especially when compared to the little bundle of gorgeous that’s Keith. He could make the prettiest of boys and girls seem like trash and it just pisses me the fuck off that Cam has the guts to say otherwise.

“Coy?” Keith tips his head to the side. I blink a few times, looking at the imprint of my canine teeth in the bite mark under his eye. “You listening?”

I grin, grossly proud of the marks I’ve left on him. “Sorry, I’m just thinking of how gorgeous you are and how lucky I am to be with you.”

He rolls his eyes, but I know he’s pleased. “You can tell the truth.”

“I AM,” I insist.

“I won’t mind if you’re thinking of screwing boys,” he tells me. “It’s cute how gay you are.”

I laugh, screw the cap back on my pop, and toss it to the side as I pin Keith down. He’s good about it and doesn’t fight, letting me get between his legs. He’s showered and clean, smelling of foreign soap, dressed in capris and a striped tank top. He smiles up at me, struggling to keep his opened bottle of pop upright.

“You’re more gay than I am,” I reason, petting his cheek with the back of my knuckles. “You’re the one wearing women’s capris.”

“Well, you have long hair.”

“You wear panties.”

“... Shut up.”

“Pfft, how could you think I’m more gay. Cut my hair and I could pass for liking women.”

He laughs, cruelly if anything, and I just know he disagrees. “You’re just too lady-like,” he says, but it isn’t as malicious sounding as I’d expected it to be. “We should do a test.”

“What?”

“Today, we’re going to the carnival right?”

“Sure ...” I say warily, wanting to know where this is going.

“Well, before we go, we should stop at that strip mall and get you some boy clothes, then send you out to pick up ladies!”

“That’s fucking nuts, it won’t work.” That voice isn’t Keith’s or mine, but rather Cam’s as he sits up. I look over my shoulder at him, tightening my hands almost protectively around Keith’s arms. Cam’s rubbing his spine in pain, shirt pushed up over his concave little chest. He’s glaring at us with disdain and probably pity, knowing him.

“Why not?” Keith worms his way forwards, not pushing me off him, just sitting up. He puts his chin near my shoulder, jutting it out defiantly. “Coy’s plenty manly. Some loose pants and shirts and a ponytail and he’d be straight.”

“And no makeup,” Phil says groggily from the bed. He’s lying flat on his back, having women up only a few moments ago. “The mascara is a dead giveaway,” he decides, throwing the covers off him. Cam watches him swing his bare legs over the side of the bed, clad in only a pair of boxers. He has very little leg hair and his calves are thick like tree trunks. Being kind of big suits him. He stands and shuffles around for his duffel bag and when he finds it, he takes it and pads silently into the bathroom.

I blink a few times and look at Keith, who’s just positively smiling, proud of his idea of his. “Don’t shave either,” he tells me. “Stubble makes you look big and burly.”

He rubs his little hand across my jaw, giggling at the sound and feel of facial hair. I don’t really like having to shave – it’s tedious and I still always have a five o'clock shadow four hours early. At least it’s my natural color, brownish, instead of bright red. Keith’s lucky, his stubble is invisible because it’s such a light blond.

“Well, I did just get back from hammering up dry wall and chopping wood.” I roll my eyes, responding sarcastically to his ‘burly’ comment. Anyone can tell I’ve never done a day’s work in my life. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever even held an axe.

He laughs, leaning closer, giving me a nose nuzzling kiss. I giggle into his mouth, tossing him down on the bed. “I’m not burly, but I’m SO more burly than you,” I growl against his cheek.

“Oh yeah?” he teases.

“Definitely,” I smile, bearing teeth, nipping gently at his cheek. He snickers, ticklish, and twists his neck to try and get away from me. I can’t stop smiling, kissing down his throat, grazing my teeth over last night’s battle wounds.

“Please,” Cam drawls icily. “You guys make me sick.” he finally voices his opinion on our complete and total life-consuming sappiness. I figured he’d say something eventually, being the bitter, loveless boy he is. Keith just laughs more as my fingers tickle the inside of his upper arm, that sensitive strip of skin usually hidden, pressed to your side. He snorts with schoolgirl giggles. “Don’t like it, don’t look.”

“Out of sight, out of mind!” I chirp.

“Ignorance is bliss!”

“Shut up!”

xxx Keith’s POV xxx

After everyone’s clean and ready – which takes a long time thanks to Coy and his decade long showers – we decide to go to the mall and get Coy a set of boyclothes. As usual, Cam doesn’t want to go and Phil’s neutral, but Coy and I are the oldest, so our decision stands. Cam tried to lock himself in the bathroom, but Coy unlocked the door with a pen capsule and dragged him out, claiming that he needs fresh air.

The mall isn’t far from the motel. It’s about two dozen various stores lined up and arranged in a big ¾ square. Coy pulls the van into a parking spot near Below the Belt and leaps eagerly out. Man, he’s never really excited about anything ... He’d better not be giddy over the prospect of picking up women. He pulls me into the store and we spend the next fifteen minutes pulling the most average preppy clothes off the racks. Coy’s a little disgusted by it, constantly unhappy with how averagely straight guys dress. Phil slouches around after us, silently, headphones around his neck for once instead of on his ears. Cam, on the other hand, plunks himself down on a beanbag chair near the changing rooms to sit and wait.

With an armful of clothes and a hair tie from one of the attendants, Coy steps into a changing room. The three of us sit on the obscenely bright beanbags outside his room, breathing shallowly to avoid ingesting too much of the overpowering perfume wafting off the teenage girls around us. It takes Coy no less than five minutes to find something he likes. He steps out wearing big plaid brown and yellow shorts, cloth flip flops, and a big brown and grey Billabong t-shirt. He’s grinning from ear to ear, hair still lying down over his shoulders. I’m not used to seeing him wear such loose, casual clothes, especially ones that make him to so average. It’s delightful!

I clap my hands and stand up, walking towards him, my own smile big enough to rival his. I run my hands across his shoulders and down his arms to his hands where he’s removed all his rings. On Phil’s suggestion, he put no eye make up on and didn’t shave ... he looks so very burly. I’m impressed. He holds his fingers out to me, a black elastic tie between his forefinger and thumb. “Put my hair back for me?”

“You always do it yourself ...” I say, but take it anyways.

“I like it better when you do it,” he says simply, turning around to let me do so. I leave wisps of his fiery red hair around his face with his bangs, letting it look all tousled and boyish. His ponytail is only about four inches long, not too long for a straight boy, and he looks fantastic beyond all reason.

I look down. “You have no ass in those shorts.”

He laughs, turning around. “Obviously. Straight guys never have decent butts.”

“Baggy pants are a curse.” I smile, shaking my head.

He pays for the clothes (overpriced, but he can wear them as pyjamas later or something) and wears them out of the store, giddy like a schoolgirl. He newly speeds down the street to the bright, flashing carnival looming over the city.

“So!” I exclaim, really talking more to Phil than to Cam. “Do you think this will work?”

I see Phil shrug in the rear view mirror, propped up against the door. “Maybe. Find whorish girls and they’ll go for anyone with a lip ring.”

I smile and nod, finding lip rings to be very magical in that way.

“You can smell his gayness a mile away. Any girl with two braincells with know he bonks boys,” Cam scoffs.

I roll my eyes. “His gayness isn’t as pungent as yours. Besides, any girls you’ve screwed must not have known you liked boys.”

Another snorting Cam-noise of disagreement. “I don’t like boys,” he tries to convince us. “I like whatever likes me.”

I watch Coy scrunch his nose up. “You’re a horny minx of a disgrace.”

A rare, obviously insincere smile blooms on Cam’s pale lips. “It’s worked up until now.”

“You call being in an orgy and getting AIDS working?” Coy scowls at him.

“I was in an orgy, wasn’t I?” is all he says in return, ending the conversation with a wolfish grin.

The fair is only five minutes away, but it takes us less than that due to how fast Coy’s driving.

“Slow down!” I scold. “Why are you so excited? You like the idea of pretending you don’t have a boyfriend so you can like girls?” Coy’s driving languidly around the parking lot, searching for a space, but when I say this, he takes his eyes off the road and looks at me, a little surprised. He pulls into a spot and the second he parks, he grabs me by the back of the neck. It hurts and I don’t know what he’s doing so I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing for the worst. I’m wrong because he kisses me, sending sparks of shivers down my spine. He seems angry but kisses me anyways, that freak, shoving his tongue into my mouth so harshly I have to try not to choke on it.

He’s grinning when he stops kissing me. “I don’t want girls. They’re ... inexperienced.”

I smile. “So, I’m just being crazy?”

“Very crazy. C’mon, don’t put a damper on this day. Carnivals are happy places!”

I laugh, swinging the door of the van open. “Tell that to the carnies.”

“Ohoho, don’t you think I won’t,” Cam laughs as he gets out too, in a good mood for once. We start walking – me next to Coy, Coy next to Phil, Cam trailing behind – towards the looming front gates of the carnival, curly iron with a big metal clown in the center, grinning at us goonishly from above. I make a ‘yeesh’ noise at it, but it obviously keeps right on smiling. “That thing is fuckin’ creepy,” Cam comments from behind us, giving it the same look I am.

“Shh!” Coy hushes him, keeping a watchful eye on the parents with their children lined up outside the ticket booth. Some mothers and fathers are eyeing the four of us, visibly disapproving. Ah, I get it. Coy doesn’t want Cam swearing around kids – he’d be such a good daddy. Which is really weird when I think about it.

“Hah!” Cam laughs, looking where he’s looking. “You don’t want me to swear around tykes? FUCK that!” he accentuates the ‘fuck.’ We start ushering him to the back of the line with Phil spouting out apologies to the parents. He swears all the way down until Coy puts his hand over his mouth. We’re standing behind a group of kids – preteens glad to be out on their own, the only other attendant to these carnivals other than parents and kids – as I watch Cam swipe his tongue over the palm of Coy’s hand clamped over his mouth. Coy makes a noise of disgust and recoils, revealing Cam’s face broken out into one of the most malicious smiles I ever did see.

“You cheeky little bastard,” Coy mutters, wiping his hand on his shorts. Cam makes kissy faces at him in response, which makes me start to think. Coy told me that Cam made a pass at him. Did Cam mean that? About wanting to have sex with Coy? I don’t blame him, but it worries me none the less. I’ll have to trust Coy.

The line disintegrates quickly and soon a sullen looking teen is stamping the back of our hands with ink as he takes our money, admitting us in. Before I know what’s going on, Phil has ran ahead. I think something is wrong until I see him a few yards ahead, leaning over into a pen of sheep. With one foot kicked up for balance, he’s petting a baby lamb on the head, headphones hanging off his neck. He’s making kissy noises with his mouth and cooing at it, making it bleat happily.

“What a cutie,” Coy giggles, squeezing my hand in is. While Altamont may not be the most advanced metropolis of a town, it isn’t so old fashioned that Coy and I should worry about being seen holding hands. Just because there’s no other guys in sight holding hands doesn’t mean they’re going to send an angry mob after the first ones they see. I notice, though, that when Coy calls Phil a cutie, Cam gives a sort of grunt as he looks at Phil.

“What was that, Cam?” I ask, testing the waters. This could be bad to comment on, but hey, that hasn’t stopped me before.

He looks at me blandly, eyebrows arched. “None of your business.” and he leaves it at that. It’s my turn to snort at him, though I don’t pursue it. I know what it means. I’m slowly becoming an expert on the noises Cam makes, and I’d bet all my money that that was a grunt of agreement. We walk up to Phil, who sees us instantly and leaps back.

“You can go out on your own, if you want, but stick with us if you want to see Coy pick up women,” I smile and tell both Cam and Phil. Phil nods, a half-smile on his mouth, just one corner. He seems to be in a good mood, but that might be the lamb’s doing. Cam doesn’t leave, so I shoot him a silent, inquisitive look.

“I wanna see if it’ll work.” he answers my wordless question without qualms. I’m glad he’s staying, oddly enough. I’ve decided that my goal for this trip is to get Cam back to how he used to be. Phil’s told us that at one point in his life, about four months ago, Cam was wonderful. They were playful and sweet and could sleep in the same bed together. Then, hormones and sex drive (both Cam’s) came into play and Cam just got fucked up over the span of no more than a week. Their shy kisses became filled with tapeworm tongues and hands wandered too low. The glint in those bright terracotta eyes changed from one of playful mischief to one of cruel demand. Then, Phil said, just like that, he became the Cam that Coy and I know now: angry, snarky, self mutilating, repulsive, mean. I can’t imagine Cam any other way, but Phil insists that this other Cameron existed and maybe still does. I wanna meet him.

I look up then turn around, amazed by all these huge rides. A Ferris wheel stands in what looks like the middle of the park while an old wooden rollercoaster curls around the left side. More unnecessarily dangerous rides dot the park, lined up like bricks, filled in between with little stands offering games for prizes or selling food or souvenirs.

“I neeeeeed to go on the Ferris wheel,” Coy begs, neck arched to look up at it.

I grin. “What my dearest wants, my dearest ge – LOLLIPOPS!”

I break my thought off at the end when I spot a little brightly colored stand about thirty yards away that apparently sells lollipops, I can see that from here. I start bouncing.

“Coy, Coy, Coy, Coy, Coy, Coy, Coy did you bring any money?!”

“Of course, but -” he goes to say something but I assume it’s going to be something against me buying my weight in lollipops, so I shush him, reaching into this pack pocket to yank his wallet out. I run off with it, ignoring his protests as I dodge through people. I jog up to the counter, empty, and I slam Coy’s wallet down on the surface. ‘Giggle Co. Lollipops,’ the sign tells me in bright pink and yellow writing. There’s rows of specialty lollipops in racks at the back, some as big as my head, each covered in it’s own plastic wrapper. Besides the big ones, they have bags or what Coy and I refer to as ‘dentist-pops’ because they’re the little solid flavored mold made ones no wider than two fingers that little kids get for not making a ruckus in the dentist’s chair. I’ve been in love with them since I was the kid in the dentist’s chair enduring the taste of fluoride just to get a sucker that would last me four minutes, tops.

The woman behind the counter, easily over thirty, smiles as me as I pry Coy’s wallet open. He has his debit card and a wad of bills in it among other thing. Flicking through the cash, I count fifty dollars. I smack two twenties and a ten down on the counter before thrusting my arm out, finger pointing just to the lady’s left side where a bag of dentist-pops sit innocently.

“How much of those can I get for fifty dollars?” I ask eagerly, just as Coy and the boys come up behind me. She turns to where I’m pointing, then turns back. Using only her index finger, she punches numbers into a small purple calculator. When she’s done, she looks at me. “One thousand.”

I can’t breathe.

“No fucking way!” Coy cries indignantly.

I don’t say a word, I just push the money towards the woman’s hand. She smiles and nods, taking it, ringing it in, and putting it into the cash register. She turns behind her, pink striped apron swirling, and takes down a huge fucking bag of cherry suckers hanging from a hook on the ceiling. She just HANDS it to me, sliding it across the counter. I thank her in a voice like a mouse. I’m almost too happy to even take it. With shaking hands, I grab it at the top and haul it off. It’s quite heavy and about as big as my midsection. Resting it on the ground at my feet, I twist the tie off the top, fishing out three lollipops. I hold them out to Coy, Cam, and Phil. Cam sighs and shakes his head, Phil takes out, and Coy looks stunned.

“Did ... did you just spend fifty dollars of my money on dentist-pops?” he sounds completely dumbfounded, like it’s a big deal.

I take the wrapper off one and pop it in my mouth. The wave of taste is sharp, almost like cough syrup, but smoother. I roll my tongue around it, almost delighted to the point of arousal. I fucking love these things. “It’s your mom’s money, you brat.”

“It’s the Russel family’s money,” he insists firmly. I stand up straight and throw the bag of suckers over my shoulder like Santa's sack.

“When I moved in with you, I became part of the Russel family.”

“No, no, no,” he glares, but I can tell that he isn’t wholeheartedly mad. “You’re part of the Carnovale family. You’re the fuckbuddy of the Russel family’s eldest male.” his glare breaks into a cute little smile when he plucks the remaining dentist-pop from between my fingers. He sticks his tongue out and slurps at it. “So you’re going to have to share.”

I smile, just the stark white stick poking out from between my lips. “I’m up for that. You could use ... practice ... anyways,” I tease.

He flushes red, eyes darting to Phil and Cam. Cam looks so snarky at hearing my words and Phil just looks a bit mortified. My grin widens even as Coy punches me in the arm. It stings, but the bites and scratches I’m covered in say he’s done worse.

“Shut up, I’m fucking awesome.” he smiles dangerously and I shrink back.

“Okay, okay! We’ve gotta go find some ladies.”

We start walking around, down the crowded walkways between stands and rides. Eventually Cam makes a comment. “If you want this to work,” he states matter-of-factly. “you should talk more straight.”

“I talk gay?” Coy asks, looking up at the various brightly colored rides spinning and lurching around us. “I don’t have a lisp ...”

“It isn’t your voice, it’s the words. Ladies aren’t ladies, they’re ‘chicks’ or ‘girls’ and depending on how vulgar you want to get, just simply ‘pussy.’” That makes Coy grimace.

It makes me grin, though. “You certainly seem to know a lot about acting straight.”

He glares, but for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t look too mean. “I had to learn, being around my parents. I used to be better at it, I guess, but now ...” he pauses, shrugging. “There’s no need.”

I frown. If he were any other boy, I’d pat him reassuringly on the back. In fear of getting injuries, I lay off, offering a sad smile instead. Coy coughs.

“Okay, so where do we go?”

I raise a hand to shield my eyes from the sun, shifting the sack of dentist-pops over my shoulder. “Rollercoaster?” I say, because it’s nearest. I hear Coy crunch his lollipop loudly.

“Noooo thanks, I hate rollercoasters,” he says nervously.

“What?!!” I step in close, ceasing our walk. “In the fifteen years I’ve known you, you have never told me that!”

He grins, showing the stick between his molars. “I cleverly avoided it with my lightning-quick wit. Good job, huh?”

“I can’t belieeeeeve I didn’t know what!” I smack his arm playfully. “Do they make you sick?”

“Nope,” he shrugs. “They scare me, going that fast.”

I laugh, finding it so funny that someone as big as Coy is scared of something as harmless as a rollercoaster. “Weeeeell Mr. Russel, it’s your lucky day!” I snatch his hand and start pulling him towards the long line of people waiting to ride the park’s rollercoaster. “We’ll aim you at that pack of girls there.” I set my eyes on three women at the end of the line all similar looking in bright layered outfits because I remember Phil’s advice. Coy digs his heels into the dirt, both hands covering mine. He spits the dead stick of his dentist-pop onto the ground. “No, no, no, no, don’t make me do this, I hate rollercoasters!”

“Too bad!” I smile cheekily. “Face your fear, you’re a grown man now!”

He leans in closer, voice dropped to a frantic hiss. “I’ll do whatever you want,” he pleads desperately. “I’ll fuck you, I’ll give you head, the best fucking blow job of your life if you don’t make me go on this thing.”

“I can get you to blow me any time I want,” I laugh, voice not matching the stage whisper he’s dropped his to. “But the carnival’s only available for today.”

Both boys behind us snicker quietly, hopefully because they know that Coy tried to use sex to get out of things.

“You crafty swine, you,” Cameron laughs, actually laughs, even if it’s at Coy’s misfortune. I give him a raised eyebrow look of shock that he ignores. Is he actually in a good mood? Must be the carnival, no one can be sad at a carnival. Maybe that was sarcasm.

“Let’s GO!” I say with a tone of finality. “Now remember: you like women, not men. You don’t know me or Phil ...” I take a risk and put my hands on Cam’s sharp shoulders and I push him forwards a little, prompting him to stand next to Coy. “... but you’re here with Cam.”

“Why’s he here with me?” Cam asks, audibly annoyed, though he has yet to act on it or refuse.

“I dunno ... you’re his little brother or something,” I giggle.

Cam looks up at Coy. “We don’t look very much alike.”

“You’ve got the same skin, that’s enough, now GO!”

Phil and I watch them walk stiffly to the end of the line. Maybe it’s because I know them, but they look unnatural among normal people. Coy’s fiery red hair blends into the steel metalwork of the rollercoaster behind him and from this far away, I might think he was a young aspiring artist at the carnival with his girlfriend. I say ‘artist’ because the ponytail and his stubbled beard make him look artsy, which he sort of is, but he’d rather decorate pasta instead of a canvas. Broad shouldered and tall, he towers over the ladies in front of him and I’ve never been more proud to be his boyfriend.

“Whatcha thinking?” I ask Phil, who’s staring blankly.

“Can I have another sucker?” he ignores my question, or maybe he’s answering. Either way, I swing the sack off my shoulder and fish two out, one for him, one for me. We choose to saunter closer to Coy and Cam and the girls who have yet to notice them. As planned, we make no verbal contact and pretend we don’t know each other. It takes the girls a good three minutes to say something and I start getting anxious and a little insecure.

The three girls – all the same height, one with a blond topknot, two brunettes – turn half-around and make eye contact with Coy, who I see shoot him one of his mysterious, crafty, charming smiles. They quickly turn away and whisper to each other. Coy makes his move and even if his voice was deep before, he’s changed it somehow.

“You girls talking about me?” he laughs. “I’m flattered.”

They freeze and go pale, then flush red all in the same second. They turn to face him with one of the brunettes cowering behind the blond.

“S-sorry!” the brunette in the front speaks, her voice like bells. “SHE-!” she delivers a shove to the blond, accentuating the ‘she.’ “- was just saying that you have the bluest eyes ever ...!” she sounds embarrassed and elated all at once. I used to be like that around Coy until I realized he was secretly, under the good looks, a retarded, pun-making, clumsy galoof. I just happen to love him for it.

Another captivating laugh from my boyfriend. “Why thank you,” he says, sounding so suave that the girls melt. “but yours are pretty blue too.”

She fidgets, suppressing a smile. The other two girls are flabbergasted. “N-no, they’re really more of a grey, really ... not as nice as yours.”

“I think they’re beautiful, anyhow,” he says and I know he’s just doing it to make me jealous. He sort of turns around a little and his eyes look to mine, but he covers it up my pretending to be fixing his ponytail. “Don’t you two think her eyes are nicer than mine?” he turns to the other two girls, a fricken’ expert at this.

They both stop dead again, silencing giggles. “Noooo way, yours are all ... icy ...”

“Well, thank you! So,” he rocks back on his heels very cutely. “What are you girls here for?”

The cowering brunette answers first, though they were all clamoring to speak. “We’ve got a day off from school,” she grins. “and it’s just such a nice day~”

“What are you doing here? Are you alone?” the blond asks, sounding hopeful. I snicker under my breath, which is okay because they don’t notice me.

“Nah, I’m here with my ...” he throws an arm around Cameron, pulling him up to stand beside him. He crushes him to his side. An odd blush spreads over the little boy’s face, but it disappears when Coy finishes his sentence. “... little sister.”

The girls look surprised and stare at Cam, unsure smiles on their faces. “Oh! That’s so nice of you,” one of them says. They’re all almost the same size as Cameron, but these are tall girls. He tries not to scowl at them and barely succeeds, but I can’t help but laugh because I hadn’t thought of this before, but Cam could so pass for a girl. “What’s your name?” she asks him or ‘her,’ I should say.

Cam just grunts at her, possibly because he knows if he talks, he’ll be busted.

“Kate.” Coy grins, answering for him. “She’s just shyyyyy.”

“Oh? What grade is she in?”

“Eleven?” he answers, looking at Cam as to double check. He nods.

“Cool! Same as us!” another girl says. “She’s very pretty.” Cam glares, unnoticed to them. A flush covers his cheeks.

“You know, I hope it isn’t too bold of me to say so ...” the blond says. “... but you could really bring the color of your eyes out with some blue-ish eyeshadow!”

“Ooh, yeah! Almay has a new line out, it’d look great on you. Shimmer, but not too much!” another girl agrees, nodding happily. “It’s a shame when nice girls like you don’t know how to show off their beauty.”

Cam is as red as a tomato now, looking at his shoes. His hands are behind his back and unbeknownst to the girls, his bony little hands have curled into fists.

“So!” Coy breaks in, picking up Cam’s anger. “You’re in grade eleven?”

“Yes! Aaaand what grade are you in?” the smaller brunette asks Coy this, receiving a shove from another girl for being so bold.

“Uh,” Coy clears his throat. “University.”

Shit, I think. They’re a little young.

“No way! That’s so cool!”

“Is it?”

“Wull, yeah!” they agree. “You’re so mature, I mean, all high school boys are complete dicks, ya know? How old are you, exactly?”

Coy scratches his neck. “Twenty one.”

“Awesome,” they murmur, smiling very dimwittedly. Do they know how dumb they look? “So, you can buy booze? Do you party?”

He blinks down at them, lost. I exchange smiles with Phil because we both know that Coy could NOT be less of a party boy. Alcohol makes him nauseous, as do people that drink it excessively. “Uh, sure, yeah.” he says in his best straight boy voice.

“Cool! Well, we were sort of -”

“Brit, no!” one of the giggles.

“- sort of thinking of going to this little party in town, sorta lame, but, uh, you could make it cooler if you came with. You interested?”

I take this as my cue and I step forwards, putting my chin in the crook of Coy’s neck. He jumps a little in shock, but doesn’t move away.

“Hi, Coy,” I say simply, hands at his waist, in a not-very-sexual way.

The girls just stand there, eyebrows cocked. I suck lazily on the dentist pop in my mouth.

“Hey,” he smiles at me, turning his neck to look at me.

“Is this another lovely sibling of yours?” the taller brunette asks, smiling, thinking she’s picked up a beauty.

“No, actually,” Coy tells them, a little more at ease now. “This is my lover.”

They exchange looks of horrified wonder. I turn my head and kiss Coy, just under his ear, tired of pretending I don’t know him. His hand comes up and circles my forearm and I’ve never felt more proud.

“Ohmygosh,” the blond rushes all over herself to apologize. “We had no idea, I’m so sorry!”

Coy laughs brightly and raises his other hand out as if saying. “No biggie, I lead you on, I’m sorry.”

They go to reply collectively when ‘Kate’ bursts out.

“I’M A FUCKING BOY.”

“Huh?” the girls just blink at him. Coy and I look behind us. Phil looks fearful.

“I’m not a fucking girl,” he snarls at them, voice deep and so very not a girl. He turns to Coy and I. “YOU -” he pushes at Coy’s chest. “- I fucking hate you, I’ve never been so fuckin’ humiliated in my life!! I know I look like a fucking girl but I don’t need you going around parading it in front of me!”

“I just -”

“And YOU -” he points at me. By this time the girls have left, apparently ‘too weirded out.’ “You ... I fucking hate you too, I always fucking have. You. Make. Me. Sick ... Your goddamn giggles and mocking and you’re so goddamn arrogant!” he’s on a rant now and nothing can stop him. I start to feel sick. “You act like you’re perfect, god’s gift to women or men or whatever and you’re NOT, not even close! You act like everyone wants to know you’re getting fucked by the hottest guy around, you flaunt it and BRAG and get off on proving ownership to poor unsuspecting girls like those ones,” he waves a hand in the direction the girls departed in. “You act like being fucking gay is a huge deal and everyone should know, like everyone cares and should treat you differently. It’s all you’ve got. You ...” his voice lowers. “... are a goddamn airheaded ditz of a slut, a disgrace to men, and I completely, one hundred percent ... hate you.”

Coy’s gone rigid under my touch. I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel a tear drip onto my arm. It’s just ... he’s right. Completely right. I’m nothing ... I have Coy. That’s it. No talents. No personality. I’m gay ... is that all I have? Am I that one dimensional? Yes, yes, yes, yes, a thousand times over. I’m what’s wrong with the gay society, making people hate gays because they think they’re all fags like me. I feel like throwing up.

Coy tries to kick Cam, presumably in the crotch, but Cam swivels to the side.

“Fuck this shit,” he growls then slips under the braided rope designating the rollercoaster line-up and he leaves, disappearing into the crowd. Coy turns towards me. I look at Phil through tear-blurred eyes and see him looking back – a little open mouthed – with the near-disintegrated stick of his dentist-pop hanging over his bottom lip. He looks upset.

Coy shakes my shoulders. I guess I wasn’t responding. “Keith ... Keith, look at me,” he says, sounding kind of desperate. “C’mon, don’t be like this ...”

He leans in to kiss me and for what I think may be the first time ever, I don’t let him. I press my hand to his chin, keeping him back. I can’t look at him, I can’t look at anyone. I feel agitated and sick, but I guess anyone would be if they just realized that everything they are and ever were is a disgrace. Coy moves back, shocked. He repeats my name, low and scared. He looks astonished as his hand brushes against my cheek.

“Don’t,” I say instantly, feeling tears cloud my eyes. “... No one wants to see that.”

“Keith ...” he says miserably. His hand slides down my arm. “... What he said is bullshit, okay? You know that, right?”

I shudder pathetically when I try to talk. Typical drama queen faggot, I think. “I wanna leave,” I sob like a five year old that’s been denied candy. “Let’s go, now.”

I hear Coy open his mouth, but he says nothing. By now the bag of lollies are at my feet in the dirt and he picks them up, slinging them over his shoulder as I’d done earlier. Oh jesus, earlier. I’d said those things, I’d practically shouted ‘I can get you to blow me anytime I want,’ I skipped and bought lollipops and giggled.

I walk silently out of the park. It doesn’t take long, we were near the entrance. Phil must feel left out, but I don’t think that right now. I’m too busy having my rose colored glasses thrown off. I think about the past ... all the things I’ve said and done, how ignorant and stupid I must have sounded! And I had the fucking audacity to call the girls Coy was talking to ‘dimwitted.’ I’m dimwitted. This fucking sucks. My footsteps on the concrete of the parking lot whisper at me, swearing at me, angry. The hum of the engine when we get in the van calls me useless, airhead, useless, airhead. The whole ride home I listen to those words as Coy’s fall on deaf ears. There’s no room for his encouragements when I’m this busy being emo. Fuck, I can’t even cry without hating myself! I’ve gone from a useless ditz to a whiny emo. Both fucking suck.

We get back to the motel. Coy purchased another day in it this morning, so it’s still ours. I drag myself out of the van towards the door, running my tongue over my teeth. I wait for Coy to unlock the door. When we’re inside and Phil’s sitting worriedly on his bed, Coy puts his hand on my shoulder. He has an odd look on his face. He leans in close and kisses me, open mouth, too shy for tongues. I part my lips but don’t move. He notices this and pulls back.

“Don’t let him get to you,” he says, and I hear him for the first time in a while. He looks devastated, but isn’t crying. I might be. I just shake my head at him, staring at his kneecaps, bared under his shorts. Spinning on my heel, I slump sluggishly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

xxx Coy’s POV xxx

I lose sight of him. Too many implications run through my head and a sick wrenching feeling gurgles in my chest. Phil makes a little noise to get my attention. I turn to face him. He’s curled up next to the suckers on the bed, looking very distraught.

“Is he gonna be okay?” he asks in almost a whisper.

“I dunno ... he gets like this sometimes ... he just hates himself ...” I chew the inside of my cheek, trying not to cry. “And there’s nothing I can do because he won’t listen and I can’t kiss it away and he doesn’t even know how much I love him ...” I’m crying in frustration now. I flop onto the bed at Phil’s feet. After a slight hesitation, he reaches his chubby little hand out and pets the back of my head.


xxx Keith’s POV xxx

I strip down and look at myself in the mirror. I study my own face with hatred and curiosity. The big sore bite mark from Coy is still just under my eye, torn and glistening like an open wound. My neck’s covered in hickies. My chest’s covered in bites and scratches. I look like a cheap hooker, for fuck’s sake. My blond eyebrows look stupid with my dyed hair. I should just stop hiding my hair color, there’s worse things than being blond. I look at my body, pulling at flab over my stomach. I’m not fat, but weak, so weak. I have more estrogen than testosterone – my chest is hairless, the only place I have body hair is my crotch and under my arms. Where you don’t want it. I look disgusting, I feel disgusting.

I lean in close to the mirror, over the white counter-top. Inches away from my reflection, I say Coy’s name. Is this what he sees when he looks at me? Bags under my eyes, my god-awful upturned nose? Shit. There’s something wrong with him, there has to be if he’s been fucking me for five-or-so years. Maybe he’s blind. HE needs glasses, not me. I kiss my own reflection with open eyes. I look disgusting this close up.

Coy opens the bathroom door, catching me kissing myself. I move away but don’t turn around. In the mirror I watch his eyes drop to my basically non-existent, bony little bare ass. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. I turn around and again, his eyes drop to my boyparts. I just stand there. I want to tell him to stop looking, it’s embarrassing, but I don’t say a word. Under his left arm, I see Phil looking at me and Coy does too, so he steps in and shuts the door once more.

He kicks my clothes out of the way and gets close to me. I look up at him, running my tongue over my teeth again. “What do you want me to do ...?” he asks. The skin around his beautiful eyes is red from crying.

I love that he’s crying over me, as sick as that sounds. He cares enough to be worried to the point of tears. He touches my neck and this time I let him. He looks devastated as he rubs his palm up my jaw and across my cheek, avoiding cuts. I stare at his lips, those beautiful lips with that thin black lip ring and I just think: how is he with me? He isn’t like me, he isn’t a ditz like me. He isn’t quite the stereotypical gay man. He dresses classy and odd, not frilly and girly. He wants to be a high-class chef, not a fashion designer. I love him so much, but I can’t understand how he loves me in return. He’s fucking nuts.

The lips I’m staring at get closer. He presses his mouth to mine and I shudder in shock. He’s so warm, god, he’s warm. The crisp cotton of his t-shirt feels rough against my chest when he touches me. His arms curl around my back and hold me steady, supporting me. He runs his tongue along my bottom lip, pushing my lipring back, waiting for me to open my mouth and let him in. It doesn’t take long for me to give in, parting my lips. His tongue taps softly against mine, rubbing against it, coaxing it out.

I kiss back, not sure of anything any more. I desperately hope his eyes are closed because I don’t want him looking at me. He curls his right hand under my ass around my thigh and hosts me up into the counter, just beside the sink. He has to lean up to kiss me now, but he does, hand moving to my knee, easing my legs apart. We just kiss for a while, content with that. I barely know if I’m still devastated. Coy seems to love me despite all my character flaws, all my unabashed ass-hattery. He still loves me. But do I love me? Does it even matter?

He takes his mouth off mine and our cherry-flavored tongues sink back to the security of our own mouths. His lips look wet and a little swollen from kissing. He’s not smiling, but looking very serious, face so close to my own. I want to push him back, tell him not to look at me, but that would hurt his feelings. I can’t look at him.

“Keith ...” he whispers and I love the way that sounds. “... Are you okay?”

I think for just a second, then shake my head. “I’m a useless ditz,” I mumble. “That’s never okay.”

He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip, features taking on a more worried look. “That’s not true.”

“Give me one reason why it isn’t,” I snap at him. “I’m gay, and that’s fucking it.”

He looks like he wants to hit me now. “You’ve got more than that and you know it,” he hisses, leaning back a little. I notice his hand doesn’t leave it’s spot on my thigh. “You’re beautiful, talented, creative, original -”

I snort at him.

“- smart, sociable ... so many things. You aren’t as useless as you say you are.”

I look at him now. I’ve heard this speech before and I love him, but it isn’t making a hell of a lot of difference. He’s just being nice. What have I never done to prove this intelligence he’s talking about? I was a straight B student in high school, except for sewing. What have I ever done to show originality? I dress like every other emo teenage girl I’ve ever seen. I feel like crying again.

He kisses the tip of my nose, barely smiling, just a ghost of one hiding on his mouth. “I owe you,” he whispers, and his fingertips slide up my thigh, wrapping around my dick. A whimper disintegrates on my tongue like sugar. “for not making me ride the rollercoaster.”

I lean back a little, skin tingling at the shock of the cold mirror against my bare back. I’m confused, unsure of what he’s trying to say. Is he just breezing by this whole situation? Is he trying to say more? I don’t object as he drops to his knees in front of me.


xxxxxxxxxxxxx

I’m lying face down on the bed.

Forgive me for not relaying the rest of that blow job. It was embarrassing. I couldn’t come. I feel bad about it. Coy feels bad about it. I’ve never been more embarrassed in my whole life, it just ... wouldn’t go. I blame it on my bad mood, but I just don’t know. This sucks. I have never ever been more embarrassed.

Coy’s out on the front porch now. I can see him pacing by the window, talking into his cellphone. To whom, I don’t know.


xxx Coy’s POV xxx

“Nnnhello?”

I hesitate as he picks up. “... Why do you always sound so sleepy?”

“Because I’m always asleep. What’s up?”

“Not a lot.” I keep pacing back and forth, slowly across the cement sidewalk in front of the motel room door. “We’re in Altamont.”

“Still? What’s the hold up?”

I sigh. “That’s ... sort of why I called. It’s Keith.”

I hear a rustling in the background as he answers. “What happened? Is he alright?” Brandon doesn’t sound particularly worried.

“Not ... really ... He’s ... Cam made some comments.”

“Comment?”

“He said some really mean shit. Keith’s out of it now, he fuckin’ hates himself.”

More movement. “You’re kidding.”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.”

“Well, tell him you love him!” His voice has taken on a more exasperated tone.

“I did. A thousand times. He isn’t listening, he’s used to it. He takes me for granted.” Pace to the door, turn around.

“Well ... fuck,” he swears. “So what did he say?”

“Cam?”

“Yeah.”

I think back, hearing Cam’s stupid nasally voice between my ears. “He called him useless. Airheaded. A ditz. Ugly.”

“That’s bull,” he says dryly. “Keith believes this asshole?”

“Completely. He isn’t even talking to me, he won’t look at me.”

“... Shit. Well, give him the phone.” he sighs.

I stop walking. “You wanna talk to him?”

“Yeah, maybe I can talk some sense into him.”

“... If you’re sure ...”

I open the door. Keith doesn’t look up at me, he stays face down on the bed, feet together, arms at this sides. Phil’s watching all this drama from the opposite bed with his headphones on. I rub my hands over the back of Keith’s head. “Hey,” I say softly. “Phone’s for you.”

He rolls over, looking up at me with tired, dejected eyes. He holds his palm out and I place my cellphone gently in it.


xxx Keith’s POV xxx

“Hullo?” I say blandly, fully expecting to hear Lauren or maybe Mrs. Russel on the other end.

“Hey babe. Can I call you that?”

My eyes open wide – I had them closed. “... Brandon?”

“Mmmhhhmmm. So can I?”

I can’t even think, I’m too busy blushing. “This ... is certainly a leap from ‘little bro’...”

“Is that a yes?” he purrs. His voice is so soft. I sit up and look angrily at Coy. He’s with Phil on the other bed, sitting cross legged. He smiles cheekily.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Good,” he says simply, sounding quite pleased. For a few long moments, I can just hear him breathe on the other end and I find it devastating that I miss how he feels when he’s breathing into my ear.

“... Why’d you call?” I say dumbly. My palms sweat just from talking to him and I just keep thinking of how wrong this is! I try to talk normally, like we’re just brothers. Friends. Who’ve never seen each other naked. Or touched each other. Or gotten off on it. Oh, jesus.

“Actually, Coy called me,” he says and I’m glaring at Coy a second later. He shrugs. “He says you were feeling a bit ... down.”

I flop onto my back again. “God, he didn’t tell you what happened, did he?”

“Yes. Is that bad?” he sounds gentle, even reassuringly so, like a counselor.

I figure he’s talking about what happened in the bathroom. “YES, I didn’t want you to know! It’s fucking embarrassing and it isn’t like it happens all the time, it’s never happened and it won’t happen again I just had a bad day and it happens to a lot of guys from time to time it’s just a phase -”

He laughs out loud, raspy over the long distance call. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

I freeze dead, too humiliated for words.

“Keith, I meant he told me what Cam said to you ...” he pauses and I hear him snicker. “You couldn’t come?”

I groan and roll over, burying my face n the bed, stifling a scream. If I was any more embarrassed, I think I’d just stop living altogether. “Shut up.”

“Are you serious?” he says, still giggling.

“Shut up.”

“‘Cause don’t you normally go off like a rocket?”

“Shut up!!”

I can’t even bear the thought of Brandon thinking of me ... going off like a rocket ... This is killing me.

“I’M LEAVING.” I rush out, face hot enough to fry an egg.

“Wait!” he stops laughing. “Don’t go, I ... like ... talking about you.”

I wait, trying to see what he’ll say next. “... Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he finally sounds shy. “Especially when it’s things like this.”

I’m excited, but scared. I think I’m shaking. “... Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says so quietly, I barely hear him through the white noise of the phone line. “Do you remember my scars?”

I blush so badly. My ears sizzle. I think back to what I never wanted to think back to. I remember the street lamp shining through slats in the blinds over the window. I remember it shining on Brandon, spread on the carpet, the sweaty skin of his back sticking to the couch. I remember seeing the thin, plentiful cuts marring his thighs and all along his stomach up near his biceps. They weren’t very deep, but scars are scars. I’ll never forget Jeff’s name carved into Brandon’s hip. J-E-F-F, in scratchy scripture, following the curve of his pelvic bone up past his leg. It turned me on and made me nervous to see him branded like that. Claimed.

“Y-yes,” I almost whisper, trying to keep things a secret from Phil and Coy.

“Did you like them?” his voice teases me gently, letting me know he’s in charge.

“Yes ...”

“Hmmm ... really?” He sounds so amused that I want to throw something at him and it kills me that I can’t.

“... Yess ...” “Do you like getting hurt?” he’s so quiet, but so domineering. He has to be a prodigy in the bedroom.

I don’t want to answer, this is embarrassing, so embarrassing. This is my brother. “... Yeah.”

I feel myself starting to sweat, staring up at the ceiling, trying to pretend this is someone else. “Hmmm ...” he hums thoughtfully. “You’re such a cutie,” he laughs in that way he used to when I was a kid, like when I fell down or did something equally stupid. Now he’s laughing that laugh because I’m a pervert. “Do you ... want me to do something like that to you?”

I swallow, covering my eyes with my hand, falsely thinking it’ll preserve some of my dignity. “... Really really really yes.” I can’t lie to him and I never could. I want him to fucking brutalize me.

“Do you think about it? Me doing that kind of thing to you?” I hear more rustling somewhere on his end of the line and in the background I think I hear the TV. Then, his voice drops to a taboo whisper. “I think about you when I jack off.”

I hesitate. This is going too far and I feel that grimy sick feeling crawling up my throat, that feeling I got the last time he kissed me. I keep thinking of his lips and his tongue and how he never tasted fresh, always blatantly of toothpaste of whatever he’d last eaten. This is too weird this is too weird, I’m thinking of my brother’s mouth. “Brandon, stop, stop it, this isn’t right ...” I keep my hand over my eyes, chest shuddering.

“Shhh, no, it’s fine ...” he speaks, calmingly, malice vanished. “It’s my decision, okay? I want to be involved in this. You’re beautiful, and mine, and worth all this. You don’t feel the same about me?”

I stop dead at being called beautiful and how possessively he said mine. I’m worth all this? I’m worth incest? “I ... feel the same way about you.” I blush.

“Good boy,” he says with a bit of cheer. “I hope you can come to terms with this ... I’m not going to change my mind, sorry ... so now ... if you want ... you can come over whenever you feel like and have some ... fun, we’ll call it. Bring Coy if you wish, but don’t feel you have to.”

I grin. “Yeah, okay.”





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