sorry for the wait
i've been having trouble eschewing my cosmic horn, so expect the next chapter to be filled with hot and oddly descriptive sex.
and mr. bib's been doing a report on the nazis, and i think she's turning into one. today she said 'fuck i'm hungry for some jew ... uh, food. sorry'


xxx Coy’s POV xxx

The back of his hands are impeccably clean, I can’t help but wonder who’s cleaned them. His nails are cut short and blunt, natural and free of any nail polish. I remember him telling me that he was going to let them grow out before painting them again, he told me last week. He was going to pick some kind of green, he likes it when things match his eyes, he’s surprisingly proud of them. I would be too, because the shade of green reminds me of Mountain Dew.

His shoulders are heaving and I hear him sob into his hands, thick bandage wrap around his left arm. He’s crying and it’s devastating, completely heartbreaking, and I feel tears prick at the corners of my own eyes. I can’t believe I made him cry, I want to hug him so hard, but I don’t think I have the right to do so at the moment.

I rub at my eyes with the back of my hand as he speaks, muffled against his hands. “Don’t say that if you don’t fucking mean it, and I know you don’t. You wanted him there.” he says as if he’s so sure, sobbing erratically.

“How do you figure that?” I ask with a small squirm, trying and failing to not get angry.

“Because!” he shouts, moving his hands. I watch him try to sit up, but his arms give out. “How could you possibly think Damian was ME?! He’s bigger than YOU are, for fuck’s sake!!!”

“I don’t know!” I answer truthfully, I just didn’t think anything of it at the time. Someone was in my bed, I was half asleep … I assumed it was Keith. “I didn’t think anyone else would want to sleep with me!”

“Oh that’s complete BULLSHIT,” he says, quite loud now. “Of course your ex-boyfriend would want to sleep with you, you guys used to fuck for god’s sake!”

I freeze in the middle of a retort as I process exactly what he’s said. I realize that he doesn’t know I’m still a virgin. I forget exactly what I told him, but I know he thinks I had sex with Damian. I don’t know what to do at first, he stays silent and glares hard, lips set in a line. Tears are still trailing down his cheeks almost silently. I shiver.

“I didn’t love him.” I say simply. He doesn’t say anything at all, just glares. I take that as a cue to finish after I take a deep breath. “I used him to get you jealous. We were never really dating …” I pause and twiddle my fingers. “I’m a virgin.” I add, deciding he might wanna know.

I watch his mouth fall open in shock, and he opens and closes it a few times. His eyebrows angle down and for a second I think he’s mad, but then he sinks down into his pillow and covers his face with his hands again. I don’t know exactly what he’s doing. I try to regain some ground.

“Sorry. It was Lauren’s idea. I didn’t want to do anything.” I say stupidly, needing to blame someone for my own idiocy. Then again, it did work, he was definitely jealous. It was just a bad idea in the long run.

“I can’t believe you did that.” is all he says through his hands. I’m still not sure if he’s mad or not, so I just sit and wait for him to say something else. After a few of the longest seconds of my life, he finally says something else. “I can’t tell if you’re lying or not.”

I give a small smile. “I’m not … I love you.” I repeat that again, hoping he won’t yell at me. He closes his eyes and doesn’t see my smile, so I stop.

“Of course you’d say that, but you can understand why I don’t trust you, right?” he whispers.

“Of course. But … I’d like to think that you still love me enough to consider it.”

He opens his visible eye and raises his hand to the one covered by gauze. He looks right at me, an almost unreadable expression on his face. I scootch my chair a little closer. He sniffs once and tears start filling his eyes, pouring down his cheeks, not getting very far when they soak in the gauze. His tiny shoulders shake violently and he looks down; I can’t just sit here anymore. I stand up and sit on the edge of his bed, touching my hand gently against the side of his head, just above his ear.

He looks up at me, lips trembling. “You can hurt me all you want,” he sobs, almost too brokenly to understand. “I can never stop loving you …” and before he can say anything else, I’m kissing him.

Looking back on this, I realize that I don’t even remember moving. One second I was listening to him and feeling his hair under my palm, then my lips were on his. I think time skipped, just for me.

His mouth is dry and he’s still crying, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s kissing me back. The gauze on his cheeks scratches my nose as I carefully hold his head in my hands, thumbs pressing against his jaw, part of me scared that he’ll leave. He’s still shaking and probably crying, but his lips are moving and kissing me back, you don’t do that with someone you hate. Excitement and relief burns the back of my throat as I open my mouth and nip at his bottom lip, feeling the small gap where his lip ring should be, he feels weird without it. I break my lips away from his and he whimpers, swallowing hard. I kiss the underside of his chin and down his throat.

“I’ll never hurt you again …” I mumble, feeling myself start to cry. “I’m so sorry …”

“I was so scared …” he mumbles, and I feel his cold little hands wrap around my arms.

“Me too …” I whisper back, eyes closed against his throat, lips parted almost by accident.

“Don’t ever leave me …”

“I won’t …”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Thank god you’re a virgin.”

And I laugh.

We kiss again. His mouth tastes stale and cold but it’s I’ve missed him so much I don‘t even care, he tastes so good, he smells like fucking sunshine. I let my eyes close and this is so incredibly intense that I can’t kiss him for more than a few seconds at a time. Every time we break we whisper something, sometimes only half a word before we kiss again. My blood’s boiling beneath my skin and I think we’ve stopped crying. One of my knees is drawn up on the bed, the other hanging uselessly, tips of my toes touching the hard linoleum, twitching nervously every few seconds. His fingertips dig into my arms and he gives a small, choked groan, muffled by my lips and heard by no one other than me.

Or, so I thought.

All too quickly, someone pulls back the plastic turquoise curtain separating us from the rest of the world, and that one perfect moment when we were so unbearably close is gone when I see my mother and sister holding the edge of the curtain.

Just as time skipped earlier, it stops now. I feel my heart thunder painfully in my chest and I whip backwards, lips off Keith’s with a sloppy wet noise. My face and body heat to a stifling degree and the room’s suddenly too small for my liking and I feel like I want to open to let some air in, it‘s like a sauna in here. I lean stiffly against the nightstand, feet drawn together, hands at my chest, staring frightfully into the oddly impassive face of my mother. Her hand is still on the curtain, stretched behind Sasha’s back. Sasha’s staring at Keith, who looks increasingly ashamed but shocked, licking our saliva from his lips as he stares at the blanket. My mom’s eyes are locked on mine but I can’t tell what she’s thinking, I have no idea how much trouble I’m in. I eventually lose courage and drop my gaze to my feet.

The only sound between the four of us is Keith’s heavy breathing, an embarrassing reminder of what we’d just done. Mom knows what she saw, it’s too late to deny, so I just stand there like an invalid, too pathetic to even look at anyone.

“… Coy.” Mom finally speaks and I look up at her just through my bangs, barely raising my head. Her lips are set in a thin hard line, eyes dark. “We’ll discuss this later. There’s someone in the waiting room.”

I swallow hard and risk a full-on look at her, letting my eyes fill with unabashed desperation and plea. Without using words, I beg her not to take him away from me. She can’t do this. “Mom, I -”

She cuts me off, raising her hand in a dismissive tone. Despite being a foot shorter than me, she holds unbelievable authority, hence being a successful doctor. I snap my mouth shut and give a feeble nod, not looking at her or Sasha or Keith again as I brush past her and leave solemnly, realizing that fighting back would be adding fuel to the fire.

I have no idea who could be in the waiting room. Brandon or Jeff is my first bet, but it could be someone else. My mind is predictably elsewhere right now, not quite primed for guessing games. I get back to the room with the green chairs and seated between an elderly couple and four children is someone I recognize: Lauren. I vaguely recognize the faces of her parents in the chairs next to her (both of them are reading) along with Cam, who’s looking less than pleased (but what else is new?).

As usual, my feet let people know I’m coming. Everyone in Laur’s family looks up, including her. She springs up from her seat, braid flipping over her shoulder, leaving her own book on the armrest. She’s in front of me in an instant, ignoring personal space as she’s been so famous for doing, leaning in close. Worry is plainly written across her face.

“Is he okay?” she asks instantly, but I’m still a little blindsided.

“When did you get here?” I ask, at first wierded out that she’d fly all the way over here. Then again, Lauren’s been friends with Keith just as long as I have.

“Just a while ago, your mom actually called me …” she says, delivering a swift slap to the side of my head. “How could you NOT tell me he was hit by a car?!”

I rub my head and look down at her. “I was sort of preoccupied.”

“WITH WHAT?” she says a little insensitively, but I can see she’s almost as worried as I am, so I‘ll let this go.

“Spazzing and crying my eyes out.” I say blandly, giving her a kind of obvious look. She backs down and sighs, tucking hair behind her ear.

“Right. Sorry.” she says quietly, then smiles a little and puts her hand on my arm, an oddly comforting gesture. “I know you really love him.”

I nod feebly, the only thought bouncing off the insides of my empty brain is that look on mom’s face, the way her knuckles were white from holding the curtain so tightly when she saw us. I swear, not a single muscle in her body was moving. I guess if I could have a choice, I was hoping that if I told her about us, she’d squeal and tell me how happy she was, but that really didn’t --

“Do you need a hug?”

I blink at Lauren, not sure if she’s kidding or not. She’s got a sincere smile on her lips and a warmish look in her eyes, so I bend down and wrap my arms around her. Laur’s a lot taller and thicker than Keith and she has more substance. It’s unsettling to feel boobs and her hair gets in my face a little bit, but I appreciate the gesture none the less.

“I’m really sorry about all this.” she mumbles into my shoulder, and I rest my chin on the top of her head, staring inadvertently at her mother’s feet.

“It’s okay. C’mere.” I say and grab the hook of her elbow, leading her back down towards Keith’s room. She doesn’t argue, but I stop just around the corner, out of earshot of her family. “I made a huge mistake.” I admit.

She cocks her head a little. “AIDS?”

I smack her. “My mom saw us kissing.”

She recoils and shuts her mouth. I watch her heave a sigh. “Shit.”

“Shit.” I agree with a sigh.

“Well, how bad of a kiss?” she asks me, twisting her hands together.

I think about it for only a second, deciding how to describe it. “A bit more … uh, raunchy, then the ones we do for you.”

She winces. “You are so royally screwed. Did she seem mad …?”

“When she looked at me, I saw tiny swastikas reflected in her eyes.” I deadpan, because she was obviously mad. I didn’t start this conversation with ‘I did something GREAT today’.

“Well. It’s time to put on your big girl panties and deal with it.”


xxx Keith’s POV xxx

I stare at the small rhombus-shaped print on the scratchy blue material covering too little of my body (I can feel the sheets against my bare back). I’m too scared to look up, a blush burning brightly on my recently paled cheeks. Mrs. Russel, or Wendy, as she used to want me to call her, is puttering around my bed, checking the IV needle stabbed into my wrist and doing tests on my stump leg.

Yes, I know about my leg. I woke up and my first thought, even before I thought of Coy, was that I was a cripple since the last thing I remember is pain and a really thick CRUNCH. But for some twisted reason, it doesn’t seem so bad … I’m alive, relatively healthy, and I have a boyfriend that still loves me. Having no left leg doesn’t even matter compared to that last one.

“Flex your knee.” Mrs. Russel says impassively, prodding said knee with a single lacquered fingernail. I do as I’m told and lift it, moving my knee though there’s barely a shin left on it. Pain shoots up the rest of my body, spiking hard from just that small action, so I drop it back down against the bed sheets and groan. “Did that hurt?” she asks.

“Yes.” I say, afraid to go into detail. She probably wouldn’t listen anyways.

She goes about other things, lifting my shirt and checking my ribs (heavy bruising and still definitely painful) and replacing the gauze on most of my cuts, which includes taking the stuff off my eye. Once it’s exposed to the air, I try to open it but it sticks for a second, which I find disgusting and disturbing. It’s open and I blink profusely to try and clear the sleep-induced blur from my vision.

It doesn’t go away. Everything’s out of focus, I can see Mrs. Russel looking at me, but I can’t see her expression well, just the dark wells of her eyes and the burgundy of her mouth. It’s like I’m looking through foggy glass, and it makes me blink more than I should.

“I think I’m blind.” I say dumbly, staring at her.

She looks back and I watch her eyebrows crease and the corners of her mouth turn down, obviously not pleased. “Your eyes were severely injured after impact, there’s going to be a small amount of visible scarring on your eyes and lids, it’s a wonder you didn’t lose them.” she tells me, almost sounding like she’s reading off a chart or script. Rummaging in my bedside table, she brings out a mirror that looks like it came from a dentists office. “Would you like to see?”

I swallow hard then nod carefully, raising my arm to take the mirror from her. When I flip it over and see myself staring back at me, edges blurred, I almost start crying.

Both my eyes are … well, red and scary. The left one is a little worse, thick red scab starting to form near my eyebrow, while the right one is just cut and red. Really red. I look like I’ve been crying or I’m stoned or something, it’s awful. My cheeks are uncovered too, but covered in hard scabs, so dark and disgusting like some disease from a sick alien movie. They creep up almost past my ears, broken near my jaw, nearly oozing as I stare at them. The only thought bunny hopping through my brain, stuck like a needle on a vinyl record is how Coy’s going to react.

I can see it now. He’ll smile at me, pet my hair, tell me it’s not so bad. He’ll try not to act any different but he will, I know he will, he won’t tell me I look like a freak. But he’ll be thinking it very very loudly. I used to love how he just touched me, just the back of his knuckles over my jaw, he thought I was fucking gorgeous, even if I didn’t agree. He just … I don’t know. Before when I looked at myself, I just noticed small things like my oily nose or blackheads. Now it’ll be these gross SPLOTCHES.

I think I start to cry. “I’m sorry …” I apologize to Mrs. Russel, who’s still watching me. Tears don’t improve my vision any more, but I don’t want to have to touch myself to brush them away.

“For what?” Mrs. Russel replies, one hand on the ever-present curtain, about to leave again. She doesn’t sound overly interested in what I have to say, nor the fact that I’m crying.

“For …” I change my mind at the last second, jumping at this opportunity. “… For what you saw earlier.” I mumble, horrified when she just leaves anyways. I hear her sneakers chirp across the linoleum in even strides as she makes her way to the door.

“I’m not screwing around!” I shout, not caring if anyone other than her hears. Her feet pause for a moment, but then I hear the door shut with a heavy click.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I keep staring into that dentists mirror, slowly becoming obsessed with my imperfections and what Coy’ll do when he sees me. I know him, he’ll tell me it doesn’t bother him, but he’ll be lying through his teeth to make me feel better.

Five minutes after Mrs. Russel leaves I hear the door open again, followed by two hushed voices. I instantly panic, feeling my palms start to sweat because I recognize the clunk of those boots. Coy can’t see me like this! Not yet! On a last spastic resort, I pull the covers over my head and duck beneath them, causing my ribs to cry out in pain.

Two voices call my name from outside the curtain, one of them definitely Coy, the other may or may not be Lauren … did she fly out here just for me?

“Maybe he’s asleep …” I hear Coy whisper and I’m almost relieved at the fact that they might go away. Or, at least until I get my bandages back on. As history repeats itself, Lauren screws me over with her well-meaning bullshit.

“Well, lets just wait till he gets up! I flew here for him.” and she pulls back the curtain in one brash movement; I stop breathing under the safety of my threadbare blanket, so thin I can see their silhouettes. Coy’s hesitating near the open curtain behind Lauren’s still outstretched arm. My natural instinct flares viciously, a twinge of jealous in the tips of my fingers when I notice that her arm’s touching his chest.

“Um … Keith?” Lauren tries, and I hear her move closer along with the deafening boom of Coy’s damn boots. I have to convince him to get a pair of normal boy shoes. I feel a warm, heavy hand on top of my head, thumb smoothing over the blanket.

“What’s wrong?” his voice floats past the weave into my head, rattling some common sense node of my brain with his stupid deep voice and how I know it’s just rolling off his tongue. I feel like crying. I can’t find strength to answer, but they sort of have a right to know what I’m doing. Besides, Lauren will whip the blanket off me in due time anyways.

I sit up a little straighter and pool the blanket around my waist again, the IV tube jerks a little as I do so. If I’m not mistaken, Coy gasps. I start to cry silently again, staring at my lap like some heartbroken schoolgirl, which I suppose I am. Coy’s hand moved off my head when I moved the blanket, and I watch out of the corner of my eyes as his hands twitter nervously now, dark red fingernails simply a smudge against white with my newly acquired eyesight. Or lack there of.

I don’t want to know what he’ll say, both of them are silent. “I’m sorry.” I mutter pitifully, sorry for everything, sorry for dragging him here, for putting him through all this shit, sorry for being stupid enough to get hit in the first place. I blink back tears. His thin hips rest on the edge of my bed and he stays silent. Lauren walks around to sit in a chair on the opposite side of Coy. No one speaks for the longest time, both of them are just staring, then Coy raises his hand. I flinch, unsure of what he’ll do … he touches my left cheek, and I jerk away.

“Don’t.” I say like a petulant child, still trying with every iota I have to not cry. He draws his hand back.

“Why …? Does it hurt?” he sounds so genuinely concerned, as if he’s horrified at the prospect of hurting me. I’m not sure why, but that makes me cry all over again. And as history has proved many times, trying to talk about something just makes you cry even more.

“N-no … it’s ugly …” I sob. He says nothing again, just watches me raise my hand to touch my cheek … however, he does say something when I start scratching at it. Bits of skin and scab come off under my fingernails and I feel wet blood and raw skin that stings something horrible. Coy grabs my wrist and holds it tight enough for me to cry out.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he yells at me, and I just keep sobbing, clenching my teeth until the pain in my face goes away, trying to wrench my hand out of his grip. I give up quickly, emotionally and physically drained along with being a cripple and half blind, and I grab his one hand in both of mine. He releases his grip from me and curls his fingers around my own when I bring his hand up to my mouth to kiss it. It gets wet with tears clinging to my eyelashes and I wrap my whole hand around his thumb.

“Why are you so upset over some goddamn scabs?” he asks, voice a little softer. He lets me keep kissing him, free hand raised back to my hair. I kiss the snowy skin stretched taut over his wrist, eyes closed because the blur is making me dizzy.

“You won’t wanna touch me anymore …” I answer truthfully, voice heavy and choked. He doesn’t say anything for a painfully long time and it just makes me more worried, I kiss between his thumb and forefinger and wait patiently for a response. After a few minutes of unbearable silence, he chuckles lowly.

“You’re so stupid.” he says before leaning in close and kissing me hard. I keep my eyes open in shock for a few seconds, trying to process everything, letting our joined hands fall to my lap. His teeth nip at my bottom lip and he presses forwards, I can’t help but forget about everything else. I’m sure I haven’t been out for more than a few days but it seems like a fucking eternity and I’ve missed him, I’ve missed this. I squirm pleasantly and squeeze his hand in mine, pulling it up to my chest, trying to get him closer though I know he can’t, short of crawling on top of me.

He pauses and pulls away, I follow him for a few inches. He tilts his head and kisses the scabbed skin on my cheeks, just a bit of a red blur against a white background of the hospital wall. Even though where I was scratching is bleeding pretty bad, he touches it without a hint of hesitation and it stings a little. His lips come away red with my blood. He looks very thoughtful, and sort of sad.

“I don’t care that you’re missing a LEG.” he mumbles, kissing my temple, leaving a smudge of blood. “Why should this bother me? You know they’ll go away …” he pulls back and lines our noses up with a cute smile of innocence. “I love you, remember?”

That makes me start crying all over again. Not because I think he’s lying, but because he’s telling the truth and he LOVES me and someone loves me and I can’t believe I ever doubted him and he’s so damn perfect. We kiss again, gentle like a goodnight kiss and his free hand drops and pets my arm, smoothing over a few jagged cuts.

“If I’d made you in a lab, you couldn’t say more perfect things.” I whisper and giggle, rubbing my thumbs over his palm.

The squeaking of a hospital chair is heard, followed closely by, “Yeah, but then he’d have those bolts coming out of his neck.” and it takes us both a second to realize that Laur’s said it. I start laughing and let Coy’s hands go, rubbing the back of my hand over my eyes to wipe way tears. “Seriously, you guys are way too cute.” she grins.

We both grin back and Coy does a girlish flip of his hair. “Yeah, we really are.” and I laugh too, but I’m cut off. My jaw snaps shut when a sharp pang of pain makes itself known in the remainder of my left leg. It throbs like a bad paper cut but worse, right down to where it was cut off, and I jerk upright, nearly hitting my forehead against Coy’s chin. I try to grab at my leg on instinct but something’s wrong with my hands and I end up just making it hurt even more. I don’t know what’s happening, all I know is that this fucking hurts, the worst pain I’ve had, almost rivalling the pain of the actual crash (which I don’t remember a lot, it happened quickly). It stings something terrible and I feel fucking paralyzed and I do the only thing I can think of doing, which is hunching forward and grabbing Coy.

He makes a noise like a garbled ‘huh’ and braces his arms on the oversized pillows behind me, staying immobile. I bite the front of his shirt between my teeth to keep from screaming in agony, wrapping my hands around his arms, making him flinch, no doubt leaving bruises. He whimpers simultaneously with my long keening groan, sobbed into the front of his black polo. I grind the fabric between my teeth and start to cry the pain is so bad, it’s like being crushed in a fucking vice.

Coy wraps his arms around me and I hear him shout over my head to Lauren, telling her to go to the nurse’s station, and she nearly knocks her chair over in doing so. Coy whimpers again into my hair, asking me what he should do, voice shaky and scared. I don’t blame him. This is terrifying. I could be dying. I don’t know. My arms are trapped against his chest but I can feel his body wrack with sobs as my wails and screams get louder and louder.

Then … I feel hands on me that aren’t Coy’s, and a warm flush replaces the searing pain in my leg, and my head drops back against my pillow.


xxx Coy’s POV xxx

The black haired nurse jabs a needle into Keith leg, and after a few gaps, he passes out, teeth still clenched in my shirt, hands pressed loosely against my chest. I slowly pry him off me and rest him back against the bed again, fingering the frayed threads he’s created in my shirt. I wipe my tears with the back of my hand and look at the nurse, followed closely by a worried Lauren.

“What the hell just happened?” I ask shakily, blindsided and frightened. I pull my chair up close to Keith’s bed, fingers closed around his, irrationally scared that something bad will happen if I don’t.

“Phantom limb.” she says simply, giving her needle a flick with pale pink nails. “I’ll get Dr. Russel to explain it, I’m no good …” she says shyly before walking out with a click of heels, leaving the three of us alone once more.

“I wonder what she gave him …” Lauren mumbles thoughtfully, dragging her chair closer. “He was hurting pretty bad …” she pats one of his cheeks “… and now he’s completely out.”

I nod half-mindedly, not taking my eyes off him for even a second. He looks completely calm, completely dead, I have to put two fingers to the pulse point under the jut of his jaw to make sure he’s still alive. Lauren has a good point, that must be some powerful shit to knock him out like this, he was screaming a second ago. I know the problem was his leg, somehow. I hope they don’t have to amputate anymore; my own logic says that he’ll be able to walk almost normally as long as he has his knee (the irrational part of my brain wonders what they do with the amputated limbs).

It’s another five tense minutes of staring and mumbled conversation between Laur and I before my mom comes in, backed by a horde consisting of the Fath family with Brandon and Jeff. Brandon and Jeff lean against the radiator under the window, the Fath’s huddle around Lauren’s chair on the left and my mom stands with me.

Part of me is wondering why everyone is here, I didn’t think this was a big deal to anyone except me and Brandon, being close to him and stuff. Laur’s family doesn’t even like Keith, and on top of that, Cam keeps staring at me … I don’t know why until I realize I’m still holding Keith’s hand, which I drop instantly onto the linen with a ploof.

I look up at mom. “So what’s going on?”

She doesn’t look at me, and I swallow hard, having forgotten in all the hubbub that she was mad at me. Her icy demeanour is a painful kick back into the brick wall of reality.

“Phantom limbs.” she repeats the words the nurse had said earlier. “Most amputees will experience a sensation that a limb is still attached to the body, and most patients say it’s painful as well. This was just a particularly bad case. But, a lot of the time, it’s just the feeling that you can still pick something up, or a missing limb could itch, twitch or burn, as well as feeling distorted, and many people have reported that their limbs feel too short.”

I’m a little interested, but I don’t understand that, not really. If a leg is gone, it’s … gone. That didn’t make a lot of sense, I’m being thick, but I never said I wanted to be a doctor.

“Anyways,” mom continues. “He won’t have pain all the time, he might not have it at all.” She talks to Brandon now (who I know, for a fact, was getting felt up while no one was looking). “Before he leaves, I can give you some high-strength painkillers for him, it’s the only thing we can do at this point in time. He’ll be fitted for his prosthesis tomorrow morning, and after -”

“He’s getting one?” I gape. I didn’t ask her if we could pay for it, because I’m sure she asked Brandon, who must have said he couldn’t.

She looks down at me. “You don’t have to tell me you volunteered to pay.”

I blink profusely in shock. I open my mouth to say something but only get a word out before I’m interrupted.

“So, where is he?” is heard, followed by an obnoxious snapping of gum. Everyone jumps at this loud intrusion and everyone, including me, turns to look at the visitor.

Standing close behind my mother is a woman. She has to be at least in her mid-forties with bronzed skin flecked with freckles and sparkles that seems to hang off her like a sweater. Her eyes are sunken and almost pure black, and she’s wearing no makeup other than silvery blue eye shadow. Covering too little of her body is a lime green dress with thick straps made of spandex, but it isn’t tight like spandex should be; she has a woven belt to keep it’s figure. Her hair falls around her shoulders and is dark and curly, thin and brown.

She snaps her gum again and looks around, from the prudent family to the proper doctor to the queers. Then back to the doctor.

“Something about a car accident?” she says, voice a little raspy, but very feminine. It wheezes with the telltale sign of a smoker’s lungs. Brandon steps forward suddenly with his back to me, but I catch a glimpse of his very unhappy face.

When he speaks, his voice is cold enough to freeze the tropics.

“Go home, mom.” he says, looking right at this woman in the spandex.

My heart stops. This woman, this person smelling of weed and alcohol, is my boyfriend’s mother.

She stares at Brandon, jaw a little slack, and I wonder if she ever recognizes him. Brandon stares right back and I crane my neck to look at Jeff; he’s fidgeting like mad, which tells me that Brandon has doubtlessly told him what the deal with his mother is. It’s completely out of place, but I get painfully jealous of Jeff because HIS Carnovale tells him things.

“Oh!” My mom says cheerily. “You must be Mrs. Carnovale, correct?” she smiles kindly and extends her hand out for the woman to shake, but she doesn’t take it.

“Not anymore.” she sneers, and my mom lowers her hand instantly. I pray she doesn’t like her.

“Right. Of course. Keith’s birthmother?” she tries.

“Yeah. So where is he?”

Mom blinks in shock a few times, as I’m sure everyone does. Brandon is still just staring. Mom gestures to where my gorgeous boy is still knocked out.

“He’s, um, right there.” she says.

His mom walks around mine and suddenly she’s standing in front of me, leaning over, exposing a stained white bra to my very unappreciative eyes. She stares at Keith.

“THAT’S my son?!”

I’m taken aback and I don’t understand it. Is it because of the scabs? She looks far from pleased with heavily creased eyebrows, so when she reaches her hand out to touch Keith’s face, I act on instinct and shoot my hand out, grabbing her wrist. She growls and before I can react, she windmills her second hand around and slaps me across the cheek.

Everyone in the room gasps like a bad soap opera. My cheek stings and I flinch a little, just tightening my grip on her bony wrist. I stare up at her. “Don’t fucking touch him.” I say in the darkest voice I can muster. My mom says my name in a low tone of warning, but this woman sets off alarms in my head. She’s abandoned Keith on numerous occasions, she has GOT to be unemployed, and something tells me she has a drinking problem. She isn’t even fit to breathe the same air as Keith, let alone touch him. I can’t believe he came from her.

“And who the fuck are you to tell me I can’t touch my own son?” she snarls at me.

I’m pretty sure my mom opens her mouth to tell her not to curse, and the Fath’s, being who they are, are offended. I just keep glaring, standing up to my full height, towering over her by at least a foot or two. “I’m his fucking boyfriend, and I love him for than you seem to.” I hiss.

I hear my mom and the Fath’s gasp, Lauren mutters something and Jeff makes a bit of a ‘yikes’ noise. His mom stares at me wide eyed, face distorted in undiluted disgust. She wrenches her vein-riddled wrist out of my grasp and takes a few steps backwards. She bumps into my mom and quickly regains composure before raising her hand to her forehead, shaking her head sadly.

“My own offspring is a faggot … fuck, what’s this world coming to …?”

None of us answer that, but I’m sure as hell about to. Brandon beats me to it.

“Mom?” he says to get her attention, and her gaze whips to him. “Fuck you.”

With very little warning, he grabs Jeff’s shoulders and pulls him down towards him, t-shirt clenched tight in his fists. They kiss in front of everyone, a kiss that’s explicit, uncalled for, and really really gay. Brandon’s hands slide up into Jeff’s hair and tug on his earlobe while Jeff’s are spread wide over his shoulder blades, a little nervous, but still firm enough for Brandon to be pulled against his chest. I watch them with my natural perversion taking over, noting how Brandon kisses differently than Keith, lots of short kisses instead of one face-eating long one.

They break apart with a wet slurp noise, a string of saliva glistening between them for a second as they look at each other, Brandon looking angry, Jeff blushing and pushing his glasses up. Brandon spins around to glare once more at his mother, and she actually spits on the floor and leaves, heels clacking on the tile. When I turn around from staring at what might have been the most heroic or idiotic thing ever, the Fath’s are gone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mom goes back to explaining things, telling the three of us that Keith will have difficulties walking for at least four months, but he won’t be bedridden (which is a huge relief). Mom still isn’t paying attention to me, she’s pretty much talking to Brandon, Jeff and I are just listening. After around ten minutes, Keith groans, and she stops talking.

We all look at him as he sits up on his elbows and coughs. He blinks several times and I’m fighting all urges that scream for me to rush up and worry over him. He mumbles my name and looks around, only now do I realize how much worse his vision is, so after some contemplating, I decide my mom can fuck herself and I sit on the edge of Keith’s bed.

I gently touch my hand to his shoulder and he looks right at me now. For a moment I forget about mom and her scorn when his big green eyes fill with tears and he pulls me towards him. His tiny fingers twist in my shirt and he sniffles and whimpers, giving me a kiss at an angle my mom can’t see.

“Coy …” my mom says my name and I turn to look at her, keeping my hands wrapped around Keith’s arms. Her face is unreadable, but she definitely looks drained. “Can I speak with you and Keith alone for a moment?” and she gives Brandon and Jeff a look.

As they leave, I’m pretty sure Jeff tells my mom to go easy on me, which is embarrassing and thoughtful at the same time. Brandon gives us a backhanded wave, worry written across his face as they disappear behind the curtain, then out the door.

“So …” Mom begins awkwardly, looking from Keith to me. Keith’s stopped crying at least and he sits back against his pillows, eyes telling me he’s still tired if not a little drugged. “Am I to understand that you two … are in a relationship?” she asks, obviously tense by this point. Though I appreciate her getting to the point, this is so fucking awkward!

“Yes.” we answer in unison, but I’m much quieter than Keith by this point.

“Right …” she says absentmindedly, pacing at little. “Right … so, um, how long as this been going on?”

I look at Keith, he looks at me, and we’re both thinking about it. After a few long moments and a few mouthed words, he turns to my mom and says “About two and half months or so.”

She makes a small noise of acknowledgement, her face deep in thought. I feel Keith fidget and hidden behind my body so mom doesn’t see, he curls his fingers into mine. I’m scared and nervous to the point where I feel sick; mom’s never shown any indication of being okay with gays … but then again, she’s never said anything about hating them either. Nothing’s came up at all, the subject is completely grey.

“Right. Right … and how have you been … occupying your time …?” Mom asks us, and I cock an eyebrow at her, trying not to seem too disrespectful.

“I don’t understand …” I say warily, and she sighs.

“Um, have you two … fornicated …?” she twiddles her thumbs and doesn’t look at us, which is probably for the best, because I’m blushing.

“No!” Keith yelps instantly, which is part true … we haven’t had actually classified sex, but there’s a fine line nowadays. Mom looks at Keith, a hand on her hip.

“You answered that a bit too quickly.” she says dangerously, and my skin prickles. Is she being protective of me?!

“I’m not lying!” he insists, tightening his grip on my hand. “We haven’t done anything!” which is an outright lie.

Mom just keeps looking at him, obviously not believing that for a second. She lets it go, for now. “What are your intentions with Coy …? Two months isn‘t that long, boys.” she says, taking a step closer, putting her hands in the pockets of her coat. He blushes, raising our joined hands to rest on my thigh in plain view of my mother.

“This has been nine years in the making.” and I watch him smile. “I really love him.”

That’s so cute that I just blush harder, tightening the grip on his hand. Mom looks at me for conformation, and I nod sheepishly.

“I love him too.” I say quietly, too quiet apparently, because Keith elbows me in the ribs.

Mom looks us over, surprised. I’m actually surprised as how much ‘I love you’ really means … some people throw it around like candy, but to love someone and actually mean it isn’t anything to be taken lightly, and I think mom knows that. It’s not like she’s never been in love before, I’ve seen her stare at my dad’s picture on her nightstand for hours.

She takes a deep breath and lets it go, closing her eyes momentarily.

“Alright.” she says simply, then looks at us again. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

I nod vigorously, starting to smile back. We finally have her approval! “Of course.” and I look at Keith, who’s smiling too.

“But you know, I don’t believe that abstinence nonsense.” and she walks to the curtain as we both get fidgety and embarrassed. “Especially if this one’s anything like his brother.” she finishes, jabbing her thumb towards Keith, who’s blush deepens to a violent shade, and if I’m not mistaken, she winks at us before leaving.

When the door clicks shut, Keith’s breath whooshes out of his lungs. “I thought she was gonna kill me!” he wails.

I laugh and squeeze his hand, bumping my lips clumsily against his head in a kiss. “Treat me good and you’ll be fine.” I tease, giddy and pleased at the newfound kinship with my mother, and how protective she was. It’s always nice to know your parents love you.






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