“Uh huh.”
“You want to come, Button?”
“Please.”
He chuckles—pulling away from my neck and wrapping a hand around my dick. He kisses me in time with his strokes, and I feel different parts of me fragment and fall to the floor with every passing second. When the pleasure coils tighter and my muscles begin to tense, he leans back and watches my face—panting.
“Come for me, baby.” He says, just above my lips. I feel his other hand wrap around me and trace along the swell of my ass. That’s all I need to blow—coming hot ropes over his fist and onto his shirt. “Mhm, good boy.” He whispers against my mouth.
“Ughhh,Aaron.”
“Yeah—say my name just like that.” He pleads, still rutting his hips against my thigh—chasing what I can only assume is his own release. Once I’m done coming and I float back down to earth, I wrap my hands back around his shoulders, weaving my fingers into his hair as he rubs against me. “Ah, Benjamin.” He moans and my dick twitches, even after the insanity it just went through. I kiss his neck gently, massaging his scalp with my fingertips. I let his hands wander where they’d like, freezing momentarily when they skim the crease of my ass.
Aaron leans back enough to look into my eyes. I cup his jaw with both hands and—as gently as possible—hopeful and curious, I ask—
“Aaron, are you going to come for me?” His brow furrows and his mouth falls open as he moans—eyes never leaving mine as his hips stutter—bucking two more times before coming to a stop. I watch him unravel, fascinated by the twitching of his body and the look of ecstasy I’ve never seen swallowing his features.
“Feels so good, so good.” He says, dropping his forehead to mine.
“I know.” I whisper.
After a minute the haze of our post-orgasm glow dissipates—and Aaron slowly backs away. His eyes are still glazed and that’s when I remember he was drunk when he stumbled in here. An ominous feeling settles in my gut as I watch his eyes, the set of his jaw.
“Aaron—”
“We should probably clean up. You should go inside before Felix notices you aren’t in bed.” I stare, lips parted, trying to keep up with his whiplash emotions. He stares at the tile floor. I turn and shut the water off.
“Are… are you okay?” Too scared to step toward him and startle him—I stay perfectly still.
“Benjamin.” His eyes snap to mine. Firm, distant, even a bit cold. “I said you should go inside.” I bring my arms in front of myself, scratching viciously at my left wrist.
“Right. Sure, okay.” He gathers my clothes and a towel and hands them to me, not looking at me as I dry off and get dressed. “Look, I’m sorry if—”
“Please just go.” He looks defeated, and I feel the sting of rejection and the heaviness of a child being scolded by his parents. I slip out of the door and out of the pool house.
It’s not until I am in the bathroom that connects Felix and Aaron’s rooms that I notice I’ve broken skin on my wrist, a trail of blood curling around my fingers. I’m falling from so high—everything is so loud.
???
The next morning, I shower and start the thirty-minute walk to my dad’s house. Felix wasn’t up yet and I didn’t stick around to see if Aaron had come in from the pool house. Memories from last night invade my head. His hands—his lips—the look in his eyes.
“You’re so beautiful when you cry for me. Yousound so good.”
I take a deep, strangled breath, focusing on the heat of the sun bearing down on me. No need to relive it—to torture myself with the memories. Clearly, he regretted it. Not only am I a guy, but his little brother’s friend. And he’s with Amber, to make matters worse. A whole pot of fucked up that just keeps boiling hotter and hotter. Whatever—I can avoid him until next year when he heads off to college. Then time can dim the memories, and we can go back to how things were. Easy peasy.
Dad’s Corolla isn’t parked outside when I walk up the street and relief rushes over me. I jog up the steps and into the unlocked house. The moment I step through the threshold the memories in my head get louder. It reeks of cigarettes and some alcohol I can’t place, clothes strewn around and dishes piled in the sink. I used to clean every day—trying my hardest to make this place livable—but there was no point. Not when he’s here to fuck it all up.
The carpets are ripped up in various spots, the old couch sagging in the middle of the living room as the TV plays to an empty house. Something in the kitchen reeks, but I skip past it quickly and find my way into Dad’s room.
His bed is unmade and there’s a funny smell here too. Clothes thrown everywhere, various car parts on the floor. Beer cans line his bedside table. I turn the light on and approach his dresser. Sure enough—sitting loud and proud is the framed picture of my dad, my mom, and me. Christmas of 2004. I was still a toddler at this point—only three—but we’re all happy. Together. Very soon after this holiday is when Dad lost his job at the office he worked for and he began his mechanic job. He became a different man. He put his hands where he wanted, and he yelled more than he spoke.
My first memory of my mother is of her cowering. In the back corner of the living room—in this same house—she sat guarding her face as he yelled and kicked.
“Dumb whore! This is all because of you!”
Her eyes found me and she shook her head.Don’t come here—she seemed to be saying. So, I didn’t. I’m a coward. Shedied not long after—I was only six. Next to the picture frame is a small wooden box.Veronica Dickinson, 2007.I lay a hand over her.
“Hi, Mom. Sorry it’s been a minute—I’ve been caught up. Things are crazy for me right now, I wish you could come see. Anyway, I’ll be back again soon. I love you.” I wipe at the tears falling over my cheeks and hang my head. If I could take her with me—if he wouldn’t kill me for it—I would never come back here again. She’d be free.
