Page 23 of The Tourist

“What scene?You’re a fucking sadist!” His words were slurred, his eyesunnaturally bright. Was it the drugs that were making him likethis? Instead of making him more pliant, he seemed to beaggressive. I never knew he had it in him to resist me, not outsideof the game. “I didn’t know. I didn’t… not at first…” He coughedagain, and wrenched his head away from my grasp. “You… I had to getaway from you. I told Dan… it’s him I want.”

Dan. Again! Ididn’t know why the name carved itself so deeply in my mind. Why—solaughably—it hurt. “Don’t be stupid, Ricky. What makes you thinkhe’s any different?”

“Heis.”

I laughedloudly, the sound echoing off the barrels, hollow, vibrating in thestill, slightly stale air. “He’s just a man who looks at you andsees a fine, fuckable body. That’s all. And he’ll use that body,the same as all the other men have.”

“No.”

I sighed.“Your intelligence is sadly lacking, as ever. That’s all you everhad to offer, Ricky. A good body. You’re someone to fuck. Somethingto fuck. I tried to help you understand that—to use what meagretalents you had to the best of their advantage.”

“No!”

I could feelanger squeezing inside my chest at his pointless, petulantrepetition. “You’ve never kept anyone longer than a few fucks, haveyou? If I hadn’t come along, you’d have remained a sad trick, yourgood looks wasted on whoever bought the last beer of thenight.”

“Dan’sdifferent.”

I laughed,rather too loudly. “He’ll fuck you just the same, Ricky. Maybe ifyou’re lucky, he’ll give you some of what you need. Make it goodfor you, for a while. But I’m the only one who’s ever helped youwith what’s inside you, what you really need.”

“That’sbullshit!” He leant away from me, his weight against one of theside barrels, his eyes darting back and forth from my face. Thefear was still there in his expression, and my heartquickened.

But there wassomething else there, less familiar. And I’d shuddered, thinking ofthe plans I had for him. Why was that reaction still so vivid?“Come home with me, Ricky.”

“He’s not thesame.” Breath hissed through his clenched teeth.

I stroked hishair, even though he’d turned away. It was dirty with sweat anddust from the cellar. That’s what he was to me—my dirty, helpless,pathetically lost lover. I brought him to my home, I gave himsecurity, I made him clean by using him. “Come with me now. You’llsoon feel better.”

“Fuck off,” hemuttered.

“Dammit!” Ipulled right back and dropped to my knees a couple of feet away. Iwanted a better view of him, an idea of how his whole body reacted.Or was there some other reason I couldn’t stay close to him? Ashudder meant disgust. I looked at Ricky and considered my desirefor him. Rich, inspiring, sometimes painful. But I’d never calledit disgusting.

I wasunsettled for some reason, but I’d never questioned my instinctsbefore; I wasn’t starting now. Then a jerky movement caught myattention. “Ricky?”

A shuffle; a guilty look.

“What thehell do you think you’re doing?”

CHAPTER 12

Ricky was fumbling in histrouser pocket.

I scrambledforward and grabbed his wrist. “Are you trying to phone someone?Trying to phone your precious Dan?” The mobile slipped out of hispocket, falling to the cold floor with a clatter.

“Shit. Calder,don’t—!”

Ricky tried toscoop it up, but he was still clumsy from the drugs, and I wasquicker. As he flailed, trying to snatch it back from me, I heldhim easily at bay.

I peered atthe screen. It didn’t look like it was connecting. Had he reallythought he could call out for help? I stabbed at the buttons,frustrated I couldn’t see in the poor light down here. It wasn’t arecent touch-phone like mine, but something older. I’d never usedit myself, just bought a basic model for keeping in touch with him.Was I turning the fucking thing on or off? All the time, he wastrying to grab it back, and I was fending off his flapping hands.Enough! I stood up and lifted my arm, ready to smash it onto thefloor.

“No!” Rickyreached up to me, eyes wide. “Calder, don’t! There’s everything onthere, numbers for work, friends.” He flushed, pink slashesappearing on his cheeks. “Pictures of you.”

I paused. His eyes… that blushon his skin. It seemed even more potent than before.

“Please,” hewhispered, looking up at me from under damp, loweredlashes.

The angerinside me abated. I threw the phone but not hard enough to breakit. Just far enough away so he couldn’t reach. It hit the bottom ofone of the beer barrels with a surprisingly loud metallic clang,which echoed around the room. Ricky watched it bounce on the floor.He winced.

“No matter.We’ll take more pictures.” My voice was low, meant to reassure him,the thought of pictures—poses—instinctively exciting.