A red tainted Silence (26 page)

“I’ll miss you, too.”

He wiggled his hips against mine. My breath quickened as my body responded to his warmth. “How do you do this to me?” I whispered, arching my back. “I’m a walking hard-on around you. You know that?”

“It’s charm, babe. Pure charm.” He kissed me on the chin, then touched the cleft there with his finger. “I’ve got to go.”

I tried to keep my disappointment from showing as he pushed up so he could look at me. Not sure I succeeded. “I’m sorry about earlier. I mean, not letting you ... not getting you ...”

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“Not getting me off?” He grinned wickedly at me. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you make it up to me.” He eased off me, leaving me feeling sad and bereft. He touched me on the knee, his expression stern as he saw the look on my face. “Don’t. Get some sleep.”

“What time do you want to go to your friend’s house?” He beamed at me then. “About seven-thirty?”

“Cool. Jonathan told me his girlfriend’s going to cook supper for us. Around six or so.”

“Girlfriend. So he really is straight, then.”

I laughed. “Oh, yeah. As an arrow.”

“I like him, Brandon.”

I smiled and sat up on the bed. “Yeah, he’s a great guy. Most of the time, anyway,” I clarified.

I walked Nicholas out to my car. My parents’ neighbor Mrs. Blakely was out walking her dog, so I had to settle for a surreptitious touch of farewell to Nick’s hand. He grinned at me quirkily, sucking the inside of his cheek as he arched his eyebrows. I’d get to know that expression as a favorite of his when he was up to something.

“Bye,” he said, hesitating after opening the door. Mrs. Blakely was looking straight at us.

“Bye.”

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, his eyes glinting.

I looked at him, knowing my agony ghosted my eyes. “I want to kiss you, too.”

“Then why shouldn’t we?” He dropped the keys. “Oh, darn, look what I did.” Together we crouched down to pick up the keys. I grabbed them first. Well hidden from Mrs. Blakely by the car, he covered my mouth with his for a sweet kiss. We broke apart as we stood, and I handed Nicholas the keys. He dropped them again.

“Nick,” I admonished, this time letting him pick them up himself.

I should’ve bent down with him. He kissed me on the groin and grabbed my butt as he stood, making me yelp. Mrs. Blakely whipped her head around. I grinned sheepishly at her and waved. Nicholas slid into the car and closed the door before I could react further.

He opened the window. “Bye-bye, darling,” he said softly, batting his eyelashes at me.

He started my car and backed out of the driveway. I watched as he took off, his hand waving in the air. Before disappearing around the corner, he closed his fist and made a pumping action. I grinned, hoping Mrs. Blakely hadn’t seen.

She had, of course. He would pay for that.

He probably counted on it.

Mrs. Blakely stared after him. “Who was that driving your car, Brandon?” she called out to me.

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“My singer,” I called back. “Nicholas Kilmain. Next time you see him, he’s going to be famous. Bye, Mrs. Blakely.”

I went back into the house before she could say anything else and headed for my bedroom. I walked through the living room, then paused as I spied the telephone directory on the coffee table.

Picking it up, I thumbed through the B’s, finally stopping when I found what I wanted.

I wrote the address and phone number down, then went back to my room and stuck it in my wallet. I planned to find out where Blevins lived, where he worked, what he did for fun besides torturing helpless boys.

It pissed me off, what he’d done to Nicholas. And what he’d promised to do to us both.

I couldn’t just sit back and wait for him to follow through, though I had no intention of telling Nicholas my plans to stalk Percy as he’d stalked Nicholas. There had to be a way to stop him, and I intended to find it. I also needed to find out who his buddy was.

It wasn’t lost on me that they were probably trying to find out who I was, too.

Digging around in my closet, I found an old, battered suitcase. I didn’t intend to take much with me now -- my clothes, most of which were at Adam’s anyway, and a few other things. I reached for my bookshelf, taking out the book in which I’d hidden the pictures of Nicholas. I weighed it in my hand, smiling. I didn’t think I ought to show him just how much a fixation he was for me. I tossed the book in my suitcase.

Next I picked up a wooden box I kept on my dresser. I opened it and peered inside. It was a typical box of boy junk, most of which ought to be thrown away. A pretty feather I’d found, some marbles, a bunch of guitar picks, a few old coins I’d found on the beach. A small black velvet case was nestled inside. I opened it, fingering the golden hoops it contained.

I’d gotten my ears pierced the year before. Jenny had gone with me, telling me lots of guys she knew had their ears pierced. It wasn’t any big deal. She’d held my hand while the first hole was punched -- and then, feeling a bit crazy that day, I guess, I’d let the technician talk me into the second even though it hurt like hell.

My hair was longer then and I’d been able to hide them for a while. But eventually my dad noticed and went ballistic. He made me take them out. I grimaced, remembering Adam’s reaction -- he’d been there when Dad first saw them. He called me a fag for the first time to my face then, telling me only queers wore earrings. Dad hadn’t told him to shut up or anything.

Ashamed, I’d put the earrings away, thinking maybe someday I’d get to wear them again. Now seemed good to me.

I went into the bathroom and, realizing I pretty much still reeked of sex and Nicholas, decided to take a shower first. I put the earrings on the counter and turned on the hot water, stripping off my jeans and easing under the hot spray.

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I smiled when I chose the same shampoo Nicholas had used -- we would match. I wondered what he’d think of my earrings. If I could get them in again. He hadn’t even noticed the holes in my ears, and I worried they might be all closed up.

After scrubbing myself in the best shower I’d had in days, I got out and dried off, slipping on clean boxers, shorts, and a fresh t-shirt. I was about out of laundry. I hoped Jonathan had a washer and dryer at his new place.

It felt weird, tossing what little was left into that suitcase. The finality of it made me sad. I was truly leaving my parents’ house for the last time. Leaving my mom. I didn’t want to think about when she found out what had happened. Guilt ate at me for the row I feared she and Dad would have. I knew I should be here when she got home so I could tell her myself, but Fridays she went with some women friends of hers out to eat. She wouldn’t find out I was gone until she came home after ten or so.

I wondered how Dad would tell her.

Sighing, I returned to the bathroom and picked up one of the loops. I grimaced at it and, with hands not too steady, tried to get it into my ear. Then I noticed something. I set the earring down and craned my neck, fingering the mark Nicholas had left.

Jonathan hadn’t said a word -- yet. I groaned. And here I was meeting his new girlfriend. And Nick’s friends. It’d be kinda obvious who’d put that mark there.

Great. It was too hot for a turtleneck.

I picked up the first earring again and sighed. There wasn’t anything I could do about it now. Not that I regretted it. I’d liked the feel of Nicholas latched on to me like that.

The mere thought of his lips on me sent a rush of heat to my groin. I stared at myself in the mirror. “You’ve got it bad, Brandon Ashwood. Really bad.” The face in the mirror nodded in agreement.

It took fifteen minutes, some cussing, and a few threats to flush them both down the drain to get the earrings in. The holes had closed some; my right one kinda burned, and bled a little. At last, though, I stared at myself in the mirror, nodding in deep satisfaction at the hoops in my ears.

I hoped Nicholas liked them. I did. A small act of defiance on my part, snubbing my dad’s wishes. Not that what he wanted me to do or not do mattered anymore. I was my own man and could do what I wanted now.

If only I had more than the forty dollars in my wallet to do it with.

Grabbing a box from my closet, I scooped up all the toiletries I had left in my bathroom, tossed the box into the suitcase, and closed it. That was that. Lugging the suitcase with me, I walked into the living room and set it down, then grabbed some fresh paper and the pen I’d used earlier to write Blevins’s name down, and wrote my mom a letter.

I couldn’t think what else to do -- I couldn’t call her at work, and I wouldn’t be here when she got home. I didn’t say much, just that I loved her and was sorry. Told her where 152

Carolyn Gray

Nicholas and I would be, and that we were okay. I signed it, sealed it in an envelope, and walked into her bedroom to tuck it under her pillow.

I stood for a moment in my parents’ bedroom, feeling the sadness return, the realization hitting me hard that a major part of my life was now over. I was only nineteen, ill prepared to care for myself, but going to do it anyway. I had regrets aplenty, mostly that I hadn’t tried harder.

But, I was only nineteen. And now I had Nicholas.

A door slammed. “Mom?” I called out, hoping it was her. I walked into the hallway --

and right into Adam. “Sorry,” I said, immediately backing away.

He scowled at me. “What are you doing here still?” he asked.

“What do you mean by that?”

He pushed past me and went into the kitchen. I followed after him, filled with apprehension, and hope.

“Jonathan said you and your queer boy were moving in with him.”

“His name is Nicholas.”

Adam looked briefly at me and snorted. He opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of milk. In a habit that still disgusts me, he tipped the carton back and took a long drink before setting it back inside the refrigerator.

“You shouldn’t do that, Adam.”

“Why not? You do what you want. Or so I hear.”

“Did you come to see me about anything?” I said icily. “I’m pretty busy right now.” He snorted. “Doing what? You don’t do anything but sit around and play your guitar all day. By the way, I want your stuff out tomorrow, or I’ll stick it on the curb. A friend of mine is going to move into your room.”

I shook my head. “What’s with you, Adam?”

“What’s with me? You’re the one going around fucking boys. I can’t believe you, Brandon. You’re pathetic.”

“I don’t go around fucking boys, Adam. Who I have in my bed is none of your business anyway.”

“It is now. The band wants him. I can’t fucking believe it.” I stilled myself, unable to keep the hope from my eyes. He noticed, of course -- Adam is observant -- and then he noticed the mark on my neck, and my earrings. He grabbed my chin and exposed my neck. I jerked away.

“Cut it out, Adam.”

“You let him give you a hickey? What the fuck were you thinking? People are going to see that and know what you were doing with your boyfriend.”

“He didn’t sign his name to it, Adam.”

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He shook his head, pure disgust on his face. “Damn, Brandon. And do you have to wear those?” he said, flicking my ear. “I thought Dad told you that you couldn’t.”

“Dad has no more say over me. I’m not welcome in his house anymore.” Adam’s eyes widened. Even he was surprised. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Because of ... because of Nicholas?”

“Yes.”

“That’ll piss Mom off, her baby boy sent packing.”

“Shut up, Adam. I really don’t need this.”

He pulled his keys out of his pocket. “So that’s why you’re going to Jonathan’s.”

“It’s either that or my car, and I don’t want to live there.” He took a deep breath, shaking his head. “I hate that you’re gay, Brandon. In fact, it pisses me off. It grosses me out. But that sucks. I never thought Dad would do that.” He paused. “Tell your boyfriend rehearsals start next Tuesday. I’ll give him two weeks. If he can’t handle the load, he’s out.”

His gaze bored into mine. I blinked; he looked so much like Jonathan, yet like anything but. Adam has a hardness around him, a defensive anger I’ve never understood. I knew it cost him to let Nicholas in on Ashwood, but I felt no warmth at his decision. Not like I would’ve if it’d happened when I wanted it to.

“I’ll tell him.”

Adam drew closer to me, his body coiled with suppressed anger, his hands clenched and green eyes flashing. “Tell him this, too. If anyone finds out you guys are lovers --” He said the word as if it were vile. “-- then you’re both out. I won’t let Ashwood be known as a fag band.”

My own anger spiked, heating my face. But I controlled myself as best I could, knowing Jonathan was right -- Ashwood’s connections, in reality Adam’s, would be invaluable to Nicholas. Adam could get us venues no one else could, with the kinds of crowds I knew would love Nick’s unique voice, his stage presence.

I nodded tersely. “No one will know.”

“See that they don’t.” Then he left, slamming the door behind him.

I collapsed against the counter, elation warring with hatred for my brother, and for my father.

We would be rich. We would be famous, Nicholas and I. We’d show them. All of them.

Feeling nothing but exhaustion now, and with my head starting to hurt again, I went into my room, stripped the sheets and pillowcases, and dumped them into the washing machine. Belatedly I remembered the t-shirts, ran into the kitchen, and grabbed them.

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Feeling a little weird but finding comfort in it anyway, I sniffed Nick’s shirt, inhaling his scent. With a grin, I plunked the t-shirts into the wash and went into the living room to collapse onto the couch.

* * * * *

“Hey,” I said blearily. I sat up and stared at the pillow that had fallen on the floor.

“What was that for?”

He grinned. “I didn’t want to risk a black eye.” I sat up against the back of the couch, my hands in my lap. “I’m sorry about that.” He touched his face. “You didn’t hurt me. Feel any better?” I nodded, realizing my headache was finally and truly gone. “Yeah, I do. I’m starving, too.”