Cinnamon Toast and the End of the World (18 page)

‘Your friend,’ he said again. We let the word vibrate in the air. ‘Okay. I think I get it now. So … could that
possibly
be the reason you were looking all heartbroken when I came and talked to you?’ I didn’t answer, tried to will my expression
into something blank. His slow smile was back. ‘Because your
friend
’s in there banging some girl?’

I told him to shut up.

He took another step towards Mark and Pam’s door. ‘We should totally go in. Let’s see what he looks like, eh?’

I shoved him hard and he stumbled back. We were close to the top of the stairs again, and it was a long, steep way down to
the living room.

He grinned. ‘Oh, you wanna fight?’

The boyfriend threw a punch at me.

I ducked and shrank away, waited for the impact. But when I looked up from under the crook of my arm, he was laughing. He
threw another one, in slow motion this time, his arm sheathed in black drifting past my face. A fake punch. And I’d cowered
from it like a girl.

The fucker
. Standing with his back to the stairs, heels on the edge of the top step, giggling away. I’d never wanted to hit somebody
more.

So I did.

Or I tried to. He dodged me easily, but I’d put all my weight behind the blow, nearly pitched myself down to the living room
with the force of it. My left arm jerked backwards. He’d grabbed it to stop me from falling. My legs slipped under me and
I crashed down on one of the upper steps, my arm nearly jumping out of its socket. He was still holding on. Holding my wrist
and staring at my hand.

My left hand. The one with the scars.

‘Oh fuck,’ he said. Barely audible.

I snatched my arm away. He sat beside me on the step and grabbed my wrist, forced my hand back towards him. He was stronger
than me. Maybe. I didn’t want to test it. The boyfriend uncurled my fingers. I felt panicked, like one of those bugs running
around in the sudden light when you take their rock off them.

He was glaring at me sternly. ‘Okay, what happened?’

‘Nothing!’

‘This is nothing? Come on, Stephen. Who did this to you?’

‘Nobody.’ I tried to free my hand again. He wasn’t letting go. ‘It was a long time ago.’

‘Listen. My mother works with abused kids. It doesn’t matter if it happened a long time ago. You shouldn’t cover up for this
person.’ Still giving me that accusing stare. ‘Now was it a babysitter? A relative? One of your parents?’

‘No!’ I laughed, but it came out small and broken. ‘It wasn’t anything like that.’ I was staring into his shoes: black with
yellow lacing along the edges. ‘It was me. I did it.’

He looked shocked, like I’d reached over and slapped him.

I thought at first I could just reel off a few facts, keep it neutral. Then I found I was telling him everything and it was
impossible to stop.

I talked about the first time it had happened, the pressure in my head, the way I’d felt so bottled up and horrible and then
so relieved when it was over. How I’d been such a miserable kid, poking around my empty house for years, blaming myself because
my mother was unhappy and my father was gone and my friend would hate me if he knew who I really was. I told him I’d had some
stupid idea the burns might save me too, save me from always wanting.

And as I was talking I started to realise something. Something that should have been thundering obvious, if I hadn’t been
so good at blocking my thoughts like an obstacle course or letting them slide away like a game of snakes and ladders.

He was beside me, brown eyes soft, just listening. My one scarred-up hand in his two good ones. And it hit me.

Jesus Christ. He’s gay. Lana’s boyfriend is gay
.

I hardly had time to process this before another realisation struck, a shock like a loop on the rollercoaster that leaves
your stomach behind.

And so am I
.

Yeah, I know. Duh!
But the truth was, I’d always squirmed away from looking at it head on. I’d said things to myself like, ‘I’m in love with
Mark’ or ‘I’m attracted to men’ but I’d never taken out that particular stamp and smacked those three letters onto my head.
I was still afraid of it. At the same time, I had this terrific urge to say the words out loud. But I didn’t, not then.

‘What do you mean?’ he said. ‘You thought it would save you from always wanting. Wanting what?’

I couldn’t stop looking at him, his eyes and his lips.

‘Wanting to do … stuff …’

No, no, no
. This was Lana’s boyfriend. I would hurt my good friend who loved me. I would hurt her more than anything.

‘To do what?’ the boyfriend said.

‘You know.’ Our faces were very close. He was still running his fingers along the back of my damaged hand. If I moved my head
slightly, we’d be touching noses.

Mark upstairs. Lana going through the house looking for us. Anybody at all ready to wander past and witness this.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it
.

‘I don’t get you,’ he said. A little smile.

My breath was coming deep and shuddery. This was the high-diving board, the fifty-storey building, a leap into nothing.

‘Wanting to do what?’ Adam said again.

‘This.’

I kissed him. He kissed me back.

Yes. Hell, yes. Hallelujah
.

How did it feel? Picture a dark empty house in the winter. Then somebody goes walking through the rooms switching on every
single light, basement to attic, one by one, until it’s so bright you can hardly stand it. It felt like that.

His lips were very warm and soft. He tasted like Wild Berry Kool-Aid and cigarettes. His arms were around me and one hand
was moving under the back of my T-shirt. He couldn’t get to anything else because I’d hauled my backpack onto my lap again.
It slouched between us like a chastity boulder.

I was twitching my head away from him by degrees, trying to see down the stairs – kept glimpsing shapes on the edge of my
vision and imagining it was somebody in the living room staring up at us. Usually it was that big dark void of a TV, or long
curtains moving with the breeze, but I’d freeze with fear every time. Why didn’t we get up and go to one of the empty bedrooms?
I didn’t understand it myself. There was some kind of dream logic working here. Or maybe
I was scared that if we moved, he’d get a better look at me and change his mind.

My arms hung by my sides. He had to pull my hands under his T-shirt and settle them on him. I just left them there, palms
clammy against his skin.

‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘Stephen. Relax.’

‘I am.’

‘You’re shaking.’

I was.

‘Don’t worry. There’s nobody around. We’re fine.’ Kissing my neck now. I swallowed back my dry mouth and let myself touch
him. His skin was softer than I thought it would be. I ran my hands over his back, his chest, curls of hair under my fingers,
brushed his stomach with the backs of my nails. His breathing got faster. He pushed my backpack away from me and I heard the
vodka sloshing around.

Somewhere downstairs, a dishwasher chugged into life. I pulled the backpack over my lap again.

‘Listen. Thought you said there was nobody here.’

‘There isn’t.’

A radio switched on. Somebody fumbled through the stations and then Belinda Carlisle was singing ‘Mad About You’ on FM102.

‘Well, what’s that?’

He shrugged. ‘Mice?’

I started to laugh, even though I wasn’t completely sure what was funny. He was giggling too and pulling me towards him. We
were lying halfway down the stairs. I felt boneless and drunk all of a sudden, though I hadn’t even touched the vodka.

‘I didn’t make that up.’ Adam was whispering breathlessly. ‘It’s from
Duck Soup
. The Marx Brothers. I totally love the Marx Brothers …’ I
told him I liked the Marx Brothers too, almost didn’t notice that he’d slid the backpack off me again.

Then we were kind of grappling together – kissing, breathing hard, hands everywhere, steps pressing into my back, into his.
My skin felt shivery and exposed, like I was missing a protective covering, and I couldn’t get close enough. I braced my sneakers
against the steps so we wouldn’t fall.

I was glad for the radio – it helped me keep track of how much time was passing. After ‘Mad About You’, we got to hear about
how to get money for nothing and our chicks for free. And Bob’s Chainsaw Sales and Services Ltd was the one-stop place to
go for all your chainsaw maintenance needs. Take Exit 15.

Adam shoved my shirt up till it was bunched around my armpits and went at me with his lips, his tongue, sometimes his teeth.
I gasped and knocked my head back against the steps, bit down hard on my lip. From upstairs, there was a crash as Rachel pushed
something over. Emily MacBride said something to her in a low, soothing voice. I couldn’t hear a sound from Mark and Pam’s
room.

I pulled his shoulders back towards me and kissed his mouth. It was all so intense, I imagined I could feel myself bruising
under him. He threw his jacket over us. Seconds later he was fumbling with my belt and then he had the zipper open and I held
my breath, thinking,
Jesus, if he touches it, I’ll die
.

He did. I didn’t. But I made some kind of noise. I couldn’t help it. He echoed the sound in the back of his throat, mouth
against my neck. One hand was moving over me, very slowly. It was torture. It was fantastic.

‘Oh, fuck,’ he said. ‘I really want you.’

‘Same … same here.’

Saying this out loud made me feel like I’d got away with something. I was nervous and sexed-up and elated all at the same
time.

Pressure was building. He wasn’t going to stop.

Weather for tomorrow was clear and sunny, chance of showers towards evening. In Hants County a fire had broken out in a poultry
slaughterhouse and the chickens were all dead.

I grabbed a hunk of his hair, the fingers of my other hand digging into his back and pushing past the waistband of his jeans.
He kissed me again, but I couldn’t kiss back, jaw stiff and lips curled back from my teeth, eyes squeezed shut. I turned my
face away and pressed my cheek into the step. I felt feverish and I was trembling all over.

Hank’s Home Building Centre. Conveniently located on Highway One. Pre-summer bonanza blow out sale on at … somewhere. Good-Time
Gardens. Good-Time Gardens Family Farm Market. And Greenhouses.

‘You gotta stop, Adam. Oh, God. You gotta …’

There was a squeak of a door above us.

We jumped away from each other. I went frantic, struggling with zippers and buttons and body parts, pushing my shirt back
into my jeans, running my hands over my hair to make sure it wasn’t all fucked up. There was somebody walking on the landing.
Then down the stairs.

I looked up quick. Mark and Pam. Tiny creaks and groans from the wooden steps as they descended together. My backpack was
on my lap again. I’d taken the bottle of vodka out, was trying to seem as if I was absorbed in opening it. Like a bit part
actor in the background of a high-school play. Stage business.

Mark gave me the smallest little nod of acknowledgement as they passed, and I returned it. I watched them until they were
out of sight, let my head fall back against the steps and started to breathe again.

Adam nudged me in the shoulder with his foot.

‘So that’s the beloved.’ I heard him lighting a cigarette. ‘Seems a bit dumb for you, doesn’t he?’

I was surprised by how angry this made me. But before I could say anything, we got distracted by traffic upstairs. Emily was
half-carrying Rachel out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Adam asked if they needed any help and Emily told him it would
be better if he stayed out of it.

He bumped me with his foot again. ‘Listen, Stephen. That was fun, huh? But dumb. Very, very risky and dumb.’

I didn’t answer. Adam’s chin was rubbed and raw-looking from us mashing our faces together for so long and I wondered if mine
was too. And the eyeliner was kind of ridiculous, I decided. He was still talking.

‘Now the smart thing would be to just pretend this never happened. Keep away from each other for the rest of the night. But,
you know …’

‘I get it.’

Fun, risky and dumb. Sounded like cousins of the seven dwarves. Obviously we were both there, but we weren’t.

He was sitting up straighter, shifting uneasily. ‘No. What I mean is …’

Then we both had to stop, because Emily MacBride was clomping down the stairs towards us. She took a seat on the step just
above me and rested her feet on my shoulders.

‘Hey, Stephen! What are you drinking? Give it here.’ Reaching for the bottle. ‘Pretty please?’ I passed her the vodka, glowering
at the empty living room. I felt stupid, like I’d just been dumped.

Emily took a drink. ‘God, if you died and went to hell, how would you be able to tell the difference?’ We both just gaped
at her. ‘It’s
Rachel. I have a feeling she got fucked down by the lake. And she didn’t want it.’

Adam’s expression turned serious. ‘Well, we should call the police, right?’

Strange how that had never occurred to me, I mean, not even for a second. Guess I was used to this stuff. Too used to it.

‘The police?’ Emily was saying, ‘And tell them what – that I have a feeling? Rachel won’t say anything.’

‘Yeah, but you can’t just …’ He messed up his hair with both hands. ‘Look, I’m gonna go talk to this girl. Is that okay?’
Adam didn’t wait for an answer, heading for the bedroom. He paused. ‘Hey, Stephen. Don’t …’

‘I won’t. Do anything.’

Adam seemed a bit confused, like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t.

‘Weird guy,’ said Emily. ‘Gives you hope, though. I was starting to think all men are like something squirming around in a
Petri dish. No offence. Hey, is that a Tic-Tac?’ She grabbed at my head. ‘Hmm. Minty Dandruff.’

I shoved Emily’s feet off my shoulders, went stalking down the stairs and out of the living room. Needed to be alone.

But this was suddenly impossible. The house was filling with people, a trickle and then a flood. Out of nowhere, it had turned
into a real party.

In the kitchen, a bunch of girls were mixing drinks, all clustered around this wooden table that seemed to have too many legs.
The radio was on.
That
radio. I felt a sudden jolt of fear, asked if anybody’d been out by the stairs in the past while, barely registered relief
when the answer was no. Something inside me was crashing down like the side
of a cliff into the ocean. I took a slug of my vodka, then another one. Maybe these girls knew, and they were just too polite
to say anything. Maybe everybody in the house knew. I was going to have to talk to them all and find out.

Patty Marsh took the bottle away from me. ‘You need some mix with that. Want me to make you a Smashola? We just invented it.
Vodka and Wild Berry Kool-Aid.’

‘Sounds disgusting. Hit me.’ And, my God, he was Lana’s boyfriend. She trusted me. And I trusted her, with all my secrets.
I could have lost my best friend. Because of some jerk who was into doing the smart thing.

‘That was quick. You want another one?’

‘Yeah. Make it stronger this time. Way stronger.’

On my way out of the kitchen, I nearly tripped over Adam, cross-legged on the floor going through the local phone book. He
was wearing glasses with thick dark frames. The same nerd glasses from Lana’s photo. This sort of fascinated me, but I didn’t
want to make a fool of myself staring.

Adam smiled and pushed the glasses steady on his nose. ‘Stephen, where the hell did you go? The girl won’t tell me anything.
I’m just getting some numbers for her to call in case—’

‘Look, I’m out of here, okay?’ I walked away from him. Backwards. Probably a bad idea because my balance was starting to go
wonky. ‘I’m not trying to follow you around.’

His smile faded into a baffled look as he watched me leave.

I took up my project of talking to every person at the party. Then I forgot why I was doing it. Then I remembered and got
paranoid. I had
a few more Smasholas. And a couple beers. More straight vodka. I’d started drinking to calm down, but I forgot why I was doing
that too. After a while I began to enjoy myself.

Later on, stumbling and falling into Patty Marsh’s lap.

‘Aw, hey, honey,’ she said.

I tried to get up, lost my balance and found myself lying across Patty and Eleanor MacBride on the sofa. Eleanor was stroking
my hair. ‘You see? That’s the kind of guy I used to think I was into. You know. Nice. Quiet. Looks like he reads a lot.’

‘Of porn! Hi, Eleanor,’ I said.

‘I still like that type,’ said Patty. ‘Got “virgin” written all over him.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Ya do now!’ Eleanor took a lipstick out of her pocket and ran it over my forehead. I couldn’t see what colour.

‘Is that a
V
?’

She looked down at me, puzzled. ‘No, I screwed up. You’re upside-down. It’s more like an arrow pointing into your hair.’

‘Well fix it. I already know where my hair is.’ I started giggling, smeared at my forehead. My hand came away looking smashed
and deep red.

Patty Marsh was leaning over me. ‘Think you made that too soon, Eleanor. Stephen, you got a hickey. Big one on your neck.’

I sat up, almost cracked heads with Patty. ‘Oh, shit! What do I do? How do I get rid of it?’

Patty put some kind of concealer make-up on the hickey, told me to wear my collar up. Then they both started getting on my
case about who I’d been kissing until I had to get out of there.