It's Like This (5 page)

“Fine.”

“OK.” We breathe at each other for a minute or so. “Look, babe,” she says, finally, “I’ve gotta go. Call me? You know?”

“I know.”

“Love you.”

“You too.”

“More than he fucking does.” She hangs up.

I feel like puking.

* * *

He calls later, as promised.

“Helloooooo, Captain Niles.” He calls me that sometimes. Don’t know why. It seems to me his cheeriness should be forced but it comes across as completely natural.

“Hey,” is all I can muster.

“Soooo, are you coming over?”

I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know.

“Yeah, alright.”

“OoooK. Pick up a vocabulary on the way over, yeah?” he teases.

I hang up.

* * *

My hands shake as I pay for the condoms. I feel like such an idiot. I’ve been having sex for over three years, and I have never used a condom, never even thought about it. Well, except for when Shona presses for it, but in the past I’ve always found ignoring her works quite well. I probably look like a quivering virgin. I can’t look the bored salesgirl in the eye; I’m such a douchebag.

As soon as I’m out of the store, I rip open the pack and shove a couple condoms in my back pocket. I don’t know what to do with the rest of them so I throw them into a trash can. What the hell is wrong with me?

For some reason when I get to Rylan’s I want to buzz up, even though I have his spare set of keys. I don’t buzz up, of course, don’t even know the code, and I don’t want him thinking something’s up anyway. There’s nothing up. I’m just utterly fucked up, that’s all.

He smiles toothily at me from the couch when I open the door to his place, and he looks genuinely happy to see me. He always does. It’s probably why I keep coming back.

He’s got Scrabble out on the coffee table, all set up. Bring a vocabulary, ha-ha, he thinks he’s funny at any rate. He holds out the Crown Royal bag he keeps the letters in, and I dutifully pull out seven tiles.

“You can go first,” he informs me, only after inspecting his letters, making sure he’s not giving me too much of an advantage.

I play “ORDAIN.” Scrabble sucks when you don’t have any letters worth more than two points and the board is the absolute last thing on your mind.

He plays “SALIVA” and wiggles his eyebrows at me.

I know where this is going. I play “VOUCH.”

He screws his mouth up at his letters for a while, dropping them into different places on the little wooden stand. Finally, his face lights up and he silently pieces his word together from the end up. He plays “HANDLE.”

And then suddenly he’s crawling over the table and on top of me. So basically the shortest game of Scrabble actually ever.

He’s got me pressed into the carpet, mouth hot over mine and I want him. Every damn time I want him, because every time is a reaffirmation that I
mean
something. He shoves his hands under my shirt, grates them over my ribs.

We’re panting like we’ve never done this before, like our bodies are new to each other, anticipation coating the air and I know how I’m so hungry for him all the time, but I don’t understand how he’s so hungry for me. He grinds against my already desperate dick, and goes straight for my belt, impatient as ever.

For a second I freeze. He doesn’t seem to mind. Somehow my fingers know what to do: they scramble around behind me and shakily dip into the pocket. I clench a condom in my fist, which probably renders it ineffective, but I can’t help myself.

He notices, or notices the movement at least. He grabs my fists and plants them firmly above my head, streaking his teeth across my neck. I arch up into him, allowing him all the access he wants.

He uncurls my fists, discovers the condom, and stares for…a full forever. Or thirty seconds or something.

I don’t move. He doesn’t move. He just holds it.

I don’t breathe.

And then suddenly he climbs off of me completely. Stands. Drops the condom on the floor beside me.

“You need to go,” is all he says.

I think I’m numb. My pulse is jackhammering and my hands are clammy and my stomach is contorting and I almost fall down the stairs in my hurry to escape.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck,
fuck
. I am such a douchy-clueless-idiot-mess. Do I seriously have to fuck everything up
every
time? It would have been so worth it to just forget the condom, to let him fuck me because it’s too late, anyhow. Anything he has I have and anything he has I want because I just want
him.
Jesus, I’m seriously deranged and FUCK. I almost run into someone. I’m not running though, I feel like I am, but I’m not. My feet seem sensible, hard against the pavement, fast, but grounded and my body just follows along, head down, not caring if I slam into anything. I can’t do this. I want to turn around and run up the stairs and fucking beg or something. But I don’t. I rebuckle my belt, tighter, pretend it’s him, teasing me in. God, I want him. Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate. On what, I have no fucking idea. I need to get out of here. Off this road, out of this neighbourhood, and I can’t go home, I can’t be around. Cody will be there and he’s such a loud, present, stupid ape of a roommate, and I can’t deal.

I wait at a bus stop. I scrounge around in my pocket for change because I think my bus pass fell out somewhere. At his place. On his floor. Probably just after he kissed me for the last fucking time ever. Though I don’t think he even did kiss me, it was just the thing with my neck. I cover it with my hand. I want to look down my shirt, find the hickeys, I can’t ever let them fade. Shit, I’m so messed up. Who thinks like this?

Across the street I see the 16 bus. I know that bus because I used to take it home, every day. Home as in my family’s house. I run across the street, even though the walk light is definitely not on, and I dump my change in the slot and I collapse on a seat. I bang my head against the window, and I don’t think. I don’t even allow myself to think a single fucking thing, because it will just prove how crazy I am.

* * *

No one’s home. Of course they’re not. It’s only like one o’clock. My parents are both at work and my sisters are still at school. I mean, I have a key, so it’s not like I can’t get in, but once I’m in, I’m alone again. Fuck. I think of calling Shona, but I don’t want to hear anything so…true as what she will feed me at the moment. I want to just pretend the whole thing was one of those fucked-up dreams I have sometimes. I sit on the couch and turn on the TV and look out the front window. I channel surf without absorbing a single thing until I hear the Volvo in the driveway.

My mom rushes into the kitchen and drops her purse on the counter and briefcase on the floor. She starts when she sees me standing awkwardly in the doorway between the kitchen and family room.

“Niles!” She puts a hand to her chest. “Sweetheart, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry.”

She flutters over and her hands land on my shoulders, which she squeezes before kissing my cheek. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Everything OK?”

“Yep,” I find myself lying. “Just missed you.”

She laughs and gently swats at my cheek. “Ha-funny-ha. Do you need money or something? We gave you some for the month, didn’t we?” She looks momentarily upset. “I was sure we did!”

“No, Mom, you did!” I assure her. “I seriously just came to see you guys.”

“Oh.” She runs a hand over her hair. “Well. I’m glad you did. And I wish I could stay and chat, but I promised Tillie I’d pick her up from school. I was just popping home to grab an apple—board meeting ran late and I am absolutely starving.”

“She hates it when you call her that,” I say, shaking my head.

Mom snorts. “I birthed her. I’ll call her whatever I want.”

“Why don’t I go get her?”

Mom smiles, looking pleased and relieved. “Are you sure? I would certainly appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no problem. I wanna hang out with her, anyway.”

Mom smiles and kisses my cheek, again. “You’re a gem. An absolute gem, you know that?”

“I think you might be biased.”

“So what if I am? You have your licence on you?”

“Yep.”

She slides the keys across the counter. “OK, thank you, sweetheart, and drive safe, OK?”

“Will do.”

“And are you staying for dinner?” she asks.

“Am I invited?” I reply.

“You are always invited. I’ll tell your father to throw another steak on the barbecue when he starts supper.”

* * *

I sit in the Volvo in my old high school parking lot, feeling like a little bit of—OK a lot bit of—a creeper. Finally, I hear the bell which triggers six million memories, most of which are connected to Rylan. After a few minutes, kids start to swarm out and suddenly someone’s knocking on the passenger door. I jump. Hell. It’s Matilda. I unlock the door.

“You’re not Mom,” she offers, opening the passenger side door. I’m pretty sure that she sounds pretty glad to see me and that feels good.

“You caught me,” I reply.

Matilda laughs, then asks, “So, what the hell are you doing here, little brother?” She’s younger but taller, by a whole two centimetres or something.

“Meh,” I answer non-committally. “You wanna go to McDick’s or something?”

“Sbucks. And I’m driving. You look like shit.”

I crawl over and sit hopelessly in the passenger seat.

Tilla climbs in beside me. She’s not technically allowed to drive without someone over twenty-five in the car, because she’s only an L driver (fucking BC driving rules—bane of every teenager’s existence), but I really think she’s making the safer choice at the moment. I don’t say anything and she doesn’t say anything back until we’re through the drive-thru, drinks in hand and sitting on a concrete picnic bench near the strip mall.

“Nigh,” she says. “
Nigh
.” I suddenly zone back in.

“Huh? Sorry. What?”

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

I shrug.

“Everyone OK?”

“Yeah.”

“Shona and Rylan and DRIP and everyone?”

“Fine.”

“OK. Mom and Dad are fine too, right?” Panic flares up slightly in her voice.

“Oh. God. Yeah, sorry, they’re fine. So far as I know.”

“Jesus, you had me freaked. So what’s up?”

I take a drink. “Look, do you want to rent a movie or something?”

“You’re seriously not going to tell me.”

I don’t answer her.

“You show up randomly at my school looking like microwaved shit and you’re not even going to tell me what’s wrong.”

Yep, sounds about right.

“You are so frustrating, sometimes, Niles.” She rolls her eyes. “But sure,” she’s humouring me, “let’s rent some movies. By the way,” she says as we climb back into the car, me feeling stable enough to drive somehow. “Nice neck. Violent, much? God, you and Rylan are practically cannibals.”

I wish she’d stop saying his name.

* * *

Matilda and I sit on the couch in amicable silence. There’s some movie that she chose playing, and I’m paying more attention to it than it warrants in hopes of tuning everything else out. Tilla’s glancing over at me every few minutes, but I pretend to be so engrossed that I don’t notice.

After about a half hour, we hear the garage door open and as it’s shutting Dad and Kya come in. We shout hello and Kya races into the room. She’s fresh from swimming lessons and smells like chlorine. I wrangle her into my arms and hoist her up onto my hip even though she typically considers herself too old for this sort of thing.

“What are YOU doing here?” she demands.

“Just thought I hadn’t seen you in a while!” I answer brightly.

“You can fucking say that again!” she replies happily.

Matilda and I both stare at her. “What did you just say, Kya?” Til demands.

“I said, ‘You can fuc—’”

“Well, how about you never say that again!” I cut her off. Christ, my seven-year-old sister cursing like, well, like my sixteen-year-old sister, who’s gonna be in shit if our parents hear that.

“Why?” demands Kya.

“Because,” I answer back.

Matilda gives me a look that absolutely says, “Honestly, you’re useless.” She kneels down, holding Kya by the shoulders and looks her straight in the eyes. “Because if you say that at school, you’ll get a DT.”

Kya’s eyes get a little bigger and she lets out a low whistle. “I’ve never had a DT.”

“I have,” I say. “And they are AWFUL.”

“How come?” she asks.

“I’m not talking about it,” I reply, with a sinister undertone.

Kya looks appealingly to Matilda, who carries on in the same thread: “And if Mom and Dad hear you saying that, you’ll be grounded.”

“I’ve never been grounded either,” Kya says solemnly.

“I have,” Matilda says. “And I never want to be again.”

“OK,” Kya whispers. “Man, it’s that bad, hey?”

“That bad,” Matilda and I nod.

Matilda stares darkly back into Kya’s eyes to affirm her point. Her expression shifts.

“Niles, come look at this,” she says, her voice light, but hinting at worry.

“Look at what?” Kya demands, twisting around to look behind her.

“Kya-bear, don’t move,” Matilda says sweetly. Then to me, “Look at her eye.” She taps her finger lightly underneath Kya’s left eye. Kya squints.

“What?” she whines.

And I see it. A little part of her pupil is reflecting weirdly, almost like a cat’s eye in the dark.

“Does your eye hurt, Kya-baby?” Matilda asks gently.

“No, but my shoulders do because you won’t let go, Stupid!”

Matilda releases her and Kya races out of the room, her My Little Pony backpack being yanked along behind her.

We look at each other. “What is it?” I ask Matilda.

“I have no idea.”

“Should we tell the parents?”

“Tell the parents what?” It’s my father’s voice. He sounds amused and he comes over to clap me on the shoulder.

“Indeed,” Mom joins in, hugging me from behind and squooshing her cheek against mine.

At this point in time, Matilda would usually make a sarcastic, snotty remark about how Mom is never interested in hugging her, and that maybe if they’d let her move out they’d like her more, and then Mom would make a point of hugging Matilda, and Matilda would make a point of not responding. But not today.