Little Stalker (6 page)

She sighs through her nose, looking over the empty bar – it being still early and all.

“Fine,” she says after a while, unfolding her arms and putting things away. “You’re

forgiven. Now what are you really here for?”

My brow rises as I look up at her, then we both break out in chuckles.

“Um, do you know a guy from school named Grayson? That’s his first name.”

“Yeah, he comes here a lot on Friday nights.”

Every inch of me perks up.

“Do you know where I could find him?”

“What, you need to apologize to him, too?” she says, clearly as a joke by the smile on

her face.

“Yeah, I do.” I say, not realizing that I’m outing myself until after the words slip out.

“Oh,” she says, eyebrows raised. “Oh, wow. Okay. Um, yeah, he lives up in North

Philly, just outside Brewerytown. Here, let me write it down for you.”

She grabs a party flier from the counter and scribbles down the directions.

“I don’t know the house number, but I’m pretty sure this is the street address. Don’t

go there at night, okay? And don’t take your fancy car or the subway. Cab is your safest bet.”

“Thanks, um...” I say with an impish smile, folding the note into my pocket.

“Lisa,” she says with a wink. “See yah.”

Wow, are people really this cool about homosexuality, or have I just lucked out so

far?

I tell Ray I’m going back. The reason I don’t tell him I’m going to North Philly is

because he was born and raised there up until middle school. He would’ve spent the next

hours trying to talk me out of going.

I take Lisa’s advice and take a taxi. The cabdriver persistently charges me extra for

driving to that location at night. The residential street is not so big, mostly made up of

apartment complexes. I have no idea where to start, so I decide to walk up and down the

street, discretely looking toward the windows before I’ll start knocking on the doors asking if

anyone knows where Grayson lives.

The street is poorly lit where I walk past the first complex, listening to the faint

sounds of yelling and a kid crying somewhere. I’ve lived in Philly all my life, but I’ve never

been to the north part. Shoving my hands deep in my pockets, I hunch onward.

There’s loud music thumping from the next complex and people partying on the

balcony. I’m glad they don’t seem to take any notice of me, even though I’m walking

abnormally slow while I glance through the windows. I hear glass break, people laugh, and

then someone shout.

God, does Grayson really live in this area? Is he still alive?

A woman shrieks from the middle of the third complex, bottom floor. She yells and

argues. An angry male voice shouts back, and then the front door is yanked open. My heart

pumps hard as Grayson storms out in a short jacket, a backpack hanging on his shoulder.

“Get back here you piece of shit!” the woman shrieks just before she appears in the

doorway, blond hair hanging in clumps around her face, her flowery dress loose around her

thin body.

Grayson swirls around, his backpack sliding off the shoulder into his hand.

“Shut up, fucking bitch!” he yells.

Dude! My little shy stalker has vocab like that?

I have no idea what to do with myself, so I stand under the lamp post and watch

Grayson take a step back.

“You’re not going to those faggot friends of yours,” she shouts. Her face scrunches up

with disgust. “I didn’t fucking raise you to be a fucking cock-sucker!”

“You didn’t
raise
me. Period,” Grayson shouts back and spins around. He stops in his

tracks when he sees me. His mouth drops open as he stares, but then he narrows his eyes at

me and heads for a bike chained to a sorry looking garage.

His mom comes after him with a growl, her arms raised. Grayson has a few inches on

her, but still he jerks and cowers as she advances.

Fuck.

Before I can think about what to do, I’m already running toward the woman. I grab

her bony wrist just before she brings it down on her son. Then I listen to her swear a year’s

worth of cussing while she tries to twist herself out my grasp. My chest gets hit a number of

times, but even though I definitely feel it, she’s too weak to do me much harm.

When I look down at Grayson, his wide eyes meet mine, red lips half parted, and my

heart prickles and hammers. Has it always been like this for him?

The woman starts biting my hand, and I growl with a fierce frown on my face,

gripping her wrist tighter. She hesitates for a second, a flash of fear gleaming in her eyes, but

then she starts swearing again.

“Shut the fuck up, and go inside,” I yell and throw her away from me.

She hunkers down for a bit and glares at me. I didn’t really expect that she’d actually

go inside, but she does, showering some more obscenities the whole way.

It feels much too quiet after she’s slammed the door. There’s still loud music down

the street, but I swear I can hear my heart beat in the quiet between Grayson and me. He’s

still sitting in the dirt, pointedly not looking my way.

“Hey, are you okay?” I ask in a low voice, receiving all sorts of pangs throughout my

body when he flinches away from my touch.

“Fine,” he says in an equally low voice before he stands up and starts walking,

leaving behind his bike.

I follow him at a jog.

“Why don’t you move out?”

Instead of answering me, he speeds up, turning up the street away from Brewerytown.

“Grayson, please talk to me.”

Without looking at me, he mumbles “There’s no money for a dorm room.”

“But isn’t there anyone you could go to, like your grandparents or something?”

He stops so abruptly that I bump into his back, sending him skidding forward a few

steps. When he turns around, he meets my gaze with narrowed eyes and lips clamped thin.

“My life is
none
of your business, okay? I can take care of myself. What the hell are

you doing here anyway?”

When I take a step in his direction, he retreats a step, shaking his head in a warning. I

swallow hard and try to ease the tiny aches in my body.

“I came to apologize. You don’t know how badly I feel about hurting you.”

He watches me quietly for a long, excruciating minute before averting his eyes.

“I’m fine. You didn’t tear my muscle or anything.”

“Tear a muscle?” I ask.

The flush in his cheeks clues me in on what he’s talking about.

“No, I don’t mean that, I mean I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

At that, he looks at me, head tilted, hair in one eye. His beautiful lips part and close

several times, but then he shakes his head, turns around and continues walking.

“Hey!” I call after him, setting off at a jog to catch up. God it hurts so bad, that punch-

in-the-stomach feeling. He’s rejecting me.

“Come on, Grayson, just talk to me.”

“I gotta go to work,” he says hurriedly, shaking my arm away when I try to grab him.

He turns up to a busy street, heading toward a group of men casting him a leery eye.

But as they look past him, at me, they go back to talking.

“Fuck, Coby. Could you leave?” says Grayson, not stopping to look at me.

“Why? This is a dangerous place. I’ll walk you to your job. Where do you work,

anyway?”

“Here,” he says, twisting around with a defiant look in his blue, black-rimmed, eyes.

“Where here?” I ask.

“Here,” he repeats, pointing down at the pavement. “I’m never gonna get a client if

you keep hanging around me like that.”

I look around the dimly lit, dirty street. The only source of light is the half-moon, a

few neon signs flashing behind windows and the occasional street lamp that hasn’t been

sabotaged. Empty cardboard boxes lie stacked against the closed store next to us. Cars cruise

at a very slow pace up and down the street, lazy rap music voluming up and down as they

approach and pass us. Skimpy looking guys push themselves from the dirty brick walls, walk

up to the cars that stop and lean toward the open windows. Some hop in.

Wait a minute... My shy, innocent little stalker... No way! Just, no way!

“You’re a prostitute?” I say in a hushed voice, leaning closer to Grayson.

He smirks and folds his arms in front of him. “I prefer the term ‘rent-boy’.”

“What the hell? Why? I mean...
Why
?”

“What else am I gonna do?” he says with a shrug. “Dad finally left my crazy mom,

and there’s no more money. There aren’t many part-time jobs around here or at least none

available.”

I feel like my chest is crumbling in on itself. I just want to scoop him up and get him

out of here. Although I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I had a good life

growing up with loving parents; and the few times I got hit were when I got into fights at

school.

“Your dad,” I say, trying to ignore a leering gaze from a tall guy on the other side of

the street. “Couldn’t you go live with him? Is he any better than your mom?”

Grayson touches his fingers under his bangs to his left eye.

“Not really,” he says in a low voice before heaving a sigh. “Now, please leave.

You’re scaring all the guys away.”

Fingers in tight pockets, he walks away from me and turns to talk to an older looking

man through an open window of a shiny black BMW.

Grayson has been trying to explain, but it hits me then like a bag of bricks. He’s stuck

in a bad situation with no way out. He has to sell his body to get money. He’s endangering

his life every time he gets into a car with a stranger.

Just then, Grayson straightens up and grabs the handle of the car. I sprint over and

pull him back with me up onto the pavement.

“What the hell, dude?” he shouts and yanks himself free.

“Don’t do this,” I say in a pleading voice.

“I have to,” he says, looking over his shoulder at his waiting customer.

“But why – I mean, there has to be another way. Why this?”

“Because I’m hungry!” he shouts, face scrunching up, hands fisted. “I haven’t eaten in

two days.”

As if needing proof, his stomach growls. Grayson averts his eyes.

I don’t even know what to do. I stand speechless until he quietly turns around toward

the car.

It’s not just the wish of saving him from this kind of life that has me grasping at

straws, but my own selfish need. I truly don’t want to share him with others. The thought of

that guy in the car putting his clammy hands on Grayson’s body sickens me. I don’t care if

he’s been prostituting. I just want him to be with
me
.

“I’ll feed you,” I blurt as soon as he takes a step toward the car.

He stops in his tracks and swirls around so fast that his bangs fly away from his face,

revealing a new bruise on his temple. Who did that? His mom? Dad? A client?

I swallow hard.

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because you can’t sell yourself,” I say.

“Yes I can,” he says between bared teeth. “Go back, and leave me the hell alone.”

When he turns to leave, I close the short distance between us and grab his wrist.

“Dude!” he yelps.

The guy in the car shakes his head and drives off to the next boy offering his services.

“What the fuck, Coby! Let me go, you fuck!” I spend the next few second listening to

a string of creative cursing in the spirit of his mother. He tries to yank himself free, and even

hits me a few times, but I stubbornly hang on to him as he growls through bared teeth. I’m

pretty sure he’d kill me if I told him how adorably cute he looks right now.

“If you insist on selling your body, then sell it to me,” I say over his noise. “The

whole night, whatever you charge – I’ll pay double.”

Grayson goes quiet for a few seconds before he lets out a quick, defeated sigh. He

stares at the ground; his brown hair obscuring his face.

“I don’t want your money,” he says in a low voice.

“My money’s as good as anyone’s, and I’m a hell of a lot more attractive than some

old fat dude.”

He closes his eyes. “But why? Because you feel guilty? I already told you I’m fine. Y-

you said you’re not gay anyway,” he says, his voice low. He bites his lip hard, blinking away

the moisture in his eyes.

I gently pull him from the street to a dirty brick wall. It looks like there are only boys

serving this street. There are a couple of girls further up, but their gait and stance look pretty guyish, so I’m not even sure they’re girls.

My fingers twitch just before I place a hand on Grayson’s lower back. “I was wrong,”

I whisper. “I’m so sorry, Grayson.” I take a quick glance around, but everyone seems pretty

busy talking, cruising, or chatting up clients. I lower my head and plant a slow kiss on the top

of his head. His soft hair tickles my cheek as I rest my face against him, and he steps into my

arms and presses his forehead into my chest.

“I like you,” I whisper to his shivering body. “I like you a lot, and that’s why I want

you to come back with me.”

He doesn’t answer, but his fists wad up the shirt on my back, and he holds on tightly.

“I got myself so drunk last Saturday that I ended up in the hospital with alcohol

poisoning,” I say to him, pulling him in tighter. I slip my hands under his jacket with the

intent to warm him, but to feel his slim, tight muscles shift as he moves closer keeps my

hands stock-still. “Um, I was dead for three days, but I’ve been trying to find you since

Wednesday, asking everyone if they knew you. What are you studying anyway, and what’s