Run This Town 03 - (Watch Me) Unmask You

By

Avril Ashton

  I’m a solitary creature, but it takes a village to bring my boys to life. To that end, I owe Emmy Ellis for putting her stank on those beautiful covers. Robin Badillo, Guia (Marie) Fabros, Amanda Atchley, and Crissy Morris for the polish. Av’s Gang, for holding my hand without knowing. You’re the bestest group. Ever. I eagerly anticipate our Unmask You Slumber Party.

And Mr. A. For the cupcakes.

Back Then…

Someone was in the house. Someone other than him.

Lucky pressed his shoulders back against the rough, cold wall, clutching the baseball bat in his hands. No light. He cursed that when he’d welcomed it earlier. No light meant no one could see him break into the empty house, but it also meant he couldn’t see whoever it was that had just opened the bedroom door with a barely audible click.

The red and blue “Sold” sign on the manicured lawn hadn’t kept Lucky out, and apparently didn’t deter this newcomer either. His heartrate kicked up and suddenly he was sweating when he’d been shivering not five minutes prior. Maybe someone had seen him after all. Maybe they’d called the cops who’d come to take him back to his aunt and uncle’s place.

He hated that place.

Footsteps, carefully measured, made the floors creak. A sound so familiar, a whimper rose in Lucky’s dry throat. His heartbeat was loud, pulse racing, stomach growling—it did that all the time since his aunt kept bitching that he was eating them out of house and home. Whatever that meant. The noise from his hungry belly sounded extra loud, convincing him the person in the room with him could hear it, would pinpoint his location and drag him away.

He dug his heels into the closet floor, fingers tightening around the bat handle. It was the only thing he took when he climbed through the window of his aunt and uncle’s place in Jersey City. Not the first time he’d done it, snuck out while they slept. He didn’t feel good there. And just thinking that made him feel like a kid, which he definitely wasn’t anymore. But he’d always felt that the Hendersons didn’t want him around. Nowadays they let him know it straight up. They didn’t want him around.

His aunt resented the fact that her sister, Lucky’s mother, had gotten herself killed along with her husband, leaving Aunt Diana to raise ten year old Lucky. But how was that Lucky’s fault?

It wasn’t.

“I know you’re in here.”

Breath slammed into Lucky. He shook. The male voice was close. Too close. His chest heaved, and he turned his head, burying his face in his shoulder to muffle the harsh breath he took. He smelled, but that couldn’t be helped. Not now.

“I won’t hurt you, and I promise not to call the cops.” The words were deep, rumbling, and tinged with some kind of weird accent. Definitely not American. “You should come out,” the voice continued.

No.
 This was Lucky’s home. This was his bedroom, his closet. His life. He bit his lip to hold back the words. Whenever he’d talked about his childhood and the life that had been snatched from him, his aunt would get angry at him. Would yell at him to get over it. He’d stopped mentioning his parents, learning, finally, to keep his stuff to himself.

He wasn’t ten anymore. He didn’t cry out for his mother anymore. And if sometimes the memory of his father smiling at him made his eye burn, he knew how to mask it, hide it before anyone saw and called him weak, or a kid. At school he’d gotten teased when he’d frozen at swim practice, refusing to get into the pool. They’d died in the water. Their boat hit something and exploded, and the sight of water made Lucky gasp for breath. Still did, but he hid it better now. Those early days though, he’d gotten into so many fights, but had to stop and hold back. He’d watched TV, he knew how to throw a punch. He could fight, it was just… His father never did like violence and Lucky didn’t want to do anything to dishonor his memory.

“Hello?” The voice startled him again. “I can help you. Just come out.” A light flashed under the closet door, and Lucky tried backing up some more, but there wasn’t anywhere to go.

A flashlight.

The trembling in his limbs got worse. He didn’t want to be that guy, the scared kid hiding. He could hear the other kids, see them pointing at him and laughing as he tried not to pee his ripped, dirty jeans in fright. But he wasn’t a kid anymore.

The knob on the closet door rattled and before he could lift the bat, a bright light was in his eyes, blinding him. Lucky lashed out.

“Jesus fuck!”

Lucky didn’t hit his target and the bat fell to the floor as he threw his right arm up to cover his eyes. Something clicked.

Loud. Echoing. He meant to shout or beg or something, but all words stuck in his throat.

The light went away, or at least moved from his eyes so Lucky peered over his arm then froze. A gun was pointed at him, his forehead. A big, black gun. He couldn’t really make out the other man, all he got was a bushy beard and a large figure clad in black.

“Goddamn it, kid.” A tight grip settled around Lucky’s left wrist and yanked, pulling him to his feet.

He was being roughed up, but Lucky bristled at those harsh words. Why did everyone keep insisting he was a kid? He dropped the hand over his face and glared at the space where he figured the guy’s head would be since the light was back in his eyes.

“I’m not a kid.” That shouldn’t have been the thing to fixate on, not when he had a stranger’s gun to his head, but it was the safest topic and Lucky clung to it.

“How did you get in here?” The man ignored Lucky’s protests.

Lucky didn’t answer him, instead he stared at the gun. “You have a gun.” He’d almost gotten shot. In his own home, the home he’d spent the first ten years of his life. In his own closet. He’d almost gotten shot. The realization shortened his breath, turned it choppy. “I—” His knees gave out and he dropped to the floor like the spineless kid all the jerks at school always said he was.

“Hey. Whoa.” The guy dashed forward, grabbing Lucky’s shoulder. “Easy. Take it easy.” He dropped the flashlight to the floor and held up the free hand. “I’m putting it away. See?” He removed the gun and brought it behind his back, probably tucked it somewhere like his waistband, but Lucky couldn’t be sure.

Fingers snapped in front of his eyes. He blinked.

“You’re okay.” The guy squatted and grasped Lucky’s chin, holding him steady when he would have jerked away. “Look at me,” he said softly. “Let me see you.”

Lucky gazed up into his face, torn between wanting to stay and listen to his hypnotic voice and jumping to his feet and dashing out the house. He could see the other man’s face a little bit better, could make out the sharp nose and eyes that were frost-blue.

“Why are you here, kid?”

Lucky opened his mouth to dispute the kid thing, but his stomach chose that moment to protest its emptiness. Heated embarrassment flashed through his body and he lowered his gaze.

“No,” the guy snapped. “Look at me. Tell me why you’re here.”

“This is my house.” He’d wanted to use the same angry tone, but his words came out as a wobbly croak. He licked his cracked lips. “How’d you even know I was here anyway, huh?”

“You have your secrets, I have mine.” The man grabbed Lucky’s upper arm, tight, hold unflinching and unbreakable. “Come on.” He tugged on Lucky, who tried to yank away.

“No.” He couldn’t leave. “I can’t leave.” His eyes burned. Stupid tears. He tipped his head up and reached out, clutching the front of the guy’s black sweater. “Please. I— Don’t make me leave.” Despite the cold and the hunger, despite the dark and the fear, he felt…home. He felt like he belonged, the first time in years.

The guy cursed under his breath and snatched his hands away. “Don’t move.” He issued the order in a tight voice and walked out of the closet, pulling something from his pocket.

“Please don’t call the cops,” Lucky begged. He pushed himself to his feet and rushed out after the guy. “Please?” The tears were right there, but he swallowed them. “I just wanted to come home. I just wanted to be home again.”

The guy froze with his back to him. He stood there for the longest time, neither of them saying anything then he strode purposely from the room. Lucky covered his mouth with a hand and glanced around. The moon filtered through the window blinds, casting some of its light into the small room. He stood in the middle of it and tried to swallow the sorrow.

Deep blue paint chips were scattered all over the floor, peeling from the walls. His bedroom, this bedroom. He used to sleep in here. If he closed his eyes he could still hear his mother reading him a bedtime story, still hear his father telling him monsters didn’t exist.

They were gone now, leaving Lucky with a hole inside.

Soon the Hendersons would know where he was and come for him. Or he could be sent away, like his aunt kept threatening to do. That would be worse, because if given a choice he very much preferred the devils he already knew. He couldn’t wait for his eighteenth birthday. He’d come into the first half of his inheritance then. That day couldn’t come soon enough.

Heavy footfalls reached his ears, and he spun toward the sound. The guy came back into the room, holding two lit candles, one in each hand. Lucky stared at him. With the candlelight flickering over his features, the man looked harsh, frightening, his eyes like ice chips intent on snuffing out the tiny flames.

Lucky gulped.

“What’s your name?” He held Lucky’s gaze, pinning him to where he stood.

Lucky swallowed. “What’s yours?”

A frown creased his brow. “Elias, that’s my name. And if you don’t tell me who you are in the next five seconds, I’ll forget calling the cops and handle you myself.” His gaze got colder, arctic. “Trust me when I tell you, you don’t want me to handle you, kid.”

Lucky believed him. He believed if he crossed the man in front of him, he would regret it. “Lucky,” he said softly. “My name is Lucky.”

The man’s features went blank. “Lucky what?”

“Mousasi.”

“Why are you here, Lucky Mousasi? Where did you come from?”

Lucky pursed his lips. He wanted to lie or at least hedge, but fear of the man in front of him had him speaking true. “Jersey, I ran away from my aunt and uncle.”

Elias just stared at him, unblinking, penetrating. And Lucky felt the need to explain so he started talking.

“I wanted to come back here, to where I grew up. This is my home, and everyone gets mad when I talk about it. Like they think I should forget it. Forget my parents just because they died.” He glared at Elias. “How can I?”

Elias still didn’t speak so Lucky continued speaking, if at least to stifle the silence.

“It’s horrible living there. Aunt Diana hates me, and Uncle Jeff ignores me. There’s never enough food and they spank me when I ask for more.” He paused and backtracked. “Well, they used to, but I’m getting bigger. Coach says I’m getting muscles. He’s always looking at me, you know?” He shuddered. “I wish I could change schools, though. I don’t like the way he makes me feel.” He was babbling, but he couldn’t help it.

“How does your coach make you feel?” Elias walked closer to him then stopped.

“Dunno.” Lucky shrugged. “Like I need to hide.”

Elias inhaled loudly. “How old are you, kid?”

“What does it matter?” Lucky went on the defensive. “You don’t see me asking how old you are.” He eyed Elias up and down. “You must be pretty old, huh?”

A muscle ticked in Elias’s jaw. “I’m twenty-eight. Stop avoiding the question, Lucky.”

The way he said Lucky’s name was…unsettling. His stomach got queasy, kinda like it did when he gazed too long at Daniel Roche’s naked back in the gym at school. He knew what came next so he turned around quickly, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs as his body reacted, groin tightening.

“Just because I’m—young, doesn’t mean I’m a kid.” He didn’t even know what he was saying. He just wanted to give his body time to calm the hell down. This was yet another thing he hated about himself. He wasn’t normal.

“Then stop acting like one and tell me your age, Lucky.”

Lucky sighed and his shoulders slumped. “What time is it?”

Elias paused then said, “1:31 a.m.”

Body under control, Lucky faced Elias again. “Sixteen. Today’s my birthday”

“Then happy birthday.” The other man said it softly, as if he cared.

Lucky couldn’t look at him so he grunted with his gaze fixed to a point over Elias’s shoulder. Last year he’d done the same thing, run away to Boston to visit his grandmother at the home where Diana had shoved her off to die. He’d spent his birthday huddled in the back of a bus, the first time he’d been alone and by himself like that in a long time. He’d been so proud of himself, but he’d gotten off that bus with only ten dollars in his pockets and reality had hit. He was alone, in a strange place.

He’d gotten propositioned on the train. Some guy had stared at him, and when Lucky had barked a “what?” he’d pointed to his crotch, hard outline of his dick visible, and waved a fistful of money.

Lucky had contemplated it. He had, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know by now that he liked boys more than girls. He’d never done it before, but he had to learn at some point, right? And he’d make money in the process. But he’d been frozen and when the train pulled into its stop moments later, he’d forced himself to get to his feet and run without looking back.

Of course, getting back home from Boston had been the worst. And he’d had to do some shit…

Lucky shuffled from foot to foot. He still hadn’t ridded himself of that shame.

“Lucky.”

He blinked at Elias, whose gaze had warmed a few degrees. “Yeah?”