Split (15 page)

Was this time the real deal? Or would I be spending the sixth grade in a hospital? “No-Now?”

“Yes, baby. Now. Can you walk?”

Johan reached his hand out, and before I knew it, I was leaning up against his chest, being escorted down the hall.

Out of the waiting room.

Out of the ugly.

Nick was outside. I don’t think Johan saw the cigarette on his lip, but I sure did. Nick flicked it over his shoulder just as we were coming on him. He popped a gum stick into his mouth, and handed his dad the keys.

“No. You drive.” Johan pushed the keys back into Nick’s hand.

Nick stared into Johan’s eyes. He then slipped the keys out of his dad’s fingers and walked around to the driver’s side. We all followed.

I sat in the back with Aunt Frannie and Johan sat up front.

Nick turned the engine on.

“Seat belt,” said Johan.

Nick looked over to his dad.

“Seat belt,” Johan repeated without returning Nick’s cold stare.

Nick pulled the belt over his shoulder.

He then set his hand on the stick.

“Mirrors.”

Nick sighed impatiently. He checked the side mirror and adjusted it. He then glanced up to the rearview mirror, but I didn’t have the chance to look away before his blue eyes caught mine staring back. I quickly turned my face to the window, and tried to keep from puking.

Nick finally put the van in reverse and pulled out of the parking lot.

“Watch the Pontiac.”

“Dad. I got it.”

Aunt Frannie’s cold fingers set themselves on my hand, and she squeezed it gently. I glanced over and tried to smile. She tried to smile back.

Her makeup had run, but she still looked pretty.

“Nick. Slow down.”

“I’m going the speed limit. I’m going forty, Dad, this is a fifty—”

“Slow down.”

I watched the street. It was afternoon now. School was out. Kids were walking home, lugging their heavy schoolbags, throwing dirty snow at each other. Laughing.

I looked up to the white sky instead.

“Give the guy some space. Back off a little.”

“I’m five feet from his bumper—”

“Back off, Nicolai.”

“Dad, you gonna lemme drive or what?”

Aunt Frannie leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. I stared down at my hands. They were pretty beaten up.

“Keep right here, it’s the next light.”

“I’ll change over when I get a chance—”

“Keep right—”

“Fuck this.”

We came to a grinding halt. My seat belt tightened like a vise around my neck, pressing down on the bruise there.

Aunt Frannie gasped. “Goodness.”

We were stopped.

“What are you doing!” cried Johan.

I slipped my fingers between the seat belt and my neck, and caught a breath. I watched Nick climb out of the van. Johan honked and rolled down the window. “Nicolai Lund, where the hell do you think you’re going! We’re in the middle of the road.”

Nick spun on himself, threw his middle finger up, then stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and walked away.

My jaw hung down like it was broken. I looked over at Aunt Frannie. She was trying to keep from laughing. But when the corners of her mouth lifted, a huge, belting laugh flew out of me. It was the kind of laugh you can’t stop. The kind that hurts. Aunt Frannie covered her mouth with her hand, but her shoulders shook up and down, and tears were rolling down her cheeks on account of how hard she was laughing behind her palm.

Johan turned around. His eyebrows met over his nose. His eyes were two slits of disapproval. “Having fun back there?”

Aunt Frannie’s laughter shot out so violently that it caused her hand to fly off her mouth.

Johan’s lips moved a little. His eyes widened, then his whole face came undone, like the anger had fallen right off it. He chuckled softly at first, but slowly, his chuckles turned into full, heaving rumbles of laughter.

Finally, we all got our wits back.

Aunt Frannie blew her nose as I took a few painful breaths.

Johan leaned back into his seat and sighed. “That kid’s got his mother’s temper. Nicolai was born looking for the edge, and I don’t even know what he’ll do once he meets it.” Johan slid into the driver’s seat and we drove away.

That was four days ago.

I haven’t seen Nick since then.

No one wants to talk about it.

Everyone just keeps their head down.

David is gone too.

Vanished.

*

Today is the day.

In two hours, I will be in Boone’s house.

Like a child coming home from a long field trip, I am running in my heart, with my eyes on that door, that safe, familiar door.

And I don’t care if Nathan sulks all evening. I can’t let him ruin this gift.

“So, tell me about this Boone guy.”

We were having breakfast. Wheat cereal for Nathan. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich for me.

“You haven’t seen him in how long?”

I washed down the head rush with a glass of milk. “Told you, seventeen years.”

Nathan licked his finger and flipped to the business section. “And he was your best friend? Why did you guys drift apart like that?”

I set my plate in the sink. Saturdays, Nathan is on dish duty. I was itching to jump in the shower and go for a ride. “I told you, they moved.”

“Right. I get that. But, you never looked him up, or—”

“No.”

Nathan’s expression was somewhere in between befuddled and suspicious. “Strange.”

Some of the world’s most precious treasures have turned to dust at the slightest touch. Sometimes, the past is better left undisturbed.

“So he’s a cop, huh?”

I nodded and headed for the washroom, but Nathan slipped his fingers around my wrist. “He straight?” His fierce gaze punctured my confidence.

“He’s married, Nate, I told you—”

“Well, that means squat.”

“Trust me,” I returned, freeing myself from his clutch. “There isn’t a queer thing about Boone Lund.”

I ran the shower as hot as I could take it and stood under the water with my eyes closed.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Nathan’s voice pulled me out of my reverie.

I should learn to lock the door.

“No,” I lied.

He slid the glass shower door open and stepped into the marble stall.

In some countries, our shower is a hotel.

I turned around.

There it was. His big throbbing morning salute.

His mouth tasted like Scope and newspaper ink. He kissed me on the lips, and then moved down to my neck. He nibbled on my left earlobe for approximately twenty seconds, in which time I heard him panting over the pulsing sound of the water. “Derek, turn around.”

My eyes darted down to his erection. My buttocks instantly cramped up.

No way. Not today.
Nah-huh.

His tongue worked at my sealed lips. “Baby, it’s been so long, I wanna feel you from the inside. I wanna fuck you, Derek. Turn around, come on—”

When Nate begins to talk dirty, I have a tendency to look around for the cameraman.

“No,” I carefully returned, retracting to the corner.

“No? Why?” He moved in closer, and his fingers began to crawl down my stomach. I was about as hard as a steamed zucchini. “What’s wrong?” he asked as he circled his fingers around the obvious problem. “Did you just jerk off?”

I had been in the shower for less than twenty seconds before he came in. I’ve been known to provide myself with phenomenally quick self-gratification, but twenty seconds, that, I’ve never accomplished. “Just tired.”

“Tired?” His fingers grazed my flaccid cock. “Sure?” His voice was thick with need. “I bet I can change your mind before the hot water runs out.”

Maybe.

“Come here.” His hands were hard pressed on my skin. His eyes, veiled with desire. “Blow me, come on, Der.”

I’m the catcher in this relationship. I understand the limitation of this position. I read the fine print when I signed up for it, but lately, I’ve been feeling more and more like a boy blow-up doll.

“Nate—”

“Come on, baby. Look at me, two minutes and I’ll come like—”

“Nathan. No.” I freed myself from his embrace. “I’m not feeling it. Okay?”

His eyes hardened as he yanked my hand down. “At least gimme a hand job—”

I snatched my hand away and shot him a murderous look.

He brusquely reached for the dial and turned the water off. “What the fuck is wrong with you Derek? You’re acting like a wife, you know that? Like I’m supposed to beg for sex? You know how hard I work for you? The shit I put myself through to satisfy your every little selfish need—”

“Na-Nathan, do-do not go there—”

“Yes-yes I will-will,” he mocked.

That line? No, don’t mind it. Go ahead and cross it.

It’s just a little thing called respect.

My mouth popped open, but nothing but a gasp came out. I bolted out of the stall, jerked a towel off the shelf, and slammed the bedroom door behind me. Those years of repressing anything remotely close to an emotional outburst had to serve some kind of purpose. I bit down hard on my lip and clasped my unsteady hands together.

“Der, I’m sorry.” Nathan stood in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist.

The man is absolutely breathtaking. Sexy mouth. Penetrating eyes. Thick dark hair. Not to mention, well hung. But the very idea of sucking him off makes me gag sometimes.

And I’m marrying him?

“I don’t know why you bring the worst out in me.” Nathan drew in a deep breath, and I watched his chest heave up and down. He’s a bit too hairy for my taste, but I don’t mind as much as I thought I would. “Derek, look, I don’t know how to say this without hurting you.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and I braced myself for a confession. “Baby, I think you’re frigid. You know, I’ve been reading up on HSDD and I think you may suffer from this disorder.”

I fell back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Dear Lord, what are you talking about?”

“Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder. It’s fairly rare, but it does occur in some young men, and you have most of the symptoms.”

“Please, I’m dying to know what they are.” My tone was charged with potent sarcasm.

Of course, self-centered people are immune to it.

“For instance, intimacy difficulty, relationship problems, you know, things of that nature.” He cleared his throat. “Lack of sexual appetite is another.”

I chuckled instead of punching him in the nose.

“Don’t laugh, Derek, this is serious stuff.”

I groaned and rubbed my face. “I’m going for a drive.” I sat up and shook my head. “I’m going to stop at the S.A.Q., need anything?” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him folding his arms over his bare chest, shaking his head in utmost disapproval. I ignored him.

Of course he wasn’t satisfied. “I think you should see someone.”

I flinched but kept my cool.

I slowly unfastened the towel around my waist and let it drop to the floor. Naked, I took my sweet time walking to the closet, making sure I was giving him an eyeful of my finest assets. If he was going to try to psychobabble me into sex, then I had every right to torment him.

His stare was hot on my skin. I could feel it roaming over my body. “You’re cold, Der. Real cold. I’d even say you’re a bit of a cocktease.” The hurt in his voice caused my brow to scowl, but I remained immobile, as supple as I could, staring at the contents of our closet.

“Okay,” he said, walking away. “You win. I can’t fight your silence. I can’t get past the walls you’ve built around you.”

I stiffened, holding in my breath and indignation.

I’m cold?

Nathan took a call last night. One that dragged him out of bed, to the terrace, where he stayed for over ten minutes.

I checked his phone this morning, just before he opened his lying eyes.

I dialed the last number. Some guy answered with sleep lingering in his young, crystalline voice.

You know who he sounded like?

Sounded like that bloody bellboy.

*

Dear Bump,

Just finished breakfast. Except it’s the afternoon.

I went to sleep on Tuesday. Today is Thursday. When I woke up, my eyes were stuck together. Like clams. Aunt Frannie smiled. “Welcome back, baby.”

She made me some banana pancakes. I ate five. But they were small.

“How you feelin’, hon?”

I dragged my spoon across the bottom of my plate to catch all the leftover syrup. “Okay.” I shrugged.