The Geek and His Artist (11 page)

Simon looked up, and there was fear in those green eyes. “I… you….” He swallowed and dropped his eyes to Jimmy’s throat.

“What is it, baby?”

Simon frowned. “You… earlier you said you thought stuff like that was… too soon, so… and I kind of, well, I kind of pushed and—”

“Oh, hey, hey, baby….” He tilted Simon’s chin up so their gazes met. “No, no. I am
not
complaining! I don’t think that at all. Hell, I certainly didn’t try to stop you. In fact, I encouraged you,
asked
—well, uh, begged—you to touch me, remember?” He waited until Simon nodded. “And besides… uh… I’m afraid I have to confess that if we hadn’t been in a car like this? I may have, uh, gone even further. Or at least wanted to.” He blushed.

Simon’s eyebrows went up. “Really?”

Jimmy nodded. “Oh yeah. I can’t seem to resist you. You’re gorgeous, you’re hot—no, I was serious about that earlier, I meant it and I still do. You are. And, well—” He shrugged a shoulder and dropped his eyes to Simon’s shirt. “—and you’re
mine
.”

Jimmy looked up when he felt Simon’s fingers on his cheek. “I’m glad. That I’m yours, that is. That you want me to be, and that you’re mine. And you’re gorgeous to me.”

“I’m glad you think so. That you want me to be.” He kissed Simon’s red cheeks. Jimmy fought again against the words that wanted to come out. He simply held Simon for a little longer, enjoying the feel of Simon in his arms.

Too soon, he glanced at the clock on the dash and sighed at the numbers he saw. “Well, we may not have to worry about when you get back tonight, but we do for me. Mom didn’t specify what ‘not too late’ was, but if I show up after midnight, I’m pretty sure she’ll kill me. Or, well, ground me until I forget what it’s like to leave the house.”

Simon chuckled as he nodded, and they wiggled around until they’d straightened their clothes—Jimmy didn’t bother cleaning his chest, he rather wanted to keep Simon’s scent there—and were in their own seats. Jimmy leaned in and kissed Simon again, softly, slowly, trying to show what he was feeling without actually saying the words yet. Finally he retrieved Simon’s coat and his own from the backseat. A few moments later, they were on the road back to Simon’s place.

Outside his apartment building, Jimmy got out with Simon and pulled him in to kiss again. “I’ll miss you until Monday.”

Simon smiled. “I’ll miss you. I have something good to think about until then, though.”

Jimmy grinned. “Oh yeah, me too.” He kissed Simon once more. “Good night, baby. See you Monday.”

“Night.” Simon stood up on his toes, kissed Jimmy lightly, then took off up the block. Jimmy watched until Simon was inside, then got back in the car and drove home.

Monday would take
forever
to get there.

S
IMON
STEPPED
into the apartment building, then waited in the entryway and watched Jimmy drive away. Once he lost sight of the car, he turned to head to the apartment, grin still stretched across his face.

What an amazing evening!

He’d managed to do something
normal
for once in his life. He went on a date and made out with his boyfriend, among other things—the memory of which made his cock twitch and his face burn. He’d barely thought of The Bastard at all, once they’d set aside the uncomfortable conversation earlier in the evening. He hadn’t felt safe like that in a
really
long time.

Safe
. Jimmy made him feel safe, made him feel like he could be visible, like he didn’t have to hide. He couldn’t remember the last time
that
had happened. He knew it was long before his mother died, but he couldn’t pinpoint when.

He itched for his sketchpad. He knew he wouldn’t get to sleep yet; his mind buzzed with too many amazing thoughts. And he suspected he’d make use of his lotion at least once before bed. But first he needed to get down on paper some of the images swimming around in his head.

He crept up to the door and paused outside it. Despite the incredible evening, he hadn’t forgotten to check. But when he listened hard to the inside of the apartment and didn’t hear anything, he let out his held breath and quietly pushed the key into the lock. Old habits kept him as silent as ever, though he was still pretty sure The Bastard was at the bar. After easing the door open and slipping through, he focused on closing it quickly, intent on getting to his room so that if The Bastard happened to come back within the next few minutes, it would look like Simon had been there all night.

Except he didn’t make it more than a foot away from the door. Before he turned, the heavy steel toe of a boot hit his back, hard. He bit back the cry, spinning to see The Bastard still in his recliner.

“Didn’t think I’d be home, did ya?”

Fuck! What was he doing here? And awake, at that?
Simon’s thoughts must have been visible despite the still-dark room. “Uh….”

The Bastard gave a smile that sent a chill down Simon’s spine, right past the spot that was already starting to bruise, Simon was sure. “Lucky for me, I guess, that I forgot my wallet. Larry bought my first round, but I couldn’t let him buy all of ’em. Got his kids to look after.”

Simon didn’t like how calm The Bastard was. That never boded well. He also knew better than to answer. He flicked his gaze to the other boot, still sitting in The Bastard’s lap, then back up to the sneer.

“So, were you out getting some girl pregnant? Getting into other trouble? All you’re good for.”

If he only knew….
Simon had never felt the need to let The Bastard in on his sexuality, and now he was grateful for that foresight. He wasn’t about to correct The Bastard either. He’d learned long ago that not speaking in these situations was usually the best. Simon simply stood still, waiting, hands fisted at his sides.

The Bastard stood from his spot on the recliner, holding the boot. Simon fought hard to keep his face impassive, to hide the fear he knew would only fuel The Bastard’s anger. He swallowed hard, glancing toward the bedrooms. If he could get away….

T
HE
BOOT
hit him in the shoulder, and Simon cried out, despite his best efforts. He ran toward the bedrooms, but The Bastard was faster. The stone ashtray hit him next, knocking him into the wall. Another cry escaped as he pushed himself up and turned. Before he could get another step, the heavy wooden mop handle came down on his shoulder, and he cringed. He tried to get away before it hit again, but he wasn’t fast enough. Across his back once, twice, a third time, down by his waist, then back up near his shoulder again.

Simon ran for his bedroom once more, but when he went through the door, he found himself in the kitchen. His mother stood at the counter, cutting potatoes, and Simon tried to shout at her to get out. She didn’t hear him, however, simply kept cutting the potatoes. It didn’t make sense. He shouldn’t be in that room yet. His memories of this part of the night were still fuzzy, but he remembered that much. Confused, he looked through the doorway to see The Bastard stalking toward the kitchen, face red and contorted in rage, holding a knife.

Simon spun to his mother, and now she was turned toward him and smiling sadly. He opened his mouth to speak, but felt the hit to the side of his head. Pain exploded in his face as he fell sideways, smacking into something. The now-familiar sharp stab in his ear came next.

Simon’s eyes flew open, and he stared at the ceiling as he struggled to drag himself out of the nightmare and back into reality, though reality wasn’t much better. He sat up slowly, careful of the new bruises on his ribs, shoulder, and back. He propped his elbows on his knees, dropped his face in his hands, and thought for probably the millionth time in his life that he’d give just about anything for those nightmares to stop. But he hadn’t yet come up with a way to make them go away.

He glanced over to the bedside table and saw the picture Jimmy had given him their first week together sitting on top. He couldn’t see the image itself, but he didn’t need to. The vision of Jimmy’s smiling face was burned onto his brain.

Reality
was
better. He had to remember that. He stood, shuffled to the door, and opened it silently. He peered into the hall and listened hard, turning his head so his right ear was pointed out of his room. When he heard snores from the neighboring bedroom, he crept down the hall and into the bathroom.

He splashed his face with cold water. After drying it, he considered his reflection. The shaved side of his head was growing in, the rest of his blond hair reaching past his ear and chin. His bright green eyes had dark circles under them, which weren’t likely to go away anytime soon.

You don’t
ever
have to go back.

Jimmy’s words had been playing over and over in Simon’s head since he’d finally escaped to his room Saturday night. His hands had been shaking too much to draw—not that he could have lifted his arms much either. Instead, he’d curled into a ball in the opposite corner from the door, hating that he didn’t have a real closet, and waited until The Bastard stopped pounding on the door. When he’d given up, Simon crawled into bed. It’d taken a
long
time to find a comfortable way to lie, but he’d managed it.

He hadn’t left his room except for a run to the bathroom since.

Simon sighed and washed his face again, then went back to his bedroom, closed the door as silently as possible, and locked it. When he was semicomfortable, he stared at the ceiling. He knew Jimmy was going to be
very
unhappy tomorrow morning when he discovered the bruises because Simon wouldn’t be able to keep them from him. Jimmy had heard The Bastard shout, but Simon didn’t know how much else Jimmy really knew, so he wished he could keep the bruises hidden. But the second Jimmy touched him, he’d wince and give it away.

He rolled carefully to his side, putting his back to the wall. He tried to just blank his mind and go back to sleep—school was going to suck as it was—but the more those words repeated, the more other thoughts tried to crowd in. The memories of being returned after running away, of the last time he’d seen his mother, of all the times he’d felt those steel-toed monstrosities dig into his back or some other part of his body.

It took an eternity for the thoughts to fade.

S
IMON
HAD
never told any of his friends exactly what went on at home. Kip had seen a few bruises but hadn’t challenged Simon’s excuses for them. But he’d never had to walk quite this stiffly before. He wasn’t even on his skateboard up to the door as he usually was. It was tucked carefully under one arm, and his backpack hung from the other hand.

As he approached the door, he was grateful when the guy in front of him pushed it far enough that he only had to catch it with his—thankfully unbruised—elbow. The kid behind him grabbed the door right after, and Simon smiled at the obvious freshman—obvious because he was ridiculously small—
Did they get smaller every year?
—as he hurried past.

Simon found Kip, Tony, and Deck standing in the corner near the lockers. He dropped his backpack and set his skateboard carefully next it. Deck was half-asleep standing, his head leaning against the locker. Tony had his eyes glued to his cell phone. Kip was the only one looking up when Simon got there.

He flicked his gaze over Simon’s body, undoubtedly taking in the careful way Simon moved, and then he met Simon’s gaze. After a moment’s hesitation, Kip grinned. “Stay up jacking off too much last night? That why you’re late?”

Simon snorted, burying the gratitude. “Puh-lease. I don’t need to jack off anymore,” he said before he thought about it. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he blushed bright red, wishing he could pull them back.

The color got even redder when Deck whooped. Simon glared at him, but Deck just grinned even wider. “Fuck yeah!” He held out a fist, and Simon glared harder but gave in and bumped it, rolling his eyes.

“Damn, I can’t believe you beat
me
to getting laid,” Tony said, and Simon groaned,
really
wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. “I think I’m jealous.”

“Nothing to be jealous of, dude,” Deck said. “It’s ’cause he’s gay. Have you met a guy yet who’d turn down sex?”

“Point,” Tony allowed.

Simon figured his face was going to set off the fire alarms soon. He was also a little annoyed at the assumptions. “I didn’t get laid… exactly,” he muttered.

Tony and Deck both raised their eyebrows.

“Oh? What
did
you do? Blow jobs count, dude,” Deck said, snickering.

Simon wanted to tell them to shut up. He really didn’t want to talk about what he’d done with Jimmy. He did kind of want to brag a little, but it felt wrong to him, somehow. Jimmy was the one thing that was really good in his life, and he didn’t want to screw it up. Before he could find a way to tell his friends to fuck off—without alienating them—he was rescued.

“Good morning, baby,” Jimmy murmured in Simon’s right ear, kissing his cheek.

Simon beamed up at him—until Jimmy put an arm around him and one hand landed on his bruised shoulder. Simon winced. His gaze darted toward his friends, hoping they hadn’t seen it—which was, apparently, the exact wrong thing to do with Jimmy there.

Jimmy’s face registered hurt, and he dropped his hand and stepped back. “Sorry, uh—”

Simon panicked a little but managed to keep his head. “Bad timing last week. I never got a chance to introduce you,” he said, grabbing Jimmy’s hand and pulling until Jimmy was close again. He tucked Jimmy’s arm—carefully—around him until it was resting on an unbruised spot. “Jimmy, these are my friends: Kip with the purple-and-blue spikes, Tony with the ridiculous mohawk—” Tony flipped him off. “—and that’s Deck with the bald head. Guys, this is my boyfriend, Jimmy.” Simon turned a smile up at Jimmy that widened at Jimmy’s relief and return smile.