The Geek and His Artist (6 page)

Simon laughed, despite his nervousness. “Okay, hello, Mom.” The second time seemed easier.

Her smile widened. “Better. Now, where do you live?”

Simon gave her directions after buckling his seatbelt. Jimmy kept up a stream of chatter to his mom, mostly about their tutoring, leaving Simon to listen. He didn’t mind one bit. He liked not having to come up with something to say and much preferred listening to Jimmy’s voice.

They got to the apartment building much too soon. “Thank you for the ride.”

“I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow, right? And hopefully for tutoring,” Jimmy said once he’d climbed out of the backseat.

Simon smiled. He doubted he’d manage to get away for tutoring again, after being so late, but he didn’t want to say that. He didn’t really want to disappoint Jimmy again. He’d have to face it tomorrow at lunch, but not just yet. “I’ll be there at lunch, for sure.” He waved at Jimmy and threw another wave to Jimmy’s mom, then hurried into the building.

He took a deep breath, braced himself the best he could, and stepped into the apartment.

“It’s about time your sorry ass showed up!” The Bastard shouted in greeting. “Where the fuck were you? Out getting arrested? Not good for much else, are you?”

Simon valiantly fought to keep the words from bothering him. It was certainly nothing new. “I was at school, studying.” Simon made a point of keeping his voice low, knowing it only pissed the man off worse, but refusing to add to the volume and noise.

“Studying? What do you bother studying for? It’s not like you’ll amount to anything! Useless, just like your mother was.”

Simon never could figure out why The Bastard felt the need to yell everything. Simon winced when he noticed the window was open. He didn’t need to ask why—alcohol warped The Bastard’s sense of temperature—but the entire neighborhood could hear the crap he was spewing. Not that anyone ever did or said anything, but Simon certainly saw the looks when the neighbors were outside.

Simon sighed, refusing to be baited. He turned toward the kitchen, but before he made it across the living room, a boot flew at him. He ducked, letting the steel-toed monstrosity hit the wall instead.

He should have let it hit him. He
knew
ducking only pissed The Bastard off more. The other boot was in his hand a few seconds later, and Simon debated if there was enough time to make it to his bedroom.

“Duck me, will you, you little fucking bastard?” he shouted. “You’ll stand there and take your punishment! And don’t bother going to the kitchen. I already ate, and you’re certainly not getting anything this late!” He pulled his arm back and was about to release the second boot when there was a knock at the door.

Both Simon and The Bastard turned and stared at it, frozen. No one ever came to the door unless it was a pizza delivery guy or something. The neighbors had long since learned to ignore any noise they heard.

The Bastard growled low in his throat, and that broke the hold on Simon. He hurried across the room and pulled open the door without looking in The Bastard’s direction. His mouth dropped open and his face turned bright red when he saw Jimmy on the other side.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” Jimmy said too loudly, and Simon knew he was making sure he was able to be heard in the apartment. “We got our books switched at the tutoring center. And I wanted to thank you again for your help. I’m sure I’ll handle the test
much
better now.”

Simon blinked at him, briefly confused.
He
hadn’t helped Jimmy. When the meaning hit, his eyes widened, caught between humiliation and gratitude. Jimmy had obviously heard what had happened. “Um… let… let me get your book.” He turned, ignoring The Bastard, and snatched up his backpack. He opened it, dug through for a book the same size as the one Jimmy held, and finally pulled out his English book. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Jimmy took the book and opened it. “Make sure that’s yours?”

Simon raised an eyebrow but opened the cover. A handwritten note had been tucked inside.
I’m sorry he’s such a bastard. Mom says you don’t have to put up with that and can come with us, if you want to.

Simon blinked at the words for a moment in shock, then looked up a Jimmy with no idea what to say. What
could
he say, much less should? He didn’t think he could leave. He still had nightmares of the one time he’d tried to run away, when he’d been dragged back by the police, his father sweet as could be to social services. But when they’d left, he’d made sure Simon hadn’t been tempted ever again.

Of course, that had been four years ago, not long after his mother had died. He’d been smaller then, and not nearly as close to eighteen as he was now. Not nearly as strong, but still. The Bastard had plenty of ways to make Simon regret it, and Simon knew the man would come after him. And Simon didn’t want to face another night like that.

“It’s mine. Uh… I’ll talk to you about it at lunch?” He couldn’t bring himself to say anything else, not in front of The Bastard.

Jimmy frowned, looking distinctly unhappy. “Flip the page? Someone wrote in the book, it seems.”

Simon looked back at the book but turned the note over as asked.
I’d like it if you did, too.
Simon’s heart thudded hard at those words, and he swallowed around a suddenly very dry throat as he tried to think of what to say. His mind stayed blank, though, and he couldn’t seem to think of anything.

Simon knew he had about one more minute before The Bastard did something, witness or not. “Really. I’ll, uh, see you at lunch, for sure. We can study more then, but I
have
to go now.” He looked at Jimmy, hoping the expression on his face, the look in his eyes, would say enough.

Jimmy nodded slowly. “Okay. I
will
see you tomorrow.” He smiled and lifted his hand like he wanted to touch, but glanced over Simon’s shoulder and let it drop. “Night.”

“Night. Thanks.” Simon closed the door and took a deep breath before turning around.

“
You
were helping that fag?” The Bastard asked, disbelief dripping from his voice.

Simon sighed, having no idea why The Bastard would assume Jimmy was gay. “Yeah, I was,” Simon said, choosing to ignore the insult. “And now I have my own homework to do.”

It seemed the interruption had been enough to take the steam out of The Bastard. He threw the boot in his hand toward the door—just past Simon, but obviously missing him—and stomped back to his recliner. Simon, not wishing to risk The Bastard changing his mind, snatched up his backpack again.

“Don’t even think about sneaking into the kitchen,” The Bastard warned.

Simon didn’t answer, instead he hurried into his room, closing and locking the door behind him.

He sat on his bed for a long time, staring at the note. What he’d gotten from The Bastard when he’d been brought home after running away…. He tried to fight the memories, annoyed to no end that they wanted to surface. He set the note down and dropped his face into his hands, desperate to keep the images away. But they didn’t want to stay away. And before he could even brace himself, they hit, just like the fists and the belt, just like the yardstick and the steel-toed boots had. The Bastard had unleashed a fury unlike Simon had ever seen. He remembered a punch to the stomach that had him throwing up, which only seemed to enrage The Bastard further.

And between each hit, he’d spewed venom, making sure Simon knew if he tried to run again, he’d get the same exact thing next time. That he’d never go back to school or see his friends again. That if Simon ever tried to run away again, he’d let child services have him next time, then proceeded to tell him, in great detail, how much worse it would be and the things they’d do to him, including all the different kinds of sexual abuse he’d be subjected to.

Simon had been kept home from school for a week and a half over it. The Bastard had manufactured a doctor’s note about mono or something, and the school had accepted it. Simon had been grateful, scared shitless that if the school questioned it or called social services, he’d end up right in the kind of group home or foster care The Bastard had told him about. But no one had shown up, and once the bruises had faded, Simon had gone back to class.

And he’d never tried to run away again.

He didn’t understand why The Bastard kept him around, unless it was for the extra food stamps and tax write-off. He’d read in his psychology class that abusers often did it to build themselves up, to feel superior to someone, but Simon wasn’t sure he completely understood it nor was he sure it applied to The Bastard. For whatever reason, he wanted Simon there. Well, that wouldn’t last past June, one way or the other.

In the meantime, did he dare try again? He hadn’t had any place to go last time, had instead tried to live on the street for the few days he’d managed. But could he trust what Jimmy said? Did he have a place to go now?

And what if The Bastard came after him again, only this time found out Jimmy was helping him? Would Jimmy and his parents get in trouble? Would The Bastard do something to them? Simon couldn’t stand the thought of them getting hurt over him.

Could he trust himself around Jimmy? He still wasn’t positive Jimmy wasn’t straight. He didn’t
think
so, after all the touching during tutoring and Kip’s insistence, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was gay, and it
certainly
didn’t guarantee Jimmy wanted him. Then again, maybe Jimmy wanting him wasn’t necessarily the best thing if they were that close together.

Simon sighed and closed his eyes, more confused than he’d ever been in his life.

J
IMMY
LEANED
back against the wall near the front entrance of the school, eyes glued to the main doors. He was probably being silly—had probably missed his artist, anyway—but he couldn’t help it. He’d barely slept the night before because he was worried about Simon and what might have happened after he and his mother had left. And because he’d gotten to spend two amazing hours with his artist.

He knew Simon’s name. He’d
touched
Simon. And he was finally ready to admit it was likely that Simon was at least bi, if not gay. And possibly even interested in him.

Half the night had been spent trying to ignore his dick, which had been singularly uncooperative. He’d been trying to put it off, more worried than horny, but finally gave in around 2:00 a.m. with a new set of fantasies, all of which involved being able to call Simon’s name at the right time.

“Dude, give it up. Let’s go. Fuck’s sake, you’ll see him at lunch.”

Jimmy tried to ignore Ronnie’s irritated grumblings. He checked his watch instead and saw he had a good ten minutes before the first bell rang. “Go. No one’s making you stay here.” Jimmy tore his gaze away from the door to look at Ronnie.

Ronnie snickered. “As if. And miss the chance to see your crush? Talk to him?”

Jimmy glowered, ignoring the “crush” comment. “I swear, if you say
anything
other than, ‘My name is Ronnie, it’s nice to meet you,’ I will shove your head so far up your ass, you’ll never see the light of day again.”

“He’d enjoy that,” Sean quipped, and Jimmy, despite himself, laughed.

“Fuck you, man,” Ronnie said, without heat.

“We’ve had this discussion.” Jimmy turned back to watch the door, and just as he looked up, the unmistakable blond hair and blue flannel appeared. He couldn’t have kept the smile off his face for all the money in the world. He straightened, leaving Ronnie and Sean to follow or not, as they wished.

He stopped in front of Simon and looked at his artist’s face critically. Simon had obviously not slept much better than he had. Jimmy shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from touching Simon. He didn’t know how that would be taken. “Hi.”

Simon smiled, though it seemed a bit weak. “Hi. Uh… I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

Jimmy shrugged a shoulder, knowing his cheeks were coloring. “I….” He cleared his throat and decided to go for it. If Simon didn’t want it, well, he’d try not to die of embarrassment and humiliation. “I didn’t want to wait to see you.” He
did
keep his voice down. He was not interested in giving Ronnie more fuel than necessary.

Simon’s smile strengthened and widened. “I… that’s… thanks.” His cheeks turned a bit red, and Jimmy’s smile got bigger.

He threw a glare at his friends and decided to get that part over with. “Simon, this is my asshole best friend, Ronnie, and my other best friend who isn’t quite as much of an asshole, Sean.”

Sean laughed and Ronnie scowled, though Jimmy knew he wasn’t really pissed.

“I’m Ronnie, it’s nice to meet you.” He threw a cheesy grin at Jimmy, who laughed.

Sean waved. “He’s not allowed to say any more or he’ll be cosplaying as a donut.”

Simon blinked, but Jimmy just shook his head. “Ignore them. They’re full of shit. Most of the time, anyway.”

“Mine are too. I get it.” Simon chuckled.

“Come on, Ronnie, we can give him shit later. Let’s go.”

“But—”

Jimmy threw Ronnie a glare, and Ronnie put up his hands. “Fine! I’m not interested in a bowel examination the hard way. Later, Simon.” And he and Sean took off.

“I….”

“Don’t try to figure them out. I’ve been friends with them since elementary school. Sean’s not as bad as Ronnie, but they’re both idiots sometimes. So, uh….” He paused and frowned. “How’d it go last night, after I left?”

Simon appeared to weigh his answer carefully, then shrugged one shoulder in a too-casual movement. “Fine. I went to my room and he left me alone.”

Jimmy nodded. “Well, that’s something.” Awkward silence leaked in.
Be a fucking man! Just say it, already!
“So, I, uh….” He blew out a breath and scratched the back of his head, knowing his face had to be bright red. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself. He took a deep breath, dug deep for some kind of nerve, and finally spit it out. “I’ve, uh, never done this before. I like you. There. I said it.” God, he felt like he as about twelve instead of the grown man he was. “I, uh, can guess that actual ‘dating’ probably isn’t much of an option for you, but, uh… I’d like to. Date you, that is. If, uh, if I haven’t read you wrong and you’re not trying to figure out how to tell me you’re straight and I need to take a long walk off a short pier.” He closed his mouth with an audible snap when he realized just how badly he was babbling.