The Invasion of Adam (Tork and Adam Book 2) (4 page)

“Model? There is more than one kind?”

Adam sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes I really don’t know if you’re shitting me.”

“No, and this is how I like it,” Tork said, putting the kettle on. He handed over his phone, watching Adam’s hands skim the plastic. The phone was nasty and ugly, bought from a secondhand shop, with Tork’s own money. It worked, and that was good enough, but Tork could not control the smirk at Adam’s reaction.

His handsome face began to screw up—blonde brows forming a V and his lips making a side grimace that Tork secretly called ‘The Titanic’, because once it started, there was usually no going back.

Adam huffed and puffed for at least thirty seconds, and Tork admired his inner battle. Adam used to have no control, but he was learning fast.

A sharp gust of breath left Adam, and one eyebrow raised. This was a good sign.

“It’s beautiful,” Adam said loudly, and beamed at Tork, the glint of a challenge in his eye.

He was a top student!

“Don’t suppose you fancy doing the art class, do you, son? Jenny called in to say one of her kids is sick, so she can’t do it. I know you’ve already done way more than your hours again this week, but there’s no one else to ask.”

Adam’s heart sank. He actually felt it slipping through his veins, on the way down to deep despondency. He stared at Mike in dismay. “Art class? You mean that thing where they paint pictures of matchstick people and talk about how shit their lives are?”

“That’s the one—the art enrichment class. It’s just two hours. I’d do it myself, but I have Tork coming by for his catch up. Suppose he’d see you teaching that class as he comes past the activities corridor, though. Very impressive, you’d look.”

Adam glared at Mike. “Oh, go on then. But if they throw paint at me, I’m out of there, Mike.”

“Why would they do that? You already look colourful enough, to me. Maybe you can get them to draw you?”

“You think so?”

“Why not? And how’s Tork doing? His worker at Citywise says he’s very helpful but doesn’t come out much.”

Adam thought. How was Tork, really? “He’s applying for college. That’s gotta be a good sign, right? Emailed the form off Friday. So, what’s he coming here for?”

Mike ignored the question. “College? Well that is a big step. See the good influence you have on him? A boy as clever as him should be in education.”

The minute Mike went, Adam rushed over to the files and looked for Tork’s. Spying on your boyfriend was not good, but still… His heart sped up then stopped as he saw there were a few new sheets since the last time he’d snooped around in here. He began to read.

It was mostly about Tork’s past. “Shit,” Adam hissed under his breath, trying to skim read as well as keep an eye on the door. Mostly a load of boring shit about mental health deterioration and lack of support, but the last section actually made him choke.

Tork had a dad!

* * *

Getting on the tram was OK that day. There were still plenty of seats, and even though they were facing other passengers, Tork knew by now that no one would bother him here. Kevin had accompanied him to town a few times, so he knew it was safe.

His favourite position was looking out the window, watching the houses slipping by like patchwork quilts. He knew all these streets from the years when walking about was the focus of his day, but somehow now it seemed like they were different.

He stood up to let other passengers sit down and hoped Adam would still be at the shelter. That Adam was still interested in him was difficult to accept, but Tork had read enough books to know that attraction was a strong physical force not easy to deny. And he certainly didn’t want to.

He got off the tram at the stop near the shelter and hurried to the bike shed to see if Adam had left his bike…and there it was. Both tyres were almost flat; the brakes didn’t work. As he peered closer, he saw Adam had drawn a picture of a penis on the saddle.

But it didn’t take Tork long to fix it so at least it would be safe. He’d offered many times to show Adam how to take care of it himself, but all Adam would say is that he’d just buy a new bike when this one finally broke.

As he left the bike, Tork hung an origami turtle around the handlebars and grinned. Adam was far too cool to pedal very hard, so his pace was incredibly slow.

From across the street, Tork could see that the shelter appeared to be quiet today. Too often it was full of angry drunken people, and fights broke out, with Mike trying to calm things before the police intervened. On those days, Tork had to just walk away and find somewhere quiet to hide until the shaking stopped.

One day, he hoped to repay Mike and this place for giving him help last year, when his resolve began to crack and the ache of loneliness dragged him to his knees. This was where he first met Adam, doing work experience as part of his college course, and even though the shelter had all the smells of desperation, Tork had lots of memories here that made him smile.

But not as much as the sight that befell him as he walked past the activities room.

He was not one to stare, but now he openly gawked. Adam was lying on a table on a great sheet of paper, while the artists painted around him, creating a colourful silhouette. Tork stepped closer, grinning like a child. He could just hear Adam through the closed doors.

“Just be careful, yeah? These jeans cost me more than you’ll see this month. No offence.”

“What, more than ten pounds? You were robbed, mate,” one of the guys said, making them all laugh.

“What shade is your hair, Adam?” a lady asked, actually running her hand through Adam’s expensive layers.

Tork had to step away from the door—and Adam’s indignant shriek—to prevent the guffaw that was building.

Mike was waiting for him with a cup of tea, as always.

“There you are, son. Come along in and have a seat. Did you see Ken in the art room on your way in?”

Ken was Adam’s nickname here, after one of the guys had called him Barbie, and Adam had replied, ‘Ken, if you don’t mind. He has a much bigger wardrobe than Barbie.’

Tork smiled at Mike and made himself comfortable. “I saw him. He has them drawing his outline, like an emperor having a portrait made. I walked away just as one of the women started pawing his hair.”

“Oh, he’ll not like that,” Mike said, and they laughed together before Mike got down to business. “Right where are we at, Tork? Adam tells me you’re applying to college?”

“I sent in the form just before the deadline, but I don’t know if I will be able to handle it, Mike. I would love to go, of course I would, but there are so many things to get used to again. Colleges are full of smart, confident young people. Adam keeps trying to get me to go with him, to show me where he studies, but I just can’t.”

Mike nodded sympathetically. “You’re seeing the counsellor, though?”

“Yes, every Tuesday.”

“Is it helping, lad?”

“I—I think so. I don’t know. Every Monday, I start thinking about it, and by Tuesday I decide I will not go. But, I always do.”

“Oh, I expect it takes a while. You were on your own a long time out there. Anyone who’s been on the streets knows what happens to a person, what it takes from you. I remember looking at all the houses and thinking of them having dinner and talking. And you think you’ll always be that bloke looking in the window.”

Once, Mike had told him that he was homeless too, a long time ago. The truth of his words made Tork wince.

“Yes. I think I am better around people. As long as there is not a crowd. I might never be ready for that.”

Mike nodded again and sipped his tea, waiting. Tork knew he would not push, but he had already discussed this with his therapist, so he went ahead, despite the gnarls in his stomach.

“But I was not always like this. Did—did you find out anything, Mike?”

“I did. Let me just get your file, and I’ll tell you. I usually have to go to the Salvation Army to track down missing relatives, but this time it wasn’t necessary.”

As Tork waited, the chances of him fleeing before he had to find out got greater by the minute. The truth was, he missed the focus of the rules he had given himself to live by when he was homeless. Instinctively, his nails found the soft palms of his hands and began to dig.

Every day he cut his nails, chopping off any chances of slipping back into self-harming. He could not control the galloping anxiety every time he left Citywise, but he did what he could.

“Here we are. Looks like he moved house, but he was easy to find anyway.” Mike opened the file, his bushy white eyebrows scrunching as he read.

“Wait. I—I don’t know if I can,” Tork whispered, wanting to know everything and nothing.

“OK, son, stay calm. Why don’t we just have another cup of tea, and you can tell me about the course you want to study? You put the kettle on, and I’ll see if Adam wants to join us, eh? And don’t worry—getting in touch with relatives is never easy for anyone. Just because I have some information doesn’t mean you have to do anything about it.”

Mike was right. Tork gratefully stood and filled the kettle, glad to have something to do. He could hear Adam’s animated voice getting louder.

“Did you see it, Mike? I didn’t know they were so good.”

“I saw it, son. There’re some real artists amongst them, yes. Sit down and have a cuppa with me and Tork. You can tell us all about it. Again.”

Adam launched himself into the room. He was flushed and rumpled, with flecks of paint all down one side of his face and clothes.

“Hey,” he said cheerfully to Tork, who held out the cup, not knowing if he was allowed to smile. They hadn’t been together yet in public, and he never knew with Adam what might cramp his style.

Adam’s fingers brushed his as he took the cup, making the hairs at the back of Tork’s neck prickle. “Good morning, Adam. I saw you had the art class in the palm of your hand. Very innovative.”

“You think so?” Adam’s face lit up. “At first I was like, no way am I getting on the table! But then, I thought how cool to have my silhouette up on a wall somewhere so people can look at me forever. My gift to the shelter.”

A lot of the time, Tork could not tell if Adam was joking. Surely no one could be that vain.

“Lucky us,” Mike chuckled, winking at Tork.

“So, what’s occurring?” Adam asked, peering at Tork’s file. “Hey! How come that says ‘Adam keep your nosy self out’ on the front?”

Mike swiftly pulled the papers away and glared.

“That’s confidential, Adam. Tork hasn’t said if he wants you to be here. I just asked you in for a cup of tea.”

“It’s OK, Mike. Adam can stay if he wants to,” Tork said quickly, seeing Adam’s hurt face. “Mike is helping me find my father. I haven’t seen him in a few years. I don’t know if I want to, but I wondered if he is still…alive.” They sounded such basic, flat words to him. Nothing changed in the room. The sounds of the shelter and the world went on, but as Tork spoke, an eruption began to happen in his body.

Such basic, flat words, not enough to contain a volcano.

All of a sudden, he felt like Adam and Mike were staring at him, seeing what had happened when all of Tork’s life started to go wrong. He saw all those letters piling up and heard the cruel words resounding around the walls.

“Son?” Mike said softly. “Why don’t you sit down?”

Adam looked at him, terrified, and Tork was once again sucked into that giant tube where there was no air and no help and no way out…
no touching…no looking…don’t look at me…

He watched himself flee the room, but there was no sound except the fuzzing in his head.

* * *

little snow crocus

tender yet bold, blossoms and

lures the toiling bee

Layla

* * *

He tried to convince himself that what he wanted to do was get drunk with his old mates and eat pizza, then fuck someone—one of the eager guys who kept texting him—and tell them not to hit their arse on the door as he threw them out after.

But his old mates didn’t seem such fun anymore. They hadn’t for a while. That whole world seemed less real to him now than the shelter.

Than Tork.

What he wanted most was to not have two worlds so far apart he felt himself being stretched just to touch them both. There were days he dreamed about Tork visiting him in his college room, coming to the bar, but that was just a stupid dream.

And here he was, standing on the tram to Shitsville again, being crowded by a horde of people.

Every time the tram stopped, a wave of them pushed him further against the wall, compounding his bad temper.

“Watch where you’re pushing,” he mumbled miserably at a kid who stuck her tongue out.

He was coming to check on Tork—Mike’s orders. Of course the phone was switched off, and Citywise still hadn’t seen him, six hours after his hissy fit. Mike was looking around the town centre and libraries, but Adam knew where he’d probably be. He’d known all along, but truthfully he didn’t know if he wanted to find him.

The tram stopped right in the middle of high-rise hell, and Adam slouched off moodily. He fucking hated that he was here, doing this. It smacked him in the mouth, reminding him that Tork was not ever going to be his. Adam did not belong here, and Tork did not belong in Adam’s world.

And what do I say to Tork if I find him?

Adam was hands down fuckshit at talking to boyfriends. Just couldn’t do it. He could talk about benefit claims and blankets at the shelter until he went blue…he could look gorgeous and make every guy—straight and gay—want him. That was easy. But as soon as guys started with the whinging and the
feelings,
he was off.

Except with Tork, he wasn’t. Not so far. With Tork, Adam ached for the feelz. He wanted to hear them…breathe them…touch them.

“Jeez,” he muttered in disgust, trying to find the right turning. He’d only been a few times before, right after Tork first moved into Citywise. Adam couldn’t be around him enough back then, wanted to spend every minute being near, but Mike told him he had to go slow with his visits, give Tork time.