Destiny - a novel - 2. Chapter 2: Struggle

Chapter 2: Struggle

Normally I'd eat several slices of pizza, no problem, but tonight it just won't sit right on my stomach.

Jack is in the shower, and his mom is doing something with a leafy green vegetable for her son's pre-treatment breakfast. I'm lugging our bags upstairs to Jack's new room, and I'm trying not to bang the walls… Mrs. Shaw has been really nice and welcoming to me…so, it's the least I can do.

At the top of the landing, I glance around and notice the door to the bathroom is partially open. The lights and fan are on, the shower is running and the tiled walls look clean and fresh. Leave it to my boy not to close the door fully: classic Jack.

Drifting past it, an opening to a bedroom reveals a pink and white four-poster bed. 'Christie's room,' I think.

Right next to it is a second door, almost fully open, from which light spills out, as do male and female voices in conversation. Funny thought, but those two had barely spoken a pair of words to me all through dinner, and then disappeared right after it to 'finish up.'

I knock roughly, using my knuckles to also push the door wide enough for me to twist and maneuver our bags through the portal.

The atmosphere is like I just brought the Black Death into the room with me. The effervescent chatter instantly dries up and four unwelcoming eyes microscope me.

Christie is sitting at the desk, arranging some gamer figurines – which I figure must clearly be Jack's.

I spy some clear floor space over by the closet and go there to set our bags down.

Her brother is standing barefoot on the bed tacking up a poster – a One Direction poster – which I feel certain belongs to Jack!

"Hey man," I say good-naturedly. "Thanks for giving up your room."

Hamish presses in the last thumbtack on the bottom right and turns around. "So, who are you, anyway?" His hands go briefly to his waist before he steps down from the bed.

I glance to my right and see Christie stand.

"Um, Jack and I, met out there – "

Hamish cuts me off, reassuming his aggressive akimbo posture. "What'd Jack have to do to survive out there in L.A.?"

"Um, you'll probably have to ask him that yourself – "

"Come on, dude," Christie interrupts. "We're not naïve. We figure that's how you two met. Right?"

"You wouldn't be wrong," I say feeling myself become a little defensive.

Hamish grimaces, puts his hands down and strides right up to my face. "So, what – you two a couple, or something?"

I say as plainly as I can, "Yes. We are."

I'm distracted from Hamish's glare by a dismissive squeal coming from behind me. "But dude! How old are you?!"

Glancing at Jack's sister, I tell her, "I'm eighteen."

"He's fifteen, you know," Christie chirps.

"Yes, I know his real age."

Christie's glare slips off of mine and back onto her brother.

His sneer becomes ear-to-ear. "Feel like a pervert yet?"

My anger rises in me like a blushing tremor. I feel my hands clench and muscles stiffen.

Just then there is a light rap on the door. Mrs. S. saunters in as if on a Sunday stroll through the mall. Two bath towels are neatly folded and piled on her outstretched arms. She actually walks right between me and Hamish, heading for the bed.

"Well, here we all are." A weak smile licks one corner of her mouth.

"Mom," Christie asks with coldness. "Do you know they're boyfriends?"

"Yes, dear. I do." Her grin fades.

"And you let that happen?" Hamish intones a bit of roughness, but seems to instantly regret it.

"Let, Hamish? I do not have a say about the endless stream of girls you date, I do not have the power to dictate whom you wish to go out with, nor do I with Christie, so why so with Jack?"

There is silence.

"Look," she continues. "With what I know of Lincoln, he's a wonderful young man, and from what I've seen of them together, I can surmise that Jack is a much stronger person because of Mr. Oliver. As for your girlfriend, Hamish, I wish you'd settle on one and give her a chance, but that's not up to me, is it?"

"Mom…"

Mrs. Shaw ignores her son's hurt and pleading tone. Instead she singsongs to me, "I've brought towels for you, Lincoln. Do you need pajamas? A glass of water?"

Christie sounds amazed: "You're not letting him sleep here, are you?!"

"You're letting them sleep together?" Hamish repeats gratuitously. "Health reasons, my ass! Is this the real reason I'm moving into the smaller basement room, so they can be together?!"

Their mother inhales deeply and latches onto my lower arm. "They are committed to one another and deeply in love. Under those circumstances – "

"BUT! – " Hamish stammers loudly.

"But," Mrs. Shaw cuts him off coolly. "If and when the two of you bring home partners with the same level of devotion and support for one another…" she divides looks between her children "…then we will discuss your sleeping arrangements. As for now, Jack and Lincoln Oliver need each other, and especially Jack during his illness."

That last word, like the hint of the bubonic plague itself, saps all apparent animosity out of the room.

"Come now," their mom tells them with a satisfied grin. "Let's give Lincoln some privacy, so he can settle into his room."

˚˚˚˚˚

It's late at night. Jack is asleep in my arms, but I'm awake and staring at the ceiling. This place is unfamiliar, and although it's 'nice' in that perfect, All-American suburban way, the sights, the smells, the flavor of this home is so foreign to me.

It bothers me that Hamish and Christie are openly hostile to my presence – it puts me in a bad place emotionally and reminds me somehow of the home life I ran away from.

I stir and inadvertently disturb Jack.

"Can't sleep, Linc?" he asks groggily.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"Phew…" Jack sputters lightly, and rolls closer into my embrace. "I never thought I'd be here again – I never thought I'd see 'home' again, Lincoln."

"I know, baby."

"You see that poster?"

"One Direction?"

"Yes. I can't tell you how many hours I'd just lie in bed, dreaming of meeting someone, feeling so alone and on my own. And all the time…" He hugs me tighter. "This is all I could ever hope for in my wildest dreams. This, Lincoln – your love, your grasp."

I feel myself wanting to tear up. "I do love you, Jack. So very much, and you're not alone anymore, kid."

Jack rouses fully; sits up. He gazes down on me and his hand begins to gently play with my right tit through my tee-shirt.

"What are you doing there, young man?"

"Trying to turn you on."

"And why are you trying to do that?"

Jack's mouth comes down to gently graze mine. His warm breath on my upper lip, and his insistent rubbing on my chest, raises my dick to full attention.

"First," he whispers, sending a current along my spine. "Tell me if I'm succeeding."

He lifts his left leg and kicks the sheets aside, then that same leg comes up to cuddle my upper thighs. He draws me in, and I feel his own erection pressing through his boxers.

I brush the blue-green bangs from his eyes for a moment. "Jack..? Really?"

The passion raised in my beautiful boy is easy to read on his face, and in turn, his hand slipping between our bodies strokes my stiffened cock with expert care.

"Lincoln, I want to do it before I get sick from chemo starting tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

Jack raises his leg from me to give him some room. He works the fabric parting of my drawers and maneuvers both my dick and balls to be fully out. He lets the slit of the fly grip me firmly from underneath. I flare mightily as he strokes the length of my shaft.

Jack cups my balls and slips down my body to place the flaring head between his lips.

As his delicate suction works me up and down, my mind is filled with doubts. I reach across Jack's back with my left arm and slip my hand between his shorts and skin. I slide it down the central crevice, and by the time the tip of my middle finger is poised over his love button, Jack has arched his back towards my palm. My boy moans fervently all around my dick.

I withdraw my hand and bring it up to my lips. I place a big wad of spit on the tip of my middle finger, and Jack sucks me with more fervor. That finger slips back to where it was, and places the wetness at his portal.

I work it in, gently, and Jack pushes his ass back to make it go in deeper. My boy increases the sounding vibrations of pleasure all around my shaft.

It's hard to keep a rein on my feelings, but I concentrate on Jack.

I kneel in bed and slide him onto his back so his head is on the pillow and his lovely brown eyes are on mine. I scooch up and lift his legs so I can draw down his shorts, then place my hands behind his knees and force them down to be by his shoulders.

I hold his doey eyes as I come in to moisten his tender portal with a kiss. He moans loudly and his hands grip the sides of my thighs wildly.

I lick and pummel him deeply with my tongue, showing no mercy as he thrashes around and cries out muffled attempts at my name.

All the time my dick is making precum and throbbing wildly to every sign of pleasure from my boy.

I let his heels settle on the top of my shoulders and his gaze becomes intent on mine.

Spitting in my hand, I place that wad on the tip of my dick. "I don’t think I can last long, kid."

The carousel brass ring he wears on a leather cord around his neck glints magically in the half-light on top of his tee-shirt.

"Me neither, Linc. I'll be ready when you are."

As I kick back a little on the top of my feet, and position my cockhead at his love button, I'm nearly in a state of tears. I love him so much; I'm so fucking worried about losing him.

I press and let myself enter him.

Jack gasps, presses my thighs while I pause. In another moment, his eyes re-focus on mine and his hands grip my legs hard to draw me into him. He does not relent until I am balls deep.

"I love you, Lincoln."

"Fuck…" I cry, the tears falling unchecked. "I love you, Jack."

I pull back halfway, and start a rhythm. On the down stroke, Jack wants me to go deeper, so I do, and each time, Jack's open vision falters in eye-flutters of ecstasy. Seeing my boy's profound pleasure causes my dick to throb mightily inside of him.

As I go on, Jack's heavy breaths become grunts. The longer I continue, and the deeper I penetrate, the higher his vocalizations grow. It goads me on. Although I do think he's getting a bit noisy, now's not the time to worry about that.

As I obtain the ultimate tippy-toe stroke, Jack's playing with his dick telegraphs through his hole that he's about to cum. I try not to focus on the misery that this too could be the ultimate time we make love.

I feel Jack on the edge of climax. "Shoot it, babe," I encourage him.

He cries out loudly, "Lincoln!"

I can barely hold back my own orgasm as my sight begins to falter, but I do until the instant I feel Jack began to tighten and release around my shaft.

I collapse onto him, and we cum simultaneously while kissing deeply. My mouth catches Jack's none-too-muffled pants of bliss.

Spent, my teardrops fall freely on his brass ring now, and Jack kisses them away from my mouth and cheeks wordlessly.

˚˚˚˚˚

Our bodies still united physically in the most intimate way possible, and our eyes trained lovingly on the other's soul, jarring events happen simultaneously. The door flies open, light from the hallway illuminates half of Jack's face, and then the overhead ceiling fixture blinds us. I'm still in Jack, so I roll to my side to free him from under me, and we hear a female gasp. Jack and I scramble for blanket corners, looking to see Christie standing in the doorway.

Pure shock bellows from within her voice, "I thought Jack was having a nightmare…I heard…" Her tone down gears to pissed-off disgust. "Oh, I heard you two… Fuck! Does Mom know?!"

Jack tosses back his corner of the blanket and gets out of bed wearing only his tee-shirt. "Christie! Get out. My God, can't you say you're sorry or something?!"

He goes and puts a hand on her chest, walking her backwards. As she goes there is a truly contemptible look on her face while she regards the embarrassed grin on my own.

"Leave us alone, Christie," Jack says as he closes the door on her and fumbles with the unfamiliar lock of his brother's erstwhile bedroom door.

After I hear it click, Jack rotates an owl-like grin on me. "How much do you think she saw?"

I laugh out loud: "I think she saw everything! Now, turn off the light and come back over here."

Jack restores our darkness; while I hear him approaching, I toss our blankets aside and sit on the edge of the mattress.

Jack effortlessly slides into my lap, but instead of being content to pause and spoon a little, he put pressure on my shoulders and lays me down. His hands caress the sides of my chest and abdomen, while he presses his lips to my bellybutton.

"Sorry about that interruption," he says with maddeningly hot breath walking its way up my skin. "Now, I believe we were just in the middle of some afterglow interruptus."

Jack's kisses continue their way up to my chest, neck and chin. I stretch my throat back helplessly at his advance; goose bumps rise everywhere on my body.

Jack strokes my lips with his own, and whispers seductively, "I can feel you're ready for round two."

I hold his cheeks between my palms. "You're right…but now it's my turn to feel you inside of me. Okay?"

Jack grins ear to ear. "You know you never have to ask twice for that."

˚˚˚˚˚

Jack indulges in one of his wicked little leers and elbows my right arm with his left.

It's still before 9 AM, and his mom, Dawn, him and me are lined up all in a row on waiting room chairs.

"See..?" He nudges me roughly again until I lean in closer. "It's like I told you. Fuking puce." My boyfriend mimics a retching sound: "Buaah..."

"Now, Jack," I tell him peevishly. "Don’t be such an immature brat." But to tell the truth, I can see his point. Dr. Kimball's office is not the kind of place where anyone would want to spend much time.

Dawn, who is sitting next to Jack, gets distracted by Mrs. Shaw's texting. "What is it you're doing?" she asks.

"I'm fielding some questions from Good Morning America about Jack's status."

Dawn refocuses on me and my bf. "When my dad dropped me off at your house this morning, there was quite a media barrage set up at the end of your block."

Mrs. S. glances up from her screen. "That reminds me, I asked Hamish and Christie to clean up the makeshift memorial near the corner of the house. We don’t need it now." She goes back to texting.

Dawn adds in a conversational way, "But people continue to contribute to the fund. What's the total now..?"

Jack's mom stops typing, but does not look up. "Two point eight million, and Jack will need it."

My smartass beau slips in a snide comment. "I hope the media circus circles in like a wagon train while we're gone."

"Why?" I ask, taking a bite on his bait.

"Phew! – So that Hamish and Christie are trapped in the house and are forced to devise evil subplots for my downfall."

Jack chuckles in raucous amusement at that thought, but he's the only one.

˚˚˚˚˚

Dr. Kimball closes the manila folder in his hands and leans forward over his desk. His eyes are fully focused on Jack and unflinching. "The test results from your blood work in L.A. are dire, Jack. What I need to know from you is this – how aggressive are we to be in your treatment?"

My boy glances at me for a quick moment. "I'm resolute, doctor, that I'm fighting for two now." He takes my hand. Then I watch as Jack turns, takes his mother's hand, and says firmly, "Make that, fighting for three now."

Dawn offers up a soft: "Ah!"

Blinking, Mrs. Shaw asks Jack's oncologist with desperate gravity, "So, are you going to start a round of radiation as well?"

"I think…I think I need to closely examine all options. There are some experimental treatments my colleagues at Stanford Medical Center are doing, and now that I know all options are on the table, I'll begin to make consultations. We'll get Jack set up with the one – or ones – that offer the best prospects."

"Back to California..?" Mrs. S. sounds deflated.

"Well, the truth is, they have the best programs for Jack, they have reached out to me already and are all set up to receive you – making arrangements for accommodations, etcetera – and as they have pointed out, Jack is a California resident, so the state will chip in."

"Resident?" Jack repeats with skepticism.

"He's right, babe," I tell him. "You've lived there for six months, so you and I are both Cali boys, according to the law."

"Hmm. I guess I never thought of myself as a Californian, dude!"

"Well, I suppose we can go back, if it's all for the best," Mrs. Shaw offers like it's a concession to fate.

"But I’ll miss being with you, Dawn."

Jack pulls at my heartstrings, at everyone's.

The doctor tries to break the tension by becoming more conversational. "Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Is everybody ready for it?"

As Dawn says "Yes" with some details, and then Mrs. S. chirps about the size of the turkey, I feel Jack becoming more and more withdrawn.

I reassure him: "It's gonna be all right, kid."

"Lincoln, you've never spent time with someone who's just undergone a round of chemo. It's gonna be a rough night ahead."

"And we'll tackle it, together."

The others are still chitchatting about stuffing and pie, when Jack drops a devastating comment. "I expect that I'll be sick as a dog by tomorrow. Speaking of which, is my chemo chair set up and waiting somewhere?"

"Well, Jack. You know what we have to do first, but yes. So, are you ready for the struggle ahead?"

Jack slowly shakes his head side to side, but firmly holds his doctor's eyes. He affirms in a rock-solid voice: "Yes."

˚˚˚˚˚

Jack is sick. I hold his forehead for him while he vomits again into the toilet bowl.

I don’t know what time it is now – about two in the morning – and all seems quiet with the world except for the horrendous dry heaves issuing forth from the head in my hand that I'm trying to protect from striking the porcelain.

This is trip number… I've already lost count. Jack needs to sleep, and as I help him wipe his mouth and rise to his feet, I hope we can crawl back into bed and Jack will settle down.

I drape his arm over my shoulder, gently leading him towards the bathroom door. The lights are low in here, and as we pass into the equally dim hallway, I have a passing thought. It's about how only two nights ago, after our pizza dinner, I came up these stairs alone for the first time.

Jack settles into bed, and I climb in right after him with open arms. I pull him into me right away because our little 'stroll' has made him start shivering. I stroke his forehead gently and tell him to "Sleep."

Slowly his body trembles come a bit more under his control, and I feel his head settle on my chest with greater sleepiness.

I hug him calmly. "Sleep, my Jack. I'm not going anywhere." As he continues to shiver mildly and hold onto me, I find myself fully remembering 'moving' into this room and how cold a reception his siblings had in wait for me.

I suppose there are quiet moments in time when we all stop the numbing grind of our daily activities and think about the particular demons we wrestle with.

Now, with my brave boy struggling to stop shivering and let warmth and sleep overtake him, I allow mine to come to the front of my mind. My biggest fear is that I'm not going to prove good or brave enough through this test of Jack's. Can I endure the path he's set out on? I worry that fight or flight will war within me and make me pick the second option, but I don’t want that – I don’t want to wimp out again; I don’t want to leave the same kind of mess behind me again.

Cold is the thought, but I didn't have a choice in the situation, so, I ran. My initial arrival in L.A. ushered in difficult days for me, but I survived. My brother had packed my laptop, so I found a cheap room and looked for work. After a dishwashing job at a pizza place downtown, a car pulled up to me as I was walking home late one night, and I had my first hustling job – getting a BJ for thirty-five dollars. I began posting ads, and soon quit my job. Six months later I met Damien at a party, and the next day was introduced to Daddy. In the eighteen months after that, I was able to put about 80 grand in the bank – but I made sure to pay my taxes; no way I'd allow them to get me for evasion, lol. That was the good part, but the bad was having to watch Damien slip during that same period into an increasing dependence on meth. The kid became irritable, very cynical, more than slightly mean, and developed a particular jerkiness to his body movements. I felt I owed Damien a lot, and our initial but brief romance was not as generous on his half as I thought mine was. That feeling of gratitude and caring even extended over the time he started acting hostile to Jack for no reason, however, that too had to come to an end as Damien's true and ugly colors showed him to be money-grubbing and heartless. It hurt me to punch him, but he deserved it, and the one thing he'd never be able to say was that I'm not loyal till the end.

Huh. Loyal? That's right, and although I feel sharp regret for the open-ended way I left things at home after I ran away, Jack is now the new center of my world. The boy in my arms raises mortal fears that I will not be strong enough to see Jack slip away from me.

I shiver myself, gripping him tighter; to think that this situation – as difficult as it is – could go away and be replaced by endless grief…oh…I can't allow that thought to find me. Not now, not ever.

Jack finally rolls over and drifts off from sheer exhaustion. I try not to cry, but I wonder if I'm man enough to match Jack's resolve and bravery.

I don’t know…it's all so much…maybe I should just try and sleep myself.

Tomorrow, as they always say, is another day.