Things We Lost - 6. Chapter 6

“So how am I supposed to act, as your boyfriend?”

He started and I allowed my lips to twitch in amusement. Gotcha.

“Well,” he said breezily, recovering, “awkward is probably the key word. You're doing fine at that, by the way.”

“How so?”

“Being confused about how to act in front of my parents, for one. I heard you were a little awkward at May's yesterday when she—”

“Yeah, yeah. I figured it out, then. She was kind of obvious.”

“She is,” he agreed.

“Question is, will your parents buy it? Is this how boyfriends act?”

“Hmm.” His gaze moved upward in thought. “You know, I have to think about that for a second. It's been so long since I dated, I can't remember. Also, it's not the question I expected of you.”

“And what question were you expecting?”

He grinned. “Something along the lines of why we picked this cover; if I—or you—were comfortable with it. Things like that.”

I paused at that, turning over some of my reasoning from that afternoon. “It wasn't necessary. Piper had said that you had friends over all the time. Was that not true?”

Now it was his turn to pause, and his grin faded from his lips. “Well, it used to be true. I had friends over a lot.”

“Before Tim?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “It was kind of spur of the moment, actually. I thought my parents might be more flexible with a new...love interest instead of a simple friend. It would make it easier to last a few weeks or more, as opposed to a friend who stayed a night or two.”

I turned that information over, and it seemed reasonably logical, so I moved on to the next option he'd alluded to in terms of possible questions. “Why would I have a problem with this? If anyone would, I'd think, it would be you.”

“Me?” he yelped. “Why would I have a problem with it?”

“Well,” I said reasonably, “I know we come from two different worlds. Things you take for granted—requirements, even—are things I don't. Like bathing, for instance. I'd like to have had more showers, more opportunities, but I didn't. I don't place as high a priority on it as you do.” I neglected to mention how much his clean scent pleased me, instead I added, in a regrettably weak tone, “I mean, anyone you'd be interested in would have to meet some minimums, right?”

He coughed and smiled into his hand. “Um, I'll grant you that we might place a different...level of value on some things—and yes, I'd like my boyfriend to be hygienic. But,” he said, raising his finger in the air between us. “I think I like a balance, more than anything, of good character and appearance.”

Again, I thought for a moment. “In that case,” I said slowly, “do I meet those minimums?”

He laughed into his pillow and I frowned. “Hey,” I said, poking him. “This is important. How am I supposed to know what to do if you laugh off legitimate questions?”

He took a minute to get his breath and then said, in a tone that sounded perilously close to descending into laughter again, “Do I meet those minimums?”

Then he was laughing again. I waited, impatiently, for him to recover. In the meantime, I grudgingly decided that I liked the sound of his laughter, however inappropriate as it was right now. As his laughter tapered off, I said, “All done?”

He pulled his lips inward and covered his mouth. “Sorry,” he said and let out a few more chuckles. “It's just that you sounded so formal, like as if there were a list I was marking off to see if you were boyfriend material.” He mimed holding a piece of paper and ticking off check marks with an invisible pencil. “Funny? Check. Cute? Check. Bathes regularly? Working on it.” He chuckled and shrugged. “It was funny.”

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Tris, that is kind of what I'm asking. If I, for example, wasn't bathing enough then I think your parents might notice that I wouldn't be someone you'd express interest in. It's logical.”

He chuckled again. “First, I don't think my parents really know what I look for in a guy. Secondly, everyone is different. If I thought, as you said, that you needed to bathe more I'd just tell you that you stink and shove you toward the shower. Problem solved.”

I nodded and my lips curved into a smile. “Yes, I see your point. That's not something that would have occurred to me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You didn't mention whether you'd have a problem with playing the part of the fake boyfriend.”

“Sorry?”

“You said if anyone would have a problem with it, it would be me. But what about you?”

I blinked. “Why would I have a problem with it?”

“Well,” he said, his face turning red, “I'm gay.”

“I know.”

“Well, I have a better chance of not having an issue, don't you think?” he asked, a tone to his voice I couldn't identify.

“I don't see why I would. This is the idea you had to protect me—you're putting yourself out there to give me a safe place to be. How ungrateful would I be to have a problem playing my part?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, when you put it like that...I guess.”

That settled, I waited for him to move on to wanting my story. Instead of speaking, he simply watched me. I felt, oddly, as if he wanted to ask but couldn't find his voice for some reason. Silence reigned and I let the moment stretch out to see if he'd simply speak, but then I remembered what he'd said to me last time. He'd said 'ask, and I'll tell you'. So, I did.

“The girls made it sound like you weren't very happy a year or so ago. What happened?”

He sighed and then pursed his lips and squeezed them off to one side of his face. He turned his gaze back to me and said, “I tried to hang myself.”

“Why?” I said, sitting up quickly. “You have everything—home, food, a family that cares about you. Why would you do that?”

He sat up slowly and folded his legs under himself. “Remember the picture downstairs? How I told you they used to be my friends?”

I nodded.

“Well, one thing I discovered is that once a few people have a problem with you, it makes it easier for others to have a problem with you. Pretty soon, I was the single focus of bullies and...well, people who wouldn't generally bother you would, all of the sudden, go out of their way to harass me. Little things like I got shoved in the halls, my locker covered in graffiti or stuff getting poured in through the vent. Then there was scarier stuff like the tires on my bike had holes put in them and threats texted to me. I was harassed online in every way I could imagine and a few that surprised me. It all came at once and it was just more than I could take.”

“But...your family.”

He nodded. “They tried. I just felt so overwhelmed...it seemed like it would never stop.” He was twisting his hands, much like Piper had done the other day. They almost looked as if they'd tangle into knots and I reached out to still them from such a fate.

I pulled my hand back, realizing how intimate that must have seemed, only to find him smiling gently. My heart was beating hard, and I felt warm. I blinked a few times, rapidly, wondering what in the world had overcome me.

“I bounced back,” he said, skipping over how our hands had touched. “I had a therapist and a friend that didn't give up on me.”

I thought for a moment and then said sourly, “Brandon.”

He smiled wryly. “I know, he can be a dick. He has his issues, but he pretty much told me he'd stuck by me because I'd never crapped on him—see, he hasn't changed over time.”

I thought this over. “I have a hard time picturing him saying such a thing.”

He shrugged and smiled. “I had to interpret a little. See,” he said and began to twist his hands again. I reached out, almost without thought, and placed my hand over his. He smiled, blushing and looking down. “Uh, so. Brandon pretty much aggravates everyone. I guess my personality is, well, I just let his shit roll off my back, you know? I don't take it personally.”

“You're stronger than I am, then,” I muttered.

He chuckled. “The whole experience taught me to look into people instead of just at them. Brandon has a really thorny personality, but—like you—he's very brave and loyal. He's a good friend.”

I glanced down at my hands, withdrawing them from his. “So...how does this help me pull off this fake boyfriend act?”

Tris looked up at me through his lashes. “Oh, I don't know. I guess we haven't done a great job, since I didn't go with you to your haircut. I remember Tim and I used to hold hands and we kissed more than once.”

I lifted my gaze to his and asked, “They should see this in order to buy into it?”

“Um, not sure how they'd react to kissing. Don't get me wrong, they aren't fans of seeing Piper kiss, either. I guess it's a parent thing.”

“Interesting,” I mumbled.

“So...how about your parents?”

I glanced up at him and noted his nervous energy and the thrum of his pulse in his neck. He was trying to steer the conversation away and he was nervous, I deduced. He didn't know where he stood with me, but I guess that was part of the reason for us talking. Instead of answering his question, I blurted, “I hated you.”

His face pulled into a confused frown. Before he could ask, I barreled forward. “When I saw you I…I named you the cool kid. You know, in my head? Before I knew your name, I mean.” Why was my language so herky-jerky? Why did I feel so warm?

He remained silent, only his quizzical look remaining. I continued, “You had these nice clothes, a self-confidence I could see even in how you walked, like you owned whatever space you were in. I figured everywhere you went, you were the cool kid. Better than everyone else. I guess I just didn't think that...anything bad could ever happen to you. Like...how do I want to say this?”

He smiled. “You thought I was some arrogant asshole?”

I shook my head. “I thought Brandon was—still do. I thought you were just that kid who always seemed to win without trying, I guess. It seemed obvious that you should be in charge, lead people. I know—knew—kids like that. But...you're not what I thought.”

We sat in silence after that awkward exchange. We studied one another, perhaps wondering what was to come next. I know he still wanted to know what sort of trouble had brought me to his doorstep, and I'd tell him, but first, I decided to answer his question.

“So, um. My parents,” I said, then paused and wet my lips. “They were meth cookers and small time dealers. Used a lot of their own product.”

He made no comment, except for the slight widening of his eyes.

“They cooked as long as I can remember. Out of our basement. One day, don't remember how old I was, someone called child protective services to report the situation.” I fell silent and glanced down at my hands again. “The social worker that came out to the house...he was kind of excited to find out what they were doing. Turns out he liked his crystal and kept quiet in exchange for some product.”

“Why weren't the police called instead of CPS, I wonder?”

I shook my head. “I don't know. If it had been cops, maybe things would have been different. Maybe. As it was, someone called about possible child abuse or neglect or some shit. Instead of me getting help, he became a customer.” I paused again before saying, “They burned the house down one night. I was in my bed, half-awake because of some loud music. There was a big boom, I don't know what it was, and then there was smoke everywhere. I hopped out of my window and onto the roof of the back porch.

“Instead of waiting for more authorities to arrive, I took off.”

“How long ago was that?” he asked, his voice a soft whisper.

I shrugged and pointed to my bare wrist, “My Rolex quit.” I suddenly felt embarrassed and realized I sounded like Brandon. I didn't want to sound like him, not with Tris. “Um, I'm...not so good with time.”

“I'm sorry,” he said after a minute. “I guess my problems don't seem like much next to yours.”

I frowned at him. “It's not a competition. Everyone has their problems.”

He nodded slowly. “So, what brought you here for help?”

He had asked and, as was our tacit deal, I told him. I spilled everything about Buster and Lenny, Emily and Beth, and poor Smokey. It felt good to tell Tris. I wasn't worried like I had been initially telling Piper, though I couldn't really tell why. I have a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with trust—that I was trusting Tris.

He didn't ask questions afterward. I was a little surprised, but then he'd probably gotten enough details over the last few days to answer questions for himself. I found I was pleased to know he was intelligent. After a few minutes of silence, he tilted his head, indicating we should lie back down, and we resumed our places on our sides so we could see each other.

“So, I was thinking about your question about how to pull off looking like boyfriends,” he said.

A confused look crossed my face. “That's it? You're just moving on from everything I told you back to this?”

“Well, it's logical if you think about it for a minute,” he replied. “I had an idea and you filled in the blanks. Piper and I are all in for this, so we have to figure out how to pull it off. Logically, we have to sell the boyfriend routine.”

I nodded slowly, “Okay. So what do we do?”

“Well, holding hands is a big one,” he said. “I think you figured that out tonight, right?”

I grinned. “Brandon didn't look happy about it.”

“Yeah,” Tris said with a sigh. “He could be a problem. I usually tell him everything, so he's a little put out about our dating. In fact, I think he's suspicious it's not true, so that's why I was...you know, suggesting we hold hands at the movies.”

I chewed my lower lip and, making a decision, reached out with my hand. “We should probably practice, then. Right?”

He smiled, displaying dimples I hadn't noticed before and nodded slightly. “Yeah. We should. Don't you have practice holding hands, though?” he asked suspiciously as he took my hand in his.

“No,” I replied honestly.

He looked at me skeptically. “You've dated though, right?”

I looked down at our hands, fingers interlocked. I had to remind myself that we came from different worlds, even if they were only a few miles apart. “You don't date on the street. The guys you go with, they don't want to hold your hand. It's just a trade, your body for a warm bed and some money, a shower if they want you in a hotel room.”

“Wait...”

I looked up and an irritant settled into my nose, again, and I brought my other hand up to press down on it. “I'm not ashamed. I earned money and a guy has to find ways to get clean. Hotel rooms were, mostly, better because you'd get that shower and bed, even if it was only for a little while. Sometimes...hotel rooms were rougher, too, though.”

He squeezed my hand, reminding me of his presence.

“So no, I don't know about dating, not how it's done in your world. I know about being picked up and being paid. I know it's not the same thing.”

“I'm sorry that happened to you,” he said, his voice hitching. His eyes had darkened, too.

“I'm not,” I said, defiantly. “I needed the money; it was a transaction. I earned it myself.”

“Ehr,” he said, and sighed gently. “My point is more it shouldn't have had to happen.”

I nodded, slowly. He was right, of course. My life hadn't gone the way it should have, not the way a lot of kids lives should go. Right now, though, it was okay. “My point is...it doesn't really help me, now. Your parents will want to see you happy, and your boyfriend treating you well and...all the little things boyfriends do.

“And I don't know any of that stuff,” I said with a grimace. I hate not knowing what I'm doing.

His thumb began a slow stroke back and forth across my knuckles. “I think you're doing just fine, Ehren.”

I looked at him dubiously. “What do you mean?”

He wiggled his head on his pillow, looking like he was snuggling before he replied. “I'm thinking new relationships are kind of awkward as two people try to figure out how it's going to work. You aren't anything like Tim, so it's new for me, too.”

I let my gaze float away from his. “Is that good or bad?”

“Little of both, I guess. Tim and I knew each other before we dated and, looking back, we weren't a good fit. But at the time it seemed to make sense—we were both gay, we didn't know any other out guys and we were horny so...yeah. It wasn't all bad, but knowing what I know now, I wouldn't date him again.”

“So you could keep your friends?”

“No,” he said and snorted. “I learned they weren't going to be good friends, so hell with them. I want someone who has a little more steel in them. Someone more like you, actually.”

I brought my gaze back up to his and, looking in his eyes, wasn't sure what to say beyond thanking him. He blushed and I felt a stirring in my stomach, a pull. I thought, in that moment, Tris was really...cute. Thinking that, I stared into his eyes and they are the last thing I can remember before I fell asleep.

~TWL~

Days began to blur after that. Tris and I decided that boyfriends would spend as much time together as any other couple, and so I would hang around the rec as he worked, and we spent a lot of time together at home. Sometimes, at the end of the day when Tris would shower, I'd borrow the hoodie he'd worn that day just to keep his scent with me. I found it to be a comfort, a balm as I grew more nervous the longer I stayed.

The time we spent served me well. I found that I genuinely liked Tris for his calm nature, his easy smile and his strength of character. It's easy to say you want to help or that you will, and another entirely to follow through, even pretending to be romantically linked with a street rat like me. As the days passed, I threw myself into my part and I felt the part I was playing was blurring, becoming more a reality than the person, the homeless kid, I knew myself to be. I began, in short, to fall for Tristan Malone.

Several questions kept swirling in my mind. How long could we keep this boyfriend thing up? I had no experience dating and, sooner or later, some guy was going to realize they wanted to date Tris, and who was I to deny Tristan that? The very idea felt as if a claw were squeezing my chest. Adding to that, Tris seemed no different to me. He chatted with me in an easy manner and we traded light public displays of affection—light touches, lingering hugs and hand holding—that would make any observer believe our roles.

I had several questions rattling around in my brain like was he feeling any of the emotions I was? Was there even a chance that he could feel the same way? Was he simply doing an excellent job in his role and nothing more? How might he react to learn that I didn't have to pretend anymore? What would he think if he knew that each passing day made me crave his touch a little more? That I sought more of his attentions; that my conscious touches to play my part had turned into unconscious touches from my desire to be close to him?

He seemed oblivious, unchanged. He had no trouble playing his role and perhaps that was part of the problem. I wasn't sure anyone could resist having their emotions become victim to him given the kind of attention he was paying me. Rationally I knew it was because no one had ever done so, as such I was eating up the affection, contrived as it might be. Irrationally...I felt a growing need for more and yet more of his attentions. I felt certain I was drifting toward heartache when it came time to end the charade and send me back to my life on the street.

Would I lie awake on my pallet at night and think of these warm days spent with him?

Then there was the elder Malones. As Piper had promised, they were much more organic about getting to know me than I'd have expected. However, Tris and Piper had started sneaking me in after bed time as, they explained, no one just stayed forever and didn't go home. This made sense to me; after all, real parents like the Malones would expect to see their kids or speak to them daily.

Things came to a head relatively quickly. On a Friday—I have no idea how many Fridays I'd spent there—Tris had secured permission for me to sleep over. There had been some light talk around the table about the end of the summer break and, with it, the end of camp. There would be a gap of a few weeks before school started and the elder Malones were talking about taking a vacation before school started and after-school care which would have their kids working five days a week.

Immediately I began to wonder where I could go while all of them were gone, and just as quickly I felt a loss at their impending departure.

That night Tris and I played some games and, when it was time for bed, he went to his room. The pullout was set up for me, but as I sat in the gloom my anxiety steadily rose along with my thoughts, swirling in a cyclone of uncertainty until I felt I couldn't take it any more. I got up and padded over to Tristan's room and closed his door quietly behind me.

“Ehren?” he whispered quietly, the material of his sheets stirring against him as he twisted to see me. “What's wrong?”

I picked my way across his room—his things were everywhere. I stood by his bed and he propped himself up and asked if I was all right.

“I don't think so,” I replied. “I...I haven't needed anyone for a long time. It took me a few hours to figure out what it was, exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

I frowned as I looked down on him. “I mean...I had to think about it. To try and understand why it was bothering me so much that you and Piper were going to leave on vacation.”

“I can understand being worried. But either I'll get them to take you with us or I'll figure out how you can stay here in the house while we're gone. I'll take care of you.”

I looked around his room at his things—sports equipment, posters, an electric keyboard. All the things that reflected his interests, but laid out in such a mess. Pulling my thoughts back from his room, my gaze didn't settle on anything until I was looking at him again. “The house is nice,” I said slowly. “I like the way I feel here. But the reason for that is the people that live in it.”

“Is that what your little gray cells tell you?” he asked, teasing me.

“Partly,” I replied, giving him a weak smile. “But I think more of it has to do with knowing who you are. I mean who you really are. I told you when I got here, you weren't who I thought you were—you weren't who I assumed you were.”

“So who am I, then?”

“Loyal. Not just to me, a stranger to you. Loyal to your family; to your sister and helping her with her imaginary debt to me. Patient, compassionate and appreciative with all the nonsense Brandon puts you through.” I looked down. “Kind and considerate to a street rat whom you had no reason to trust or be kind to.”

“That 'street rat' kept my sister from being raped or worse. I think that's a pretty good reason. Plus,” he said, his voice suddenly softer, “he's a pretty nice guy.”

I shrugged, unwilling to accept his words. After all, I knew that, had our roles with his sister been reversed, Tristan would have helped without considering the personal cost to himself. It was stupid, but brave as well.

“So...I'm patient, loyal, compassionate...are you telling me you've fallen in love with me?” he asked, his voice teasing.

“No,” I said, shaking my head slowly and bringing my gaze up to meet his. “That implies I saw it coming, that I knew what was going on. No, Tristan, I didn't fall in love with you. You tripped me.”

He barked out a laugh. “What?”

I shook my head again and pressed my palm to my heart. “I didn't see you coming. I didn't see this coming.”

His gaze grew speculative and, by degrees, softer and softer. He grabbed the edge of the blankets and pulled them back.

“Come on.”

“Tris—”

“Ehren. Get into bed, please.”

Still, I hesitated. Old memories of men with whom I'd exchanged my body for money rose up in my head. Tristan wouldn't use me like that, though. But if he wasn't paying, where did that leave us? How did this work?

“Are you...going to fuck me?” I asked.

There was a pause, a palpable silence that took on substance as I waited for him to reply. When he did, his voice was filled with a scratchy quality I hadn't ever heard from him before. “I think—I hope—sex is in our future one day. Right now, I just want you here with me.”

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and climbed in, facing him. He tossed the covers over me and placed a hand on my waist, urging me closer to him. I wiggled closer until we were inches away. His eyes roamed my face, and his hand settled on my cheek, tracing my features with his fingertips. I grew nervous.

“Well, I'm here,” I said, my voice shaking.

The ghost of a smile flashed across his face and he murmured, “Yes, you are.”

He began to move forward and I knew what was coming, even though I'd never experienced it. I'd read about it a hundred times, how detectives or spies would kiss and that would always lead to tangled sheets and an empty bed in the morning. My thoughts short-circuited, however, as Tris's lips brushed mine and I felt his hot breath coming in short bursts—gasps, really.

Then I was lost in the sensation of his lips on mine. His hand moved from my face to my hair and held me in place, though there was no need as I pressed my lips eagerly. I copied his kiss, returning his tenderness and then matching his fervor, each coming in waves. We were pressed tightly to one another, our arms having drawn us both together, and we stared hungrily into each other's eyes with just our foreheads touching.

“Ehren.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

I shook. Hot tears welled and spilled. I was pulled in—or did I pull myself closer?—and my senses were filled with his scent, his touch, his warmth. I shuddered in his embrace with certainty in my mind—this is what love felt like.