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- 11/17/2016
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Predator Prey - 8. Shelter
Marc stood in the doorway, blocking out the light from within. The man was angry: eyes wide, shoulders broadened and straight, ready to fight. Ready to protect.
He stood there on the step, withering under the glare, willing himself not to retreat, not to look away. "Please. Can we just talk for a second?"
Marc allowed a short, sharp bark of ironic laughter to escape. "No fucking way. Get your ass off my front step and get the fuck out of here before I call the cops."
Call the cops? The words hurt. Not that he blamed Marc. He sighed. Now he looked away. "Look, it's just…"
"Marc? Is everything okay?" another voice sounded from within, softer, concerned. Unaware of the danger and conflict at the door.
"Everything's fine, Lee. It's somebody just asking for directions." Marc said loudly over his shoulder.
"Can I help?" A stunning, lithe figure appeared behind Marc's shoulder in the light. Black hair raining down on slim shoulders. Alert, inquisitive blue-grey eyes on either side of a straight, narrow nose. Backlit, he almost seemed to glow.
Marc kept his focus on the defeated looking man in front of him; didn't look at the boyfriend hovering at his left. Boyfriend? Obviously. "No, we're all good."
It could have ended there. Probably should have. But it didn’t. The haggard blond on the step tried one last time. "I'm here because I need help," he offered quietly. The boyfriend, Lee, moved forward, concerned. "Is there something the matter? What do you need?"
The cold, tired body on the step needed food, rest, a place to stay, maybe some sympathy. Not that he deserved any of that. "I just need a place to crash for tonight," he whispered.
"I don't know how you found me, or what you think you're doing, but the answer is…" Marc began.
"Wait. Wait here a minute, okay?" The boy with the beautiful face intervened, taking Marc's elbow. The pair withdrew from the open door for a moment.
The boyfriends argued in low tones at some distance from the door. Through the opening, he glanced in at a clean, comfortable living room. Pictures – actual art – on the walls, unstained carpets, real furniture. Had the place come furnished like that? He wondered. Clearly, Marc was a long way from the squalor of the party dorm.
He watched the pair argue. Marc made several emphatic gestures to punctuate a point; the blue eyed boy answered with something, calmly, almost serenely. Though he couldn't hear anything, it was clear the boy had scored in some way. Marc scowled, but the younger man – Lee? Was that his name? - followed up his victory with a fleeting kiss to Marc's cheek.
Affection. He'd never been able to show much real affection. Marc was lucky. The dirty blond who had once been his plaything clearly felt something genuine and wasn't afraid to show it. And the black haired one? The boyfriend was lucky, too, that he had someone so ferociously on guard as Marc to keep away the wolves and vipers. People like himself.
Marc walked back to where he waited by the door. The younger man followed right behind, still wearing an expression of concern and something else he couldn't read. Pity, perhaps? That he should be pitied made him shudder.
"Okay, you can come in," Marc growled reluctantly from the threshold. He leaned a little closer, eyes intense, fierce. "But you will stay away from Lee, got that? You come within ten feet of Lee, and I will personally kill you," Marc hissed.
Marc clearly meant this, he could tell.
However, Marc stood aside, admitting him to the house. The door shut behind him. Warm, for the moment. Safe, for now. Safe from Ted and redhead looking for him, wherever they were. Safe from the campus police who wanted him for any number of violations. Safe from the smirking grins of a thousand contemporaries who'd watched his suave, controlled, beautifully-put-together self being tied up and tag teamed.
The boyfriend, Lee, continued to hover in the background. Despite Marc's obvious fears, Lee was safe. There had been a time when he would have tried to lure in both Marc and the boy; he could have done it, too. But not now.
"You and Marc were friends?" the boy, Lee, asked innocently, grabbing hold of Marc's hand. He noticed the gesture.
"We…"
"No, we weren't," Marc corrected before he could answer. "We did some business together, that's all," the bitter conclusion silenced anything further.
He stood there, wondering if enduring the hostility was worth a warm bed.
"Look, if this is too much trouble…" he started.
"No, no, no, this isn't any trouble at all, just sorry you're in a jam," Lee said quickly, as if to apologize for Marc's unrelenting unfriendliness.
Marc glared at Lee.
He understood that Marc clearly wished he'd never appeared, never found his doorstep. From the expression on his face, Marc probably thought it would have been better for his visitor to have been killed in an accident. Preferably painfully. But Lee had no clue about anything. Well, Marc couldn't really be blamed for his feelings.
"Come on," Marc said in a hard voice, "you can have the guest room." Marc led the way down a hall, and opened a door to a small, pleasant carpeted room. "There's a bathroom over there, across the hall. You have any stuff?"
He shook his head. "Not really. Just this," he said, holding up his backpack. It held everything he owned, besides the car.
"Okay. Go to bed. Stay there," Marc instructed. "You'll be gone in the morning."
The door closed firmly.
He turned and looked around the room. Light colored walls, a twin bed with a cheerful yellow bedspread. Books lined a bookcase. That was one thing he remembered about Marc; the boy had loved books, when he was sober enough to read them. He sat on the bed and sighed.
What the hell was he doing here?
He should have known better. Marc hadn't forgotten; hadn't let anything go. Not that he should have. But now he was so low, Marc and Lee were offering him a room out of fucking compassion. He had an acrid taste in his mouth.
Instinctively, he found himself fishing out his laptop from the backpack.
The laptop started right up, but he couldn’t find a working internet connection. Of course, the house network had a password, but no way was he going to ask Marc for it. Lee might be persuaded, but he didn’t think that was a good idea. Just as well. No amount of scratching that itch would make it go away. That video was out there forever, being posted and reposted everyplace a computer could connect to the net. There was nothing he could do about it, no matter how many times he tried to get it taken down.
He closed the machine up, and pulled the blinds. He stripped off his hoodie, and stole across the hall to use the washroom before bed. As he dried his hands and face, he took the opportunity to look at himself in the mirror. The sight wasn't pretty. His lean, tanned frame seemed solid enough, but the face staring back at him from under the unwashed blond curls was haggard. Sighing, he turned away. He wondered if his eyes would ever feel like smiling again.
Back in the guestroom, he turned out the light. As he got into bed, he could not help thinking about how good it felt to slip between real sheets in a real bed again. Who knew how long it would be until he got that chance another day? He stared into the darkness. An unfamiliar ache formed in his chest.
Sadness, perhaps, for the termination of his adolescence, for losing whatever family he'd had. Sorrow for wasted years.
Yearning. Envy, maybe. Marc clearly cared for Lee, and he was willing to fight to protect him. Lee had a compassionate streak, couldn't see the danger. Lucky Marc, to find love; someone who would love him as deserved. Loved Marc as he had been unable to. Couldn't do. Wouldn't do.
Grief, for a heart he'd allowed to turn to stone.
For the first time in years, tears formed.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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