Oscar - 26. Part 26

The phone rang.

Quiet and monotonous. A double-beat through the tiny speaker pressing against my ear. Two-trills of digital noise lasting less than a second each, but ominous. Ominous enough to make my heart beat hard.

Hard and loud and heavy.

It rang again and my palms grew sweaty; the rigid grey plastic of my phone turning slick and slippery. Tightening my grip, I rubbed my free hand against my joggers; blood pumping like a drum through the cartilage sandwiched between my head and the handset.

Three rings. I swapped hands. Four. My neck ached.

It already hurt. Strained and stretched by Mr Price shooting his hot, tangy bolt into my stomach. My hands tied behind my back. My skull and mouth his personal property to use as he’d wished.

But the ache was different. No longer was it a trophy or a reminder of our time together. Now, and so suddenly, it was becoming something bad. A painful reminder that, I didn’t have him yet. A man who had made my wishes come true. Who had talked to me like an adult and had treated me like one.

It felt like he was lost to me for a reason I didn’t know but was undeniably growing inside of my gut like tangled thorns.

Five rings. Six. Seven. Nothing. Nothing but the steady beat of an unanswered call in a void of sizzling white noise.

Where is he?!

Then my thumping heart pounded. His voice. It boomed through the quiet. Strong and manly and confident. I took a quick breath. Composed myself.

But my jaw hung in the air. My excitement plummeted, all the way to the floor. In its place, a sickening dread.

Voicemail.

‘Hi, you’ve reached Tim Price. Sorry I can’t get to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the tone and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’

Hanging up before the beep, I threw my phone at my bed. It bounced off the springy top, hitting the wall by my window, before crashing noisily to the floor.

I didn’t move. Even if I’d thrown it hard enough to break I didn’t care. Unwanted questions and more pressing problems were elbowing their way in and stomping around my mind.

Why is he ignoring me? Where is he? Who is he with? What is he doing?

My heart sank.

Has Adam got to him already?

Possible, but improbable.

Why drop the bomb without all parties around to get obliterated? And judging by the look of pure hatred Adam had shot me, climbing into his mum’s car, I doubted he would waste an opportunity to watch my face as he poured gasoline on my relationship with Tim and lit a match.

Not that I was going to let him get anywhere near us.

It was simpler, then. It must be. And there was nothing simpler than another person. Tim must have found someone else. Another twink to play with. Another boy to turn into a man.

James?

Standing from my computer chair, I took a deep breath to cool the flames of jealously licking at my chest and head. It didn’t help. I took another and the flames grew, fanned by oxygen and uncertainty.

Striding across my room, I picked up my phone. It was fine. No scratches or marks. No dents. But no messages or returned calls.

Nothing.

Slumping onto my bed, I forced myself to ignore the crushing scenarios rolling around my head like boulders. Pushed aside the flashbacks of my dream that morning. Of Tim and Adam and James without me.

I busied myself by considering my options. It wasn’t much of a distraction. I didn’t have many.

I couldn’t message him again. Not a chance. It would come across too desperate. Calling had been bad enough. But at least if he’d answered I could have pretended that I’d pocket-called him. Rang him by accident and then casually checked if we were still on for tomorrow. Laid and cemented and built on my pre-emptive strategy to get away from Adam.

But he hadn’t answered. And now he had two messages and a missed call from me on his phone. Anything more, like a voicemail, would cross into James territory.

And if that happened, I’d be no better than the needy little boys I couldn’t stand.

Other than turning up at his house and knocking on his front door like a madman, I had no choice but to wait it out. Wait out each agonising second. Try to channel the virtue I’ve always had trouble with.

Fuck you, patience.

I checked the time on my phone. Almost ten at night. Dad’s muffled shouts at his computer screen resounded through the walls and into my room. Then the house went quiet again. Turning to my window, I opened the curtains and looked out.

Past the smeared glass and the dim reflection of my face, the sky was a mixture of vivid greys. Completely blanketed by thin cloud it was illuminated by the bright white moon somewhere behind. Below the inverse, night-time carpet the yellow tinged street was lit by two dim street lamps spaced ten or so metres apart.

Something in the corner of my eye darted toward one of the parked cars lining the closest pavement. Too small to be a cat. Too quick to be a dog.

A rat?

A bird. All alone and hidden if not for its shadow, its black silhouette stretching out from the camouflaged car bonnet and across the concrete like a Dali painting.

Go to his house.

No. I’d already decided, after he’d dropped me off the other night and asked if there was anything else I should tell him, that I wasn’t going to do anything like that anymore. No more stalking and spying. It was too risky.

Too much at stake. Too much to lose.

But, I told myself I wouldn’t knock on his door. I would watch. Stay invisible like my sly, feathered-friend down there. Keep quiet and keep an eye out for signs of Adam. Or James. Or anyone.

Or even nothing. Anything that showed me he wasn’t home. That he was out and too busy to text me back. That everything was fine. That it was all in my head.

I looked at my bed. Told myself to forget about it. To go to sleep and wait until the morning. To calm the fuck down and sort myself out. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t quiet the voice in my head. My own voice. Cold and cruel and uncaring.

He’s fucking someone else. I know he is. He never wanted me. He just wanted my body. That’s all I’m good for. Two holes to dump a load in. As if I thought he would ever want me. Nobody wants me. Not Tim. Not Adam. Not James. Not even my parents.

‘Shut up!’ I shouted, wrenching open my wardrobe doors.

Three minutes later, I was ready. Dressed all in black. Black jeans, black t-shirt and a black sweater. Black trainers and black socks. Turning my phone to silent, I placed it in my pocket. Picked up my house keys from my desk.

But as my fingers wrapped around the cold metal of my bedroom door knob my leg vibrated. Twice, but quickly. A one-two buzz in rapid succession. A text.

From him.

Hey! Sorry for the radio silence, it’s been a crazy day. Definitely still on for tomorrow and really like the idea of a hotel night. Naughty boy

For a second, I couldn’t believe my eyes; my poisonous inner-monologue silenced. Then came relief. Fast and refreshing like a dam bursting. The weight of it all gushing and flowing and falling away.

It peeled off my shoulders like it had never been there. All the crazy ideas and terrible reasons evaporated like steam, warming my cheeks and turning them red. All the pain and fear of losing him now silly and stupid.

Letting out the longest sigh of relief of my life, I let myself fall backwards onto my bed. Beamed at the ceiling as I bounced and sunk into my mattress, kicking off my trainers. I began to laugh. At the absurdity of it all. At how scared and angry and foolish I’d been.

At how a man had made me feel.

But he wasn’t just any man. He was my man. Tim fucking Price. A man who couldn’t wait to see me. Who did want me. Who cared about me.

And I cared about him. I did.

For the first time since I was fourteen, I actually cared about someone else. I could feel it, like a hot water bottle against my chest. In the release still rushing through my bones and muscles. In the ache in my neck.

Lifting my phone up and in front of my face to block out the glare of my bedroom light, I unlocked it and opened my messages.

Hey! That’s cool, no worries. And awesome, glad to hear it. What time should I come over? Or do you want to pick me up?

I hit send and within twenty seconds his reply buzzed into my hand. Fast and attentive like usual.

Come to mine and we’ll go from there. 6pm?

I can come earlier if you like?

Ok. 4pm?

Perfect.

Great. You’re going to get it.

Get what?

You’ll see.

Come on. Give me a taste.

Ok. I want you on your stomach. Back arched. Arse in the air. Your hole smooth and hairless.

Done. I want you to unload down my throat again.

You liked that?

No one’s done that to me before. I’m hard thinking about it.

So am I.

Where are you?

In bed.

Me too.

Are you touching your cock?

No. I’m saving myself for you.

Good boy.

Thank you, sir.

I’m turning the light off now. I’m shattered.

Sleep well.

Goodnight, Oscar.

Goodnight, sir.

For a minute, I lay still, staring at the pixelated letters of our conversation. Still laughing at myself in my head. At how quickly I’d lost my cool and composure.

Almost lost my mind.

But he was worth it. I hadn’t met anyone like Tim before. And I couldn’t wait to get to know him properly. Learn all about him.

What turned him on and what drove him wild. How hard he could fuck me or how slow and deep and intense he could slide inside. How he liked to cuddle after.

Big spoon always? Sometimes small?

I fantasised about how maybe one day we could become boyfriends and move in together. I could live with him in his place. Help him with his new life. Make a life together.

Away from this disgusting house. Away from my worthless father and the memories of my gutless mother.

Rolling onto my side, I reached over to my bedside table and put my phone on charge. Then I stood up and took off my clothes, dumping them in a crumpled black heap by my feet. Flicking off the light, I climbed back into bed and under my duvet.

‘It’s going to work,’ I whispered to myself in the darkness.

Then, less than a minute later, I fell asleep.