In the Fishbowl - 10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thanks to Jim for editing!

Something had gone wrong. For the last two sleepless nights, that’s all Travis could think. And every time he closed his eyes, even for a few seconds,he could see it.

It had been late Friday night, and he’d felt cold, numb, but oddly shaken. Joe had taken him to the small trailer he lived in behind the town’s newest housing developments, and there he’d forced Travis to sit at a thick cardboard table.

Joe had been cursing a lot. Travis remembered because it wasn’t really like the older man. He’d been saying something about a bunch of idiots. Travis was likely included in the sentiment, but he hadn’t really cared as he guzzled down the cold beer Joe had placed in front of him as if it were the most thirst-quenching water he’d ever come across. And he was thirsty. He hurt, too, but the pain came in second to the claustrophobia he felt within the small trailer which seemed to fill up quickly with the smoke from the cigarette that Joe had lit. The smell was suffocating.

Joe had walked towards him with a half-frozen slice of meat. His weathered, tan face was set in firm, serious lines, and there was still dried blood caught in the blond whiskers on his chin. “Hold still for a second, Travis,” he’d ordered, and Travis had closed his eyes--not because Joe was about to drop that piece of raw meat onto his face, but because suddenly, they weren’t in Joe’s trailer anymore.

They were back in that dirty, smoke-filled place where it was loud, and smoky. Like trapped pit bulls. There for the entertainment of bored old men in need of a little excitement. And it bothered him. Something was wrong with that, because it wasn’t supposed to bother him. Only, when it was happening, it had been Dennis Gordon and his objections on Travis’s mind, and then, Dennis Gordon hadn’t been a factor at all as everything around Travis seemed to go dark except for his opponent.

Joe hadn’t started the fight off well at all, and Travis had started to feel bad about the first two hits he’d gotten in. But then Joe coming towards him... and something in his friendly face had changed; his features had blurred and twisted, his mouth scowling and whiskers becoming a full, dark beard that matched wild, dark hair... and he was no longer Joe at all.

Travis had cowered. The feeling had been unsettling and unfamiliar, though he knew he’d experienced it a hundred times before, and when the blows had come... Travis had ducked... and then he’d begged like he was a little boy again, at the mercy of a giant.

“Travis!” What the hell’s the matter with you?”

Travis blinked hard, looked up, and found Joe in front of him, just as he had during the fight. Only there in Joe’s trailer, there weren’t over twenty pissed-off men yelling at him to snap out of it. There was just Joe looking just as worried as he had during the fight when Travis had, more or less, snapped.

Then, Travis hadn’t known how to react to him, or to anyone else yelling at him, so he’d gotten up, and Joe had been quick to put him back down. Mercifully, he’d kept most of the blows away from Travis’s face, but even that was no consolation for how the night had ended.

Travis had promised Mr. Gordon that he could take Joe. It might not have looked that way, since the older man stood a head above him and was out of his weight class by about twenty pounds, but Travis had done it before. He’d thought he’d do it again on Friday night, but instead, John Gordon lost money, and probably would have taken Travis’s head off if Joe hadn’t gotten him out of there. Joe had done a lot that night, Travis realized.

“I fucked up,” Travis whispered, and Joe shook his head as he moved two fingers back and forth in front of Travis’s face.

“What did you take?” Joe demanded.

“What?”

“You’re all fucked up, kid. You’ve gotta tell me what you took.”

“I don’t do drugs,” Travis had replied, somewhat surprised. But, Joe had continued to press the issue and Travis had continued to deny it until finally, Joe called a taxi and rode home with him, since two wouldn’t fit on the mountain bike that Joe usually got around with.

Travis had felt unresponsive the whole time, and details were still steadily coming back to him, but Joe had told Ryan that he was drunk. It wasn’t true, but just as well since his roommate had left him alone once he locked himself in his room for the next few days.

He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare. Constant anxiety attacks left him too afraid to leave his room, and the nightmares caused him to fear his own bed. And he kept seeing that face. The one that wasn’t Joe. And it shook him, because whenever he did remember it, he tried to picture it choking in its own blood on the kitchen floor, the only time he ever remembered it not being a threat.

Unable to sleep, functioning normally becoming a challenge... Travis had felt alone in his room. Over the weekend he refused to leave for work, and didn’t bother with his phone at all except to make an ill-placed phone call to Dennis Gordon, who’d seemed so annoyed to hear from him that he’d hung up before they could talk about anything at all. Travis supposed that he couldn’t blame Dennis for that. Really, he should have expected it. But he’d still made the call because for some unexplainable reason, he’d wanted to hear a voice other than his own, and Dennis was the only one he could think of who wasn’t going to badger him with a bunch of questions he had no desire to answer. But, the break from his troubles had been short-lived, and the call had ended with Travis feeling more anxious than when he’d started.

The next time he’d left his room had been on Sunday, only because he’d finally started to feel hungry. But, the trip seemed wasted because the refrigerator was mostly empty, and he’d caught Aiden in a foul mood that was most definitely directed towards him; but, Travis didn’t even have the energy to tease the guy, let alone attempt to discover what he was so bent about.

But now it was Monday, February fourth, and Travis knew that he couldn’t hide in his room anymore. Standing in front of his bedroom door he was showered, dressed, holding a full envelope in his hand, and for the first time in the last forty-eight hours he couldn’t feel his heart nervously tapping away in his chest. Instead, the pounding seemed isolated to his head as he stared at his calendar, frowning at the circled date that was now only two days away. This year was supposed to be different, he thought. But so far, he was starting off worse than ever.

And he didn’t even have time to think about it. There was too much he needed to do--one thing in particular that could no longer be put off. He opened the door, and cringed at the numerous, small thumps that hit the carpeted floor when all the pennies he’d wedged into the door cracks at four in the morning fell free. Frowning, swearing to himself that he needed to lose some of these old habits, he rushed to pick each one up, placing the ones that had landed heads-up in his right pocket, and the tails in his left. He stood, took a brief look over the floor to make sure he hadn’t missed any, and then moved through the apartment in long strides, not caring if someone else was there or not. In fact, he didn’t even take the time to notice before he made his way to the front door, stepped outside and took in a deep gulp of fresh air that felt good against his face. And, surprisingly warm.

It was the warmth Travis hadn’t expected, especially not at nine in the morning, and as a result he shed his coat and hat, feeling lighter for it as he headed around the corner towards the parking lot, where he stopped when he came face to face with Kyle Davis.

“I don’t have time,” Travis stated, before Kyle even bothered to greet him, but it seemed pretty obvious that Kyle had been on his way to see him. Otherwise, he would have been on the other side of the complex.

“Hey, wait!” Kyle insisted, disgruntled by the dismissal. “Nicky said you’ve been sick. Are you alright?”

Travis’s brow arched. “Nicky?”

Kyle shrugged. “He probably got it from Ryan.”

Travis released a breath. “Again, you people gossip too much.” He started to move around Kyle, but Kyle’s arm shot out, his fingertips gripping a bruise on Travis’s arm hard enough to make him wince.

“Hey,” Kyle said, frowning at the newer bruises he could see on Travis’s face, including a rather nasty one that ran from the bottom of his ear to his chin. “Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Travis,” Kyle said carefully. “You sound angry.”

“What?” Travis demanded. “I’m not allowed to have a bad day?”

“No, I’m just saying you don’t sound like... you. What happened?”

“Nothing. Why would something have to happen?” Travis asked defensively. He was becoming uncomfortable and irate, and unable to explain why. All he understood at the present moment was that he missed the safe haven his room was when it wasn’t acting as a trap for his nightmares, the sun was too bright in his eyes, and he felt the need to escape the person who he couldn’t remember ever being uncomfortable with. “Look, I said I have to go, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”

“Where are you going?” Kyle asked.

“Phone bill,” Travis mumbled over his shoulder as he held up his envelope, which, turned out to be a mistake when Kyle decided to snatch it out of his hand. “Hey!” Travis objected, rounding on Kyle so fast that Kyle took a step back, already opening the envelope. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Kyle’s eyes widened as his finger moved into the envelope to flip through a healthy stack of cash, made up of mostly tens, twenties and a few fifties. “This isn’t a fucking phone bill, Travis,” he snapped. “And what are you doing walking around with this much on you, anyway? Are you ever going to open a bank account? Seriously...”

“Christ!” Travis cursed, snatching the envelope back. “Do you ever quit?”

Kyle crossed his arms and regarded his friend seriously. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Travis?”

“What? No!”

“Then what are you doing with all that? Look, I know you were sick because you were wasted, and that phone call about the money... if you owe someone...”

“I wasn’t wasted!” Travis retorted. “Fuck. You know what, Kyle? You’ve been a good friend. The kind that knows when to shut up and mind his own business. Go back to that. Please. Be that good friend, or not a friend at all, because I can’t deal with this shit right now!”

Kyle opened his mouth, but was too stunned to respond before Travis turned and disappeared purposefully across the parking lot. Not sure whether to feel angry, foolish, or offended, Kyle just stood there for several long moments watching after Travis, until finally he released an exasperated breath and headed home.

***

He was lucky he wasn’t fired. Travis kept telling himself that. Made him feel better. Just, not as much as he figured it should.

“Come on, Lacy,” he insisted as he stared at the Video Warehouse schedule tacked up behind the office desk. “Help me out.”

“I can’t,” the blonde girl said firmly, without so much as glancing up from her school work. “You were no-call/no-show two days in a row. You’re lucky you’ve got any hours at all.”

“Five? Five hours?” he demanded. “And who the hell is Kelly?”

“We hired her yesterday. She wants to work.”

“So do I!” he snapped. He’d had a rough morning, and losing a week’s income wasn’t making it any better since once again, he was almost flat broke.

“Then you should have come to work when you were supposed to. Look, I can’t talk about this right now, okay? If you want your hours back, I’ll see what I can do next week, but you can’t...”

“Just get my hours back and I’ll show up,” Travis said impatiently before heading for the door.

Lacy looked up to scowl after him. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“You don’t see me on the schedule now, do you?” he responded in possibly the harshest tone he’d ever directed at her.

“Hey! They could have fired you, Travis,” Lacy retorted. “I talked them into this instead; if you don’t like it, then go work somewhere else! God! What’s crawled up your butt, anyway?”

Nothing lately, Travis mused, which could be part of his problem. He felt too full of tension. Not himself.

“Just get me some hours, Lacy. Please.”

Travis walked out then, deciding not to stick around for whatever she might say next. He’d only end up snapping at her again, and at this pace he wouldn’t have any friends left by the end of the day. No friends. No jobs.

He stopped outside of the video store, pulled his phone from his pocket, and frowned down at it. Six messages from John Gordon since Friday night. Travis hadn’t listened to any of them, let alone returned them. He felt too jumbled for that; nervous in a way that he wasn’t accustomed to. He didn’t think he was fired from the dealership. John Gordon was angry, but he wasn’t the type of man who’d seek out the simplest form of revenge to be had. He would want to get even. He’d want reimbursement, one way or another. Currently, that only made Travis feel worse. And maybe a little paranoid.

He’d been jumpy all day, feeling misplaced and lost, and when his phone rang as he headed down the street, he was forced to shake away some of that anxiety before he even had the mind to pick it up and see who was calling. He’d stopped on the street corner, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the amount of people out on their lunch breaks and running their errands, and he regarded the number suspiciously, knowing that he’d seen it before and recently. Gritting his teeth, he decided to answer, deciding that if it was Mr. Gordon again there was more than one way to lose a connection until he felt like dealing with the man.

“Yeah?”

“Is this Travis?”

Travis narrowed his eyes as he tried to place the voice. Older male. A little raspy. A slow intake of breath; whoever it was was smoking. “Who’s this?”

“It’s Joe.”

Travis sighed. “Oh. Hey. What’s up?”

“Haven’t heard anything on you since the other night,” Joe explained. “How’re you feeling?”

Travis shrugged, as if he expected the caller to see him. “All things considered...”

Joe laughed. “You feel like shit.”

“Yeah,” Travis replied, rubbing at a few sore ribs. “That about sums it up. So, what can I do for you?”

“Like I said, was just calling to see how you were feeling.”

Travis arched a brow. “Really?” He sounded more suspicious than he’d intended to, but that could have been a mix of paranoia and the fact that other than meeting on the street, he and Joe didn’t regularly associate.

“Yep. What are you doing today?”

“Making sure I still have my jobs.”

“And how’s that going?” Joe wanted to know.

“Slow. Why?”

“Do you remember where I’m at? You weren’t all there on Friday.”

“I think so,” Travis replied.

“Head over then, will ya? You still owe me a talk, and I just picked up some roast beef. Makes good sandwiches.”

Travis wasn’t accustomed to anyone telling him to blow off his day to do anything, and normally, he likely would have been the first to point that out, but again, he shrugged. “If I catch the bus it’ll take me forty-five minutes.”

“Sandwiches aren’t going anywhere.”

Travis made it to the bus stop earlier than expected, and within thirty minutes, he was walking up to Joe’s trailer, with too much on his mind and not enough of an appetite to want a sandwich.

The door of the small housing space was wide open, letting the fresh air in, and even before he reached it, Travis could see Joe, sweeping some dust outside. The older man looked bigger somehow with his shirt off, his golden skin and slight gut dusted with hair. The blondish hair atop his head was matted down from recently wearing a baseball cap and the cigarette hanging from his mouth seemed like all ash. His eyes, tired and marked with a few crow’s-feet that he was probably still too young to have, glanced up briefly as he gave Travis a wave.

“You look better, at least,” Joe commented as he tossed the cigarette out into the snow and placed the broom aside before letting Travis in.

“Do I?” Travis asked as he took in mismatched blankets across a fold-away bed, recently washed dishes near the sink, torn curtains and quite a few other details that he’d missed on Friday night as he walked across the narrow hall leading down Joe’s trailer and stopped to pick up the only photograph in the place, sitting on top of a small television. There was a woman and a child in it, but he wasn’t really looking at them. He was too busy sorting his own thoughts, feeling that he needed to explain himself for reasons that he didn’t really understand. “I wasn’t fucked up the other night,” he said as he glanced back at Joe, who was at the small table, slapping meat onto bread. “I wasn’t.”

Joe gave him a glance, but other than that didn’t respond, prompting Travis to continue.

“I don’t touch drugs. Never have except for the time someone slipped me something while I wasn’t looking... scared the hell out of me and I went straight to the emergency room. And I don’t really drink, either. That beer you gave me was the first time in months and I puked it all up when I got home.” Travis stopped, frowning at Joe as he continued to make his sandwiches. “I don’t do any of that. It’s not me... I don’t like what it does to my head. You don’t believe me.”

Joe looked up then. “It doesn’t matter whether or not I believe you,” he replied. “Either way, I think you’re full of shit.” Travis’s brow knitted at that, but Joe raised a hand to keep him from responding. “You don’t got a drug problem. You don’t got a drinking problem. Me? I drink,” he said, nodding towards the empty beer bottles in the sink. “I don’t need AA to tell me I’m an alcoholic, and I don’t need counselors telling me I need to stop because I’m not going to. See, I’m full of shit, too, Travis. Probably even more than you. Was even like that before I was a drunk... Before I started drinking, I was just like you.”

“I’ll never start drinking,” Travis said flatly, no insult or disapproval apparent in his tone. He wasn’t going to judge, he was simply stating what he thought to be fact.

“You might if you thought it would wash away the demons--and those, you’ve got.”

“Is this your way of telling me I should take up drinking?” Travis remarked, amused.

“Nope. I’m telling you to deal with whatever shit you’ve got before it gets to be too late,” Joe replied, suddenly crossing over to take the framed photograph from Travis’s hands.

Travis frowned, silently watching the older man as he ran a large calloused thumb over the glass covering within the frame before he silently took it back to the table with him.

“Joe. Everyone’s got shit... what are we talking about here?”

Joe smiled at that, and nodded for Travis to take a seat at the table. “I just thought maybe you’d wanna talk about it.”

Travis took a seat, but shook his head. “No, I’m good, thanks.”

“Are you?” Joe remarked. “Huh.”

“Look, I know I’ve got some issues, okay? But I’m not really a heart-to-heart kind of guy, and no offense, but...”

“You know,” Joe interrupted, “I know more about it than you’re giving me credit for, Travis. I know what it’s like to be angry about something. You are angry, aren’t you?” Travis frowned, and Joe smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, you hide it all well enough, and I think mostly, you’re a good kid... but the fighting...”

“Hey, it’s a faster way of making a few bucks than...” Travis started.

“But there are other ways. You’re smart enough to know that, and I’m not talking about your average day jobs.”

Travis balked. “Now you’re telling me to sell drugs?”

“No, I’m just saying you could. You’d probably be good at it. But you go out and fight instead. And you know what? I think you like it better when you’re losing than winning. More of a challenge, right? But what I can’t figure out is if you do it because you’re pissed off at yourself, or something else.”

“Why would I have to be pissed...”

“I was pissed,” Joe continued. “When I was as young as you... it was everything. My parents hate me, my friends don’t understand. The world’s just fucking unfair, isn’t it? I know what it’s like, to want to fight like that. I was never smart enough to make money off of it, but...”

“Hey,” Travis said carefully. “You’re wrong. I don’t evenlike fighting, I just do it because...”

“Because what?” Joe asked.

Travis stared at the older man for a long moment, trying to figure out exactly what Joe was trying to figure out. He felt like Joe wanted something from him, and it made him feel guarded, and a little annoyed.

“Like I said,” Travis finally replied, “it’s just a quick way to pay some bills. Okay? And why do you care, anyway? It’s not like you weren’t there with me Friday night.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one who had a nervous breakdown,” Joe pointed out. He suddenly looked troubled as he looked at his picture again, and then held it up for Travis. “I know you’re none of my business. But take it from someone who knows. Take care of whatever you’re holding in there before it takes care of you. You’ll regret it.”

“Your family?” Travis asked of the picture, and Joe nodded.

“My wife took my daughter and walked out fourteen years ago. Both of them are better off for it.”

“Because you’re a drunk?” Travis asked skeptically. “You seem better than the ones I’ve met.”

“Maybe that’s because now I know what my problem is,” Joe replied, smirking. “But no. it wasn’t just because I drank. It was because a long time ago, I got hurt. Scared. Instead of dealing with it I wanted to prove it didn’t matter, so I went completely self-destructive without realizing it until I drove everyone I cared about away from me... any of that sound familiar to you, Travis?”

With his arms already crossed, Travis Beltnick lifted his hand to mindlessly chew at his thumbnail as his eyes remained anywhere but on Joe. It seemed fair to say that if Joe happened to be anyone else that Travis had taken the time to befriend, someone who knew him a little better... someone like Kyle, or even Ryan... then he’d be fuming at the moment, and Travis liked to think that he didn’t fume often. But, since Travis didn’t really know Joe--not even the guy’s last name--it was easier for him to come to the conclusion that what Joe had to say, simply didn’t matter. And once Travis was able to reach that conclusion, he was able to smile the same carefree smile that he always managed.

“Look,” he said, “I’m sorry you went through that and all, but that’s not me. I appreciate the concern, though.” He stood, making an effort not to grab his sore ribs when he moved too fast.

“You’re leaving?”

Travis shrugged. “I should get back to checking up on my employment status. You know? But, thanks for the other night, alright? You were a big help.”

Joe forced a smile as he stood, and lifted one of the sandwiches from the table, wrapping it in a napkin as he followed Travis the short distance to the door. But there he paused, lifted a dull pencil, and wrote an address on the napkin. “Take one to go, huh, kid?” he said.

Travis shrugged, took the sandwich, and raised an eyebrow at the address on the napkin. “What’s this?”

“I work there every weekend,” Joe explained. “If the jobs you’ve got don’t work out, stop by sometime. I might have something worth your while.”

Travis took a bite of the sandwich, and then gave a short nod. “Sure. See you around, Joe.”

And then Travis made a point to leave without looking back.

***

Behind the glass of the pet-supply store’s grooming center, Dennis Gordon did his best to dry a long-haired sandy-colored mutt that didn’t seem any more interested in sitting still now than it had when he’d lifted it into the wide tub for its bath, and before he could soak up most of the water, Dennis had to turn his head as the dog discharged it himself, shaking it halfway across the room. In response, Dennis simply shrugged and rubbed the panting animal’s head as he made another attempt with the towel.

“That’s the last one for now, Dennis,” an older woman who wasn’t nearly as drenched told him as she approached. “I’ll finish up. You can go.”

“You sure?” he asked.

“We’ll call tonight and let you know if we could use some more help tomorrow. Your friend’s waiting, anyway.”

Dennis turned his head to look past the glass where Owen Dovan was standing with his hands in his pockets and a perplexed, but patient look on his face. Dennis gave him a nod, and then handed the wet canine’s short leash over to the woman. “Thanks, then.”

“Uh-huh. Not a bad job today, Dennis.”

Washing dogs wasn’t exactly the most challenging task in the world, but Dennis didn’t mind accepting praise for it if it meant that he would be called back. Besides, he was a little proud of himself for finding at least something so fast.

But now for Dennis, the Monday workday was over, and after drying off the best he could and changing into the dry sweater he’d originally worn over his t-shirt, he went to meet Owen, who he’d told to come there when the guy called an hour before.

“You wash dogs now?” Owen asked, and Dennis shrugged.

“I guess so.”

“Okay,” Owen said as they walked out together. “So... I blew you off the other day... I am really sorry about that, and I know that I was the one who called you in the first place, so it’s even more fucked up... I mean, either way it was fucked up... anyway, I’m sorry. Really.”

“You don’t think I believe you?”

“No!” Owen said quickly. “I just wanted you to know that I’m...”

“Sorry,” Dennis finished for him.

“Yeah,” Owen insisted, and when he finally realized that he was being teased, stopped and smiled. “Yeah.”

“Where were you?” Dennis asked as they continued moving towards the parking lot, though not necessarily towards either of their respective vehicles. “I saw your truck... knocked on the door...”

Owen made an awkward face. “Actually... I never left the house. I was there, I just don’t think I heard you... and then I forgot you were coming until later. It was sorta... Aiden.”

Dennis’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and his mouth curled in discomfort, as if someone had just given him too much information. “Look, I don’t need to know anything like...”

Owen rolled his eyes. “I meant that Aiden came over before I was supposed to meet you,” he said irritably. “He surprised the hell out of me, too. For two seconds I actually thought that we actually had a chance to... to just get better.”

“Didn’t go well?” Dennis said when Owen had fallen silent for a little too long.

“He made it clear... what he thinks of me,” Owen said slowly, and then snorted humorlessly. “Apparently I was never good enough for him or anyone else, and what I can’t figure out is if he was with me in the first place because it was just convenient, or if he just felt sorry for me.”

Dennis looked at Owen oddly for a moment, and then finally just shook his head.

“What?” Owen demanded. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Dennis shrugged. “He liked you.”

“Huh?”

“Well... it’s like you’re saying he never liked you,” Dennis replied carefully. Honestly, this was none of his business. He didn’t want it to be his business. And quite frankly, he would have preferred for Owen to be talking to anyone about it other than himself. “But he did... even before you were all... out about being together. Okay? He liked you. It was gross, trust me,” Dennis said impatiently. He stopped in the parking lot, not far from where he’d left his car and regarded Owen expectantly. “Did you wanna meet back at your place, or what?”

Owen didn’t seem to have an answer for that. Instead, he cocked his head and looked at Dennis with a mixture of accusation and confusion. “Gross? Is talking about Aiden too much for you? Because I was just starting to think you’d evolved past the homophobic...”

Dennis released a frustrated breath. “You’re missing my point. Look, I never liked Aiden,” he said, and then as if he thought Owen would feel left out, added, “I didn’t like you either... But with Knightly, I’m just saying that you can’t say he didn’t like you, because he did. If even I could see it, I’m just saying...” Dennis paused, frowning at the sad, thoughtful look on Owen’s face that suggested he wasn’t even listening anymore. “And to answer your question... yeah, talking about Knightly’s not fun for me unless we’re making fun of him... and even if you think you want to do that, you’d probably feel bad about it afterwards, and I really don’t want anything to do with that.”

Owen blinked, not sure whether he was feeling slightly stunned because it almost sounded like Dennis was defending Aiden, or because that was the most he’d ever heard Dennis Gordon say at once that didn’t involve a lot of hot air and bullshit. “Can I ask you something?” he finally said.

Dennis’s brow creased uneasily and he turned to walk towards his car, slow enough for Owen to follow but pointedly enough to say that he wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. “I guess so.”

“What was it about Aiden... and me, too--that you didn’t like, I mean. I never got that, you know? I mean, you were always calling me a fag, but I don’t think...”

“I called everyone that,” Dennis pointed out.

“I was going to say that it couldn’t have just been because I was gay.”

“I hated you because the first time we met you jumped me,” Dennis said flatly.

“But you totally deserved it.”

Dennis met his eyes. “And I never got the chance to get even.”

Owen frowned. “I made you look bad.”

Dennis gave a somewhat reluctant nod. “My dad wouldn’t let it go. And... hassling you could be...”

Owen smirked. “Fun?”

Dennis shrugged. “Something like that. And like I said, I never liked Aiden--Ryan was his best friend, and that whole crowd...”

“You mean with Leo and Ben?” Owen asked, and Dennis stopped to look at him, obviously unsure of how much Owen actually knew. But, regardless of what Owen did or didn’t know, it became clear that Dennis wasn’t interested in discussing his troubles when it came to certain enemies.

“I don’t get along with any of them, and they don’t get along with me. That’s just the way it is.”

Owen was silent for a moment, and then asked, “Is that why you split the other night? At the party?”

Dennis frowned. He’d been wondering when that was going to come up. As far as he was concerned, Leo had more or less run him out of there, regardless of whether or not he’d already planned to leave on his own. But, this wasn’t something he was willing to explain to Owen. Owen liked Leo, and Ben, and Ryan;they were his friends, and taking the past into account, Dennis couldn’t help assuming that any excuse he gave Owen for leaving that party would be interpreted as his own fault.

“You know,” Dennis finally said, “this has nothing to do with Aiden. We were talking about Aiden, weren’t we?”

Owen raised an eyebrow, and then smiled suddenly, shaking his head. “How about... we just get out of here. I’ve gotta get my hair cut. Wanna come? We’ll find something to do afterwards. It’s too nice out to be hiding in a garage all day.”

“Uh...”

“Come on,” Owen insisted. “I’ll just leave my truck here. You can drop me off for it later.”

“Where, exactly, are we going to get your hair cut?” Dennis asked.

“I was thinking the mall.”

“The mall,” Dennis repeated with a few blank nods. “Okay.” And he wasn’t thrilled at all.

***

He wasn’t self-destructive. And why the hell was he letting an old nobody get to him, anyway? Travis wanted to know as he sat tiredly on the bench at the bus stop, and waved by the second bus that had stopped since he had, indicating that he’d been in the same place for over an hour.

He’d just made a mistake. Fucking nightmares. They were only supposed to pop up when he was sleeping, and never when he was fighting. It was just a mistake. But Travis felt like he’d fucked up big. It didn’t help that he was still anxious over what was going to come next. It was like that around this time of year for him. He found it difficult to concentrate on anything but the storm of bad memories that had left him overwhelmed lately. And now, he didn’t even have a distraction for it.

He couldn’t go to work, not at the video store because he was being reprimanded, and not to the dealership because he was well aware that he couldn’t handle John Gordon at this time. He couldn’t go track down Kyle until he was ready to apologize, because Kyle would definitely expect an apology. He thought about tracking down Aiden; if anything, the prospect of getting laid had its appeal, but given that Aiden was elusive and more recently, not a whole lot of fun about it, Travis opted to give him some space. It was Monday afternoon, and if Ryan wasn’t working or studying, he’d be working out. Normally, Travis wouldn’t mind joining him, and maybe he would have if it didn’t hurt to breathe, let alone exert himself.

So for now Travis was on his own, and completely hating it. Hating it even more when his phone rang and made him jump again.

Pussy, he cursed himself as he wrestled the device from his pocket, wondering why he’d managed to remember to charge the damn thing on the one day when he had no interest in answering it. He found himself looking at a nearby waste basket; a good place for an unwanted cell phone. But before he got too far along on that train of thought he had the sense to see who was calling, and the name that popped up both surprised him and made him more partial to answering the call.

“Dennis?” he asked, not bothering to hide that he was surprised.

“Yeah.”

Travis was silent for a moment. “Did you dial the wrong number?”

“No.”

“Did you call to yell at me?”

“No... why?”

“No reason. Seems popular today, I guess... why did you call?”

For a moment the other end of the line, as if Dennis had suddenly decided that the question required a great deal of thought. Then finally, he replied, “I’m stuck in the mall.”

“Huh... you do realize you’ve called the wrong person for a ride?”

“I don’t mean like that... look, I needed to be on the phone. There’s a woman following me around with scissors, and I don’t need a haircut. She keeps looking at me.”

Travis took that in, and then laughed. “What?”

“I came here with a friend, so he could get his hair cut,” Dennis explained. “I don’t need one.”

“O-kay...”

“You’re the only one I thought to call...the only other person is already here. He’s not helping. Just, deal with it, alright? You owe me for taking my dog,” Dennis added, sounding disgruntled and uncomfortable.

Travis sat back against the bench, smiling to himself. Unlike Dennis, he was suddenly feeling unexpectedly and pleasantly relaxed. “That’s okay. Call whenever you want. It’s good you did, I was just starting to get bored. Hey--I’ve got an idea to run by you. You won’t like it.”

“Then please, don’t.”

“Hmm... nope. Gonna do it, anyway. Can I borrow your dog? You know, legitimate this time.”

“What?”

“She doesn’t judge me,” Travis stated. “And it’s not like you’re using her.”

“You want my dog?”

“I haven’t said it clearly enough? Look, just for a few days or something like that. I’ll take good care of her.”

“I don’t think...”

“Well, why don’t you think about it?” Travis cut him off. This sounded like a great idea to him, so he was convinced given the chance, Dennis would see it his way sooner or later.

“Why don’t you get your own dog?”

“Um... commitment isn’t one of my more impressive virtues. So will you think about it? Wait. Don’t answer that. Ditch your friend and come pick me up. I’ll talk you into it then.”

Travis was now met with a disbelieving silence, and then finally, “Why did I call you again?”

Travis shrugged. “I don’t know, but at least part of you is still glad you did, right?”

“Probably not as much as you’ve convinced yourself,” Dennis assured him. “But look, maybe later I’ll...”

“You’ll...” Travis pressed when Dennis didn’t continue.

“I might have some time to... I might have some time.”

Travis took a minute to think, wondering if Dennis would say anymore, but again, he didn’t. “I was thinking about hanging out in the hot tub again,” he replied. “The owners still aren’t home. It’ll be quiet.”

“I’m sure not too quiet so long as you’re around,” Dennis remarked.

“There you go thinking you’re funny again,” Travis responded. “So are you coming?”

“I’ll...”

“You’ll think about it,” Travis finished for him. “Then, you’ll call and ask what time we should meet. I’ll talk to you then.”

***

Standing safely outside the entrance of where Owen had chosen to get his hair cut, Dennis snapped his phone shut and shook his head to himself. Travis Beltnick struck him as peculiar, but it seemed interesting how a few minutes on the phone with the guy could drive Dennis to utter distraction when it came to anything else he thought he should be thinking about.

Turning, he intended to see if Owen was finished yet, only to find Owen standing two feet away, watching him. The blond had finished with his haircut, but unless they’d known he’d actually gotten one, there wasn’t much difference to be seen. He was a little cleaner, and maybe even a little blonder, as if someone had cut away all the darker hairs.

“Are you ready?” Dennis asked. He hadn’t bothered to pretend that he actually liked hanging around the mall.

“Yeah,” Owen agreed. “Who was that?” he asked, nodding towards the phone that Dennis was putting away.

“Oh. Just this guy... Travis.”

“Travis?” Owen repeated, more interested than he was surprised. “Did he... say anything about me?”

“Why would he?” Dennis asked.

Something in Owen’s complexion turned a subtle shade of red, and Dennis regarded it with the confusion it seemed to deserve, while Owen only shrugged. “No reason.”