I'm Not From Earth - 13. Thirteen

t h i r t e e n

George's place was cradled near a forest near downtown. The busy buzz of city life was nearby, but it was far enough so that the roar of traffic was all but a gentle hum in the wind. Here was the perfect place for a weekend getaway.

"What happened?" Rover asked urgently as Somerset pulled snugly into the large driveway, behind fifty other cars. The house was impressive -- something his father would probably consider buying -- with looming white pillars and many shelves of balconies and pools. The magnificence was diminished, as it was however almost completely sheathed in a strange, diaphanous fog.

"Happened? What d'you mean man?"

Rover gestured aimlessly at the house. "Were they playing with firecrackers? Or was there like a fire or something?"

"Fire?" Somerset looked deeply confused, and he paused for a few seconds, unbuckled seat belt in hand. Then his expression cleared and he laughed. "No, there wasn't a fire bro. Nothing in George's house is flammable. I mean, he made extra sure of that."

The pungent smell hit Rover like a punch in the face as soon as he got out of the car. It was burnt tea leaves and essence of skunk all in one. He blinked a couple of times to clear his head, but then gagged, doubled over, and coughed for all he was worth.

Here was the perfect place for a full blown marijuana growth operation, Rover thought in slight trepidation.

"You okay?" Somerset bent over and patted him on the back, his face concerned.

"... I'm fine..."

"'Kay." A grin.

"I'll let you know when I lose too many brain cells, okay?"

Somerset laughed again, and then breathed in luxuriously. Rover gagged at his friend's expression of pleasure. After a moment's consideration, he frowned and said, "we don't have to do this here you know. I could always call up another and ask if we can stay --"

"It's fine," Rover insisted, almost angrily, holding back coughs. "George has the biggest house and we're like, already here. Just gimme a moment..."

The inside of the house however, was far from Rover's idea of fine. The air was translucent, ten puffs from being completely saturated with smoke. People filled up and clung to every corner of every room -- lying on the floor, curled up onto the tables, piled up over each other -- and most of them were all doing something. Rapidly ingesting foul smelling liquor, smoking, injecting each other with some liquid Rover did not recognize... having sex behind the TV.

The rest whom weren't occupied in those vices were dancing -- and it was even worse than the club Somerset took him to last week. They were all over the place, stumbling over each other, screaming incoherently underneath the booming music that rattled Rover's teeth with every thump of bass.

Rover lost Somerset in about three minutes.

He took another hour to plow through the sea of bodies, trying to ignore each time someone grabbed his butt and turning down every joint that was offered to him. His head grew leaden from the smoke, and everything became surreal. The dancers were twisting silhouettes behind the dimmed lights of the chandeliers and flashing disco balls.

Finally, Rover found what looked like an exit.

Desperate, he lunged with his sandaled foot and kicked the doors open, hard enough that they splintered along the hinges and the glass cracked. No one paid the least attention to him though -- or maybe the sound was just too soft to hear underneath all the noise.

He strode to the balcony and let his head crash into the railing.

*

Rover couldn't clear his head. The fresh air he had been seeking was still laden with smoke, and it drove him nuts. He was still thinking in slow motion, so could not summon up the energy to get up and leave the house to grab his things from Somerset's car. And so he stood, leaning heavily against the marble railing, gazing downwards and watching the people in the pool dunk themselves stupid. He vaguely wondered if Somerset was among them.

He eventually began to wonder if his father's guards would find him. Surely they couldn't find him here, or at least wouldn't for a while. But then who knew? They could have followed Somerset's car again. Rover would have to leave this place again. But where the hell would he go after? They couldn't go back to Somerset's, that was for sure.

There were two clear possibilities. Or at least, as clear as he could make it through his cloudy head. He could go to the police to get things sorted out for that was the last place his father would ever go to, or he could run far away and be gone for good.

Rover was reluctant to do the first. His father was undoubtedly violent, but he wasn't sure it was right to exploit him in such a way. If he was reported, his father's high end, black market wine stealing-and-selling could be revealed and the consequences would be relentless. How long of a sentence would his father get, anyways? And surely, once his sentence was finished, his father would surely come back for him. It was in his possessive nature. Rover didn't understand why, but he knew his father would never let go.

His hand crept to his back, subconsciously feeling for the faded bruises. They tingled and sent shivers through his body, as if to ask, do you want more of this?

Rover then thought of leaving, his other resort, and realized he was almost as reluctant to do that as well. He had no money with him, and no account to withdraw money from. All the riches were locked away, just as it had always been. He had never lain his hands on a single penny from his father. And where could he run to? He had no close relatives or far away friends to stay at. He had nowhere to go, except to roam in the darkness of the streets.

The truth was, he was scared shitless when he thought of either choice, but he also knew he had to make the decision soon.

Footsteps approached.

Rover let his head fall back onto the railing and he closed his eyes wearily, listening as the steps drew closer and closer, until... someone leaned into his shoulder.

The skin was soft but corded with hard muscles. Rover froze. His nerves paused, his brain went dead, and his heart sped up. Cautiously, he took in a deep breath.
An amazing scent filled his nostrils, instantly clearing his head. It wasn't perfume or anything quite of the ordinary. It was adrenaline, sweat, and the softest hint of a flower he couldn't put his finger on. It was the muskiness and sweetness of a boy.

It smelled like sex.

Rover slowly looked up and met the perfect green eyes he had dreamt about for the past seven nights. They were smiling.

"Rover?"

He was just as he had remembered. Pearlescent skin, sharp and aquiline features, a blush in his lips. His voice too -- light with that familiar hint of mockery. The broad smile that enticed Rover to cling onto him forever.

"What? Am I too scary to talk to?" The smile slowly faded, when Rover did not -- could not -- reply for the next few moments. Slade's face grew into that cold sculpture of cruel beauty once again. He paused, then said, "or do you just not remember me. 'Cause if you don't, well that's okay..."

Rover opened his mouth to speak, but his heart was still in his throat, pounding too fast.

Slade rolled his eyes. "Brain damage and your like walk hand in hand." He turned to go. "Don't drink too much, or you might lose it all. See you, Rover."

Attraction was quickly tainted with annoyance. "My like?"

"Yeah. You know, with that typical tank, the blond hair, the tan, the obvious slowness..."

"I thought you said I was less Abercrombie than you thought," Rover said flatly.

Slade paused, blinked, then grinned, obviously pleased that he was remembered, throwing himself back to leaning on the balcony. Rover thought it strange -- he was sure that anyone who had set their eyes on him would never forget how he looked for their entire lives.

"Just testing you," Slade said innocently.

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever."

A pause. "Are you all right?"

Rover opened his mouth to shoot his automatic I'm fine, but the words died in his mouth. Having his father after his ass was not all right. Having his father's bodyguards after his ass was not all right. The thoughts of reporting him and sentencing him to prison was not all right. Hot boxed with second hand marijuana smoke into an hour worth's of soap opera worthy depression was, most definitely, not all right.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Slade's voice was soft, a strangely harmonious jangle of concern and casualness, as though he was trying to hide his care. Hearing the curious tone, Rover felt a violent rush that left his chest feeling even heavier than it had been before.

"It's okay. I can handle," Rover paused for a moment. "What are you doing here?

"I thought I might check out the source that was stinking up my house," Slade said bitterly. "I came to crack the skulls of the potheads, honestly, but I've given up. It's impossible to find the owners in this shit heap. Now what brings you here? You're not smoking. You don't look like you even want to."

"It's uhm, my friend's birthday party."

Slade's expression clouded, slanted brows forming a V, eyes questioning. Although uncomfortable under the scrutinization, Rover decided he liked it when Slade was doubtful. Or rather, confused and doubtful at the same time. It was neither too cold, nor was it so warm that Rover grew afraid that the incandescent grins would disappear in a flash. It was in between, irritated and thinking at the same time.

It took a moment before he realized that it was the hint of vulnerability that was so attractive.

Rover drew conclusions. When Slade's expression was cold, he looked older -- twenty something perhaps. When it was friendly, he looked younger than seventeen. And when he was puzzled... he looked like what Rover imagined to be a college freshman; a mind of a boy struggling in a man's world.

What the hell was he doing? Rover had met Slade for a total of less than four hours and he was already imagining too much, too deeply, way too fast. He inwardly kicked himself.

"I came to escape from home," Rover relented.

He felt he owed Slade the explanation he had asked for the last time they met, but didn't want to reveal the whole deal concerning his father. It wasn't necessary to expose himself entirely for judgment, ridicule and pity. With both Slade's cynical tones and his sudden flashes of understanding, Rover wasn't sure which he would do. He seemed the type to do all -- or perhaps none at all.

They were silent for awhile. Slade was no longer looking straight at him, but was staring intently down at the pool, seeming to be in deep thought. Rover took the time to appreciate the way Slade's tank, a plain black garment, and how it looked so good on him. It accentuated his strong shoulders, lithe sculptures of alabaster; and plastered to his muscled back and tapered waist, curving to hug a perfect bubble butt.

The angle in which he was leaning gave a perfect view of his front, too. And the way fabric was clinging to him -- he might as well have been shirtless. His chest was of strong musculature, chiseled and thick, just as how Rover's hands had remembered as he clung to him when they had been falling. His stomach was taut with rippled muscle. Loose cut shorts could not hide the power in his long legs, equally balanced as the rest of his body. Even though he was more athletic than bulky, Rover was sure he was heavier than himself by a good fifty pounds or so, and it wasn't only because Slade was more than half a head taller.

Slade was more flawless than any model, yet seemed to hold more life than the wildest of the predators. It was radiated through his every pore and hair. Rover could feel his senses begin to sharpen and his mind elate by just standing next to him. And most daunting of all, Rover knew, as he stared at him, that there was something very different about him. Something vast, something outlandish, something he could not dare to begin to understand.

"This is a pretty shitty place to escape to," Slade sniffed, breaking the silence.

Despite his serious expression, Rover laughed. Slade noticeably brightened, glancing at him from the corners of his eyes.

"That's the first time I've seen you smile," he noted, then raised an eyebrow. "Are you stoned?"

"I'm not. I always smile." Rover scowled.

"Yeah, I can see that," Slade laughed.

Rover turned away, flustered. The look in Slade's eyes had his head reeling. Was that a look of friendliness, or mockery? Amusement, or adoration? There were no traces of that familiar dangerous burn in his opticals, and Rover found this unsettling. It was almost like Slade had two sides to him.

Pushing off from the railing and rubbing his eyes, Rover sighed, "I gotta get out from here before I pass out."

"Where to?" The concern was once again, masked behind a veil of nonchalance.

"I don't know," Rover answered truthfully. "I need fresh air." He would drop his stuff off at George's -- preferably in an air tight cupboard -- and then wander away from the main streets, so to avoid his father's bodyguards. Or perhaps he would just find another place to hide and wait until the night was over and all the smoke had dissipated from the air.

"You can hit up my place for awhile if you want."

That was a warm offer that Rover had not expected. Caught off guard once again, he struggled to regain his composure, murmuring, "Uhm... sure. Do you live near here?"

"Near enough," Slade said, wrinkling his nose distastefully at the smoke. "It's around a fifteen minute hike." He jabbed a thumb backwards, pointing to the forest that towered over the mansion. The trees glowed like ghosts in the night.

Rover shivered involuntarily in response.

"Afraid?" A mocking whisper.

"Do I look scared?" Rover shot back, raising his eyebrows. Truth was, he was deathly afraid of the dark, but he had obviously not let anyone know that.

"You don't look the type to be afraid," Slade admitted, and his eyes swept from the blond's spiked hair to his tanned, built figure, oblivious -- or ignoring -- the furious blush that it caused. "But, judging by what I can see in your eyes..."

"Just lead the way."

Slade broke into a mischievous grin. "I'll put your life before my own. Sir, you're safe with me."

Rover flushed deeper and pushed away from the railing, feeling foolishly giddy. Together, they strode from their balcony, down the swathes of staircases, over the gates and into the looming shadows that were cradled between the trees.

*