15
It was mid-morning by the time the police let them leave the hospital, where Auggie had been given fluids while whatever he was on worked its way out of his system and Theo had been cleaned up and bandaged. The small miracle was that none of the lacerations had required stitches, although it was obvious that Theo was going to have a few uncomfortable weeks ahead of him.
All together, they spent hours answering questions from Detectives Somerset and Upchurch. The answers had all been straightforward enough, but the detectives had wanted to go over it again and again. They had made them write down their accounts, separately. Somerset, in particular, had seemed unconvinced, even though the story was the truth—probably, Auggie had believed in those after-midnight hours when his thoughts had crystallized and then blown away again, over and over, because Somerset knew there was more to the story. But finally, they had told Auggie and Theo they could go. Nobody had asked about a laptop.
They went to Theo’s house, and Theo undressed Auggie and got him in bed in the small room tucked up under the eaves. Then, a few minutes later, he lay down too, pulling Auggie against his chest, his arm tight. Auggie waited for sleep. Then he waited for Theo’s breathing to slip into sleep. And then he said, “You don’t really believe she killed herself, do you?”
Outside, a mourning dove called.
When Theo spoke, his beard scratched Auggie’s shoulder. “She had the gun right there, Auggie. And you know what those guys did to the girls they took up there. It’s not unheard of for people to go back to—to the site of a traumatic event when they decide to die by suicide.”
“Yeah,” Auggie said, closing his eyes. “Neither do I.”
But after that, life had gotten back to normal. It seemed impossible, but as one day passed, and then another, and Auggie found himself busy with classes and homework and his social media platforms and Theo and, occasionally, friends, the horror of that night slowly leached out of his daily life, until one afternoon, while editing a video, he realized he hadn’t thought about it in a day, and then later, trying on clothes, he realized it had been almost a week. Life filled up with all the little things that had seemed so important, and after a few more weeks, those little things started to seem important again—Orlando with his parade of boys and girls and the gratuitously loud sex from his bedroom; Ethan stealing, aka borrowing, a new sweater Auggie had bought, a leather bracelet, a watch cap that Theo had given him. Ok, technically, Theo had only let him borrow it, but it was entirely different from the situation with Ethan.
Theo seemed better too. He was sleeping again. He ate normal meals. He spent his days at his office in Liversedge—most of them, anyway, when his office mates weren’t driving him crazy—and when he came home, he would fix dinner if Auggie hadn’t already done it, and then, after dinner, he’d put on headphones and study while Auggie did homework or worked on his content until Auggie made them both go to bed. By the time Theo’s cuts and bruises had healed, Auggie had almost forgotten the Theo from the first part of the semester, the wraith who had haunted their house, wasting away without food or sleep, barely more than a glimmer in the windows.
By the time they were out of October and into November, Auggie had a new problem to worry about: Fer. The disagreement had seemed small at first. Fer had done nothing more than grunt when Auggie had told him that he didn’t plan on coming home for Thanksgiving this year. But the next day, there had been a phone call in the middle of class, Fer calling over and over again until Auggie had excused himself from his Gothic Literature class (required for the English major), face hot as the grad student teaching the class, who insisted on being called Marika, gave him a dirty look. Auggie hadn’t even finished answering the phone when Fer launched into a blistering tirade—the main talking points seemed to be that Auggie was selfish, that Auggie didn’t love his family, and that Auggie was, in a memorable turn of a phrase, “the most ungrateful drop of jizz your fuck-up father ever flicked from the tip of his dick.”
It had gotten worse from there. Fer went radio silent for two days. Then, when auggie continued to message him, testing the waters for a reconciliation, there had been another phone call, Fer pretending everything was normal, like the previous conversation had never happened. Only then it happened again that weekend, and that time, it was at night, when Auggie was at Theo’s, and it had gotten so bad that Auggie had disconnected and gone upstairs to cry, begging Theo to leave him alone. Theo didn’t do such a great job at leaving Auggie alone, but he didn’t ask too many questions either; mostly he sat on the bed, rubbing Auggie’s back, and let him work some of it out of his system. When Auggie had quieted, Theo had asked in an eerily calm voice for Fer’s phone number.
That had made Auggie sit straight up, his eyes wide, and ask, “Are you crazy?”
Part of the problem, Auggie knew, was of his own making. He kept dodging Fer’s questions. Sometimes, he sounded like the old Fer, if you missed the tiny edge buried in his voice: “So, what kind of dong are you getting?” or “Anybody giving you the foot-long special?” But other times, the questions came in the middle of those horrible, hateful screaming matches: “What’s his name?” was the nicest one. “Just tell me,” Fer had said another time. “Tell me who he is and why you have to stick around for five days, five fucking days, to suck his cock. What, he can’t jerk off for five fucking days?”
The worst part was the realization, during one of those awful calls, that Fer was drunk, and that it was barely noon in California.
The week of Thanksgiving, Fer went radio silent. By Wednesday, it was so bad that Auggie couldn’t sit down, and then he gave up and tried Chuy. Chuy didn’t answer, of course; their middle brother was probably sleeping one off, and even if he wasn’t, he might have lost his phone or changed numbers. Or he might have hocked it again. Those were all real possibilities with Chuy. So Auggie started pacing again.
They spent Thanksgiving with Lana at the care center. She was three years old, with beautiful dark hair and dark eyes; it was disorienting at first, seeing her in Theo’s arms and not seeing anything of Theo in her features. That passed quickly as he watched Theo hold her, talk to her, and play with her. He had known, of course, that Theo loved his daughter. But spending the day with them, watching them together, Auggie realized he hadn’t understood, until now, that there was a part of Theo that he’d never had access to—a place inside himself that Theo kept barricaded, apparently even to Auggie. Theo was like a different person with her: laughing, smiling, touching her hair and her face and her arm with unselfconscious familiarity, talking in a nonstop stream of quiet chatter, moving from toy to toy, singing snatches of songs. Lana had mobility issues, as well as some developmental delays, results of the same car accident that had taken Ian’s life, but she was happy, or at least, she seemed happy with Theo. Auggie wondered how Theo could bear to leave her, again and again. When it was time to go, he thought maybe he’d ask. Then he saw the shadow in Theo’s eyes, and he said nothing, and they rode home in silence.
That night, they cooked dinner together—not the big meals Auggie had done at home ever since Fer had started making good money. They roasted a chicken because a turkey was too much for two people, Theo said. Instead of mashed potatoes, Theo insisted on what he called funeral potatoes, which was a morbid name for cheesy potatoes that were like crack—Auggie ignored the look Theo gave him when he loaded up his plate for the third time. Freezer rolls and freezer jam. Auggie had asked for green bean casserole. He and Fer had always been in charge of that one. When Theo went to the bathroom, Auggie called Fer. Fer answered, but he didn’t say anything. In the background, Auggie could hear his mom’s voice, and Chuy saying something, and another male voice that must have been their mom’s latest toy. Auggie said Fer’s name a couple of times. Then he listened. He disconnected when the bathroom door opened, and he wiped his eyes with his sleeve and turned up the volume on the TV.
If Theo noticed his distress, he didn’t say anything when he came back. He was wearing gray sweats and a t-shirt with a picture of a bass on it. It had words too, but the letters had flaked away from too many washings, and Auggie couldn’t read it. He sat on the sofa next to Auggie, rubbed his leg absently, and looked at the TV as he said, “If you’re ok with it, I vote we clean up tomorrow. I’m skipping the shoot with my brothers this year, so we’ll have time, and I’m spent tonight.”
Auggie nodded. He didn’t realize Theo was waiting until Theo glanced over, and then he cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, sure.”
Theo smiled, patted his leg again, and turned back to the TV. The shadow was still in his eyes. In his whole face, even when he was smiling. You go see her all the time, Auggie wanted to say. Sometimes, you’ll go three or four times a week. How? And it was a version of a question he didn’t entirely know how to put into words, something like, What am I supposed to do when I hurt this much? But it was also something like, Is it going to hurt forever?
He thought of Fer saying, Tell me who he is and why you have to stick around for five days, five fucking days, to suck his cock. And Auggie thought, His name is Theo. And he thought something else, something that lurked just below the level of words, a kind of obstinance and defiance that he might have tried to say as, Watch this. You want to treat me like shit? You want to be an absolute asshole to me, every day of the year, and double up whenever I don’t do what you want? Watch me suck his cock. Watch me get fucked on his big cock. But even that wasn’t really right, didn’t capture the confusing mixture of fury and resentment and hurt that had somehow gotten stirred into the desire he felt for Theo, the urge to help Theo feel better—some way, any way.
Before Auggie could really think about it, he went upstairs. He grabbed his toiletry bag. On his way back to the kitchen, Theo asked, “Everything ok?” Auggie gave him a thumbs-up. In the bathroom, he did some quick clean-up—this time, at least, he’d remembered the groomer. He did his pits, his crotch, and squatting over the toilet, between his legs. He left the scattering of hairs down his breastbone. There were more than the three that Orlando had pointed out the year before—and a very heartfelt fuck you, Orlando, for pointing that out—but not many more. He left the faint hint of stubble. He wasn’t going to try for a mustache again any time soon, but it emphasized the cut of his jaw, and he liked that.
The next part was new, although he’d been planning this for a while. He filled the douche’s bulb with warm water. He opened the travel-sized bottle of lube and applied it generously to himself and the nozzle. The hard plastic still stung when he forced it inside, his heart hammering inside his chest. It wasn’t as easy as it had sounded when he’d read about all this. Some of the water ran down the inside of his leg. When he pulled the nozzle out, it wasn’t just water. He dropped onto the toilet as his gut clenched, and then he let it out. He stared at the towel hanging on the wall opposite him. His heart was still pounding. This is romantic, he thought. There’s a whole kink around this. But it only felt like he was taking an uncomfortable, watery shit.
He cleaned up the bathroom with some toilet paper. He took a quick shower. When he wiped away the steam and looked at himself, he liked what he saw—his hair spiky with water, the baby fat almost gone from his face, the muscle he’d added over the last two years giving definition to his arms and chest without making him bulky. He left the groomer and the douche, grabbed the lube, and stepped out of the bathroom. His feet whispered across the boards.
Theo glanced over from the TV, and his eyes got satisfactorily wide. Without giving him a chance to speak, Auggie crossed the distance between them. Then he sat on Theo’s lap. His dick was hardening, and when Theo looked down at it for a beat longer than necessary, Auggie grinned. When Theo looked up again, his expression clouded with lust, Auggie’s grin got bigger.
“Auggie, what are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He leaned forward and kissed Theo. Theo held back for a moment, probably out of some sort of gentlemanly conduct, and then he had his hands on Auggie’s hips, fingers curling around Auggie’s ass, and hitched him forward. Auggie moaned when his dick brushed Theo’s stomach, and Theo pulled the moan out of him with another, deeper kiss.
For a few minutes, Auggie let them get started that way. Then, not pulling away from Theo, he found Theo’s wrist and guided his hand farther back, following the cleft of his ass down between his legs. Theo hesitated. Then he pulled back from the kiss.
“I’m sure,” Auggie whispered.
The football game buzzed on the TV behind Auggie.
“Theo, I want this.” I have to want this, Auggie thought. I have to want this. Or else.
Theo’s eyebrows drew together. Auggie produced the bottle of lube, and he squeezed some into Theo’s hand. Theo still hadn’t done anything, and Auggie laughed now, the sound high and off-key. He guided Theo’s hand back, and this time, Theo’s resistance was less. The lube made a soft, squelching noise as Theo worked it one-handed. Then his fingers glided down Auggie’s crack. Theo spread his knees, spreading Auggie’s knees in turn. A cold finger passed over that spot, and Auggie’s whole body tightened.
“Ok,” Theo said, “that’s a sign—”
“No, no, no. Just keep—it felt good.” When Theo frowned, Auggie said, “Don’t stop, please.”
Theo’s frown got deeper, but he caught Auggie by the nape with his free hand, pulling him in for another kiss, and he murmured, “Relax, Auggie. Slow, deep breaths.”
Auggie took one of those slow, deep breaths before Theo kissed him. Then the finger was back. Theo wasn’t trying anything fancy. He just slid back and forth, no pressure, no demand for entrance. He kissed Auggie carefully. He released Auggie’s nape, and his hand slid down to one nipple, stroking, twisting lightly, flicking the tip before switching to the other. Auggie felt his body unknotting by degrees. He leaned more heavily into Theo, and when Theo spread his knees even wider, he was practically falling on top of him. When Theo’s tongue flicked at his mouth again, Auggie whimpered.
Theo’s finger slid in with the slightest flash of discomfort.
Then Auggie was in Dylan’s bedroom, his legs in the air, his ass wet and cold from the sloppy application of lube, everything spinning, the room shrinking around him until it pressed like plastic wrap over his face.
“I’m out, I’m out, I’m out, Auggie—I’m out. Hey, hey! Take a breath!”
Instead, Auggie squeezed his eyes shut, dropping forward until his face pressed against Theo’s shoulder. A sob built in him. Theo hugged him. He kissed Auggie’s ear.
“It’s ok,” Theo whispered over and over again. “It’s ok.”
“It’s not ok,” Auggie said, and it was half sob and half shout. He sat up, wiping his face. “This is so fucking humiliating. I want to do this, Theo.”
“Why—”
“I want this. With you. I love you. And my stupid—I don’t know if it’s my stupid body or my stupid brain or both, but—” Auggie blew out a breath, ran his arm over his eyes again, and in what he thought sounded like an adult voice, said, “Ok, let’s try that again. Just don’t pull out this time so I can get used to it.”
“Auggie, no. No way.”
“Yes way. I just need—”
“No,” Theo said.
“If you’d let me finish—”
“I said no, Auggie. End of discussion.”
“You have to! And I have to! Or else how am I supposed to get over it? I just want to be over it!” The shouts echoed back. Auggie squeezed his eyes shut, trying to soften his voice. “I just want to be over it.”
The TV changed to a commercial. Some sort of snack chip Auggie had never heard of. Or maybe cat food. It was hard to tell without looking, but there was definitely a cat meowing for part of the ad.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Theo said quietly.
“No, wait, please.” He slid off Theo’s lap onto his knees between Theo’s legs. Auggie reached for the waistband of the gray sweats. They were old, washed thin like most of Theo’s clothes. His dickprint was clear through the fleece.
Theo caught his wrist with his clean hand. “We don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Auggie said. This had worked, sometimes, with Dylan. Something Auggie could do for him when he couldn’t or wouldn’t—even Auggie wasn’t sure, at this point, which it was—give him what he wanted. “Please, Theo.”
After another heartbeat, when Theo still hadn’t said anything, Auggie twisted gently, freeing himself. He hooked his fingers under the elastic. Then, although he wasn’t sure why, he bent and kissed Theo’s dick through the cotton. Theo’s next breath was gravelly. It was hard to tell through the sweats, but his dick looked like it was plumping. Auggie tugged on the waistband, and with Theo’s help, he got them down around Theo’s ankles. The boxers came off next. Theo’s dick was still hardening, rising from his thigh. The smell of him hit Auggie. Then Theo’s dick was hard enough that it was resting against the curve of his belly.
Auggie leaned forward and opened his mouth.
“Auggie,” Theo said, and it was half need, half warning, all desperation.
Auggie took only the head at first, closing his lips around the crown. He hadn’t tasted Theo yet, and he was sweeter than Dylan—still salty, still musky, but sweeter. Auggie hated the comparison, but it was immediately there. Dylan had been bigger, and he couldn’t avoid that comparison either. Auggie took more of Theo into his mouth until he could feel himself on the verge of gagging. Then he pulled back until the fat head rested on his tongue. He moved his tongue around a little—Dylan had liked that—and then he went down again. He thought maybe he got a little farther that time. Theo made a noise, and when Auggie looked up, Theo offered a tight smile.
After a few more adjustments, Auggie got something like a rhythm going. He bobbed up and down. His mouth was dry, and he could feel his teeth scraping Theo, felt every time the discomfort made Theo shift. It wasn’t the size; Dylan had been bigger, and by the end, Dylan had been forcefully attempting to face-fuck Auggie. Training him, a detached part of Auggie’s brain noted. So, in theory, Auggie should have been able to take Theo even deeper. But Auggie’s mouth was so dry, and his gag reflex seemed to be back in full force. He tried going faster, sucking to create suction and seal his lips around Theo’s shaft, humming to add to the sensation.
And then Theo was catching hold of his head, hands soft but insistent as they pulled Auggie up. Theo still wore his shadows—the shadows in his eyes, the shadow smile.
“That was really nice,” he said. “Come up here. I want to finish together.”
Auggie shook his head as best he could with Theo holding it. “No, it wasn’t. Nice, I mean. That was terrible. I just gave you our first blow job, and it was terrible. And that was after I freaked out. So this is officially the worst night of my life, and I think I’ll wander off now and die from exposure.” Auggie tried to stop there, but more words burst out: “I mean, do you want to watch some porn? Sometimes Dylan—” Auggie managed to stop himself. “I mean, it might be a bad blow job, but you could still get off.”
Theo opened his mouth.
“And please don’t be nice to me. I’ll scream if you’re nice to me.” He pulled his head away from Theo’s hold, and then he got to his feet. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I mean, I’ll get better. There are probably videos or—”
“Auggie,” Theo said. His voice was surprisingly deep, and in his mouth, the name sounded insistent. Almost commanding. When Auggie looked over, Theo patted the cushion next to him. “Sit down.”
Auggie sat. In spite of the embarrassment, he was still at half-mast. Theo kicked off the sweats and boxers from around his ankles. Then he pulled off his tee. The light gleamed on the pale expanse of his shoulders. His dick was half-hard too, swinging heavily between his legs as he got on his knees on the sofa. “Lesson one,” Theo said, dragging Auggie across the cushion and swinging him around so that he lay along the length of the sofa, his head on a pillow at one end and his legs spread open next to Theo at the other. Auggie didn’t like the fact, and he wouldn’t have admitted it, but being manhandled like that definitely did something for him. He was hard as a rock again, and he could feel himself leaking. “Take it easy on your knees, especially once you get a little older. You don’t have to have be on the floor between a guy’s legs. That makes for a hot porn shot, and it’s definitely got its attractions, but next time, put a towel down, or grab a pillow.”
“You realize this is how I’m going to die, right?” Auggie’s voice was thick, and he had to turn his face into his arm to hide. “You are literally being a sexy professor right now. It’s like this weird combination of hot-as-fuck and so cringy that I might spontaneously combust.”
“Lesson two,” Theo said, “is that it’s about making each other feel good. That means communicating, not trying to do whatever you saw on the internet. Usually, you’re pretty good about communicating.” He laid one hand on the inside of Auggie’s thigh, stroking toward his dick, never quite getting close enough for Auggie’s liking. He continued to rub lightly. It made Auggie harder. “What’s going on tonight?”
“I don’t know,” Auggie said into his arm. “A lot of things. Fer. You. How messed up I am.”
“You’re not messed up.” Theo continued to rub his thigh. “Do you want to talk?”
Auggie shook his head. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, a few tears leaked out.
“Do you want me to suck you off?” A hint of teasing entered Theo’s voice. “Because you are still epically hard.”
With a wet laugh, Auggie shrugged. “I made things so weird.”
“You didn’t make things weird,” Theo said. Then he lowered himself and took Auggie in his mouth.
Auggie was learning a lot of things about Theo Stratford. One of those things, which he bumped to the top of the list, was that Theo seriously outclassed him in cocksucking. Auggie wasn’t nearly as big as Theo, but Theo took him down to the root on the first pass, sucking hard to pull more blood into Auggie’s cock. Auggie arched his back, the combination of heat and slick and texture and pressure enough that he made a noise that an embarrassed part of his brain recognized was pretty much a squeal. Theo worked up and down on him like that for a few minutes, Auggie bucking, unable to stop himself from trying to thrust up. And then Theo pulled off, a popping sound accompanying the movement, and he reared back and wiped his chin with the back of his hand.
“Oh fuck,” Auggie muttered. “Oh my holy fuck.”
The smirk made Theo look both younger and hotter than hell. He lowered himself again, and Auggie whimpered before Theo even made contact. He managed to whisper, “Theo, I’m really close—”
Theo chuckled and patted his leg. Instead of taking Auggie in his mouth again, he began to lick. He licked Auggie’s balls, and Auggie made a noise. Then he licked the shaft, careful to avoid Auggie’s head. He went back to Auggie’s balls, pulling them into his mouth, his tongue gliding over recently shaved skin that was extra sensitive. Just when Auggie thought it might be too much—anything with Theo, it was turning out, might be the trigger—Theo seemed to know, and he pulled off. He went back to those slow, deliberate licks. His tongue was rough and smooth at the same time. He took Auggie in his mouth again, just the head this time, flicking his tongue at the slit and pressing down on Auggie’s belly when Auggie tried to buck and thrust again.
Then Theo pulled off again, and he was licking and biting the inside of Auggie’s thighs. His beard was like a silken fire there, scratching Auggie in places he hadn’t known could be so delicious. Then he came up, nuzzling Auggie’s cock, the roughness of his beard making Auggie cry out, and Theo let out a short, deep, and surprisingly evil laugh and rubbed harder with his beard.
“Oh fuck, Theo, oh fuck, you can’t—please stop—please, I’m going to—”
Theo looked up. Pre glistened against the copper and silver in his beard. His lips were raw and full.
“I can’t,” Auggie said. He didn’t know what he meant, didn’t have any idea what he was trying to say. “I can’t, Theo. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I can’t.”
“You can, Auggie. I want you to come in my mouth. I want you to look in my eyes and come.” He slapped Auggie’s thigh lightly. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes. Oh fuck, yes.”
“Good.”
It was that good, delivered in a smolder of banked heat, that set Auggie in motion. Theo wasn’t even touching him when the orgasm began to gather—just the word, the knowledge that Theo was pleased, that Theo had told him he was good. Auggie arched his back, his mouth opening in another sound of distressed pleasure, and Theo dropped down and took him. He bobbed on Auggie’s cock a few times. The orgasm rippled through Auggie, the force of the current building. Then Theo looked up, and Auggie got the full picture: Theo’s lips stretched around his cock, the flush mottling Theo’s face and neck and shoulders, Theo blinking sweat or tears or both out of his eyes. They locked gazes, and the orgasm crashed through Auggie, his hips jerking him to completion in Theo’s mouth
In its wake, Auggie felt loose, relaxed, disconnected from his body. He drifted, his eyes closed. Then he opened them. Theo was kneeling, his face contorted, as his hand flew along his dick, and then come spattered Auggie’s thigh and dick and belly. For a moment, Theo was locked like that, like a statue to some ancient fertility god. And then he loosed a deep breath, sagging, and blinked. He shuffled forward on his knees and lay down on the couch next to Auggie.
“A couple of notes,” Auggie said when some of the pieces of his brain had been glued back together again. “One, that was fucking awesome, and we’re doing that again, like, every day for the rest of our lives.”
Theo snorted. He hooked an arm around Auggie and turned him, pulling Auggie’s back to his chest.
“Two, I feel like I have an obligation to point out that, as my official sex professor, you have really been slacking on the job until now.”
“Noted.”
“I mean, Theo, you’ve got mad skillz.”
Theo sighed.
“I said it with a z, in case you couldn’t tell,” Auggie said.
“Stop talking,” Theo said, pulling him closer and kissing his neck. “Or no more blow jobs.”
The last bit of the semester flew by. Theo passed his exams, which meant he was officially a PhD candidate, which in Auggie’s book, meant an official celebration with his still-improving blow job skills. Auggie toyed with the idea of staying in Wahredua over winter break, but Fer had only barely resumed communication since the fight before Thanksgiving, and in the end, Auggie decided he owed Fer that much. He flew home two days before Christmas. He and Theo spent the night together before he left. They traded Christmas presents early. Auggie had found a beautiful illustrated Victorian edition of Shakespeare on, of all places, eBay. Theo had protested. A lot. But he also hadn’t stopped leafing through it. Theo had gotten Auggie real winter gear—a knit cap, a scarf, long johns—which made Auggie grin—and wool socks, and the real present, some kick-ass boots. Theo had apologized a million times that it wasn’t as good a gift as Auggie’s.
“You realize that we’re going to be that gay couple,” Auggie said as he pulled on one of the boots. “Like, we’ll even be wearing the same boots.”
“They’re a good brand, Auggie. They’ll keep your feet dry, and they’ll last you forever.”
“Sure, but the other gays won’t know that. Come on, I want to take a picture for the ‘gram.”
The travel day was miserable—the shuttle was late, the flights were delayed again, and when Auggie finally stumbled out of LAX towing his suitcase, the pickup lanes were choked. It took almost forty minutes before Fer finally reached him. When Auggie got into the car, Fer was sitting stiffly, arms locked as he gripped the steering wheel.
He didn’t look over as he said, “What’s his name?”
“Oh my God, Fer.”
“Ok. Fine. That’s what I wanted to know. I wanted to see if you were going to lie to my fucking face.”
“Lie about what?”
He did look over then, his eyes hollowed out, his color bad. He looked like he’d put on more weight. He shook his head, and then someone laid on the horn, and Fer had to turn his head so they could creep forward. “You are fucking unbelievable, Augustus.”
It took two days for Fer to thaw. It helped that Chuy was almost never home and their mom was constantly going out, which meant that when Fer got back from work, he and Auggie had the place to themselves. He drank every night, and he was smoking too much weed, and a couple of times, Auggie thought he saw Fer take something from a pocket and slip it into his mouth. But he couldn’t catch Fer, and the one time he’d gotten brave enough to search the pockets of the pants in Fer’s hamper, he’d come up empty.
Some of the nights were good. Some nights, Fer was the old Fer, splitting his time between lazily bullying Auggie, flipping channels, and talking shit.
“His name’s Eagle,” he said, talking about their mom’s latest toy. He mimed something around his neck. “He’s got a fucking amulet he says a medicine man gave him, and he showers once a week, tops. I’m spending my whole fucking paycheck on Febreeze so this place doesn’t smell like a hippie’s bunghole every time he comes over.”
“What medicine man?”
“There’s no fucking medicine man.”
“Is the amulet magic?”
“Mother of fuck, Augustus, he’s twenty fucking years old. He’s never talked to a medicine man. He’s never left Orange County. He can’t even grow pubic hair yet, and, I shit you not, he still lives with his parents.”
Auggie made a face. “Didn’t we already have an Eagle?”
That got a laugh out of Fer, a real one. “I think there was a Hawk.”
“Oh shit, there was a Hawk. He never wore shoes.”
“He never cut his fucking toenails, that’s what he never did. Fucking disgusting.” Then, for the first time in recorded history, Fer tossed the remote in Auggie’s lap. He took a fresh joint from the baggie on the coffee table, sparked it, and said through a cloud of smoke. “Pick something. I’m so fucking tired of making choices.”
But other nights weren’t nearly as good. The night before New Year’s Eve, Fer got blasted. He burst into Auggie’s room while Auggie was on his nightly phone call with Theo. Fer staggered toward the bed, hand outstretched.
“What’s his name?”
“Jesus Christ, Fer, what the hell?”
“Why won’t you tell me his fucking name?” He wobbled, still reaching for the phone. He sounded like what he was—a drunk trying to pass for sober. “I’m not going to embarrass you. I’m just going to tell him that if he hurts you, I’m going to rip off his arms and let hogs fuck him to death.”
“Get out of my room, Fer!”
“He’s in every picture you post, Augustus; do you think I’m a fucking moron?”
“Get out!”
Theo was saying something, his voice tinny on the phone’s speaker.
Fer lunged for the phone. Auggie rolled away, slipping the phone between the wall and the bed. When Fer grabbed him, Auggie shoved him away. Fer staggered back, rubbing the spot on his shoulder where Auggie’s hand had connected. His eyes were full of shock. Then hurt. Then tears, which he tried to blink away. “It’s him. He’s why you can’t fucking wait to get back there. You didn’t even want to go there in the first place, and now you can’t fucking get enough of it.” Fer stumbled out of the room, and Auggie stared at the empty doorway. Then, shaking so badly he could barely stand, Auggie got to the door and locked it. He fished the phone out. Then he started to cry, Theo shouting frustrated, frightened questions from halfway across the country.
He didn’t see Fer again during winter break. He went to a party New Year’s Eve with some of his old friends from high school, and he left early because he realized he had nothing to talk to them about and, worse, none of them seemed interested in talking to him. He got home and found Chuy passed out on the couch, the needle and the cook spoon on the table, the rubber tubing still tied around his arm. Auggie rang in the New Year sitting on Chuy’s bed, making sure his brother slept on his stomach and didn’t stop breathing.
As the hours fell away, listening to the emptiness of the house, he thought for the first time, with midnight clarity, I want to go home.
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