~Alphabet Soup~

U is for Understand​

The plummet the mood in the room took surprised me. From normal to… something else.

What?

I looked at Vincent carefully, not entirely understanding what in hell was happening. As much as a social retard I was, I knew that for my comment was the cause.

I only said the truth, which said a whole lot more than what most people said. If Vincent wasn't so childishly there, amusing and entertaining me, I would have considered assassination as a way to rid myself of his presence.

So what? Did he find something that I didn't notice, maybe, wrong with it?

"Vincent?" I started carefully, unknowing of how to deal with the glassy gaze and the red cheeks. "Are you okay?" He didn't look okay, but asking him wouldn't have hurt.

I ignored the unsettling feeling in my gut that told me Vincent was definitely okay, just a little preoccupied with thoughts…

I watched him bring a hand to his head and brush away wavy locks. He licked his lips slowly as he brought his head down.

I bit my bottom lip when something weird in me twisted with discomfort. Was it discomfort? Not exactly. I've been plagued with uneasy anxiety many times before, but it didn't ever feel quite like this. This was tenser. It felt less condensed and more consuming. Lust, maybe? No. Lust started from my gut. This odd feeling was coming from my chest.

His pink tongue darted out again to remoisten his lips. Quick and almost thoughtlessly.

I took in one shake breath to calm myself. I released one long exhale to reassure myself. What was Vincent doing? If not to me, in general? What was he doing?

"What are you talking about?" he teased easily when he brought his head back up. A cheeky grin on his face and an absence of glaze in his eyes, he was back to normal. But most of the time, he wasn't normal. I would see him, often during our short time in the company of each other, lose his entire self in something.

It was quite disconcerting.

I scowled in anger, "Fuck you… Stop acting like a faggot…" I then felt my face slacken to blankness. Something about that struck me as hypocritical. But to say that would be like… almost like… near saying… that I was being… that I was the one… acting… like… a…

Vincent interrupted my thoughts carelessly, "But only for you! As I said only about… three minutes ago?" His brown orbs almost sparkled with the amount of giddiness he was exuding.

Eww. Happy germs.

I murmured something trite in response. I didn't care to really think or articulate.

I was doing research for a history project, but I couldn't find the concentration I needed to actually complete it. I glanced back and forth from the laptop to Vincent every now and then. Discreetly, of course, because sometimes he was just a bit suspicious.

But he was simply playing with the Rubik's Cube my cousin Dave bought me, so it wasn't as if he was a walking criminal. Nothing about him was outright shifty or dodgy. Vincent, for once, was actually looking fairly innocent while confusedly spinning the black, white, silver toned sides.

"I'm hungry," I found myself saying, shutting my laptop with a precise snap. I took one fleeting look at Vincent. "Let's go."

I felt like some master beckoning a dog, with the way I commanded attention from Vincent. But he didn't help in the matter at all, simply because followed me like a puppy would follow a child. It was more or less irritating.

I sighed. This couldn't have been good for my confidence.

"Anything you say, Master," Vincent chuckled as he trailed along behind me.

Right, left, right, left. Steady cadence. Ignore the mass of stupidity behind you and all will be fine. All will be peachy. If you can ignore him, then you can ignore anything. And fuck, you can ignore anything… Right, left, right, left. Cadence. Cadence.

By the time I reached the kitchen, I almost forgot why I was in the general area at all. Almost. I almost forgot a lot of things, nowadays… only if 'nowadays' could stretch over two years and a teenaged lifetime.

"Wow," Vincent sarcastically remarked, "You're a regular housewife," as he watched me pull out milk and cereal.

What? Got a problem punk?

I deigned a low murmur of, "Fuck you." I wasn't feeling up to dealing with him at the moment. My problem? No.

But Vincent probably didn't get my meaning. What was I talking about? Of course he didn't understand. He just laughed and said, "Gladly." His boyish voice made him sound as if he was tickling was amusement.

I liked his voice, nonetheless. Even if it was grating on my nerves to hear his say asinine things, the simple inflections he made were pleasing. If I could learn to ignore the words and just concentrate on the sounds it would probably be much easier to deal with him.

Who the hell was I trying to kid?

Vincent was annoying, plain and straight out annoying. It was only sometimes, the barest of sometimes, that he would appear to be a little more than a simple ball of aggravating infantile behavior.

Those times, maybe three or four short moments in the small period this mockery of a friendship that we had was going on, it would seem as if Vincent knew a lot more about me than he should have known.

It wasn't obvious, I can assure. It was more furtive than anything else. His eyes would just darken for a bit, losing the obnoxious happiness, and glance towards a faraway place. Then he would ask, in a small but devious tone, various questions.

I would dismiss it. He would dismiss it.

Vincent would then, in a way that I could say that I might have admired, regain absolute normality. But, normality was different with him. We weren't normal, that much I could have easily foretold.

Our little unexpected friendship was anything but normal. It would have been nice, if it began under normal circumstances. I knew that Vincent was, fuck, a pervert. That word may have, more or less, been put in conjunction to me over the years, but not to the extent it was placed on Vincent. It wouldn't surprise me if he announced that he wanted me to blow him like some street corner whore.

But that was just me. I was just a bit paranoid, maybe.

For all I knew, Vincent was a victim a high school rumors and teenaged stupidity. Who was I to judge him? But no, no. To think that was like that was like thinking I was a good person. And hell, I sure as hell wasn't a good person.

Regardless, we were decent people. I sure as hell didn't run around mauling people, even if my impulses concerning Andrew's fucking retarded behavior told me otherwise. Vincent, I was pretty sure, didn't go around raping every person he could find with functional limbs and a hole.

I would have heard if it was so. Rumors, remember? Rumors.

"What are you thinking about?" Vincent said, his voice breaking my chain thought.

I looked down at my half eaten cereal. Soggy. Nasty. Sighing in disgusted exasperation, I pushed away the bowl. Father would clean up after me anyway.

Not thinking about the way honesty had oh-so graciously helped me beforehand, a fuzzy instance in which Doctor Bryant and I exchanged more than just a few words, I responded with a simple, "You." It was true. I was thinking about Vincent.

But again, he didn't understand.

"Oh. Me?" he asked with an evident shift in his manner. From normal to, again, something else. This 'something else' was unlike than the other, though.

Fifteen minutes ago, I was affected in an odd way. The sudden change had me wondering and momentarily left me with some peculiar twist. But now, I was peeved. What in hell was with him? Did every word that came out of my mouth have some unknown nuance?

Was it, God forbid, suggestive?

I scoffed, "Yes." Best to answer him in a manner that would portray how irked I was, I'd say. I wouldn't want him to get any ideas, would I?

Of course not. Vincent was almost like some, jeez, faggot. I might have been slow in the ways of the world, but I sure as hell wasn't stupid. I couldn't help but notice if someone was openly so, so, so gay around me.

The way his eyes would look at me with interest that was most definitely unhealthy. The proudly displayed fake smiles apposed to the poorly hidden real ones. The fretful twisting of his fingers and way he would nervously lick his lips.

It was all so gay. So homo. So faggot-like.

Not like I was saying it was wrong or something, not at all. I wasn't a homophobe. Hah. I was the last person in the world anyone would think of as a homophobe, with my own experiences and the influences Butter clearly strung for me. Homosexuality wasn't wrong or unnatural. It was as right or natural as any other sexuality. But, only if it was kept far away from my eyes and my ears could I accept it as the media portrayed it. I found flamers disgusting.

And, it mustn't be forgotten, if it didn't damage people.

But with Vincent, now then did the slight nuances of his sexuality become wrong. It was wrong for him to be so weird around me. Couldn't I get a break? I didn't need some fellow in my personal space making me feel awkward.

That was the emotion, wasn't it? Awkwardness. When Vincent didn't act normal and got into his little mood swinging moments, he made me feel awkward.

That had to be the feeling, because what else would it be?

 

V is for Virgin​

Lalala.

I was in dreamland. I was in heaven.

Heaven didn't exactly condone my type of behavior, but whatever! It was heavenly! Divine! Holiness! Or whatever obscure religious undertone word I had in my stunted vocabulary!

TWICE! Twice already. It happened twice. Twice now, Spencer made a comment that simply filled me with something a little too pleasing to be ordinary happiness. I got drunk on his presence during normal circumstances, but holy and blessed by clergymen cow. When he said stuff like that… I was just so freaking ready to keel over and offer him my bloody heart.

My bloody, icky, pumping, gross heart. He'd probably scoff in disgust, because who would seriously want a heart? Literally?

But Spencer, the poor feller, wasn't on the same page as I. He may have been a loser slah loner, oblivious to all the 'hints' he dropped left and right, but I wasn't.

He was practically giving me permission to do what I wanted with him! Permission! As in, he probably wanted it as much as I did. But only at certain times, I had to remember. Now his face was twisted in angry annoyance. They way his lips turned downward and the way his eyes narrowed, just slightly. Perfect. Spencer was fucking perfect. Even when he was probably irritated at me, I couldn't help but swoon.

But I wasn't swooning. What I was doing was more like, I didn't know, getting 'lost' in myself.

Our heads snapped towards the front entrance when we heard to familiar noises of a person fumbling with locks and a way too squeaky door hinge.

It was… Mr. Danielson. With a lady attached to his face.

I smiled like the polite boy I was raised to be, "Afternoon, Mr. Danielson. Afternoon, ma'am." Why I didn't say Mrs. Danielson, I didn't know. It… it somehow didn't come to me. I tried not to think too hard about my assumption. It wasn't hard to dismiss the thought. Bad thoughts were for bad times, of course. Thinking about the phone call that freaked Spencer wasn't something I would do when in a pleasant mood.

Anyhow, pfft, onto another subject puh-lee-e-e-eze. It was funny, the way adults acted when a child caught them in the act. The act of lusty pleasure and lack of control, it was hilarious. Laugh out loud. Laugh out fucking loud.

He didn't push the poor woman off of him, like I'd seen Dad do to Mom sometimes. Mom would usually notice first and gasp like she was caught committing a huge sin. Then Dad would either finally realize he was dry humping his wife in front of an audience and slowly withdraw, or (hah) he'd push her off so quickly one had to question if they really had a legal marriage license.

Mr. Danielson just looked at me briefly, confusedly, before focusing his gaze behind me. The woman was still wrapped around him, with red cheeks facing the ground. It looked as if she wasn't ashamed, but simply embarrassed.

"Father." I looked towards Spencer when I heard his clipped voice. Wow, he sounded so lifeless. No, not lifeless. Lifeless was one of those things a person would say about a rape victim. Lifeless. Spencer sounded emptier than anything else. Empty? Yeah, that would be the correct adjective. Empty.

Mr. Danielson wasn't any better.

"Spencer," he replied curtly with a nod. He sounded just like Spencer. Well, duh, they were father and son. It was only to be expected. But the resemblance in demeanor was almost scary. I really hoped Spencer didn't turn out to be like him. He gave me a funny feeling. Not like he was a bad person, just that he might not have been an actively good individual.

But as quickly as I made that little judgment, something changed. I heard Spencer push himself out of his chair. Before I could raise my eyebrow and make a comment, he tightly grasped my wrist to lead me away.

When I looked back at the adults standing at the door I was struck with a wee bit of pity. How bad did it feel to have your son openly snub you? Major disrespect, seriously? The way I saw Mr. Danielson's face slacken from a firm to an almost melancholy expression was weird.

From a stiffly impersonal father to a regretfully incapable one. Which was worse? Ehh, either probably sucked for them both.

Before I knew it, I was dragged to Spencer's room. Not forgetting the almost disaster that could have occurred downstairs, I--. Wait. Err. Wait. I was being stupid. There wasn't always a disaster. Hell, I didn't even know Spencer well. For all I knew, I was simply blowing things to proportions that didn't exist.

The iron grip on my wrist told me otherwise.

I looked up. "Hey, Spencer," I said. I didn't know why I was using such a quiet voice. I just didn't want to startle him. That was all. Yeah. Spencer wasn't like some doe or bunny, he didn't need to be gently approached with hands in the air and a soft smile. I suspected he needed a good bashing in the head, an ass kicking, and maybe a cookie to calm his wannabe fat boy whims.

But even so, I still spoke softly. It was… uncharacteristic of me. "Hey…"

Spencer ran his free hand through his blond hair, "Fuck." I watched him, with a little bit too much interest, when he tightly shut his eyes and cursed again.

Again and again and again.

Swear words, insults. He repeated them over and over again with so many variations that I had to smile. Whoa, talk about an imagination.

I placed my hand his shoulder and patted it softly. It was done in a teasing manner, but it broke whatever thing that was going on in Spencer.

He blinked his eyes, slowly as if he was awakening from some sort of stupor. I thought he was going to swat away my hand in annoyance, but he took in his own instead. It was weird, but I was still 'lost' in the moment. One hand around my wrist. One hand gripping my fingers.

It wasn't normal, but hell. I wasn't normal. Spencer wasn't normal.

The look in his eyes, it was bizarre. When he finally focused and realized his surroundings he appeared as if he really couldn't understand where he was. He just had this confused look in his face. He just looked around, noting things in his head, trying to establish truths.

As much as I liked the appearance of it all, the perplexed cuteness and the porn movie kinkiness of a situation like this, I didn't like it. This wasn't Spencer, not really.

I twisted fingers, thinking to myself that I was acting almost as strange as Spencer. If it were any other day with any other person, well, the scene would have been quite different. But no, I just played with his loosening fingers. They were warm. In a… faggy way… I just noted they were warm. Ew. What was wrong with me? Let alone Spencer. Oh…! Spencer!

I shifted myself to face him more directly. "Spencer? You okay?" I asked. My voice could have been considered a whisper. Our bodies weren't close. Hell, we were as far as we could comfortably be while our hands were connected. I wasn't sure if he could hear me properly. But it really didn't matter, as long as he knew that I was speaking to him.

He needed something concrete. Something stable. Something real. And I was real, I thought to myself, I was most definitely real.

Spencer was looking down at the floor when he started cursing again. His 'dirty language' from before was understandably directed towards his father, but now it was towards a female? What? Was he cussing about Mr. Danielson's girlfriend?

Not understanding half of his mumblings, I leaned in. "Hey," I remarked with a joking tone of voice, "Are you sure you're not jealous, Virgin Boy? That's not cool. Just because your father is getting some, there's no need for you to get all green-eyed monster about it." As a second thought that I couldn't control, I mentioned, "Your eyes are bluer, anyways."

"I'm not a virgin." What?

I blinked. Did Spencer come out of his little trance?

He repeated it again, with a pained emphasis, "I'm not a virgin."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh… shit. Oh shit!

I-I've never been in a situation like this. Never. I didn't even really know if it was really a difficult position. The words were completely normal. Hell, we were both sixteen year old boys. We felt the need for sex. There was a harsher night life out there that existed for the hardcore kids, but we weren't it.

As much as I fooled around and acted like I was king with my buddies, I knew wasn't. And as much as Spencer seemed like he was messed up, he wasn't really. Probably wasn't. Most likely wasn't. I knew that. But the way he just said that one little phrase… It made me feel like it was something I shouldn't be hearing.

Spencer wouldn't remember this. The thought popped in my head. But it was there, it was there. There wasn't anything concrete to make me suspect that would happen, but in me I knew. Gosh, I sure as hell 'knew' a lot of things these days, didn't I?

I also knew that I should have been freaked out when Spencer started to look as if he was going to cry. Hell, if anything, I should have been worried. I wasn't. I wasn't freaked. I wasn't worried.

Tears just bubbled and gathered in his eyes, threatening with vengeance to roll down his childishly chubby cheeks. He mumbled more to himself than to me, "I'm just so fucking tired."

It was 3:45, at the latest. It should have been surprising for Mr. Danielson to come home so early, but I only guessed that he wanted some one on one fun with the woman he was with. Hah, getting it on with the younger ladies I could only guess. Backtracking, I wondered how young Mr. Danielson's company was…

I-I… Hell. I seriously didn't know what was wrong with me.

My stare was on Spencer and I could feel the tendrils of dirty little desires curl and wrap around my brain. However, I didn't act on the impulses or even consciously consider them.

I never held back. It wasn't as if I never liked a girl enough to seek her out. Hell, I had done it a couple of times. I'd find a pretty little doll that would interest me enough to actually look at her when she did the deed and ask her to do it one more time. Just for kicks.

But with Spencer, I had him in the palm of my hand. LITERALLY. He was there, looking like some teary eyed jailbait. But I could legally have sex with him, considering I was possibly younger than him. And, and, Christ, I got the feeling he would probably be too engaged in his little thing to notice that I was fucking him. He would probably enjoy it too, because I sure as hell wasn't going to let the All-Mighty-Great-Spencer go without getting off.

He wouldn't recall any of it… That should have bothered me, but it didn't. God. A lot of stuff didn't add up with me. I had so many occurrences in which I'd swear to just drink one can and then end up fucking some girl who was too hammered to realize that the pleasure she was getting was from a guy she didn't even know. I always, always remembered. They never seemed to. It was usually their friends who told them.

I… I didn't care that he wouldn't remember. I didn't. Did that make me a bad person? God, heaven forbid if it did. I never cared if those silly girls who gave me head or jerked me off or spread their legs remembered a single moment.

I was never mean about it. I'd take them out properly, if they wanted. I'd date them for a short while, if they wanted. I'd never talk about it or them for the rest of our material lives, if they wanted.

But if I did the same thing to Spencer, it would be different. He didn't have any friends watching like I was giving some sort of show. He wasn't so smashed he couldn't tell up from down from left from right. He probably trusted me, so some extent, as an individual.

To literally fuck him over…

As much as I would love him in my pants, doing unspeakable things that would probably place me in a very unique level of hell when I died, I didn't want to.

This wasn't really Spencer.

Yeah, it was Spencer. What was I saying? It was Spencer. But then again, it wasn't Spencer.

The person I was trying to go for wasn't easy. This Spencer would be easy.

Fuck! No, no. That would make me seem like a worse person than I was. No, no, no. I didn't mean it in a sex way. I meant it in a different way. I didn't know what way, but not like that.

'Easy.' God. 'Easy.' What a stupid way to phrase it. Way to go, Vincent. Way to fucking go.

It was more like, like, like Spencer was a good person! Yes! That! He wasn't in the vein of some of the shadier characters of life. He was a loner, which didn't exactly scream evil, and a nerd.

I had respect for his person. Yeah. Respect.

Sighing, because thinking was not my strong point, I lead Spencer to his bed. Normally, I would have made comment or pretended to sneak a kiss, but I wasn't feeling it. I just smiled for him and started to back away slowly.

Then, then… because I was weak and I knew it… I left.

I gathered my things as quickly as I could, put on my shoes while trying to ignore the adults speaking in the kitchen, and drove home listening to overrated music that all the kids at my school sang to.

When I got home… my brothers gave me a talk.

 

W is for Widow​

"Spencer," she said so quietly that I had to lean in to properly hear, "This is my son."

I looked at the childish teen that moodily stood next to her. He was… a mirror image of his mother.

"Jiminy, this is Spencer."

…

Okay?

The younger teen in front of me sized me up the second my eyes reached his. I could tell, because I was doing the exact same thing. The same beautiful black hair and green eyes like his mother, but this kid took it to a new level.

Makeup and skin tight clothes. He looked, how old, thirteen? The fact that he was dressed head to toe in clothes way too mature for him made him seem older, but the angry pout on his lips and his crossed arms told me otherwise.

Darlene probably didn't notice her son's death glare that was directed at me, she only saw my politely blank look. I wasn't judging him, immediately. That was good enough for her.

My father pushed forward to give her a hug. I turned away when he kissed her on the cheek. So did Jiminy. When I glanced back up to see them enter, I saw Jiminy mouth the words 'fucking disgusting' to himself.

"Don't call me Jiminy," he said to me as soon as I put one foot into his house.

I noticed his clenched fists and red face. Was he thinking he'd lose face for having a dorky name? Jiminy wasn't that bad. I've known people with worse. "What do you want me to call you?" I said without inflection, "Jim? Jimmy? James? Jay?"

He smiled suddenly. I probably got it right. "Yeah," he mumbled as if he accepted me, "Everyone but Mom calls me Jay."

I nodded, not really caring. So this was what my father meant by having a new sibling. Darlene already had a son. I thought Darlene was pregnant, or something similar to that. I didn't expect a new addition to be just several of years short of my age.

"How old are you?" Jay asked as soon as we were in his living room. The television was showing some rock music concert. I couldn't see it. Jay was situated on the couch in a position that told me he wanted my complete attention.

"Sixteen," I answered easily. To be polite, because who knew how long I'd be with the boy before dinner was ready, I asked back, "You?"

"I'm thirteen." He smiled at me. I didn't know if his cheeks were red because of his makeup or because of embarrassment. But why would he be embarrassed?

Feeling the turn of the conversation, I started playing the good-natured future stepsibling first. "I'm a junior. You're thirteen, so you're in eighth grade, right? Are you going to my school next year?"

"Yeah." I nodded when he answered.

The silence that stretched wasn't uncomfortable for me, but Jay kept glancing at me every couple of minutes. It wasn't annoying, it was almost cute. He reminded me of Vincent, in behavior.

"I thought you'd be different," he said slowly. I turned to look at him again, not betraying any emotion on my face. Why would I?

He twisted the bottom of his shirt. That too reminded me of Vincent. "Mom told me to be nice to you. I guess she thought I wouldn't like you, because I can get really mean sometimes. But you're not bad. It's just the circumstances. I prepared for the worst."

"What was the worst?" I asked smirking. Jay was good kid. I could tell. Maybe I biased my opinion, since he would technically be my stepbrother when our parents married, but he was a good kid. Yes. A good kid.

He shrugged, "A serial killer with a taste for hot boys and a penchant for bestiality or necrophilia. I don't know. I didn't think it through."

I high-lowed his statement, leaning back to show how absurd his thought was, and said something that eerily reminded me of something Vincent would say. "Don't worry. You're safe for now," I stated, or perhaps warned. Maybe his crude remarks were rubbing on me?

It looked as if Jay wanted to say something, but his mother interrupted him. "Boys," she called as she walked over and shut off the television, "Dinner's ready."

I looked up at her careful green eyes. She was cautious around me. I didn't know why, but it made me feel regretful. I did something wrong, probably, last time we met. She was never like this around me before. And from the weird looks Jay kept shooting her as we sat around the dining table, I could tell it wasn't normal behavior for him either.

It was awkward the first few minutes as we passed around food and said courteous 'thanks' and 'your welcome' each time.

I wasn't feeling it, but the adults were. With a circular table, I could easily see the expressions on each person's face.

Father was softly making conversation with Darlene, telling her how beautiful she looked and how she was perfect. His expression would have been endearing, if it didn't look so stiff. Darlene would have been flattered and embarrassed, if she wasn't so discomfited with the tension in the air.

Jay was angrily eating his lasagna, trying not to stand up and curse my father to hell. I could tell, even with my obliviousness in reading people, that he disliked my father.

And I… I was simply there.

Jay glanced at me once, during the dinner. His angry expression fell when I stared at him evenly. Smiling with just the upturn of my lips, not feeling anything but just doing what would have been a reassuring gesture, I watched as he frowned at me with red on his cheeks.

When we finished, which we did awfully quickly since no conversation was made across the table whatsoever, Darlene told Jay to take me to his room and entertain me.

He looked down with a red face and mumbled, "Sure."

Something about the kid made him seem bipolar. Maybe because as soon as we were in his room, a pleasant area with poster covered blue walls, he started to speak as if he wanted to rant.

"I think this marriage is a mistake."

I raised an eyebrow. The way he stated it was made it sound like he had a choice in the matter. He didn't. It was between Father and Darlene to get married. Not their children from a previous matrimony.

I spoke with calm, "Whether or not you think it's okay, they're still going to get married."

"Mom's a widow. She can't afford to miss out a chance at another marriage, I know. But… No offense to Daniel, but he just proposed to her just because of the new baby. I have no problem with them having a kid. But I don't think your dad's right for my mom."

Wasn't there an unspoken rule between future stepbrothers not to hate on the other's parent?

But, it seemed what I thought was right after all. Father was getting married because of the birth of another child. This wasn't a matter of love. This was a matter of convenience.

"I like Darlene. She's nice," I said as soon as Jay finished.

It was the right thing to say. It was the truth. However he wanted to interpret it was his own problem.

His green eyes peered at me behind his hand that covered his face in a dramatic show of exasperation. It flickered down towards the floor then to the wall behind me.

"I don't like Daniel. He's not nice."

I smiled at him. No. Not at all. Father wasn't a nice man at all. He could be caring. He could be loving. He could be gentle. But never nice. He wasn't a nice man. He had too many faults in his character to be considered nice.

"I know," I said more to myself than to Jay.

He looked at me funnily, as if he for the first time noticed something about me. That, in itself, was weird. We just met. Maybe thirty minutes in the company of each other and we were bonding.

Hah. Really. Hah.

"My dad died six years ago. My mom hasn't dated since Daniel came along, so I know she likes him. I'm just not too sure about him. Does he like my mom?"

So innocent. It sounded so innocent. Didn't he know that questions like this were never to be inquired? Didn't he know? It was unspoken. No one was ever supposed to say them aloud. No one.

He fidgeted so awkwardly that I wondered how he could ever be comfortable in such tight clothes. These middle school kids and their styles, I thought. But who was I to talk with my top of the line shirts and dark jeans that took the lives of at least ten children in China. I was as unstylish as they come. Butter bought all my clothes for me.

He told me about his parent, it was only right to speak of mine. "My mother is in the hospital. They divorced four years ago. My father dated around a lot. Darlene lasted longest than any one has ever. I know he likes Darlene. But he also likes women in general."

The silence that reigned over us and permeated our senses made me feel as if I should have been saying more than I did. So, I did. "Look, Jay," I said with a softer voice and kinder tone because sometimes speaking lower made people calmer. I should know. Why I should have known wasn't something I wanted to dwell on.

"What?" he answered back with the same volume as before.

I shook my head in disappointment. "My father likes to do the right thing. He'll raise the baby with love and care, regardless of what he thinks of Darlene. If my father loves her, good. If he doesn't, then too bad. He won't cheat on your mother. He'll get a divorce when the child is old enough. That's what he did with me."

Thinking it satisfied him, I stepped down from my pedestal of power in the conversation as the 'knowledgeable' individual.

He just glared at me. Scoffing after I made no more attempts to appease him, he turned away.

I felt bad for Jay, really. He was only thirteen years old. His dad died long enough ago to make it so he depended heavily both on the fact he once had a father and on the fact that he was capable with only a mother. When I was thirteen, however, things were much more different for me.

The slight twinges of compassion for his general situation began to arise in me as I opened my mouth.

Jay beat me to it.

"You have a gay name," he spat distastefully.

I frowned. God, I hated middle school brats.

 

X is for Xeric​

My brothers, God bless their lovely oh-so freaking perfect souls, organized an intervention.

Okay, okay. Maybe I was exaggerating. It wasn't necessarily a huge intervention, in which the whole extended family came by. David had one of those when he accidentally got his girlfriend pregnant. There was a miscarriage in the end, but Hell… That was one really hectic intervention.

But this time, it was just my brothers. Donny and David sat on my bed while I sat in a chair two feet away from them. But even if it was just the two of them, it was still an intervention.

God. I usually loved the interventions. The family would pack away into one large room, the person in question would sit in the middle, and then, the attacks would come. It was, most of the time at least, nice to watch. My Uncle Joe, who had a minor problem with marijuana, started crying during his session with the family.

There was also Aunty Jenny, who had a nervous breakdown. She had sliced up her arm on accident but made it worse on purpose. Yeah, that was hilarious to watch. Grandma and Grandpa were crying, hugging me and telling me never to hurt myself like my poor sick Aunt Jennifer. But when I ignored them and concentrated on my aunt, it was amusing to see her reasoning.

There was also that one time Donny got jumped in the middle of a xeric wasteland for some weird reason… that may or may not had to do with a shitload of cocaine found in an abandoned warehouse off the coast of Mexico. Then there was that one time my dad slept with my mom's twin sister. Yeah. That was weird for me because I was the one who reported the incident to my grandparents. But when Aunty Regina started to talk about her drinking problem, it then got interesting.

And there was this time when my cousin Freddy had his car crashed by his transvestite best friend. That was funny at first, even if my family temporarily adopted the 'it' for the intervention.

Fucking bitch-he-she-it-thing and Freddy thought it'd be funny to get themselves drunk, take the car out for a little joyride, and then smash it into a tree. PFT! I could have told everyone, years ago, that the it-fuck was a B. I. T. C. H. bitch with a minor taste for mixing weed and alcohol.

Freaking cunt-whore-dick-loving-shemale had the gall to touch me afterwards too! Putting those disgusting arms around me, apologizing for all the strife it put my family through.

Cocky and mockingly PRESSING itself against me! Fuck that he-she! Little dickface cunt! Damn straight I threw juice in its face! Fuck that thing. Thinking it would be funny to molest me in front of my family, that thing was a fucking-! Fucking-! Fucking slut. Nothing more than a little… fucking… whore.

"Vincent?"

"Shhh! Let me finish thinking. Hold up a moment, jeez." Couldn't a man finish his thoughts? Thinking about… the family. That took some serious brain power. Seriously, foo's. Ahem. Where was I?

There were a lot of other times, from before I was born and when I was a child. My family had… problems. Not huge or major ones that threatened to really break the bonds we had with each other, but we had problems. The one thing that, if I could really say it, made me proud to be in such a family was that we put in an effort to stay happily together.

But if I was in the center of the conversation, it was Hell. Complete and absolute Hell. I couldn't hide anything. I couldn't lie my way out or smile away questions. I had to be honest, as honest as I could be. Why? Why did I have to be honest? I didn't know. It was just that way. To hide truths in the face of one person was different than to deliberately lie in the face of every person I loved.

Lucky me, I wasn't with the entire clan. It was simply me, Donny, and David. In a little triangle, looking at each other with forced calm and steady heads.

I started, "What did I do?" Hah! Hell yeah! I was so fucking smart! Sound like a snarky little bastard, that was the way to go. Sound like a real snarky little bastard.

Donny was always a little angrier than David, so I should have known he would snap at me. "What do you mean, what did 'I' do? You know what you do!" That didn't mean it didn't sting like a bitchy little bee.

"Not like that!" David corrected quickly, "Jeez. Vincent, we didn't want to get the family involved. You know how Grandma gets. We just want to try talking this out, you know. Almost like adults."

I repeated, "What did I do?" Seriously, they couldn't fix me if I didn't know what they wanted me to fix.

"This crazy party animal thing you got going on! Vincent! Are you stupid?" Donny sputtered before I could really understand. My 'party animal thing' was really not all that bad. It wasn't as if I went to every single bash I could find and got hammered beyond all belief.

Maybe, if I was feeling it, I'd go to one party during the weekend. Drink one beer, have fun with one girl, and then be done with it. I wasn't crazy. I didn't go around smoking rolled shit and snorting up nose candy. There was a whole group of drunken and high party kids. I wasn't one of them.

"Shut up Donny! Vincent, that's not it. God, Donny, just shut up. You're making this harder than it has to be," David looked at me square in the face, "Vincent, we know what you're doing. We know. Hell. We've been there. We've done that. But we were older when we started. You've been crashing parties since before you began high school. You got into it too early, too fast."

"I'm not addicted to anything," I defended, waving one hand in the air as if I could put further emphasis.

Donny groaned, "We didn't say that fucktard. All David said that that you have a fucking problem. Got it?"

"I didn't say that! Vincent, just listen to me. Donny is just too angry to think properly," David said quickly, punching Donny's arm to silence him.

They were so annoying! I didn't do anything. It was just them being paranoid older brothers. "God. David. Donny. Anyone who will freaking listen when I talk. I'm over parties! They were just something I'd go to when I was bored. You know, I'd have a bit of fun. I've never gone crazy, passed out, done drugs, or had blackouts. Nothing!"

"We know! We know, Vincent!" Donny exploded. Way too fast, this intervention was going. We were going way too fast. The facts weren't out. The stage wasn't set. We were doing this wrong. All wrong.

"You're changing! Whatever happened to sweet little innocent Vincent who hated when we came home drunk or high? But now, fuck! Pretty soon, if you don't stop this spiral of yours, you're going to be coming home wasted! And we can't be there to cover for you!"

"Cover me? I won't come home drunk or high! I barely drink there! I fucking hate drugs! And what in hell do you mean I'm changing?"

This was going completely wrong, I could tell. I was yelling at Donny. I never yelled at Donny. I always stood back and let him get his irrational anger out at me. I never verbally fought back. Never. Even David looked ready to punch either of us. It wasn't going how he pictured it either.

We needed to calm down again, sit like our adult family members did and hear out the entire story. But we weren't going to. We made each other far too angry far too quickly.

I sighed. Donny was ready to burst again. I could tell. And I knew that whatever shit he was going to spew would make me blow up like I've never before.

"I know the guy that blew you! He was in our graduating class! You let some older college guy suck you off at a high school party and record you. Didn't believe it until I saw it. How is that not going down the wrong path for you? How is that not changing? And now there's that Spencer kid you've gone gay for!"

What?! "Fucking hell! That guy was in drag, and I was tipsy! And I'm not gay. I'm not some cum guzzling pussy assed faggot. I haven't gone gay for no one!" Fucking bitch ass motherfucking Goddamned shitty bastard. Donny was being so fucking retarded. So FUCKING retarded.

I was not gay. I was never gay. Never.

What in hell did he know? Just because he was the fucking genius with good grades, good looks, going to the best possible college with the best possible girlfriend?

David yelled louder when his original words failed to reach me, "Shut the fuck up! Donny, you idiot. We're supposed to be the calm ones. I told you that. And Vincent! We aren't trying to attack you. Just calm the fuck down!"

Our faces were red with tension. Oh God. Oh God. I messed up big time. I knew. I knew. I yelled at them. They were just trying to help. Only God knew how much they didn't help, but at least they tried. I didn't have some partying problem. I wasn't going to develop, after three or four years of crashing parties, some weird need to dig myself in some deep hole.

I wasn't like that. I wasn't like that. I liked fun. I always liked fun. Donny and David should have known that. I was their little brother. Their itty bitty little brother who liked pudding and action figures and finger paints. I wasn't some alcoholic, or drug user, or sex addict. I didn't do those sorts of things like crazy. I just liked a little booze to feel relaxed, a little sex to have fun.

I wasn't going down some evil path. High school parties were just that. High school parties. An imitation of college parties. And college parties? They were just an imitation of momentary escape.

"Where… Where were you?" someone asked in a quiet voice.

I looked up. It wasn't Donny. He still looked like he was trying to calm himself. It was probably David. His eyes looked at me evenly, as if he wanted to lead the discussion without giving leeway to Donny.

"I was at Spencer's house," I answered back just as quietly. I saw Donny twitch up and open his mouth, but David gave him a look before he continued.

It was awkward. Even I could feel that. I knew where our talking was getting at. No longer would we talk about the parties. That would be too difficult, too hypocritical. They did it. Why couldn't I? They got worse. Why would I? So here we were, talking about something… someone that I thought about in my head a million plus one times. Spencer.

"Did you…?" my kinder brother asked slowly, leaving the end of the question open for interpretation. But it wasn't really. I knew what he was asking. I knew what he wanted me to say.

I said the truth, "No. Nothing happened." I was lying about that. Something did happen. But it wasn't a concern to my brothers exactly what happened. They wanted to know if we made sexual contact. We didn't. That was the truth.

Coughing shortly because yelling made my throat hurt, I said softer, "I actually like Spencer."

"Oh…" David mumbled. They were uncomfortable. Both of them knew homosexuals. I met a couple of their gay acquaintances in the past. But it was probably the last thing on their mind for me, their sexually insatiable little brother with a penchant for drunk girls and sluts, to 'actually like' a guy.

When Donny spoke, I was surprised. I expected him to at least still be angry. But he mellowed. It was okay for him to speak. "Are you two…? Shit. Are you two together?"

The roughness of his voice was pleasing to me, simply because it was accepting. Begrudgingly, but still, it was accepting. I didn't exactly care for or demanded acceptance. For all I knew, Spencer was a one time crush of a curious boy. But it felt a little nice to hear my angry older sibling say something like that.

It was nice. I smiled cheekily, the mood back to normal for us all, "Nope. Spencer's my asexual prude friend. But, because of my awesome skills, I doubt that'll last."

Donny frowned and looked pass me. David tried to smile, but in the end looked more constipated.

The intervention resumed as planned.

David spoke to me about concerns and dangers. Donny mumbled about God knows what while he spoke. I listened to both of them.

They asked for me to bring Spencer over during one of the days they were both home. I said that I would try without really meaning it. They frowned.

It… was weird. It reminded me of those interventions the adults had. But it was still weird. The feeling was different. I would find everything hilariously funny while I listened on during the times my relatives would spill their guts.

But to be the one in their spot, it was enlightening. I spoke the truth, the plain truth. My opinion leaked through every once in a while, but it was mostly just recollections of what I have and have not done.

Marijuana? Second hand. I hated the way that shit smelled.

Cocaine? No… Did I look like a coke whore?

Heroin? Eww. Nastiness.

Acid? I'd never. Dis-gust-ing.

Ecstasy? What the hell?! Shit messed with the mind, fool!

Anything else?

…

No.

 

Y is for Yummy​

"Ahh… Faster, honey. Hmm. Daniel! Oh Daniel! Just like that…"

My father probably thought that a large house with distant rooms meant that the nasty sex sounds couldn't be heard. He was wrong. It only meant echoes and reverberations, and that made it impossible to ignore what was going on. I made the mistake too, in the past, because I was more like my father than I liked. Nameless faces and debauched stunts, with sex as the only driving reason, were so common with my father. I had to wonder if that piece of me was inherited from the man.

Loud groans and more delighted gasps filled the air. All three of us could still hear them, even through so many thick walls and from the other side of the house.

By 'three of us,' I meant Vincent, Jay, and me. How weird it was, to have us three in the same room listening to adults go at it? It was a different type of awkwardness for each of us. My father was screwing the fiancée he impregnated out of carelessness. Jay's mother was being screwed by the fiancé who only proposed to her because of convenience.

And Vincent…? What was he even doing here? I let him in my house once, and then he thought it was okay to come over whenever he thought fit? Well, it was only the slightest bit in favor of me. At least I didn't have to walk home when Vincent gave me a ride. But for him to sit there with a funny expression on his face was different.

He was acting unusual.

"So, like, Mr. Danielson and the future Mrs. Danielson are getting it on right now?" he asked so asininely that I had to resist the urge to smack him upside the head like a child. What sort of question was that? Did he not know how utterly rude it was?

Jay spoke with a frown on his face. He probably wasn't inclined to the idea of another person calling his mother by her not yet surname. "Who are you?"

An innocent smile stretched across his face, even when he raised his eyebrows. "I'm Vincent, Spencer's friend. Who are you?" His hand went to the collar of his shoulder to make a show of 'discreetly' tugging it up.

Jay huffed, "I'm Jay, Spence's future stepbrother." He stuck out his tongue to lick his glossed lips as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

I looked at them in confusion, which I didn't doubt was written on my face. With nothing more than a frown to show my displeasure, I wondered why they fought to put so much emphasis on certain words.

None of their attention was placed on me and although that should have made me happy, it was perplexing. Vincent was almost clingy with the way he regarded me, minus physical contact. Jay was, in the past three times I saw him, was always quick to look and listen my way. It was weird. Different. I was relieved on the surface, but couldn't help but have a tickle in my stomach at how unusual they were acting.

I heard a scream of adult lust when I turned towards my laptop. I cringed. Couldn't I just write essays and do homework in peace? But no, neither of the other teenagers in the room thought so.

"Hey Spencer, can you come over tomorrow? My brothers want to meet you," Vincent remarked. Even if it was directed towards me, he stared at Jay. He adjusted his shirt as he shifted, letting the barest hint of skin show.

Before I could respond, Jay thought it proper to interrupt. "Spence and I are going to do some brotherly bonding tomorrow. Sorry, he can't." He dragged his hand across the front of his belt while he glared at Vincent.

It must have been some, jeez, faggot-speak. As soon as Vincent noticed what he was doing, his face twisted in indignation. When he did that, I seriously wondered what kind of jargon flaming homosexuals used with each other. Bisexuals never did that sort of shit. Even… Andrew, even Alex… they never did…

It was done in a single snap. Both of their head turned towards me, looking for acceptance or rejection. But to accept either of them would have been uncharacteristic of me. It was finally Saturday. I had a session tomorrow. Couldn't the two just leave me alone?

"I'm busy." Their hard gaze was still set on me even after I answered. I let the pause affect them longer. I almost let a twisted smile overcome my face when their expressions slowly changed from tough to weak. "Doctor's," I reassured them both.

It was funny. It shouldn't have been funny. They were behaving like children, fighting for something that probably didn't exist.

Competition? Competition over what?

Over… me?

Hah. That was absurd. Absolutely ridiculous. How the thought even arose in my head… To think such a thing was like thinking that the two wanted me. By that, my attention. And seriously, who would want me? The tick-tick-ticking time bomb that visited Doctor Bryant every weekend in order to piece together lost time and forgotten memories? Seriously.

Vincent looked towards me with a small smile. The frivolous cheerfulness that I was so accustomed to seeing on his was gone. Even the odd look of annoyance when regarding Jay was gone. All that was there was a sort of sly understanding. A mischievous look on a handsome face that reminded me of the first time I properly met Vincent.

In… the hospital? Or… at school? Where did I first meet Vincent? I. He smacked me. I remember that. He also asked for a… kiss. I remember that. There was also a time, on the sidewalk. When I was… nearly incapacitated. Then, at school. There were maybe a couple of times at school, before he became a pseudo friend, in which he spoke to me or noticed my existence.

But… when did… I… first notice him…?

At… Jamba Juice…?

Andrew was to my left and Mitch was to my right. Deb was waiting in the car, honking at us to hurry up. Text was talking to him at the cash register. We… interrupted him getting a blowjob… maybe. He was… red faced, aroused, with his cock hanging out of his shorts. I had turned my head towards Andrew, speaking meanly even though he had a nasty black eye I felt bad about. I taunted him like a complete asshole… by… by…

Telling him… that in one hot second… if I ever got the chance… I'd fu-

(-ck this loser so hard and so good because he's a fuckin' grip hotter than you.

Don't you think so, Andrew? Will you fuck him after me?

Hmm?

Horny as fuck? Jea-lous-ly?

Because you lo-)

No. No.

I rubbed my blurry eyes.

No.

I evened my breathing with care.

That. Didn't… happen. It, no, couldn't have happened.

Where did we meet? When did we first become aware about each other's presence? Jesus Christ. I couldn't remember.

"Doctor Bryant?" he asked.

I blinked, hoping that the look on my face didn't betray any of my conflicting emotions. The sudden rush of something in my gut, telling me that Vincent shouldn't know, and the soothing calm in my chest, telling me that Vincent should know… They were both there. In the end, neither won. Left in the middle of the mess was me, simple blankness.

I nodded curtly as Vincent tried to subtly search my face for any sort of answer to whatever questions he held. There were none. There was just me. There weren't any answers to the problems life constructed for me. There weren't any solutions. There was simply dealing with it. And for years, I dealt with it.

"Who is Doctor Bryant?" Jay asked with a hint of suspicion in his tone.

Vincent answered, his bearing back to the easygoing guy I had gotten to know these past weeks. "Who else would a doctor be? Hmm. A doctor, maybe?"

Jay scoffed and turned his head away from us both. He was most likely offended and embarrassed. He kept turning and playing with the colorful bracelets around his wrists. In color, they clashed with his more conservative clothes. But who was I to talk? To me, Jay looked like some everyday twisting trend. My closet was full of clothes purchased in my name by Butter, which could probably attest to the little fashion sense I had.

When my open bedroom door was softly knocked on, I finally noticed all the grunts and screams of adult pleasure had quieted down.

"Yes?" I called, letting my attention stray from the difficult individuals. Opening the door was Darlene. I noted that she at least had the decency to fix herself before approaching us. Yeah. I liked her. Most of Father's other women had pranced around the house half naked with their hair disheveled and their remaining clothes messy.

"Boys," she said with a smile, "What do you feel like for dinner?"

"Anything is fine," I mumbled, looking away. She just had sex with Father. Eww. Germs.

Darlene nodded, her black hair swaying with her movement, and turned to leave. Before she left, she looked at Jay. "Jiminy? You don't look too well. Are you all right?"

Jay tugged at the bottom of his shirt, "Yeah, Mom." He was embarrassed that his mother would use his real name? Aw. How cute.

I choked back a mean little chuckle when Darlene shut the door. Jay looked at me with an angry expression that may have or may have not been a pout before he mumbled a curse at me.

Vincent, however, had a completely different reaction. "Wow, Jiminy. Really, no wonder you look like you do. Hah, your mom is so… wow. Yummy." His mannerisms didn't portray an infantile crush on an older woman, but the way he said it made me smile in dry amusement. It was appreciating.

Jay exploded again in one of his little rants, "Shut up! Don't talk about my mom like that. That's disgusting, she's twenty years older than you! And, and, and don't call me Jiminy!"

I interrupted before he could go on a tangent, exasperated with their sad attempt at contesting each other, "Can you please apologize, Vincent? Please." I shifted in the seat, annoyed because sometimes being around others pissed me off. I liked being alone most of the time, although company did have a tendency to be nice.

He smiled that fake smile I hated so much. "I'm just joking, Jay. I, unlike some people, like others my own age." Vincent then changed that upturning of his lips to a smirk, a little more pompous than I've ever seen him before, and glanced at me.

I ignored, with all the skill I was known for, the way it made me twist in my place even more.

 

Z is for Zealous​

Fuck… This girl sure knew how to use her tongue.

"You like it like that?" she breathed when she lifted her head up and away from me. A busty blonde haired beauty, she was. But I didn't care about that. All I cared about was the fact that she knew what she was doing. The familiar heat and twist in my body was good… Or, like, good enough.

She was better than most, but I wasn't going to let her figure that out. Not even for a moment. "Think again, babe. I think you're out of practice. Why don't you try again, hmm?"

And down she went… that was more like it. I hated it when they tried to talk dirty to me. All I wanted was a good time, not some zealous little girl with too many ideas! I did not consider having a porn reminiscent conversation during any type of sex fun.

Hearing the shouts of a young boy, I snapped out of my lust induced daze.

"Get the fuck off of me!" a strangled and slightly pitched voice yelped. Lazily glancing over, I noticed a head of multicolored dyed black hair and skinny arms pushing a form way too threatening to be a friend.

Standing up, I pushed the girl on my lap off of me. That looked strangely like Spencer's step. Jiminy? Jay? Whatever the hell he went by?

She swore shrilly, "What the fuck!? Vincent? What was that for?"

"Sorry…" I mumbled. What was her name? Tanya? Tracy? Something like that…?

Cursing my lack of skill with names, I ran towards the source of the sound while pulling the condom off my dick and stuffing my amazing man-piece back into my pants. I was at a party. Yeah, yeah. I knew about the consequences; I knew about the dangers. David and Donny told me to stop with the party deal, but it wasn't as if I came to do anything bad.

When I arrived, I didn't realize it was a set up for some massive orgy. One moment we were all just drinking, while I had one measly bottle, and the next this guy (Dexter, Texter, something) came in distributing pills.

I refused one and declined make outs the rest of the night. I didn't want a repeat of that one time a girl made out with me while sticking ecstasy in my mouth. Thank God I wasn't too tipsy and I spit it back out. But that did lead to one horny night with quite a few kinks I hadn't thought of before…

But no! Now was not the right time to think about the past. Damn my lack of alcohol tolerance! Only half a bottle! This time I only had half a bottle of beer, but I was still feeling the edge of a buzz.

"Hey!" I yelled when I saw the kid, "Get the fuck up you pussy!" I swatted his head lightly, enough to get his attention. When I looked at him, eye to eye, he stared at me like he couldn't quite comprehend the situation. I scoffed. What? Just because I was your prudish future step's friend didn't mean I didn't enjoy a little fun.

Recognizing the lard on top of him, I sighed, "Get off him. Just because Jess won't put out doesn't mean you have to resort to child rape."

He smiled widely when he recognized me. Dumb fucker. "Hey… Vincent. Haven't seen you in a while… You too busy fucking that faggot?" he slurred as he drunkenly stood, chuckling at his own shit-for-brains question.

Faggot…? Who…? Me? Or. No. Huh!? Spencer!? "Shut the fuck up, Hitler!" I said before I could comprehend my words. What in hell did he know? Fucker!

Before I knew it, I was being dragged away from an angry Jewish kid by a teen skinny enough to slip between jail bars. Watching Johnny hit the nearest guy next to him, I was amazed at how many fights I have managed to start since, well, middle school. And hell, I've never been in the midst of them. Luck on my side, I always managed to slip away.

"Man, are you drunk?" I looked up. Where was I? Oh yes, oh yes. In some room. I could tell by the fact we were on some bed and there was a door and there were other room… room-ish-like… stuffs. Yes. A room.

How did we get in a room?

"Um," I mumbled, "I'm just a bit, you know, buzzed. Or dunk. Or shitfaced. I'm a bit of a light weight." Shifting my weight, redistributing all that crap that made up the oh-so-wonderful me, I let my gaze land on that silly little piece of jailbait.

Wow. He was a really pretty kid. Like his mom, but in a more, yeah, jailbait-ish-ish-ush-shh way-ay-ay…? He obviously was hurt in the scuffle, but he still looked good. Not attractive, because, teehee, I didn't find guys attractive. Just Spencer. And. And… Nope! Not going back down that road again. Never again, hehe. Just Spencer. Only him.

Spencer! "You. Did you come here alone or with Spencer?" I questioned.

He raised his eyebrows, but even in the low light of the room, I could tell he blushed. "I… I didn't think Spence was into this kind of stuff. I snuck out, you know."

I smiled. Cute kid. Little, little kid. "Good. If you brought Spencer, I would have to kill you. Who knows what kind of effect this world would have on his crybaby ass." Sighing, because that was all I seemed to do when faced with situations that I really didn't know how to deal with, I started to question the boy. "So… Jay, was it? Yeah… Yeah. Why in hell are you here?"

He frowned, "I always go to parties like this. I haven't been to the ones down here. Just went with a friend of mine."

I looked him up and down. Yeah. He seemed like the type. "Don't whore yourself out too much. Drugs are really big in this area. Here, the kids have a more than just a bit of extra money. The real shit is given out for free."

He didn't look at me.

"Kiddo," I said, the beer suddenly making me loose the happiness. "Let me look at you face." I let my fingers trace around the bruise on his face. Damn. Johnny probably only had one hit in. Thank God he was drunk. That fucker and his steroids or nutrient filled milkshakes (hehe) or energy bars could mess up a fellow in a second.

"Spence talked about you a little bit," he said quietly. "He. No. He talked about you a lot. Well, it wasn't really like that. Most of the time he just complained about you. From the way he said everything it sounded like you like him. And from last night, it sounds like you do."

Aw. Little Jay's makeup got messed up. His eye crap, whatever it was called, was decent still. But his lips are all swollen and the glossy stuff spread. Ewww… He looked like a girl. Like, a cross dresser. A really pretty one, or something.

I smiled, "What about you? You were to one hinting at seducing him with your jailbait looks."

He pulled away uncomfortably and let himself lay down on the bed. Scoffing, he mumbled, "It's not as if I like him. I don't even go for guys. They usually go for me. He's just really nice. It's probably just the novelty of, you know, a nice older stepbrother with more mental troubles than meets the eye."

I laughed, but it sounded awkward. Maybe because he was looking at my hard on like it was some disgusting bug while he spoke.

"Aren't you going to take care of that?" Jay asked, scooting away.

"Why? You wanna watch? Or do you wanna take care of it for me?" I asked suggestively, sticking my hand down my pants just the slightest.

He shuddered, "Ew. No thank you. As hot as 'older stepbrother's best friend' pornography is, I'd rather not. Do you know how weird it is to have some guy with a boner touching me?"

I paused. "Actually," I thought slowly, "I kind of do know. Sometimes these little drunken get together things I go to turn out to be some gay touch-fest."

That, my dear imaginary friends, was actually the one weird ass time when I got head from an older college boy in drag. The fact that I was younger than half of the guys and was the only one with my pants pulled down while the camera rolled made a big difference the next day. It wasn't my idea, no sir. It was all Mitch's idea. Yeah. Mitch. Mike. Micah? Whatever his name was…? No. I was pretty sure it was Mitch. I had got to stop second guessing myself.

I watched the stars on the ceiling. They were those neat little glow-in-the-dark ones that little kids had. It was infantile, but cute all the same.

"Listen," I told Jay before I forgot, "I'm going to back out there and find, uh, that girl who was sucking me off. You straighten your shit out. Go and, um, wash your face or something. Fix your girly makeup. I'll be back when I have an orgasm. And then… Then…"

I smacked my face lightly, "I'll take you home. Yeah. Gotta make sure the steppy stepper gets home all righty, you know? So grab a beer while I'm gone. And also… Don't start more shit."

I tilted my head and looked at the boy. Jay's black hair had colored streaks, like an acid trip gone wrong, which I didn't see yesterday. He must have done it with his little buddy before the party. Trying to bring back snap shot memory, I thought about him yesterday. Yesterday, when we were silently competing with each other, he looked pretty innocent.

Hell, he still looked innocent. His facial structure and natural childishness was it. But here, with makeup crap and clothes a bit too tight, he looked the part of one of those kids my brothers didn't want me to develop into. Sex, drugs, alcohol. Pretty fun stuff, sometimes. But they sure as hell dug one big ass hole. Psh. I should know, considering the constant spin of company from these messed up partiers.

Jay's green eyes still looked pretty naive though. Genuinely 'innocent.' Maybe it was just me? After seeing so many of my so-called friends fall into this sort of stuff, I could only guess that it was second nature to assume.

I smiled at him. It was one of my large fake ones that made girls giggle and guys trust me way too quickly. I hoped he didn't fall for it. "Hey," my grin dropped a little lower, "Stop being a sulky little pussy. If you keep hanging around these types of places looking like that, you're gunna get fucked up." Literally and metaphorically.

I looked down at my shorts. Hey… My boner was going down. Boohoo. The calm of talking to Jay made me lose the sex in my veins. What'evs foo. "On a second thought," I mumbled, patting down my pants to really make sure, "Why don't we leave right now? Grab two beers for the road. You'll need it. You're going to have one hell of a bruise in the morning."

I got up, hoping my sobriety level was high enough for me to properly drive. I usually didn't… drink enough to make me inebriated. Just a little buzzed… But. Eh. I wasn't going to kill anyone or anything! I was a fucking great driver! And I went extra slow in neighborhood area while alcohol was in my system!

Glancing back at Jay, I sighed. God. Emo little baby. What in hell was he doing?

"Do… Do you know about Spence's… problems?" he licked his glossy lips, "I… I don't know all that much about them. But I overheard my mom talking about it to Daniel, so I know Spencer is pretty much… Do you know? You seemed like you knew, so I know you know, but do you know?"

I didn't answer his question. I simply shot him an asshole grin, "Get you fucking ass in the car. Jay, get fuckin' shitfaced."

Jay simply nodded. For a split moment, when he gave me a look that told me he understood, I felt like the badass I pretended to be.

When the turned away and everything slowly hit me, I felt something burn in my stomach. It wasn't physical, I knew. It was one of those guilt things. I felt guilty. Was that it? Did I seriously just feel guilty? There was nothing to feel guilty about. I was driving Jay back like the responsible kid I wasn't. I refused to acknowledge the words I shouldn't hear even when all I wanted was to know.

But somehow, I felt the knots of guilt pulling and tugging at my chest. Fuck. Spencer had to be rubbing off on me. All this weirdness, it was just like him. Fuck.

 

A is for Atrophy​

I looked at the little pills Father was examining. It wasn't as if he was a doctor or anything. He probably knew next to nothing about medicine. But even so, he still looked at them as if he could discern the truths from the lies.

"What happened?" he asked without any noticeable shift in tone. I bit my lip. He sounded as if he was talking about the weather or discussing tea time. Not my medication.

God. Medication. I've been off that shit for a year. Now, apparently, I was worse. I had to take them again. For what?! To make me remember events that never took place? To make me calmer? Composed like my father? Comatose like an insane nut job? Vacant like some sort of empty headed little slut?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…

I wasn't crazy. I wasn't. I wasn't crazy. The medication. I hated it. I hated it. I was getting better, wasn't I? I was! I really was. But then, something happened.

I… I saw Mom. And Daddy, Dad wasn't there to protect me. He… he was never there to protect me. Never. Even when I was younger. He wasn't there. Mommy. I was just at the store with Uncle Mike because he wanted to keep me out of site. Grabbing coffee or something while my cousins were unaware that I was even in their side of town, but then I saw her.

And. And I couldn't move.

I started to cry as the memories I never liked came rushing back to me. The medication shouldn't be working this quickly. It wasn't the medication this time, the deceptively colored pills with the long names and the obscure duties. This time it was all me. Me, myself, and I.

"I'm sorry Dad," I cried before I could stop myself. Tears just kept rushing down my cheeks. I couldn't stop. I was never a loud crier. I never sobbed out loud, even when I was a child. But sometimes I wondered if it would take away the pain from my chest. Would it? Would it help? God. Would anything help?

"I… I-I'm get-getting worse," I stuttered through my tears. That was the truth, wasn't it? In the end, I was getting worse. Not better. I was reverting back into the same boy I was years ago. Slowly. Steadily.

During those moments, those moments starting when I was twelve, I knew I was damaging beyond repair. The process, God. Holy God. The slow spin into something that felt good but I knew was bad. The pain the torture the hatred the love. The dryness in my mouth as Mommy would command me to touch her right there. The wetness of our bodies as she would touch me right there.

Sick. Sick. It was sick. She was sick. The atrophy of my soul twisted so many times I had so shiver to keep myself from audibly sobbing out. And… And. And I was sick.

"Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," he sighed repeatedly. The gentle touch of his hand on my shoulder made me bite down on my lips harder. He didn't hug me and I was grateful. I didn't like it when older people touched me. I didn't like it. I never liked it.

But, even so, the slight brush of heat that his hand offered made me swell with emotions I couldn't distinguish from one another. I needed something, anything, someone, anyone. Stability. I needed stability. And Daddy was stable. He was stable.

But. But. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. I did want Dad to be all I needed, because I loved him and he loved me. We were father and son. What I needed had to go beyond that. I needed someone to love me for me. God. I hated you. I just really, really, really hated you. Goddamn it, Andrew! I just really hated you…

His voice sounded different. Smoother and lighter. Just like it was when I was a child. When I was a child. "Spencer, son. I love you. Okay? I love you. You're going to be okay. Everything going to be all right. Spencer. Calm down. You need to calm down."

I shook my head vehemently. He was lying. Father was lying. He didn't love. He didn't love me enough to prevent me from getting this bad. I wasn't going to be okay. I was never going to be okay. I'll just go further and further away from that certain point I needed to reach. Sanity, I needed to reach sanity. But, but I wasn't crazy. I was just mentally fucked up. I was fucked up.

Nothing would be all right! I didn't need to calm down like I was some overreacting little fool. What I needed was… Damn it. I didn't know. I had no idea what I needed to make anything all right, let alone everything… Just… something else. Something else. Someone else.

I shuddered from a cold draft that didn't exist. What? What was I doing? Touching my face, I frowned in confusion. Tears? Was I crying? No, no. I… I know I was crying. I could feel it, the aftereffects of sobbing. The shakes, the chills, the numbness, the pains, the desperation, the childishness, the sadness… But. But the question here was why? Why was I with tears?

I looked up and was momentarily blessed with the sight of my father. His face, usually so devoid of notable emotion, was now riddled with worry lines on an aging face. The creases and folds of once smooth skin made my stomach twist.

God… All this stress. All this worry. Most of it (nearly all of it) was my fault.

God. God. God.

Looking at the space behind him, not strong enough to actually look my parent in the face, I asked, "What am I doing here?" I knew what I was doing. I knew. I knew that I knew. Why I felt the need to ask, when I was pretty damn sure, confused me seconds after my response was echoed.

"What are you doing? Here?" he asked so softly that I almost caved and started crying again. Caving in the pressures of my self-punishment and crying away my sorrow were the only two things I did these days. I couldn't help it. I really, really couldn't. But even as I thought that, I held some stupid hope that taking medication once more would help me better than it had beforehand.

Medication? … Yeah… I had new medication… New pills to pop and prescriptions to pay… That… I think that was why I was crying. Or no. It wasn't, I think. Why would I cry over something that would potentially help me? Not… Not that I really needed help anyway…

I shook my head slowly, giving a silent 'no' to a question I didn't really understand. Placing a hand on my forehead, I wondered how I ever got into this situation. This situation. What the hell was I talking about? This situation? Here? My stoic father's body hovering over me, waiting for me to crack under the pressure? Here? My medication innocently placed on the kitchen counter, waiting to be taken?

Here? Where?

Snapping my hand back down, I sighed. The meds were kicking in. I could feel it. All I wanted was to be able to blow up. Blow up like some little tick-tick-ticking time bomb. I wanted to be normal. Normal people could throw temper tantrums and have bitch fits without having to be regarded as potentially dangerous, right?

But no. No for me. I couldn't lash out and expect to be considered 'safe.' My sanity, if it could be called that, wasn't intact. Every time I felt inexplicable anger, it wasn't safe.

I knew that, even though I let the emotions come over me and wash away my logic. When I stupidly lashed out, so many times at different people, I knew it wasn't normal. Most times, heh, most times I couldn't even remember who I attacked. I couldn't even remember the attacking. All except for Andrew. Goodness. I could remember all the times I've thrown fits around him, breaking things and screaming at him with all the force he equally matched.

Was it better to succumb to my own twisted desires to hurt those who reminded me of things that I wanted to forget? Or was it better to let the drugs do their work and keep me at bay? The second one, I'd say on a good day, the second one.

But even so, I hated it. The deep stretching need in my gut to get away and to stop everything that linked back to that one person I hated above all else, it was all I could feel even when medicated beyond all belief.

I was getting better. I was. But now, now. Oh God… Now I was back to where I started… A drugged fourteen year old boy… A violently forgetful fifteen year old boy… And now, a drugged violently forgetful sixteen year old boy…?

What was next? Seriously? What… was… next…?

"Spencer, are you all right now?" Father asked slowly. It was without any emotion. Although the words would have been caring, it wasn't. It was spoken as a plain and simple question. An inquiry, so to speak. It didn't really mean anything. It was simple.

I felt the impulsive need to smile dryly underneath the impulsive need to scream in frustration. I did neither. I looked away from my father and away from the wall behind him. I didn't even want to catch a single glimpse of the man who made me.

With my gaze firmly set on the tiled floor, I answered, "Yes."

I waited for him to leave, hearing the pitter-patter of those slippers he liked to wear during the afternoons he was home. When I looked up a good several minutes later, I noticed how alone I was. It was only… me and my father. There wasn't any static of a hushed television, no music from an abandoned radio, or buzz of a computer.

Father was probably in the office, working on something or the other. I was stuck here, adhered here. Knowing I could move and actually completing the action were two completely different things. I knew I could easily move and shuffle away like a brat. But to move my feet, one after the other, demanded some energy from me that I wasn't quite willing to give up yet.

I fumbled with my pants pocket, searching for my cell phone. Dragging it out and flipping it open was easy, so easy, but letting those words register in my mind was painful.

Two new messages. Four missed calls. Damn it. Damn it.

God. Damn. It.

I read the messages, soaking up the harsh words with a bitterness that was supposed to be contained. I looked over my received call list and saw two names, one after another and then repeated. Not bothering to reply, I shut my cell.

If they wanted to fucking fuck with me, they could have the courtesy to do it to my face. Right? No backhanded gestures and surreptitious texts. They weren't even my friends. They were Andrew's puppet-like tools. Why should I expect anything more or less from them?

Blinking away the distress, I walked to my bathroom and desperately pulled down my pants…

Where the fuck was Alex when I needed him? Expressive blue eyes and a mental mirror image of my younger self…? Fuck. How long has it been since I gave him his last trophy-hickey? When was the last time he went down on me, using his nice practiced little mouth? I tried to recall the way he formed his special, calming words. Alex made the best noises, right? Soft moans and hushed whines.

He always twisted in the greatest way possible… moving towards me as if he actually liked the attention I would place on him. Alex was a pro at making it seem like he enjoyed sex, just like me. He could gasp and groan and fake his way out of true lust better than how I did it, most of the time. His only flaw was his tears. But even so, during sex… he was amazing. Gentle little kisses would affectionately press against my mouth as he said all the right phrases to turn me on.

It wasn't working. Shit. I was barely hard. Alex usually worked. Most of the time, he worked.

Maybe it was time to call Butter? He was with his father, taking care of his favorite younger half-brother. Divorce fucked with children, according to Butter. He always told me that if my parents never divorced like they did and put me into 'this' sort of situation, I wouldn't be as depressed or angry as I was. Maybe I'd still be fucked up, most likely I'd still be fucked up… but I wouldn't be like I am now. Not as violent, forgetful, or medicated.

Fuck…

I wanted to run away from my problems again. The horrible pressure my meds was something Butter helped me with before… when I was younger. Before the switched flipped and our 'best friend' relationship changed to the messed up thing we have now, he did help me like I was really a reminder of his estranged brother…

Damn it… I wanted to see him, talk to him, and let him make me forget. I wanted to feel his lips smash against mine and muffle any draining words. I wanted to feel the pressure of his smaller hands teasingly palming my skin. I wanted to hear his insulting groans as he laughs at my pleasure. I wanted it all. I just wanted him again.

Because… Fuck this, it, everything.

Just because.

 

B is for Bloodlust​

"So," I said, "What are you on?"

Okay, okay. Maybe… that wasn't the smartest way to go about this. Hell, even pointing out Spencer's odd change wasn't the smartest way to do anything. But it wasn't as if I could ignore it! Spencer was acting… different? Not really different, a whole one hundred and fucking eighty degrees kind of different. No, no. He was, uh, subdued. A little more calm. A little more agreeable.

And although that would have been a nice change in most people, it simply didn't fit Spencer. Nope. He was more of an angry 'give me everything I want or else' type of bad-tempered teen. He didn't seem to be exactly a good guy. But he was a good guy, inside probably, buried deep beneath all the misleading angel looks and distasteful personality traits.

That… really… didn't sound too much like a good description of Spencer.

"What do you mean?" he asked without taking eyes off of the book he was reading.

Did you see?! Did you see? On a normal day, I got the feel that Spencer would look up and make some snarky remark or just hum in absentmindedness. He was actually paying attention to me in a calm manner. It was different! It wasn't like him. And although his eyes were still stuck in that book we had to read for English class, he minded my question! That was weird! Different!

Did no one else notice the change? Did no one else notice it at all?

I looked to the side, away from the pretty blue green eyes that I liked looking at so much. It wasn't as if Spencer was even looking at me, so I guess I really wouldn't have missed the sight. Swallowing, I simply mentioned, "Ah… Nothing. Uh, I ran into Jay a while ago."

He nodded, "Where?"

Taking notice that this wasn't a safe subject (because no one really wanted to hear that their future younger stepbrother was a little man-whore with a penchant for partying with older high school girls), I sighed. "I was at this party, and uh, Jay was there."

When Spencer didn't reply, I almost thought he was back to normal. But even I couldn't fool myself so easily. Hell, I didn't even know Spencer very well. But somehow, I thought that I knew about his little mannerism. How self-important did I sound?

"He was…" I began again, "I let him guzzle down a couple of beers. He got his ass handed back to him. He let some girl crawl all over him, you know…? Jessica or something, right? Yeah. Her boyfriend, John, saw it and stumbled over. Before he could potentially kill your step, I stopped him. Yay… me?"

I stopped speaking, letting my words just trail.

Okay… this was way too awkward. I wasn't even the awkward silence sort of guy. I usually skirted around awkwardness, letting my brash words pull the conversation back up. But this time, I succumbed. It shouldn't have even been difficult to speak to Spencer. But it was. He was acting more than just a little weird. It was as if I was with a whole new person, an imitation. This wasn't Spencer. It wasn't really, truly Spencer.

I looked around us in a sad attempt to dispel the lack of comfort. I haven't sat with any of my so-called 'friends' since that incident with what's-her-face. Although I was forgiven for sleeping with her so quickly, because I did regretfully engage in vaginal sex with her once, I didn't actually go back to them.

They bored me. Wow, that was a real asshole way to phrase it. But, it was true. To me, they were all unnamed faces. None of the guys I joked with meant anything to me. None of the girls I joked around with meant anything to me. None of them meant anything to me, not even in the least. I called them my friends, yes. I hung out with once, yes. But did they ever mean a single thing to me? No. I guess they never did.

Looking at Spencer, blond hair falling over his forehead as his head was lowered, I wondered how long my interest in him would last. I really liked him. As a person, yes. And in a sense that I would enjoy him in my bed, yes. Both ways. As a friend and as a potential fuck buddy.

My face reddened. Yeah. I liked Spencer. That wasn't too hard to admit… to myself. Spencer was really cute in a way a lot of girls were. But he was a guy, so he had a different spin on him. The way he talked and the way he walked and the way he just was himself. That was attractive. In a way I would have never guessed, it was attractive.

It attracted me, so it really made me wonder why Spencer was such a loner, because although I had seen him candidly converse with other individuals… he seemed to have no friends.

Ah, yes. I couldn't forget. His attitude.

'Leave me the fuck alone' was quite a downer.

But, I thought that there were a lot of girls who liked the badass loner front? Yes! That… uhhhh… Damn it. What was her name again? W-w-w-w… something. Oh! Wendy something… Hatch? That girl. She liked Spencer, or that was what he told me.

"Hey… What ever happened to Wendy? Since the rumors stopped, I haven't heard a single thing about her. Didn't she like you?" I asked, desperate for something other than the buzzes of a quiet library.

I saw a stiffening of recognition in Spencer's form. Umm, weirdness much? I rambled on, "She likes you, I guess. So why don't you go out with her? I heard that she's really easy." Okay… maybe calling her 'easy' wasn't the smartest thing to go about it… but hey! Stupidity on a roll, yeah. I was on a roll. Anyway, Spencer already had… what? A brownie, a bag of M&M's, and some frozen yogurt. He was calm, or, like, he should be calm.

"Wendy was my friend," Spencer said curtly with a snap of his book shutting and an annoyed flicker of eyes upward, "She's liked me for a while, I think. It's not right to string her along if I don't like her in a romantic sense."

I was quick to respond. "You hardly like anyone. No one would blame you for at least trying to go out with her. Maybe having her around for more than an hour will awaken her to your… your…" I tried to think of a fitting word, "unpleasantness."

Ugh. Fag word. I just said a fag slash nerd word. Ugh… eww.

I expected something, anything really, when I spoke openly in a harsh manner. The word wasn't mean or even something to cause discomfort. It was my tone that made once sentence sound like (what I hoped was) a parade of insults.

All that happened was that Spencer took one good look at me. I could feel his gaze, heavy and judging, trail along my features.

I would have liked it if he punched me and broke my nose in bloodlust. At least then I would have known he was still the same person. Even if he did something like last time, when he fisted my shirt and pulled me closer in some arrogant show of 'I could kick your ass but I just don't want to,' it would have been better.

He started dumping his school stuffs into his backpack. "Are you all right?" he asked without the proper inflection.

"Yes. Are you all right?" I shot right back at him without any flair of mischievousness or faux-innocence. Spencer wasn't all right, I could tell. He wasn't. That thought stood firm in my mind even as the logical part of my brain argued with me.

It didn't take him long to answer in the negative. "Not really," he mumbled, "No."

His eyes weren't glassy or unfocused. They weren't confused or tainted with any other emotion that would have made this much easier to deal with. No, no, no. Spencer's eyes were just filled with certain awareness. He knew he wasn't acting as he would have normally.

That thought alone made me want to smile. At least, at least he was aware. He knew. That was good. Ignorance was worse.

I refrained from touching his shoulder or even punching his arm in a good-natured spirit. That would have made me crack from the pressure of wanting him so badly. But in the end, I supposed slamming Spencer into a wall or pushing him down on a table and doing unspeakable things to him wasn't the best way to buy my one-way ticked to Hell.

"Want me to drive you home today?" I asked before my imagination could get out of control.

Spencer scoffed, "The only reason you'd drive me home is because you want to stay over."

He didn't outright reject me, but he didn't accept my (teehee) less than noble proposal. That was normal.

I smiled at the sight and sound of the more familiar part of my friend. "Yeah, you caught me."

 

C is for Craving​

I… I knew I was acting different. Not too much different, but there were just some little things that the meds took from me. Various points of my personality were forced away. I knew it was noticeable… but… I didn't think that it would have been so easy to discover. So depressingly easy.

It took Vincent, maybe, until halfway through lunch to fully discover that I wasn't myself. That, I suppose, was what I feared the most. With the extra kick the pills gave me, the repression and the lack of ability to do anything without immense effort, I was practically a new individual. But maybe I was exaggerating, as I tended to do. Although facets of my self were twisted, in the end, I was still the same person.

"When are the new additions to your lovely family going to move in?" Vincent asked as soon as he reached my house. His face held the look of friendly conversation, not genuine interest.

I humored him anyway, when I knew that normally I would ignore his question with a simple response of 'Whenever.' "Darlene and Jay need to pack all their stuff, first. It'll take until next week for them to move in. Probably even longer," I noted while shutting the door behind us.

He hummed in acknowledgment, his eye on my body as I moved upstairs towards my room. Suspicious? Perhaps. It was just another thing about Vincent that I didn't really understand. I hardly understood him, anyways, so it wasn't as if one more thing would truly make a difference.

Lust for me? What a joke. No one had real lust for me. Or, almost no one. There were a few… distinct individuals.

When we both situated ourselves, the room stilled as silence permeated the room. Normally, I didn't care for awkward silences. When others would feel them, I would usually just brush it aside and distract myself with other things. The wall, the ceiling, the patterns of hardwood flooring, or the stitching on a person's clothes.

It would never get to me. Never. But it was weird, when it surrounded me and finally took a firm grasp on my ability to speak. Vincent was unnerved too. I could see it in the way his face screwed and his body sat up straighter than usual. Was I causing that? My strange shift in behavior? Was it me? Maybe. Maybe it was.

"Jay asked me if I know about you," he said slowly with an unsure tone that I never heard from him before. But I never really talked about anything serious with Vincent. Most of the time it was him speaking to me and asking me mundane questions. I knew. I knew he knew. I knew that he knew that I knew.

But even so… God… regardless of sensibility and logic… I couldn't stop myself from asking… "What did you say?" My voice sounded funny to my own ears. Did I seriously sound like that? Tired. Fake. Stoic.

Vincent laughed nervously and let his tongue dart out quickly to remoisten his lips, "I told him to get shitfaced drunk until he couldn't remember asking me about it. And, if he could still remember about it the next morning, to pretend he never asked about it."

He was quiet for only a moment. Even during a serious conversation, he couldn't keep his mouth shut. That would have made me smile in dry amusement, but it didn't. "Jay really doesn't know anything. He knows more than me, for one, but he just overheard his mom and Mr. Danielson talking about it. Yeah… He. He didn't mean any harm. He just wanted to know."

I let a puff of air leave my chest in relief. Relief from what? I didn't know. It was simple relief, an uplifting of weight that didn't belong in me. I didn't know why I continued to drag on the conversation, but I started to say, "I… I was recently put back on meds."

The silence that stretched told me all I needed to know. Vincent knew about more than he should have known, but that didn't mean he knew everything. How… How he ever got the information he had on me was a mystery. I never told him about me. I was never outright insane in his presence, although there were probably moments I didn't remember. Moments I chose not to remember.

He probably inferred next to everything. But still, it would not have been too far off target to say that I was crazy. No, it would be right on the fucking bull's-eye to so say that I was crazy. Because, because… That was the truth, wasn't it? I was crazy. That was the only way to phrase it, the only way to sum it up.

"Aww. Do you need a hug? Spencer?" Vincent asked with such an idiotic tone that I couldn't help but feel grateful. I needed normality. A systematic way of going about everyday situations. Joking off everything was what did it for some people. I hoped it wouldn't come to that for me, but for now it was okay. It would be okay.

I relaxed, straightening my body a bit, before I answered with a slow, "Maybe." I didn't know why I spoke like that. I didn't know why my face turned downwards as I shifted on my bed.

The movements Vincent made were slow. I didn't even expect him to actually hug me. What I expect was for him to make more foolish comments like some infantile little kid. But it felt good for someone to touch me.

… I normally hated physical contact that wasn't… well… first initiated by me. During certain times, very certain times, I enjoyed the unexpected hand my father would extend towards me or the weight of his body when sanity left me. Other times, I liked the way Alex would hold onto my arm when I was having a bad day. Sometimes, I craved the way Andrew placed his devoted attention on me.

I didn't truly like it, spontaneous contact. It was more comfort than anything else, and I liked comfort.

But with Vincent's arm loosely wrapped around me and my own gripping the sides of his jacket, I couldn't help but sigh from reassurance. I never had such a craving for contact like I did right then. I felt good. I wondered halfheartedly if it was because it was my friend extending such comfort that made me happy, or because it was Vincent. It didn't matter to me, at the time. All that I knew was that I liked being in such a position.

Knowing the addictive quality of another person's warmth, I sluggishly dropped my arms. I didn't make a move to detach myself from Vincent, because some part of me didn't want to. But I instead rested my hands on my thighs, waiting for the moment of chill that would arise as soon as Vincent released me.

When Vincent finally budged from his spot, I took a good look at him. His brown hair and brown eyes were nothing special. I could see every aspect of them. He wasn't anything special. Handsome, yes. I couldn't deny that. Vincent had good looks, just like his brothers. But he wasn't too remarkable. Even so, people loved him. I knew the end result of all the rumors and the truths and the lies. They all blended. People loved Vincent.

But with his face now directly in front of me, I wondered if this was what those gossips at school saw.

Vincent's head moved in closer and lips pressed against my own. I… I didn't freeze, but I didn't make any move to stop him. I didn't lean forwards, but I didn't stray backwards in disgust. I simply stilled myself. I didn't know what was happening. All I knew was that his lips were pressed against mine. His hands were on me. On me.

One hand was tangled in my hair, pulling me closer to him. The other hand was on my hip, clutching at me in a sort of desperation.

I… I really didn't know what was happening. The familiar feeling of something I once hated, years ago, was starting to arise. But recently, the feeling was something I strove to drown myself in. The hot twisting in my stomach led way to the dry tickling in my throat. It was that familiar feeling again. The familiar feeling that always made everything appear and feel so, so, so, so damned good.

God. It… It was so long, so very long since I last felt it. When was the last time I fucked another person? How many weeks?

When was the last time a girl pressed her body along mine, dragging painted nails down my back? When was the last time I firmly pushed a guy against a wall, moving my hands down to do the only thing I was so fucking good at?

I let Vincent kiss me harder without any resistance. Even when his tongue brushed against my lip, praying for a little entrance, I didn't move. The force from pushing me down didn't faze me. It couldn't. I was used to the actions.

Just like I did years ago, I was going to let him take all the control. Without regard for my lack sanity or my lack of intelligence, I was going to let Vincent do whatever he wanted. If he wanted to push me down on my bed and do whatever he wanted, as he was doing, I would let him. If he wanted to kiss me harder, I would let him. If he wanted to put his hands in more despicable places, I would let him.

If he wanted me to… do the same… I would.

 

D is for Delight​

Soft. It was so soft I couldn't help but groan at the sensation. It was unlike any other feeling I ever had the fortune of experiencing before. His lips, God, Spencer's lips were so perfect. Just perfect. Girls always glossed and shined their lips until it was full and supple. But his, all by its natural self, was absolutely perfect. Pink probably bled to red by the way I was pressing down on him.

I couldn't really help it. It was so good, too good.

It was like a rare delight. Me on top of Spencer, holding his calm body down, on his bed… God. Holy God. I couldn't even form proper sentences. It was just so much. This was something I wanted. Oh, wanted. I wanted this. Spencer underneath me… not fighting or struggling or asking what in hell I was doing.

It was something I wanted. So badly. I wanted it so badly.

I pressed my lips down even harder, sticking my tongue in with a desperation I didn't know I had. Tasting, oh holy fuck, tasting him.

Spencer… Oh my Lord… Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Nothing more, I wanted nothing more than to take him. So primitive, but it was what I wanted. I wanted the pleasure of his body and the pleasure of my body and…

oh my God I just really really want you so much

Oh fuck. Touching him… I was actually fucking touching him…

I can't take it anymore I really want you Spencer you're so hot

My hands untangled from his hair, one moving to his cheek and the other going down to hips.

I like you so much please just this one time please

I placed my hand on his waist, unable to control the way I gripped him.

don't let me stop I can't stop I don't want to stop

My body pushed down on his body, even if I supported most of my weight with my knees.

you're so beautiful

I slid that one hand across his stomach, delirious with the explosion of chemicals in my brain.

I want to do this let me do this I want you to want to do this

My head shifted, letting the kiss change to my liking.

oh Gods Spencer I think I really like you I know you don't like me but but but but

Fingers fumbling, I touched his belt buckle.

but but but I really want you to want this

His belt undone, I moved my hand to unbutton his jeans.

I really want you to want me like me want this like this

It took probably three seconds to realize that I was no longer on top of Spencer, but that he was on top of me.

Punching me.

The switch from pleasure to pain didn't take too well as I tasted blood. Struggling to throw the heavier teen off of me, I silently wondered what in hell I was thinking. God. Never. I could never control myself, could I?

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

More than the sting of the attacks to my face, my chest hurt. God, I messed everything up. What did I hear last time? Last time Spencer was going through one of his things?

"I'm not a virgin."

He… he wasn't a virgin. That… That had to mean something that I didn't want to particularly acknowledge. And I, oh fuck, I kissed him. I did more than kissed him. I pressed down on him and fucking caressed his body through the fabric of his clothes.

How stupid was I? How fucking stupid was I?

"Spencer! Spencer!" I pleaded loudly, "Get off of me! Spencer!" Oh God. I wasn't kidding when I thought I couldn't ever be able to hold my own in a fight. I'd never managed to be in the middle of one. Pain I could deal with, considering the amount of sports and games I played when I was in elementary school. But having my ass handed back to me wasn't something I was used to.

When he finally stopped, heavy breaths escaping his angry mouth, I couldn't help but wallow in a little self pity. Ouchies… Okay. Done with that.

With his blond hair messy and cheeks tinted red, I would have normally made obscene comments dripping with innuendo. But I couldn't. I couldn't do anything.

Slowly pushing Spencer off of me, all previous pleasure thrown down the proverbial drain, I gingerly touched my face. Masochistic, because I knew all I would feel was pain, but I did so anyway. Gently poking my cheek, I hissed from the pain.

Oh… Fuck…

"Please. Leave." Looking up, I saw Spencer in a state so pitiful that regret just exploded in my chest. He looked furious. But, but worse than that, he looked like he was ready to cry. Glassy, glassy eyes brimming with tears caused by more than just simple emotional trauma.

I… I didn't mean to mess it all up, whatever it was.

When I got finally dragged my sorry ass home, I found myself lucky that no one was there. If my brothers, who skip more school than anyone I knew, were home I would have had another intervention. If my parents were home, which I doubted, I would have had to deal with white lies and innocently deceiving fibs.

Lucky me. Lucky me.

I washed my face methodically, carefully minding the forming bruises and swelling nose. Spencer didn't break anything, thank God, but he sure as hell hurt me. I was probably going to wake up with one hell of a shiner.

Could I skip school? I wondered to myself the chances of Mom sympathizing with me. Err… Not high. She'd probably call the school and complain about 'bullying' before letting me stay home.

Sighing, I wondered how in hell I dragged myself in so deep. From a simple interest, to a physical attraction, to a fondness, to what? Liking him? That was a real childish way to phrase it. Hee hee, a crush? What else could I say? Hearts and kisses and lubs?

Should I make the heart sign with my hands and shout out that I was a fruity fruity fruity fruitcake?

Should I shave my body hair, prance around in a miniskirt, limp wrist all my gestures, and talk with a lisp?

"I am not gay," I said aloud, hearing the echoes of my refutation bounce off the bathroom walls. Ignoring the familiar voice--

(Denial

lovecocksomuchitscaresyou

Denial

you'reafuckingfagvince

Denial

popyourfuckingcherry

Denial)

--in the back of my mind, I said it again, "I am not gay."

Cursing under my breath, I rephrased my self affirmation. "I'm not completely straight," I drawled, "Just liking one guy doesn't make me gay or bisexual. Right…? Right." Only one guy, one person of the same gender, only one.

But then again… Spencer was really, really hot.

Groaning in frustration, I used my dampened red shirt to wipe up the droplets of my bloody nose. I really didn't want Mom to ask me why my bathroom looked like a scene from badly made teen angst movie.

I liked some things better than other things. Dang, was that vague or what? But it was true, regardless. It was true. I would have rather stuck with the weird and vaguely bromanctic friendship I had with Spencer than let the prior events come between us.

Wow, how did that little thought sound? It wasn't at all like that. I just really, really couldn't help myself. But it was my fault. Plain and simple. It was my fault. I was the one who kissed him.

With all my regular dodgy comments and desires continuously bubbling underneath the surface, it was a surprise that I didn't blow up earlier. Hell. When it finally got to be too much I didn't even take it very far. At least I didn't dry hump the poor victim.

It was just, just… Spencer was so irresistible. Although his change in behavior really put me off, as soon as he let out that one coy word I let myself get sucked in. His blond hair covered his eyes as he looked down, but even I could feel the joke.

It was a joke, yeah. I knew that. But when he gave that ambiguous acquiescence, I stood up and gave him that hug I unthinkingly offered. I loosely wrapped my arms around him, because even I knew I couldn't take it. But holy fuck… He gripped, fucking gripped, the edge of my jacket. I could feel the way his fingers curled. I could feel the heat his body let off. I could feel him. I could, good God, feel the way he pushed himself further into my halfhearted embrace.

And, oh God. Oh God. He sighed. In contentment, pleasure, joy, whatever. But he sighed and I felt his inhale and his exhale and his every breath. It was so hard to keep composure with Spencer in my arms without his pesky attitude but with all his lovely body warmth. Then, then he released his hand, slowly, and laid them elsewhere. I had thought, without him physically transfixing me to a single spot, I could break away from him and go on. But I couldn't. I couldn't. When I finally moved, I looked down at his upturned face.

He was so freaking hot. I… I didn't know any other adjective to describe him. Spencer just radiated this Spencer-ness. He looked at me with tired eyes that were simply too mesmerizing to look at and I could only guess my body reacted to it the same way I would have reacted to lust filled eyes. The pull of need and desire overcame me, and I couldn't stop it. Oh fuck. Not couldn't, no. That would make me sound as if I was incapable. Fuck, it was more of a 'wouldn't' because I didn't. I didn't stop. I wanted it. I really, really, really, really wanted to make delicious mouthwatering contact with Spencer.

I wanted him. His body, his person, him. Spencer.

I never made a plan. There was never a clever seduction hiding in the folds of my sleeve. I didn't consciously decide that I was going to pull the relationship from friendship to something sexual. Hell, the farthest I allowed myself to stray was in acknowledging that I liked Spencer and wanted him to blow me.

But Jesus… I-I wasn't going to be able to ever do anything now. With all the crap I just pulled, I would be lucky if Spencer conveniently wiped it from his memory.

Knowing the little I did about Spencer, I didn't doubt that would happen. When I asked little questions when we were together in the library, wasting away our lunch with frivolous conversations, Spencer seriously didn't remember a lot of events. Pieces of them, yeah, but not the actual occurrences.

But if he forgot about what I did to him, that wouldn't be good. As much as I would have liked to erase it, to let Spencer actually forget would be horrendous. It simply couldn't happen. I did wrong. It would be unjust to allow me go on without the punishment.

Dragging myself out of the bathroom, I mulled over those guilty thoughts.

Frea-ea-ea-eak… How was I going to explain the bloodstains on my clothes?

Hm… Male PMS?

 

E is for Envious​

"Spencer, what happened to your hand?" Wendy asked quietly.

I glanced at her questioning face, then at the clock. Mumbling an answer that seemed faked, I brushed my hand over the bandages covering my knuckles, "A fight."

Yeah. A fight.

Wendy smiled at me, probably happy that I spoke to her without brushing her off blatantly, and innocently inquired, "Oh, with whom?"

I felt the urge to crack a smile. Wendy, God, even though we both grew up, sometimes she still reminded me of the little girl she once was. The little girl with blonde pigtails and pink braces. But I didn't smile as I answered, due to the tickling in my stomach, "Vincent."

I got into a fight with him. Over what? Over, holy fuck, over him taking advantage of me. Because if I thought about it with calm and poise and rationality, Vincent kissed me and pushed me down. I had a right to be angry. A fucking right.

The way Wendy frowned and turned towards me made me twitch in disturbance. "… What?" I asked slowly. I doubted she knew enough about my current state to be suspicious of my behavior, but it didn't hurt to be a little wary.

"Spencer," she began with a shy glance, "I thought you and Vincent were close…?"

No. We weren't close at all. He was, I could guess, a friend. At most. At the very most. But since yesterday, since he decided to pull that fucked up little stunt… I rubbed my eye with undamaged left hand, the slight blur of the world giving me a headache, before responding, "No."

"Oh… I thought that he was one of your…" she mumbled with a pink face. It seemed out of place, against her pale skin, but I didn't say anything. I just stayed silent and directed my attention back towards my work. Homework, homework, homework. It was the seemingly most constant thing in my life. If I could busy myself with it, then I could busy myself away from stupid thoughts and mental wanderings.

"I… I'm sorry about that."

I looked up. What did she have to be sorry about? Usually, I would have ignored her or said, 'It's okay,' without know what it was. But at the moment, at that time, I couldn't help the impulsive need to pull the conversation along. Dragging and pulling and forcing it to proportions that I never liked.

"About what?" I smiled comfortingly as I could. Or at least I hoped my fake twisting of my lips was done in a comforting manner.

Wendy didn't look at me, even if she was turned towards me. She simply traced the vertical lines of her denim shorts. Sighing, she said, "I heard these rumors about you and Vincent and me." I leaned back a little further, giving her space to speak. Three feet or three and a half feet, did it really matter? I would think not. But it did.

"My friend told me that Vincent liked me," she blushed, "And then someone, I think Mitch, started saying that I like… you." She curled several strands of the light blond hair before continuing, "After, after that I heard that Vincent started hanging out with you. And that, that… That your two were getting pretty close. Then someone started saying that he was using you to get to me…"

I interrupted her before she could tell me more twisted lies that the bored student body entertained themselves with, "It's not true."

"I know it isn't. But, but Vincent is kind of, you know? He doesn't know who I am, so I know he doesn't want me. But he's always around you nowadays. And his friends say that he's really, really, um, promiscuous… And some of them have said that he might be bi and you know… Since, you know… Andrew's been…" Wendy trailed nervously.

I knew what she was saying without having to hear it. Frankly, I was disgusted. I could do better. Fuck if I haven't done fifty times better. Vincent was a whorish guy who liked women and sex more than any sane person should. Why, why in hell would anyone assume that I would make due with him. Or even, fuck, think that he wanted me?

…

But then again… There was yesterday.

He kissed me. He pushed me down on my bed. Hand in my hair. Hand on my hip. Lips attached to mine. Tongue in my mouth.

Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Fucking sick. Sick. It was sick.

"It's not like that," I responded with a calm demeanor that I didn't know I have. But. I didn't have it. It was the medication. It was a forced calm. A forced calm. "Vincent's a friend," I confirmed what I tried to refute not too long prior. Yeah. A friend.

I allowed myself one little moment, one little bitter smile, to wallow in self pity. Envious of others that could function and indulge in the stupidity of teenaged rumors and the fun of blatant lies and deceitful truths, I looked down and scoffed. I was pathetic. Almost like my father.

"So, Vincent is just a friend?" she asked with interest I didn't originally notice.

I looked at her harder than I had in years, halfheartedly questioning why it mattered, before answering, "Yeah. He's just my friend."

The look on her face unsettled me. It was almost as if those words told her something she wanted to hear. What? Did she want to hear that Vincent was simply a friend of mine?

Oh wait, oh wait. I forgot, silly me. Wendy had a 'crush' on me.

She smiled at me, more sincere than she's been in a long time and less tense than beforehand, and started to talk to me as if I was still one of her friends. Which, truthfully, I wasn't. I haven't been a real 'friend' to anyone in four years, excluding Andrew, Butter, and, I supposed, Vincent.

But he was different. In all probability, his intentions were less than noble from the very beginning. It… didn't bother me in the least. I knew the things people said about him. Sometimes it was hard to block out the pitched giggles of girls and the low chuckles of boys.

Vincent Morris. Pervert. Party boy. Really, really, really good in bed, if there was a bed.

But we were all only in high school. Pervert to us was like a person with a healthy sex life, in the real world. A party boy to us was just another individual who liked a good time out, in the real world. Good in bed with us was decently amateurish, in the real world. In the real world, things were different.

"It's good to be able to talk to you again after so long. Spencer?" Wendy noted as she packed up to leave class. Everything she had was pink and white, with the occasional streak of red or purple. She was still the same girl.

"Yeah," I mumbled noncommittally, speaking words I never thought I'd ever say, "It's been difficult, you know. After all this time…"

Wendy, so kind, so pure, so much more innocent than me. I knew that she wasn't… the same… anymore. But I could pretend that she never lost her virginity last year. I could still pretend that she didn't get drunk on the weekends like some easy slut and carelessly give oral sex to any half-decent guy she met. To me, she was… still Wendy. Innocent, pure, kind.

She nodded knowingly. A sad look accompanied her sad smile. Wendy was my best friend when I was a kid, since before I was in school. She knew the past me better than anyone else in the world. We grew apart, due to unforeseeable circumstances, when I was twelve years old. Starting middle school, some things that I could never really explain happened. With that, I stopped talking to her.

I just… stopped… talking to her.

One day, one morning, I didn't speak to her. She was just sitting there and I walked pass her. I didn't talk to her for two years. For two whole years. Because, because… looking at her was painful. It was just too hard for me, for her, and for the both of us, in the end. I just didn't talk to her. But… But, she probably knew why. She probably always knew why. Always, even when we were nine years old and for that one single time I feared her, she probably knew. I feared her and, and… she knew that… She knew that she…

Wavy hair the exact same shade of blonde. Blue eyes with just the right look. Pale skin barely dusted with light freckles.

She had reminded me of Mom.

 

F is for Finality​

"Do… Do you remember what happened? The day before yesterday?" I asked in a way that completely surprised me. Yeah, yeah. I knew that I wasn't up to par with my usual self, but this was pitiful.

I couldn't help that I felt so different, so off. The churning in my gut was caused by guilt and the stutter on my tongue was caused by the simple fact that Spencer still looked so God be damned hot. I was a freaking creeper, okay? Even when everything in my 'ittle bittle little tummy was telling me to pull myself out of the friendship, even the idea of a fuck buddy fling, I just wanted so badly to fix everything and put it all back onto course.

Whatever 'course' there actually was.

Spencer pulled away from his book and visibly grimaced. I could see the way his perfect mouth opened for a soundless noise of disgust.

I knew my face was, for a lack of a better word, disgusting. But he didn't have to show it like that. His entire expression was circled around the revelation of my bruises. It was like a multicolored showdown on my face. Various hues of purples, reds, yellows, greens, and other obscure mixtures made up the mess. It would look to anyone who didn't know the story like I got into a really bad fight and lost. Although incorrect, that wouldn't have been too far off target.

"What happened to your face?" Spencer asked bluntly, shutting the crappy book we had to read for English class. It was uninteresting to say the least. I would know, considering that was how I spent yesterday. Yeah, I actually managed to make Mom let me stay home. With the condition that I read an entire book by the time she returned home, I could skip all I wanted. Books were knowledge, right?

But even reading couldn't have ever helped me in my little predicament. One book about rivalry and friendship and love and hatred and power and struggle and stupidity and men and whatever the hell it had… couldn't have prepared me for a single thing.

I swallowed down my self hatred and sighed while I looked down, "I guess that means you don't remember then…" Hopefully, I examined Spencer for any sign of recognition for what I was talking about. Any recognition at all would have been nice. It would have made this easier. But all that met my swollen and colored eyes was his blank stare.

I watched Spencer lean back almost condescendingly, in a calm manner that I didn't know could exist. Not in Spencer at least. He always seemed like the type of guy to irrationally spew insults or defensively deny existence.

I coughed lightly and then winced from the inevitable pain, "Ah… I… Let's ditch today." Swishing my foot back and forth nervously, I wondered what made me look and feel so wretched. Oh yes, oh yes. Nearly raping the poor fellow in some sort of uncontrollable show of lust was a real smart move I made. Yes, yes. Smarty smart smartness.

His face was so devoid of emotion, of anything at all that I almost shrunk back in fear. I didn't know what to expect. He told me he was taking medication, before I nearly sexually assaulted him, so it would be easy for me to assume that his unnatural behavior was caused by that.

But I didn't really know. I didn't know at all. I didn't know Spencer, for one.

"Sure. Yeah, let me grab my stuff first," he mumbled with tranquility that I couldn't recognize. He was calm, too calm. It wasn't normal. It wasn't normal at all. I wanted it to be normal.

Normal. Normal. Normal. Normal. Normal…

If I chanted it in my head enough, could it happen? Nope. Probably not.

We were stopped at some corner, and to any outsider it would have looked like some cheesy scene in a movie about old school friendship and the classic high school life.

"What do you want?" he asked from the passenger side of my car. His entire demeanor was unreadable to me. I didn't know if the hand he used to rest his head in signified boredom or annoyance. I didn't know if his slight slouch as he faced out the window signified anger or troublesome ignorance. I didn't know at all.

But when I pulled up to some random fast food place and ordered in an attempt to stall for time, I knew that I didn't know I knew exactly what I should say. Fuck. Fuck. I was confusing myself. I needed to stop this. All of this. But, but, but I didn't want to. I wanted to continue being able to see Spencer on a daily basis at school. Even if we weren't doing anything across the borderline of friendship, it was still nice. It made me happy to be in his presence.

I coughed, "Let's just get something to eat first. Do you want anything? My treat." I smiled without enthusiasm. My face was always stuck in some look of amusement, but it was draining to just pretend that I was okay. I wasn't. The bruises on my face hurt like a bitch in hell, yes, but the fact that I did something horrible hurt a wee bit more.

Oh what the hell? Who was I trying to fucking kid? It hurt a whole lot more.

But regardless of that, Spencer simply humored me. He smiled falsely back at me, more mocking than anything else, and proceeded as if we were just two perfectly normal friends on a day out. But we weren't. We weren't perfect, normal, or even friends. We were something else entirely. Borderline, fucking borderline.

To me, it didn't matter that Spencer completely messed me up. He punched my face in so hard that I was afraid of the reaction of my parents. Only luck had helped me as I discovered my brothers weren't home.

Slowly, almost unsure of myself, I apologized with a simple, "Sorry." Fiddling with my oily fingers, dirtied with deeds too heinous to be described properly, I gave Spencer a nervous smile.

"Good," he replied, suddenly seeming a whole lot angrier than he was a few split seconds ago.

The mean smirk on his face made me reel in relief. Relief from what? Relief that he remembered and that I wouldn't have to explain that I was moments away from sexually assaulting him? Or maybe, if I was a bit bolder, relief that his little expression of sarcasm had broken through and leaked a little of his before-medicated state?

It was probably the second one, because sometimes I was a pretty bold fellow. Only sometimes, though. Only sometimes.

Spencer didn't smile, didn't frown. He simply kept his face neutral. He tilted his head towards me, just the slightest, to indicate he had something to say. "Vincent," he began while unbuckling his seatbelt, "We need to get a few things straight." His tone insinuated something that I was sure I had no chance of catching.

But I tried, and that was almost good enough for an A plus for effort. Before I could open my mouth and respond, Spencer leaned over and pushed the little square button on my seatbelt buckle.

All of my words simply died.

All and any sentences that I prepared in my mind for moments like this evaporated like dry fucking ice.

My mouth was agape with the lack of synapses connecting to my brain. Thoughts couldn't formulate properly, and even if they did… the way I just stared at Spencer in shock clearly spelled out that I didn't understanding what was happening. But…! I did! I did know what was happening. But… But… But.

But, oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…!

"H-holy f-f-fuck…" I gasped, "Sh-shit. God. Spencer. Oh my God."

Spencer lifted his head and looked at me with an expression that was nothing like it should have been. Smug. He was fucking smug. A wry smile adorned his perfect face. "For once, shut the fuck up." And down he went, to continue what he started. His hand stopped rubbing through my shorts, teasing me with the same actions many girls tried before.

But fuck Jesus fucking Christ if it wasn't a whole fucking lot fucking better!

Shit. Oh shit.

All it took was a simple couple of flicks and carefully timed fumble to completely expose me. Hard and leaking and desperate, I was. Fully erect in less than ten seconds and all I wanted, so badly, was for Spencer to do something more than lazily run his palm over me. But then he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, in a motion that seemed unconscious (but so fucking HOT) to me, and moved his head down.

Down. Down. Down. Down. Holy shit motherfucking hell! Down on me.

I bit my lip as hard as I could without breaking through the skin, trying to keep in the noises that would have normally escaped me. If Spencer said to shut the fuck up, I would gladly shut the fuck up. Only for Spencer.

Because who knew how long this version of Spencer would last? Was this due to the medication? That thought, however odd, brushed against the curves of my mind. Could a person become horny by taking those happy pills?

But holy shit…

If it did…

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

I grabbed the material of his shirt and tried to drag Spencer up for a kiss. Keyword, tried. But he just smacked my hands in a manner that almost struck me as condescending. As if he was too good to kiss me.

But holy sinfully holy, holy, holy fuck. If he knew how to blow me like this, maybe he was too good to kiss me. The way he used his tongue. Lord! The way he traced up and down. The way he could go all the way down. He was fucking going deep throat. Oh my God. It was, was, was fucking amazing.

Spencer was… his tongue was… Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh fuck. He was actually orally sexing me! His tongue was on my cock and he was going up and down and up and down and oh my God Spencer you were a fucking GOD! You were the best kind of friend a guy could ever ask for! Your mouth was like a fucking sin or something because no person could be that good and still be this good…

No, no, no, no! You couldn't stop! Put your mouth back on me! I wanted you so badly, oh fuck Spencer, really so badly since ever. Oh shit. I just wanted your mouth down there doing naughty things like a naughty teen because we were oh so a-fucking-mazing at being bad and what the fuck was I thinking about? And what did I say when I told myself that I wasn't going to do this shit anymore and… and…

Yes!! Oh YES! Like that! Oh yeah, Spencer, like that like that like that…

My eyes started to water from the way I was biting my lips, but the slight pain was short lived. Seconds before I was sure to have an orgasm, Spencer completely left me. His hands, his mouth, his tongue, his lips, himself. It all just left me. The shock that came almost made me angry, but one look at Spencer had me regretting ever deciding to apologize.

He wiped his mouth with his shirt. "Don't you dare fucking touch me ever again," he spat with a certain finality that made every action so clear to me. Spencer looked at me with disgust. None for himself, assuredly, because Spencer wasn't at all disgusting like I was. But it was still disgust. Disgust because of me and because of the situation I placed both of us in.

…

In that moment, I understood something that made me… ache a little inside. I understood something that made my chest hurt and my breathing so damn difficult.

It was familiar. This stupid feeling was so familiar. Like… that one time when I saw… the hands that I liked gripping someone else's shoulders and the voice that I liked filling someone else's ears… Me, fourteen years old, watching all my hidden desires being stomped on by a nasty, filthy little tryst I wasn't supposed to see.

("Vince. I… I was…

Truman and I were just… just…

Just don't fuckin' tell anyone, Vince.

Don't… tell Freddy.")

I knew how it turned out for me before, when my head was filled with dizzy not-so-secret fantasies about a certain individual, and I now… Now, I knew how this would turn out.

Truth, yes. Truth. Time to be truthful, Vince… Vince. Vince, Vince, Vince. Shit. Vince.

It was time to be truthful… because I was rarely an honest person with myself.

Fuck.

Spencer would never want me like I wanted him. Never.

 

G is for Gruesome​

I washed my mouth out with as much mouthwash I could properly put in. I needed the fucking disgusting taste of another semen out. I didn't even use a condom. I was insane about keeping myself clean, and for the fucker, I didn't even take an extra minute to use a condom?

What the fuck was I thinking?

No, no. I knew what I was thinking. Why did I do that stupid action that would probably confuse the poor idiot further? Because he deserved a little 'something-something' for his troubles?

I laughed at my own reflection.

"Oh… fuck," I muttered under my breath. I was really fucking it up this time, wasn't I? When was the last time I put my mouth on another person's dick? If I thought about it with all the rationality I needed it has been quite some time.

I didn't even… Not even with them did I do that degrading act! Those little tools and stupid sluts I called human. Not even… not… even… with. Lord, I didn't even believe in you, but Lord… Not with him, Andrew, when we were still a 'we' and not yet an 'us.' Alex and I, even in a mockery of deeper affection, I didn't even do it with him. If Butter would let me, I wouldn't… not with Butter.

I just wouldn't.

I smiled at nothing, "Two years? Three? No, no, no! No." I shook my head and let out a small chuckle of what felt like relief. "I'm crazy. I. Fuck it. I'm crazy! How many years? Really? How many years? How long?"

"How 'bout it, Spencey?" I asked--

("Fuck yes, yes, yes, Spencey. We only have 'till lunch ends."

"I'm not a fuckin' retard. I kn-know. How, oh God, how good do I feel?"

"You feel so good. Shit, Spence. You have such a fuckin' tight ass.

I love you, Spencey. I love you so much. I love you. I love--"

"Sh-shut up, Andrew. Twenty… twenty more minutes.")

--myself, "How about it? When was the last time Mommy made me give head to one of her male friends? Or how about, how about, when was the last time she made me service those sick fucks, huh? Service one of her so-called friends?"

I sighed and let myself rest my body a little on the countertop. "God. Fuck. Holy… Ugh. Why can't I remember?"

I pulled off my shirt and looked at the clear, streak-free image that stared right back at me. There weren't any noticeable scars lining my relatively pale skin, but I knew of the marks that were once there.

Teeth. Nails. Ropes. Burns. Grips.

I took one shaky breathe in and released it as calmly as I could.

Touching my neck, I lightly traced areas I knew old bruises and hickeys and bites and scratches and oh my God…

I shuddered.

So many other things. There were so many other things.

I opened my mouth with a sluggish feeling of fatigue, "Nathaniel liked to bite here and here."

"Jerry liked this general area around shoulders." I let my hands drag over the familiar area that three years ago would have been red with gruesome bite marks. "Mr. Goodman loved to put his mouth on this." I put my hands to my hips and felt the bone under it.

I glanced over to the door, checking for the telltale signs of a locked and secure haven, before directing my attention to my reflection again.

"If I remembered, Mr. and Mrs. Clarke liked everything from here to here." I touched my chest and pulled my fingers down to my naval. "Mrs. Clarke loved to press herself against my back." I bit my lip in memory of that treatment. I shut my eyes. "Mr. Clarke loved to make me look at him whenever he came."

I undid my pants with a methodic touch and let it drop heavily to the tiled floor. I knew how to do it. I did it. I could do it.

"The college boy with the Mohawk liked to finger me." I slowly slipped my fingers under the band of my boxers in contemplation of actually entering, but I withdrew while shaking my head when I remembered how weird it had felt when done dry.

"The short man with the beard liked to play with this area," I whispered, letting myself touch the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. "The redheaded lady with big glasses liked to tie me up." I put my hand behind in a familiar position and felt the easy stretch that would usually escalate to torturous burning.

Blinking sleepily, I gazed levelheadedly at the identical face that met me. Realistically speaking, I wasn't anything special. I knew my looks were decent and I'd probably never be without company if I wished it to be that way. But I also knew where the sick attraction had come from. It was, plainly speaking, because of the psychological effect that came with having sex with a minor. When I was nine, twelve, thirteen, and fourteen.

When. When I was nine, it was just my mommy. When I was twelve, it was Mommy and Jerry and Mrs. Clarke and Nathaniel. When I was thirteen, it was Mom and Jerry and Mr. Clarke and Mrs. Clarke and Nathaniel and Delilah and Mr. Goodman and Derek and Miss Mary and Jonathan. And Mr. Daisy and Andrew.

Shit. Oh shit. Fuck.

When I was fourteen. When I was fourteen years old. There were so many people. So many people I didn't know and did know. Women and men alike who looked at my body with sick fascination and lust. And oh God. Oh God.

Not being able to bear the weight of my thoughts or my past, I hurriedly dressed myself. I pulled up my dropped jeans and slipped on my lost tee-shirt. I couldn't breathe and I couldn't think but I still kept breathing and still kept thinking.

Vincent. Oh yeah. Vincent.

Slowly and in a manner that would have seemed drugged, regardless of me actually being on meds, I closely examined my face in the mirror. Trying to see what Vincent saw, I brushed my sweaty hair sideways from my forehead.

Vincent and I were the same age, I thought to myself slowly, letting my mental processes dissolve and form without control. So… if I were to think a little more clearly… it would be logical to say he didn't have that same sickness that plagued almost every other person who ever touched me when I was a child.

It wasn't as if he was the one to put his hands down my pants.

My breathing hitched in an odd way.

"No, no. He simply kissed me. He pushed me down on my bed and kissed me in a fashion I haven't… I just haven't been in that position in a long time," I rationalized with myself. I unbuttoned the button and unzipped the zipper.

"I had gotten angry, but he pretty much let me hit him. Vincent placed the entire fault on himself." I touched the band of my boxers as I let my eyes lower.

I scoffed, "Completely unlike the others who pointed fingers at me and blamed me for tempting their lust." I placed my free hand on the counter and gripped tightly, as if it would help me maintain equilibrium.

"If I think about it," I mumbled softly, "I was the one to push it over the edge. Vincent just wanted to apologize for pushing it further." Lower, lower, under, in.

The difference between jerking off and fucking, I learned early on. In the midst of masturbation, I could focus my fantasies a little better. The mind's eye could view the faces I wished to see and I would mentally play out the scene however I wanted. Anonymity worked best when I was first discovering this little demon ball of lust in me. Nameless, faceless figures would fill my head. Short, trite conditions and descriptions would act as the fodder.

A schoolgirl, a babysitter, a French maid, a teacher. Plump lips, small hands, curvaceous hips, long hair, perky breasts, kind eyes.

But while having sex? That was different in ways that was both good and bad. During the act, there was always a limit to how far I could push my mind. How one felt and how I wanted one to feel often contradicted, and sadly… the reality usually triumphed the fantasy.

I kept my thoughts away from a certain angry Asian teenager. Trying not to bring up visions of a hot, skilled tongue with a metal piercing that made every lick feel so much better, I shut my eyes and hunched over the countertop more. The black fringes that would tickled my forehead every time he attempted to give me chaste kisses was stuffed, firmly stuffed, into the recesses of my memory. This wasn't the time, Goddamn it. This was not the time to recall that stupid fuck and the way his lip ring felt when he was getting too excited.

Desperate, because I should be the only one able to control my fantasies, I rapidly searched my mind for recent encounters. When was the last time I had sex? About two months ago? Debby, probably, she was a regular. I racked my brain harder, unable to come up with definite scenario. Maybe Mitch. Whenever his homemade videos weren't enough to please him, he often asked for a handjob in exchange for a blowjob. But he's been pissed at me since the whole Big Bear incident. It could have been Alex… but he was a different type of lust… that I just didn't need right now.

I shook my head, taking a little extra effort to find some lotion to ease up my time. With the hand that wasn't occupied, I rustled through miscellaneous bottles that accumulated throughout the years plus the new ones brought in by Jay. Finding a small, cheap tube of moisturizer, I quickly brought both my hands up to unscrew and then liberally squeeze out the creamy mixture.

Sighing, just barely, I reveled in that new slick feeling. This was so much better than a dry jerk. Who cared if I couldn't bring any of my escapades up in my head? If I tried hard enough, I could ejaculate with only the sensations and a few key situations that probably wouldn't fail to turn me on. Who needed to memories of a prior encounter to fuel masturbation?

But. But then. Then again. There was a certain 'encounter' that happened just a short while ago.

Shivering, not from cold but something else, I stilled my hand and froze my entire body. Oh fuck no.

Visions of brown hair, never messy but never exceedingly neat, filled my head before I could stop it. Eyes of a matching shade, dark and dilated, and a mouth firmly bitten by perfectly lined white teeth came back to me. Especially… especially his voice. Before I told him to shut his mouth, he did gasp and have a short time to babble. It wasn't the words, not at all his words. It was the way he said them. The way he sharply inhaled and sucked in his air with a hiss, lips parted but teeth still firmly clenched. Barely audibly choking and then attempting to force words out, it was… such a fucking turn on.

I already admitted, in my head at least, that I liked the sound of Vincent's voice. It was boyish, in a way. It held all the natural inflections that made up normal English and then some odd nuances that simply gave him character. To hear it like… that. Hot and breathy and lusty.

My hand started moving of its own accord. Or, at least, that was what I told myself.

Crap. Vincent wasn't supposed to be among my list of 'fucked acquaintances.' If anything, he could probably find a slot in the 'fucked and forgotten' category. B-but… He was never supposed to mix in this life of mine and jump in headfirst.

He, I knew because I knew certain people, was pushed out of favor with his friends for having sex with the wrong person. That was what prompted his sudden desire to talk to me. However, that was long done and over with. His friends accepted him back into their group and he dropped them all in favor of pursuing me.

Just… asking me questions. Bugging me about things I didn't want to talk about or find at all pertinent. His quiet, private chuckles when he noticed the off factors in me. His fake laugh that he unconsciously sprinkled into conversations to keep things amiable.

Frustration burned through my veins. God be fucking DAMNED.

I did not find anything attractive about Vincent. Although he was attractive, I did not find him so. He was just a few inches shorter than me and he didn't have the few genetic variants that accounted for normal weight. Brown hair and brown eyes were common; there was nothing remarkable in them. His face was handsome like his brothers--

("Say you like my cock. Tell me how much you want my cock.")

-- those infamous Morris twins, appealing in a way that his large ego only supported more.

Down there? And what about down there?

I bit my lips and leaned a little more over the counter, my left hand keeping me from completely resting my body. The pounding in my chest and the twisting sensations that ran along my limbs intensified. I could feel my face burn, flushed with a lust I hoped was only hedonistic.

No sounds escaped me as I gave up. Flashes of what happened played behind my eyelids.

Tracing my tongue down his cock with expertise, slowly yet firmly. Pressing hard and swirling against the tip.

Using one hand to carefully tease him through the cotton fabric of his boxers. Using the other to give the best of attention to anything that wasn't covered by my lips or being licked.

Taking him in, all the way in, past the point where he hit the back of my throat and to the point where he stiffened his body to resist thrusting into my mouth.

Shifting my head to get better angles, purposefully making dirty little sucks… Soft wet pops every time I went up and down.

Turning Vincent on. Making him hard. Giving him what he wanted. Letting him feel the pleasures of a rising orgasm.

"Fuck," I cursed hoarsely, "Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

Pleasure. Explosion. Goodness.

But. But it wasn't pleasurable, explosive, or good.

I washed my soiled hand in warm water and watched the seeds of life go down the drain. Down, down, down the drain. Sighing, I dropped to my knees and ignored the mess that still resided. Two months was a long time, especially since it marked the last time I had seen clearly.

Opening the lower cabinet, I shuffled through cleaning supplies and miscellaneous materials. In the back, in an attempt to push it as out of sight as I could without actually disposing of it, I had chucked the case for my glasses. Fumbling, I grabbed hold of the dusty dark grey case. With only two months of negligence, I found it hard to believe how thick the dust coated it. I opened it anyway and revealed to myself an article seemingly untouched by the short jump in time.

Placing it neatly on my face, I stood to reach my full height. My eyesight didn't deteriorate over time. Never did. It instead had slightly blurred at my birth, never allowing me to at least experience a moment of natural clarity. It wasn't until I was in school that my lack of proper vision had reached my parents' ears.

I refitted my glasses more than just several times. Once, when I first started school. Another, when I grew a bit bigger and it appeared awkward on my face. The third, when I was ten. This one was almost exactly like the ones I got when I was fourteen. I didn't like the black square frames. Personally, I thought it made me look like some sort of trendy little boy. But… But. But Mom told me later that it fit a certain inclination she was aiming for.

I looked at my reflection and saw myself for who I really was. With my red lips, pink cheeks, and heated body…

"Hello, Spencer Danielson."

I missed him so much.

I missed his messy black hair and angry frown. I missed the way he'd give me his desperate kisses and assure me that everything would be all right. I missed the way we'd fight, his hateful words and my hateful words, until we couldn't stand it anymore. I missed his tongue piercing and how he would expertly rub his body against mine. I missed the safety of being with him and the comfort he'd always try to provide.

… Taking my cell phone, I called voicemail to hear the last frenzied message he left me.

"Shit, shit, shit. I'm so fucking sorry. Spencey. I didn't mean to do that. I'm sorry. Oh God, Spence. I don't know what you want from me anymore. I love you. I love you. I didn't think, wasn't thinking. Oh fuck, Spencer. I… just call me. Please. Please, Spencey… Call me back. I'm at my aunt's place in Sac-town. You remember that one time we went to the mall up there and I gave you a blowjob and your iPod fell in the toilet? And you got mad at me 'cause it was a birthday present from Butter and…"

Andrew.

"Spencer… I love you. Don't forget. I'm sorry for everything. Please don't forget, Spencey. I'll… try to come back… but I might not. Just remember… I love you. Call me back."

 

H is for Hot​

Easy come, easy go. Too easy, sometimes, but hey, who was I to judge? Especially considering what I wanted was right in front of me. Not what I wanted the most, but something I still wanted.

"Glasses?" I asked with a lackadaisical tone.

Oh, who was I trying to kid? Seriously? I was anything but laidback. All I had on my mind was the utter amount of shear luck I had that Spencer came back and graced me with his presence. We were at the auditorium, clearly because of the recent events of some guy who engaged in a knifing party at school, but Spencer was still with me and that was amazing.

Amazing. Absolutely amazing.

He donned a pair of glasses today which looked, in my humblest opinion, pretty damn hot on him. I couldn't help but stare helplessly. I never would have thought it, but Spencer being a four eyed bespectacled loner actually made something twist a little in my gut. Or dick. Either, or.

His everything made everything simply fit. All of him was mouthwatering orgasmic material for some major jerking off. Tonight. Oh oh oh. Yes, tonight…

I smiled a little at Spencer and a little at myself, asking, "Do you wear contacts?"

He looked at me without any of the touches of darker emotions and responded, "No. My eyesight isn't bad. It's just a little blurry." My eyes followed the hand he used to push up the black frames.

Truthfully, it unsettled me that Spencer wasn't back to being the same Spencer I had gotten to know earlier. I knew it wouldn't last. I knew, somehow also, if Spencer was actually normal I wouldn't have felt so strongly for him. Because, really, what I felt was strong.

Not, guah, ew, love. Because, really, I hadn't known Spencer all that long. I barely knew the guy at all. But whatever I felt was strong. Strong attraction? Strong feelings of affection? Yeah. Most likely. Anything but love. Because el, oh, vee, ee is simply something any sixteen year old could say was felt. But who could seriously say, in the teen years, that he or she met a person they could truly feel an intertwining appeal and care for? Maintaining it, hell, that was another thing entirely.

Looking up, only for a second, at the podium, I summed up the rest of my hour. The head of the school board for our district decided it would be a nice idea to have a little talk about child abuse, depression, self mutilation, violence, drugs, alcohol, sex, and a whole lot of other things that tied together the incident.

Reading to myself the second name on the banner, I mouthed, "Andrew Daisy."

Hell. If I were born into a family that had the last name Daisy I would be depressed too. Well, also if they abused me via smack attacks and rapes.

I glanced at Spencer. Letting my eyes trace the outline of his body, I flushed a light pink. Feeling the heat of arousal and embarrassment hit me, I shook away all temptation by remembering what David told me.

Yesterday, when I stumbled home and surprised David, I ran towards the bathroom and masturbated in a sad attempt to relieve myself of the effect Spencer had on me. Three minutes later, two of which were spent on scrubbing my hands in another sad attempt to cleanse myself of Spencer, I was in the living room spilling my guts to David.

Although not exactly planned, I told David everything I knew about myself and everything I knew about Spencer. He told me, simple and plain, that Spencer probably knew what he was doing. Far more than what I knew what I was doing. So… in the end it probably added up to more than the nothing that I possessed.

If he blew me, he blew me. Over it. I had to get over it. Even if I could still feel every sensation, I had to forget it. Lucky me, or unlucky truthfully, I was a professional at compartmentalization. I could lie to myself better than most.

"So," I started, leaning against the restroom wall, "You smoke?"

Spencer gave me a silent shake of his head in the negative as he inhaled death into his lungs. I usually didn't think anything about the act. Most of the time, I couldn't take the taste of a smoker's mouth. Even if the girl was drop dead sexy, I could only sustain make outs for a minimal time.

But come on. Spencer was smoking a joint he grabbed off of some nerd in the corner of an obscured hall. That, if anything, was hot. He had glasses too. Glasses.

It should have discomfited me, realizing how much I didn't know about Spencer regardless of calling him my friend and harboring sexual thoughts about him. But, to put it truthfully, I liked him all the same still. Even if I was massively nervous and unable to even pull the usual infantile conversations out of my ass, this was better than the other alternative.

Never speaking to Spencer again. I, seriously, it… how much would that suck? Not in the good way, either.

Spencer questioned me with genuine curiosity, "How much do you really know about me?" He tilted his head in my general direction subconsciously.

The fake smile that stretched across my face darkened to something a little more truthful. Uneasiness racked through me. Because, if you see here, you kind but imaginary soul, I didn't actually want Spencer to know what I knew about him. Pretty much nothing. But only 'pretty much.' Because, even if there was pretty much nothing… I drew some really damning conclusions.

"If you mean 'really,' I don't think I know anything at all," I began slowly, "But I've guessed a few things. Inferred, you know?" I didn't even think to smile and try to hide the lack of friendliness in our voices.

Fucking God. We sounded as if we were idle housewives discussing the current news, or middleclass citizens discussing politics of the affluent and wealthy, or atheists discussing devout religions. There was a certain familiarity. Yeah. We knew what we were talking about. But we both, if I thought about it clearly, didn't know a damn thing about what we were talking about.

What were we talking about?

Oh yes. Yes. Yes. Spencer's problems. Or his 'things,' as I called them.

But then again. Like I said. I inferred, guessed more like it, most of what I knew about Spencer. There was probably some big, but considerably logical, explanation hiding behind all the twisty turns that fitted so snuggly in his life.

Before I could think of the oh-so numerous possibilities, Spencer took away all my breath. Again. Because, fucking hell, he just tended to do that. Not on purpose, because Spencer was a prudish loner. But sometimes… Yeah… Sometimes.

"My mother," he breathed out easily.

I recalled, suddenly and without any real reason, the phone call that caused Spencer to mutilate his lips when I first saw his panic attacks. I didn't interrupt, though. The thoughts running through my head and the assumptions I were formulating by the nanosecond weren't important. His words were important, here. They were important.

He breathed a little too steadily to be normal, "My cousin introduced me to pot when I was twelve. It was only once, I hated it, but he was too drunk to realize I was hacking my throat up. His little brother liked it a lot, though."

Spencer's blue-green eyes looked upwards to meet mine. I wasn't out to say that I was fucking sexy, because people knew that, but I almost envied the pretty clarity that shone in his eyes. Almost, I reminded myself as I watched Spencer blink back drowsiness.

"I got back into it when I was fourteen. I only did it for show, never did anything but let it sit there. I've only really smoked a handful of times," he said as he exhaled heavy grey smoke.

He flicked the shortened roll of cancer, death, and weed in an obscure corner. Because Spencer dragged me to the men's room on the other side of the campus, far far away from the 'mandatory' assembly, I knew there was no chance of anyone walking into the smoke permeated area.

That was why I didn't check my surroundings in apprehension when Spencer asked, "Why the fuck did you kiss me?"

My face reddened when I remembered why. "I'm not that discreet, am I?" I smiled with joviality.

For a moment, I forgot who I was really with. I thought I was with the old Spencer. I thought he would frown at me and make some remark that would either deflate my mood or heighten it to wonderful extremes.

But he simply looked at me without any discernable expression and said, "No, not really."

The silence that surrounded us like some sort palpable presence made me turn my head away for a bit. I looked towards the left. Oh look. Graffiti. Right. Oh look. More graffiti. I couldn't turn my head fast enough to completely blur Spencer as I looked left and right, but I tried. Knowing the BASTARD was there was hard enough. I scoffed at nothing. Or, I would like to say 'nothing.'

Looking at him would have been like acknowledging his existence and exactly what it did to me. Romance was for stupid little girls who didn't understand that most guys just really wanted sex. Romance was for widowers without a libido and lonely housewives with older children.

Vincent Morris, me, yes me, the only me, myself, and I in the fucking world… I didn't do romance. I wasn't interested in love (the most fucked up emotion in the world next to bitterness) or like or like-like or any of the more innocent feelings out there. I wanted lust. Sex. Fucking. Screwing. Drunken copulation with girls in the back of my car. Halfhearted touches with a slut I didn't know.

I didn't crave those sweet euphemisms. Sex was what I wanted! Always wanted! Not lovemaking. Never lovemaking. Because, God damn it all, that was what romance led to. That was what romance strived for.

"Fuck you," I declared. The way I said it implied more insult than it did action, but I couldn't hear it as it was coming out of my mouth. My eyes and his eyes were locked in some mockery of an intense gaze. Spencer frowned at my words, probably because of the suddenly crude nature, but didn't say anything else.

Mentally scrambling, I stuttered uncharacteristically. "F-fuck you," I began, losing the heat and strength I thought I had, "Fuck you."

Spencer smirked as if he thought me funny. His glasses, which were probably from some high class brand name that cost him over a grand, slid just the slightest down his nose as he looked at the floor and then back up at me. He did it all while maintaining that pretentious little grin.

I couldn't help but crack a smile, all anger and frustration gone as fleetingly as it came.

Spencer was so amazing.

 

I is for Invalid
​

I looked at Doctor Bryant with collected calm. Odd, I know. I felt strangely devoid, not at all different from before, but still devoid. I hated it when I got like this… But, I knew I had to deal.

"I'm still emotionally unstable," was the first thing I said when I settled into the cushy chair and faced the Doctor. His large form was more relaxed around me in comparison to last time. That was most likely because I was still knee high in the effects of my medication.

"Hmm," he hummed in consideration, "Please explain."

I replied sleepily, "I've lashed out twice already. Once against my friend. Once on myself. I've also fallen back on old habits." He scribbled a few things on his notepad before looking up at me. He gave me a seemingly kind but impersonal smile as he gestured for me to continue.

"You know, Doctor," I stated with a hint of sarcasm, "The usual. Giving out sexual favors via my mouth, feeling the need to self mutilate, smoking pot in the school bathrooms."

Doctor Bryant smiled in the same way he has done in the last two years. He knew my moods better than me. He knew my moods better than my father. He knew me better than anyone else, I would think. If I could think.

"Vincent, the pseudo-friend that keeps following me around…" I sighed, feeling the effects of a few days without proper sleep creep up on me. "He. I… It, our friendship, isn't normal." I took off my glasses to clean them against my soft shirt. "I know his intentions are less than noble. I realized early on that he's attracted to me. But I didn't think he would do anything about it."

"For the past couple of weeks, he's made all these comments but he never really tried to get closer to me. When I started the medication, it just…" I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand being here, explaining my life and thoughts and perceptions. But it would help. It was supposed to help. Help it, me, everything.

I rubbed my mouth absentminded in memory of what occurred just during the week. "Vincent noticed almost immediately that I was acting oddly. He took me home and then he… Oh God. He kissed me. And that just, just reminded me of so many similar situations I couldn't help but…"

"I punched him, several times," I admitted after a slow pause, "And he left. Two days later, he apologized. We ditched school to eat fast food and it… I…"

Doctor Bryant looked at me with an even expression. No judgment, I had to remember. There was no judgment. This wasn't an evaluation. I already went through evaluation. No, no, no, no, no, no. This was simply the healing process. I was supposed to get better. All better.

I took one shaky breath in and let it out in a smooth exhale. Or at least I tried. And trying was what counted, right? Maybe. "I don't know why I did it. I don't know," but I did know, I knew, "I just did it and he just sat there and watched me. Thoughts I couldn't even recognize were just going through my head. And Christ, I gave him head."

I put my head in my hands and wiped away the tears that dripped down uncontrollably from my blurry eyes. I didn't know why I was crying, but I knew I was crying. Why? Why, why, why, why? For fuck's sake, why in hell was I crying? The lack of an ache in my chest, the one that usually accompanied my breakdowns, worried me. But I didn't think on that. I didn't want to think on that.

I let the salty water run down my cheeks and smear across the back of my hand. Tissue after tissue. Dabbing my eyes. Swiping my cheeks. Wiping my nose. Hah. Haha. I was a child again. A child. A fucking child. A crybaby. Again.

For no reason at all, no reason because I didn't need a reason, I let out a chuckle. Scritchy scratchy. My voice, harshly grated after the sobbing, came out without precision or poise, "I think I hate…" No. "Scratch that," I mumbled carelessly, "I know I hate myself. I'm one step away from being an invalid."

I blew my nose loudly and stared mindlessly at the ceiling. "But I'm happy with myself, I think. I'm content. I don't need to be anything more. I don't need to prove anything to myself. I know what I can do and what I can't do."

"Spencer," Doctor Bryant said with a calm tone of voice, "I'm going to lower your prescription, okay? You never responded well to medical treatment." His unspoken words rang clear in the air, 'It will be in your better interest to simply stop this all while you're ahead.'

I scoffed pitifully, without the needed anger or agitation to make me sound tougher than I really was, "Then what do I do, Doctor? This isn't a matter of temptation. I don't even like Vincent. I just want this all to end. No, not all of it. Just most."

What did he know? Seriously… What did he know? Nothing. He knew nothing. Doctor Bryant couldn't, shouldn't know anything. Because, in the end, how much was there really to know? How amazingly fucked up my dick and my head was?

How I couldn't look at another person without feeling the familiar lurch of illness in my gut?

How I denied the urges and surges from simply overflowing?

How. How I had sex. Oh God, fuck God. How I had sex. How I had sex. With. Oh fucking shit. Hell. I was going to go to Hell for that. Having sex with my mother.

Because, because, be-fucking-cause I did. I did do that despicable thing. I did have sex with my mother, didn't I? Lack of memories? Well, yeah, there was a distinct lack of memories. But fucking hell. There should be. In comparison to all the other things, I should be fucking glad I couldn't remember those pieces of my abused life.

Everything else was horrible. It was horrible enough for me to try to block it out of my head so many times that I let myself believe it to be some twisted nightmare. But if I couldn't remember my mother, my mom, my mommy, then, then how in hell would I know if it really happened?

Because it did happen. It did happen. It happened. So many times, so many blurs. Too many times, too many blurs. It shouldn't have happened. It couldn't have happened. But it did, didn't it? All those blank gap in memories? When Mom would lead me into her room with a girlish laugh and seemingly coy glance?

Because she lived her life in rewind, right? For her, time was going backwards. Younger and younger and younger. The mother I had once looked at with a hesitant smile and a trite term of endearment changed. Until. Until she started. Until we started. Until it started. And then it just…

"Spencer, did you hear me?" The Doctor, in all his professionalism, gave me that simply inquiry with nothing more than a reassuring smile. But it didn't reassure me. It just made me feel worse. Fake and forced.

I breathed in and out in a steady fashion one would in the midst of a nervous breakdown. But I wasn't nervous, nor in a breakdown. I just wanted to calm myself before the shit hit the proverbial fan.

"Andrew's gone." Did I really sound like that when I was distressed? Pathetically needy? I wasn't pathetic. I wasn't - didn't sound - couldn't be pathetic. Pathetic was for individuals with too many worries and too little time. I was sixteen-almost-seventeen and I had time to deal with all my problems. I wasn't pathetic. No, pathetic was like Father trying to relive his better days. Pathetic was like… Mom living in reverse.

"There was an assembly at school," I shivered. I didn't need this. I didn't need him. If anything, Andrew was the needy one. He was the one who begged and begged and begged, right? And when I refused, he was the one who had to start fights and start drama to get my attention.

Why the fucking hell did he was my attention? What was so Goddamn special about me? There wasn't anything! Nothing at all that I had that he didn't have! He had wonderful grades, loyal friends, all the money a teenager could desire and more fuck buddies than any sane individual.

But he had Mr. Daisy, his father. But he didn't have my mom. At least Mr. Daisy waited. And it was once. Only once. Mrs. Daisy was a drunk, but who cared? He could have hidden in his room and she would have passed out before she could reach him. Why did he push and punish and fucking wallow like he was just some everyday masochistic teenager?

I… I couldn't even… couldn't believe that I actually smoked again… Andrew always hated it and he blamed Jake for introducing it to me… The last time was… over a year ago?

It was… was… Fuck. I couldn't even remember anymore. One of his friends gave me a blunt and I was… because of Butter. Yeah… I… Butter tended to get truthful when he was drunk. Sober, he lied to me. Drunk, he told me the truth. He touched my hair, squeezed my cheeks, and told me I would never be as good as Jake. I got hurt like a fucking baby and tried not to cry as he compared me to Jake.

("Princess… Do ya know how much ya look like Jakey Pooh Bear? I dunno if ya know but you really, really, really look like Ian Victor and sometimes you really act like Jordan. And I know I'm not as messed up as ya but something I really think 'm as bad as ya.

You look so fuckin' hot right now, Spencer. I wanna fuckin' rape you until you cry like a li'le bitch, but tha's wrong and it's wrong and I'm wrong. I wanna make ya bleed and I wanna break all your innocence until ya love me. That would be so much better if I like cock but I don't. I don't at all. I just like you.

You don't act like Jacob at all, Spencey Wence. I kinda wish ya do 'cause then I'd let ya fuck me but… Fuck. Oh well. Too bad for you. Ya dun even compare to Jake and that's really shitty and mean to say but it's true. I love ya to death, kiddo, but you are nothing compared to your cousin. I'd kill for I. V. to fuck me again. Hell. I'd kill to have 'im look at me again… but I left 'im for ya.

I hate Jacob Ian Victor Lake so much. But I love him too. I can't forgive and you can't forget. Doesn't that suck? So, now I'm fucked and you're fucked and aren't ya glad I won't let ya fuck me?

… Don't tell me you're gunna cry, Spencer. I don't like it when you cry.")

Andrew found me, high, and he took the blunt out of my hands, punched the friend who gave me it, and yelled at me. Because he was always so fucking smart, he listed all the reasons I shouldn't smoke and how I was going to kill myself… but by then he already had a couple of beers.

When we were sober… we'd fight about the stupidest shit, just to hurt each other. When we were completely shitfaced on alcohol, we'd hug, kiss, and 'make love.' But half-drunk and half-sober, then we started to get violent. Andrew would grip my arm hard enough to bruise. I would shove him off me and taunt him to try again and be just like Mr. Daisy. We'd break things and scream at each other and sometimes Andrew's friends would come and stop us from getting to the point of hitting. But they were fuck ups too. Half the time, most of the time, they were fucking away their problems at another party in another part of town.

It started out with Andrew trying to surround us with people who wouldn't question the signs of abuse, all over my neck and down my arms and legs. Then… he started to make friends with people like us. Sexually fucked up fuck ups.

Butter had sadomasochistic fantasies. He had a year of Jake and he still couldn't let go. Three years and he was still talking about how much he loved Jake. Mitch was constantly jealousy. Andrew gave him a blowjob once, while we were at Big Bear. I was there, watching Andrew's show, but Mitch had to think it was more than just a little fun. Text raped Debby and Debby aborted the pregnancies. He was always high on the craziest shit and Debby was too proud to admit that her boyfriend hated her. Alex had a fear of intimacy. He fucked with me to fuck with Sky. Emily was indecisive about what she wanted. She'd touch and suggestively text me, but every time I offered to give her more she would start crying.

I ducked my head as a surprising vicious migraine started to develop.

And. And. And Vincent… Goddamn it!

My head whipped up, and I felt the stings of backlash along my neck, but I didn't care. "And Vincent!" I stated with more emphasis than was needed, "Vincent still looks like he wants…" I choked on my own spit. I needed Butter so badly, to straighten out the edges and fix me up like the little 'Princess' he dubbed me to be.

"He looks like he still…! Like, he really, actually…" For some reason I sounded painfully bitter, but I didn't want him to want it. So… there was no reason for me to spill emotional slosh like it was milk. "I think that he thinks… that he… wants me. Likes me." I swallowed more globs of sticky spit and took a deep breath.

"He thinks he likes me, still. He still thinks he wants it, me."

 

K is for Kid​

"Merry Christmas," Jay mumbled as he knocked on my door. The hinges creaked when he slowly pushed the slightly ajar door fully open.

I looked up, surprised perhaps that he would say that trite greeting more than once. We already had the exchange at breakfast. My father, Darlene, Jay, and I sat at the dining table with all the proper politeness in the world. Fake smiles. Good natured grins. Hackneyed phrases.

Letting my lips twist upward, because Jay was a good kid and something about him struck me as cute, I responded, "Merry Christmas to you too." There wasn't any need to show hostility, was there? No. Not at all. Jay was simply a wee bit touchier than the average person. No harm in that. None at all.

Jay coughed as he sat next to me with red cheeks. But those cheeks weren't red from the cold, I knew, because it was never cold here. The tint of color on his face could have only appeared due to embarrassment. Embarrassment over what? Hah. Even I knew not to consciously question it.

"You don't visit your cousins?" he inquired curiously, picking up a handmade card.

Not bothering to look up, because I knew every exact detail to every exact card they ever sent me, I said, "Not often." Not often at all. Not for over two years, have I last seen my cousins. Well, except for Jake. That, however, was more due to his flitting presence in and out of the rooms I would occupy. I put on some false cheer and started to say, "I used to visit them a lot more when I was younger." I shifted so that I could point to the individuals in the picture. Each of them neatly signed their name below the adhered picture.

"Jake is the oldest one. He's about a year older than me," I said slowly, memories of another youth, with a high intellect but a stubbornly dour personality, pouring over me. The way he would take care of me and the way he helped me with my homework, those were the memories I unconsciously grabbed for. His involvement with Butter and me (on levels too similar to be properly stomached) was… purposefully forgotten.

"Dave should be about a year or two older than you," I swallowed. He was always energetic to the point of being annoying, wasn't he? Childish, but smart like his older brother. Right? The cigarette smoke that would always linger on his clothes and those silly multicolored pills, like all the ugliness of my life, were boxed away to the corner of my mind.

"And then there's Kayla. I think she should be about ten or eleven." Blinking away mental pictures of a blonde girl with marker stained fingers, I coughed. I hoped… really desperately hoped… that Jake wouldn't fuck her up. I hoped that, unlike me and Dave, Jake wouldn't distort and crack and ruin Kaykay.

The red that seemed to permanently stain Jay's cheeks brightened just a bit when I turned my head to properly face him. He was standing over my bed, one hand on the card and the other set awkwardly at his side. And as for me? I was sitting down, textbooks surrounding me and a notebook on my lap. One hand, if it was really all that important, one hand dangerously close to his.

A thought struck me, for a single moment. It was only a slight flash, a snippet of information that my brain chose to lay in front of me. If I wanted to, it would be so easy to pull Jay down to my level…

His black hair, still mussed from sleep, was erased of any colored streaks. As he nodded distractedly, his hair swaying with each movement, I noted to myself that he probably didn't comprehend a word I said. But I didn't mind. I let my face fall for reasons unknown to me. If I was in my usual mood, I would have politely conversed with Jay until we let ourselves fall into a moderately comfortably silence. Then, if I really wanted to think about it, I would have studied like I always did.

For that same unknown reason, I didn't act accordingly to my typical disposition. It was only a little, a really little fleeting emotion. There was no motive, I would think. But I did it anyway. I knew Jay had some of those childish feelings of affections for me, most of which were not suitable for one of our circumstances. We were to be stepbrothers in, what, a month? A few weeks? My father and Darlene didn't want to wait for the 'baby bump' to become too prominent.

But that didn't stop me. No, sir. Nothing stopped me. The open door. The sound of Father's voice. The sound of Darlene's voice. Grabbing, slow slow slowly, Jay's wrist… I pulled him lower. His sharp green eyes were wide with poorly hidden surprise but his face was burning with the sheer amount of want in him. And I knew what he wanted. He wanted me.

Inch by inch. All it would take to make or break was a supple, easy press of my lips against his left cheek. A turn of his head would probably come about, urging me to make contact in another place. A low breath of air would pass between us.

"Spencer! Jiminy! Can one of you two come downstairs?"

I pushed Jay away as gently as I could. His green eyes, softened and confused, looked not at me but at the wall behind my form. He blinked rapidly for a scant couple of seconds, and then he burned an amazing red color. "Yeah, Mom!" he replied hurriedly, exiting the room without a backwards glance.

I watched him leave, in a bit of a daze myself, unable to believe what I almost initiated. (What did I just do?) Running a hand through my hair, messing it up beyond more than a few stray strands, I sighed like the melodramatic teenager I had become. All Jay had was a simple crush fueled by some late night fantasies. Really, I shouldn't have let it bother me.

My stomach churned. It didn't really bother me, if I had my definition of 'bother' straight. It was more akin to something troubling me. I was no fool, even if I was a social retard. I knew that… That… Jay, he was… Only thirteen years old? And I was a day away from being seventeen. Alex was fourteen, though. He was only a year older than Jay. But… still… Thirteen was young…

I shut my eyes for a few moments. Rising, I began to clear my bed of all the textbooks and notebooks. Classes that weren't even offered at my school, I studied through. AP testing was a March affair, but I already signed and paid for all I thought I could take.

Time consuming, yes. But it was better to have loads and bunches of work and information to stuff into my head than let lethargy and idleness overtake me. If I could get the motions down, the routine correct, I could do anything. That included overworking my brain into oblivion.

Stuck in the thoughts my mind decided to throw me into, I never noticed the way Jay returned. Red faced and embarrassed beyond all sensibility, probably, but I didn't see it so I couldn't say.

He shut the door behind him, prompting me to look at him. I didn't get a good moment to examine the way his hands shook or the way he bit his lips, but I did get a good taste of what kind of boy Jay really was.

The way he stepped forward, shy and hesitant, touched my attention only enough to make me fully face him. But the soft press of his lips against mine, as I leaned forward and he titled his head up, was more than enough for me to realize that I was making a huge mistake. It didn't stop me. Really. My whims were rarely stopped when they should be.

He kept his hands by his side. I did the same. He kept his mouth shut. I did the same. He backed up an inch, a couple of centimeters, just a bit. I heard the indecision in his voice, although it sounded as if he was trying to hide it with his low volume. "Are you," he breathed, "Are you with Vincent?"

It was a stopping point for me, if not for us both. I backed away, and resumed my previous task of tidying up my school work. "I'm not with Vincent," I tried not to sound like a heartless bastard.

Jay's eyes flickered up and down, left and right. He understood well. I wasn't with Vincent, but I was 'with' someone else. However, before accusations could formulate and distrust settle, I mumbled, "It's an open relationship, for the most part. Andrew doesn't mind. Neither do I."

 

L is for Lustful​

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I mumbled to myself as I paced back and forth. Stomping my feet childishly, if only to let out a smidgen of pent up frustration, I sighed. "This cannot be happening," I said louder. Nope. Couldn't be happening. It just couldn't.

It was preposterous, to put a fag word out there. Not disgusting, but simply preposterous. This couldn't happen. It was never supposed to happen.

But. But it did, didn't it?

Or…

Or, or, or, or, or FUCKING screw the word 'or'!!

Breathing out of my nose and swallowing harshly, I looked towards the clock. Okay, okay. Mom and Dad and David and Donny and I… and some other relatives I didn't really like… were all leaving in half an hour. I had maybe three or four hours to think about what I was going to do.

About what, my dear imaginary friends? About what?! About Spencer! That was fucking what!

"I. I'm. I am not. I don't think. Uhh. I. Gurahh!" I garbled, frustrated to the point that I couldn't speak. Fucking motherfucking Jesus Fucking Christ fucking fuck fuckity fuck fuck…

Oh shit. Shit shit shit.

Over last week, in which I listened to old regurgitated stories about my grandparents' youth and nodded when my condescending uncles commented on my failure at school, it was okay. I distracted myself with my cousins' antics, acting like I gave a flying fuck about the newest intervention-worthy scandal. I could pretend, because sometimes pretending was easy fun, that I never spawned such a stupid thought in my head.

But! I was not in love with Spencer! I wasn't. I didn't love him. I didn't feel anything greater than concern and lustful yearning. I couldn't feel anything more than that. That wasn't love. And it wasn't that oh so much much much much more different 'in love' feeling.

"Not again. Not fuckin' again," I groaned, running my hands through my hair. What I felt was more accurately… anything that wasn't love. Which was, everything else. Right? Right?! Oh p'shaw. I was fucking screwed.

But maybe, maybe this didn't have to mean anything. I mean, I mean. I, uh, all this could stay up in my head. Like before? Yes! Like before! The thoughts were safely tucked away, before. Not at all really discreet, I was, but I didn't go about screaming every word that passed through my mind at the top of my lungs.

Spencer didn't have to… know. He didn't. But in all probability, he would probably figure out. He wouldn't say anything about it, I would think, but I wasn't a careful person at all.

BUT! BUT! But I wasn't in love with him! I didn't love him! So, so, so that had to mean I didn't have to hide anything or even lock anything up in my head. Right? All I had, still had, was simply lust for his body and concern for his person. Oh fuck. I've only known him for two months. At best. People just didn't fall in love, or discover love, or harbor love, or, or, or, or fucking fudge packers. Two months wasn't a long time. It was a fucking short time. SHORT.

Looking up when I heard the door open, I noticed Freddy and his best friend walking in. Freddy, strawberry blond like my uncle, looked at me and my odd position. Eh. Fuck him. Curled up on the floor wasn't that weird when thinking about how I messed up my life.

"Vince. What the fuck is wrong with you?" the… it-fuck asked, girl-guy-it voice filling my buzzing ears. "You look freaking constipated."

I snarled nastily, like a gross animal or something, but I didn't care. I hated that person, seriously. Hanging around Freddy since I could remember, but fuck if the ass-fucking BFF hermaphrodite was going to talk to me like that. "Fuck you, tranny," I spat, the old insult fresh on my tongue. I was distressed about my thoughts! My slurs weren't… that bad… Okay. What the fuck ever. I didn't have time to deal with that thing's bullshit. Just because it was older than me it thought it had standing. Fuck that girl-guy-it-thing.

Freddy just sighed, saying, "Pey… stop it. Don't get all bitter, dude. It's been years. Let it go, man." The thing just glared, tanned face red with indignation. Hah. Fucking take that, foo'! Family first, biyatch! Like the cake I stuffed down yo pants when I was fourteen, assfuck! If Freddy dudn't protect you then he sure as hell wasn't gunna do it now!

I flipped the it-thing off, because that's what the it-thing always did to me. But, the tranny-fuck just raised its eyebrows and asked, "Still in the fucking closet, Vincent? How many years of fucking girls does it take to just realize you've always been gay?"

Face burning, because that statement was FALSE! With all fat slanted caps and almost unnecessary emphasis, I never! "Fuck you!"

A sardonic smirk. "Huh. I was so right. You freaking fail at being a homophobe. Still jerkin' it to me?" Voice higher, the he-she-BUTT-fuck moaned, "Ooh! Peyton is so cute. I wish he's a girl because I'm insecure 'bout my sexuality!"

GUAH!!

My face exploded with even more color as I rose to my knees to flail dramatically. "Suck my dick, slutfuck! That was one time, you bitch! Let the FUCK go."

Not as if I did it… realizing that the it-thing and a good grip of my family were looking on with complete shock. So what if I talked to myself while doing the dirty self-love?! BITCH. SLUTWHORE. DICKFACE. CUNTBAG. I didn't even care about the fuckwitted shit-hole-lover! It was only… warm hands rubbing my back when I was sick… and… a soft voice assuring me that everything would feel better soon…

Ahhh!!

But…! But still! I was only caught one time! And anyway, I was only fucking thirteen!

It smiled at me, a pompous grin that somewhat reminded me of… of… Spe--

FUCK YOU!!

"Eh? The fuck are you still embarrassed 'bout it then?" that thing's grin widened as I reddened further, "If you're not still masturbating to me, then the fuck do you look so…?"

Distantly, I thought to myself that we were starting another one of our infamous battles in the silly war I started out of resentment… It was a good thing. It was a distraction away from the churning in my gut.

"Tranny! Fuck yourself!"

"What d'you say? Closet-case. Pft. Why don't you suck my dick!?"

"Hah. You don't have one, SHEmale!"

"I got more cock than you! TINY!"

"Up the A. S. S., ass! Sure."

"Fuck you, you little homo!"

"… Hey, Pey… You're homo."

"Yeah! You-! Uh, say again…?" I looked at the it-he-she-girl-guy-thing closely. Peyton…? Oh holy Lord! That thing's name. NO!

They both looked at me like I was off the deep end, which I may have been at that point. First, crazy thoughts, and then, a crazy battle with the old… the old… Fuck it, I was going crazy.

"Vincent?" Freddy asked slowly, raised eyebrow and all. He probably thought me stupid, but that was because he was a brainless eighteen year old bitch of a cousin. Where was the backup when I needed it? He started again, "Didn't you and Pey--"

The tranny just interrupted my cousin with a hard look. When Freddy didn't say anything further, he then chuckled meanly, "Vince. You're such a stereotypical closet-case. Fucking yourself to me while thinking I'm straight? Grow a brain and a dick, you little shit." He clasped his hands together to imitate humility, mocking me, "Hi! My name is Vincent Morris! I've wanted cock since thirteen but I'm too scared to ask. Please fuck me. Ooh! Like that! Peyton!"

Bitterness hit me before I could stop myself.

"My name is slutfuck whore," I spat with all the resentment I usually kept inside.

()

"I let guys

(you'reafuckingfagvince)

fuck me

(,doesn'tit)

for

()

fucking

(I'mhardjustthinkingaboutit)

money."

("Vincent. Vince. Kissing and touching is fun and all, but sex beats it by a long shot.")

…

Uhhhh… Whoops…? Where did that come from? Ehhh… Err… nowhere…?

Oh well lookie there. Freddy and the tranny BFF. He-she-it just stared at me, as shocked as he-she-it was when I was caught jacking off. Freddy was frowning and making that ugly pissed off face he liked so much. Oh yeah. They were besties. Awk-war-ar-ard… Shit. Wasn't this the type of moment to giggle, 'awkward turtle,' and coyly bat my eyelashes?

They both backed out of the room, gradually walking away, their eyes on me, and then slowly shut the door.

No! I needed a distraction! They couldn't leave me here, wallowing in my own selfish woe!

I sunk down to the floor again, but instead of curling up, I just rested my head against the scratchy carpet. Ten minutes, or a lifetime, later, I heard a knock on the door. I shifted myself so I was plopped on my ass, a much more dignified position. Trying to keep my thoughts filtered, I watched an ant on the floor as my brother stepped in.

"Vincent, you ready?" Donny asked with a gruff mumble. I looked up at him, distress still oozing out of my every pore, and wondered… if he was suspicious of anything. Uh, more importantly, did David tell him about…

Um… That day… when Spencer gave me…

Did he tell?

I looked down at myself, all ruffled up about something that was simply occurring all in my head. Taking one brave breath in, I not so innocently inquired, "Did David tell you?" If he knew, he would say so. If he didn't he would simply look at me as if I was crazy. And then he would, because I loved him so much (but I didn't love Spencer because that was just a crazy little thought), dismiss my thoughts with a yawn or tired grumble.

Probably?

"Yes," Donny muttered, looking at the floor uncomfortably. His brown eyes, much like my own but not, strained to keep a steady gaze away from me.

I almost sighed and let myself get swept away in troublesome thoughts again, because Donny was horrible at being a distraction. But then Donny had to open his mouth. "You're blowing everything out of proportion," he began without any noticeable lilt, "It's never as bad as you think. Maybe you like the guy. Maybe he has problems. Okay. But don't freak out over it."

"I think I love him."

Guhhh. Ahhuhhh. Nnngg.

Where was the intelligent banter? The witty remarks? The words I needed to make that simple sentence go away.

BECAUSE! Because, because I didn't love Spencer. I wasn't in love with him. Didn't I just try to convince myself of that? No, not convince. Saying 'convince' would make it sound as if I was in denial. I wasn't in denial. It just, freaking hell, just didn't happen. I didn't fall in love with that horribly rude and fucked up and medicated loner who was also the fucking hottest person around.

He wasn't even that hot! Realistically speaking! I've seen better looking girls and guys. I've done better. But. But Spencer was just so hot in so many other ways. It was really, really hard to overlook that point. That simple little point. Spencer just complicated everything in my head and body. He made everything, even insults, taste so much better. So much more delectable.

That sticky, icky, but wonderful choke in my throat… as I realized it. Maybe, really, maybe I actually… Realizing that maybe my feelings did go that high up. Maybe…

"Donny, Aunt Jenny needs help with her baggage," I heard David say even though none of the words registered. Or at least I think it was David. He always did speak in a nicer tone, and I doubted Donny would have anything nice to say.

I looked up. Stupid, I knew it was. But I did it anyway. I wanted to see the faces, the nearly identical faces of my brothers.

They were my brothers. Surely, if anything, that had to mean something. They practically half-raised me. When Mom and Dad went to work across the country, they were the ones to make me sandwiches and give me pudding.

It. This. They weren't going to judge me, because of this. Were they?

Donny's eyes weren't shocked. They were simply blank and impossibly focused on my face. In all probability, I think I looked like I was ready to cry.

"Yeah, one minute," he said with a… I didn't even know what kind of tone he was using. For some reason I didn't understand, he motioned David away.

I looked at him. He looked at me. Our gazes differed immensely, but I didn't understand how. I was too worried thinking about why I had said something that I denied furiously in my head, since I had let the trailing thought infest my mind when I took Spencer out for frozen yogurt.

Oh fuck. Shit. That was a real homo way to think about it. I took Spencer out for frozen yogurt? Really, Vince, how homo could I get?

I started laughing as I looked down, but it probably sounded more like dry sobs. My brain was on overload, but I was pro at compartmentalization. I could put my life and the shit condition it was on the backburner. I could put my insecurities and doubts and lies in a little box and stuff it away. I could even pick and chose the topics to occupy my time.

But… not this. Spencer… was a nearly constant factor in my head. Either little pieces of him or short recollections, he took over my mind without knowing it. Talking to… him didn't help. Listening to him… if anything… made everything worse. Why, you kind imaginary folk may ask? I… didn't… want to think about it. Never did, much, but I was never going to again. So, now. It was all about Spencer and the way he made me feel.

Not… 'love'… because love was… Love… was…

I was in love.

 

M is for Minuscule
​

"This guy, Dave, looks a lot like you," Vincent comment lightly, "The other guy… Jacob? Not so much."

Moving my body just the slightest, so that I was looking at the pile of cards that was stuffed in an old gift box, I said, "When I was younger, I was always being confused for Jake's twin." Ah yes. I almost grimaced in remembrance of those days. Older folk would turn and look at me, cooing, giggling, pinching my cheeks, running their wrinkled hands through my hair.

"Yeah," Vincent mumbled, thumbing through some of the older cards. His eyes brightened as he picked up several pictures. "How old were you here?" he questioned quickly, "Eleven? Twelve? In this one you couldn't be older than five. Oh. And in this one you look like you're 'bout seven or eight."

I sighed. Blah blah blah. It was all noise to me when he was like this.

Vincent kept his eyes away from me, instead concentrating them on the numerous memories he stumbled upon, "Why do you keep all these in a box?"

I shrugged. "My father never liked photo albums. They just started collecting."

Watching Vincent nod without enthusiasm, I wondered why in hell he was acting so peculiar. It wasn't as if he was deceitful in nature, but sometimes Vincent seemed like he kept a few more secrets from me than was needed. Maybe he liked his privacy? Maybe.

Okay. Most definitely not. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I asked with a sudden burst of annoyance. Vincent, although a seemingly nice guy, was shiftier in my presence than what could be considered comfortable.

"Nothing," Vincent answered without any noticeable change in tone, "Look at this one. You're in your swimming trunks with a girl. Who is this…? Wendy? Jesus, her name's written on the back."

"Vincent," I spoke a little louder, "What the fuck is wrong?"

He smiled a little too happily for me to dismiss this as another one of his weird antics, "I don't know what you mean. Spencer." Vincent lifted his eyes to meet mine, but then something odd flickered across his face before he turned back to look at old Polaroid snapshots of my childhood.

Fucker.

"Well this one looks more recent than the others," Vincent noted as he pulled out a four-by-six photograph. "You and some poser scene kid," he flipped it over, "Named Butter?" He waved the picture up, not even looking at me, his large fake smile on his face. When I saw the telltale flash of a white graduation gown, annoyance struck me so sharply I decided to end this little tirade.

I stood and decided to play the assertive game for a short while. Packaging away the recollections of my family and of my younger days, I stuffed the to-be-forgotten box under my bed. When it was all done with, my eyes carefully set on Vincent twitchy form.

His cheeks were red and his happy smile diminished to something a little more nervous. I licked my lips without noticing, but then paused in realization as I saw something I had seen a million times appear on Vincent's face.

A million, million, million times.

With… with…

"SO!" Vincent loudly said, his voice rising to a point that made me wince a little, "I missed your birthday! Do you want to go out, do anything? I don't have a lot of cash on me, but we could go and get a late lunch. How 'bout it? I know a place with some really snazzy desserts, too."

My mouth was set in a sturdy frown. There was no way in hell Vincent was going to slide by. If anything, because there wasn't very much for me to go on, I was his friend. And friends wouldn't really let odd behavior pass, wouldn't they? No, they wouldn't. Vincent sure as hell didn't let my seemingly 'odd behavior' pass when he noticed it. He became conscious, maybe, fifteen minutes after he greeted me that something was up. It took me, what, ten minutes and a couple of sentences leaving his normally flighty mouth in order to realize?

My glasses pushed downward as I shook my head in exasperation, but I lifted them off my face and placed them on my desk. Rubbing my eyes in tiresome emotions that tickled the edges of my senses, I asked, "Be serious for once, Vincent. What's wrong with you?"

For once, could the guy attempt at being serious? No. Apparently not. "Aw, Spencer. You know me at least this well, right? I've been freaking out about the same thing since I've gotten to know you." A bright and mindlessly sincere grin blessed me.

I blinked a little more rapidly than was necessary. There was, for a moment, when that smile upturned… something twisted. Something above my navel but below my chest, not anywhere approximate to my heart but somewhere closer to my gut… But it couldn't be because that was where the lust always started.

I rubbed my eye with my right hand. Without any knowledge of what I was going to say, I opened my mouth. But, but I did know what I was going to say. Or, at least, I had to have had some sort of general idea. Why else would I have forced out those words that spoke more than I ever would have wanted to?

"I know you think you like me."

A sharp intake of air. Not a gasp, but not an easy inhale either. "I-I. I'm not. I am n-not," Vincent stammered uncharacteristically, "I-I-I don't like you." His stutters somehow reminded me of the moans he had tried so hard to contain.

I let an impulsive asshole-ish grin stretch across my face. Leaning against the wall but still facing my very confused friend, I said in a pompous tone, "Prove it." Fucking prove it.

When I withdrew from him, that time I decided in a little bit of idiocy to put his cock in my mouth, I knew I saw some pieces of shocked distress in him. He WANTED me. In big, fat, capital letters. He wanted me. He wanted me to touch him. He wanted me to succumb under him. He wanted me to allow unspeakable things to be done. He wanted me to want him.

That day, maybe three weeks ago, I knew for sure that Vincent held a little more than simple lust for me. A dabbing edge of concern? A minuscule bit of affection? Oh yes. And should I never forget about friendship.

Smirking, I allowed a few chuckles to escape me. The humor of the situation wasn't something substantial enough to warrant even a smile. But I couldn't help it. I couldn't resist those small but practiced sounds of joy.

Vincent inhaled steadily. "Fine, Spencer. I'm not going to lie. That is something a little more in your department anyway," a sly gaze up, "I think I love you." His eyes widened and his back straightened as he tried to sort out his thoughts. He stated with urgency that I couldn't help but smile at, "But I sure as Hell am not in love with you."

I saw him look down at his feet and curse almost inaudibly. He didn't want it to sound like that. Like what? Like he actually knew what was going on inside him?

Hardy.

Fucking.

Har. Har.

I… heard that same phrase thousands of time. Spilling from the mouths of people I hated and from people I cared about. Alex placated me with his imitation of affection. Andrew only pissed me off when he said it. I could swear it had no affect on me… really. Vincent didn't know a fucking thing. He didn't understand love. We were only teenagers, too young to comprehend it fully. Me… I knew what he was feeling.

I never felt it myself like others felt it. That intense lust… that people would… mistake for love… Just like Mom said it in the past, mentally interchanging her pedophilic lust for motherly love… Just like Andrew said it all the time, to make himself feel better about not doing shit for me when he knew I wouldn't do shit for myself… It wasn't real.

("I love you, Spencey. I love you so much, Spence. Don't ever doubt I love you even though I know you doubt me a lot. If there's one thing I know, I know I love you.

Goddamn it all, Spencey. Since we were only thirteen years old, I loved you. And today, even though we fight and we yell and we hurt each other so much, I still love you.

I love you.

So much.

More than I can ever say.

I love you.")

I've never felt fake love. No, no, no. I have never confused affection or lust for love. Fuck no. But it was as familiar to me as the sight of my own body. I knew it like I knew myself. Regardless of the lack of memories or even the lack of clarity, I knew myself. Pretty well, I would think. Pretty well. Exactly like I knew that certain look in Vincent's eyes.

I diverted my eyes for a short moment, in memory. Those people. Some of them would share that same look. They would look at themselves in disgust, at me in horror, at the situation in abhorrence. But then, oh joy, but then the urges would take control. A lust would fill them. A taboo lust would fuel their passionate mockery of sex. Then they wouldn't be able to take it, crushing under the pressure. They would, all of them would clamor and fight for the feel of a twelve (thirteen fourteen) year old boy.

Vincent stared at me in awe. I started to fumble with the first few buttons of my shirt.

A polite knock. "Spencer," Jay called out as pushed the ajar door fully open. I looked at him with my hands safely at my sides and silently questioned why I never closed my door. A safety precaution perhaps?

The rosy cheeked boy smiled at me in a little shyness, "Daniel just called. Your appointment was cancelled."

Smiling in that certain way I was sure I did whenever I saw Jay, I replied, "Thanks for telling me." Jay dropped his gaze, just a little, before turning away and heading off downstairs to watch television with Darlene. Jay was a good kid, a bit of a mama's boy behind all the tight clothes and makeup, but he was a good kid.

When I settled my attention back onto the teen I called my 'friend,' I almost scoffed. Again? We were going to do this again? He tried to do it to me once. I halfheartedly gave him an unfinished 'time of day' once. Touching and touching and touching. Me this time? Or him?

Shutting and locking the door, I said good-naturedly, "This is not sex, okay?" One by one, I finished unbuttoning my shirt. Not even bothering to shrug it off, I directed my attention to my belt. How easy was it to do this?

Deciding to be a good guy, for once, I also mentioned, "This is not going to become sex." I couldn't really let Vincent begin, without letting him know the limits. That would verge on cruel if he assumed anything greater was going to come along.

I hitched down my pants and allowed that lust driven idiot to soak in all the implications. Unclasping my silver wristwatch, a horribly expensive gift that--

("You are nothing more than another white slut, Spencer. Do you actually think you got anything I can't get somewhere else? Do you think you're special? Think you're important? Wake the fuck up, Spencey. I'm the best you're gunna get.")

--made me think of the way Andrew scowled when violently angry, I took a deep breath.

"This," I warned, "This is only going to be a one time thing. A birthday present."

 

N is for Nymphomaniac​

Breathe in, Vincent. Breathe in.

Okay. Hold.

Breathe out. Breathe out.

In again.

Out once more.

Good. It was all good. You were doing fine, Vincent. Again. Again.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In…

Out…

"FUCKING shit!" I yelled into my arms as I banged my head against the steering wheel.

In. Out.

In. Out.

IN. OUT.

"F-f-fuck. FUCK! Fuck all of this. Fuck Spencer. Fuck. Spencer. Fuck his little problems," my mouth started to dry, "Fuck his blond hair. Fuck his blue-green eyes. Fuck his cute face. Fuck that stupid smirking smile. Fuck the way he eats like a fat ass. Fuck the way he swears so much. Fuck his ability to make me this fucking pathetic. Fuck him to fucking HELL."

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

FUCK.

"You hold on a lot better than Jay."

No, no, no, no, nooooooooooo…

"Nope," I mumbled into the sleeves of my jacket, "He's a fucking pervert. A weirdo. A criminal almost! Jay's only, only what? Twelve, thirteen. He's probably only a middle school kid. And, and oh Lord…" I sighed as calmly as I could, but every puff of air that traveled through my lungs tasted sharp and disgusting.

Rocking myself a bit, in a mixture of distress and slight jealousy, I told myself, "I. I don't love. I don't love him. I don't love Spencer. Because. Because Spencer is fucking his thirteen year old not-yet-stepbrother."

Jealousy jealousy jealousy jealousy jealousy.

But I was not jealous.

I swallowed down any of the riskier words, "I sh-should report Spencer to the cops. He's seventeen and Jay is, like, what? Thirteen. That has to be illegal. It has to be. Because being seventeen is being practically an adult and being thirteen is being practically a child."

But I admitted to Spencer that I may love him and he admitted to knowing. But. So, that. That had to mean… But I didn't want to have him thrown in jail. Because that was what happened to those child molesting perverts, right? They got sent to jail.

It wasn't as if Jay didn't like Spencer. The slut probably jumped in his stepbrother's lap. And Jay was cute too, in a way that reminded me of Spencer, so it wouldn't be too hard. He probably… probably seduced Spencer.

I choked on the amount of bullshit I was spewing, "No no no no no no no…" No. That was wrong. No. I couldn't make excuses. Spencer fucked Jay. Wrong wrong wrong. It was wrong. It was almost illegal. It was out of our fucking moral boundaries! It. It didn't matter. The fact that I didn't want Spencer to get thrown in some smelly little cell didn't matter. The fact that Jay most likely consented to whatever happened between them didn't matter. The fact that Spencer wasn't in his right mind… maybe that mattered…

I shook my head, feeling hair tickle across the nape of my neck and the tips of my ear.

Seriously. I didn't know all that much about Spencer. Maybe he took meds. Yeah. Maybe he went to a doctor. Yeah. Maybe he was freaking out of his mind and couldn't really remember moments of his life… because I noticed stuff like that. Yeah. That. That didn't mean he was a fucking raving lunatic. He didn't need to be locked up. Spencer couldn't be locked up. He just couldn't. It was. He was. He couldn't, shouldn't be locked up. There wasn't even any proof! YES! There was no proof!

All he said, before I gaped at him in shock, was that I held on better than Jay. That, Jesus Christ, could have meant anything. Anything at all. What it could have meant, I didn't know. But, but it could have meant something different. It didn't have to equal up to Spencer fucking his ittle bittle baby stepbrother up the ass.

My face began to burn red even when I screamed in my head that this wasn't the time to get lost in my lustful desires towards Spencer.

Just. Just because he willingly screwed Jay, but told me to never touch his body ever again didn't matter. It didn't. Spencer was an asexual prude! That was the vibe I always got from him. He never seemed to, seemed to like people. Not me. Not our classmates. No one. But then. But then again. He did do 'stuff' with Jay. Didn't he? So, did that mean… he liked Jay?

I slammed my palm against my forehead over and over again. "I am NOT getting jealous over some how-many-years old kid. Spencer would rather fuck his Jay, his future step, up the ass than let me touch him. Okay. Okay."

"I. I'm not," I felt my throat constrict, "I like Spencer. I may even love him. But he's a sick child molesting pervert. It's not as if Jay looks mature. He still has his baby jailbait looks."

It wasn't as if I didn't understand the attraction. Hell. Jay was a freaking cute ass boy. I was no nymphomaniac, but I noticed potential good looks. All nice body and pretty charming face. Give him a couple more years under his belt and maybe a bit more maturity and I'd willingly screw him into a mattress. But not as he was. He was a child. A twelve, thirteen year old child.

Spencer had the same look. The same bits of immaturity in him, even when his personality was anything but childish. He could easily overpower me, if he chose to, but there was something about him… that made him seem… younger… more childish…

I groaned. "Stop this right now, Vincent," I said desperately in an attempt to straighten out my brain, "Stop making excuses. This isn't something that I could rationalize. This is a bad thing. Spencer did something to Jay. Fucked him. Touched him. Molested him. But, but it doesn't matter if it was consensual or not."

My face prickled with heat.

"Spencer told me straight to my face that he did to Jay what he let me do to him."

But. But. I held on better. I was better.

"Let's think about it like this!" I said quickly, directing my thoughts like I always did, "Big boys on little boys fucks the mind up. Simple. True. It's true." Bitterness. "I should know it's true. Look what big boy plus little boy fun did to me. Look what it fucking did to me."

("Say it, Vince. You know it's true. You're a fucking fag. F. A. G., fag."

"You're a little virgin, aren't you, Vince? I bet you love cock so much it scares you."

"I'm hard just thinking about it. Fucking your tight little ass until you beg me to do it again."

"You're such a little shit, Vince. How can you like it when I do this?")

"So…" I mumbled, more depressed than I've been in a long time, "Spencer's doing stuff to Jay. It's wrong. Yeah… It's wrong." Slowly, I dragged my hand through my hair and tried to even my breathing.

That same, familiar voice in the back of my head taunted me. Loud and clear, just like he was still holding me immobile as his hands moved all over. Rubbing through my shirt. Trailing along my legs. Cupping my face. Pinching my cheeks. Going down into my shorts. Mockingly moaning into my ear. Pressing so close I could smell the juice I poured over his head. Grinding against me, fingers ready to pull down my shorts.

("Vincent. Vince. You are the worst closet-case ever. I am going to pop your fucking cherry. And you know what? You're going to fucking love it.")

Oh Lord… Even after all this time, I could remember it all so perfectly. Un-compartmentalize the old shit condition my life used to be in, and even this came out. The roughness and the… damn it… softness of that fucked up little experience. The way he pushed against me, slow rocking movements timed by his even breathing, and gently pressed his lips against my mine was still clear in my memory. From the way he quietly told me that he knew how to make everything feel amazing… to the way he almost…

He… To the way he almost… almost… the way he almost…

Shit, shit, shit. I was a big boy now, wasn't I? There was no need to hate his name, hate what he did to me. Was there? No… It fucked me up a bit, but it wasn't… as if he did it on purpose… Right? I could say his name. I could say it without feeling all of my mistakes.

"Peyton…" Good. Okay. This was good. If I could accept that Spencer didn't fucking want me… I could say his name. "Peyton." All right… If I could say that, I could admit I knew so much more than just his name.

"Peyton Green. Born April 14. About five foot five. Two years older than me. Eighteen. Favorite color, green. Favorite music, rock 'n fuckin' roll. Favorite show, How I Met Your Mother. Favorite book series, Harry effing Potter. Favorite food, burgers. Least favorite food, sushi. Favorite ex-girlfriend, Freddy's current girlfriend. Occupation for now, bookstore café boy."

But that was stuff any person who knew Peyton would know. I knew a whole lot more.

"Peyton looks down when he's happy, up when he's sad. He sleepwalks when he's stressed and he has major dependency issues on Freddy. When he likes a person, he rolls his eyes while smiling. When he hates a person but is trying not to make it obvious, his smile shows his teeth. When he makes fun of me, he does both. He picks out all his outfits the week before like he's OCD… and he hates his parents… and… and he…"

Swallowing down all the memories, I let out a slow curse of, "Fuck…"

Imaginary friends? This was the truth. Peyton still looked the same. He was still the same. He still had that stupid, proud way of walking and talking. The same baggy skinny jeans, the expensive layered shirts, those stupid hats… His smirk was still as mean as it was when we were kids. Dark brown hair, side swept across his forehead… Short, skinny, small pixie-like body… Attractive… He was still attractive.

Peyton looked exactly the same.

I looked down, cynically speaking to myself, "I'm so bitter. I just need to let all this go. I need to let go of Peyton and let go of… Spencer. I need to… I need to drop Spencer and forget about Jay. And… and let it… be…"

It was probably time for me to be truthful and fucking break this fourth wall.

So… You guys interested in knowing what I was doing during this entire mental struggle?

Trying not to cry.

And guess what?

… I failed.

 

O is for Orgasmic​

Alex was on top of me. Gasping. Struggling. Wanting.

"Not too loud," I whispered to the shaking boy. And that shaking boy, shaking with lust and desire and pleasure and want and undeniable need (that mirrored the need I saw nearly everyday on my own face), just nodded his head.

"Spencer…" Alex mumbled softly, his bright blue eyes peering down at me.

I rubbed his cheeks with my thumb to give just a dab of reassurance. "Are you okay?" I asked as quietly as I could, "Does it hurt?"

Alex, the cute boy he was, simply smiled back at me. "No," he attempted to whisper back just as quietly, "Not really."

Grinning, I tried to hold back a chuckle. Of course it didn't hurt. Who did he think I was? Seriously? I was a pro at this. I knew how to prepare the body of a fourteen year old boy so it wouldn't hurt. To think that I would let Alex succumb under that initial discomfort or the careless pains, it was absurd.

I knew how to do this. I've done it a million times.

It was easy to slowly prepare him. Easing my fingers in, but remembering to use a generous amount of lubrication, was the easiest part. Then, because sweet words pleased even the most deaf of individuals, I had to speak gentle flatteries.

The rest? Well. I had to let my favorite come, didn't I? Make him sated and happy, but still oh so wonderfully needy in a manner he probably didn't know could exist. I had to. That was part of the routine. It was much easier, much better for myself if I gave Alex what he needed first. Then afterwards, it was all for me.

"Nnng. Spencer…" Alex mumbled again, shutting his eyes and letting his body become overpowered by pleasure. He shook his head and let a shaky breath leave him as he tried to settle a steady pace.

Feeling for a firm grip, I wondered how long until I should switch positions. It was one thing to let Alex assume some control in a situation where he was the puppet. It was another thing completely to let him overwork himself. Although young and bursting with bits of energy, I knew that Alex wouldn't notice if he strained himself too far.

I only knew… or, I was supposed to only know him through loose ties of friendship through even looser people, but I knew Alex was doing exactly what I did when I was fourteen. I even knew he was a sucker at his own game. He was way too inexperienced to know his limit during this kind of sexual activity. I, on the other hand, I was thinking that it was time to stop.

Nudging the boy, I gave him a simple command, "Move."

And oh so good, he was. Alex was such a good obedient little fuck for me. His blue eyes looked down at me, every twitch of his lips dripping with so much lust, and he nodded again, uncharacteristically quiet. I kissed him and kept the seemingly intimate action as chaste as I could.

His boyfriend, a fucker that I simply hated, had looked at me before Alex attempted to sneak away. A beer in his hand and a flowing conversation with a couple of other freshmen, Sky only needed a few minutes to seem as if he was completely absorbed. Even if my silly little ash blond thought himself slick, even I could feel the angered glare that left me with a horny little demon who thought he was better than he really was.

But I knew how to deal with him. I knew how to deal with that.

Alex gasped. Then he moaned under his breath.

That was more like it. My body on top of Alex's smaller one. My cock in him. My hands on him.

I started moving, slowly, watching Alex's ash blond hair tangle as he shook his head back and forth. It was such an erotic action, if I really wanted to think about it. How much did that motion represent? Huh? The amount of fire that curled in his small frame? They way he couldn't take it? The way it simply conquered him?

Trailing my hands across his body, stopping just before the most sensitive area, I began to whisper, "How badly do you want it?"

Alex bit his bottom lip, reaching down to touch himself. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. All he did was tighten around me. I reveled at the shear amount of orgasmic pleasure that racked through my body, but I held on. I was no quickie. Easily, from years of experience, I learned to delay myself. Still being a teenager, I had no substantial control over my body. But still. Something was something. I could hold on better. Longer.

I moved a bit faster, letting the pace quicken to match Alex's harsh breathing. Letting my voice drop lower, I asked, "What do you want now? Alex?"

What did he want now? He was the one to come at me at the beginning of the school year, deceivingly shy smiles and a pissed off boyfriend somewhere behind him. Quite unlike when I first saw him at a party, in which he was crying his drunken heart out while being sucked off by his bitch, tonight he was all confidence and cool level headed smiles.

Then, because Alex was a sly but awfully stupid little fucker, he moved to sit down on my lap with absolutely no idea how long it was since my first impulse to fuck him was. His stepfather… gave me a photo when I was twelve. I could remember the man, tall and large and so fucking big. I could remember the way… the way he made me fuck myself while telling how good it would feel to fuck his eight year old stepson.

The way he goaded and teased and jerked himself over me, I could still remember. From the way he shoved his disgustingly fat cock in my mouth to the way he told me that he would let me do the same to his little boy, I remembered it all.

Now. Hah. Now, now. Look at what that one event plus a Goddamn shit load more did to me?

Fucked. Me. Up.

Look what that man made Alex into. He was a little whore just like me, except that while I was easy I was never stupid enough to sleep with someone more than was appropriate. What a slut. Was he simply asking me to fuck him or fuck with him? Did he want me to stick my hands up his shirt and kiss him in an intrusively rough style, once, twice, three times? Or did he want me to force my dick in his mouth just like his stepfather promised I could?

Because that was what I did. I did all of that and more. And when I felt his hands pressing up against my chest for the first time in three months, I eased him off. I shot a quick glance at his boyfriend that, although quite a distance away, sighed, did nothing, and played the role of a good little bitch. And then we began this sexual act.

Now, here. What was this?

"… in me…"

I actually let my laugh leave me this time. "What?" I mumbled in question, "What do you want?"

Even if the only light entering the room came in the form of bright street lights and a dim moon, I knew Alex's face burst with color. That lovely red color that simply shamed me. Red, red, red. Lovely. Such a lovely red color. Especially on this boy's face, it gave me that special little thrill…

"You…" he said again without letting his lack of control shake his voice, "In me…"

Alex's hands, which clutched at me in some sort of desperation, moved to my face. Slowly, as if in thought, he pulled me towards him for a brief kiss.

Sweet.

Childish.

Just like…

I felt myself falter in my actions. Pushing down the younger blue eyed boy, I moved into him even harder. Who needed slow and easy thrusts? That sort of sex was for the old. Alex and I, we were teenagers. We needed something faster to keep the blood pumping.

"Spencer!" Alex whispered loudly, "Slow down." Then he gasped again. "I-I-I'm going to… I'm going to--"

"It's okay," I said as I heightened the pace even further, "Go ahead, Alex."

Blunt fingernails dug into my skin.

And he? Alex? The little sex fiend. No wonder he had so much luck at these stupid parties. The faces he made. The noises. The movements. All of it simply taunted the people he surrounded himself with. But he probably didn't understand. No. That was wrong. He didn't understand at all. Alex didn't know what he was doing. The only thing that was running through his head was thoughts of sex and gratification. Maybe some need. Maybe some want. But mostly just of sex. The simple act.

Before, before the act, he would probably wallow in some self-pity. Bemoaning his unfortunate childhood, he'd probably search for solace doing the one thing he knew he was good at. Because, really, if he wasn't good at it, if it wasn't his only worth… why did his life take that turn at that bend? Why not some other fucked up situation? Why, really? Why one like his?

And then, after the act. Maybe seconds after, maybe minutes, maybe even years. He would think to himself. In that same self-absorbed, self-pity, only-caring-about-his-own-damn-self way… it was a part of him now. It was a fucked up part of him now.

Alex's blunt nails broke through my skin as he came. Blood bubbled and spilt. I didn't notice. He didn't notice. Smothering lips with my own, forcibly muffling his every moan, I felt myself tip over the edge.

…

I swished the water in my mouth before spitting it out. God. I hated the taste of beer. Looking behind me, I saw Alex sitting on the bed with his phone in hand. He was staring at the bright screen as if it was Satan in hiding.

"Text?" I asked casually, walking back to lie down and rest my body on the other half of the bed.

Slowly, quietly, guiltily… Alex asked, "Does Andrew…? Does he care if you cheat on him?" Stupid punk. He knew how Andrew and I functioned. We both openly had sex with other people. It wasn't cheating.

I scoffed but answered anyway, "He doesn't." I looked up to notice the ash blond was starting to shake. Tears? Really? Sighing, I halfheartedly tried to reassure him, "Andrew's a… He knows you're my favorite." I wrapped my arms around him to give comfort in the way he liked. "And Sky's… Don't worry about it."

Alex nodded, but he still continued to sniffle down wet and snotty tears. Fuck… This was why I didn't like to stick around after sex. I usually just fell asleep to the sound of him quietly texting.

My arms tightened, so our bodies were 'snuggled' closer, something that I didn't enjoy after sex. Alex usually appreciated the gesture and would go down on me afterwards. Pressing my mouth against his cheek, I flicked out my tongue and licked a nice trail of saliva down to his neck.

"I want a hickey…" he mumbled distractedly, still staring at his phone, "Spencer? Can you give me a lot of noticeable ones?" Silently abiding, I opened my mouth against his skin and started to suck harder. I didn't tongue and softly bite in that heated manner that usually made Alex moan like a little slut. He just wanted something to show off to his ass of a boyfriend.

Truthfully… even if I was terribly mean person, I liked Alex. He was cute and damaged beyond repair. He was like me in so many ways, when I was his age. I had a temper, though. Alex just had his uncontrollable bouts of tears.

Voice unsure, he whispered to me, "You… Are you still stressed? 'Cause you've been… talking in your sleep again… Not as bad as last time when you talked about your cousin, but you started talking about your… mom… again…"

My face twisted as I pushed him down and grabbed more condoms from the nightstand. "Your stepfather had a huge dick and a taste for little blond boys," I spat out, staring right into his horribly expressive blue eyes, "You don't fucking talk about it, okay Alex? You do not fucking talk about it."

When I fisted him after putting on protection, he groaned and quietly asked, "Do you want to pretend again? You're more… sad than normal."

I moved my hand up and down. And then… I nodded. He nodded his head back.

"I love you, Spencer."

Alex was an idiot for letting me do this, but it wasn't if he wasn't using me similar to how I was using him. Alex was scared of Sky, scared of how much he loved the boy. So… he cheated. He cheated and lied and he did everything he could to make Sky love him too. Sky and Alex were like Andrew, in a way, not being able to tell the difference between lust and love.

But this? This was my flaw, actually one of my many flaws. This was just how fucked up I was. I engaged in fake lovemaking with a fourteen year old boy. Why? Because.

I was pathetic.