Disclaimer: Bonjourno, my friends! Okay, earthlings, I think you know how this works. And because you do, I don't feel like going over it again. HAHAHAHAHA! Yeah, anyway. So basically, the jist of it is if you want to be here, stay. If you don't, leave. Nice and easy. How's that for instructions?
Running Scared Chapter Two By: Brennan Jobse
This sucked. This wasn't a problem or an inconvenience. This was a goddam calamity. What the hell did I think I was doing crushing on Austin?!? Such were my thoughts as I scrubbed the kitchen floor violently. It was late Sunday afternoon and my dad was reading in his office.
We had just gotten back from church an hour or so ago. My dad and I were Catholic, so to speak. I hated every minute of it. Especially Reverend Radisson's frequent tirades on the dissapointing lack of morality in today's society. The authority figure of a religion that burned thousands of people at the stake preaching about decency. It was almost laughable.
I finished washing the floor and started to make supper. We always had spaghetti on Sundays. As I dumped the noodles into the water, the phone rang. I answered it quielty so my dad wouldn't hear.
"Hello?"
"Ben?" I felt my heart skip a beat and a smile creep across my face.
"Hi, Austin. What's up?" I tried to sound normal, tried to sound like I wasn't nervous. Like I had some kind of control.
"Nothing. Just felt like talkin'. What're you doing?"
"Making supper." I stirred the spaghetti a little to reinforce my point and then stopped. It wasn't like he could see me.
"Oh, yeah. Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to do something later. Maybe catch a movie. Hannibal's playing downtown."
"Um, I can't. I have a lot of homework still."
He scoffed and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Get real, Ben. You're like, the smartest guy at school. There's no way you still have homework on a Sunday."
Dammit. He was right. I needed something he would believe. Anything he would believe. But what? 'Sorry, Austin, I can't go. I mean, I want to, but my dad would beat me if I tried' just didn't sound right. Once more, I reflected on how much my life had changed when my mother died.
I had always been a social child. My mom would take me to the park and chat while I played. I met Aaron in the sandbox when I was four. He had a truck and I had gummy bears. We were inseperable, as were our moms. As we got older, we met new people, but we were always Aaron and Ben. That's just the way it was.
When my mom died, my dad, being the military man he is, decided my mom had spoiled me, and had a crackdown on my social activities. No more swimming, no more arcade, no more park days. I'd get a sleepover at Aaron's every now and then, which I cherished. No one really asked what happened when I stopped going out. They just assumed I was working through my grief, I guess. Eight years later, not a lot had changed.
And now, here I was. Irony is a funny thing. Quite possibly the hottest guy on the planet was asking me to see a movie. And he was nice and funny and smart and... And my dad wouldn't let me go. I knew he wouldn't. In fact, my daddy would probably smack me for being presumptuous. Imagine, me thinking I could go out whenever I pleased. Like I said, irony's a funny thing.
"Come on. Come hang out with me," Austin was saying.
I snapped my mind back to the present. "I can't," I started.
"Why not?"
"I just can't!" I was getting mad.
"Alright, alright. No need to get testy," he said, a little annoyed himself.
I sighed. "Look, I gotta go, Austin. Supper's almost ready. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Fine. See you tomorrow." And the line went dead.
I stared at the receiver in my hand for a second before placing it back in its cradle. This was great. Now he was pissed. Well, he could stay pissed. I didn't need to fucking explain myself to him. I had enough to deal with without him throwing a fit.
When dinner was ready, I went to go get my dad. I knocked on the big oak door.
"Enter."
I opened the door and stepped inside. My dad was sitting at his desk with his reading lamp on. "Dinner's ready sir," I said, keeping my eyes on the floor. He got up and exited the room without so much as meeting my eyes. I followed close behind him, not saying a word. It was routine.
Dinner was normal. Dad bitched me out for making the spaghetti wrong (as if there's a wrong way to cook noodles) and demanded to know why my soccer team lost its last game.
"We weren't ready, sir," I mumbled.
"Bullshit," he snapped. "YOU weren't ready. I talked to Harold Patterson. His boy said you were dragging ass out there." Harold Patterson's son, Patrick, hated me. And he played like shit. What would he know? "You smarten up and play better from now on, boy, and if I hear you cost that team another game, you'll get a beating like you wouldn't believe," he threatened.
I wasn't in the mood. "Whatever," I mumbled, pushing back from my chair and taking my plate to the trash to scrape it off. I wasn't hungry anymore. I felt a hand on my shoulder spin me around harshly so I was face to face with my dad. He grabbed me by my hair and yanked my head backwards. I heard, rather than saw, the plate fall to the floor, splintering into a thousand porcelain shards.
"Don't you take that tone with me, boy," he growled, low to my face. "You show your old man some respect."
"Get off me." I struggled and swung at him, which earned me another yank backward. My feet slipped forward on the linoleum floor and my dad pulled me up and punched me on the left side of my face. I lost my balance and fell to the floor, hitting my head on the counters on the way down. I groaned and rubbed my sore head.
"Get up! Get up, faggot!" my dad yelled, and kicked me in the stomach. "You wanna fight me? Get up!"
I felt all the air in my body rush out of me with a whoosh and closed my eyes tightly in pain. He kicked me again, this time in the ribs. I coughed and a bolt of white-hot pain flashed through me. Go away, I begged silently. Just go away.
I heard footsteps. He was leaving. I could hear him muttering as he lumbered off, no doubt to his office, his sanctuary. "Goddammed pussy. Won't even stand up and fight like a man." A door slammed and then all was silent. All I could hear was the sound of my own labored breathing. I opened my eyes tentatively, almost like I expected him to still be there, waiting for me to lift my lids. No one there. But the bright kitchen lights made my head pound. I slowly got to my feet and flicked off the light, wiping away involuntary tears of pain, and stumbled to my room. I closed the door and searched under my bed for my first aid kit. I pulled it out and took it over to the mirror to check myself out.
I had a small cut on my face where my dad's ring had caught my cheek, nothing major. The bleeding had mostly stopped by now. My cheek itself was swelling up fast, however.I took off my shirt and gently poked at my stomach. It was a little tender and I knew it would be bruised in the morning, but it was nothing a few days wouldn't cure. I ran my hands over my sore ribs, pressing slightly to make sure nothing was out of place. All clear. I breathed a sigh of relief. A broken rib would land me in the hospital pretty quick and the last thing I needed was people asking more questions. I brushed a hand through my hair and winced when I hit a bump. It didn't feel wet. I looked at my hand. No blood. That was good. I didn't think I had a concussion. I knew who I was, what had happened, I remembered the names of all my teachers, and I didn't feel sluggish. Even so, I had a hard time falling asleep that night.
The next day at school was long. Austin avoided me like the plague until I cornered him outside of English class at the end of the day.
"Listen, Austin. I'm sorry I was such a shit head to you yesterday. I had a fight with my dad and I didn't really feel like doing anything." It was practically the truth. "So are we okay?"
"Yeah, we're okay, man. I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have pushed it. It wasn't any of my business." He looked genuinely sorry.
I laughed and pinched his cheeks with both hands like my grandma used to do to me. "Don't worry about it, dude." He smiled, swatted my hands away, and took a playful jab at my stomach. I grimaced in pain and lurched back.
"Hey, are you okay, Ben? I didn't hit you that hard," he said, concerned.
"I'm fine," I said hoarsely.
"You don't look fine," Austin replied quizzically.
Think, Ben. Think fast. "I fell off my bike. The muscles are still a little tender," I lied. He seemed satisfied with that and we dropped it.
"Soccer practice will be cancelled today as Coach Haverland is ill. Soccer practice is cancelled. Thank you," the intercom blared.
I glanced at Austin, who was grinning at me like a madman. "What?" I asked.
"You have no practice. Wanna come over?"
I thought about it. Go home early and listen to my dad bitch, or go hang out with this stud until I was supposed to be home from practice. Hmmm. Tough choice. "Sure," I said nonchalantly.
Twenty minutes later, we were at his house. I liked Austin's house. It wasn't small, but it wasn't a palace either. It was... comfortable. Had a lived-in feeling. The trees were placed so they shaded the place in the summer and warmed it in the little winter we had here in Vancouver. It was made of brick and had a big picture window in the front. Whoever designed it had good taste.
We went upstairs and played video games for a while. Austin killed me. And took great pleasure in it, I might add. Of course, I wasn't really paying a lot of attention to the game. Every time I glanced at him, I was awestruck. He was concentrating and I could see the wheels in his head spin as he searched for ways to total my car and force it off the road. The light from the screen reflected off of his face and made his cobalt eyes glow. God, I wanted him.
After he won the fifth time, I surrendered my controller and laid back on his bed to watch him play against the machine. I felt my eyelids get heavy and before I knew it, I was asleep.
I woke to a soft warm breeze tickling my eyelids. They fluttered open and I was greeted by those incredible blue eyes I loved so much. Austin was sitting on his heels on the bed beside me. He bent over my face and smiled. "Austin," I started, and was silenced when he placed his index finger on my lips.
"Shh..." he whispered and replaced his finger with his lips. His lips moved lightly over mine with the grace of a swan. I opened my mouth and timidly pushed my tongue into his mouth. I touched his tongue with mine and for a while we fought with them, trying to see who would come out on top. I was on sensory overload. Austin was all I could smell, all I could feel, all I could taste. We broke the kiss and looked at each other. He smiled at me and caressed my face.
I kissed him again, this time with more passion and moved on top of him. I ran my hands up underneath the hem of his black T-shirt and he whimpered. The shirt came off and I dove on him, trailing kisses up his jawline to his ear and back down his neck. His hands were roaming on my back and through my hair.
"Ben," he breathed.
I made my way down his chest and stopped at his pink dime-sized nipples. I licked the right one and blew on it gently, causing Austin to moan out loud. A shiver shot up my spine and I attacked the nipple. I sucked on it until it was erect and Austin was writhing and squirming underneath me.
"Ben... Ben..." he moaned.
And then he got farther away, almost like he faded right from underneath me. But I could still hear him calling me.
"Ben... Ben... Wake up, Ben..."
I opened my eyes and blinked. I was in Austin's room. On his bed. Austin was shaking my shoulder. "Come on, Ben, wake up. It's 5:30." I sat up and rubbed my eyes. A dream. It was all a dream. I looked to Austin in confusion and he smiled. "You passed out after I slaughtered you at that game. You must have been really wrecked. I've been shaking you for like, 5 minutes. But you have to go home now. It's half past five."
I got off the bed and found my shoes. "Thanks. Uh, sorry I fell asleep on your bed," I apologized from the floor, where I was putting them on. I was a little embarrassed. I mean, what did I say while I was asleep? More importantly, what did he hear?
But he just smiled and held out his hand to help me up. "No problem, man," he reassured me as I grabbed his hand. He pulled me up and I thought he held on for an instant longer than necessary. Was Austin...? No way. It was the dream. It was messing with my head, making me imagine things that weren't there.
"Bye, Austin," I said as I started walking down the driveway.
"Um, hey, Ben?" he called from the door frame.
I turned around. "Yeah?"
He looked like he was going to say something, then thought better of it. "Nothing. See ya later." He waved and closed the door.
I stood there for a second or two, thinking. Then I started home, more confused now than ever.
Brennan's Ramblings: There you have it, folks. Chapter two. You know, I think I'm really starting to like Ben and Austin. Anyhow, drop me a line. Tell me what you thought. bjobse414@hotmail.com