Eliot shook his head. “No, not like that. Me and some friends thought it would be funny to go to this—I guess this biker bar. They wouldn’t let us in, of course, underage and no fake IDs. So we hung out in the parking lot, sitting on the hood of someone’s car, drinking and doing some lines.”
Just then Loren realized he only had one shoe on, the other shoe half-on and curled beneath his foot, his sweatpants on backward.
He pushed Eliot away gently and said, “Let’s get situated and go downstairs to the kitchen to talk. I feel like some hot cocoa.”
Eliot nodded and Loren put his clothes to rights, slipping his feet into a pair of leather slides and leading the way downstairs to the darkened kitchen.
Loren switched on the stove light and then set some milk on to boil, reaching out for Eliot and tucking him against his side as they leaned against the counter and waited.
“So what happened?” he asked, and he felt Eliot sigh.
“Some guys came out of the bar, drunk. Big dudes, covered with tattoos, and I just—decided they looked like assholes and I should fuck with them.”
“Jesus, El,” Loren said, appalled. “Was it the coke?”
“Yeah. Balls in a bottle, the coke, everything. So I grabbed Brandon and started making out with him, and when one of the dudes, of course, called us fags, I said some shit about latent homosexual tendencies, protesting too much, wanting a piece of this. Suddenly there were hands wrapped around my throat. I tried to kick him in the nuts before I passed out, but I missed. Brandon was screaming, trying to pull the guy away, and another guy punched him and he went down hard.”
Eliot’s lips trembled. “When the bouncers came out, the guys jumped on their bikes and left. I was on all fours trying to breathe, trying not to puke. Brandon was crying and holding his bloody nose. One of the bouncers wanted to call the cops on us, but nobody would tell them what happened or whose fault it was, so the other bouncer just told us to get the fuck out.”
“God, Eliot,” Loren breathed, and just then the milk started bubbling around the edges. Loren didn’t want it to scald, so he pulled it off the heat, grabbing a tin of his mom’s gourmet shaved chocolate down from the shelf and expertly mixing two mugs of cocoa with hot milk and sugar.
Then he led Eliot out to the covered patio, snagging one of his mom’s afghans from the family room as they passed by.
They settled on the oversized chaise lounge side by side, wrapped in the blanket, sipping their hot drinks in silence. The sugar and caffeine soon put some color back in Eliot’s cheeks, and when they were done, Loren set their mugs on the little side table and leaned back against the cushions, pulling Eliot against him and tucking the blanket around them both to ward off the predawn chill.
“You could have been killed, El. You and Brandon both,” he said quietly, and Eliot nodded, his face miserable.
“I know, and Brandon’s nose looked really fucked up,” he whispered.
“All for what, Eliot? A thrill?”
Loren could feel Eliot shrug. “I don’t know why I do these things, Loren,” he said helplessly. “It sounds like a cop-out to say I can’t help it, but sometimes I just can’t.”
“Come to me when you feel like that, then,” Loren said. “Maybe I can help you.”
Eliot snorted. “You act like I’m rational or something, man. You’re the last thing on my mind.”
Loren couldn’t help but flinch, and Eliot looked up at him, his eyes filling with tears. “Why do you keep me around, Loren?” he whispered. “Why do you even care?”
Loren didn’t answer right away, stroking one hand up and down Eliot’s back, thinking over the past twelve years. All they had gone through, good times and bad, how almost every decision Loren made was made with Eliot in mind. The memory of a scrawny Eliot, his face filled with anger and determination, facing down a bully covered with brown liquid, surfaced. The words, and a realization, suddenly came to him.
“Because you took my loneliness away, El,” Loren said simply. “And you’ve always made me feel like I matter, that I come first. Your loyalty. Remember when Bobby LaMotte called me a fatass in third grade and you threw your chocolate milk all over him, not even caring he was twice your size? For the first six years of my life, I felt invisible, and then there was someone to see me. To see
me
. And love me.”
“I would have fought a thousand Bobby LaMottes for you, Loren,” Eliot replied, his voice fierce, and Loren squeezed him.
“I know, and I would kill a thousand black demons for you. I need you, El.” He brushed Eliot’s ridiculous blue hair out of his eyes. “I think I’m falling in love with you,” he whispered.
Eliot blinked and gave a sort of rueful smile. “I made that fall with you a long time ago, Loren.” Loren leaned to kiss him, but Eliot stopped him with a gentle hand across his lips. “It’s not a good idea, though, being in love with me. I feel things—I
do
things—that I don’t understand. That in a lot of ways I can’t help, but at the same time I
want
to do them.” He touched his throat and shrugged helplessly.
“You’ve got some problems, I know that,” Loren acknowledged. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve me or some stupid shit like that. I belong with you, and I have since we were six. Nothing you ever do, ever say, will change that for me.”
Eliot’s voice was raspy with emotion. “You are such a good person, Loren. I just—I don’t want to lose you. But I’m not sure we have any kind of future.” The last words were barely audible.
Loren gave him a little shake. “Don’t say that! Don’t ever say that. You are one of the smartest, funniest, most awesome guys I know. Your artistic talent is—it’s amazing. What about art school? Graphics design? With your parents’ money you can do anything, go anywhere you want, El. Study in Paris, in Italy.” He shook his head, overwhelmed with the possibilities.
Eliot snorted. “As if I’d ever leave you to go to fucking Paris.” His voice was fervent, and Loren hugged him.
Eliot settled himself against Loren’s chest, then continued, “The last few times I’ve been downtown to—well, to score some coke”—his tone was sheepish, and Loren tightened his hold but didn’t say anything—“I see these homeless people. They’re so sad, Loren. A lot of them are in the same place day in and day out. No one cares, no one helps.” He shrugged. “Some of them are crazy too, babbling, screaming. It’s kind of scary, but at the same time it makes me feel so helpless, like I want to do something.”
“Then what about social work, El?” Loren asked. “You know I’m going to BCC, getting into the criminal justice program so I can apply to the police academy. Go there too, take some gen ed classes and see what happens.”
Eliot took a deep breath. “My grades suck,” he admitted quietly. “The guidance counselor said I don’t have enough credits to graduate with our class in June.”
Loren was stunned. “Jesus, El.”
Eliot bowed his head, and Loren swallowed hard, then lifted Eliot’s chin with gentle fingers so he could look into his eyes, being careful to avoid the bruises.
“So you repeat twelfth grade, or you go to summer school,” he whispered. “Make your parents hire you a tutor. It’s not the end of the world. We have our whole lives ahead of us, El. Please believe that.”
Eliot smiled. “You make me believe it, Loren. It’s one of the reasons I love you so much.”
“It’s true, and I won’t listen to anything different,” Loren replied firmly. “We have time, and we can take it slow. Get through graduation, get our futures sorted out, and then we can work on being together.” Eliot nodded, and Loren said, “Look at me, El.” When Eliot did, Loren pressed their foreheads together and murmured, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Eliot blew out a shaky breath, then kissed the tip of Loren’s nose. He didn’t say anything, and soon he fell into a restless sleep. Loren wrapped him in their comforter and held him for what remained of the night.
LOREN LET
himself into Eliot’s house with his key and made his way up to his room, not quite sure what he’d find. Maybe that Eliot had dashed himself to bloody pulp against the wall? Jesus, that had been some freak show at school, the way Eliot suddenly jumped onto a cafeteria table at lunch, kicking people’s trays out of the way before performing a lewd bump and grind to the cheers and shouts of all the fuckin’ idiots in the vicinity. Loren wanted to rush Eliot away and take him to get some help. There was something wrong with him, and why couldn’t anyone but Loren see that?
Loren knocked on Eliot’s door, then pushed it open. There was no sign of him, but the large windows in the room were cranked open, and Loren knew there was a ledge that ran underneath them. As small boys he and Eliot used to climb out there and walk along the ledge until they could pull themselves up to the roof, where they’d lie side by side, looking up at the moon, feeling the residual warmth from the summertime sun on their backs from the shingles.
Loren’s heart clenched in fear; there was a downpour going on outside right now, and it wasn’t all that warm out. The ledge would be slippery and—
Eliot!
Loren lunged toward the open casement and leaned out, expecting to see him smashed on the driveway below. But there was no twisted, bloodied figure on the ground, and Loren frantically searched along the ledge until he spotted a dim silhouette several feet away, outlined through the pouring rain, leaning back against the side of the house, arms crossed in an almost casual pose.
“El!” he shouted. “Come back in here, you idiot!” There was no answer, and Loren swallowed his trepidation and cautiously stepped out onto the ledge. It was wide enough for him to inch along the side of the house, his back to the wall, and when he reached Eliot, he found the overhang from the roof for the most part protected them from the storm. Still, Eliot’s face was dusted with a fine mist, glittering drops trembling on the ends of his lashes. He was bare chested, wearing a thin pair of cotton pajama pants that clung to him, wet with the blowing rain.
He seemed eerily calm, and Loren took Eliot’s chin in his hand and turned his face toward him. His pupils were constricted down to tiny dots, and Loren’s heart sank as he realized he was on something.
“Oh, Eliot,” he murmured, letting go of him. “Why do you do this to yourself?”
Eliot didn’t answer, just turned his face up to the sky. “Do you see the moon, Loren?” he whispered, his voice a little slurred.
Loren leaned against the wall next to him and looked up into the gray sky, obscured by black storm clouds. Rain blew into his face, and he shivered with cold and emotion.
He didn’t answer Eliot’s question, but instead asked one of his own. “Why does the moon mean so much to you, Eliot?”
Eliot didn’t reply, and Loren rolled his head along the wall to look at him.
“El?”
There was silence for a long time, and then Eliot murmured, his voice barely audible, “It’s always there somewhere. Whether it’s cloudy, whether it’s sunny—it’s there, even if you can’t see it. The sun goes away, but the moon is always there.” Eliot turned his head and looked into Loren’s eyes. “You’re my moon too, Loren. You’re like my—like my gravity. You keep me here when sometimes I just want to—go away.”
Loren reached out and tucked a lock of Eliot’s blue-streaked hair behind his ear, stroking his thumb along his cheek, feeling the raspy stubble. Eliot’s lips trembled a little.
“You know I’m batshit crazy, don’t you, Loren?” he asked, his voice slurred and husky. Loren slid his hand from Eliot’s cheek up behind his neck and gripped it hard.
“You’re
not
crazy, El. Don’t ever say that!” he said fiercely. “You just have a few problems, that’s all.”
They stared at each other for a few more seconds until suddenly Eliot pushed Loren’s hand away and stepped to the very edge of the ledge, his bare toes hanging over, his arms spread wide like he was going to execute a perfect swan dive off to the ground below.
“Jesus Christ!” Loren cried, lunging forward and grabbing Eliot around the waist with both strong arms, hauling him backward. “You fucker,” he hissed, his voice shaky with the almost paralyzing fear that was coursing through his body. “What the fuck was that?” Loren’s heart was pounding with adrenaline, so hard he was sure it was going to force its way out of his chest.
Eliot just stared up at him, his green eyes huge in his thin face, and Loren grit his teeth and inched them both back toward the window to the bedroom, helping him back inside the house and then closing and latching the windows behind them.
Loren grabbed a towel from Eliot’s en suite bathroom and toweled him dry, rubbing his hair down with rough motions until it stood up at all angles, a bluish blond halo around his pale face. Eliot stood as still and meek as a child as Loren stripped his soaking-wet pajama pants off and helped him into some clean ones.
He grabbed a pair of his own sweatpants he kept in Eliot’s dresser drawer, changed into them quickly, then pushed Eliot toward the queen-sized bed he slept in. After he was settled in under the covers, Loren crawled in after him, growling, “No way am I leaving you alone when you pull that sort of shit.”
Eliot didn’t say anything, just turned and curled up against Loren’s side, and it wasn’t long before he drifted off into what Loren suspected was a drugged sleep. He himself lay there unblinking, feeling Eliot’s shallow breaths along his bare shoulder, and all he could think was
We’re just kids, for fuck’s sake. There
isn’t supposed to be this much pain
.
SOMETIME DURING
the night, Loren awoke with a start, his gut clenching in fear as he realized Eliot wasn’t in bed beside him anymore. He sat up and searched the room, relieved when he saw him pacing the length of the room, over and over.
“What’s up, El?” he asked, his voice still heavy with sleep. “Come back to bed.”
Eliot stalked toward the bed and threw himself down next to Loren, flattening out on his back with a grunt. He didn’t say anything, but his upraised leg twitched back and forth, back and forth.
Loren pushed up on his elbow and looked at him. Eliot was staring somewhere off into the distance, drumming the fingers of one hand restlessly on his stomach, and Loren noticed with a start he’d painted his fingernails black at some point. Weak moonlight washed over him, making his pale skin look almost silver, his hair white. He looked like an angel, a beautiful, decadent angel.