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ALEK
Leaving Ian behind in a fit of rage wasn’t exactly as satisfying as Alek thought it would be. He was already tired from their earlier escapades and couldn’t exactly tromp back around the house.
When he did finally reach the front porch, he heaved himself up the steps and slammed the front door with all the force he could muster. Dust rained down from the top edge of the door frame and acrystal soap dish they used to store loose change fell from a shelf and shattered.
Heading for the piano had been an automatic reaction, but practicing wasn’t playing. There would be no magical transference of emotions into sound. Coping with music was a lifelong habit that he would have to break.
He set off towards his old room. He rifled through his top drawer past lube and lighters, rolling papers, crumpled receipts, bags of weed, and unused prescription pills before finally finding the silver cigarette case and satchel of loose tobacco he was looking for. He hadn’t smoked a single cigarette, hand-rolled or otherwise, since the fall. At first because he wasn’t allowedand then because he couldn’t be bothered, but he needed something to do with his hands or he was going to pull his hair out.
Contrary to what the niche habit implied, Alek was not a monocle-wearing, unicycle-riding hipster. He’d only started smoking hand-rolled cigarettes because it was what his uncle smoked. The rich wafting scent helped him remember the sound of his uncle’s voice, that he’d ever even existed. He pocketed the case and left the room without closing the drawer.
Alek hadn’t been to the third-story turret since he fell from it. Maybe if he had a chance to see the horizon, the sky without trees obscuring his view, he would feel better. Or better yet, maybe he could go back to when he felt nothing at all.
The iron spiral staircase creaked under his weight as he gripped the cool rail and climbed upward. Each step swayed and Alek wasn’t certain if it was the stairs that had him so unmoored or his vertigo. At the top, he twisted the doorknob and leaned into the door—it was locked. He should have seen that coming.
No matter. Reenacting the ax scene fromThe Shiningwould be cathartic. Anger gave him a second wind. He stomped back down to the first floor without pausing, slammed the front door as hard as he could, again, and went into the garage. He ripped the ax off the wall—and nearly dropped it. It was much heavier than he remembered.
Fuck the fall and fuck Ian too. Oh wait, no he couldn’t fuck Ian because Ian didn’t fucking want to. The weeks of rejected advances stung sharper now that Alek understood exactly how unwanted said advances were. All those occasions he had joked and teased and attempted to coax Ian towards any kind of physical intimacy made him cringe with shame in retrospect.
Alek might have been a very bad person who’d done very bad things, but he’d always been wanted, at least in that one way. Nearly always only in that one way.
Ian should have told the truth. The tenuous strand of trust that had started to grow between them was already broken. Being vulnerable had been a mistake.
Alek lugged the ax out of the garage and up the front steps. Black spots crowded the edges of his vision. He dropped the ax on the floor with a clatter and sat down on the top step, putting his head between his legs.
“Alek?”
His eyes snapped open. Ian kneeled in front of him. One hand hovered above Alek’s knee, like his first impulse had been to touch him but he decided against it at the last minute.
“Were you asleep?” Ian asked.
Alek bristled. “Of course not. I was merely taking a break on my way to go hack a hole in the turret door because some prick locked me out of it.”
Ian’s eyes narrowed on the ax. His jaw sharpened. He took a deep breath. “I locked the door to keep you safe. I’d prefer if we pretended that part of the house doesn’t exist, but I assume that’s out of the question?”
Alek answered with a glare.
“I figured. I thought we could convert the tower rooftop into a balcony. Weatherproofing a trapdoor is going to be tricky, and you’ll have to be careful on the stepladder, but I think we can make it work.”
Alek wanted to tell Ian how much it turned him on when he made thoughtful construction gestures, but the sexual banter that came as natural as breathing was no longer appropriate. He gnashed his teeth together.
“What if I took you to the clearing?” Ian suggested. “You could see the sky there. Would that make you feel better?”
Alek shook his head. The clearing smelled like cinders and sorrow now that there was so much brush from the greenhouse to burn.
“Can I sit down?” Ian asked.
“If you must.”
After sitting, Ian leaned his head on Alek’s shoulder.
Alek shrugged out from under Ian’s head and scooted over until he was crammed against the stair rail and they were no longer touching. It was petulant and childish, but he didn’t care.
“Alek…”
“Don’tAlekme. You said you didn’t want me. I’m only doing as you asked.“
“I never said I didn’t want you. I said I wasn’t ready.” Ian pinched the bridge of his nose like Alek was giving him a migraine, which was patently unfair. Surely only Alek had earned the right to be exasperated in this situation. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I was worried you’d take it the wrong way.”
