Page 30 of Sunshine Boy

He thought he was so bloody clever, that one. Michael was the one who was clever, not him. How dare he. The rage inside him pulsed and frothed, boiling over and darkening his vision. Any vestiges of humanity he might have still held sloughed off as easily as a snake sheds its skin, leaving him a growling, slobbering beast that wanted nothing but to hurt, hurt, hurt.

“Stop,” Michael choked out, grabbing hold of Julian’s calf and yanking him back. “You’re making this --” Michael tried to grab him round the waist but the boy was slippery as an eel. “-- so much harder --” Michael threw blind punches at him but to no effect. “-- than it has to be!”

Michael finally managed to grab Julian by the shoulders, despite his twisting and thrashing. He shook the boy like a naughty child, making his dark head snap to and fro as though it might pop right off. “Stop!” Michael shouted hoarsely in the pale face that blurred in front of him with the force of his shaking. “Stop! STOP!”

Without warning, the body in his hold went limp as a rag. But Michael was still shaking him with all of his strength, counting on the force of his resistance. Without it, he sent the boy crashing down onto the bedside cabinet with all his might. There was a bone-chilling CRACK that reverberated through Michael’s very being. The cabinet upended, sending the heavy glass ashtray, lamp, and phone all flying, and Julian tumbling off the bed onto the floor.

And that’s where Julian lay, in an interminable moment of silence.

That silence cleared some of the cobwebs from Michael’s mind. Enough of them for his logic to resurface, if only barely. What the fuck was he doing? Had he actually been trying to… Had he really been about to…

Julian, he thought with a sudden desperate panic.

He clambered off the bed and sunk to his knees on the floor beside where the boy lay sprawled. His beautiful blue eyes were glassy and unseeing, long black hair fanned out around him, and a pool of dark blood steadily growing beneath his head.

“No,” Michael muttered. “No, no, no, no. Julian. God.”

The beast he’d briefly become slunk off, whimpering, its tail between its legs, and Michael shuffled forwards on his knees, extending trembling hands out to Julian. To his boy. His beautiful boy. He’d done this. Oh God. He’d done this. He hadn’t meant to hurt him, not really. He just wanted to teach him a lesson, to show him he couldn’t go around cheating and breaking people’s hearts. He hadn’t meant to… God, he hadn’t meant to -- to kill him…

It was Eton all over again. His darkness had overtaken him until he’d hurt an innocent boy. He’d promised himself he’d never let it happen again, but he’d been weak. He’d been a slave to his emotions. He’d let his pride get in the way. Now he’d snuffed out a vibrant life and the police would be on him like flies on shit. All Julian’s friends knew Michael was his boyfriend, and Rahul more than likely knew he’d been on his way to break up with him this very day. There was no escaping it now. Money wouldn’t buy his way out of this one. He was royally fucked. Well and truly this time.

His trembling fingers closed around Julian’s limp wrist, hoping beyond hope to find a pulse. He lowered his head, trying to listen for the intake of breath, trying to discern a rise and fall to his chest.

He was so preoccupied with finding proof he was still alive that he didn’t notice Julian’s fingers closing around the heavy glass ashtray.

Chapter Sixteen: Sinnerman

My stomach’s in knots as I walk up to Michael’s block of flats. It looks crazy against the white sky, like it’s a prison or something. I try to tell myself that’s just my nerves talking. Of course I don’t want to break up with him. Who’d want to break up with anybody? Especially if you’re really close to them and even begged them to take you back after they chucked you. But I keep thinking about Rahul. Daft, awkward, Northern Rahul. I think about waking up to him kissing me and how I didn’t even care I had morning breath ‘cause it was Rahul after all, and he wouldn’t mind. I think about him telling me he loved me. He’d told me already, I know. And I was a right bellend for letting him get away, I know that now. I’m not letting him get away again. And if I’ve to walk straight into the lion’s den to do it, well then, that’s what I’m gonna do. I’m Julian Bloody Collier. I do what I want.

I hear the music before I even get to the door. It’s this pained, dramatic business. I don’t know much about classical music, but this sounds like it was written by a dying bloke who’s just been told his parents were getting a divorce. I’m not even sure it’s coming from Michael’s flat until I’m right by the door and see it’s ajar. That’s downright disconcerting, as if the music isn’t.

I push the door open and creep inside, throwing off my coat like I always do. Michael’s over at his piano, the one I’ve never seen him play before. That’s weird enough I just come right out and say “You’re playing piano” like an idiot, as if he doesn’t already know he’s playing the bloody piano. God, Julian, I swear, why can’t you ever make your mouth muscles work right?

But instead of saying anything, his shoulders just rise and fall, shrug-like. He doesn’t even turn round. That’s when I see there’s an empty bottle of whiskey at his feet and a couple of glasses on top of the piano. Now I’m well creeped out. He’s been drinking and it isn’t even one o’ clock yet.

“Are you… are you drunk?” I try not to sound too accusing. I mean, I’ve enjoyed a beverage now and again, God knows. But this is beyond the pale.

“Would it be any business of yours if I was?” He slurs his words, playing some deep, menacing notes on the piano.

I’ve always known him to be a posh, reserved sort. He’d barely drink when we’d go out together. Getting well and truly wasted before it’s even properly afternoon is not the Michael I know. Not in the least. And it’s got me bloody nervous, more so than I already was.

“I just… I never seen you drink so early,” I say sheepishly, pushing my fringe off my forehead just to flatten it back down again. Stupid, nervous habit.

“You have never seen me drink so early,” Michael corrects me, and that just fucking stings, doesn’t it? I’ve always known he was more posh than me, better educated, but I don’t need him bloody reminding me of it by correcting my grammar. That’s just petty, that is. And here I was only concerned about him. Well, fuck me, I guess. And fuck him, too.

I want to say something to him, but I know this isn’t the time. I shouldn’t be the one getting mad at him when I was the one fucking another man last night.

Right. I did a proper bad thing, didn’t I?

I do feel well awful about it. Honest, I do. Only, it’s hard to feel properly awful when I know I’ve got Rahul waiting for me, all warm and big and strong and ready to wrap me up in his great big arms. Last night really was something else. This morning, too. I’d been blown away with what it was like being with Michael, but being with Rahul was just… right. Like it was meant to be. It had been right back when we were kids. Even the first time we’d kissed.

I’d always been curious about guys, but I’d been even more curious about Rahul. I’d awkwardly suggested we practise kissing when we were young. Even then I’d felt my heart get all big and my eyes get weepy. It had felt… well, there’s no other word for it but “right.” You know, like that feeling you get when you fit in the last piece of a puzzle. “Right.” But we were just messing around. Rahul was normal. Not like me, a little bender that fancied boys as well as girls. How could I try to convince him to do it again when he probably wanted to go on kissing just girls like a regular bloke? So I’d left it and pretended like nothing happened.

Then when I’d gone up to visit him in Leeds… I’d promised myself I wasn’t gonna do anything. He was my best mate. I didn’t want to ruin everything between us. But I’d missed him so much. And I’d been having all these feelings about boys. Once we were pissed, I couldn’t help myself. I came onto him. And God, it had been glorious. I’m fuzzy on the details ‘cause I’d been properly pissed, but I remember it being so, so good. I also remember waking up in the morning with a blinder on, thinking Rahul would never speak to me again. So I gave my excuses that I’d been drunk and hadn’t been thinking, etcetera-et-fucking-cetera. He seemed to accept it well enough, only he acted really distant. I was so ashamed, I cut the whole trip short and went right back home.

I changed my major at school and buried myself in work, which was when Aisling came along. I fancied her right and hard. She was a knock-out. Couldn’t for the life of me figure out why she wanted to hang around someone like me. Then she took off for a while and I didn’t have anybody. I didn’t have Rahul. I didn’t have Aisling. I was well lonely. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I went looking for Aisling and poured my heart out to her. Turned out she’d fancied me right back the whole time. Imagine that! We were together after that and things were good at first.

After uni though, Rahul came back to London. I told myself I didn’t fancy him anymore, and that I just felt bad for how things ended between us. Things were awkward for a while -- I’d thought Rahul was probably trying to figure out if I was still a poof or if it’d just been a one-time thing when I’d been pissed. We got back to normal soon enough, though, and everything seemed all right for a time. But Aisling and Rahul were always at each other’s throats. Unfortunately, it was mostly through me. Aisling was always having a go at me for being mates with Rahul, and Rahul was always going into a sulk and giving me the old silent treatment for dating Aisling. They couldn’t stand each other, those two. I thought it was just conflicting personalities or whatever. But Aisling had the right of it when she said me and Rahul were like an old married couple.