Page 39 of Hilarina and the Ogre

Hilary began to cry, and it was a hopeless kind of crying. Empty-headed and overcome, too scared to have other thoughts.

Trenton made a sound, and not a good one. The sound was angry. All of him was angry. But the hands were still there. They hauled Hilary up like he weighed about as much as his school bag and went out the door again.

Trenton still had the keys in hand, and he used them to unlock the Shitheap, shoving Hilary into the passenger seat and tossing his jacket into his lap. “Put that on.”

Hilary couldn’t. He’d forgotten how to make his hands move.

Trenton made the sound again and forced his friend’s arms through the sleeves. He wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t rough either. He did the seat belt too, needing to jerk it twice before it would come. At the sound of the click, Trenton didn’t draw back. Instead, the boy took a hard grip on his chin and kissed him. “Stop crying.”

It almost worked. The kiss was unexpected. Trenton didn’t usually initiate, and he was so angry. But then the tears came again, big, fat drops that burned his cheeks. “Fuck you.”

Trenton shut him in and went around to the driver’s side, checked the mirrors briefly, and pulled out. “How long are you going to cry over an idiot like me?”

There was something about just hearing the boy’s voice that helped. Even angry, Trenton was soothing, and the only thing Hilary wanted near him. “Who’s crying over you?”

They stopped at the 7-Eleven. Hilary didn’t think anything of it, his mind still blank, only panicked at the thought of Trenton leaving. But the boy wasn’t gone long. When he got back, Trenton dropped a couple of things into his lap. A banana and a Snickers. The biggest surprise, though, was the large Slurpee he jammed into the cup holder. “Drink.”

If there was anything Trenton believed in, it was the dangers of added sugar. The boy never enabled him like this.

“Don’t want it.”

For such an extreme change, Hilary could come to the only sane possible conclusion: he, or maybe both of them, were possibly dying..

“Yes, you do,” Trenton countered.

It was good. The cold in his burning throat and the sugar. Hilary had been keeping true to his promise of eating only what Trenton did. Going the healthy route. He broke the wrapper on the Snickers and took off half of it in a single bite, more tears spilling over as nougat and caramel gummed up his mouth.

He didn’t expect the bookstore, though maybe he should have. Trenton was making bizarre choices. But they didn’t go through the front entrance. Instead there was the door beside it, one he’d never really noticed before. Dark and kind of beat up, the door had no markings other than some chipped paint. Trenton put the key into the lock and twisted it open.

“Why are we—"

“I don’t want to be interrupted.”

That made Hilary flush, another stupid reaction, but Trenton didn’t seem to notice, pushing at his shoulder. “Get inside. It’s cold.”

The stairs were steep and old, creaking with every step. Hilary could only imagine the racket they’d make in the middle of the night.

“Careful,” Trenton said. “Don’t slip.”

As if he could with one of those giant hands pressed up against his back, shoring him up. He should have tried to duck under it, to slip out and to run. Instead, he took another step forward. And another.

The apartment was dusty and worn out, but Trenton seemed familiar with it. He went into the tiny kitchen and came back with a wet paper towel. “Blow,” he said, squeezing it around Hilary’s nose.

It conjured vague memories of Annette and springtime allergies. “I can—”

“Blow,” the boy said again, the irritation rising again.

He blew.

Trenton folded over the gunk and made him blow a second time. Then, tidier, Trenton set him down on the ratty couch and speared him with frightening intensity. “Well? Will you tell me, or should I grovel? Because I will.”

Hilary didn’t know this Trenton. He’d seen traces of him, but mostly directed towards others. His own Trenton was gentle, a boy who put up with a lot and laughed when others would have been annoyed. His heart was thumping in his chest. “Groveling sounds interesting.”

He said it only as a diversionary tactic—still behaving as if he could act his way out of the mess. But Trenton was done with putting up with it. The boy knelt before him, knees to the floor, and took hold of Hilary’s leg to pull off a shoe. Trenton used great focus, undeniable deliberation, as he raised the foot in his hand and pressed a kiss to the ankle.

“What—”

The next kiss went to the bridge. The sole. Then to the heel.