Page 41 of The Wicker King

Jack scowled at him from across the room. “You can’t ride on people’s assumptions about you forever. Eventually, people are going to look past all your fancy clothes and neatness and notice what you’re really like. You’re lucky you got away with it this time. But it’s just luck. You can’t rely on it.”

Rina watched them curiously from the kitchen as she sipped tea in her dressing gown. She never interrupted them when they got like this.

“And what am I ‘really like,’ Jack?” August shot back, fully understanding that he’d taken the bait. But he was past the point of caring. He’d just lost a large portion of his family’s income, and he was not in the mood to get bitched out.

Jack sighed loudly in annoyance. “You’re just … Fucking hell, August. You know what I mean.” He gestured wildly. “On the outside you’re, like, pristine and neat and … you used to get a haircut every week for Christ’s sake! But on the inside you’re … that’s not … well, you’re not the same. That orderliness isn’t there. I mean, at least you can tell from the outside that I’m batshit. At least it’s not a fucking surprise. You’re all complex and … you act like something is itching to crawl out of your skin.”

August just stared at him.

“Something bad,” Jack finished, looking absolutely wrecked.

There was silence. Then August put out his cigarette and got up from the couch and shrugged on his coat.

“No! No, wait, I didn’t mean it like that. I just—” Jack reached out to pull him back, but August shrugged him off roughly and stalked toward the door. “August.”

August stopped, his hand on the doorknob.

“I didn’t mean … I mean … don’t leave. Please.”

August closed the door softly behind him.

STALEMATE

They didn’t speak for a week. There were so many things August was mad about that he just couldn’t. Jack showed up to his classes less and less before dropping completely off the radar by Wednesday.

August struggled not to care.

He had lots of distracting sex with Gordie, who seemed like she was trying to distract herself, too. He spent the rest of the time sleeping.

Saturday, though. Saturday was different. He could feel it prickling under his skin. What if Jack wasn’t eating? Or sleeping? What if he was dead? It was so easy to think up terrible things. He could only be reassured if he saw him …

After a couple hours of stewing, August threw on his coat and hopped on his bike.

MY KINGDOM FOR A HORSE

August tossed his bike down on the lawn, dug out the key from the flowerpot, and let himself into Jack’s house. All the lights were off. He walked through the living room and went upstairs to check for Jack—but no one was there.

“In the kitchen.” Jack was waiting for him. Alone, sitting in the dark, with a mug of coffee on the table in front of him. He looked at August for a moment, then gestured for him to sit down. “So. You’re back.”

August settled into the chair. “I never left.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Jack replied tartly. He rapidly tapped his fingers against the mug in agitation, but didn’t say anything more. August stared down at the table. His throat was swelling with something. Embarrassment? No. It was shame. He could feel his cheeks getting hot. “Come here,” Jack said.

August stood up and went to him.

“On the floor,” Jack corrected. “I’m not going to look up at you. On your knees.”

August sank down slowly until his knees hit the linoleum. He closed his eyes.

Jack was looking at him. He could feel it. “This is your game, August. You asked for it. And we aren’t finished playing because you haven’t asked to stop.” Jack was close. His breath skittered across August’s eyelids, making him shiver. “I’m sorry I made you angry. But don’t ever run away from me. You shouldn’t abandon your king. It’s … dishonorable. Unchivalrous. Cowardly. You can’t leave me behind,” the Wicker King hissed.

And he was right. August couldn’t leave him behind.

“Are you sorry?”

He nodded. He was sorry.

Jack crawled out of the chair and kneeled on the floor in front of him, but it no longer felt right for them to be on the same level. August felt himself bowing lower and lower until his forehead touched the floor.