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Raphael snorted a laugh, but frankly he never minded calling clients to reschedule. They seemed to buckle under his faint accent and soft tones, and no one ever wanted to upset him. It was infantilizing in the worst way—a reminder why most of the town had all-but de-sexed him. He was metaphorically castrated and impotent—dickless, even—in most of their minds. But he would use it to his advantage when the situation called for it.
He could handle six extra facials that weekend. It would put a little extra money in his pocket and keep Jayden from stressing out. It was enough. He smiled as he watched Jayden lead the young woman back to the stalls, then he reached for the phone and prepared to fuck up everyone’s Saturday.
2
Dmitri was a parody of himself.At least, it was the term he loved the moment he learned what it meant. He didn’t even know his own race until his biology class in his junior year had done a project tracing their DNA, though his parents had thrown around Asian Baby like it gave them a pass on all their shitty, racist behavior.
He only knew a handful of things about himself, most of it what his parents told his aunts and uncle, and most of it sounding like a made for TV movie where his parents lied like they got paid for every falsehood that passed their lips. But when he was twenty, he finally got ahold of his adoption papers that confirmed they hadn’t been lying about how he was born two months early and had been taken in by a foreign, Christian-based adoption agency that eventually placed him with his parents.
Home, where he was from—as people loved to ask—wasn’t anywhere else in the world but the thick woods and sloping shores of the Atlantic.
Savannah had been the place Dmitri had learned to walk and had his front tooth knocked out by a soccer ball, and the place where, in spite of his parents’ lack of giving a single shit, he still got hugs. He always had clean clothes and food, and when his mother wouldn’t get up from her bed for the day, he just had to go across the street to his aunts’ house and they always had something cooking.
He grew up happy there. He never noticed that he didn’t look like all the other kids in his class. He just was. He and Owen used to pretend to be twins, and no one ever blinked twice when they thought they could fool substitute teachers by wearing the same t-shirt.
It wasn’t until his mom left and his dad attempted to go after her that his life turned into some sick, sorry echo of what his life was supposed to be. Gone were his weekend sleepovers with his best friend. Gone was the ten-minute walk to Jayden’s when his dad wouldn’t stop drinking. Gone was knowing that there was safety and comfort around every corner. His mother had destroyed what little fragility they had, and his dad had drowned himself in every single one of his vices.
They moved around from city to city as his dad’s drinking got worse, and his mom never came home. He ate a lot of food-pantry boxes and went to school in dirty clothes. His teachers didn’t quite know what to make of him because they had already painted him as the “Asian stereotype” who was good at math and played six instruments and had a Tiger Mom breathing down his neck.
He had no idea how to break out of the vicious cycle his dad created. At thirteen, he started a calendar, ticking down the days to when he turned eighteen and he could leave his dad rotting in his own filth.
Life with his dad didn’t last the whole five years, though. It barely lasted three. He didn’t want to call it luck that the man had nearly asphyxiated on his own vomit, or that his 9-1-1 call was enough to trigger a second look at the reports filed by a couple of his more well-meaning teachers. But someone called Sonia and Rose, who in turn called Jayden, because he was the only one with enough time and space to fit a troubled teen into his life.
Dmitri moved back to Savannah a shell of himself, and he wasn’t quite sure how to find the person he was supposed to have been. He had a therapist though, mandated by the CPS agent who had pulled him out of his homeroom and told him that things were going to be different.
“Better,” Robin had said specifically. “Things are going to be better now.” But he didn’t know how to erase that white-hot ball of fury that nestled in and made a home in the aching space deep behind his ribs where his heart was meant to beat.
And maybe his heartwasstill there, but it was impossible to feel it over the pulse of his rage.
Robin told him it was all normal, which made him feel worse. And angrier. He didn’t wantthisto be his normal. He didn’t want any of this weight resting on his shoulders.
He kept his head down, though, and Owen reappeared in his life, slotting back into the shape of best friend who had been missing for so long. Only, it wasn’t the same. Owen was angry too. He was holding something close to his chest and refusing to talk, and Dmitri could only begin to guess about the hurt he was keeping inside.
It crested the day Owen nearly killed his uncle’s boyfriend. The newcomer to Savannah who meant well and seemed to like everyone. The man almost drowned, and Dmitri waited the long three days Owen spent in juvenile lock-up before he could confront him.
“Are you ever going to tell me why?” he asked.
Owen’s bedroom was dark, the curtains drawn, the only sound besides the fan was Nellie’s nervous footsteps. Dmitri had a feeling she only let him in because she was pretty sure Dmitri was the only person who could get Owen to talk.
“It’s not your fucking business.”
The words were sharp and meant to cut, and they did. But not as deep as Owen probably wanted. Dmitri’s skin was tougher than that now, thick and calloused by the years of surviving rather than living. He sat down on the edge of Owen’s bed and tried to remember what the room was like before his father dragged him away.
The Spider-Man posters were long gone, and the piles of LEGO, and the model ships from Star Wars were nothing but old ghosts. There were scattered CDs and schoolbooks and old take-out boxes. There were copies of the paper in shreds like Owen had taken claws to it, and it felt like that was something telling, but he wasn’t sure why.
“You know I’ll listen, right?” he offered, and Owen sagged against the wall, his face dropping into his hands.
He dug his fingers into his hair, tugging to the point Dmitri knew it had to hurt, and his breath came out a ragged sigh. “Everyone says that. Everyone fucking…” He sniffed, then looked up. “Why does everyone trip over themselves to kiss that asshole’s feet?”
Dmitri blinked. “Antoine?”
Owen rolled his eyes. “Myboss.”
Dmitri had never really liked Archie. He’d only met him twice, and he was polite, and he had a big smile, but there was something in his eyes that made his stomach squirm. Owen seemed happy enough—at least, at first. He worked as an intern, but he was getting paid a little, and his mom was finally trusting him enough to drive and leave town on weekends.
And then…things changed.
Owen got angry. And he got mean. And everyone looked at Dmitri askance because he was the one thing in Owen’s life that changed. He didn’t want to believe it was him, but all the signs pointed his way, and it was hard not to wonder if maybe just existing near Owen tainted him.
