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Islap his hand away. “Hellno.”ButwhenIlaunch the bird, it flies over the castle without touching it. “Fuckme,Ihave.”
Cackling, he rests a cheek against my shoulder and watches me struggle.IwishDallaswas here, becauseIthink this is exactly what he wanted.AndbecauseIwant to see him tryAngryBirds, suck at it, and go off on a thirty minute rant about game theory and unfair programming.Butfirst,Ihave to get him to talk to me again.
9
DALLAS
Theshitty plasticdoor onBeck’strailer bathroom never latches right, soItry to wedge it shut with my foot.Ittook me a while to get a new testosterone prescription afterBecksaved me from homelessness, so this is the first timeI’veinjected my hormones here.Eventhough he didn’t mind thatIwas trans,Ifeel scared to let him see this part–like inTheWizardofOz,whenDorothyyanks the curtain back to reveal that everything is cobbled together from smoke and mirrors.
I’mtoo busy staring at the needle hovering over my skin to notice the door swing open.Someoneclears his throat, andIjerk my head up to seeBeckfilling the doorway, watching me with his head cocked.Godknows whatIexpect him to say asIgape back at him with a strange sense of guilt, but he never does anythingIexpect.
“Ithought you’d been doing this since you were fifteen.”Hewaves a hand at the syringes and vials scattered around the sink.
“Ihave!”Whenhe raises his eyebrow,Isigh irritably and look away. “Mymom helped me,”Iadmit, trying to hook the door shut with my foot. “ButI’vegot it.”
Slowly, like he’s waiting to see howIreact, he takes a step into the bathroom.Betweenthe two of us, the tiny space feels crowded. “Ijust watched you chicken out twenty times in a row.IfIleave you alone, you’ll be here all night.”
Inarrow my eyes at him. “Whatmakes you a needle expert?Doyou do intravenous drugs or something?”
Thecorner of his mouth twitches up, his eyes playful as he sounds out the word. “Intravenous?You’llfind out soon thatIdon’t do drugs andIdon’t know any words longer than three syllables.”Noddingat the syringe in my hand, he holds out his palm.
Irecoil, trying to hide it without stabbing myself. “Absolutelynot.Thisis a delicate process.”
“Youhave no idea how delicateIcan be.”Smirking, he reaches out and brushes his fingers across the leopard print athletic band holding back my messy hair.Thetouch reminds me abruptly thatI’msitting here in my underwear with my jeans shoved down around my ankles, in front of a guyI’veonly known for a month.
Ishift my weight, trying to make my lack of a bulge less embarrassing. “That’swhat he said.”
“Nah.”Somethingdevilish creeps into his face. “NooneI’vefucked would ever say that.”
Mybrain stutters to a stop.I’vewatched out of the corner of my eye as my new roommate changes in the morning.Ican’t help it.Hisink-covered shoulders flex and roll when he pulls off his shirt, and his boxers always ride low on his hips.NowallIcan picture is that body slicked in sweat, holding someone down and pounding them mercilessly.
Heyelps a laugh, andIrealizeI’mjust gawking at him with my mouth open and my cheeks hot. “Yourface, dude.Youlook like you’ve never had sex before.”
“Don’tbe a dick.”Ishove the syringe toward him before he can realize that he stumbled across the truth. “Ifyou’re going to help, shut up and do it.”
Heplucks it out of my hand with a pleased sound.OnceBeckdecides to do something, the whole world couldn’t stop him. “Pleasebe careful,”Ibeg as he crouches in front of me. “I’mnot a science experiment.”Moregently thanIexpected, he brushes two fingers along the top of my hair-dusted thigh. “Pinchthe skin, inject straight down, then release.Anddo it slowly.Butnot the sticking part, do that fast.Actually, just–”
“Shhh.”Hesqueezes a strip of flesh, and my whole body tenses. “Igot it, baby.”
Ifix my eyes on the discolored, peeling floral wallpaper across the hall and grit my teeth asIwait for the jab.I’msuch a wuss.
“Didyou tell me to buy toilet paper this morning?”Beckasks abruptly.
Mygaze jerks to his face. “Didyou not pick any up?We’recompletely fucking out.”
Hewrinkles his nose and shrugs one shoulder. “Ispent everything on beer, so we’re gonna have to rip pages out of a book or something until next week.”
“What’sthe matter with you?”Iflick the top of his head. “Didsomeone siphon your brains out and replace them with potato salad?”WhenIglance down, he’s holding an empty syringe in one hand and using the other to press our last square of toilet paper against the drop of blood on my leg.Forthe first time,Ididn’t feel a thing.
“ToldyouI’ddo it better, bitch,” he taunts cheerfully, ruining the moment.I’vequickly learned that ‘baby’ and ‘bitch’ are this man’s love language.Ifhe speaks to you like a normal person, it means he doesn’t give a shit about you.
Whenhe jumps to his feet and turns to go,Isnag two fingers in the back of his jeans. “Wait.Wereyou kidding about the toilet paper or not?”
Heflashes me a crooked grin and walks out.
Wedid have toilet paper, in the end.Andfor the last two years, he’s done my shot for me every week.
Thebare lightbulb on my ceiling gives off a dull yellow glow that makes it hard to see whatI’mdoing.Iinstinctively reach for the wooden bear lampBeckstole from the waiting room of a doctor’s office, beforeIrememberI’mnot in his room.
