Escaping Reality Chapter 3: All the King's Men
After his class he went back to the apartment and was surprised when the only picture he had of his whole family (him, his mom, and his brother, before Sam had taken off) was settled next to a picture of Len’s family, and the old quilt he’d stolen from his house in Iowa was folded over the back of the couch. Len was in the kitchen, cooking something or other, and he wandered that way, absently putting his bag on the couch as he went.
“You unpacked my shit?” he asked, puzzled.
“No reason for it all to be in your room if you’re gonna live here, too, right?” Len asked, and Jim barely saw the slow creep of pink that went to the tips of Len’s ears.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, heart clenching again. This man had taken him in without question, and had gone out of his way to make him feel welcome. And he was lying to him and manipulating him… He shook his head mentally. Now was so not the time or place for this. “What’re you cooking? We just ate two hours ago.”
“You just ate two hours ago,” Len countered absently, and then he turned to face him, making Jim quirk a grin at the ridiculous apron the man was wearing, which said ‘I’m the chef. If you don’t like the food, I’ll stab you.’ “I only had some cobbler, which while it was amazingly good, was not a meal. So I’m makin’ some chicken and mushrooms. You hungry?”
“Well, yeah, but… I’m not used to eating so often.” He was actually used to eating in the early morning and then at Darla’s, but he wasn’t going to tell Len that.
“Then go into that cabinet and pull down plates. Food’s almost done.” Jim did as asked, and set the plates out on the counter before searching for the flatware. He was hungry, but that was more because he was going through another growth spurt than anything. He was glad he wasn’t allergic to anything in the food, or else he’d have to go hungry again, but when he finally got everything set up, Len was putting the casserole dish on the counter and plating the food.
“You don’t have to plate mine, I can get it,” he protested, only to be laughed at as Len piled his plate high.
“Yeah, well, if you plated yourself, you’d starve. I saw how you inhaled the food at the diner, and you’ve been staring at the stove like a hungry lion since you found out I was cooking. You still growing or something?” Jim felt himself flush; his height was a sore subject, since he hadn’t grown past 5’6” in his entire high school career.
“Maybe.”
“How old are you, anyway, JT?” Len asked as they ate.
“18,” he lied, mouth full of the best meal he’d had in months (nothing bad on Darla, but home-cooked just tasted better).
“Liar.”
“Fine. I’ll be 18 soon. Happy?” he asked, swallowing finally and slowing down on his inhalation.
“Maybe. You graduated early, too, huh?”
“What do you mean, too?”
“I’m in my second year of undergrad… how old do you think I am?”
“20?”
“Damn it, kid, I’m not 20… I’m barely 18 m’self.” Jim was surprised; en just acted so mature it was hard to realize that they were nearly the same age.
“Sorry, Len, you just act older.” He ducked his head and resumed his imitation of a human vacuum, cleaning his plate quickly before stepping out on the balcony to have his one cigarette for the day. He was immensely surprised when Len joined him, a cancer stick of his own hanging from a corner of his lip.
“Yeah, I guess I do, at that.” They smoked in silence, and Jim had to keep reminding himself not to stare at Len, since Len was most probably straight, and that would end his stay at Chez McCoy. When they were finished, Len led him into the living room and turned on the vid, looking for something to watch. Jim curled up in his quilt, still cold even though it wasn’t too cold outside, and the apartment wasn’t very chilly. Len settled on some mindless action movie and settled in with popcorn which Jim occasionally snaked a hand out to sample.
Jim was woken by a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he reacted, thrashing in the comforter before a familiar voice broke through his panic attack.
“JT, wake up, kid,” Len rumbled, hands on his shoulders, stopping his shakes. “Calm down, kid, it’s just me, you’re safe.”
“How long w’s I ‘sleep?” he mumbled, untangling himself and refolding the quilt on the couch.
“About an hour. The movie just ended when you started whining in your sleep. You alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a nightmare. I’m gonna head to bed now… I gotta be at work by 7.”
He avoided Len’s searching gaze and retreated into the second bedroom (!HIS! bedroom!) and curled up, trying to ignore the fact that he had just had a flashback while asleep and now Len was suspicious. He finally fell asleep around dawn, and woke an hour later.
Len was putting out bowls of some sort of oatmeal, and he wolfed his down quickly before heading out for his run. He always ran the circuit around the campus in the morning, especially when he couldn’t sleep the night before, and he was surprised when Len joined him in a pair of shorts and a ratty ‘Ole Miss’ t-shirt.
Their run was completed in a comfortable kind of silence that Jim had never experienced before, which unnerved him to the point that he bolted through his shower and ran off with a hurried wave and a piece of toast that Len had nearly thrown at him before he left the apartment. He made it to the store early, and despite the awkward tightness in his chest, he felt better than he had since he’d run away.
When Len met him at closing time, it was nearly a repeat of the night before: they went to Darla’s, where he ate three servings of something that was amazingly good for being full of grease, while Len just had coffee, before heading off to another class. He came home (Home? It felt right.) to something delicious to eat, and another random movie that he slept through, thankfully without nightmares. His guilt was growing, but he would never tell Len that he'd manipulated him into inviting him to live at the apartment.
The routine continued for two months, until a car accident changed everything again. Len had been T-boned going through an intersection, and was laid up in the hospital with critical injuries, and Jim wasn’t allowed to visit him until after he’d woken, which meant days of silence and moping through the days, and nearly starving simply because he couldn’t bring himself to cook anything, though he knew how to.
When Len got out of the hospital and was able to go back to normal activities, Jim became his shadow, as much as possible, a role reversal that wasn’t lost on him. He managed to get away with it for over a week before Len got fed up with it and confronted him.
(On to Chapter 4)
“You unpacked my shit?” he asked, puzzled.
“No reason for it all to be in your room if you’re gonna live here, too, right?” Len asked, and Jim barely saw the slow creep of pink that went to the tips of Len’s ears.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, heart clenching again. This man had taken him in without question, and had gone out of his way to make him feel welcome. And he was lying to him and manipulating him… He shook his head mentally. Now was so not the time or place for this. “What’re you cooking? We just ate two hours ago.”
“You just ate two hours ago,” Len countered absently, and then he turned to face him, making Jim quirk a grin at the ridiculous apron the man was wearing, which said ‘I’m the chef. If you don’t like the food, I’ll stab you.’ “I only had some cobbler, which while it was amazingly good, was not a meal. So I’m makin’ some chicken and mushrooms. You hungry?”
“Well, yeah, but… I’m not used to eating so often.” He was actually used to eating in the early morning and then at Darla’s, but he wasn’t going to tell Len that.
“Then go into that cabinet and pull down plates. Food’s almost done.” Jim did as asked, and set the plates out on the counter before searching for the flatware. He was hungry, but that was more because he was going through another growth spurt than anything. He was glad he wasn’t allergic to anything in the food, or else he’d have to go hungry again, but when he finally got everything set up, Len was putting the casserole dish on the counter and plating the food.
“You don’t have to plate mine, I can get it,” he protested, only to be laughed at as Len piled his plate high.
“Yeah, well, if you plated yourself, you’d starve. I saw how you inhaled the food at the diner, and you’ve been staring at the stove like a hungry lion since you found out I was cooking. You still growing or something?” Jim felt himself flush; his height was a sore subject, since he hadn’t grown past 5’6” in his entire high school career.
“Maybe.”
“How old are you, anyway, JT?” Len asked as they ate.
“18,” he lied, mouth full of the best meal he’d had in months (nothing bad on Darla, but home-cooked just tasted better).
“Liar.”
“Fine. I’ll be 18 soon. Happy?” he asked, swallowing finally and slowing down on his inhalation.
“Maybe. You graduated early, too, huh?”
“What do you mean, too?”
“I’m in my second year of undergrad… how old do you think I am?”
“20?”
“Damn it, kid, I’m not 20… I’m barely 18 m’self.” Jim was surprised; en just acted so mature it was hard to realize that they were nearly the same age.
“Sorry, Len, you just act older.” He ducked his head and resumed his imitation of a human vacuum, cleaning his plate quickly before stepping out on the balcony to have his one cigarette for the day. He was immensely surprised when Len joined him, a cancer stick of his own hanging from a corner of his lip.
“Yeah, I guess I do, at that.” They smoked in silence, and Jim had to keep reminding himself not to stare at Len, since Len was most probably straight, and that would end his stay at Chez McCoy. When they were finished, Len led him into the living room and turned on the vid, looking for something to watch. Jim curled up in his quilt, still cold even though it wasn’t too cold outside, and the apartment wasn’t very chilly. Len settled on some mindless action movie and settled in with popcorn which Jim occasionally snaked a hand out to sample.
Jim was woken by a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he reacted, thrashing in the comforter before a familiar voice broke through his panic attack.
“JT, wake up, kid,” Len rumbled, hands on his shoulders, stopping his shakes. “Calm down, kid, it’s just me, you’re safe.”
“How long w’s I ‘sleep?” he mumbled, untangling himself and refolding the quilt on the couch.
“About an hour. The movie just ended when you started whining in your sleep. You alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a nightmare. I’m gonna head to bed now… I gotta be at work by 7.”
He avoided Len’s searching gaze and retreated into the second bedroom (!HIS! bedroom!) and curled up, trying to ignore the fact that he had just had a flashback while asleep and now Len was suspicious. He finally fell asleep around dawn, and woke an hour later.
Len was putting out bowls of some sort of oatmeal, and he wolfed his down quickly before heading out for his run. He always ran the circuit around the campus in the morning, especially when he couldn’t sleep the night before, and he was surprised when Len joined him in a pair of shorts and a ratty ‘Ole Miss’ t-shirt.
Their run was completed in a comfortable kind of silence that Jim had never experienced before, which unnerved him to the point that he bolted through his shower and ran off with a hurried wave and a piece of toast that Len had nearly thrown at him before he left the apartment. He made it to the store early, and despite the awkward tightness in his chest, he felt better than he had since he’d run away.
When Len met him at closing time, it was nearly a repeat of the night before: they went to Darla’s, where he ate three servings of something that was amazingly good for being full of grease, while Len just had coffee, before heading off to another class. He came home (Home? It felt right.) to something delicious to eat, and another random movie that he slept through, thankfully without nightmares. His guilt was growing, but he would never tell Len that he'd manipulated him into inviting him to live at the apartment.
The routine continued for two months, until a car accident changed everything again. Len had been T-boned going through an intersection, and was laid up in the hospital with critical injuries, and Jim wasn’t allowed to visit him until after he’d woken, which meant days of silence and moping through the days, and nearly starving simply because he couldn’t bring himself to cook anything, though he knew how to.
When Len got out of the hospital and was able to go back to normal activities, Jim became his shadow, as much as possible, a role reversal that wasn’t lost on him. He managed to get away with it for over a week before Len got fed up with it and confronted him.
(On to Chapter 4)