christmas gift part i.
I'm trying not to kill myself laughing as I write this post.
Absolutely Necessary Author's Notes:
You know you are in trouble when this and this are basically required viewing to understand.
I told this story to Erin and Thien both, but basically what happened is I walked into a toy store and saw these toys called Bratz which are like, Barbies and Kens that have had a complete fashion overhaul. They're actually pretty cool dolls, really, and if I were a kid, I would really like them. Anyway, they had this set where all the Bratz Boyz go to Tokyo, and the set that caught my attention was, I think, Eitan's? And Cathy's brain being Cathy's brain, I immediately thought, "Hm, bet nobody's written slash about them before."
Ha. You and I are both wishing that I was kidding right about now.
Well, actually, the truth is I've really been meaning to write something close to original fic about people at my high school, just sort of an exaggeration of one end of the spectrum. I have this thing about real-life RPS that is sort of funny and not-really-safe, and Bing will tell you, my marketing class is full of druggies and drunkards and people who generally live fast, and I think so far I've sort of been giving you guys the impression that my school is really tame? Well, it is sort of too, because it is Indiana, but at the same time, Asians don't make up our school. And so, with that in mind and with that said, Merry Christmas, guys; hope you have fun with this and if not, pretend, because I put a lot, lot, lot of effort into it.
Cameron will always go to Koby when he has a fight with Chloe. He'll pull out a casual cigarette and have it in his mouth when he rings Koby's doorbell. Late afternoon. Koby comes out with his shirt off and wet, rushed and hurried, out of the shower and annoyed, and takes a deep sigh when he sees Cameron filling his doorway with slow, practiced grace.
"It's freezing. You gonna force me to stay outside all day?" Cameron asks, all honey smiles, and Koby is shivering from the wind coming in through the door, so Cameron manages to slip in.
Koby hates when Cameron smokes, but as they make their way to Koby's room, he lights his cigarette for him anyway. That's definitive of their relationship. Besides Cameron only smokes on rare occasion, usually to piss off Koby or to signify irritability.
This time Cameron throws up his hands and says, "I don't want to talk about it. The girl's impossible. I can't stand--" He flops onto the couch in Koby's room. There is the smell of Koby's cologne and deep, hardened wood and fresh cotton that Cameron interrupts. Koby is picking a shirt out of his closet as Cameron exhales, "--can't stand her."
Wrinkling his nose, Koby spreads himself out on the bed and looks over at Cameron's sprawled form, the knees open and the elbows draped. The cigarette dangling between his lips. Koby worries about the ashes. He's heard everything before, so he isn't listening anymore. "Are you going to stay over tonight too?" He picks off an imaginary piece of lint from his shirt, looking at his shoulder from his flat vantage point.
"You want me to?"
"I don't care. You would even if I told you no, anyway."
"Koby," Cameron says, walking towards the bed, kneeling down on the carpet beside Koby as if he were praying over Koby's dead body, or something. "Don't get all bitchy on me. Please. First Chloe and then you--"
"Fine. Fine." Koby rolls away on the bed, frowning. "Do whatever you want." Which is how it begins, always; Cameron puts his cigarette out in the ashtray Koby has stowed away for his visits and returns to lean over Koby, kissing him lightly, on the cheek, breathing smoke as he goes. Cameron's mouth is bitter, always, bitter and sour. Koby is used to this by now. He sighs and turns back over, has his arms open and willing--suddenly he is comfort personified, with a name and face Cameron only remembers some of the time.
*
Unquestionable truths: Cameron is Chloe's boyfriend. They have been dating since who knows when, longer than most couples last, and because their relationship is mostly made up of attractive looks and mild affection, though they fight like a married couple, they are never in danger of breaking up. Chloe came close to dumping Cameron once--a matter of forgotten anniversaries and general callousness on Cameron's part--but that was as far as it got, just a threat. Cameron has never considered dumping Chloe, and the converse holds true as well. They are, after all, high school romance at its best: dangerously good-looking together, a hidden fear of commitment on both sides, and casual PDAs in crowded hallways to maintain a steady feed of gossip.
Unquestionable truths: Cameron has always liked Eitan in that sorta-kinda-maybe way. Not liked, liked. After all Eitan is half Asian and full-bloodied heat. 'Dragon', they call him, and it's not really, not quite a joke. Eitan, who is all subtlety and quick spurts of flashiness, who Cameron likes, because Cameron would, proverbial moth to a flame, irresistible. Eitan, who is heartbreaking, and Cameron, who breaks hearts, even his own.
Unquestionable truths: Koby has always sort of regretted meeting Cameron. Oh sure, he's good-looking, and oh sure, he's polite and nice, and oh sure, he has money, and oh sure, they relate to each other perfectly; then again, they all are and all do. But Cameron is always greedy, always wanting more, always wanting the things he can't have, and Koby knows that he's the kind of person that always gives in.
*
Koby doesn't tell Cameron about the trip to Tokyo he took with Eitan over the summer.
Eitan convinced him to go about a week before their departure date. He had bought Koby his tickets and forced them in his hands and refused to take them back. Koby hadn't wanted to, because it was Japan for god's sake, and he didn't speak Japanese, but evidently Eitan did, and somehow that and Eitan's need for familiar companionship made it crucial that Koby come with him. That was how Eitan worked, without logic but full of persuasion
In Tokyo, in their hotel room too big for the two of them, a suite room with only one bed, Eitan, his shirt unbuttoned and his pants just barely zipped, offered. He spread Koby out on the bed and started to move his hands, his lips, his tongue, closer and deeper and hotter each time, and Koby had to stop him, trembling all the while. Eitan laughed as Koby pushed him away, shrugging and leaving casual glances and strokes as he withdrew. Oddly enough Koby felt comfortable afterwards, as if there had been something between them that suddenly disappeared, as if with his refusal he had freed them both. Eitan smiled then and dragged Koby into the bath with him, a child.
They are all only children, of course, and like in the movies, have never shared baths with anyone. Eitan filled the tub with bubbles from the hotel body wash and shoved Koby in, slipping in slowly himself. The tub wasn't quite big enough for both of them, but that was okay. They talked softly that night, staying in until their skin pruned, and that had been Eitan in Tokyo, different than the Eitan on the streets in the neon lighting and different than the Eitan who dragged Koby out onto the dance floor the next night. Eitan had been kinder then, with gentler curves to his face. His hair was down around his face, smooth and wet. He had touched Koby accidentally throughout the bath, and because Eitan was so unlike Eitan, Koby had not minded and had not thought of Cameron and the possibility of betrayal.
The secret that Koby discovers there is that if Cameron asked, if Cameron put his hands on Eitan and if Cameron begged, if Cameron put on his sweetest eyes and kindest mouth, then the truth is Eitan would say yes, would let Cameron in, would screw Cameron or would let Cameron screw him, whichever one Cameron preferred, and would like it too, because Cameron's good and no doubt so is Eitan. And if Cameron wanted him to, Eitan would let him do it again and again, and he would not say a word to anyone, and it would be the kind of thing that would suit both of them the best, love without the affectations or the words, though Eitan would never open up and Cameron would never ask. But of course Cameron will never think of it, and Eitan--who knows and doesn't say--won't try, and it would really be up to Koby to bring up the subject. But he won't.
*
Night. Koby lets Cameron sleep on his bed and takes the couch instead. Something aches vaguely, or is it that "in pain" vaguely? He isn't sure. He kicks his legs over the armrests of the sofa and in the dark squints at Cameron's slumbering body. The two of them are used to sleeping alone in their own large beds, and while Koby never moves much from his initial positions, Cameron is a busy sleeper, conquering the mattress like Alexander the Great. It's winter and so they pretend it is cold. Cameron has the blankets entangled all around him, in such a mess Koby is surprised that nothing is cutting off circulation.
By nature, Cameron is a work of art (Koby has had this conversation with him before: "You know--" "What?" "Do you have to do that?" "What?" "That cutting in thing." "What cutting in thing?" "That--that thing you--never mind." "Yeah?" "You have--" helplessly "you have. Paper. In your hair"). He is more so when he's asleep and not talking or gesturing, or for that matter, actively doing anything. Then he is perfect. After all Cameron has soft hair, years and bottles full of care, and soft skin, and what's more, blond hair with blue-green eyes that are light even in semi-darkness. Pale lips--a little thin and having a tendency to hang open when he was thinking, but oh god, beautiful.
Koby knows what he looks like. Awkward shoulders that fit strangely in clothes, too large for his small body. Big feet, long fingers. High cheekbones and big ears, eyes that were slightly too wide apart. Not everyone can be beautiful, like Cameron, or like Eitan by the same token: olive skin tones and black hair, incredibly white teeth and the right proportions, even if he is a little on the short side. Movements that flowed from him comfortably, the uncanniest ability to play basketball well despite his obvious disadvantages.
He falls asleep watching Cameron flop over unconsciously in his bed. Cameron's hair is drifting past the bridge of his nose onto his eyelids, lifting with his not-quite-snores, and Koby lets that lull him into sleeping. He wonders briefly if he remembered to turn off the alarm. Tomorrow would be a Saturday, and for Cameron to wake up in the right mood, it would have to be after ten, and if Cameron were to be in a right mood, Koby could ask him to stay, and maybe they would watch old movies or a game on TV or maybe just lounge around with soda and chips, talking about stupid things and laughing. And Koby would be happy.
*
On Monday morning Eitan lets Cade drive him to school on his motorcycle, that gigantic lump of black metal and silver handlebars. Cade swings Eitan around dangerously low on a left turn, and Eitan is holding onto Cade with both arms around his waist, laughing, hair blown out of shape, and his cheeks are flushed with the cold. Koby waits in the front for them to stop fooling around, counting in his mind until twenty, and then back again, glad that Cameron never comes earlier than two seconds before the morning bell on Mondays. Finally Cade stops and locks his motorcycle to the side of the bicycle rack with a chain, letting his hair fall out of his helmet in a definitely practiced shake.
Eitan calls out, like the ride's permanently damaged his eardrums, "Thanks, man!"
"We'll do it again, right? I'll teach you how to drive it next time." Cade, with a slight Hispanic accent even now, simply for the girls, and is that a pat on the ass as Eitan jumps off? Eitan is laughing again, swinging his backpack over one shoulder in a wide, sweeping gesture, waving to Koby.
"One of these days he's going to kill himself," Eitan says, mock-mournfully, rummaging in his pockets. "Shit, forgot a pencil. You got an extra one on you?" Koby nods, pointing with his thumb to the front pocket of his backpack. Eitan smiles and spins him around with both hands on the shoulder, his best "trying to look like a kicked puppy" expression on his face. "I don't have my Chem homework done. Be a buddy and let me copy it during first period?"
"And I thought Asians were supposed to be good at school," Koby says, already reaching for the zipper of his backpack.
"Not this one. I've got other things to worry about. Other skills," Eitan jokes. He takes his hands away, a deliberate drawing his fingers along the base of Koby's neck. Unnecessary, Koby thinks, and even slightly painful, and there's Cameron rushing down the hallway in a hurry to put his coat away before the bell. Eitan cups his hands around his mouth as he yells to Cameron, "Late as usual!"
"Traffic jam!" Cameron calls back, a lie, obviously, and laughing breathlessly as he rushes by to his locker. "Catch up with you guys in American Lit?"
"She's giving a pop quiz," Eitan warns. "So I hope you read the homework assignment."
"I didn't, but thanks." Cameron's bodiless voice, somewhere around the corner. The hallways are getting empty and the teachers more plentiful around the doors, hungry to catch some flustered freshman running late, and as Koby and Eitan rush away, Cameron adds, "Love ya, man!"
Koby closes his eyes briefly, and opens them again, smile so naturally fixed on his face that he doesn't even feel it anymore. Just another Monday to survive through, he thinks. Another day, which turns into another week, which turns into another month, another semester, another year. A little cruel, Koby reflects ruefully, sliding into his seat beside Eitan just as the bell rings. A little heartless. But true.
*
They spend Friday night at Dylan's house, as per usual, but his parents are off on a business trip of some sort ("Europe," he confides conspiratorially, his characteristic playful, evil smile, "for a week or so--the whole damn house--"), and as per usual, Dylan throws a party that was given birth to, arranged, planned, and executed in all of two hours at the end and after school. Impossible amount of alcohol ("Fuck drinking age," Dylan says, throwing ice into containers and grinning madly) and darkened rooms, weekend-almost-winter-break mentality, Dylan's spontaneous ability to bust out with less-than-legal substances, mixed in with a sudden bad headache abruptly make Koby decide he should probably leave early just for tonight, but not without telling Cameron who, after all, depended on Koby to drive him there. Koby knocks into a couple in the corner, the girl giggling at him, just loud enough to hear over the heartbeat-changing bass line of the music that's playing. He apologizes. Turning his head, he spots Cameron, a small beacon of hair pale enough it looks almost white in the bad lighting, chatting very closely with a girl who is not Chloe but looks quite a bit like her, the nose throwing off the image.
Koby taps Cameron on the shoulder, clearing his throat. "I have a headache," he says loudly, over the noise. "I'm going to go now--"
"Koby, hey, just the person I was looking for," Cameron says brightly, pulling away from his other companion with a silent sigh of relief only Koby recognized. Another desperate girl with a crush, Koby classifies silently as he gives her a nod of recognition. Cameron says over his shoulder, "have a great night, okay? Sorry 'bout this." Koby catches the last bit of his blindingly apologetic smile as Cameron turns around.
Koby asks, "What's up with her?"
"Nothing, I--" Cameron furrows his brow, pulling Koby with him as he makes a bee-line for a loveseat in the corner of Dylan's basement, magically empty of any amorous occupants and out of the light. "I don't feel too well and was just--"
"The drinks?"
"God, maybe. I haven't been getting a lot of sleep."
"Yeah." Koby glances over at Cameron. There's sweat clinging to his temples, along the edges of his hair, and the dim lighting made not only his hair brighter but his skin as well. Gentle curves of his cheeks in profile. A long silence between them as Cameron breathes in and out slowly and Koby watches. "Do you want me to drive you home?"
"No, I'm fine," Cameron says, then changes his mind. "Actually, sure. Why not. There's nothing here anyway."
Eitan is not here, Koby notes for the first time. Eitan is out on a date, he remembers, recalling Eitan by a girl's locker, casual and anticipating, and his bliss throughout the day. Koby reaches out to touch Cameron's shoulder, but pulls back and gets up, searching in his pockets for his car keys. "Okay then. Let's get out of here. We can apologize to Dylan tomorrow. It's not like he'll miss us."
"Yeah, look at those girls, man, that he's got around him," Cameron remarks, a small grin.
Koby thinks, 'You could have them if you want,' but doesn't say anything, leading Cameron along with little nudges and pushes out the door. His car is thankfully at the end of Dylan's gigantic driveway, omitting the need for Koby to go back in and ask people to move their cars. Cameron collapses in the passenger seat next to Koby, stretching out his legs.
"Koby," Cameron starts, and then hesitates, chewing his lip.
"Yeah, what?" Koby switches his focus on starting his car, turning up the heat. They hadn't brought coats to the party and the car had been out in the cold for quite a while. He can see his and Cameron's breath in the dark. His fingers are numb as he looks over his shoulder to back his car onto the street and take off.
"Can I just crash at your house?"
Koby shifts gears from reverse to drive, his eyes peeled in front of him, says nothing for a while, considering the options. Finally, he clears his throat and says quietly, "Do whatever you want."
"Thanks, man," Cameron breathes. Koby risks a look. Cameron has his head turned towards the window, misting the window with his body heat and his breathing, the faintest hint of his reflection.
"If you're tired, you can go to sleep," Koby tells him, adjusting the heat a little bit warmer. "I'll wake you up when we get there." Cameron nods and puts his head back against his seat, creating a little hollow for himself in the seat. The warmth kicks in, making the car more hospitable, and after a while, Koby can hear Cameron's breathing slow down and smooth out.
Koby, driving slowly, takes the long way home.
*
The Christmas lights wake Cameron up as they stall in Koby's driveway. Koby turns off the engine and turns around, meaning to wake Cameron up, but Cameron, his arms crossed over his chest, has opened his eyes already, looking up at Koby with a slightly accusatory stare, as if he were responsible for the ride not lasting forever. Koby puts his hand on Cameron's shoulder, shaking him lightly. "Come on. Out of the car. You're walking, because I can't carry you."
Cameron reaches over and grabs Koby by the sides of his face, pulling him over the aisle between them, leaving Koby to stare at Cameron as he balances right above Cameron's face. Cameron smells like alcohol but mostly of himself, cologne and shampoo and undefined goodness. Koby can feel his heart racing. Something is digging into his ribs and this isn't the most comfortable position in the world. Cameron says, "You know, life is shit," rubbing his thumb over Koby's bottom lip lightly. His eyes are focused somewhere else, somewhere through Koby's face and past the windshield of the car, and Koby tries to smile, to bring Cameron's gaze back at him.
"Pretty bad sometimes," he agrees, using his right hand to gently pry Cameron away.
"Thanks for. You know. Everything. The things you-- yeah." The second time Cameron's been hesitant tonight. Koby wonders if it's a new record.
"Yeah. I know." Koby pulls away, opening the door. The cold air hits him immediately, sending goose bumps through his arm in an instant rush of discomfort and fast heart rate. Cameron is climbing out too, and Koby affords himself this moment to touch his bottom lip just like Cameron did, with his thumb, before stepping out and getting them both inside, quickly, before they freeze.
Koby's bedroom is downstairs, so later, when they're fucking on his bed, they really don't need to be quiet because Koby's parents probably can't hear him, but they try to be anyway, Cameron biting his lip and kissing Koby's shoulder as he screws him carefully and thoroughly. Koby whispers "I love you, I love you--" throughout the whole thing in increasingly ragged tones, pressing his mouth to Cameron's forehead, his nose, his neck, the words tearing out of him, and he reasons to himself that afterwards, if Cameron asks, he'll just say it was the heat of the moment. He'll say he wasn't thinking, it just came out. People always say things they don't mean during sex.
But right now, right now, the bed creaking under them in time with their gasping and moaning and Koby's quiet muffled confessions, he pretends that Cameron understands--that Cameron really believes him. He says it over and over again, as if saying it more could make it truer, as if saying it could make Cameron answer him in return. As if saying it could validate what they did to each other, moving together in the dark, and it could make it hurt less, and it could make it less of a lie.
*
Koby still remembers the first time, both the first time Cameron and him had sex and the first time he found out that Cameron liked--liked--Eitan. It had been, what, summer after their freshmen year? Dylan had gotten them both drunk and giddy, and Eitan had been out with one of the other girls, Yasmin maybe, or Jade, to get them some more ice because Dylan couldn't stand refrigerator ice, and that was all they had left. All of them had the intimacy of newly met close friends but lacked the familiarity of childhood acquaintances. They did not know everything about each other, but knew enough to understand each other, and it was then, probably, that it became obvious to Koby certain things about their personalities.
Dylan, for instance, never thought and never regretted. He also tended to have sex with anything that was mildly attractive and moved, which meant he had had half the school that was worth looking at, and somehow he managed to stay friends with all of them. Also, Dylan was nine out of ten times talking to a probation counselor and getting drug tested, which meant for the most part he didn't do drugs, he just distributed. Not an uncommon phenomenon. Dylan also often got into fights in parking lots, stuff that he never talked about but sported bruises and let the rumors grow.
Cameron, on the other hand, gave off the impression of being the perfect American boy. He was on the track and field team, one of the sprinters, and had the muscular well-toned legs to prove it. Cameron always took, rarely gave, sacrificed but was rarely the sacrifice himself, and liked to throw himself into things but kept himself distanced. Which mean--what, exactly? Sometimes it felt like it was impersonal talking to him but sometimes it felt like you were the only person in the world he cared about. Couldn't function without sleep. And he was good with women; not just that he was charming, but there are certain people who are good with the opposite sex, and Cameron was one of them.
And of course, Eitan, who was exotic and a little on the strange side. In the beginning Koby had considered that maybe Eitan was the kind who only had sex with his friends, but then it occurred to him that that wasn't the case. Rather Eitan only had people who were friends and people who were strangers; everybody was somewhere on the sliding scale in between. Perhaps sex, like relationships, was something Eitan did unknowingly and effortlessly, like everything else: exuding charm or flirting or setting himself up in the most provocative and easily misinterpreted situations possible. Eitan, who was spotted in his personality, little bouts of academic dedication thrown in with utter carelessness, wild playboy habits and sweet momma's boy antics.
That was what Koby knew about them at that point, added in with facts about their families and favorite pizzas, and not much of it was wrong, though not all of it was right. That night, as he and Cameron sat on opposite sides of a large couch, not touching as they watched some high-speed heist movie, Cameron had leaned over and put a hand on Koby's chest, right under his neck, and pulling his shirt in, had asked, "Can I?"
Koby was dizzy then, the after effects of too much alcohol and dancing, and he laughed nervously, licking his lips, and said, "Can you what?"
Then they were kissing, hidden by the thought that Eitan was out and the girls were upstairs freshening their makeup and Dylan was making out with someone in the master bedroom. The TV screen lit up Cameron's face. Koby watched, kissing with his eyes open, hands useless in the air somewhere around Cameron's shoulder, and after a while Cameron stopped, grinning.
"Not bad," he had said.
Effortless transition in Koby's memory to the next morning, Cameron somehow at his house, mostly naked, on his bed, and groaning about his headache. Nothing in between those two scenes, except for images of darkness and Cameron's eyes, soft hands on his skin, pain somewhere, everywhere, nowhere.
Koby had said then, "Is this going to be like 'Perks of Being A Wallflower'?"
"What?"
Koby was handing aspirin to Cameron, taking a drink of water from a glass before giving that to Cameron too. "You know. We have sex. And you pretend not to remember any of it. And we keep doing it. And you keep pretending to forget. So that, you know. It doesn't seem suspicious."
"No, man. I remember it." Cameron, leering suggestively as he tossed back his pills.
That was when Cameron told Koby, in halting terms, about Eitan, and Koby had not looked away, had not even changed expressions--not as if there had been a need to, after all. He simply nodded, throwing Cameron a change of clothes and going into the bathroom to wash his face. Cameron came in shortly, awkwardly standing by the doorway as if waiting for Koby to say something to betray hurt or devastation, but there was nothing of the kind. They were both probably nearing closer and closer to being adults, and this kind of thing couldn't be too unusual. It was conceivably even normal, a type of friendship, and he was sympathetic and noble to Cameron then, absolutely understanding, so much so that after that, time after time, Cameron would keep coming, laying his troubles down in front of Koby for Koby to soothe away.
Koby still believes in equilibrium in relationships--if Cameron is selfishness, then Koby must be selflessness. La Chatelier's, liquid and vapors, enclosed environment. That whole thing. Maybe, after all, they are just chemical reactions in Koby's brain.
*
A catalogue of things Koby has learned about Cameron:
1. His shampoo changes from month to month. He says this is because hair will build up immunity if you use the same shampoo over and over again. Dylan says this is bullshit.
2. He uses conditioner.
3. If he's tired, he snores in a soft, whistling, feminine way.
4. He hates the sound of his own recorded voice, especially on answering machines.
5. He can be impeccably polite if it's needed. He only likes to be a slob because it's easy.
6. He usually buys Chloe pink roses--she doesn't like the red ones except on special occasions.
7. He has a good memory for faces and names.
8. He has a bad memory for numbers, dates, or times.
9. He likes Koby's hair because "it looks good with everything. I mean, take blond hair and put it with, um, gray or something. You look bad. Mismatched. Mottled. But then again maybe you don't look good in light blues?"
"What are you talking about?"
"The color. Of your hair. I like it. A lot. Do you think I'd make a good brunette?"
10. What he doesn't know, he doesn't know hurts him.
continued here.
Absolutely Necessary Author's Notes:
You know you are in trouble when this and this are basically required viewing to understand.
I told this story to Erin and Thien both, but basically what happened is I walked into a toy store and saw these toys called Bratz which are like, Barbies and Kens that have had a complete fashion overhaul. They're actually pretty cool dolls, really, and if I were a kid, I would really like them. Anyway, they had this set where all the Bratz Boyz go to Tokyo, and the set that caught my attention was, I think, Eitan's? And Cathy's brain being Cathy's brain, I immediately thought, "Hm, bet nobody's written slash about them before."
Ha. You and I are both wishing that I was kidding right about now.
Well, actually, the truth is I've really been meaning to write something close to original fic about people at my high school, just sort of an exaggeration of one end of the spectrum. I have this thing about real-life RPS that is sort of funny and not-really-safe, and Bing will tell you, my marketing class is full of druggies and drunkards and people who generally live fast, and I think so far I've sort of been giving you guys the impression that my school is really tame? Well, it is sort of too, because it is Indiana, but at the same time, Asians don't make up our school. And so, with that in mind and with that said, Merry Christmas, guys; hope you have fun with this and if not, pretend, because I put a lot, lot, lot of effort into it.
- metastasization
Cameron will always go to Koby when he has a fight with Chloe. He'll pull out a casual cigarette and have it in his mouth when he rings Koby's doorbell. Late afternoon. Koby comes out with his shirt off and wet, rushed and hurried, out of the shower and annoyed, and takes a deep sigh when he sees Cameron filling his doorway with slow, practiced grace.
"It's freezing. You gonna force me to stay outside all day?" Cameron asks, all honey smiles, and Koby is shivering from the wind coming in through the door, so Cameron manages to slip in.
Koby hates when Cameron smokes, but as they make their way to Koby's room, he lights his cigarette for him anyway. That's definitive of their relationship. Besides Cameron only smokes on rare occasion, usually to piss off Koby or to signify irritability.
This time Cameron throws up his hands and says, "I don't want to talk about it. The girl's impossible. I can't stand--" He flops onto the couch in Koby's room. There is the smell of Koby's cologne and deep, hardened wood and fresh cotton that Cameron interrupts. Koby is picking a shirt out of his closet as Cameron exhales, "--can't stand her."
Wrinkling his nose, Koby spreads himself out on the bed and looks over at Cameron's sprawled form, the knees open and the elbows draped. The cigarette dangling between his lips. Koby worries about the ashes. He's heard everything before, so he isn't listening anymore. "Are you going to stay over tonight too?" He picks off an imaginary piece of lint from his shirt, looking at his shoulder from his flat vantage point.
"You want me to?"
"I don't care. You would even if I told you no, anyway."
"Koby," Cameron says, walking towards the bed, kneeling down on the carpet beside Koby as if he were praying over Koby's dead body, or something. "Don't get all bitchy on me. Please. First Chloe and then you--"
"Fine. Fine." Koby rolls away on the bed, frowning. "Do whatever you want." Which is how it begins, always; Cameron puts his cigarette out in the ashtray Koby has stowed away for his visits and returns to lean over Koby, kissing him lightly, on the cheek, breathing smoke as he goes. Cameron's mouth is bitter, always, bitter and sour. Koby is used to this by now. He sighs and turns back over, has his arms open and willing--suddenly he is comfort personified, with a name and face Cameron only remembers some of the time.
*
Unquestionable truths: Cameron is Chloe's boyfriend. They have been dating since who knows when, longer than most couples last, and because their relationship is mostly made up of attractive looks and mild affection, though they fight like a married couple, they are never in danger of breaking up. Chloe came close to dumping Cameron once--a matter of forgotten anniversaries and general callousness on Cameron's part--but that was as far as it got, just a threat. Cameron has never considered dumping Chloe, and the converse holds true as well. They are, after all, high school romance at its best: dangerously good-looking together, a hidden fear of commitment on both sides, and casual PDAs in crowded hallways to maintain a steady feed of gossip.
Unquestionable truths: Cameron has always liked Eitan in that sorta-kinda-maybe way. Not liked, liked. After all Eitan is half Asian and full-bloodied heat. 'Dragon', they call him, and it's not really, not quite a joke. Eitan, who is all subtlety and quick spurts of flashiness, who Cameron likes, because Cameron would, proverbial moth to a flame, irresistible. Eitan, who is heartbreaking, and Cameron, who breaks hearts, even his own.
Unquestionable truths: Koby has always sort of regretted meeting Cameron. Oh sure, he's good-looking, and oh sure, he's polite and nice, and oh sure, he has money, and oh sure, they relate to each other perfectly; then again, they all are and all do. But Cameron is always greedy, always wanting more, always wanting the things he can't have, and Koby knows that he's the kind of person that always gives in.
*
Koby doesn't tell Cameron about the trip to Tokyo he took with Eitan over the summer.
Eitan convinced him to go about a week before their departure date. He had bought Koby his tickets and forced them in his hands and refused to take them back. Koby hadn't wanted to, because it was Japan for god's sake, and he didn't speak Japanese, but evidently Eitan did, and somehow that and Eitan's need for familiar companionship made it crucial that Koby come with him. That was how Eitan worked, without logic but full of persuasion
In Tokyo, in their hotel room too big for the two of them, a suite room with only one bed, Eitan, his shirt unbuttoned and his pants just barely zipped, offered. He spread Koby out on the bed and started to move his hands, his lips, his tongue, closer and deeper and hotter each time, and Koby had to stop him, trembling all the while. Eitan laughed as Koby pushed him away, shrugging and leaving casual glances and strokes as he withdrew. Oddly enough Koby felt comfortable afterwards, as if there had been something between them that suddenly disappeared, as if with his refusal he had freed them both. Eitan smiled then and dragged Koby into the bath with him, a child.
They are all only children, of course, and like in the movies, have never shared baths with anyone. Eitan filled the tub with bubbles from the hotel body wash and shoved Koby in, slipping in slowly himself. The tub wasn't quite big enough for both of them, but that was okay. They talked softly that night, staying in until their skin pruned, and that had been Eitan in Tokyo, different than the Eitan on the streets in the neon lighting and different than the Eitan who dragged Koby out onto the dance floor the next night. Eitan had been kinder then, with gentler curves to his face. His hair was down around his face, smooth and wet. He had touched Koby accidentally throughout the bath, and because Eitan was so unlike Eitan, Koby had not minded and had not thought of Cameron and the possibility of betrayal.
The secret that Koby discovers there is that if Cameron asked, if Cameron put his hands on Eitan and if Cameron begged, if Cameron put on his sweetest eyes and kindest mouth, then the truth is Eitan would say yes, would let Cameron in, would screw Cameron or would let Cameron screw him, whichever one Cameron preferred, and would like it too, because Cameron's good and no doubt so is Eitan. And if Cameron wanted him to, Eitan would let him do it again and again, and he would not say a word to anyone, and it would be the kind of thing that would suit both of them the best, love without the affectations or the words, though Eitan would never open up and Cameron would never ask. But of course Cameron will never think of it, and Eitan--who knows and doesn't say--won't try, and it would really be up to Koby to bring up the subject. But he won't.
*
Night. Koby lets Cameron sleep on his bed and takes the couch instead. Something aches vaguely, or is it that "in pain" vaguely? He isn't sure. He kicks his legs over the armrests of the sofa and in the dark squints at Cameron's slumbering body. The two of them are used to sleeping alone in their own large beds, and while Koby never moves much from his initial positions, Cameron is a busy sleeper, conquering the mattress like Alexander the Great. It's winter and so they pretend it is cold. Cameron has the blankets entangled all around him, in such a mess Koby is surprised that nothing is cutting off circulation.
By nature, Cameron is a work of art (Koby has had this conversation with him before: "You know--" "What?" "Do you have to do that?" "What?" "That cutting in thing." "What cutting in thing?" "That--that thing you--never mind." "Yeah?" "You have--" helplessly "you have. Paper. In your hair"). He is more so when he's asleep and not talking or gesturing, or for that matter, actively doing anything. Then he is perfect. After all Cameron has soft hair, years and bottles full of care, and soft skin, and what's more, blond hair with blue-green eyes that are light even in semi-darkness. Pale lips--a little thin and having a tendency to hang open when he was thinking, but oh god, beautiful.
Koby knows what he looks like. Awkward shoulders that fit strangely in clothes, too large for his small body. Big feet, long fingers. High cheekbones and big ears, eyes that were slightly too wide apart. Not everyone can be beautiful, like Cameron, or like Eitan by the same token: olive skin tones and black hair, incredibly white teeth and the right proportions, even if he is a little on the short side. Movements that flowed from him comfortably, the uncanniest ability to play basketball well despite his obvious disadvantages.
He falls asleep watching Cameron flop over unconsciously in his bed. Cameron's hair is drifting past the bridge of his nose onto his eyelids, lifting with his not-quite-snores, and Koby lets that lull him into sleeping. He wonders briefly if he remembered to turn off the alarm. Tomorrow would be a Saturday, and for Cameron to wake up in the right mood, it would have to be after ten, and if Cameron were to be in a right mood, Koby could ask him to stay, and maybe they would watch old movies or a game on TV or maybe just lounge around with soda and chips, talking about stupid things and laughing. And Koby would be happy.
*
On Monday morning Eitan lets Cade drive him to school on his motorcycle, that gigantic lump of black metal and silver handlebars. Cade swings Eitan around dangerously low on a left turn, and Eitan is holding onto Cade with both arms around his waist, laughing, hair blown out of shape, and his cheeks are flushed with the cold. Koby waits in the front for them to stop fooling around, counting in his mind until twenty, and then back again, glad that Cameron never comes earlier than two seconds before the morning bell on Mondays. Finally Cade stops and locks his motorcycle to the side of the bicycle rack with a chain, letting his hair fall out of his helmet in a definitely practiced shake.
Eitan calls out, like the ride's permanently damaged his eardrums, "Thanks, man!"
"We'll do it again, right? I'll teach you how to drive it next time." Cade, with a slight Hispanic accent even now, simply for the girls, and is that a pat on the ass as Eitan jumps off? Eitan is laughing again, swinging his backpack over one shoulder in a wide, sweeping gesture, waving to Koby.
"One of these days he's going to kill himself," Eitan says, mock-mournfully, rummaging in his pockets. "Shit, forgot a pencil. You got an extra one on you?" Koby nods, pointing with his thumb to the front pocket of his backpack. Eitan smiles and spins him around with both hands on the shoulder, his best "trying to look like a kicked puppy" expression on his face. "I don't have my Chem homework done. Be a buddy and let me copy it during first period?"
"And I thought Asians were supposed to be good at school," Koby says, already reaching for the zipper of his backpack.
"Not this one. I've got other things to worry about. Other skills," Eitan jokes. He takes his hands away, a deliberate drawing his fingers along the base of Koby's neck. Unnecessary, Koby thinks, and even slightly painful, and there's Cameron rushing down the hallway in a hurry to put his coat away before the bell. Eitan cups his hands around his mouth as he yells to Cameron, "Late as usual!"
"Traffic jam!" Cameron calls back, a lie, obviously, and laughing breathlessly as he rushes by to his locker. "Catch up with you guys in American Lit?"
"She's giving a pop quiz," Eitan warns. "So I hope you read the homework assignment."
"I didn't, but thanks." Cameron's bodiless voice, somewhere around the corner. The hallways are getting empty and the teachers more plentiful around the doors, hungry to catch some flustered freshman running late, and as Koby and Eitan rush away, Cameron adds, "Love ya, man!"
Koby closes his eyes briefly, and opens them again, smile so naturally fixed on his face that he doesn't even feel it anymore. Just another Monday to survive through, he thinks. Another day, which turns into another week, which turns into another month, another semester, another year. A little cruel, Koby reflects ruefully, sliding into his seat beside Eitan just as the bell rings. A little heartless. But true.
*
They spend Friday night at Dylan's house, as per usual, but his parents are off on a business trip of some sort ("Europe," he confides conspiratorially, his characteristic playful, evil smile, "for a week or so--the whole damn house--"), and as per usual, Dylan throws a party that was given birth to, arranged, planned, and executed in all of two hours at the end and after school. Impossible amount of alcohol ("Fuck drinking age," Dylan says, throwing ice into containers and grinning madly) and darkened rooms, weekend-almost-winter-break mentality, Dylan's spontaneous ability to bust out with less-than-legal substances, mixed in with a sudden bad headache abruptly make Koby decide he should probably leave early just for tonight, but not without telling Cameron who, after all, depended on Koby to drive him there. Koby knocks into a couple in the corner, the girl giggling at him, just loud enough to hear over the heartbeat-changing bass line of the music that's playing. He apologizes. Turning his head, he spots Cameron, a small beacon of hair pale enough it looks almost white in the bad lighting, chatting very closely with a girl who is not Chloe but looks quite a bit like her, the nose throwing off the image.
Koby taps Cameron on the shoulder, clearing his throat. "I have a headache," he says loudly, over the noise. "I'm going to go now--"
"Koby, hey, just the person I was looking for," Cameron says brightly, pulling away from his other companion with a silent sigh of relief only Koby recognized. Another desperate girl with a crush, Koby classifies silently as he gives her a nod of recognition. Cameron says over his shoulder, "have a great night, okay? Sorry 'bout this." Koby catches the last bit of his blindingly apologetic smile as Cameron turns around.
Koby asks, "What's up with her?"
"Nothing, I--" Cameron furrows his brow, pulling Koby with him as he makes a bee-line for a loveseat in the corner of Dylan's basement, magically empty of any amorous occupants and out of the light. "I don't feel too well and was just--"
"The drinks?"
"God, maybe. I haven't been getting a lot of sleep."
"Yeah." Koby glances over at Cameron. There's sweat clinging to his temples, along the edges of his hair, and the dim lighting made not only his hair brighter but his skin as well. Gentle curves of his cheeks in profile. A long silence between them as Cameron breathes in and out slowly and Koby watches. "Do you want me to drive you home?"
"No, I'm fine," Cameron says, then changes his mind. "Actually, sure. Why not. There's nothing here anyway."
Eitan is not here, Koby notes for the first time. Eitan is out on a date, he remembers, recalling Eitan by a girl's locker, casual and anticipating, and his bliss throughout the day. Koby reaches out to touch Cameron's shoulder, but pulls back and gets up, searching in his pockets for his car keys. "Okay then. Let's get out of here. We can apologize to Dylan tomorrow. It's not like he'll miss us."
"Yeah, look at those girls, man, that he's got around him," Cameron remarks, a small grin.
Koby thinks, 'You could have them if you want,' but doesn't say anything, leading Cameron along with little nudges and pushes out the door. His car is thankfully at the end of Dylan's gigantic driveway, omitting the need for Koby to go back in and ask people to move their cars. Cameron collapses in the passenger seat next to Koby, stretching out his legs.
"Koby," Cameron starts, and then hesitates, chewing his lip.
"Yeah, what?" Koby switches his focus on starting his car, turning up the heat. They hadn't brought coats to the party and the car had been out in the cold for quite a while. He can see his and Cameron's breath in the dark. His fingers are numb as he looks over his shoulder to back his car onto the street and take off.
"Can I just crash at your house?"
Koby shifts gears from reverse to drive, his eyes peeled in front of him, says nothing for a while, considering the options. Finally, he clears his throat and says quietly, "Do whatever you want."
"Thanks, man," Cameron breathes. Koby risks a look. Cameron has his head turned towards the window, misting the window with his body heat and his breathing, the faintest hint of his reflection.
"If you're tired, you can go to sleep," Koby tells him, adjusting the heat a little bit warmer. "I'll wake you up when we get there." Cameron nods and puts his head back against his seat, creating a little hollow for himself in the seat. The warmth kicks in, making the car more hospitable, and after a while, Koby can hear Cameron's breathing slow down and smooth out.
Koby, driving slowly, takes the long way home.
*
The Christmas lights wake Cameron up as they stall in Koby's driveway. Koby turns off the engine and turns around, meaning to wake Cameron up, but Cameron, his arms crossed over his chest, has opened his eyes already, looking up at Koby with a slightly accusatory stare, as if he were responsible for the ride not lasting forever. Koby puts his hand on Cameron's shoulder, shaking him lightly. "Come on. Out of the car. You're walking, because I can't carry you."
Cameron reaches over and grabs Koby by the sides of his face, pulling him over the aisle between them, leaving Koby to stare at Cameron as he balances right above Cameron's face. Cameron smells like alcohol but mostly of himself, cologne and shampoo and undefined goodness. Koby can feel his heart racing. Something is digging into his ribs and this isn't the most comfortable position in the world. Cameron says, "You know, life is shit," rubbing his thumb over Koby's bottom lip lightly. His eyes are focused somewhere else, somewhere through Koby's face and past the windshield of the car, and Koby tries to smile, to bring Cameron's gaze back at him.
"Pretty bad sometimes," he agrees, using his right hand to gently pry Cameron away.
"Thanks for. You know. Everything. The things you-- yeah." The second time Cameron's been hesitant tonight. Koby wonders if it's a new record.
"Yeah. I know." Koby pulls away, opening the door. The cold air hits him immediately, sending goose bumps through his arm in an instant rush of discomfort and fast heart rate. Cameron is climbing out too, and Koby affords himself this moment to touch his bottom lip just like Cameron did, with his thumb, before stepping out and getting them both inside, quickly, before they freeze.
Koby's bedroom is downstairs, so later, when they're fucking on his bed, they really don't need to be quiet because Koby's parents probably can't hear him, but they try to be anyway, Cameron biting his lip and kissing Koby's shoulder as he screws him carefully and thoroughly. Koby whispers "I love you, I love you--" throughout the whole thing in increasingly ragged tones, pressing his mouth to Cameron's forehead, his nose, his neck, the words tearing out of him, and he reasons to himself that afterwards, if Cameron asks, he'll just say it was the heat of the moment. He'll say he wasn't thinking, it just came out. People always say things they don't mean during sex.
But right now, right now, the bed creaking under them in time with their gasping and moaning and Koby's quiet muffled confessions, he pretends that Cameron understands--that Cameron really believes him. He says it over and over again, as if saying it more could make it truer, as if saying it could make Cameron answer him in return. As if saying it could validate what they did to each other, moving together in the dark, and it could make it hurt less, and it could make it less of a lie.
*
Koby still remembers the first time, both the first time Cameron and him had sex and the first time he found out that Cameron liked--liked--Eitan. It had been, what, summer after their freshmen year? Dylan had gotten them both drunk and giddy, and Eitan had been out with one of the other girls, Yasmin maybe, or Jade, to get them some more ice because Dylan couldn't stand refrigerator ice, and that was all they had left. All of them had the intimacy of newly met close friends but lacked the familiarity of childhood acquaintances. They did not know everything about each other, but knew enough to understand each other, and it was then, probably, that it became obvious to Koby certain things about their personalities.
Dylan, for instance, never thought and never regretted. He also tended to have sex with anything that was mildly attractive and moved, which meant he had had half the school that was worth looking at, and somehow he managed to stay friends with all of them. Also, Dylan was nine out of ten times talking to a probation counselor and getting drug tested, which meant for the most part he didn't do drugs, he just distributed. Not an uncommon phenomenon. Dylan also often got into fights in parking lots, stuff that he never talked about but sported bruises and let the rumors grow.
Cameron, on the other hand, gave off the impression of being the perfect American boy. He was on the track and field team, one of the sprinters, and had the muscular well-toned legs to prove it. Cameron always took, rarely gave, sacrificed but was rarely the sacrifice himself, and liked to throw himself into things but kept himself distanced. Which mean--what, exactly? Sometimes it felt like it was impersonal talking to him but sometimes it felt like you were the only person in the world he cared about. Couldn't function without sleep. And he was good with women; not just that he was charming, but there are certain people who are good with the opposite sex, and Cameron was one of them.
And of course, Eitan, who was exotic and a little on the strange side. In the beginning Koby had considered that maybe Eitan was the kind who only had sex with his friends, but then it occurred to him that that wasn't the case. Rather Eitan only had people who were friends and people who were strangers; everybody was somewhere on the sliding scale in between. Perhaps sex, like relationships, was something Eitan did unknowingly and effortlessly, like everything else: exuding charm or flirting or setting himself up in the most provocative and easily misinterpreted situations possible. Eitan, who was spotted in his personality, little bouts of academic dedication thrown in with utter carelessness, wild playboy habits and sweet momma's boy antics.
That was what Koby knew about them at that point, added in with facts about their families and favorite pizzas, and not much of it was wrong, though not all of it was right. That night, as he and Cameron sat on opposite sides of a large couch, not touching as they watched some high-speed heist movie, Cameron had leaned over and put a hand on Koby's chest, right under his neck, and pulling his shirt in, had asked, "Can I?"
Koby was dizzy then, the after effects of too much alcohol and dancing, and he laughed nervously, licking his lips, and said, "Can you what?"
Then they were kissing, hidden by the thought that Eitan was out and the girls were upstairs freshening their makeup and Dylan was making out with someone in the master bedroom. The TV screen lit up Cameron's face. Koby watched, kissing with his eyes open, hands useless in the air somewhere around Cameron's shoulder, and after a while Cameron stopped, grinning.
"Not bad," he had said.
Effortless transition in Koby's memory to the next morning, Cameron somehow at his house, mostly naked, on his bed, and groaning about his headache. Nothing in between those two scenes, except for images of darkness and Cameron's eyes, soft hands on his skin, pain somewhere, everywhere, nowhere.
Koby had said then, "Is this going to be like 'Perks of Being A Wallflower'?"
"What?"
Koby was handing aspirin to Cameron, taking a drink of water from a glass before giving that to Cameron too. "You know. We have sex. And you pretend not to remember any of it. And we keep doing it. And you keep pretending to forget. So that, you know. It doesn't seem suspicious."
"No, man. I remember it." Cameron, leering suggestively as he tossed back his pills.
That was when Cameron told Koby, in halting terms, about Eitan, and Koby had not looked away, had not even changed expressions--not as if there had been a need to, after all. He simply nodded, throwing Cameron a change of clothes and going into the bathroom to wash his face. Cameron came in shortly, awkwardly standing by the doorway as if waiting for Koby to say something to betray hurt or devastation, but there was nothing of the kind. They were both probably nearing closer and closer to being adults, and this kind of thing couldn't be too unusual. It was conceivably even normal, a type of friendship, and he was sympathetic and noble to Cameron then, absolutely understanding, so much so that after that, time after time, Cameron would keep coming, laying his troubles down in front of Koby for Koby to soothe away.
Koby still believes in equilibrium in relationships--if Cameron is selfishness, then Koby must be selflessness. La Chatelier's, liquid and vapors, enclosed environment. That whole thing. Maybe, after all, they are just chemical reactions in Koby's brain.
*
A catalogue of things Koby has learned about Cameron:
1. His shampoo changes from month to month. He says this is because hair will build up immunity if you use the same shampoo over and over again. Dylan says this is bullshit.
2. He uses conditioner.
3. If he's tired, he snores in a soft, whistling, feminine way.
4. He hates the sound of his own recorded voice, especially on answering machines.
5. He can be impeccably polite if it's needed. He only likes to be a slob because it's easy.
6. He usually buys Chloe pink roses--she doesn't like the red ones except on special occasions.
7. He has a good memory for faces and names.
8. He has a bad memory for numbers, dates, or times.
9. He likes Koby's hair because "it looks good with everything. I mean, take blond hair and put it with, um, gray or something. You look bad. Mismatched. Mottled. But then again maybe you don't look good in light blues?"
"What are you talking about?"
"The color. Of your hair. I like it. A lot. Do you think I'd make a good brunette?"
10. What he doesn't know, he doesn't know hurts him.
continued here.