(no subject)
This is my final story from fiction writing last year. Our first major turn in. Not my best work but I'm still fond of it.
A Ri and Gaby Story
Title: As If You Were Absent
Rating: M
Summary:
The sunlight filtered into the room thickly, resting heavy with summer on the sheets. The A/C was on full-blast chilling the air and making the sheets clammy with sweat. Gaby groaned, shivering as he woke and clutching his arms with boney fingers.
Watching his bedmate he tries to remember his name, but doesn’t feel too guilty about it.
They all look the same - older, maybe balding, with sallow lonely faces. They were all just John’s anyway. This one asked him to stay the night. Gaby agreed, using him for his bed. He dresses quickly and silently, pulling on layers of black and mesh, long sleeves covering arms that were more scar tissue than skin. His movements are stiff, doll-like from aches that settled deep in his bones. He wanted nothing more than a hot shower and to brush his teeth.
His fingers move along the beige walls, feet sinking into the high pile carpet as he retrieves his boots from the living room. The living room looks like the bedroom, monochrome, beige carpet, beige walls, beige furniture, trying too hard to be comfortable. All the furniture is only slightly worn and unremarkable - there to fill an empty room and nothing more. He has no pictures anywhere. A cold sweat creeps down his arms, blue eyes piercing the corners with paranoia. Moving quickly, he rinses his mouth in the kitchen and spits blood in the sink. He takes his pills dry, nausea rising in his empty stomach.
Outside it's hot and bright with the exhaust smell of summer. Sweat immediately beads on his skin, running down the back of his neck, soaking in his clothes to his skin. He holds his dark hair off his neck, ragged nails catching in the snarls and tangles. He wants to tie his hair back, but won’t because he looks too much like his Mother. A proud Spanish face pale with sickness and lack of sleep. Cursing the heat he looks into the windows of shops, noting the date on a television and biting his lip at the sight of chilled green apples. His hands search his pockets for change; the dirt on his palms turns to mud. Upending his backpack on the sidewalk he finds enough change among clothes and backs of pills for a phone call.
He has to decipher the phone number off a piece of paper so worn and old it’s soft like cloth and the black ink has gone blue. A boy answers gruffly, dazed and annoyed.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“G’morning, Abercrombie,” Gaby says grinning, toying with the cord like a kitten with string. He likes teasing Ri for his expensive brand name clothes.
“The hell do you want?” Gaby can hear him struggling to see the clock. “It’s before noon on a Saturday, this better be good.”
“Aww,” Gaby croons, “but Ri I’m bored. Come entertain me.”
“But I was sleeping,” he groaned. It was more a plea than anything; the sheets were
thrown back with reluctance.
“Do you really think I care what you’re doing?” The tone is harsher than his face. “The point is for you to entertain me.” His back is against a wall, drooping like a flower without water. Ri sighs over the phone as Gaby gives him the corner. Pulling himself from the wall he hangs up, fingers separating from the phone with a sound like velcro, and wipes what he could claim is sweat from the corners of his eyes.
Ri’s car is like him, sleek and shining and expensive. Next to Ri and his car Gaby looks dull. Ri with his expensive haircut, shaggy blonde hair, and $100 jeans. His body is lean from swimming and with tan leftover from the summer. Gaby is thin, too thin, and light as a bird with hollow bones, and a tangled knot of black hair hanging to his shoulders. His clothes are couple sizes too big for him, hanging from his body like rags. Ri pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head, his dark blue eyes meeting Gaby’s defiant ones outlined in black.
“What happened to your face?” Ri asks, even though he knows the answer. Briefly Gaby’s hands rise to his face tracing a bruise realizing his didn’t fix his makeup this morning; he forces himself to shrug casually.
“Just business,” he mumbles, sliding into the car like he’s scared to even touch the seats and sits quietly, thinking. Ri frowns slightly, putting down the top and sliding his shades back over his eyes.
“So where do you want to go?” He starts the car, peeling away from the curb recklessly, squealing tires.
“I don’t care. Besides, the point is for you to entertain me,” Gaby reminds him, hands gripping the handle of the door tightly. Ri’s driving has always scared him. He closes his eyes and prays to Christ, Mother Mary, and Saint Christopher to preserve him.
They pass through a tunnel on their way out of the city, heading for the suburbs, streaking along at fifteen above the speed limit. Gaby has settled himself into the seat for the ride, turning occasionally too look at Ri’s face silhouetted against the flashing lights of the tunnel. He likes the way Ri’s face is familiar that way, haloed by blonde hair in semi-darkness. He remembers how it looked one dark night when the air smelled sweet with pot and glitter stung the corners of his eyes. He laughed loudly and stupidly declaring he was a fairy as he paraded around Daniel’s house covered in glitter and wearing gauzy wings before collapsing backwards on the couch.
Ri leaned over him, like an angel in a button up shirt in the half-light, laughing at the unfamiliar sight of a grin on Gaby’s face.
“Are you my prince?” Gaby murmured, eyes half-open.
“You’re so nauseating,” grinned Ri. Gaby ignores him.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, draping his arms around Ri’s neck and holding on tightly. Ri kisses him, gently but firmly.
“So does this mean you’re my princess?” Ri asked, his grin is taunting, verging on malicious playing.
“If I am, will you take me away?” His voice is breathless, eyes sliding shut and his head tipping backwards spilling his hair over the edge of the couch. Ri was silent, taking it
in.
“Sure, I’ll take you away. Where do you want to go?” His lips found Gaby’s neck by
accident, breathing deep.
“Anywhere but here.” Riel pet his hair, catching.
“Go back to sleep Gaby.”
“But you’ll leave.” Gaby whimpered, tightening his hold. Ri sighed that Gaby could be
difficult even when stoned out of his mind.
“I’ll stay.”
“Promise?” Voice high and thin, pleading.
“Promise.” Ri kissed his cheek and was gone in the morning. Gaby feels awkward even thinking about it now. Ri just acted like it had never happened, even though it took him a week to get the glitter out of his clothes.
They wind up at Daniel’s house, a modest sized house in a decent neighborhood, even if the yard is more than a little neglected. This was due to the fact that Daniel was by himself a majority of the time, and he rarely left the house except when low on soda and chips. His skin tone implied that he never saw daylight more than he had to. Inside the shades were drawn, the living room lit only by the warm glow of the Halo loading screen.
Daniel moves away from them as they enter, running his hands through his mousey brown hair, going to get Gaby and icepack for his face. He was used to patching him up; he didn’t bother asking questions anymore. Both Daniel and Riel make themselves comfortable in front of Halo, opening beer and eating chips. Gaby goes off by himself, finding a book and settling on Pablo Neruda. He’s used to being ignored. Settling into a drink stained chair he makes himself comfortable ignoring the sound of video games and them getting drunk.
Daniel goes to bed, leaving them sitting in silence. Ri is too drunk to drive home, but still too drunk to make it up the stairs. So he goes to sit on the couch next to Gaby, falling heavily as he sits.
“M’sorry for ignoring you,” he mumbles, resting his head on Gaby’s shoulder, making him grimace at the smell of beer.
“Don’t worry about it,” he replies, closing the book and carefully saving the page.
“No, no. Next time I’ll take you to my place instead of getting drunk at Daniel’s.”
Gaby rests his head against Ri’s in return.
“Seriously, m’used to it.” He lowers his face, pressing it into his shirt. His motions are gentle, wanting to be closer.
“So, what’re you reading?” Gaby turns even closer so that he’s almost in Ri’s lap, chests touching slightly.
“It’s Neruda.” Ri makes a sound that implies he has no idea who that is. Gaby’s lips touch Ri’s neck, longing, eyes half open.
“I like you calm, as if you were absent,” his teeth find the soft flesh at his
shoulder. “And you hear me far-off, and my voice does not touch you.”
“You’re insane,” Ri laughs. Gaby laughs, agreeing, whispering more poetry.
“Since all these things are filled with my spirit, you come from things, filled with my spirit.” He moves to Ri’s ear, a soft sound of longing, pressing his lips to shell of his ear. “You appear as my soul, as the butterflies dreaming, and you appear as Sadness’s word.” His lips part, breathing heavily, drunkenly, his eyes closed and drugged with sleep. Gaby’s thin hands reach out, brushing feathery hair away from Ri’s face, kissing his forehead.
“I like you calm, as if you were absent: distant and saddened, as if you were dead.” Gaby gets up, running a hand through his hair nervously. He goes around gathering his shoes and his bag, pausing to take money from Ri’s wallet for the bus, and slips out the door as quietly as possible.
At night it’s just as hot and humid as the day, clothes sticking to his body like damp paper. People are still moving around, even past midnight, busy in the shadows of neon outside bars. It’s the kind of area where there are strange puddles on the sidewalks even though it hasn’t rained in weeks. He rubs his eyes as he walks, smearing the makeup into storm fronts stretching on either side of his eyes. Some people smile at him, some push past in a hurry. He ignores them all, cursing himself in his mind for being stupid. He wants to pick a fight, to hurt himself. Red streaks glisten on his forearm where he’s already done so.
He takes his hand on street corner, it’s not his, but he doesn’t care. It isn’t long
before someone finds him. A sleek black sports care with tinted windows, someone the other hustlers have been talking about. The man inside is sharp and narrow faced, hair slicked back into a perfect shell to go with his power suit and tie. This is the kind of man that fathers warn their daughters about. Gaby moves so his window, eyes dangerous, discussing price, flirting with danger. He accepts, and gets in.
The inside of the car smells like alcohol and smoke, and in the back seat a paper bag of bottles rattles. He’s feeling giddy, crazy, and masochistic. The man’s knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel.
“You got a family?” Gaby asks. The wheel protests at the tightening of the grip. “Your wife know where you are?” He purrs, reaching out to caress his hair, closing the safe distance between them. “How ‘bout your son Mister?” The hand flashes out quickly at the red light, the ring tearing open his cheek. The blood flows quickly, along with curses. The man breathes heavily.
“You shut the fuck up,” he snarls, teeth gritting. Gaby laughs. “You fucking son-of-a-bitch.” The laughing fades to a grin, egging him on. Gaby fakes an apology, holding a hand to his freely bleeding face. He’s relaxed in the tense silence, the man fumes the whole way to the motel. It was a piece of shit motel, the kind where they knew Gaby at the front desk.
When they get the room he doesn’t bother drinking the beer he’s offered, he’s drunk off the power of knowing what to do wrong. He grabs the man by his tie, pulling him down and kissing him roughly and angrily, more challenge than kiss, pretending it’s Ri. The man grabs him by his hair yanking, pulling it out by the roots.
“You stupid fucking fag,” he growls, holding his head back, neck exposed. His fingers trace over the pale flesh marred with bruises, up to the swollen curve of his cheek where he presses his fingers into the cut, making it bleed freely. Gaby is silent, breathing heavily. He has to play his game carefully; he’s still in control for now.
“So what do you want me to call you, handsome? How does Daddy sound? You have a son right?” The man's breath hitches, anxious, shoving him backwards angrily. Gaby stumbles, surprised, mask slipping. He’s hit again, forced backwards further, being caught by his hair. He throws him into the bathroom, slipping, making an audible crack as his head hits the counter. There’s blood everywhere, caking his hair, making the floor slick. He’s familiar with blood; he sees his own on a regular basis. The pain in his head makes him heave yellow bile, while the man watches, calculating. Gaby knows he’s entered dangerous territory; he’s not in control anymore.
His eyes slide to the yellow stains around the base of the toilet and the small curly hairs that worry themselves into the corners. It feels like he’s thirteen again, except then he was drunk, instead of being stupid as Daniel told him. He turns himself over onto his stomach to get up again, but a foot stomps down onto his spine, pinning him down. Hands pulls at his pants, yanking back his head. His vision swims and his flipped back onto his back, a hand closes over his throat, choking him. His eyes roll back into his head as he tries to concentrate on breathing, inside his head he hears people screaming. As the man rapes him, he can only think, I hate you.
In the morning the maid wakes him up when she goes to make sure he’s alive. Her hands shaking on his shoulders as his vision refocuses. His head swims with sounds, the phone, the vacuum, and the whispering remnants of last night. He insists that he’s fine and pulls himself up by the counter. Carefully, methodically, he takes his pills and rinses his face watching the clots of blood disappear down the drain. He rinses his hair in the sink, feeling the nausea again at the thick red water. He doesn’t bother watching the maid as she cleans; he knows the man didn’t leave any money behind. He leaves again after carefully reapplying the makeup, trying his best to cover the cut in his cheek and trying not to cry, he hated it when tears ran tracks through his makeup.
He thinks carefully on the bus ride back to Daniel’s. About his mother, his father and
the scar in his stomach that he put there. About high school, Ri, Daniel, the friends he never talked to anymore. He tries not to think about how he used to be, a good little Catholic that loved his mother and honored his father. All he wants now was Ri, someone he couldn’t have. He gets off a few stops early so he didn’t have to think about these things as long.
When he gets there Ri is still there, silent, not looking up from the TV to greet him. He was mad, Gaby doesn’t know why. Gaby stood there, watching them, wanting Ri’s eyes to look upwards, to see him. Begging him to stop him from doing what he wanted to do more than anything. Ri eventually looks up, reluctant, expression asking “What do you want?” Daniel is asking loud questions, wanting to know what happened to his face. He wants to cry but he holds it in. He’s a boy after all, not a girl. Everyone always teases him for being such a girl. Daniel tells him not to get blood on th couch, getting up to get him gauze.
“Let me know if you need to go to the hospital,” Daniel says, pressing it to Gaby’s forehead. Ri sits in silence, jaw clenched. His eyes move over the Gaby’s forehead, eyes narrow, dangerous blue slits. He’s angry, Gaby thinks Ri is angry with him. He keeps his head down, holding the gauze to slow the bleeding.
“How can you let someone do that to you?” Ri hisses. Gaby bites his bruised lip, ashamed at the disgust in Ri’s voice. He shrugs, feeling his heart breaking. He wants to die. He feels woozy, wondering if it’s from the concussion.
“I need to take a shower. I feel disgusting,” he murmurs, wiping blood from his forehead. Daniel doesn’t protest, and instead goes to find him towels. Ri doesn’t say anything, letting him go, wanting him to get clean again. He likes Gaby better when he’s clean. Gaby finds the bathroom, slipping inside and locking the door before Daniel can give him the towels. He catches his own reflection in the mirror, and looks away, pretending he didn’t, hating the sight of himself. Daniel knocks, Gaby turns on the shower to drown him out. He sits on the floor and rolls up his sleaves while Daniel continues to knock, steam from the hot water collecting in the air.
A Ri and Gaby Story
Title: As If You Were Absent
Rating: M
Summary:
The sunlight filtered into the room thickly, resting heavy with summer on the sheets. The A/C was on full-blast chilling the air and making the sheets clammy with sweat. Gaby groaned, shivering as he woke and clutching his arms with boney fingers.
Watching his bedmate he tries to remember his name, but doesn’t feel too guilty about it.
They all look the same - older, maybe balding, with sallow lonely faces. They were all just John’s anyway. This one asked him to stay the night. Gaby agreed, using him for his bed. He dresses quickly and silently, pulling on layers of black and mesh, long sleeves covering arms that were more scar tissue than skin. His movements are stiff, doll-like from aches that settled deep in his bones. He wanted nothing more than a hot shower and to brush his teeth.
His fingers move along the beige walls, feet sinking into the high pile carpet as he retrieves his boots from the living room. The living room looks like the bedroom, monochrome, beige carpet, beige walls, beige furniture, trying too hard to be comfortable. All the furniture is only slightly worn and unremarkable - there to fill an empty room and nothing more. He has no pictures anywhere. A cold sweat creeps down his arms, blue eyes piercing the corners with paranoia. Moving quickly, he rinses his mouth in the kitchen and spits blood in the sink. He takes his pills dry, nausea rising in his empty stomach.
Outside it's hot and bright with the exhaust smell of summer. Sweat immediately beads on his skin, running down the back of his neck, soaking in his clothes to his skin. He holds his dark hair off his neck, ragged nails catching in the snarls and tangles. He wants to tie his hair back, but won’t because he looks too much like his Mother. A proud Spanish face pale with sickness and lack of sleep. Cursing the heat he looks into the windows of shops, noting the date on a television and biting his lip at the sight of chilled green apples. His hands search his pockets for change; the dirt on his palms turns to mud. Upending his backpack on the sidewalk he finds enough change among clothes and backs of pills for a phone call.
He has to decipher the phone number off a piece of paper so worn and old it’s soft like cloth and the black ink has gone blue. A boy answers gruffly, dazed and annoyed.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“G’morning, Abercrombie,” Gaby says grinning, toying with the cord like a kitten with string. He likes teasing Ri for his expensive brand name clothes.
“The hell do you want?” Gaby can hear him struggling to see the clock. “It’s before noon on a Saturday, this better be good.”
“Aww,” Gaby croons, “but Ri I’m bored. Come entertain me.”
“But I was sleeping,” he groaned. It was more a plea than anything; the sheets were
thrown back with reluctance.
“Do you really think I care what you’re doing?” The tone is harsher than his face. “The point is for you to entertain me.” His back is against a wall, drooping like a flower without water. Ri sighs over the phone as Gaby gives him the corner. Pulling himself from the wall he hangs up, fingers separating from the phone with a sound like velcro, and wipes what he could claim is sweat from the corners of his eyes.
Ri’s car is like him, sleek and shining and expensive. Next to Ri and his car Gaby looks dull. Ri with his expensive haircut, shaggy blonde hair, and $100 jeans. His body is lean from swimming and with tan leftover from the summer. Gaby is thin, too thin, and light as a bird with hollow bones, and a tangled knot of black hair hanging to his shoulders. His clothes are couple sizes too big for him, hanging from his body like rags. Ri pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head, his dark blue eyes meeting Gaby’s defiant ones outlined in black.
“What happened to your face?” Ri asks, even though he knows the answer. Briefly Gaby’s hands rise to his face tracing a bruise realizing his didn’t fix his makeup this morning; he forces himself to shrug casually.
“Just business,” he mumbles, sliding into the car like he’s scared to even touch the seats and sits quietly, thinking. Ri frowns slightly, putting down the top and sliding his shades back over his eyes.
“So where do you want to go?” He starts the car, peeling away from the curb recklessly, squealing tires.
“I don’t care. Besides, the point is for you to entertain me,” Gaby reminds him, hands gripping the handle of the door tightly. Ri’s driving has always scared him. He closes his eyes and prays to Christ, Mother Mary, and Saint Christopher to preserve him.
They pass through a tunnel on their way out of the city, heading for the suburbs, streaking along at fifteen above the speed limit. Gaby has settled himself into the seat for the ride, turning occasionally too look at Ri’s face silhouetted against the flashing lights of the tunnel. He likes the way Ri’s face is familiar that way, haloed by blonde hair in semi-darkness. He remembers how it looked one dark night when the air smelled sweet with pot and glitter stung the corners of his eyes. He laughed loudly and stupidly declaring he was a fairy as he paraded around Daniel’s house covered in glitter and wearing gauzy wings before collapsing backwards on the couch.
Ri leaned over him, like an angel in a button up shirt in the half-light, laughing at the unfamiliar sight of a grin on Gaby’s face.
“Are you my prince?” Gaby murmured, eyes half-open.
“You’re so nauseating,” grinned Ri. Gaby ignores him.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, draping his arms around Ri’s neck and holding on tightly. Ri kisses him, gently but firmly.
“So does this mean you’re my princess?” Ri asked, his grin is taunting, verging on malicious playing.
“If I am, will you take me away?” His voice is breathless, eyes sliding shut and his head tipping backwards spilling his hair over the edge of the couch. Ri was silent, taking it
in.
“Sure, I’ll take you away. Where do you want to go?” His lips found Gaby’s neck by
accident, breathing deep.
“Anywhere but here.” Riel pet his hair, catching.
“Go back to sleep Gaby.”
“But you’ll leave.” Gaby whimpered, tightening his hold. Ri sighed that Gaby could be
difficult even when stoned out of his mind.
“I’ll stay.”
“Promise?” Voice high and thin, pleading.
“Promise.” Ri kissed his cheek and was gone in the morning. Gaby feels awkward even thinking about it now. Ri just acted like it had never happened, even though it took him a week to get the glitter out of his clothes.
They wind up at Daniel’s house, a modest sized house in a decent neighborhood, even if the yard is more than a little neglected. This was due to the fact that Daniel was by himself a majority of the time, and he rarely left the house except when low on soda and chips. His skin tone implied that he never saw daylight more than he had to. Inside the shades were drawn, the living room lit only by the warm glow of the Halo loading screen.
Daniel moves away from them as they enter, running his hands through his mousey brown hair, going to get Gaby and icepack for his face. He was used to patching him up; he didn’t bother asking questions anymore. Both Daniel and Riel make themselves comfortable in front of Halo, opening beer and eating chips. Gaby goes off by himself, finding a book and settling on Pablo Neruda. He’s used to being ignored. Settling into a drink stained chair he makes himself comfortable ignoring the sound of video games and them getting drunk.
Daniel goes to bed, leaving them sitting in silence. Ri is too drunk to drive home, but still too drunk to make it up the stairs. So he goes to sit on the couch next to Gaby, falling heavily as he sits.
“M’sorry for ignoring you,” he mumbles, resting his head on Gaby’s shoulder, making him grimace at the smell of beer.
“Don’t worry about it,” he replies, closing the book and carefully saving the page.
“No, no. Next time I’ll take you to my place instead of getting drunk at Daniel’s.”
Gaby rests his head against Ri’s in return.
“Seriously, m’used to it.” He lowers his face, pressing it into his shirt. His motions are gentle, wanting to be closer.
“So, what’re you reading?” Gaby turns even closer so that he’s almost in Ri’s lap, chests touching slightly.
“It’s Neruda.” Ri makes a sound that implies he has no idea who that is. Gaby’s lips touch Ri’s neck, longing, eyes half open.
“I like you calm, as if you were absent,” his teeth find the soft flesh at his
shoulder. “And you hear me far-off, and my voice does not touch you.”
“You’re insane,” Ri laughs. Gaby laughs, agreeing, whispering more poetry.
“Since all these things are filled with my spirit, you come from things, filled with my spirit.” He moves to Ri’s ear, a soft sound of longing, pressing his lips to shell of his ear. “You appear as my soul, as the butterflies dreaming, and you appear as Sadness’s word.” His lips part, breathing heavily, drunkenly, his eyes closed and drugged with sleep. Gaby’s thin hands reach out, brushing feathery hair away from Ri’s face, kissing his forehead.
“I like you calm, as if you were absent: distant and saddened, as if you were dead.” Gaby gets up, running a hand through his hair nervously. He goes around gathering his shoes and his bag, pausing to take money from Ri’s wallet for the bus, and slips out the door as quietly as possible.
At night it’s just as hot and humid as the day, clothes sticking to his body like damp paper. People are still moving around, even past midnight, busy in the shadows of neon outside bars. It’s the kind of area where there are strange puddles on the sidewalks even though it hasn’t rained in weeks. He rubs his eyes as he walks, smearing the makeup into storm fronts stretching on either side of his eyes. Some people smile at him, some push past in a hurry. He ignores them all, cursing himself in his mind for being stupid. He wants to pick a fight, to hurt himself. Red streaks glisten on his forearm where he’s already done so.
He takes his hand on street corner, it’s not his, but he doesn’t care. It isn’t long
before someone finds him. A sleek black sports care with tinted windows, someone the other hustlers have been talking about. The man inside is sharp and narrow faced, hair slicked back into a perfect shell to go with his power suit and tie. This is the kind of man that fathers warn their daughters about. Gaby moves so his window, eyes dangerous, discussing price, flirting with danger. He accepts, and gets in.
The inside of the car smells like alcohol and smoke, and in the back seat a paper bag of bottles rattles. He’s feeling giddy, crazy, and masochistic. The man’s knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel.
“You got a family?” Gaby asks. The wheel protests at the tightening of the grip. “Your wife know where you are?” He purrs, reaching out to caress his hair, closing the safe distance between them. “How ‘bout your son Mister?” The hand flashes out quickly at the red light, the ring tearing open his cheek. The blood flows quickly, along with curses. The man breathes heavily.
“You shut the fuck up,” he snarls, teeth gritting. Gaby laughs. “You fucking son-of-a-bitch.” The laughing fades to a grin, egging him on. Gaby fakes an apology, holding a hand to his freely bleeding face. He’s relaxed in the tense silence, the man fumes the whole way to the motel. It was a piece of shit motel, the kind where they knew Gaby at the front desk.
When they get the room he doesn’t bother drinking the beer he’s offered, he’s drunk off the power of knowing what to do wrong. He grabs the man by his tie, pulling him down and kissing him roughly and angrily, more challenge than kiss, pretending it’s Ri. The man grabs him by his hair yanking, pulling it out by the roots.
“You stupid fucking fag,” he growls, holding his head back, neck exposed. His fingers trace over the pale flesh marred with bruises, up to the swollen curve of his cheek where he presses his fingers into the cut, making it bleed freely. Gaby is silent, breathing heavily. He has to play his game carefully; he’s still in control for now.
“So what do you want me to call you, handsome? How does Daddy sound? You have a son right?” The man's breath hitches, anxious, shoving him backwards angrily. Gaby stumbles, surprised, mask slipping. He’s hit again, forced backwards further, being caught by his hair. He throws him into the bathroom, slipping, making an audible crack as his head hits the counter. There’s blood everywhere, caking his hair, making the floor slick. He’s familiar with blood; he sees his own on a regular basis. The pain in his head makes him heave yellow bile, while the man watches, calculating. Gaby knows he’s entered dangerous territory; he’s not in control anymore.
His eyes slide to the yellow stains around the base of the toilet and the small curly hairs that worry themselves into the corners. It feels like he’s thirteen again, except then he was drunk, instead of being stupid as Daniel told him. He turns himself over onto his stomach to get up again, but a foot stomps down onto his spine, pinning him down. Hands pulls at his pants, yanking back his head. His vision swims and his flipped back onto his back, a hand closes over his throat, choking him. His eyes roll back into his head as he tries to concentrate on breathing, inside his head he hears people screaming. As the man rapes him, he can only think, I hate you.
In the morning the maid wakes him up when she goes to make sure he’s alive. Her hands shaking on his shoulders as his vision refocuses. His head swims with sounds, the phone, the vacuum, and the whispering remnants of last night. He insists that he’s fine and pulls himself up by the counter. Carefully, methodically, he takes his pills and rinses his face watching the clots of blood disappear down the drain. He rinses his hair in the sink, feeling the nausea again at the thick red water. He doesn’t bother watching the maid as she cleans; he knows the man didn’t leave any money behind. He leaves again after carefully reapplying the makeup, trying his best to cover the cut in his cheek and trying not to cry, he hated it when tears ran tracks through his makeup.
He thinks carefully on the bus ride back to Daniel’s. About his mother, his father and
the scar in his stomach that he put there. About high school, Ri, Daniel, the friends he never talked to anymore. He tries not to think about how he used to be, a good little Catholic that loved his mother and honored his father. All he wants now was Ri, someone he couldn’t have. He gets off a few stops early so he didn’t have to think about these things as long.
When he gets there Ri is still there, silent, not looking up from the TV to greet him. He was mad, Gaby doesn’t know why. Gaby stood there, watching them, wanting Ri’s eyes to look upwards, to see him. Begging him to stop him from doing what he wanted to do more than anything. Ri eventually looks up, reluctant, expression asking “What do you want?” Daniel is asking loud questions, wanting to know what happened to his face. He wants to cry but he holds it in. He’s a boy after all, not a girl. Everyone always teases him for being such a girl. Daniel tells him not to get blood on th couch, getting up to get him gauze.
“Let me know if you need to go to the hospital,” Daniel says, pressing it to Gaby’s forehead. Ri sits in silence, jaw clenched. His eyes move over the Gaby’s forehead, eyes narrow, dangerous blue slits. He’s angry, Gaby thinks Ri is angry with him. He keeps his head down, holding the gauze to slow the bleeding.
“How can you let someone do that to you?” Ri hisses. Gaby bites his bruised lip, ashamed at the disgust in Ri’s voice. He shrugs, feeling his heart breaking. He wants to die. He feels woozy, wondering if it’s from the concussion.
“I need to take a shower. I feel disgusting,” he murmurs, wiping blood from his forehead. Daniel doesn’t protest, and instead goes to find him towels. Ri doesn’t say anything, letting him go, wanting him to get clean again. He likes Gaby better when he’s clean. Gaby finds the bathroom, slipping inside and locking the door before Daniel can give him the towels. He catches his own reflection in the mirror, and looks away, pretending he didn’t, hating the sight of himself. Daniel knocks, Gaby turns on the shower to drown him out. He sits on the floor and rolls up his sleaves while Daniel continues to knock, steam from the hot water collecting in the air.