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His eyes opened quickly, the lids fluttering for a moment like moths wings, adjusting to the darkness. Aaron sat up, his shirt damp with sweat and sticking to his back and chest. It was already six in the evening. Laughter and a clamor of female voices filled the large Victorian, floating up to his room from the main floor.
He realized that he had completely blocked that memory from his mind.
The memory of lying in that dark basement, tortured and scared, wishing for help or even death, and not receiving either.
He was angry now.
Angry at Chase, angry at him for not helping, angry for his laughter. How did he not know what was going on that day? He could not conceive of Bailey keeping it from him. Jocks liked to brag, especially if it’s about doing something bad to some weak faggot.
He ran his hands over his head, pulling at his sweaty hair. His roommates would probably begin to wonder if he was dead, and dead he was not, at least not physically. Inside was a different story altogether. Inside, Aaron felt as if he had died a long time ago. For the past nine years, Aaron had only felt the rot. Nothing more than the decay. Like Bailey Nguyen, Aaron was nothing more than mulch, only for him it was deep and hidden from prying eyes.
He stripped off his clothes and opened his door, tiptoeing out into the hall, making his way to his bathroom. He was eager for a shower. Eager to wash away the muck and the confusion of the day. Desperate to rinse it off of his body. It had clung to him like ectoplasm and as if walking through a spider’s web, it continued to feel as if it were clinging to him.
He had a bundle of clothes covering his underwear. Years later, and he still had fears about people seeing him naked. He felt shame in his body. He felt shame at the thought of anyone looking at him. He knew that Bailey had everything to do with it, but that knowledge—that awareness—did nothing to alleviate it.
He pushed open the bathroom door and walked in, locking it behind him.
Extra security.
He had never felt safe in a shower, always fearing another person’s presence. Once again, he was aware of the fact that it had to do with Bailey; all roads of trauma led back to him, but if anything, knowing that only made it worse. Nine years later, and what a dead kid did to him still lingered and affected everything he did and how he thought about himself. He wished he could just get over it. Isn’t that what people always say? ‘Get over it’. Yeah, well if he could, then Aaron Christopher wouldn’t still be cutting.
He went to the claw-footed tub. The blue shower curtain was already pushed back and beckoning Aaron to climb right in. He turned the knob and waited for the water to warm up.
He stood there for several minutes before actually doing anything. His arms stung, but the pain was good, and it reminded him that he was flesh and blood, that Bailey Nguyen had not taken that with him when he died. He reached for the soap and lathered up the wash cloth, running it on his body slowly, wiping away the dried blood and careful to avoid the actual wounds.
He thought on the phone call. A voice that had been identical to Bailey’s had accused him of being a murderer, had known what button to press. Who it had actually been, he had no idea, but he knew logically that it could not have been Bailey. After all, he was dead and buried, a feast for worms, and his skin was now nothing more than mulch to feed the earth.
He finished his shower and dressed carefully, slipping on a fresh pair of underwear, fitting black jeans over his legs and sliding a black ribbed turtleneck over his head.
The bathroom window was open and faced the back of the house, a view of the lush garden and cobblestone walk beneath it. It was a beautiful place to be in the summer, drinking iced tea and conversing with friends amongst large rose bushes and lilacs, the sounds of running water pouring out from cherubim flutes, filling the ornate fountain in the center of the courtyard. It was a wonderland protected by large, thirteen foot fences.
––––––––
Aaron walked into the kitchen. All of his roommates were looking at him and smiling, each with a glass of wine in hand, their expressions loose and warm. Christy smiled at him. Her body was average in build and she was dressed in a blue floral skirt, with a pink cashmere sweater clinging to her body. Her red hair grazed her chin and her green eyes were bright and glassy, her hand enclosed in Trish’s grasp.
Trish, on the other hand, looked like a typical dyke. She was tall, lanky, with short brown hair which was identical to Aaron’s in cut and style, favoring flannel shirts or tee’s, and she was never afraid to jump down someone’s throat if they were out of line.
“Good evening sleepy head...” Sandra said with a smile, a smile that told him that they had been discussing him while he slept. They all had this expression—except for Tammy, whose face looked ridden with guilt.
“Oh, God, you told them didn’t you?”
Tammy nodded.
“So, a mysterious love from the past runs into you—literally—and you’re just shrugging it off?” Christy asked him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “It sounds to me that the Universe is trying to tell you something; what could that be?”
She kissed him on the cheek, guiding him to one of the stools. Aaron sat down and smiled as Trish handed him a glass of wine, silently urging him to talk.
“You guys, Chase Sheppard and I weren’t friends. Ever. I mean, like, not even passing buddies... besides, he’s not gay!” He drank down half of the glass, remnants from the dream still clinging to him, hovering over him like a cloud.
“Yeah, right. Tammy thinks you have a shot,” Andy said to him with a laugh, though something in her voice seemed distant, almost broken.
“Whatever....” He looked over at the counter and saw a tray of assorted appetizers and could smell the vegetarian lasagna cooking in the oven. “So, what’s going on here? What’s up with the food?”
He pointed to the trays, waiting for an answer.
“These two are having another dinner party for all their reading group friends.” Tammy responded with a laugh.
“You hyenas can join us...” Trish said to her.
Tammy and Aaron looked at one another.
“Poetry Night!” they said in unison.
Sandra cleared her throat. “You going to join us, Andy?”
She looked distant, as if gazing into some other place, some other time, and her brown eyes were almost lost in the luster of her burgundy hair.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, of course I am.”
She seemed so sad. Aaron hadn’t the slightest clue as to why, but he was determined to find out. After all, the only real trick in forgetting your own problems was to absorb yourself in other people’s shit.
“You guys are traitors,” Christy said with a grin.
“Do you really want us here? I mean, really! Sandra is going to end up picking up one of your guests, most likely the one in the relationship. And Aaron and I will end up making fun of them,” Tammy said.
Christy sighed. “You have a point there.”
––––––––
“I just don’t get it; I feel like no matter what I do, Christy and Trish will just never give me a chance. Is it because I’m bisexual? I mean, who cares if I like both, or if I lean more towards one than the other.”
They had occupied the large red couch under the mirror, Prospect’s staff setting up the mic for the night’s entertainment. The coffee house was filling up fast.
Andy was frustrated. Christy and Trish had been reluctant to let her move in at first. They wanted a house full of gay people, and when Andy had interviewed for the room she had been honest about her orientation, and though Aaron and the others would never tell her, after Andy had left, the five of them had gotten into a heated debate about letting her move in.
They had all had experiences with people claiming to be bi because they got drunk at parties and made out with people of the same sex, but when push came to shove, only ever dated people of the opposite gender and refused to get involved in LGBTQ issues. They all admitted that their experience with identified bisexuals was negative. That though they identified as queer, they couldn’t be bothered to get involved with issues facing the community.
They had gone back and forth for three hours and had gone through three-and-half bottles of wine before Aaron, Sandra, and Tammy could convince Christy and Trish to let go of their apprehension and let her move in.
“Honey, they don’t like it because they really don’t like straight men, especially Christy, and so they’re put off by the fact that you do!” Sandra was blunt but honest. Looking at her, you would have never guessed that she batted for the girls’ team instead of the boys.
“Straight men do kind of have a reputation for being entitled and gross,” Tammy said with a laugh. “I mean, obviously not all. My brother is straight, and he’s fucking awesome. But you know what I mean.
“They both have their issues, whatever they are. But who cares? I mean, love them, but Christy and Trish are kind of boring. They U-Hauled a long time ago. Do you really care?”
“Well, they don’t mind it if Aaron has guys over, and they have no problem with him living at the house!”
Aaron looked at Andy and rolled his eyes.
“First of all...” he interjected, “I do not have guys over at the house, and secondly, I’m gay!”
The last thing he wanted to do was get into a debate over the ideals of his home, or his mates, and yet anything was better than talking about Chase Sheppard and their ‘destiny’.
Aaron allowed himself to get lost in Andy’s bitching and Sandra’s ability to make light of the situation with clever witticisms, reminding Andy that nothing really was that serious in the end.
He watched people come in and out, making their way up the staircase and down the staircase, desperate to find a place to sit, not wanting to be forced onto the floor, or worse yet, forced to stand.
This had been one of the oddest days of his life, and he was glad that it was over. Night had come and now the world was dark, save for the orange illumination of the street lights.
Tammy had been gone for more than ten minutes getting their drinks, and the space was becoming claustrophobic, the body heat rising in the room. Aaron began to feel anxious. His heart was thundering in his ears and his pulse quickened. He had no idea why he was suddenly feeling this way, but something was doing it.
Get it together. Jesus!
“All right, we’ve got one plain coffee.” Tammy’s voice pulled Aaron back to the present, and he was grateful to see her smiling at him and giving him a secret wink.
“Mine!” Sandra declared, taking it from Tammy.
“And for you, Andy, a latte, and for my cute gay boy, I’ve got a warm cup of chai calling your name!” Aaron smiled and took it from her, drinking it quickly, wearing off the effects of the wine.
The barista from earlier in the day made his way through the crowd and up to the microphone, clearing his throat and bringing the crowd to attention.
“How is everyone doing tonight?”
Everyone in the coffee shop screamed enthusiastically in response.
“Awesome! We’ve got a great line-up tonight! A couple of musicians and a shit ton of spoken word from some really talented people. A lot of you regulars, of course.”
Everyone laughed. It was that obligatory laugh that was made when something wasn’t necessarily funny, but there never seemed to be any other appropriate reaction.
For two hours they sat there, listening to a variety of performers—many adults, a few high school kids—most doing poetry, one rapping, and two girls on acoustic guitars. There was a brief intermission and Tammy suddenly got up and excused herself, walking down the hall towards the restrooms, but blowing past these and making her way out of the back door facing Holly Street.
“She must’ve seen someone she knows,” Andy said.
Aaron laughed. “Or maybe a girl she wants to fuck, or fuck again.”
There was an old black upright piano pushed against the wall, and the barista went to this now, turning it around so it faced the audience and angled it so that the side of the room that they were sitting at would be able to see the face of the player. He then grabbed the mic and adjusted it so that the person playing could use it.
“A piano... we don’t see that used often,” Andy commented.
“No; no, we don’t. That’s awesome. Seems like everyone and their mother plays the guitar,” Aaron responded with a smile. He loved the piano. Tori Amos was the goddess of the keys, and she was also his favorite artist. Over the years, watching her perform and listening to her, had made him develop an appreciation for the instrument that bordered on obeisance.
“Is everyone having a good time?” the barista asked, and the coffee shop erupted into a chorus of whoops and hollers.
“All right, cool! Yeah....” The barista scanned the crowd with his brown eyes and cleared his throat. “Our next performer is a grad student at Fairhaven, and ladies, he’s not bad to look at either.”
There was laughter and cat calls from the room, and Aaron rolled his eyes.
“Because guys wouldn’t find him attractive...” he mumbled to the girls.
Nothing grated on him more than when straight people just forgot that gay people even existed. It happened frequently, and though he should have been used to the status quo of hetero-dominated culture and society by now, he still refused to lie down and accept it.
“Give it up for Chase!”
Aaron’s attention rose immediately, and the sickening uneasiness of nausea began to bloom inside of his stomach. His pulse quickened as he looked around the room. He couldn’t have meant Chase Sheppard.
From the back, he emerged. Aaron had caught sight of him in the shadowed hall just beyond the doorframe to the bathrooms. They had locked eyes—or more accurately Aaron had locked eyes with him, as Chase’s gaze had already been fixed to the place where he sat.
He was wearing a fitted black American Apparel polo and cobalt skinny jeans, his black hair still swept to the side and looking effortless. He sat on the piano bench, the old thing creaking under his weight. He reached down between his legs to take hold of the seat and scoot the bench forward.
He locked eyes with Aaron for just a moment, the slight shadow of stubble only beginning to emerge near the side burns and the upper part of his strong jaw and around his chin. Chase smiled at him, and Aaron felt his cheeks become flushed. He tore his gaze away quickly, just enough to give him a chance to catch his breath.
Chase cleared his throat and leaned into the mic, scanning the room with those turquoise eyes, which seemed to absorb the room and everyone in it.
“This is the first song that I ever learned to play. I learned it a long time ago for someone who was very special to me, and I don’t think they even knew it.” Chase’s eyes fell for just a second, and he gave a half-shake of his head.
“This is Clumsy by Our Lady Peace.”
The audience applauded, and he put his fingers to the keys and began to play those simple yet haunting opening notes.
He began to sing. His voice was a smooth tenor that expressed the loneliness and heartbreak that Aaron had so deeply felt in that song all of his life.
“He’s got a great voice...” Tammy said to him in a whisper. Aaron nodded casually, feeling his heart drop as Chase breached the chorus.
He tilted his head to the side and his lids opened. Those mineral eyes glittered in the light like glass, and he smiled. It felt like his insides began to tremble as he felt the past come back. As everything that they had been—those times shared, all of those pivotal and raw moments of their adolescence—started flashing across the screen of his mind.
Nine years flooded back, filling up the crevices of his brain with shadows of long nights lying on his hardwood floor with a single candle lit and playing this song on repeat, constantly rewinding the cassette and trying to make sense of the fear and desire he felt in equal measure, all while wishing that Chase Sheppard would come to his window and take him away.
He finished, and the room applauded and cheered. Aaron was sitting in stunned silence, unable to think of what to say to him, or if he even should. Chase smiled and rose from the stool, nodding and grinning to the audience. Aaron watched as Chase made his way towards the backroom. He looked at Aaron once more as he did so, before making his way down the narrow passage and between the few-placed tables, pushing open the side door and turning the corner, making his way up Holly Street.
“Can you guys excuse me for a moment?” Aaron asked, standing quickly.
“Go get him!” Sandra replied, smiling at him, Tammy and Andy nodded, telling him that they’d meet him later at The Horseshoe.
––––––––
Aaron hurried out of Prospect & Bay and raced up the street, catching up to Chase, who had just reached Gary’s—a long-established clothing store in downtown that was the only place the wealthier residents could have access to designers and premium labels.
“Chase!”
He turned and smiled, his hair falling in his eyes as he did so. There was a brief flash of a younger Chase which appeared in front of Aaron’s eyes, and it brought him to a halt.
“Yeah?” His eyes steadied on Aaron, who now walked towards him cautiously, careful in gauging the space between.
“That was a great performance, and that song... I really love that song.” He smiled and blushed, looking down at his feet quickly.
“I know....”
Aaron looked up at him, unable to repress a grin.
“Who did you learn it for?”
Chase smiled and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Who do you think?”
“Really?” Aaron asked, only half-believing.
Chase nodded. A black Mercedes drove down the street, the headlights reflecting on the wet concrete as it passed and cut through the silence that rested between each response.
“Yeah, I never forgot. You had told me once—shortly after...well, you know?”
Chase stepped to the side to let a group of inebriated college students pass, his eyes never broke from Aaron’s, nor did his smile fade.
Aaron felt everything inside of him lift, and he remembered this feeling warmly. It was a feeling that only Chase could stir, an unnamable rise in his soul, and he imagined that it would lift him off of the sidewalk and carry him away, high beyond the clouds and into the cradle of the stars. But that time, that time was soaked in too much blood and had too many secrets that were thick as tar—and there were too many moments that were speckled by blood splatter.
“Anyways, when I started to learn how to play piano my freshman year of high school, I thought of you and that song. Hell, I had no idea if I would ever see you again, but I told myself that if I did, I would play it for you.”
Chase finally broke away, letting his eyes wander around the night; his face was bright with his smile.
“So, how did you know that I would be here?”
“I called your house. Tammy picked up and told me that you were in the shower; she told me that if I wanted to see you, then I needed to get my ass to Prospect.”
Aaron snorted and shook his head. He should have known that he had been set up.
“Well, remind me to kick her ass later!”
Chase shook his head.
“Don’t. I’m glad she did. I would have gone mad if I didn’t see you again!”
Aaron was visibly taken aback by this comment.
“You would have... why?”
Chase suddenly seemed to tighten up, as if embarrassed by his answer.
“Well, because you floated into my life, and then at the end of the year we went our separate ways, me going to Stadium, and you... well, you just seemed to vanish.” Chase regained his composure and smirked, once again charming his way through a conversation that was getting dangerously close to other things. Bloodier and twisted and brutal in its effect.
“Yeah, I went to Wilson for a year, and then to Curtis. There were just some things, things that I needed to escape, and I could only remain at one school for so long until... well, until people found out.”
He looked away, his eyes beginning to glitter with tears, unable to face the one person who made up his entire universe a decade ago, and who had never really strayed far from his thoughts.
“I get that.” Chase’s voice dropped a decibel, and his fingers tightened into his palm, bulging the side of his jeans.
“You do?” He looked at Chase, and in that moment, the world around them began to melt away.
“Yeah, we all had to. I mean, after what happened, no one was ever the same. Amanda Willis dropped out, passing the advanced placement test which landed her in college. I just sort of disconnected with the rest of the crowd. I had a lot to deal with; I mean, your best friend dying and all... it kind of hinders proper social development.”
A crack in the skull, life freezing and eyes closing forever in an outpour of blood.
Aaron shook the thought from his mind.
“Let’s not...” he said, wiping the tears from his face.
“Right. I’m sorry; I should have thought....” Chase reached out and then pulled away, as if he suddenly thought it a bad idea to touch him—the one person who had been with his friend when he died.
The guilt murmured inside of Aaron. He had not anticipated this conversation, had wanted to avoid it, but it was here, finding its way to the surface, and once again his scars were burning.
“Well, hey, my roommates and I are gathering at the Horseshoe; do you want to join us?” He needed to change the subject, but the thought of ending the evening with Chase was unthinkable.
“I would, but I can’t.”
Aaron nodded, looking back at the wet nighttime streets and trying to suppress his disappointment.
“I understand; I probably wouldn’t want to either.”
Again Chase reached out, and to his surprise he did not retract, clasping onto Aaron’s arm for one brief moment, his touch sending a wave of chills through his body.
“No, it’s not you. I just have a lot of homework to do; that’s all. But I’ll give you a call, okay?” His smile was soft and his eyes seemed to light up, a warmth emanating from his sockets, burning a hole in Aaron’s heart and making him shift his weight nervously.
“Okay.”
Chase nodded and began to walk, not turning right away; instead he made several paces backwards, and watched as Aaron made his way back towards the coffee shop. They each continued to look back at the other. They could feel the weight of their history persist like a tether between them; clinging to them like dust.
––––––––
The Horseshoe Café consisted of a bar to the right of the door, and to the left were a collection of booths. Late-night smokers filled the restaurant, eating cheese fries and burgers, speaking without censorship. The ceiling was painted with a cloud-filled blue sky, and there was a decades-old Wild West mural on the wall, depicting cowboys and stereotyped Plains Indians.
Aaron, Andy, Sandra, and Tammy sat in one of the brown booths with its sparsely tattered vinyl. Andy pulled out a pack of Camel Lights, and all of them took one and passed the teal Bic around. A short waitress, with chin-length black hair and large black eyes came to take their order. Her name was Bridget, and over the past couple of years, she had become one of those party friends that always showed up at the same places and traveled within the same scenes, but who was never closer to any of them than that.
“What’ll it be, you guys?” she asked them, her voice as sweet as Tammy’s.
“The usual,” Sandra declared, slamming her fist on the table top, shaking the glasses of water.
“You got it!” Bridget responded, taking the menus from the table and asking if they all wanted their usual gin and tonics along with that.
They all nodded.
“So, why didn’t you invite your friend to hang with us?” Andy asked. There was an air of malice in her voice which confused Aaron.
“I did, but he said he had homework.”
“That sucks,” Tammy said with a sympathetic frown.
“Well, he did say that he would give me a call, so at least there’s that.”
“So, what do you think is going to come out of all this?” Sandra asked him, making smoke rings with her mouth while eyeing a petite brown-haired girl two tables down opposite them.
“I don’t know; we’ll probably hang out, maybe a couple of times—long enough to feel like we’ve honored our shared history together.”
A memory flooded him, thoughts of himself and Chase sitting in literature class with their heads bowed, sitting across from one another with locked gazes and occasional smiles, unaware of anyone paying attention to them and not really caring if they did.
Aaron reached for another cigarette just as Bridget returned with their order, two plates of cheese fries and a basket of onion rings, with two compotes filled with ranch and honey mustard. The table suddenly turned into a feeding frenzy; no one had eaten at the house due to Christy and Trish saving all the food for their dinner party.
Aaron reached out for his drink. All he wanted right now was his cocktail. The others could eat. He had no appetite to speak of.
“Oh, God, this is good!” Tammy let out with a laugh.
He moved his arm along the table, which irritated his scars and forced him to think of Bailey once again, to think on the guilt and to imagine the pain that he had caused his family and his friends—all of those people who had made up Bailey’s life. Those people who had attended the funeral and watched as that black casket was laid to rest, never knowing what kind of person Bailey had been.
He had been a predator. A vicious creature who had fed off of Aaron’s fear, and who had forced a scared thirteen-year-old to submit to his will. Aaron had no tears for him; he felt that tears were meant for those who were good, and Bailey had been anything but good, choosing cruelty over remote kindness every single time.
But the one thing that he did have for Bailey Nguyen was guilt.
Guilt for the light extinguished that day. Guilt for not doing enough to help. But most of all, he had guilt for taking him away from the people around him, guilt for putting others through pain. It was a pain that lingered in Chase Sheppard, it was an uncertain hardness—the kind of hardness that only tragedy could create inside of someone, someone who had to suffer before even entering high school.
“Aaron,” Tammy said, nudging his shoulder. “You haven’t touched anything; you okay?”
He looked at her. He saw those bright eyes and looked around the diner, realizing that this was the last place he wished to be.
“Yeah, I’m good, but I’m gonna head home, okay?” He rose from the booth and threw a five on the table.
“You want me to go with you?” Tammy asked.
He shook his head in response, glimpsing Andy, who seemed to scowl at her roommate.
“Andy, penny for your thoughts?”
She looked at him, startled, shrinking back in embarrassment—or guilt; he wasn’t certain. He turned and made his way towards the door. Bridget waved to him from the counter and Aaron smiled, opening the door and walking up the street, finding himself once again making room for those memories.
––––––––
At first he paid them no mind—the footfalls behind him, which seemed to be cautious of anyone hearing. He thought that maybe he was in front of a drunk trying to fuck with someone but not really intending to cause harm.
Aaron crossed the street and made his way home, the neighborhood silenced by darkness. He was singing to himself, the same song that Chase had sung earlier in the evening, and a smile spread across his face as he fumbled for his keys.
In the quiet of his neighborhood, he realized that those same footsteps were behind him, deliberately louder than what they had been.
His first instinct was to turn around and see who it was, possibly tell the person off, but he thought better of it, knowing that it wasn’t safe.
“Murderer...” the person following him called out.
That voice was like arms desperate for him, like the boogie man desperate for a child to scare. Aaron tried to block out the sound of his heart thundering in his ears. His head was throbbing and his vision blurred. The sidewalk was wet beneath him, and it tripped him up with its slick.
He reached his house and ran up the steps, slamming the door behind him.
Aaron bounded the stairs while Christy’s voice called out to him with concern. The sweat slid down his face, and his cheeks were burning. He treaded carefully into his room, flipping on the light switch, the string of lights bathing him in soft white. He remembered a single string of the same style of white lights draping a window in a long ago bedroom and nights sitting on his dresser, thinking of that day in school, praying to God for it to end, to make Bailey Nguyen stop.
He pushed it away.
Slowly he grabbed the hem of one of the drapes, pulling it open just a little, the light from the post shining in his eyes and the black water glistening with the lights from the shore. He looked down, his eyes directed towards the house across the street, and he gasped in disbelief.
There, standing on the sidewalk was a tall black figure, details difficult to make out. The figure stood for several seconds with his head directed towards Aaron’s window and possibly seeing him peeking out from behind the curtain.
“Shit!” Aaron began to shake, and the drape trembled in his hand.
The stranger continued to look up at him, silent and haunting. He closed the drape quickly and sat back on his bed, taking several deep breaths and attempting to regain control. His heart was thundering inside of his ears, as if trying to break free from its skeletal casing.
After a moment, Aaron took a deep breath and attempted another look.
Gone.
He stared out in that dark street with disbelief that it was empty. There was no one out there watching him; it had to be his imagination. Bailey was dead. He had been for nearly ten years. He couldn’t come back from the grave; Aaron knew that the only ghosts were those that you created for yourself, and they could only hurt you if you gave them that power.