“How about a puppy or a guinea pig?” Mya taps the glass too and is rewarded with a defensive display by Rictor. They’re almost identical, but Rictor is the slightly larger of the two.
“Rictor and Shatterstar are so much easier to deal with.” Although sometimes I wouldn’t mind being adored by a bouncing beagle. I shudder, wondering what I might’ve done in that other world if I’d had a puppy and not arachnids.
“You named them after X-Men?” She settles on the bed, her gaze lingering on the terrarium. “That’s kind of cool, actually.”
“You like comics?” I’m impressed she recognizes the names, and I’d rather talk about mutants than continue thinking about mutilated pets.
“Ben and I loved them. Oh, wow.” She notices my bookshelf and bounces off the bed toward my comics. She runs a thumb across their plastic sleeves. “We used to read them together, before he grew pubic hair and turned into an asshole.” She pries a thin volume of
Avengers
from the shelf. “I prefer graphic novels these days.”
“Feel free to check them out,” I say before going into the bathroom and shutting the door. Blood fills the toilet bowl. That’s not good. That means problems with my kidneys, but telling Mom means panic and doctors, the ER and needles. Better to just ignore it. Probably just from Benny kicking me in the back. I rinse my mouth out and wash my face. Feeling better, I return to the room and find her engrossed in the comics.
“Take a look.” I toss my book at her. The bloodstained drawing flutters to the floor. Ditching Batman, she retrieves my meager attempt from the carpet, studies it, and frowns.
“This is intense.”
“Yup.” The hero of my story is scarred and behind bars, fighting for his freedom after being wrongly convicted of a crime he’s trying to prove he didn’t commit. At least, that’s how it starts. I’m not sure how it ends yet.
Mya flicks through the book, sitting on the floor, legs outstretched, leaning against my bed.
“These are great,” she says without looking up as I settle beside her.
“They’re not finished.”
“Obviously, but these are really good.”
The compliment makes me wish a lot about my life was different.
“Your hero got a name yet?”
“You got any suggestions?” I let myself smile, not too broadly as to be frightening.
“Scarface.”
“Could work.” Although I’m not sure I want to turn him into some warped alter ego.
“You should be an artist. The perspective, the movement and facial expressions…these are
really
good.” There’s a hint of reverence in her tone that makes the blood rush to my cheeks.
“In the other world, I’m set to study art history at Rice. What are you doing in the fall?”
An expression of pain flits across her features, diminishing my smile.
“I always wanted to be a lawyer, but I was late with applications so I’m off to community college. Majoring in psychology.”
“Really? I thought you’d be jetting off to the Ivy League.”
“As if my folks can afford Harvard or Yale.” She snorts and then gives me a wan smile. “Maybe in a different life, right? So you’d rather be living in the other reality, Rice and all?”
“Not really.” I turn the pages to the colored boxes and give her a moment to read the latest entries.
“What? You overdosed?” She stabs a finger at the last box and looks up at me, furious.
“I didn’t want to die exactly.” I shrug. “But I think I might’ve. Won’t know unless I wake up there again.”
“Jesus, Kyle.” She shuffles away from me.
“What? Chances are I’ll wake up just fine.”
“And if you don’t? Then you just destroyed that reality. Daniel, Rice. All of that gone.”
Her words hit me like hammers as ice settles in my veins. “G-g-guess I wasn’t thinking clearly.” I’m an idiot. Did I really just toss away a life with Daniel by swallowing a handful of pills?
“I’d say.” She traces the lines from the boxes with two fingers, intersecting, crossing, weaving from box to box. I blush as she reaches the box about Shira and me sleeping together, but she says nothing and continues along the separate routes, all the way back to the night of the fire. When she lifts her head to look at me, her eyes are wet.
“I’m so sorry,” she says.
“Why?”
“You’ve been through hell and had no one to help you.”
I shrug; again there’s a lump in my throat I don’t dare try talking around.
“Also, thank you.” She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Thank you for trusting me with this.” I miss the pressure of her fingers when she lets go and starts tapping the page instead.
“April sixth.”
“The night of the fire.”
“I know,” she says. “The whole town knows.”
“Do you know any details of what happened?”
“Not really. Only what the newspaper reports said. You know Obscura first showed up on April sixth?”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, but I think it’s significant. Obscura showing up the same day you get deep-fried.”
I swallow hard and can’t meet her gaze.
“What else happened on that day?”
“Danny and I had a fight. Then I ended up at Shira’s, and well…” I sigh, dragging fingers through my hair. “We went out to Ghost Town, the three of us. Not sure why.”
“Interesting.”
“That I’d screw my boyfriend’s best friend?” I’m not sure why I get so defensive.
She rolls her eyes at me. “What’s interesting is that the decision to screw your boyfriend’s best friend, as you say, led you to Ghost Town and thus to the fire in the first place.”
“So there’s another reality where I didn’t cheat on Danny. Where I didn’t feel like a dick and get drunk and start the fire?” The enormity of the possibility is too huge to contemplate.
“Maybe.” She closes the book. “How can you be sure any of it is real?”
“I just have to look in the mirror.”
“No, I mean… Obscura showed up on April sixth, so maybe she started messing with you before you and Daniel even had the fight?”
“I’m not sure if that makes things better or worse.”
“I think we need more help.” Mya looks at me through a row of long lashes.
“I’m not seeing any counselor or head doctor again.”
“No, I mean an astrophysicist’s kind of help.”
“And where do we find one of those?” I open my can of soda and take a swig.
“Not sure.” She shrugs. “Maybe I can e-mail a college professor or something.”
“There’s that Langley guy from CalTech. I saw him on the news.”
“Definitely worth investigating.” Mya opens my drawing book again, back to the comics. “So these are just drawings; there’s a story too, I presume.”
“Of course,” I say, sidling over. I open the A3 book across our laps. “The blank spaces are dialogue boxes. I’ve got the story worked out, just haven’t done the type. It’s hard work.”
“I can imagine.” She looks at me with a gaze that’s too intense, that makes me immediately aware of how our thighs are touching. Her hand rests on my knee. Then she’s reaching a hand behind my head, pulling my face toward hers.
Her kiss is gentle at first, like Shira’s, like she’s afraid to hurt me. I’m almost disappointed. Then she catches my bottom lip between her teeth and she’s biting, her kisses violent as a summer storm.
Her hands slip under my shirt, her fingers feeling their way across my scars, nails digging grooves down my back. She’s tugging at my shirt, trying to pull it over my head when I grab her hands.
“Whoa, hold on.”
“This doesn’t make you less gay, you know.” She bites her lip, teasing me.
“I realize that, but…” But what? But this makes me more of a cheat? Now I’m betraying Shira as well.
“Danny’s dead in this world,” she says. Her deft fingers are already undoing my fly.
“And Shira?”
“Are you exclusive?”
“It’s not even like that.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
The problem is my mom downstairs in the kitchen, no doubt keeping an ear tuned to my bedroom, listening for
shenanigans
, as she calls them. It’s just way too weird.
“I like you, Mya.” I pry her fingers from my zip. “As a friend. I really need you right now. As a friend.”
She screws her face up at me and then sighs. “Fine. Just friends then.”
“I appreciate it though.”
“What? A girl wanting to jump your bones?”
“No, that you didn’t think I’d break.”
She smiles and brushes the hair out of my eyes, tracing a single fingertip along the welts of scar tissue.
“Can I see the rest?”
“Ah…” I don’t know what to say. Revulsion, disgust, pity—those are the reactions I expect and receive. Even Shira pities me, and maybe tolerates me out of guilt. I don’t know how to handle Mya’s fascination.
“This is awkward,” I say.
“Why? You’re surprised I want to see you naked, Scarface?” Mya brushes my hand away, tucking hair behind the gnarled formation that was once an ear.
“A little, yeah.”
“Come on, show me then. You’ll feel better, I promise.” She stands and moves away a little, giving me some space.
“Fine, I’ll go first.” She takes off her top, revealing a sheer lace bra. “Your turn.”
My face is burning. “I’m not taking off my pants.”
“Suit yourself.”
When I still hesitate, she takes my hands and pulls me to my feet. Mya’s tall, only an inch or two shorter than me.
“Close your eyes,” she whispers.
Hoping I’ll disappear and wake up in the other world, I do as she says. Her fingers tug on the hem of my shirt, pulling it up over my head. I keep my eyes shut, not wanting to see her expression as my disfigured body is revealed.
Her fingers are soft petals skimming the skin of my forehead, my cheek, trailing down my neck and over my collarbone. I feel the pressure of her touch, but not much else. She reaches around me, her hand wandering to the small of my back and then up across my side, belly, and chest, brushing the ridge of tissue that used to be a nipple.
I screw my eyes shut tighter as her lips press against my cheek. She hugs me and it’s all I can do to keep from crying. She leans into me, her thigh pressed up between my legs, turning me on despite the circumstances.
I hug her back. Her lithe body feels so good against mine. But not like Danny’s. It’s just not the same with girls, no matter how much I like them. Thoughts of Danny intrude, ruining the moment.
She peels herself away from me and ruffles my hair.
“Was that so bad?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak yet.
“Right, Scarface. We need to get ahold of this Langley guy while you’re still around on this plane.” She tugs her shirt back on as if nothing happened.
After Mya leaves, promising to do some research online and to call me later, my mom beckons me into the kitchen. She’s made a pot of tea. Last time I sat down with my mom over a pot of tea, it involved an awkward conversation about puberty and masturbation, and Jesus watched the entire time. I really hate that crucifix, but it was my grandmother’s, so the ugly thing is on the wall to stay.
“I think we should have a talk.” She fills a cup for me. Chamomile, tastes like cat pee, but it’s supposed to be calming. It’s also what my mom drinks whenever something serious is happening. This doesn’t bode well for me. Reluctantly I sit down and wait for the lecture, about godliness and sin, quotes from scripture and threats of damnation.
“I apologize for reacting the way I did earlier,” she says. It sounds a little rehearsed.
“I’m sorry too,” I manage. “I never wanted to tell you like that.”
Mom nods and stirs honey into her tea. She squeezes a gobbet into mine and hands me the spoon. “You’ve kept this from us for a year?” She looks hurt.
“Actually… I’ve always liked boys.”
“Always?”
I nod. “But a year ago I…” I lost my virginity to a guy. How to word that for Mom’s ears?
“With Daniel?” Mom saves me the embarrassment.
“Only Daniel.”
She takes a deep breath. “Were you safe? I mean…” Color flares on her cheeks, and I smile. This is just as awkward for her as it is for me.
“It’s not like pregnancy is an issue.”
“No, but…” She swallows hard.
“Yes, we were careful. No diseases or anything, I promise.”
Mom chuckles, tension leaving her bunched shoulders. “I’m not sure what to say, Kyle.” She takes my hand. “It’s a lot for your father and I to digest. We never expected…we just don’t know.”
“I never
expected
it either, Mom. It’s just the way I am.”
She sips her tea. “Have you spoken to anyone about this at all?”
“You worried word’ll get out in town?” Maybe I’m being cruel, but after everything else happening in my life, my sexual orientation seems like a lesser concern.
“People aren’t that understanding, Kyle.”
“Mom, look at me.”
It takes a moment, but she does.
“I’m already a freak. I doubt me being gay is going to change anything.”
Tears fill her eyes. “I just wanted you to be happy, to have a good life.”
“You think it’ll be my scars or my preference for boys that prevent me having a good, happy life?”
“Oh Kyle.” She stifles a sob behind a napkin. “I’m so sorry.”
Mom wasn’t always around to protect me from Dad, but she did her best when she was. She got him into a program, got him sober. The fire was hardly her fault. And being gay, well, that’s just what it is.
“Don’t be sorry, Mom.” This time I squeeze her hand, and her shoulders start to shake. I never meant to make her cry. Feeling like a real asshole, I get up to hug my mom. She wraps her arms around me.
“Are you sure you’re… Are you really sure?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure, Mom.” Definitely, considering what didn’t just happen with Mya.
Her renewed tears wet my shirt. She recovers a little and pats my chest.
“Your father and I still love you, Kyle. Just give us some time. Especially your father.”
Guess there’s no such thing as unconditional love then.
“We’d like you to come to church with us next week; maybe Reverend Davis—”
I’d been waiting for this. “The reverend going to cure me, exorcise me?”
“Kyle, please. We think it might be good for you to talk to someone.”