Split (18 page)

Those words danced around the fire in my head.

I glanced at the door.

Closed it.

My hand felt weighed down, like it had a mind of its own. I tried to focus my attention on the clothes hanging in my closet, really I did. But my eyes kept straying, looking into space, staring at the blank wall. That wall had become a screen, and my eyes were the projector. The movie was of my own making, and the same scene played over and over. Though I hadn’t actually seen Nick and Dave that night, in Nick’s bedroom, trying to imagine what had gone on between them caused my heart to beat wildly, and my penis to swell.

What did Dave need from Nick? What had made his voice sound so different? His tone so desperate?

My fingers slipped inside my underwear.

I need you. But what do I need from you?

The top part of my penis was wet. It had leaked again. But it was still full.

Your attention. Your undivided attention. Your secrets. All of them.

I wrapped my hand around it and pulled a little.

I need you to see me
.

I pulled harder, because something needed to come out, something pushing deep inside my belly.

My legs tensed. My calves were cramping up, but I couldn’t stop pulling. I could hear myself breathing. Could hear the noises my penis made as my hand rubbed it up and down.

My toes curled.

Nothing had ever felt this good.

I wanted to cry out, but I tucked my chin in and held my breath instead.

And I knew. As that warm liquid softly pumped out of me, soiling my fingers, I knew.

I need Nick to do this to me.

And I want to do it to him.

“Hon?”

I sprung up and leaped to the door, leaning my weight on it. “I’m-I’m dressing.”

“Okay, hurry up. Our guests are here.”

I closed my eyes.

“Derek?”

“Ye-yes, I’m co-coming.”

I paused on the second to last step. Listening.

Lene and Aunt Frannie were obviously enjoying each other’s company. I supposed it can get pretty boring living with me.

Then I heard Nick. “Can I help with anything?”

“Oh no, it’s fine. I’ve got everything going already.”

I rolled my eyes. Her tone was
so
inappropriate.

“Why don’t you go find Derek, he’s downstairs, doing God knows what.”

The image of me pulling on my penis instantly zapped behind my eyes. I shrank back and tiptoed down the stairs. I glanced around frantically and heard Nick opening the door.

I jumped on the couch and picked up a magazine.

Heard his footsteps.

Glued my eyes to the glossy paper.

It was upside down.

I hurriedly switched it around.

“O’Reilly, hey.”

I wouldn’t be able to do this. How could I? How could I be alone in my basement with Nick Lund after what I had just done to myself?

And what I had been thinking of as I had done it?

I clutched the edges of the magazine, my fingers imprinting them with sweat, and kept my heated face hidden behind it. “Hey.”

A weight sank into the couch, a foot away from me, at my left. I guessed Nick must have sat down. I didn’t care to check. Just wanted to keep from hurling.

“You like that stuff, huh?”

If someone prays to die really really hard, why can’t God listen?

My eyes had been staring at the magazine, but they hadn’t seen anything. Just colors. Out-of-focus faces. I realized now, I was holding Aunt Frannie’s
Spin
magazine. I knew the cover. Had seen it lying around for the last two weeks. Michael Hutchence.

Jumping.

Wearing very tight leather pants.

“No-not really, just bo-bored.”

The magazine was gently slipped out of my hands. “Do you mind?”

Nothing Nick does, I mind.

“You know INXS? They’re pretty decent.” Nick leafed through the magazine. His long fingers turned the pages, and his blue gaze moved over their content. “A little too pop for my taste, but there’s a couple songs I like off their album.” He glanced up. “You have it?”

I don’t have anything. Why would I have something?

I shook my head.

He smiled. “Didn’t think so.”

I folded my arms around myself and curled my knees under me.

He stretched and yawned. “Got cable?”

I looked around.

We don’t even have a TV downstairs.

Nick stood, and I watched him walk to the window. It’s more like a ship porthole. No light comes through in winter, on account of the snow piling up against it. I noticed Nick had to tilt his head a little. Slouch down. He’s taller than the basement ceiling.

How is that possible?

He was staring out, but there isn’t anything there to look at. Just white.

“I like the smell in here,” he said, half to himself.

What smell?

Nick walked off, heading straight to my bedroom. “This your bedroom?” He pushed on the door.

Nick Lund was in my bedroom.

I was frozen. Completely unable to move, or speak. I clutched the edge of my shirt, watching the open door.

Nick appeared in the doorway. He leaned on the frame, wearing a half-smile. “Nice Hot Wheels.”

I don’t even play with those anymore. Just rearrange them once in a while.

Heat shot up in my face, and I couldn’t find anything to say.

Nick’s smile straightened. “Nothin’ to be embarrassed about.” His eyes paused on my lips again. “You have a lot of books. Read a lot, huh?”

What else am I supposed to do with my time?

“That’s cool. Probably why you’re so smart.” He turned away and went back into my bedroom.

I rose. The nervousness in my stomach was no match for the desire to be alone with him. In my bedroom of all places.

Nick sat by my bookshelf, with his back to my bed, fumbling through the books on the bottom shelf. That’s where I keep all the ones I’ve read more than twice.

He plucked
Lord of the Flies
off the overpacked shelf and scanned the cover. “What’s this one?”

I fidgeted by the bed, and sat down. “It’s the-the-the sto-o-ory of—” I couldn’t get any more words out. My stuttering was out of control. I knew exactly what I wanted to say, because I know that book by heart, but I couldn’t relax my mouth and tongue.

Nick glanced up. His blond hair is coming in by the roots. “O’Reilly,” he said softly. “Take a breath. Try one word at a time. Not the whole sentence.”

Not the whole sentence.

I had never thought of that. I always think of the complete thing I want to say, never break it up into fragments. One word is easier than ten. Just like reading.

I tried again. “It’s-the-story—of—these—school-boys—” I paused, stringing the words in order. “That-get-stranded-on-an-island-and-built-their-own-society.”

Nick cracked a smile. “See. It’s easier that way.” He looked down at the book. “Sounds interesting.”

“I eenjoy-oyed the-the—” I stopped, took a breath, and stared into his eyes, witnessing him staring right back. My throat loosened. “I-enjoyed-the-social-comment. Like-
Animal-Farm
.”

Nick belted out a great big rumbling laugh and tossed the book back onto the shelf. “Social comment, huh? Fuck, man. You’re something else.”

Upstairs, Aunt Frannie was calling.

“Looks like dinner’s up.” Nick got to his feet.

I followed him out of the room and up the stairs.

Aunt Frannie pulled a chair out for Nick. “You can sit in John’s seat.”

Lene was already sitting. Her eyes flickered on my mouth for a second, and I cringed at sitting opposite her, but that was the only chair left, so I slid into it, trying to avoid her ardent stare. “Hello, Derek,” she said. “I made the salad.”

I looked down at my plate. The salad appeared normal enough.

She smiled. She’s missing so many teeth. How does she manage to chew? Her smile broadened. “Did you know that Nicolai put blue ink under his skin, on his—”

“Lene, what did I say ’bout that?” Nick drove his fork into the meat pie. “Looks good Ms. Saint-Jacques.” He was obviously trying to change the subject. “Real good, thank you.”

Ink? I let my eyes roam over his arms and hands. Didn’t see any ink there.

Aunt Frannie dabbed her painted lips with a napkin. “So, you’re going off to Cegep next year, huh? What do you plan on studying, Nicolas?”

My eyes darted up to her face and Aunt Frannie caught my murderous glance. She shifted a little, smiling. “Or maybe you don’t intend on going. At any rate, what are your plans for your future? What are you interested in?”

The meat pie was scalding hot. It fumed inside my mouth. I flicked my gaze to Nick’s face. He was eating ferociously. Didn’t seem to mind Aunt Frannie’s interrogation.

“Traveling,” he said with his mouth full.

Aunt Frannie livened up on her chair. “Oh, really? You’d like to be a travel agent? That’s a solid choice, lots of potential for growth. Good money too.”

I don’t think Nick meant he wants to sell traveling to anyone.

Aunt Frannie wasn’t finished. She took a long swill of her red wine and sharpened her gaze. “Ever think of modeling?”

Yes, Bump, modeling, she asked.

My eyes shot back to his face. I swallowed the salty contents of my mouth.

Nick raised a brow. His lips seem to glisten. “No ma’am.”

Suddenly, I realized Aunt Frannie wore her blue blouse. The one with the missing button on top. She skimmed the rim of the glass with her red fingernail, and smiled. “Well,” she breathed, “you should. You’d make a killing.”

Something passed over Nick’s features. His eyes moved over Aunt Frannie’s mouth, then lowered their attention to the opening of her blouse. “You think?” he asked under a breath.

“Oh yes,” said Aunt Frannie, her eyes devouring his face. “Would you like a small glass?” She pointed to the open bottle of Rioja wine on the table. “I know Johan let’s you have beer once in a while—”

“That’s right.”

Oh, the nerve on her. She didn’t hesitate for a second and poured a very generous dose of the red wine into his glass.

It wasn’t small at all.

Nick immediately raised the glass to his nose. “Spanish. Oak aged. A bit of a vanilla taste. Dry enough. Good choice for a table wine, Ms Saint-Jacques.”

My jaw hung loose.

Aunt Frannie gasped. “Oh my, you’re quite the connoisseur. Where did you learn about wines?”

Nick took a mouthful of the wine. I watched his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. “Drinking, ma’am.”

I hadn’t touched a bite. Nick was on his second serving.

Lene was busy feeding our baby. “Just another tidbit, Cassandra. And then you can have dessert.”

Nick scooped the last of the mashed potatoes. “Lene, you’re freakin’ O’Reilly out. Eat your supper.”

Lene pouted, but when Nick’s eyes hardened, the fork jumped to her mouth, and she started eating with voracious appetite.

“Don’t like the meat pie, hon?” Aunt Frannie’s eyes were full of reproach.

I shrugged. “It’s okay-kay.”

“Nicolas seems to have enjoyed it,” she said softly, watching Nick clean his plate.

“Yes ma’am. Just enough cloves and sariette to my liking.”

Sariette? Cloves?

I wiped my mouth and pushed my plate up.

“Nicolas, please stop calling me ma’am.”

My eyes nearly shot out of my head.

“All right,” said Nick. “But only if you stop calling me Nicolas.”

“What should I call you, then?” Aunt Frannie’s voice was barely a whisper. Like her dress was on too tight.

Nick’s eyes flickered with fun for a moment. Then he laughed.

Never answered her question, just laughed and winked.

Winked, Bump.
At Aunt Frannie.

My fingers clasped the edges of the dish. I had an inclination to hurl it at her.

“Hon,” she said, without making eye contact, “why don’t you and Lene put on
The Grinch Who Stole Christmas
in the living room. Nicolas—
Nick
and I are going to clean up in here. Then I’ll serve dessert.”

“No.” The word had gunned out of my mouth.

Aunt Frannie shrank back a little, setting her hand on her chest. “No need to yell, Derek.” She turned to Nick and rolled her eyes. Not much. Not in a very noticeable way.

But I saw it. Yes I did.

Nick smiled. “Don’t blame you, O’Reilly. That green freak gives me the willies too.” Nick rose and pulled his chair up, then began gathering the plates. Aunt Frannie seemed to hesitate, but she soon followed his lead. Lene and I helped too.