The Invasion of Adam (Tork and Adam Book 2) (3 page)

He quickly gathered up the money, left it in the room with the boxes, and shut the door against it all. As he went back into the kitchen, the tiny cat was still there.

“Hello, puss,” he said gently.

The banging on his door went from gentle knock to aggressive kick. It was no use; he would have to answer it. He pulled the door so hard the two guys leaning against it fell in. It was Liam and Zeph, but mostly Liam.

“What?” Adam glared, but already his resolve was wavering. After all, he didn’t have
that much
work to do. Not like he had any reason he couldn’t go out.

“Fuck’s sake, Adam. You deaf? C’mon, man, let’s go to the bar. You’ve been a boring fucker lately.”

“No, I—I can’t. Got to finish that essay this week,” he protested feebly, tasting lager and feeling horny as hell…noticing Liam’s tight jeans…

“Ad-am. Just come for one?” Liam smiled with shy eyes through a long brown fringe. He was just Adam’s type. At least, he used to be.

“Oh, all right then.” He smiled back easily. “I’ll meet you there?”

The minute they left, antsy bites of guilt ran up and down his arms and legs, but why shouldn’t he go? This last week, he’d volunteered two extra days at the shelter. Surely he deserved some fun?

“OK, I’ll just have one,” he reasoned, looking through his overflowing wardrobe for a fresh t-shirt. “One drink, then I’ll come back and start work. One won’t hurt.”

He slipped on the shirt and admired himself in the mirror. Not that it mattered, because he would easily be the hottest guy at the bar even if he wore a black bag.

He did glance back at the pile of work he’d neglected, but mostly what he did was bang the door so hard he almost lost the dull ache in the pit of his stomach.

Almost.

The bar was busy, even though it was a Tuesday evening. He waved gaily at the many people who rushed over to gush at him, wishing he had an invisible shield to keep them away. There was only one person he wanted clinging to his arm, and he would never come here.

He rubbed his forehead.

“Adam, you came! What can I get you?” It was Liam, pushing hair from his eyes and blushing.

“No, it’s OK. I’ll get my own.”

But of course, Adam ended up buying drinks for everyone and spending a fortune. He didn’t mind, but as he handed over the notes, a pang went through him as he remembered Tork saying how much rent he paid at Citywise. It was less than this round of drinks.

He was not going to think about any of that. Why would he, when he had all these guys surrounding him, talking about who could drink the most, how little work they’d done, how boring it all seemed…

“Adam?” Liam leaned over and took Adam’s arm.

“Sorry. What?”

“You want to go somewhere…quieter?”

Adam stared back and rubbed his forehead. “Uh, I’ll just finish my drink.”

His friends all seemed to be shitfaced, and it probably was a lot of fun for them. Sure, he could see that, but why did they all have to keep breathing foul breath at him, and spilling their drinks?

He smiled wanly at the stupid jokes and began to get cross at himself. What the hell was wrong with him? This was his favourite bar, there was a guy just gagging for it, and here Adam was, staring out the window thinking about fucking origami, green hair and benefits claims.

Tork.

“Come on, let’s do tequila. My treat!” Adam shouted loudly, and headed to the bar. He would end this now.

The tequila went down with his money, vanishing into a haze of noise and moving floors. Many shots later, he saw Liam sitting on his lap, and then suddenly Adam was wading through water in his head and pushing his way out and away.

The cold air hit him like a blast of sanity. “No, no, no,” he slurred drunkenly, and texted a taxi. He took out a load more money from the cash machine, laughing at how it all looked like paper in the wind.

Because who was he kidding? It wasn’t Liam, alcohol, or any of his friends that he wanted to see.

* * *

On the way to Citywise, it seemed absolutely vital to Adam that he make an origami cat. “My boyfriend makes these,” he said woozily, showing the folded ten-pound note cat to the taxi driver, who ignored him. “He can make anything. ’Cause, see, he is brilliant.”

Adam grinned, tasting the truth of his words, even as he felt the wishy-washy liquid in his stomach, rolling about with every turn.

“Oooh,” he groaned.

“If you throw up, it’s a twenty-pound fine,” the taxi driver barked.

“Oh no,” said Adam firmly. “No, no.” But then words evaded him, and all his vague concentration was needed to give directions.

He was not aware of the walk to Tork’s room, or the stairs. But it must have taken him a long time, because by the time he got there, everything looked much more real, and what the fuck was he doing there?

He couldn’t seem to read the time, so he just banged on Tork’s door, thinking of a funny greeting.

“Tork, baby? Daddy’s home!” he shouted.

By the time the door opened, Adam was bending over, with his trousers round his knees, waving his naked arse about and laughing hysterically, because it was just the funniest thing ever.

“S’ the man in the moon,” he called gaily to Tork, who bundled him quickly into the flat and sat him down.

“The man in the moon, huh? What have you done to yourself?” Tork brushed Adam’s hair away from his clammy face. “Your forehead is all sore.”

“I—I made you a cat,” Adam said, handing over the squashed origami.

Tork kissed him on the cheek softly, and all the wishy-washy water in Adam’s stomach turned sour as he began throwing up.

The next thing Adam knew, he felt like shit. Mega neurons were not right in his head, stomach, legs or hands. Images of Liam trying to flirt with him flitted through his brain. It was probably best not to open his eyes, in case there was much worse to come.

“Uh,” he muttered miserably, hoping it was just a dream.

“Hey,” someone said gently, “I always wondered what you looked like in the morning.”

Adam opened one eye carefully. It was Tork, thank God,
thank God!
Now Adam remembered leaving the bar alone and staggering into a taxi.

“Uh,” he said again, this time with more gusto.

Tork was laughing at him. His green hair stuck out at all angles, but even through his wretchedly ill state, Adam knew beauty when he saw it.

He opened the other eye.

He was on Tork’s sofa in a sleeping bag.

Am I naked?

Worse, did I have a boner when Tork undressed me?

Or maybe that was better, not worse?

“Oh, God,” he told Tork, who solemnly handed over a glass of water and two tablets.

“Drink this, sleeping beauty. I hope you didn’t have lectures this morning, because I couldn’t wake you. And now I want you to myself.”

Whole brigades of hot ants ran up his body at Tork’s words. Tork wanted him here… Adam obediently sipped and tried to secretly slide his other hand under the covers to see if he had clothes on. He felt underwear and met Tork’s eyes. Tork grinned, as if he knew exactly what Adam was doing.

“ Drink,” Tork ordered. “Then when you don’t look so green, I’ll make us breakfast. Greasy eggs and bacon sound OK?”

Adam giggled. Even when he felt like death, he was still putty in Tork’s hands. “Yeah, if you don’t mind me hurling. Is that a cat sitting over there?”

“Hurling again? Yes, meet my new friend Dickens.”

“I never hurled!” But Adam remembered throwing up and Tork taking care of him.

Undressing him.

Tork nodded. “Yes. Our midnight date was very exciting! First I was met by a full moon, and then howling.”

Adam buried his head under the sleeping bag. “Oh, God. That cat probably has fleas.”

He felt the sofa move as Tork clambered on and hugged him. Adam wished he didn’t feel so ill, because his heart still sped up as he snuggled in, and hugged him back. They had never been this close before. Adam’s whole body tingled with rushes and aches, but all he could safely do was groan.

“I wanted to hold you all last night, but I thought you might be sick on me,” Tork admitted, kissing his head.

“You just wanted to see me in my underwear,” Adam slurred.

“Of course, but then you took it off in the hallway, in front of all those people.”

“
People
?” Adam whined, but the pull of sleep thankfully saved him from remembering.

* * *

After a year

A cautious regard

as if you do not know me

a smile meets the eye

Flo

* * *

The sun was out early, making all the spring flowers begin to open, like eager smiles hoping for better. The last few weeks, he didn’t seem to mind the meetings as much, so long as he could sit at the back, closest to the door. He was teaching Kevin origami and even chatted with some of the other young people.

But that day, with the world coming to life, Tork was heading for the computer room, in the main building. He’d made a decision.

“See you soon, Dickens,” he told the cat, who rubbed against his legs and headed back inside. Tork left his window open now, so Dickens could come and go as he pleased.

Just because he was going to fill in the application form, it did not mean he had to go to college. He was just taking one step, like he agreed with his therapist, and with Mike. The closing date was today, and all week, the soggy weight of disappointment had dripped down his back in relentless taps.

One more thing you fucked up.

No dignity in being ungrateful.

Coward.

Not good enough for Adam.

It was the last nudge—the one about Adam—that finally made him get up at four a.m., and here he was. Every day, the seed that was Adam seemed to lodge itself more firmly into his chest, making him do things that seemed impossible even a few weeks before.

Soon, he became engrossed in the form, only pausing when he realised he would have to account for leaving his last college. He pondered using the words his therapist used all the time—mental health, anxiety, homelessness, self-harm—but they seemed so alien to this smart computer, like the difference between skiing and being caught in an avalanche.

He wondered how Adam might explain it, and before he had time to change his mind, there he was, tapping out Adam’s number. It rang and rang, before a very cross-sounding Adam finally answered.

“Yeah? Who the fuck is it, ringing me at six in the morning?”

“Tork.”

A silence. Tork could imagine Adam all bleary eyed and tousled, warm in his bed, and tried again.

“Good morning, handsome. I need your help.”

“
Tork?
No fucking way! You have a phone? When did you get a phone?”

“Yesterday. Kevin showed me how to use it. I need some help with my college form.”

“Shut the fuck up! Your college form? First you tell me you have a phone, and now college? Tork, just wait right there. I am coming over. Clearly there’s some kind of apocalypse going on, and you need me there to protect you.”

“Adam?”

“I’m coming. Half hour, hour max, OK?”

“You sound sexy.”

Finally, Adam laughed. He always did, in the end.

“Of course I do. That’s because I am nearly six foot of blonde sex god, my man. I
am
sexy! See you soon. Kiss.”

“Thank you,” Tork said, “but you don’t need to go to any trouble. It’s just a few questions about the form. What can I say instead of I suffered a mental health breakdown?”

“What? You say you ‘had a creative year out’, stupid! I’m coming. And who the fuck is Kevin?”

* * *

By the time Adam arrived, Tork had made them both breakfast and tea. His heart yammered as he laid the table, waiting for the hurricane that was Adam to come crashing in. The anticipation was almost too much—almost. He worried and obsessed over them getting too physical, and what if he freaked and froze? In the dead of night, Tork still woke up screaming about that night on the streets when he could not get away in time, and even his rules had not protected him.

But with the storm that was Adam, Tork had noticed a strange thing. Instead of freezing at any touch, more often he could not stop, and it was Adam who pulled away.

Any moment now, his peace would be invaded by chattering exclamations and the inevitable sulky rudeness, only to then be liberated by what was beneath it all. Adam was never boring.

Sure enough, the buzzer sounded, and Adam’s footsteps crashed across the landing to Tork’s door. Warm shivers and oozy fuzz ran down Tork’s back.

They always had the same silly routine. A bang on the door.

“Tork? It’s me.”

“Who is it?”

“Adam and the ants. Get out your jewels, baby, the highwayman’s here.”

“Who?”

Tork watched him through the tiny peephole, wondering what he would do today. Adam leaned right up close to the glass, then licked it. Tork pulled open the door suddenly, and yanked Adam inside. He pushed him against the wall, unable to wait.

“I see you brought your gun,” Tork whispered, kissing him. It made him breathless, his chest tight with urges. He wanted Adam so badly, a deep-down wanting that got him through the bleak days. When they kissed, it filled him up. But now, he wanted so much more.

“Hey,” Adam breathed into Tork’s mouth, “I nearly fell out of bed when you called. Haven’t even cleaned my teeth yet!”

Tork tasted toothpaste.

“Because you are dirty, Adam,” he said. “I see you have not brushed your hair yet either.” Of course, Adam’s hair was perfect.

Adam pulled back indignantly. “I did! The day I don’t manscape means the zombies broke down my door.” He screwed up his face, and Tork glanced down. Dickens rubbed against Adam’s legs. “That cat hates me. It only does that to leave hair on my jeans. It’s probably got foot and mouth.”

Tork smirked. “Oh, at least. If not Ebola. Come and see my form, then you can criticise my phone.”

“Cats carry Ebola? What model did you get?”