Wildflowers (2 page)

I KNEEL
on the cobbles next to the Cadillac’s passenger window, trying to ignore Simon still hanging around at the end of the alley, watching, even though I told him to go back to the café. My forehead rests against the cool glass. I close my eyes.

When I open them, Sam is leaning against the other side of the glass, watching me. He is so close. And yet a million miles away. He blinks.

The window winds down and I move away.

I don’t like it here
, Sam signs.
I don’t want to die here.

Whenever he says that, my stomach turns over. I thought I would get used to it, but each time it’s a little worse.

I hold one finger up. “One night,” I mouth.
Please
, I think.

I don’t know why this has suddenly become so important, but I just need to stretch out flat on that bed for a few hours. My body is screaming out for it.

IS SAM
going to die here in this empty town? I watch his reflection in the splashback of the sink as I wash up all the dirty plates and glasses Simon has piled on the side. Cleaning the kitchen is my part of our deal.

Sam has sunk low in his seat by the window, half curled in on himself. His skin is no longer glistening as it was last night. I don’t know what he’s looking at, but every so often I see him blink.

Every day he fades and gets weaker. Every day he eats and drinks less and less.

Will it be today, tomorrow?

The speculation is killing me. I know why he wants to run. I want to run! But I’m so fucking tired.

As evening descends, a few people wander down the street, making the town look a little more inhabited.

Simon sits on a stool behind the counter doodling in a large notebook. It looks like an octopus. I think he’s avoiding Sam.

“What happened to all the people earlier?” I ask him.

“Huh?”

“I didn’t see a single person when we drove into town. It was a bit weird, and now there are people wandering about.”

“Oh, it’s just quiet here, that’s all.”

The bell tinkles and the shop door opens.

I spin around, and for a second my heart pounds in my ears and I feel like I’m going to throw up. Because there, framed in the doorway, his hair catching the light, is someone who can’t be here—someone who
isn’t
here anymore.

Joe
, I think impossibly, and the plate I was washing slides out of my hands onto the hard floor.

But as soon as the man moves out of the doorway and into the room, I can see it’s not Joe. It’s nothing like him, really. It was just the light. Just the ghost of my dead ex-lover haunting me.

Shit.
I stare at the broken mess at my feet. What the fuck is wrong with me? I glance over at Sam, but he’s still staring out the window.

“Si? What’s going on?”

The man’s voice is nothing like Joe’s either. I catch his eye as I bend down to pick up the broken plate.

“I needed some help. You said you weren’t helping,” Simon says to this newcomer.

“That doesn’t mean you can invite strangers in! Who the hell is he and how were you going to pay him?” he hisses.

My skin prickles as I feel a presence behind me. Imposter Joe is standing over me, waiting until I look up. But I don’t. If he’s trying to intimidate me, it won’t work.

“Hi,” he says eventually. “I’m Alex, Simon’s
older
brother.”

“Xavi.” I nod. I’d hold out my hand, but it’s full of broken plate. Before things get awkward, I move over to the bin and get rid of the shards of crockery I’m clutching. “Simon,” I say without turning around, “I made a deal with you. But if you want me to leave now, I will, and you can pay me in food.”

“What deal?” Alex says to me, not Simon.

“Bed upstairs for tonight in return for my cleaning up this place and making some decent food to sell.”

We stare at each other. It’s like a fucking standoff. I’m debating throwing in the towel and walking off when he says quietly, “Okay.”

“Sam too,” I say and nod toward the window.

I GRAB
our clothes from the car and pile them on the floor of the bedroom for Sam.

He never slept on a bed, even when I knew him from before—it seems like such a long time ago now.

The only problem is I can’t see him from up here on the bed. I can’t see him talk to me with his hands, so I lie on my stomach and lean over.

Tell me a story, Xavi
, he signs.

“Shall I tell you about the field, about the wildflowers?” He shakes his head. “Do you want me to talk about the commune?”

It’s where we met four years ago—a forty-acre commune near the sea. He didn’t talk even then.

“No,” he mouths.

“You look a bit better today,” I say softly, even though it’s a lie. I don’t understand the expression on his face. “Do you hurt?” I’ve asked him this before, but he never answers.

He holds my gaze for a fraction too long, and it makes me uncomfortable.

“I want you,” he mouths. “Be with me.”

“BE WITH
me.”

He asked me this before. Four years ago at the commune. And my body answered his.

It was mid-October. Shafts of late-afternoon sunlight shone through the broken barn doors behind us as if the world outside were made of golden light.

All afternoon we’d been collecting wood in the copse behind the commune’s main house, just Sam and I. Joe was supposed to help, but he avoided Sam at all costs. Most people did. I didn’t really understand why. I still don’t.

We piled the wood outside the barn and lay on the scattered straw bales, tired and enjoying the last of the light. I remember thinking the world was so fucking beautiful. I remember telling Sam. He put his head in my lap and I stroked his hair. It would be a lie to say I didn’t like him, that he didn’t turn me on. It was just a little innocent frustration on my part. I would never have done anything about it.

I was with Joe, even if Joe did view our relationship as an open one—the idea of him sleeping around kind of hurt, so I tried not to think about it. Besides, Sam was too young, too misunderstood. And although I knew he liked me, having a crush on an older guy who spends time with you when everyone else avoids you does not mean having sex together is a good idea.

I loved the feel of his hair as I ran it through my fingers. It was long, nothing at all like Joe’s. When Sam turned his head into my touch, warmth swirled in my stomach and my jeans got uncomfortably tight.

I told myself it wasn’t him; I was warm and relaxed and he was pressed up against me, his cheek almost resting on my erection.

It should have stopped there.

It almost did. I pulled away and sat up. “We should get back.” I shifted and pulled my T-shirt as low as it would go, but it didn’t cover the bulge in my jeans.

He glanced down and then back at my face.

I flushed. I didn’t want him to think that it was him; I didn’t want him to think I wanted him, even though I did. He was, at most, eighteen years old. I was twenty-four.

I should be the one in control of this
, I thought.
He’s just a kid.

I reached out and touched his face. I meant it to be kind and reassuring, to convey that although I didn’t want to have sex with him, we were still friends. But his lips brushed my thumb and I reeled back as if he’d given me an electric shock.

“We can’t do this.” My heart was racing.

He flinched as though I’d slapped him, and he turned away, waiting for me to go.

I should have got up and gone to find Joe, dragged him to our room, rid myself of the tension in the only way I knew how, but I couldn’t hurt Sam. I couldn’t reject him like everyone else did.

Everything was so silent. I could hear every beat of my heart as I reached out my hand and brought his face round so that his gaze met mine.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered. “But I’m with Joe. I love him.”

Truth was, I had no idea what love was back then. No fucking clue.

Sam swallowed and looked down, mouthing something I couldn’t see.

“What?” I asked gently.

He wouldn’t look at me. His hair fell down his face like a curtain, shutting me out.

I hesitated, then brushed it away, dipped my head down, and kissed him softly on the lips.

They were velvet. It would have been so easy. I could feel myself letting go. But I pulled away. “I can’t kiss you again,” I said.

His eyes were so dark.

“Be with me,” he mouthed. “I want you.”

Could I have said no at that point? I don’t know. I told myself I hadn’t let go, but maybe I had.

I pulled him into an awkward embrace, listening for sounds outside the barn. Nobody ever came out here, but I didn’t want to get caught. I told myself this wasn’t for me, and my resolve seemed to hold.

I ran my hand across his stomach, under his shirt. His skin was warm and soft, and although he was thin, he wasn’t skinny. I could feel all his muscles tensing beneath my fingertips.

He buried his head against my neck and clung to me.

“Have you been with anyone like this before?” I whispered.

I felt him shake his head.

God, I’d have to go slow. I remembered the first time I’d been with someone I liked. I remembered how those orgasms were among the most powerful I’d ever had.

I pressed my lips against his hair, and he gasped as I ran my fingers just under his waistband—it was the most audible sound I’d ever heard him make.

Ridiculously, I fumbled with the buttons of his jeans. I’d had enough practice in similar situations, but for some reason my hands were shaking. He brought his head up and looked at me with those dark eyes. He was so intense sometimes; I was sure he could see into the darkest places inside me and shine a light.

He pushed my hands away and stood up, shoved his jeans down right in front of my face, and lay down across my lap. I’ve never seen anyone look so vulnerable. I’ve never seen anyone so laid open before me.

It made me so hard.

His skin was flawless. A thin line of black hair ran from his navel to his erect cock. I pushed his shirt up and saw his chest was smooth, his nipples large. He gasped again when I touched them. I loved that sound.

I held off from touching his cock. Instead I traced ever-decreasing circles over his hip bones and watched his eyes roll back in his head as I came within millimeters of the sensitive head. I loved this part of sex. I loved the teasing anticipation.

“Show me where you want me to touch you,” I whispered, and he immediately grabbed his cock in his fist. I almost laughed, but then remembered he hadn’t played this game before.

I brushed his hand away and lazily ran my index finger from balls to slit, barely, barely touching. He opened his legs wider, pushing his hips up to increase the pressure of my finger on him. I groaned before I could stop myself. All I wanted to do was to push my jeans down and lie against him, to feel that beautiful cock pressed tight against my own. That’s all it would have taken for me to come.

This was unbearably, achingly, sweet. This had gone further than I had thought it would somehow. This was no longer a quick, impersonal wank. I was no longer just getting him off; I was getting off too.

Slowly, slowly, I slid my finger back and forth across his slit. His cock was hot to the touch, precome dripping onto his stomach, and he was beginning to gasp with every breath. I could have sat there like that for hours. I didn’t want it to end, but I knew I was torturing him a little.

Taking a firm hold, I gripped his cock and pumped it a few times before he arched his back and gasped, spilling over his chest and stomach.

I liked that he came so easily. Joe had always taken a lot more work.

Fuck! Joe.

Sam was looking up at me, that same open look on his face. He smiled, still breathing heavily, but I couldn’t smile back. I helped him pull his jeans up and mopped his chest with a handful of straw. Briefly, I held him before we walked out the barn door, but I know he could tell I was sad, that I regretted what we’d done.

“BE WITH
me.”

I can’t believe he’s asked me this. I roll onto my back and stare at the cobwebbed ceiling.

Fuck.
And I thought having a bed for a night was such a good fucking idea. I thought we would be able to stretch out instead of being cramped and uncomfortable. I thought maybe I could sleep deeply enough that I wouldn’t dream of my dead lover or my dying friend, instead of waking every half hour throughout the night with one of their faces imprinted behind my eyes.

I cannot fucking do this!

I roll back to talk to Sam, but now he’s feigning sleep. I punch the stupid mattress and stalk out of the room.

Yes, I’ve left him alone again. Yes, I’ve fucking rejected him. Yes, I’ve probably fucked up his last chance at sex,
ever
.

I’m a bastard. Fuck me.

I sink down against the door in the tiny bathroom down the hall and sob. But just once.

I never cry.

I must have woken up Simon or Alex as there is a soft knock on the door—it sure as hell won’t be Sam.

A thick purple towel is hanging over the bath. I drag it down my face and suck in a deep breath before opening the door.

Alex.

“You okay?” he asks. He doesn’t look as though he’s been asleep.

No.
“Yes,” I say and try to move past him out of the bathroom. But he’s in the way.

“You sounded upset.”

As if that is something I’m going to admit to. I don’t even know him. “I’m fine,” I say stiffly.

He shrugs and moves out of the way, the interrogative look on his face gone. “I’ve just made some coffee….”

I consider the situation: it’s the early hours of the morning and I’m an almost total stranger, but from the way Alex just looked me up and down, I’m guessing he’s testing the water with me. I chew my lip. “Okay,” I say. I can’t get much lower.