Ship It(74)
“I know I don’t… go out that often. With you guys,” Forest started.
“Yeah,” Rico said. “That’s okay.”
“I wanted you to know, that it’s not personal, I’m just more of a one-on-one kind of a guy,” Forest said. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see Rico nodding, but he kept his eyes on the sharp curve of Rico’s hand, still touching him. His hands were brown and limber and deft with a pair of chopsticks, he knew, but he wondered what else they were capable of. No—not that, he thought, pushing the image aside, but then admitted, Yes, also that. Of course that. Wasn’t that what all this fear was about? “When I came to Demon Heart, I was still pretty green, so I wanted to thank you… for helping me out…” Shit, this wasn’t what he wanted to say. This wasn’t a damn exit interview.
“Of course, yeah. I’m really glad we got to work together.” Rico patted Forest’s arm, then let go.
Goddammit, Forest thought angrily, why can’t I just say what I mean?
“Yeah, and…” Forest started. He scrunched his eyes closed and spit out the next words. “And you’ve been wonderful I couldn’t have done this without you and I wanted you to know how much Iloveyouisall.” He slowly reopened his eyes and peeked at Rico, who watched him with amusement. “So… thanks,” Forest finished limply.
Rico’s eyes flashed with delight as he let Forest dangle in the wind, waiting for his response. “A one-on-one kind of a guy, huh?” Rico said, and Forest flushed red. Rico laughed, “Forest, relax, man. I never thought you hated me because you didn’t come out with us. I just figured you were one of those people who needed recharge time.”
“Yeah.”
“Truth is, I always had half a mind to call you after those things, but I was afraid of pressuring you into something you didn’t want to do, or making some big dumb gesture and screwing it all up.” Rico waved around the trailer. “For example.”
“No—” Forest started, but Rico cut him off.
“Yeah, no, I know when I’ve screwed up; let me own it.”
“I wish you had called me sometime,” Forest said, growing bolder. “I would’ve liked to.”
“To what?”
Rico looked at him carefully and Forest silently begged him to read between the lines; understand what Forest was saying. It’s okay, it’s okay, I want you to, Forest thought, and willed the words toward his mouth. It would be so easy right now to break eye contact, to stand up, make an excuse, and leave. To never allow himself to get into this position again. Every single instinct in his gut told him to run, to scream, to look away.
But Forest didn’t look away.
Forest looked at Rico’s lips.
Rico cocked his head, reading the signals, following instructions, and leaned closer.
His last chance to back away disappeared as Rico’s lips met Forest’s, warm and concrete, and real, and any misgivings evaporated as Forest’s mind emptied of everything but the taste and smell of Rico. Forest opened his mouth and let him in.
MY HEART RACES in my chest. I want to slam the laptop closed and toss it across the room, but I need to know what else she put in here about me before it ends. I scan the remaining pages. Just a few paragraphs later, I’m stroking the place behind Rico’s ear. After that, Rico is unzipping my pants, then he’s giving me a blowjob, then I’m “slotting our dicks together” and fucking my fist, I mean, Jesus Christ what the fuck, Claire? By the end, we’re happy and satiated and we eat our melted parfaits, naked and snuggling, and I want to scream at her to leave me out of her little fantasies. I want to call my lawyer and have it taken down. I want it erased from the memory of every one of the thousands of people who have already read it. But I can’t make that happen and I feel so helpless that I want to hit something or cry or both.
Fanfic is one thing. But this is different. This is targeted.
She knows me. And she wrote porn about me. Using information I told her that I didn’t tell anyone else. She implied that my dad hits me, which I don’t even want to talk about how offensive a leap of judgment that is. And she dragged Jasper Graves into it, which is…
I grind my knuckles into my knees. I will end this. And I will end the reign of heart-of-lightness.
JAMIE IS STARING at me like I just personally went to his house and paged through his old yearbooks. Relax, Davies.
How did I find this? “I’m a fan, I can find anything as long as it’s on the internet.”
Jamie gapes at his phone. “This photo must be, what, twenty-five years old? How is it even online?”
“Your high school recently digitized their school newspaper archives.” I shrug. “Wasn’t too difficult to find.”
The photo in question is from the early ’90s when Jamie was a teenager—probably around the age I am now. The photo is old and yellowed and poor quality from being printed on a newspaper, kept in a box for twenty-five years, and then scanned and posted online, but it’s clearly him. He’s standing in a high school hallway wearing a Spider-Man costume, a backpack slung over his shoulder, smiling sheepishly at the camera. The costume looks homemade—blue tights tucked into red high-top Converse, under a red-and-blue T-shirt with an elaborate spiderweb design made with what has to be puff paint. I tweeted the photo with the caption, Once a fan, always a fan. ;)