Count Your Teeth

—Day 131— A strong gust of wind blew, kicking up snow devils that danced and twirled alongside Ches as he plodded his way across the barren parking lot. He tucked his chin deeper into his scarf and hunched his shoulders, shielding his ears. It was fucking freezing out here. The toes of his sneakers were soaked, snow drenching his socks and crawling up his jeans. One hand was punched deep into the pocket of his oversized parka—something "borrowed" from a good client that had gone bad way back when. In his other hand, he held a bottle. Its neck dangled loosely between two numbed fingers. He lifted it to his lips and downed another mouthful. At least, that was the intention. The vodka sloshed from the bottle too quickly, and most of it ended up on his scarf instead. "Son of a bitch," he grumbled, wiping at the mess with his sleeve. The movement threw him off balance, and he teetered sideways into a rusty barbed wire fence that chimed back at him with an irritated Watch it! "Oh, excusez-moi, monsieur." Sweeping his arm low, he gave an exaggerated bow before stumbling off with an inebriated giggle. His little joke went unappreciated, however, quickly spirited away by the wind whipping through the labyrinth of tall brick buildings. There wasn't another soul in the entire factory complex to hear it. And that was fine by him. As far as Ches was concerned, if Hell was other people, this place was paradise. After the shouting match he'd had with his mom today, it was just the escape he needed. In his pocket, he thumbed the small gift, rubbing its flat surface until the silver warmed. Hell wasn't all other people, of course. There was still Glam who he knew would be waiting for him, down in their private little hideaway. Far from the rest of the world that could burn for all he cared. At least he had Glam. His alcohol-laden heart stumbled over the knot of fondness and chagrin that had recently taken up residence in his chest, and he hung his head sullenly as he skirted a patch of black ice. The late-afternoon sun stretched his legs into shadowy spikes that jabbed up and down as he walked in a path that was as straight as his meandering thoughts. Three weeks was a long time to be gone, and guilt needled at him for how he'd kept Glam waiting. Down there. All alone. But, nah, he'd be fine. Glam was tough, he reminded himself. A hell of a lot tougher than he was at the beginning. A faint smile curled Ches's lips. Glam was just fine, and he'd—he'd welcome Ches back with open arms. Wouldn't he? The smile trembled, fell into a frown, as doubt—or maybe it was the booze—cleaved through his guts. Ches couldn't be so sure anymore if Glam still loved him, especially after the way things had gone down last time. He'd messed up. Bad. Tripping over his own feet, he rubbed absentmindedly at the last butterfly bandage that was flaking off the bridge of his nose. He peeled it off and flicked it away, making a face to suppress the urge to sneeze. Not a trace remained of the savage beating it'd received, bruises and busted skin healed with time. Too bad he couldn't say the same for his forehead. Hidden beneath the grungy bandanna, he now sported an ugly scar that wriggled up his brow and into his hairline, courtesy of a certain bastard's ring. That same ring now decorated his middle finger. It was a little big for him, and he spun it loosely around and around with his thumb as he thought back to his mother. Why did she have to be so goddamn stupid? She never listened. That was her problem! Why didn't she ever listen to him? Especially when he was making perfectly good sense. The haul he'd brought in that night with the john had been more than enough to cover her treatment. Six whole months paid in advance to the area's most prestigious accredited rehab center! The place even had its own Japanese garden and daily meditation classes—all that bougie shit! Boasting a 93% success rate, it was the very best that money could buy. It was supposed to fix her! Save her! She'd lasted all of one week. A personal record. His frustrated sigh crystallized then melted on the inside of his scarf. He'd begged, yelled, even tried guilt-tripping her into sticking with it, and although she promised she'd give it an honest try, it didn't make any difference. No surprise there. They'd argued and fought about it every day since then, two stubborn idiots wanting to make things better but neither knowing how. It'd gotten so bad, a neighbor had threatened to call the cops on them. So he'd left. It was the same old shit again. His mother would never change. She'd wind up dead in that fucking trailer, right next to a syringe and an expensive bottle of cognac. He'd bet good money on it. Another generous swig, and the mental image he'd painted began to fizzle away into ethanol fumes. That was better. He'd rather focus on the booze burning down his throat, than the unpleasant thoughts bumbling around in his mind. He didn't like being in his head too much. It was dark in there. He'd reached the building's rear entrance and fumbled with the stack of broken pallets concealing the door. They clattered to the ground, sending unseen critters scurrying for cover. Once through the door and free from the howling wind, he breathed a grateful sigh. It echoed down the large and empty hallways like a wandering ghost in a tomb. Paradise. He started forward. Past back offices where dust lay an inch thick on conference tables and office chairs. Past the main production floor with its relics of abandoned machinery. Past the piles of dusty billiard balls, half-formed casts discarded for one defect or another. Past the remnants of the manufacturer's name now pockmarked like missing teeth in an old man's grin. SH...GEN...AGENS, the logo read in large lopsided letters. Ches ignored all these, keeping one hand on the wall as he walked the well-worn path. He could have made his way there with his eyes closed. So to hell with it, he did, letting fatigue pull his eyelids shut as he stumbled onward, shoes scuffing an off-beat rhythm, until he'd made it to the basement door. Hair spilled over his face as he sagged against it, lifting a hand to swipe blindly at the handle, once, twice. Got it. The drink rolled around like a lead ball in his gut, churning his stomach acid and sending it up in a rancid belch. He wrinkled his nose. Shit, he was smashed. Shit-faced. Shittily shit-faced. But too late to turn back now. A twist of the key, and the door gave way beneath his weight, swinging open with that familiar squeal. He paused at the top of the stairs where he was enveloped in a cloud of warmth. It pushed back the worst of winter's bite, and he could feel himself melt into its waiting embrace, stiff joints and hunched shoulders unwinding, going slack. There was a gentle glow coming from deeper inside, carrying with it pleasant smells of cooking spices and, best of all, music. Glam was playing a soft guitar rendition of Last Christmas, the notes swirling like snowflakes into his ears. He took a step forward. I'm home— He misjudged the distance and bungled the first step, going down the flight of stairs with a shout and a tangle of limbs before landing at the bottom in a crooked heap. The music stopped. "Ow..." he said where he lay upside down, one leg caught on the second-to-last step. From his inverted position, the puff-cloud bed floated in the sky, while in one corner glowed the little space heater he'd gotten last month, its orange coils burning like the midday sun. "Ches!" Glam's frantic voice nibbled at his ears, the one solid thing in a world that was going fuzzy at the edges. There were two of him—no, three—all looking down at him with genuine pity. It was a beautiful sight. It made him want to cry. Instead, he blinked until the trio of Glams funneled back down to one. "Hey, babe," he croaked. Jesus Christ, he sounded terrible, pathetic. Not cool at all. A good six feet separated them, Glam standing at the very limit of his range. Both hands were wrapped around the chain at his collar, as though trying to wring even one more inch from it. But it wouldn't allow him any closer. Close but no cigar, Ches thought sluggishly. Damn, I could use a smoke right now. With a groan, he twisted in place, trying to get his feet under him. Glam's chains jangled noisily while he fretted back and forth, helpless. God, he felt like a piece of shit for making Glam worry like that. After a few futile attempts to get up, Ches resigned to sitting slouched like a broken doll against the wall. He rubbed at the back of his head as he blinked up at Glam. "Y-you're back." He looked a little skinnier than before, a little more frazzled. And there was that huge smile plastered on his face from last time, the bags around his eyes dark as kohl. Had he been getting enough sleep? Judging by his reaction, Ches would've thought he'd been gone for weeks. Oh, right. That's because he had. "I didn't know if—I mean, I wondered when you'd—" Glam stopped himself short and shook his head, the chain chattering like an excited bird. "I'm glad you're back." Such a freakin' sweet idiot. "I'm glad too. But 'course I'm back." His lips twisted in a pout, and he gingerly climbed to his feet. “I'll always come back." He wavered in place. "No matter what." That's when he noticed the bottle in his hand. It'd managed to survive the fall, but he'd emptied its contents all over his pants. Now they were sticky and gross. Not a good look. He let the bottle drop to the floor, and it shattered on impact. "Are you okay?" Glam fluttered around Ches as he staggered forward, as though afraid he'd fall apart if he touched him. Ches shrugged him off with a biting, "I'm fine," hating himself for lying to Glam. Hating how he had to act like he was in control, even when he didn't know what the fuck he was doing anymore. He put a shaking hand to his head, everything going foggy. He had to get a grip. For Glam's sake. He was supposed to keep Glam safe, make him ready! But he'd fucked up so much last time, how could he ever make things right again? The room tilted suddenly, and his feet tangled beneath him. But Glam kept him from falling, those skinny arms wrapping around his middle. He was stronger than he looked, Ches had to admit. His bruises had faded, too, leaving only a pale canvas where stray scars decorated his skin. Ches wanted to kiss every last one of them. He would. Just...as soon as he got some rest. With only a little grousing, he let himself be half-carried, half-guided to the bed where he flopped down onto it with a bounce. Flat on his back, he closed his eyes, and the world spun even faster, wild as an unhinged carousel. Consciousness was disintegrating at the corners, and his stomach was doing some unspeakable things. Distantly, he recognized Glam tugging off his jacket and his shoes. Socks. Pants. "Kinkyyyy," he slurred around a tongue that had grown as heavy as his eyelids. Glam only shushed him good-naturedly, tucking him into bed with all the care of an attentive mother, and Ches's heart grew hot, hotter than all the alcohol buzzing away in his veins. He had killed for this boy. And this boy had killed for him. How many people could say the same? He shook his head at his own question, which just made his brain swirl. This had to mean they were bound for life, right? Accomplices in murder—in a crime of passion, no less. Star-crossed lovers, till death do us part, and all that sentimental bullshit. Goosebumps had sprung up along his arms, and his teeth chattered. He bullied his eyes open to watch Glam as he smoothed down the sheets and tucked them beneath his chin. The sight of him alone helped to soothe the worst of his frayed nerves, even as nystagmus made his vision jitter like a TV set caught between channels. When the world stilled long enough for Glam to meet Ches's eyes, he only offered a tender smile, one that gutted Ches, because he felt—no, he knew that he wasn't worthy of such tenderness. After how badly he'd messed up, how could Glam stand to look at him? Touch him? Come anywhere near him? His throat clamped down on regret as it burbled up from inside of him with the fury of a growing tempest. "Glam..." His voice cracked around his name. Glam tilted his head, curious, patiently waiting for him to continue. But then the moment shattered. Nausea seized him, and saliva gushed into his mouth. It was his only warning before vomit surged up his esophagus. He had just enough time to throw himself over the edge of the bed before spewing the contents of his stomach—fifteen bucks worth of vodka gone, just like that. His head pounded, face puffy and red with strain. He heaved, heaved some more, until there was nothing left to heave—and then he was sobbing, an awful, ugly sound that ricocheted off the ceiling, made the lightbulb ring. Tears squeezed themselves free from him, and his fingers shook where they held the edge of the mattress in a death grip. Somewhere outside of this hell, he felt Glam's hand smoothing down his back, a blessed cool to his overheated skin. Not just overheated. Hot. Why did he feel so damned hot, burning, scalding? He was melting, going up in flames. An inferno raged inside of him, trying to whisk him away while he clawed for leverage, for control. But it was all spiraling out of his grasp as he lost himself in fever's pit. Everything was coming apart at the seams, and he was bursting, spilling over. More than just sick began to pour out of him, wretched words hidden somewhere amidst his weeping. He bawled long and hard about his mother and her sickness. About how he'd never be able to fix her. Fix anything. Least of all a broken fuck-up like himself. He'd ruined everything that night. A stupid lapse in judgment that had nearly cost them their lives. God, he'd been so scared. He hadn't meant to put Glam in danger like that, not when the only thing he'd wanted was to keep him safe. But he couldn't even do that right. And he was sorry, so fucking sorry. Forgive me, I didn't mean for it to happen. I didn't. Please don't leave m— All at once, it was over. The chaotic maelstrom abated, seen off by a high-pitched whining in his ears. This too gradually faded, replaced by Glam's gentle humming. It was the only sound Ches ever wanted to hear, and he moaned weakly, grateful for this lodestar to guide him home from where he drifted, lost and afraid, on an open sea. His head rolled back and forth as if on the waves, cheeks wet with tears. He could feel Glam's hand brush the hair from his face. The tune Glam hummed was familiar somehow, like something—something he'd sung himself months ago, a lifetime ago. In a crowded bar. With the band. One unforgettable summer night.

***

—Day 0— I howl the last note into the mic, a wicked E5, and the crowd goes wild. They throw up their hands in devil's horns, paying homage to me with hoots and hollers. I can only stand there and pant a quiet, "Wow," arm raised, returning the sign of my people. I am their freakin' god. I turn my head to look at Glam beside me on the stage. He's breathing just as hard, staring out at the crowd as if not believing that they're all here for us. He meets my eyes and flashes me a smile, and I've never been more in love in my life. Excitement burns in the pit of my stomach, high on the rush of the concert as I watch Glam glitter under the spotlights, beautiful and incredible and right by my side where he belongs. His last guitar riff left them all in awe, but it was just a glimpse of what he's got in store. They have no idea. My thighs twitch with the urge to stride across the stage and kiss him right here and now. Let everyone see that he’s mine. But I never get the chance, because the crowd's rushing the stage, pulling us down and carrying us off to celebrate. Lordi's already talking about an after-party, and we're corralled into a lounge. There's a bar there too. Tables and booths, dim lights, and heavy metal booming from the speakers. People are smacking me on the back, telling me I was awesome. Girls grope my ass as I walk by, and I'm laughing and grinning, and Glam is—Glam is pulled out of my hand before I can stop it. Whisked away to the couch in the center of the room by three giggling groupies. It's cool, I tell myself. Everything's cool. I'll catch up with him later. There's always later, because I know he's in love with me—How can't he be? I'm irresistible!—and someday, soon, he'll come over again. To my room. Into my bed. Spend the night and give himself, all of himself, to me. And then he'll be mine—spirit, mind, and body. He just doesn't know it yet. There's so much he doesn't know, it's honestly ridiculous. He's been living for so long, high and mighty in his castle, where the air's too damn thin, he's oxygen-deprived. It's made him dumb. Weak too, like a flower without enough sunlight. He doesn't stand a chance out here in the real world. That is, if he ever manages to leave that prison he calls home. His father's kept him on such a short leash, it's wringing the life out of him. I'd like to put a leash on him too. Only, I'd do it right. Before long, I've got a free drink in one hand and a girl with nice hair and cheap cherry lip gloss in the other. She keeps giggling and touching the leather choker around her neck. She's pretty enough, and we’re having what people would consider to be "a good time," chatting by the bar, and yeah I'm too young to drink, but tell that to the bartender who's just serving and serving, and the booze is flowing and flowing. Cherry tells me how amazing I was on stage. I counter by saying she's amazing too. This is totally my scene. I fucking hate it. Where I really wanna be is next to Glam on that dingy, old couch where the girls are practically climbing all over him. I keep sneaking looks from over my bottle, checking up on him, making sure everything's okay. He's sitting stiff as a mannequin while the trio push their breasts in his face and try to slip their hands down his shirt. Poor guy looks terrified, like he thinks the girls want to eat him rather than fuck him. It's actually pretty cute. Doesn't he realize it’s one of his biggest charms? The way he's always so uptight makes people wanna loosen his strings, see him undone. Myself included. It doesn't hurt that he's easy on the eyes too: tall, lean, pretty blue eyes that practically glow beneath the soft overhead lights. And his hair—he's got the kind of hair you wanna see stuck with sweat to his cheek or splayed out on the pillow as you fuck him. That's just what Glam needs, and I'd gladly be the one to teach him. There's a lot I have to teach him. See, Glam needs my help. He's been practically begging for it since the moment we met, back when he was a pathetic and shivering little thing, scared of his own shadow. It was the look in his eyes that gave it away. The one that said, Ches, I am lost without you. Would you believe it? Ches the Shepherd. Ches the Savior. Got a nice ring to it. He needs my help, and I'm the best one for the job. Already I'm changing him, little by little, and he's doing wonderfully. Every day, he's becoming more the person he's meant to be. Bolder, brighter. The only thing bright about Cherry is her lip gloss. The too-sweet stink of it smeared all over me is giving me a headache, and she just keeps giggling. I could read aloud the user's manual for a VCR, and I bet she'd giggle. It's making it hard to focus. Now, an Idea's been growing in my head for a while, thinking of the ways I can make Glam even stronger, strong enough to survive. Strong enough to thrive. He's been soft and feeble long enough. If we don't do something soon, he'll end up in some serious trouble. The world is a cruel place, and he needs to learn just how bad it can get. I wrap an arm around Cherry's waist, copping a feel on occasion to make her think I'm paying attention. Her lips are right next to my ear and she's panting on about how hot I am and where you wanna go after this and how 'bout my place? She's not being at all subtle about what she wants to do back at her place—if the pussy juices wetting my fingers are any indication, where she's slipped my hand between her thighs. I imagine what it'd be like to hammer nails into her skull. Instead, I stick two fingers inside. This shuts her up. Thank god, because she's not what I want to be paying attention to right now. I lift the bottle to my lips without actually drinking, my eyes fixed on Glam. Realizing Glam won't give them what they want, the groupies give up and drift away, no doubt to find easier, more willing partners. And Glam is left all by his lonesome. I'm just thinking of dumping Cherry and going over there myself... When he shows up. It's like he was waiting for the opportunity, because the second the girls leave, he sidles up beside Glam on the couch. He strikes up a conversation that slowly coaxes Glam from his shell. He entices. He ensnares. He is a fucking predator. I watch as he marks his territory that is the couch and Glam. Subtle looks and body language scream the message loud and clear: Stay away. He's mine. Black tee and tight-fitting jeans, he blends in perfectly with this crowd, but I've never seen him before. Was he even at the concert? His face is both eye-catching and forgettable. The slippery kind. He's done this before, that much is obvious. I can practically see him going through the script. He knows exactly what to say, when to touch and when not to, how to carry himself in such a way that makes Glam lower his defenses. Long leg crossed oh-so-cool over one knee, getting real close, real flirty. A regular fucking Romeo. Glam doesn't stand a chance. He's nursing his little glass of orange juice, fidgeting and stealing shy glances up at Romeo who sweet-talks him and fetches him a refill from the bar himself—now, ain't he a real gentleman—before pushing it into his hands. He thinks he's so fucking smooth about it. No one else notices, but I do because I've been watching them like a hawk. My nostrils flare, livid. Cherry steps into my line of sight, and I give her a devilish twist of my fingers. Her knees buckle. She clings to my shoulder and squeals like I'm doing her some kind of huge favor. I go back to watching. Romeo knows how to charm. He oozes with it. And, unfortunately, it's working just like it's supposed to. Glam accepts the glass graciously—he was always too damn trusting—and takes a polite little sip, but Romeo laughs and tips the glass up with one finger—Bottom's up!—so that Glam has no choice but to polish off the whole thing in one go. Even from across the room, I can tell the moment the drug hits him. Glam relaxes, goes loose-limbed and goofy. He slumps back against the couch where Romeo's arm is slung behind him. Now isn't that convenient? His knees tip side to side, side to side, like skinny, jean-clad windshield wipers as his shoulders bounce in a careless little shrug to whatever Romeo's said. He's smiling at him too, that big, kooky grin of his I love so much, and that's the part that kills me. Romeo smiles back, and when his hand lands on Glam's thigh, stays, glides upwards, I see red. I drive my fingers in up to the knuckle beneath Cherry's skirt, a generous thumb on her clit, and she's close, but Romeo is closer, leaning forward and catching a lock of Glam's hair between finger and thumb, and a thousand scenarios are playing through my head of how I will take this man apart piece by piece. Stop him! Stop him! I'm screaming in my head, but I'm glued to the spot, knowing exactly how this will play out and yet wanting to see it unfold anyway. Romeo has his arm around Glam's shoulder now, and Glam isn't. Doing. Anything. He glides in close and whispers something in Glam's ear that has him blushing. It's also a cute look on him. His head is unsteady as a bobblehead, and he tilts it to the side. Then he nods. He fucking nods. When Romeo takes Glam's hand and they both stand up, I know it's now or never. I rip my fingers out roughly, and Cherry squawks right in my ear. She glares, hisses What the fuck's wrong with you? But I'm already gone, wiping my fingers on her long hair—Asshole!—before walking away. She yells something else after me that makes some onlookers chuckle. But I don't give a fuck. I'm too busy making my way through the throng of people all writhing to the music, blitzed out and oblivious, as I hone in on Glam. The rest of the room fades away into one obnoxious blur, the noise growing too loud. If I lose sight of him now— A huge biker dude drops a hand on my shoulder. Guy's built like a freakin' brick wall as he stands right in front of me, blathering on about the concert and killer lyrics, man, I'll be waiting for your next concert and blah-blah-blah-blah-blah, and I don't care. I don't fucking care! "Thanks, man," I say smoothly with my usual grin, shooting him finger guns for good measure—Pew-pew! You're dead!—as I slide right past him. But it's too late. Glam is gone. The world goes stock-still. Nothing registers. I don't feel anything, don't hear anything as my brain catches like a scratched record: I've lost him. I've lost him. I've lost him. It's actually happened. I knew it would someday, just not so soon. There's still so much I had to teach him! He was too stupid for his own good, a lamb among wolves, and now someone's stolen him, and he'll get to have him instead of me, but Glam's mine, mine, MINE! That's when I see the door. It's tucked away in the back, slightly ajar. My hand is on the knob, and the first real sound in a long time reaches my ears: a single broken whimper from Glam. I am a raging storm incarnate. Quiet as death, I push the door open and slip inside. The lights are out. Vague shapes fill the shelves along the walls, towers of beer crates crowd the floor, and the air stinks of stale booze. A storage room. Classy. At first I don't see Glam, because Romeo's back is in the way. He's got four legs instead of two, and I can make out that he's got my Glam bent over one of the crate towers, all grunts and slobbering kisses. "Mm, your momma made a pretty baby..." Like I said, classy. He's not wasting any time, but that's good because this makes him sloppy. The click of the door as I shut it tight behind me cuts the scene short, and Romeo repels himself off of Glam with a curse. He's wrangling on his belt as he spins around. He really wasn't wasting any time. I flip the light switch, and he cowers like a cockroach beneath the dingy overhead bulb, before his eyes adjust and he has to lower his glare by about a foot until it finally lands on me. One look, and he visibly relaxes. "What the hell, dude? Freaking gave me a heart attack." He actually has the gall to grin. Amazing how quick people are to underestimate me just because I'm short. It's like they've never met a rabid opossum before. "Sorry." I raise both hands—See? I'm harmless—and tilt my head. "But I couldn't help but notice you taking my friend someplace. He's not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, so I didn't feel right leaving him alone. And, well, it looks like he's having a little trouble. Wouldn't you say?" I nod at Glam who's out of commission, draped over a crate and trying to hold on for dear life. He's slipping. He's going to fall. Romeo puts on his most beguiling face, trying to appear innocent even though there's already sweat beading his hairline. "He's fine. Look, so we were having a little fun." He shrugs like it's all one big misunderstanding, but I just make my way to Glam. "The kid's into it." I cup Glam's head in my hands and look him over as he mumbles incoherently: slowed breathing, impaired mobility, slurred speech. Yup, he's got all the symptoms. I shoot a look back at Romeo. "The kid," I bite out, "is out of it." I illustrate my point by holding Glam up by the shoulders while the rest of him sags like a sack of wet noodles, chin hanging down to his chest. Abruptly, I drop him, and Glam collapses onto his knees. Hard. "Jesus Christ." I give a low whistle, hands on my hips. "How much did you give him?" "Give him? I-I don't know what you're talking about." Like crossing his arms and playing dumb is gonna convince me otherwise. The look in his eyes says it all: He knows he's busted. He runs his hands through his hair then tosses out a cool, "Whatever," before heading for the door. Making his quick escape. Not quick enough. I stop him with a hand on his wrist. The Idea yawns awake in the back of my mind, becomes a Plan. It tells me to Wait, play it cool, you can kill two birds with one stone here. I cock an ear to heed its sweet and fervent whisperings, while Romeo yammers on with some more bullshit excuses. "Dude, relaaaax." I save this drawl for the most nervous types, my thorns turning to tendrils that coil around my latest victim. Doubt dims his panic, and when he turns to me, curious and receptive, I have just the opening I need. "I get where you're going with this. You're just having a little fun." I waggle my brows, looking between him and Glam in that way that all men understand. "And I want in." "Want in?" Do I have to spell it out for him? He's not the only one who knows how to charm, and I lay it on thick. A well-placed touch here, a sultry look there, and that's all it takes. I fan my hands in a soft arch that Romeo follows with his eyes. "I'm saying I'm down to play." Realization dawns across his face. His bewildered expression melts into a shit-eating grin, like he's hit the jackpot, and suddenly he's very interested in what I have to offer. He has no idea there's no getting out of this. "Oh, yeah?" He presses his body close to mine, and I can feel how eager he is through his designer jeans. "So, uh, where are we doing this?" It's official. We're going to be partners in crime tonight. Thick as thieves. I cup his erection, grin, look up at the naked bulb dangling above this shitty storage room. And the Plan becomes an Action. "I've got just the place." Within minutes, we're in his car, driving toward the industrial district. I give the directions from the backseat: left, right, another right, straight. Just keep going. Meanwhile, Glam is out, head on my lap, and I turn his face to the side so that he doesn't choke on his tongue while he sleeps. Poor, stupid Glam. Now look at what you've done, I tsk at him silently, already anticipating how difficult things are going to be. I wish this could be easy, but then again, nothing worth doing ever is. This is how tough love works. But I swear Glam will flourish under my care. He'll be my crowning achievement. His only reply is an airy snore. I let him sleep. For now. Romeo helps me lift Glam out of the car once we've reached the edge of the factory complex. The sky is clouded over, rain threatening to fall any second now. A bolt of lightning from the sky lights up our surroundings, and I can see Romeo looking around in confusion. I don't blame him. Every building looks the same around here. I'd get lost too if I didn't come so often. "What now?" "We walk." Glam weighs nothing between us, and I have to admit I'm thankful for Romeo's muscles. This part would be a hell of a lot harder without him. We duck inside as the first fat droplets of rain start. Ever the gentleman, he helps me carry Glam all the way down to the room. Soon to be his room. "Holy shit." I can hear wonder, and a little dread, in Romeo's voice once we're inside. "What the hell kind of place is this?" It's a place for hiding. For tucking away dirty little secrets. There's more skeletons in here than the catacombs. It'd started off innocently enough, at the beginning, a dusty playground for a kid from a broken home when he wanted to get away from it all. There've been some upgrades since then, items scavenged or gifted from one generous john or another. What I haven't begged for or borrowed, I've stolen. I'm a goddamn thief, and there's only room enough in this den for one. I don't say any of this to Romeo, of course, just tell him to help me get Glam to the bed. He's only too eager, buzzing from excitement and whatever booze he downed back at the bar. This makes him even sloppier, and he doesn't think twice about turning his back to me as he busies himself with the goodies tucked under the pillows. The chains slither out with a hiss. You'd think they were a birthday present, the way he oohs and aahs over them. To me, they're just another tool for getting a job done. Reminders. It's no surprise I was an angry kid. I still am, in a lotta ways. Absent father, alcoholic mother. It's textbook. It all started that one summer when Mom had said something awful to me, so I ran away. Like, really ran away. Not just to the edge of the trailer park like usual, but all the way here. Imagine it, my first night away from home. I felt so cool. So grown up. I did lose my innocence down here, in more ways than one. The place was perfect for reflecting on things, philosophizing in young and kiddish terms. A time for putting all the pieces together. It wasn't something I'd had the chance to do much at home, not when I was too busy keeping out of Mom's way, dodging beer bottles and the occasional fist. But when I got to thinking, I realized that I couldn't blame Mom for what the drink did to her. It was who had driven her to drink that was the real problem. She cried over him often enough, I didn't need to guess who was the culprit. And I started to think that if I got rid of him, then maybe Mom would stop crying. If I killed him, wiped his sorry face from this sorry planet, then maybe Mom would stop hurting herself, put down the bottle for good. I could finally have back what I'd lost—or maybe never had in the first place. We could pick up whatever pieces remained and be a family again. I finger the necklace at my throat, my one memento from Dad. The start of my little collection. He had been the first, and he had lasted the longest. I'd taken my time snipping him apart while he cursed and wailed. I was a lot younger then, inexperienced and messy. I've learned a lot since, and each time gets easier. This time, however, is about setting an example. Romeo's locking the manacles onto Glam. It's like he doesn't even notice the bandage around his right wrist. It's exactly this callousness that assures me I'm doing the right thing. My eyes had picked up on those scars the minute I'd met Glam. They still move me with the bone-deep understanding that only one abused kid can have for another. I want to hold that wrist gently in my hand and kiss all his scars better. But Romeo is here and—well, now's not the time. I take down the bolt cutters from their place on the wall and walk up behind him. If it's not his father that'll do him in, it'll be Romeo, and if not Romeo, then someone else. And on and on and on. There's no shortage of monsters out there capable of destroying a fragile soul like Glam. I grip the bolt cutters in both hands and prop them on my right shoulder—Hey, batta, batta!—taking aim at Romeo's head. Glam's too pure for this world, and there are too many people who want to corrupt him, use and discard him. But I'm not gonna let that happen. I'm gonna savor him. Romeo turns and sees me, eyes suddenly going wide with fear. By the time I'm done with his educational process, there's nothing Glam won't be able to handle. I swing. After all, you only grow through what you go through.

***

—Day 132— Kneeling beside the bed, Glam propped his chin on one hand, gazing down at Ches who lay dozing. A bad dream pinched his features, and Glam ran a finger gently across Ches's brow, over his new bandanna, until it had smoothed again. His breath evened out, deepened, and Glam gave a sigh of relief. To look at Ches now, it was hard to imagine he'd been that wild, thrashing thing from the prior night. All blind ferocity and scathing curses, he'd been inconsolable, fighting Glam every step of the way as he dipped in and out of lucidity—until, at last, a deep sleep claimed him. It had been a rough 24 hours, and Glam's eyes burned at the edges from tending to Ches and his fever without rest. When he'd first vomited, Glam patiently rubbed his back as he curled over the side of the bed, mumbling something about back rooms and bolt cutters. He'd tried to ask him what he meant, but Ches only cried harder. While he was in the midst of cleaning up the mess, Ches vomited again. By then he was feverish and sweating heavily. Staying hydrated was key, so Glam urged him to keep down as much water as he could manage. It filled Ches's small bladder, and he'd tumbled out of bed at some point, determined to make it to the toilet on his own, but he'd only ended up falling and wetting himself like a child. More tears. Glam next drew him a hot bath. Ches had shivered through it until Glam stepped in and held him to his chest. They'd stayed like that until he had sweated out most of the fever and the water grew tepid. Then he'd bundled him up and brought him to the bed again where they both tried to make up for lost sleep. Closing his eyes, Glam nuzzled his grin into the sheets, his next breath coming from somewhere far deeper in his chest than normal. That place where pure joy resides right behind the heart. Ches was back. He was finally back! After three long weeks that had felt like three lifetimes, Ches was home. Now things could go back to the way they were supposed to be, just the two of them with everything they could possibly need, right here—together. It'd been...hard to be apart from Ches for so long. Funny, he'd once dreaded Ches's presence; now, he grieved in his absence. He turned his head to peek up at Ches, and a fresh surge of gratitude raced through him to see him here, right in front of him. He dared to reach out and run the back of his knuckles down Ches's cheek where salty tear tracks had dried. Glam couldn't help but smile. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't really stopped smiling since the last time Ches was here. He tried not to dwell too much on that night. It had been difficult in its own right. Saws and bags and the hose had kept them busy through to morning, a pair of weary soldiers purging the battlefield until every last trace of John was gone. But through it all, he'd smiled. He'd smiled when Ches had later fished out the paper bills from John's wallet in what even he recognized was a handsome sum. He'd smiled as he painstakingly washed them free of the blood. He'd smiled when Ches told him he had to leave for a while—Not long, promise. Just have some stuff to do. You've got enough food, right?—to which he nodded as though understanding completely, even though he didn't understand at all why Ches had to leave, not when he needed him most. He didn't want to face this alone. Although he hadn't truly been alone. He had his smile. It greeted him first thing in the morning and saw him off to sleep, a permanent fixture on his face that became his only companion as he awaited Ches's return. He'd managed well enough at first, passing the days by busying himself with his usual hobbies—cooking, guitar, anything having to do with personal development. But when the days turned to weeks, a tiny crevice of doubt began to grow in his chest. It'd ached day and night, and Glam began to wonder if one could actually die from heartbreak. And then, at last, Ches had come home, and Glam really did have every reason to smile, smile so much that his cheeks were sore and his eyes pricked with moisture. Just then, a groan rolled in Ches's throat. There was the flutter of lashes, and slowly he cracked open his eyes. His brow twisted, and when he turned his head to Glam, he looked dejected, as though he'd lost some kind of game. "Hi." Glam beamed back at him, his voice buoyant but hushed. "How are you feeling?" Ches only stared. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but a cough rattled out instead. Glam was ready for this and held a glass of water to his lips so that Ches could drink his fill. A flash of deja vu flickered across his vision. Where had he seen this scene before— "You...stayed?" Glam's hands stilled as he looked into Ches's face, trying to find the joke hidden somewhere behind those sad eyes. "Of course. I was right here the whole time. You couldn't get anywhere by yourself, and I—" He stalled, realizing Ches might be embarrassed by what he'd had to do for him while he was helpless. A spate of endearment warmed Glam's heart as he finished modestly, "Well, you needed my help, so I helped you." Ches wasn't looking at him but instead at the collar at his neck and the cuffs at his wrists. When he finally met Glam's eyes, he said quietly, "It's a little early, but I got you something. It's in my jacket." He raised a hand as though to gesture for it, but then, realizing he didn't actually know where his jacket was, he floundered. "Hang on, I got it!" Glam sprang up to retrieve it from the chair where he'd folded it neatly over the back. Sitting across from him on the bed, at Ches's gracious nod, he dug through the pockets. He started with the left inside one, removing the ring of keys and dropping them without a second thought on the sheets before moving to the other pockets. His hand eventually closed over something small and hard. He opened his palm and looked at it. The pendant was flat, shiny black with silver edges and a matching chain. A stylized T and S met at the top and bottom to form an angular teardrop: the logo of his favorite glam metal band. "Oh, wow, Ches," he breathed. "It's—it's great. Thank you." "Here. Let me." Ches sat up. At his offer, Glam turned around and lifted his hair so that Ches could clasp the necklace at his nape. "Thanks," he said again, fingering the pendant that hung at his breastbone like an icy kiss. He turned back to Ches and lowered his eyes, not knowing what else to say. What could he possibly give him in return— Suddenly, Ches grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward. Glam came willingly, breath quickening at even this small touch. After weeks bereft of attention, he was hungry for contact, a connection, anything. Ches was shaking with what he could only imagine was ill-restrained desire. Held a scant few inches from him now, fire burned in his gaze, hot as a forge, and Glam let his eyes flutter shut in anticipation, only too eager to be molded into whatever shape Ches asked of him. A few empty moments passed, unanswered, and Glam opened his eyes again. Ches was looking at him hard. Not him exactly, but the manacle in his grip. Was there something wrong with it? Baseless guilt made Glam's stomach swoop. He hadn't picked at his cuffs in forever, taking care to keep them clean and tidy like he was supposed to. So what could be the matter? "Why are you still here?" Glam blinked at Ches's question. It'd come out small and pinched tight with a jagged wariness for reasons Glam couldn't fathom. Maybe Ches had hit his head too hard during that fall. He began hesitantly, his answer as soft as his expression. "W-what do you mean? I already said, I had to take care of you." "No!" Ches yelled with an energy that belied his earlier exhaustion. "I mean, why didn't you leave?!" His hand shook where he gripped him, and Glam winced, shrinking beneath that accusatory glare. "Ches, I don't understa—" Ches snatched up the keys in his other fist and shook them. "You could've left! Gotten away from here while I was out cold! You had every chance to, but—but you didn't!" Fury and confusion wrestled over his face, lips curled back in a woeful snarl. "Gotten...away?" "Yes! Away from me! So why?! Why didn't you go?!" Words failed him. He turned his face away from Ches, unable to meet his demanding stare as he tried to piece together a suitable answer. But what could he say? The thought hadn't crossed his mind to do anything but stay here by Ches's side, seeing him through the worst of the illness, caring for Ches in the same way Ches had cared for him. He hadn't considered the whys of what he'd done, only that it had been the right thing to do. "I was—I wanted to help you." "Why?!" Ches barked back, the word fraying apart at the edges. "Because I was worried about you." "Why?" Strength seeped out of him, and his hands fell to his lap in defeat. "Because I—" Glam licked his lips, feeling the gravity of the moment settle over him like the first rays of morning light. Warm and full of promise. It woke within him words that had long since lain dormant, swathed in a yet-unnamed affection and still stumbling from sleep. "I...care about you." That wasn't its name. "Why?" His voice was now a whisper. Glam crawled forward slowly, carefully. From over the horizon, the words ventured out just as slowly, just as carefully, finding the courage to face the dawn. "Because I want to be with you." "Why?" He cupped Ches's face in his hands, wiping away the first of his tears with his thumb. "Because I need you." Cold earth grew warmer. He placed a kiss on Ches's left cheek. "Why?" Right cheek. "Because—" Brow. Why? Why? Why? They both already knew the answer. It had been here for weeks. No, since even before that. Okay, zombie, let's go rock. No, further back. Watch this, it's gonna be magic. Even further. Does your hair always do that when you play music? Further. Not Bach but a big bang! Since the very beginning. Hey, my name is... There it was. A thing that had always been. "Because," Glam started again. His voice was thin, prone to break as he spoke that sacred name against Ches's lips, radiant as the sun: "I love you." Glam was the one who had spoken the words aloud, but it was Ches who fell apart before them. His sobs were swallowed down by Glam's kiss as he grabbed desperately for him, hands shaking where he held Glam close, so close that nothing could possibly come between them. His touch was not a thing of sexual desire, but something far deeper and more integral, an aching vulnerability that yearned for acceptance. "I love you," Glam said again, and he knew he'd never need to speak another truth for the rest of his life. Not when everything he ever wanted to say was captured so eloquently, so exquisitely, within these three simple words. "I love you. I love you." The certainty of it resonated through him, clean as a bell. "I love you." Growing stronger with every vow. Together, they lowered to the bed, something new taking shape within them and between them. They didn't fuck that night. Or screw. Or even have sex. They made love. Slow and reverent, confident and humble, they explored each other's bodies as though discovering them for the first time. Hands touched with care, tracing old paths with revived appreciation and marking new ones with fervid interest. For once, neither led nor followed, dominated nor submitted, both giving to the other as much as they took—equals in every meaning of the word. Ches first unfastened Glam's restraints, letting them fall heavy to the bed so that he could kiss the bands of chaffed skin and old scars. It was strange not to feel their familiar weight that had been an extension of his body for so many months. Now, without them, Glam felt as light as his heart. His fingers dove into butterscotch locks, soft and sweet, as he laid kiss after kiss on Ches's lips, one for each day he'd loved him, and Ches returned them with a thousand more of his own, for all the days to come. They unraveled beneath each other's touch, coming apart only to come together again to form this new harmony. When Ches moved to put the manacles on himself, Glam could only watch, mesmerized, witnessing the foundation of their bond shift. Then a dark bloom of emotion unfurled in his eyes as Ches bowed his head to him. Glam removed his bandanna, christened the scar at his brow with a kiss, then knighted his Ches with the collar. The lock clicked into place like a heartbeat. Winding the chains around his hand, he drew Ches close. Up to claim his lips. Then down. Lower. Lower. A gentle command: Kiss me there. Cherish me. To Ches, it was the greatest honor. There was no cruel master here. No downcast slave. Every gesture of their affection was done of their own free will, a privilege to be fulfilled, not under threat or temptation, but out of a pure ambition to worship his lover as he was meant to be worshipped. Desire swept through Glam like sudden hunger, and he spilled Ches beneath him like a feast upon a plate, eager to savor every inch of him. His hands trembled with awe and need as he turned Ches onto his stomach, not knowing what came next but knowing only that it would be brilliant. Carnal instinct was his guide as he curled over Ches's back, eased him open, coaxed, aligned—readied to deliver the deepest expression of his love. And when at last he slipped inside, Glam marveled at how naturally they fit together. A key to a lock. The two entwined in a caduceus union as they rolled across the bed. The floor, the tub, the table—sites once reserved for torture were now repurposed into a stage on which to celebrate their love. Over and under, side by side, the two coming together in every configuration they knew and some they didn't but soon discovered were just as rewarding. Giddy laughter helixed with their steamy gasps. When they tired, they rested in each other's arms, cuddled close, contenting themselves with lazy kisses and a constant touch while lust lingered like banked embers, waiting to blaze to life once more. When it did, they crashed together in their haste to join. Again and again. On and on into the night. Hours passed. It was still dark. Too late for night, too early for morning. That secret in-between where consciousness tiptoed the line betwixt dream and waking. Glam looked out blearily across the room where he lay sprawled belly-down on the bed. The light was off. Moonlight cascaded into the room through the small window, glossing the world in its silver luster. His hand glided over the mattress on automatic in search of his lover, but the space beside him was empty. The residual heat from Ches's body had already faded. "Ches?" Worry began its steady trek up his subconscious, pushing him further from dreamland. "I'm right here, Glam." Tobacco smoke wafted into Glam's nose. He lifted his head, fisting the sleep from his eyes. Ches sat in the chair a few feet from the bed. He was dressed, and a cigarette burned in his hand. He lifted it to his lips and took a puff. "Ches, come back to bed," Glam sighed, already snuggling back beneath the blanket as a chill snaked its way across his skin. It was cold out there. He didn't want to leave. Already, sleep was coming up to reclaim him, and when Ches spoke again, voice low and soothing, he couldn't be quite sure whether it was real or only part of another dream. "You're finally ready." Concern wrinkled Glam's brow. He wanted to ask more, about what he meant and how he knew that—and why, of all things, he sounded so sad. But Ches was already continuing, and Glam was lulled by his mellow cadence as he began to tell him a story. The story of his life: "Your educational process is over, Glam. There's nothing more I can teach you. I've always known you'll do incredible things. I can see it all now. You'll make it on your own in the world, with no one and nothing to stop you. Confident. Strong. Wounds will heal and memories will fade, with time, but you'll never forget what I've taught you. The lessons that molded you, strengthened you, brought you to the edge and back. Further. They'll live on in your mind and in your music. "You'll still play the violin, that part will never leave you. But the guitar—ah, the guitar is how you'll leave your legacy. You'll write songs. Join a band. Join another, bigger band. Be one of the best musicians the world has ever seen. They'll be lining up to hear you. Record deals and world tours. Sold-out concerts. Platinum records and more than a few gold. You'll hit diamond before you're 25. When the scene loses its appeal and you want to settle down, you'll open your own studio. Start mixing for other bands who come and go. They'll never have what you had, but you’ll get them close. Your talent will shape a generation. You'll teach too, on the side. Guitar, bass, violin, keyboard. Students will come from far and wide to learn from you. They'll gift you their awards as tokens of their appreciation, and the collection will fill an entire wall of your home office so that the whole room shines. "You'll fall in love. She'll be a fire-haired Valkyrie. Intimidating and brash, tough enough to put you in the hospital but with a heart of gold. And when she laughs, your heart will melt each and every time. She'll also drink and smoke and steal, all the stuff you'd never dream of doing. But that will be exactly why you love her. Because you'll never be able to look at her without being reminded of me. "You'll live in a two-story house. Dark and gothic, with a big garage and backyard. The garage will be for the motorcycles, but you'll find any opportunity you can to go in there, even if you won't remember why it makes you feel so relaxed to be among the chains, hooks, hoses, and bolt cutters. You'll cook and your wife will be handy around the house, and together you'll make a happy home for the family. You'll have a boy. No, two. They'll be smart and talented—in their own ways—and you'll love them with all your heart, but you'll worry every day if you're being the best father you can for them. "I can tell you now that you will be. Things won't always be easy, but you'll make it work. You have all the tools you need now to survive. Not just survive. So much more than that. You'll go far, Glam. You'll go so far...that you'll stop being afraid of never coming back." Ches got up from the chair. He snuffed out his cigarette, stepped up to the bed, and stood over Glam for a long, long time. Then he was gone.