psychicHere's the RPG's addy: http://cyberpunk29.conforums2.com/index.cgi
This actually the start of the whole shinnigans, well the first portions of the story that I've been working on with a friend of mine because I have to mold my writing to fit into the style that is her character Rafe Lucas--that man is....he's just something else, and we'll leave it at that. These two eggheads--my character and her's have had a chance to grow on each other so there's a large change in their personalities since the RPG started up till now, but first some character stats--and really this is more for my benefit than anyone else's:
Name: Rafe` Lucas
Age: 23
Description: Tall, kinda lean and muscular, pale skin, dark green eyes, glasses, orderly kinda greyish white hair (comes from the shock of seeing your brothers, little sister, mother, and father brutally murdered...)
Character type: All out witch
Power: Ghosting
Power2: Nothing comes to mind as of yet...
Bio: Rafe` was fourteen when he saw his family torn apart by robbers who had come into his house. This, as one can imagine scarred him deeply. He's cold, cruel, sadistic, and pretty much the biggest jerk-off you've ever seen. He's a history teacher and a soccer coach. (Just always seems like the coaches teacher history and literature...*shrug*) And yeah...that's it...
And now my character's bio:
Name: Jeeter...Just Jeeter
Age: 16
Description:rat-faced, hair dyed slate gray, eyes cobalt blue, wears a ridiculously large trench coat and two different pairs of shoes and a grateful dead tee.
Character type: Witch/Psion
Power: Animalistic in nature (communes with the rats mostly): This is his wiccan ability ( includes being able to heal animals, but he does know that yet, and other stuff too!)
Power2:Telepathic....Can commune with any creature, if only the rats would let him..........(His psionic ability)
Bio: Not much is none about Jeeter except that he haunts the sewer ways of Wyrrd City. And hey.....that's it.
And now for the chapters that started this shinnanigens:
We Stand Alone Together
No Regrets, Vol. I
By Lady Hopeless
Title: We Stand Alone Together
Author: Lady Hopeless
Website: http://cyberpunk29.conforums2.com/index.cgi
Fandom: World of Wyrrd, but it’s not really a fandom, just…um, yeah…
Rating: PG-13 for now, R in later chapters for other stuffize
Classification(s): *Not* HETEROSEXUAL BY ANY MEANS
Warnings: See above.
Pairing(s): part of the cast of World of Wyrrd: Rafe`/Jeeter
Author’s Note: Based off of an RPG that some friends and I made up…Kind of dead now, but the link is still up and the stories are still posted for reading pleasure, so yeah…………… Here it is……Whatever this is…Um, yeah…On with the show!
Summary: Disturbing dreams and horrific nightmares plague Jeeter and a voice from somewhere beyond…
Sometimes the dead can’t stay dead…and the past comes back to haunt Rafe`…
Something is happening in the city of Wyrrd, something strange, dark and destructive; will our heroes be swept up in this dangerous tide of times or will they have the strength to stand against it?
*
Chapter One: I've Never Been Here Before
For, sweet, to feel is better than to know,
And wisdom is a childless heritage,
One pulse of passion—youth’s first fiery glow,—
Are worth the hoarded proverbs of the sage:
Vex not thy soul with dead philosophy,
Have we not lips to kiss with, hearts to love, and eyes to see!
Sir Oscar Wilde, Panthea
*
~ I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away~
Jeeter felt it rising inside of him, like some phoenix bird ready to burst forth from the pyre of its birth and death, ready to escape from his lips at the slightest nudging, the slightest push…all he needed was that opening, that right moment…that pivotal second that mattered more than anything in the world…Mattered more than the past, mattered more than the future, even though it would determine that inevitable course. He just hoped that course would be the one he wanted.
He was seated on a kitchen counter, inside of Rafe`’s apartment, this place with its spic-and-span cleanliness that just told you—like the fabled white elephant in a quiet room—that this place belonged to someone, just someone, who wasn’t your average guy. It wasn’t in the furniture, it wasn’t in the set up or layout of the place, but just the aura of the owner that seemed to cover everything and make it scream, “Yep, I belong to Rafe` Lucas and you can kiss my bender on that one!” Not that said owner would ever say “you can kiss my…well… anything” unless a gun were pointed at him…
Jeeter snorted. Then he’d probably just phase through it…
The said owner of such silently shouting furniture and the one perplexing the teenage boy’s thoughts at that moment was cooking. Jeeter paused long enough to breathe deeply of the cooking Ravioli; his favorite. Part of him wanted to squeal that Rafe` remembered, but Jeeter squashed that voice immediately. It wouldn’t help him in the least to lose his cool.
What little cool he had been able to attain before arriving at Rafe`’s doorstep, fuming because his damn uncle couldn’t mind his own business.
~ I keep your photograph; I know it serves me well
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain~
Rafe` was standing at the stove, back turned to Jeeter, steadily cooking, not pointedly ignoring the boy, his attention, Jeeter supposed—maybe even hoped a little—was fixed solely on making the food just right, as was proper of Rafe`’s personality.
‘Good God, I sound like a groupie,’ Jeeter thought with disgust. He put his hands in his lap and tried to shut his thoughts up.
“Awfully quiet this evening,” Rafe` stated matter-of-factly, still facing the stove. Jeeter gave a start then shrugged noncommittally. Of course, Rafe` couldn’t see this so Jeeter said, “Just feel like being quiet.”
He heard Rafe` chuckle. “That’d be a first.”
Jeeter stuck out his tongue. “I have a right to be quiet for once.”
“Yes, and Hell must certainly be freezing over,” came the saucy retort. Jeeter growled.
“Don’t get smart,” he snapped.
“I already am,” Rafe` replied calmly, stirring the Ravioli and helping himself to a taste test.
Almost done.
Jeeter fell silent, staring at his knuckles as he ran one hand over them and nibbled his lip. He had to be cool. He had to be cool. He couldn’t let Rafe` rattle him, even though that would probably be infinitely better, so he could just blab what he’d planning for weeks and weeks and weeks to say to the man without slipping up; he’d just blame it on the heat of the moment and leave it at that, thank you very much, sir, and never you mind why I said it, just know I did.
Somehow, though, he knew fate just wouldn’t be that kind to him. Especially not with someone like Rafe`. And he had to wonder after himself. How did a fifteen-year-old—well, technically, sixteen, but who the hell was counting, dammit!—presume to know what a guy almost twice his age was thinking or feeling? What if he wasn’t thinking or feeling anything?
Well, now that’s just stupid, Jeeter, he thought to himself. He has to be feeling something. He wouldn’t lie to your grandmother.
But couldn’t that have been the case? Maybe he had said he liked him because he was talking to a grandmother. Maybe he had felt sorry for her old age.
And once again, Jeeter had to ask himself, ‘Just how in the hell do think you know what the hell he’s thinking?!
~‘Cause I’m broken when I’m open
And I don’t feel like I am strong enough~
“Now, I’m really worried,” Rafe` said suddenly, turning around. He was wearing an apron, which Jeeter thought looked ridiculous, and had told him so earlier that evening; Rafe` had glared at him and told him to keep his opinions to himself. The older man, his snowy white hair brushed away from his face, approached him with free hand extended, reaching to touch Jeeter’s forehead, checking for a fever.
What Jeeter did surprised the both of them. Rather then let Rafe` touch his head, checking for that fake temper, Jeeter leaped haphazardly off the counter with a cry reminiscent of the days when he’d first met Rafe` and the Rats—the Rats of Wyrrd—had been his only family, his only friends, his only masters.
~‘Cause I’m broken when I’m lonesome
And I don’t feel light when you’re gone away~
“Don’t!” Jeeter cried and ducked out of the kitchen. He didn’t see the troubled frown that crossed Rafe`’s face, the concern, nor the sudden resignation. He plopped onto the couch and silently berated himself.
“Gawd, you are so stupid,” he growled under his breath. “How hard is it to just open your mouth and say ‘it’?”
Because you’re afraid, answered a silent voice at the back of his mind that sounded oddly like Mitayo’s.
“I’m not afraid,” he muttered and buried his face in his hands.
Yes, you are. You are afraid of losing him. Of him not wanting—
“Leave me alone,” Jeeter snapped. “It’s not like we’re a couple or anything. Whatever this is, it isn’t…It just isn’t, so leave me alone.”
You need him.
“I do not,” Jeeter hissed. “I do not.”
Yes, you do.
“Leave me alone.”
~The worst is over now and we can breathe again
I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away~
But for once, Jeeter wasn’t left alone. Rafe` marched out of the kitchen like a man on a mission and stopped before his weary house guest with a stern frown on his face. Jeeter looked up with said weariness pasted across his face and nibbled his lip expectantly.
“And what exactly seems to be the problem?” the older man asked with a pointed look. Jeeter didn’t meet Rafe`’s eyes, settling instead on the older man’s cheek.
~ There’s so much left to learn, and no one left to fight
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain~
“Nothing’s wrong,” Jeeter replied nervously, nibbling his lip furiously.
“If nothing’s wrong then why’d you bolt?” Rafe` pressed. Jeeter dug his teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip.
Tell him! Tell him! Tell him now!
No!
“I didn’t bolt,” Jeeter snapped. “I just didn’t want you touching me.” It would occur to him later that perhaps that was the wrong thing to say, but he felt reckless and at that moment couldn’t care.
~‘Cause I’m broken when I’m open
And I don’t feel like I am strong enough~
“And why is that?” Rafe` asked his voice calm, but Jeeter didn’t see his face turn two shades paler. He wasn’t looking at him at all now, anywhere but at him. His eyes settled on something beyond Rafe`, on a picture on the wall.
“I just didn’t!” Jeeter cried angrily. “Okay, I just didn’t want you to!”
There was silence in the world around him, broken only by the distant bubbling of the Ravioli in the kitchen, the ticking of a clock on the far wall and the dripping of water from the kitchen sink. Finally, Jeeter looked up, lip once again captured in his relentlessly gnawing teeth, but it was Rafe`’s turn to not look at him. He was staring in the direction of the kitchen, swallowing. Jeeter watched his Adam’s apple bob for a moment then still. Then bob again and still.
~‘Cause I’m broken when I’m lonesome
And I don’t feel right when you’re gone away~
“The Ravioli’s burning,” Rafe` said distantly. “I’d better go check on it.” And moved in the direction of the kitchen. Jeeter shot up from the couch.
~‘Cause I’m broken when I’m open
And I don’t feel like I am strong enough~
“Rafe`—”
“Ravioli.”
“Rafe`, I—”
“We have to eat dinner, Jeeter.”
“Rafe`, please! I—”
“Can’t let it burn.”
“Rafe`, I—” Tell him! Tell him! Tell him!
But I can’t!
Tell—
“Rafe`—”
“Ravioli.”
—Him.
“Rafe`, I love you!”
And that was when the older man stopped dead in his tracks.
~ Cause I’m broken when I’m lonesome
And I don’t feel light when you’re gone away~
(o.0 . . . o.0)
Chapter Two: Why Not?
He stopped dead in his tracks hardly believing his ears. No, definitely not. He didn’t just hear that. A fluke of the wind or the sink or…or…something…But not that…
Wait. Wait. Wait. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait.
I love you.
I love you?
Did Jeeter just say that?
To him?
Rafe Lucas…
Hell-Bent-Psycho Bitch of a Teacher Rafe Lucas?
He turned slowly, swallowing a dry throat and met Jeeter’s fearful gaze with his own. His heart was hammering in his chest, blood roaring in his ears like a pack of wild elephants thundering across the Serengeti. He coughed and pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Wha-What?”
He saw Jeeter visibly stiffen. Stuttering, the boy said, “I—uh—I said that I—well, um—Aren’t you going to see about the Ravioli?”
“No,” Rafe replied, standing akimbo with hands on his waist. “What did you—say it again. Jeeter, what did you—”
Jeeter swallowed. “I—Rafe—I-I-I—” Jeeter swallowed again, breathed deep then smiled. “I said I love you.”
“What? Why?”
Stupid, don’t ask that question. Think of something else.
“Well, what I meant to say was, well—Why?”
“Why?” Jeeter looked taken aback for a moment. “Why did I—well, because I do.”
“But I thought—” Rafe frowned and rubbed his forehead. “Wait. Wait. Wait. You-You love me?”
“Yes,” Jeeter replied becoming exasperated. “Yes, is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes,” Rafe answered without thinking. Jeeter blinked rapidly in surprise.
“Why?” Jeeter asked puzzled. Rafe shook his head, a few strands of white hair falling into his face. He pushed them out of his face and shrugged.
“Jeeter—”
“Rafe, you can’t just—”
“Jeeter, you don’t—you can’t possibly—it’s too—Jeeter, I—”
“Tell me something!” Jeeter exclaimed suddenly, throwing his hands skyward. “Don’t make me feel like I’m even more of a big idiot right now. Please? Rafe, Please?”
Rafe looked uncomfortable, like he wanted to be anywhere but there, standing in that spot with a desperate teenager staring at him with eyes like twin lasers of want, need, desire and frustration. He wondered vaguely if he’d be able to find that faithful rock to crawl under and hide. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt, then put them back on with a troubled frown.
Jeeter’s beautiful eyes were anxious, expectant, scared…Reflecting much of what Rafe was feeling right then. If he did, if he said—if he said—what would Jeeter’s family do? Especially that overprotective uncle of his. What if they got into a big fight because of this? Not that they hadn’t already (Rafe was reminded uneasily of that incident some months ago; can we say family trial anyone?)
But could he? Could he open his heart like this? Could he take this step? Could he—Would he—Did he really want this?
Well, he knew the answer to that last one: Yes. Even if it weren’t with Jeeter—even if it were with someone else—he would want—he would want—
But could he—could he say such words, so powerful, words that would inevitably send them on a tumultuous ride towards an uncertain future?
“Jeeter, I—”
“Yes? Yes?” The boy looked eager now, eyes widening, tongue flecking out to lick thin, red cherubic lips.
If I do this, Rafe wondered, will I ever get to kiss you the same?
He thought of clandestine visitations, thought of Romeo and Juliet, thought of lovers never allowed to be because of overbearing parents, overbearing families, the overbearing crush of society and what such a large mass deemed was right and inappropriate.
That eager look was faltering slightly. “Uh, Rafe—”
“I don’t want to be the reason you lose your family, Jeeter,” he replied softly. “I know you’ve always wanted—wanted a family, and this is your chance. I don’t want to take that from you. I won’t take that from you.”
“Rafe, I know this is going to be hard,” Jeeter whispered just as soft. “I—”
“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” Rafe cut in. “You, me, we don’t know. I’ve never done this.”
“Neither have I,” Jeeter replied. His voice sounded almost pleading.
Rafe fell silent, at a loss for words. What could he say to such innocence? What could he do? Jeeter watched him for a moment, from across the room, swallowed. Then:
“Do you want to?” Jeeter asked quietly. Rafe nodded and swallowed.
The young boy smiled gently. “Rafe—”
The older man swallowed again, pushed his glasses up his nose. And, with the sudden feeling of the entire world leaning in close to hear him say the words clearly, he spoke: “Jeeter, I—I—I love you, too.”
There was a breathless moment where the younger boy stood rigid with surprise, an expression of stunned joy, mingling, mingling into one, washing over his face before he launched himself fully into Rafe’s shocked embrace.
“You do? You do? You really, really do?” cried the human cannon ball that was Jeeter. Rafe’s sudden slow smile spread across his face like the rarest night lit by a blue moon. He nodded his head slowly and Jeeter, overwhelmed, kissed him. Rafe smiled absently around Jeeter’s lips, swept in a wave of welling emotions, emotions that he’d thought he’d never feel again.
This is like……
Mmmmmm……
Wow……
Oh do shut up, Rafe growled at the awed voice in the back of his head. And then Jeeter pulled back abruptly with a strange look, jarring Rafe from his dazed state with a start.
“D’you smell that?” Jeeter asked with a frown.
“Hnh? Wha?”
“Th-that…smell…”
And suddenly Rafe was no longer dazed. Oh shi—
“The Ravioli!” And rushed off to the kitchen, leaving a very amused Jeeter behind, who went to the couch and listened to—his eyes widened; may wonders never cease!—a very unhappy Rafe who inspected the burnt Ravioli with an angry glare (pout) and dumped it in the waste basket.
“Hey, Jeeter! You ever had takeout?”
*
“I must be dreaming…” Rafe murmured quietly as Jeeter slept beside him in a fetal position, snuggled in the covers and dreaming contently. He muttered something incoherent, shifted and settled in more comfortably beside Rafe. The older man held his breath as the young boy did this, watched, waited and breathed a little easier when Jeeter had settled.
“I must be dreaming…” Rafe murmured again. He touched his mouth, smiled a ghost of a smile, rubbed the soft pad of a finger over his bottom lip, then the top, remembering and savoring this memory, of Jeeter flying into his arms and kissing him.
“You do? You do? You really, really do?”
“Jeeter, I—I—I love you, too.”
“Rafe`, I love you!”
Had he really—had Jeeter really said what he said? Had he really meant it? Had Rafe actually—
The older man smiled the ghost of a smile again, hardly believing that Jeeter was actually laying beside him, that this warm body was actually here and that someone in the world—someone—actually loved Rafe: Hell bent psycho-bitch of a teacher. And that such a hell bent psycho-bitch could thus love in return.
“I must be dreaming…” Wistful now. He leaned over to study Jeeter’s face. Leaned over and studied the soft curve of the other boy’s jaw, not as gaunt any more, not after he’d found his family and gotten some meat on his bones. Rafe gently picked up Jeeter’s wrist in a careful grip, stroking the still prominent bones with his thumb. The boy muttered again in his sleep, shifted and burrowed himself deeper into Rafe’s side. Rafe grinned and went back to stroking the boy’s wrist.
Jeeter was still suffering from the ill effects of being malnourished for so long, but that was alright. Soon, those prominent bones would disappear underneath healthy skin and muscles. Soon. Rafe released the young boy’s arm and laid it over his stomach, watching the rise of Jeeter’s chest as he breathed, watched the clothes over his chest ripple and shift as the boy’s chest fell, only to rise again.
Then Jeeter moved once more, turned and wrapped an arm around Rafe’s waist, lay his head on the other man’s chest and murmured into Rafe’s shirt.
“I must be dreaming…” This Rafe murmured into Jeeter’s dark grey hair, which was starting to fade, fade into a rich brunette. The boy’s features scrunched up for a moment, leaning his head into Rafe’s murmur, then smiled a sleepy smile.
Rafe himself smiled in turn, settled beside the boy and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of gentle kisses and an exuberant voice shouting, “I love you!”
*
Yeah, so that's Chapters 1-2, I have chapter 3 at home and chapter 4 is in the wood works....
Usually I start off any new blogs with a story...WELL, here's one I've been working on alittle bit, but this is only a part of it...not the full amount cuz I don't want nobody pokin' around and stealin' shit....Anyway, here it is....a breif synopsis.....
one of my characters that I made up for an RPG and one of my friend's characters fell-in-love with each other....YAY! Um....no....See these two are fucked up....and I mean, really fucked up...one of the guys acts like he has the emotional range of a brick wall sometimes, but really he's a sweet guy (you just have to get over his wit aand sarcasm;or maybe I'm not doing himjustice and my friend would be able to explain the man further; he's complex as hell and she writes him better than me) and the other is a Grateful Dead-lovin freak from the streets....oh, and to top it all off...one's a teacher at a local high-school (about 23-years-old) and has the ability to go 'ghost' and pass through walls, while the other, my character (16-years-old) has the ability to talk, be and heal animals (and some other stuff, but really... whose counting?)...oh, and he witnessed his parents brutally murdered at five-years-old....so did the other guy (he saw his entire family die) and their both scarred as hell from it....and before you ever say it, no I'm not one of those crazy fuckers that gets off on child porn....no.
Under certain circumstances, I believe a kid is sometimes responsible enough to be in an adult realtionship as this one that will be featured...but only when life circumstances allow....not just at a random... Now, my character's doing the confessing and my friend's character's doing the listening, and another note: yes...whatever you read, don't think for a minute I don't know what the kid's going through...okie? okie.
Here goes:
CHAPTER Whatever: The Windbreaker Man
3/5/2006
He was breathing hard, feeling his heart thumping in the cave of his chest like it was an animal raging out of contol and trying to escape at all costs. He felt like a caged animal now, felt like that and longed for the comforting darkness of the sewers, longed for the endless nights of shadowy alcoves while people walked on their busybody ways about the city above him.
But none of that mattered now...
Rafe was looking at him, and Jeeter knew he owed him an explanation. But how to start? How to begin? How to say that at one time he had been on the street and that he'd done what was necessary to survive. How to say that he'd had sex for money, had been abused for money, had been taunted, raped and molested...All for money...Dollar bills and old Andrew Jackson staring at him from the sketched likeness of a man who had lived and been crueler than this? How to explain? How to tell him that he had been a boy just trying to survive, without bringing back the old memories, the old things he'd tried to bury, tried to destroy by just not thinking about it?
He couldn't fathom Rafe's reaction to what he was going to tell him, and the man was staring at him pointedly...Watching him behind those spectacles and Jeeter was hurting and remembering, but trying not to remember and trying to figure out how he was going to spill the beans.
He had been twelve when it started...
No, that's not right. It was when he was twelve, but it had started much earlier. Started when he'd been standing on a corner in a t-shirt, not Grateful Dead, that came later, his father's trench-coat and a pair of ripped, tattered shorts, just standing there, waiting for the light to change and suddenly this man in a windbreaker and jeans, with brightly flashing eyes and a grin that was made for Vegas, offered to help him across. He remembered giving that man a sarcastic retort--something about being old enough to cross the street,and the man laughing, but wanting to cross the street with him anyway...And Jeeter couldn't stop him; it was free country...So, he and the man crossed the street, and the man bought him coffee. First time Jeeter'd had the strong stuff, no sugar, just the way he--the man--liked it. Brewed to perfection.
Jeeter winces; he doesn't want to remember, but he's got to...He's got to remember and tell because it's been bottled up inside for so long, festering like a deep wound that puses over and won't heal until the pus is all drained. Well, he's draining the pus now, disgusting as it sounds. It's healthy, but painful and heartbreaking too, and he wants a hug from Rafe and so much more than that too, but he can't look at the man, and he doesn't think that Rafe would give him that much anyway. He thinks that maybe when he's finished with his tale Rafe will abandon him to the streets, and Jeeter doesn't want to be alone again.
Not like that.
Never like that.
He likes Rafe's apartment, he likes the feel of Rafe when he's sleeping beside him, he likes that Rafe can breathe...He likes watching the man's chest rise and fall and knowing that there's life there...that's there's a heart beating and lungs expanding and contracting...he likes knowing that there's blood flowing...
But he remembers that he'd gone back to that corner the next day, hoping that the man would return, and really--honestly--he shouldn't have expected much...All the man did was buy him coffee and treat him like a human being for once and not some poor, homeless rat on the street that people could kick dirt over and walk away with their noses upturned. So he's waiting on that corner and the day passes over into afternoon and he's feeling rejected because yeah, it was too good to be a repeat, and why he would think it was going to happen again was just foolish...
But as he's turning away, he hears this voice and it's calling him, "Hey! Hey, kid in the trench coat!" And he's turning and there's his Windbreaker Man. And he's smiling slightly with those polished teeth like pearls, and then Jeeter's smiling and they go out to get coffee, and it's fantastic because the man gets him a bagel too...And Jeeter's never had so much givien to him by another human being...And maybe this is too good to be true and he's waiting for someone to pop up and say this is all a joke, but no one does and the man--Latimore...Marcus Latimore, the Windbreaker Man--takes him to his apartment. And really, why is Jeeter trusting this man? He's only twelve and this guy is at least thirty, but really, what does it hurt?
Marcus tells Jeeter he can stay during the nights and can leave during the day, and it's a perfect set up because Jeeter doesn't have anywhere else to go and the rats are quiet because they have their own doings and Marcus doesn't scare them much. So Jeeter stays, and days turn to weeks turn to months, and he's been sleeping on Marcus' couch--the really lumpy, red leather one, but he's not complaing because it's a place to sleep, and Marcus even gives him one of his blankets to sleep in.
But then came The Night...
And Jeeter's blinking back tears and staring at Rafe Lucas and wonders if he should just stop and pack up his belongings and leave because he can't do this, he can't say this..He can't trust Rafe like this..It's too much, too much a part of him..Too much a part of that scred little boy who could put on masks at the best of times and make the world think that everything is okay, and that everything is fine and swell. He can't go on and his voice cracks, but he owes this to Rafe, he owes this to him because Rafe stumbled onto him in that alley, saw what he had been doing, what Marcus was doing....
And he saw, and walked away..Stone face on, body rigid, but he didn't lose control; Rafe stayed as cool as always and it was Jeeter who was running after him, tying to explain, but the words...
They wouldn't come out...
Jeeter doesn't want them too...
He can't do this, but Rafe's looking at him, and he knows he owes it to him...He knows that at least for a little while, before he fucked everything up, that someone had loved him...Not like his mother or father, and not like Mitayo or his Gran, but someone had loved him not because of his blood or some half-remembered visions from childhood...Someone had had feelings for him....Someone had been there to sleep next to and watch at night while they slept, marvelling that there was life beating away in a pale chest....
So that night...with Marcus....the first time, and he remembers it had been so cold. He had been up on the roof looking up at the stars...Marcus had come up to join hims and Jeeter had told him, "I don't like your friend, Neil. He gives me the creeps." And Marcus had assured him that Neil gave everybody the creeps. That had made them both laugh, made Jeeter laugh so hard that he hadn't been aware Marcus was kissing him until the older man's lips were been pressed firmly against his and his arms had been pinned to his sides with Marcus holding him, embracing him firmly. When Marcus let go, Jeeter was light-headed and dizzy and puzzled and just a little bit afraid....
"What was--? Why--? I don't want--" He had tried pulling away from Marcus but the older man had held firm, and Jeeter was stuck, couldn't move, and Marcus' eyes weren't bright any more, they were cold and distant and faraway like the stars, and Jeeter shivered when Marcus told him that it just wasn't fair that Jeeter had been staying in his house and eating his food without giving him something back, and Jeeter didn't understand because yeah, he had lived on the streets and seen things and had nightmares sometimes and just wondered if life would better if he hanged himself, but he was still a kid and what Marcus was saying didn't compute...
So Marcus put it in terms that would...
"We're gonna fuck."
And that mollified Jeeter, had him rooted to the spot with very real fear taking him over and causing him to shake; Marcus never--never--said anything like that to him...
Never told him...
Never...
And Jeeter knew with a sudden clarity that maybe Marcus wasn't such a nice guy, and that maybe he hadn't really been nice to him that first day they met, and that right now, at this moment, he could scream and cry and shout and kick and fight, and that he could leave Marcus and go....
But go where? And he had stayed, and he had let Marcus touch him, and they had--in fact--fucked...And God, it had hurt, and Marcus wasn't gentle and all Jeeter could do was bite his tongue as the man grunted and sweated above him...He watched the stars as Marcus moved in him, watched them move across the sky, pretended that what was happening wasn't really happening, pretended the pain wasn't really there....
He remembered feeling sick afterward, remembered Marcus leaving after one shuddering gasp and a final grunt, rolling off of Jeeter and leaving him with the blanket drapped carelessly on the small boy's body....
Jeeter feels like he's going to throw up for real now....
He turns away from Rafe, feeling the bile rising in his throat...Feels his stomach muscles tighten, feels his hands trembling and his body all clammy, and he's sweating, and God, why does he have to go through this again? Why can't the past stay dead and buried? He can't do this...
He's breathing hard...
He can't do this....
He's breathing harder....
I can't...
I can't...
Please don't make me....
God, please...
But all he can see is Rafe's face as he steps into that nameless alley, and he doesn't even want to know wny Rafe was in the alley or how the man had happened upon it, or why he'd even want to risk getting his suit dirty....He just remembers the look of surprise then hurt and then...nothing, and Rafe was gone and he was running to catch up , to explain, to plead, to beg, and hoping that Rafe would just listen...
He's got the man's attention now, but he can't...His throat is closing up, and oh God, don't make me live through this again....
Neil was the first, and Marcus had been there to watch...Marcus had been there when Neil had just been lounging around the apartment watching Jeeter, and Jeeter had felt Creepy Neil's eyes on him. Jeeter had still been a little sore from what he and Marcus had done a few days ago, but Marcus had watched Neil watch Jeeter, and after some time had turned to his friend and asked, "You want a taste?"
And oh God, the horror, and Jeeter had watched as Neil stood, eyes all wide and mouth all eager smiles and nasty grins and Marcus had told the other man, "Flat rate, Neil. Twenty he'll blow you. Hundred I'll let you have him."
And Jeeter watched the money being exchanged saw that hundred for a second, and the dead president stare at him blankly before disappearing into Marcus's pocket, and Neil coming to him and Jeeter just standing there, knowing he could run, knowing he could fight, but not, and then Neil was in him hastily, moving like a wild buck, hurting him and Marcus was watching...Not getting off, not doing anything, but watching, and Jeeter had wanted to ask him, scream, "why?" But he was hurting too much, and he was crying and when Neil had been done with him, he had tried to kiss him...
Marucs stepped in then...
"No one kisses him....That'll cost you more." And Neil wasn't willing to pay anymore for a lousy kiss from some pre-pubescent kid who didn't want any of this and was too afraid to say no....
So Neil had left, sans kiss, and Marcus had approached Jeeter, leaning down, taking the boy's trembling body in his arms.
Jeeter didn't fight him...
Should have, but didn't...
Guess he figured there was still some of that old Marcus in the man he saw now...Some of that old Windbreaker Man, who had bought him coffee and treated him like a decent human being....
Marcus had made love to him that night...Real nice and tender and gentle and slow...and even though Jeeter was hurting, he liked that gentle Windbreaker Man better....
The next night, Marcus let another man do him, some stranger that Marcus had enticed into the apartment...and the next night, it was two more, one after the other....
Jeeter swallows and can't look at Rafe any longer, can't hide the shame, can't hide the fact that he had been a prostitute, a whore, a teenaged mutant, half-wicce, half-psion slut....That he'd probably had more men than Rafe would ever have in his whole lifetime, and that he just wanted to bury it all...Bury it so far down that it wouldn't rise ever again.....
He wanted to forget....
But most importantly, he wanted Rafe to take him into his arms and make him forget...He wanted Rafe to wash away everything that happened to him, but he wasn't expecting that at all...He'd hurt the older man, hurt him something bad, and Jeeter had convinced himself that if Rafe had ever found out about his dark past he'd hate Jeeter for it....
He probably already did, and Jeeter wasn't nearly finished because there was so much more to remember, and so much he wanted to forget, but he couldn't because he owed Rafe this much, owed him more....
There were so many other men...So many that each face became a blur of the next and the next and the next...He'd seen so many boys like him, some of them turning tricks for Marcus, some of them independent and some of them with pimps that were competing for johns on the big, bad streets of Wyrrd...
Jeeter remembers this one pimp, cornering him in an alley and that was all he wanted to remember...His Windbreaker Man had been gentle with him that night too after he had found him, broken rib, bruised face, and busted lip, cut cheek and bleeding gums...body raped and left for dead...Marcus had cleaned him up, and no matter how much Jeeter protested, no matter how tired he had been, no matter how disgusted and shame-faced he had felt at himself, the Windbreaker Man came and made love to Jeeter again and again, touching, caressing, rubbing until the stench of the other pimp had been washed away....
Jeeter wants to die for what he has to say next...he wants to die because he doesn't believe Rafe can forgive him for something like this....
Not this....
Oh God, not this....
He had been fourteen, just turning, and it had been his birthday--Marcus had made a birthday for him too. They had gone out; Marcus had taken him to The Coffee Shop....It wasn't a nameless store anymore....It was his and Marcus' place , and Marcus was giving him a celebratory toast to turning fourteen...black coffee, brewed strong...and the manager had been giving Jeeter the eye, and Marcus had seen the man doing it and had decided what was Jeeter's gift and had told him, and for once-- just once--in his life, Jeeter had done what Marcus had asked without thinking, without conscious thought; he had only wanted, for that instance in his life, to make Marcus proud of him, to be this thing Marcus had made him into... This thing that pleased men, but wanted to please Marcus more...This thing that had waited on that street corner, waited for the Windbreaker Man to come...
He wanted to make the man smile that Windbreaker smile....
So, he'd gotten on his knees in The Coffee Shop bathrooms.....
Jeeter closes his eyes and takes a breath, waiting for Rafe to kick him out, but he doesn't, and Jeeter can't decde whether it's a good or bad sign, so he continues....
He left Marcus the day the turned fifteen...
Just after a job...some corporate man on a building side; the man had given him two hundred bucks...and Marcus had been waiting beside his car.....with some other boy on his arm, and Jeeter had stopped dead in his tracks, digesting this sight, digesting this image and locking it into his brain....and wondering what he had done wrong...
Confronted Marcus that night...
Being called a slut, and all he remembered was yelling, screaming, and when he woke up he was in a sewer somewhere in Wyrrd, and the rats had crowded 'round, squeaking at him, and he'd figured maybe he had killed Marcus and it would serve the bastard right, then regretting it and Oh God, please let Marcus be alright....
He still believed in his Windbreaker Man....
He still believed there was goodness left, that maybe Marcus was really that kind man who'd bought him a coffee, who'd made love to him all the times when he was hurt, who'd given him a warm apartment to stay in, who'd told him, whispered to him, "I love you, you Grateful Dead freak..."
So, he's staring at Rafe now, and wondering what's going in the man's head and he's feeling sick and digusted with himself and what's happened and what Rafe's found out, and he wonders if Rafe's going to treat him like the whore he is and crush him worse than his Windbreaker Man ever could...
He wonders if Rafe's going to be like all the other 'johns' he's dealt with in his short life or is he going ot be like Marcus or be something totally different...And he thinks it's too much to hope that Rafe will ever love him again after this, but God, I'll do anything to make him love me again...
Anything....
