Sorry it took so long to get this one done. I had to make sure the story was in the right place first. But here it is.
Disclaimer: This is a homoerotic story I have written, so if you aren't allowed legally, morally or ethically to read it, then don't. And don't post this anywhere else without my expressed permission. Feedback is very much encouraged, so hit me up at bluedragon314@gmail.com
Ch.7
Every class on Tuesday seemed to take forever until Poli Sci. All I kept thinking about was William. I didn't know if I would be able to look him in the eye after seeing him at Club Chico. He hadn't been in Lidia's class the previous day, so I didn't know if he had pulled a Brian or not.
When I got to class, Chris was already there, but so was Peter. It was 5 minutes before class began, and that was really early for Peter. And he looked very odd that day. His shaggy hair was a mess, he was wearing sweats that looked like they had been in a hall closet since the 80s and he looked like he hadn't slept in a week.
As I sat down next to him, I asked, "What the hell happened to you?"
"Jenny," was all he said.
I looked over at Jenny Pier's table and she was grinning stupidly in Peter's direction, but then glared vengefully when she saw me.
"What did she do this time?" I asked.
"I thought I could get her off my back if I threw her a bone, so we made out for a while," he said.
"Made out?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Don't get too excited," he said. "It was nothing below the neck."
"You know, some cultures define this as a neck," I said, putting my fingers around my ankle.
"Bite me," he said. "But it didn't work. She won't leave me alone now--at all. She sends me e-mail after e-mail, calls my cell phone all the time, she even came knocking on my window last night. I tried to pretend I wasn't there, but she kept banging on my window and shouting my name. Then she rang the doorbell and woke up my parents. They told her to go away, and she did. But then I woke up to an early-morning lecture on dating and safe sex from my parents."
"Wow, that's brutal," I said.
"You know, this wouldn't have happened if you didn't make out with her," said Chris.
"Thank you for such an astute observation," replied Peter, sharply.
"You could just ask Moony for a different partner," said Chris.
"It won't help," said Peter. "She knows where I sleep. Nothing can stop her now."
"I wouldn't say that," said William.
I hadn't even noticed when he sat down next to me, probably because he didn't look like William at all. No hoodie, no leer, not even a visible sign of angst. Instead, he had on a blue t-shirt with two Grey "C"s on the front, his hair was spiked up instead of drooping down and his green eyes didn't look nearly as sad as they used to. Peter and Chris noticed the difference immediately and looked mortified.
"Just find a guy who is as big a slut as she is," he continued, "and convince him to switch partners with you. Then you shouldn't have any problem getting rid of her."
Peter and Chris looked at each other and then back at William. I, however, was transfixed on how the blue in his t-shirt made William's eyes look a very pretty aquamarine color.
"Take Derrick for example," he said, pointing to Derrick Gilmore. "He is the biggest man-whore in school. If Jenny is as easy as you say she is, then they would get along great."
Peter and Chris were still in shock. Poor William was starting to look anxious since everyone was treating him like an alien.
Then Chris leaned over to Peter and said, "He's pretty smart, even for an asshole."
But, as Chris always does, he said it a little louder than he intended and William looked very dejected, even though he was trying hard not to. His eyes looked into mine with a desperate cry for help and I tried come up with something to say, but then Moony walked in and started class.
"Good afternoon, students," he said. "I hope the weekend went well for you. To help the many of you who picked modern, industrialized countries for your project, we will be watching an episode of Frontline today that talks about the history of capitalism. It will take most of class and there will be a short review at the end. Yes, Mr. Richards?"
"The syllabus says we are supposed to talk about the development of global communism today," said Chris.
"I know it does," said Moony. "But, regrettably, the school administrators asked me not to focus as much on communism and socialism. I would like to teach you all about the political systems of the world, but my employers would rather you learn about your own political system and how it has effected the world. For those of you who seek a more unbiased look at the world around you, feel free to e-mail me any questions you have about material not covered in class."
As Moony turned off the lights and pushed the TV to the front of the class, I leaned over to Peter and asked, "What's up with the sweats?"
"I'm trying to look as unsexy as I can," he replied.
"I don't know," I said. "Those pants provide a pretty good view of your butt."
Peter sighed and laid his head on the table.
When the movie started, I could hardly see or hear what was on the TV since we were in the back of the room. But it was nothing I didn't know already, like how America is so great and how everybody wants to be like us since our economy and political system is the best in the world.
I hate propaganda.
Peter got up and went over to Moony's desk while Chris was ardently taking notes. I just stared off into space, waiting for class to end. Every once in a while I would look over at William, and he would quickly look away at the movie. And then, when I looked away, I watched him through the corner of my eye as his gaze slowly return to me. I thought his middle-school-girlish behavior was kind of cute, though I tried not to think of William Brewer as cute.
After class was over, he didn't get up and leave immediately like he usually did, but instead waited for me to leave and followed me out.
"Are you still coming over this afternoon?" he asked me in the hallway.
"I was planning on it," I said, trying to keep my thoughts off his cute smile.
"Cool," he said. "Well, um, I guess I'll see you later."
He started to walk away when I said, "But I don't know where you live."
"Oh, sorry," he said, getting a pen and paper out of his backpack. He scribbled his address on a folded up piece of notebook paper and handed it to me. "I live right across from Home Depot. What time do you want to come over?"
"Probably around 5:00. I'll have to see what my brother is doing," I said.
"Cool," he said. "So, see you around 5:00?"
"Yeah," I said.
William looked like he was about to say something, but decided against it and walked away. I stuffed the paper in my pocket and tried not to admire his elegantly slender physique.
When I got home that afternoon, the house was surprisingly quiet and smoke-free. I walked in and put my backpack on the couch and went to the kitchen to make a sandwich. But when I got there, I froze as I saw James on his knees on the floor, crying softly. I thought about quietly going back to the living room, since I had a knack for making bad feelings worse. But I couldn't just leave him.
I tentatively approached him, hoping for some kind of signal to tell me what to do. He didn't even seem to notice I was there. I looked over and saw the oven was open with a pan of batter inside and the kitchen sink was running.
"Are you ok?" I asked.
The sound of my voice startled him and he looked up and said, "No, I'm fine."
"You didn't look fine," I said.
"It's ok, Kyle," he said, trying to sniff away his tears as he stood. "I just...I'm fine."
"Look, whatever's going on, I can help you. Now tell me what it is."
James ignored me, walking over and closing the oven.
"Please, James. I want to help."
He didn't say anything, but went to the sink and started running cold water over a burn on the side of his hand.
"It's ok, Kyle. I just need some peace and quiet."
He stood at the sink and stared out the window. He looked deep in thought, but his glistening brown eyes told me he was trying not to think at all. I heaved a great sigh and started to walk away, but I was mad at him for being so dismissive and felt like he needed a piece of my mind instead.
"Fine, be a self-righteous little jerk. You are so willing to help everyone else with their problems, but heaven forbid you should have any of your own. Then the great James Wilson might need to ask for help, and what would he be then?"
James turned off the water and stomped down the hall towards the stairs.
"You know, I really don't care what your problem is," I said. "I just need a ride at 5:00 and then you can go back to brooding."
"Come get me at 5:00, then," he said.
He walked upstairs with a blank expression on his face and didn't say anything else. When he got to his room, he started playing Led Zeppelin, which was James' way of telling the world he wanted to be left alone, indefinitely.
After 5:00, I got James to come out of his room and give me a ride to William's house. He didn't say anything the whole trip there, he didn't even play any music. And when we got to the house, he left as soon as I got out of the truck.
The Brewer house was right on 43rd, a busy street just three blocks from the freeway, and across from 43rd St. Plaza, a big strip mall. Needless to say, it wasn't the quietest place to live. The lawn, while freshly cut, was poorly-tended and the flat, one-story house had a coat of yellow, peeling paint. The Brewers weren't living in a hovel, but I wouldn't be proud to bring my friends to a place like that.
Looking around to make sure I was not going to be accosted by a guard dog, I walked up the cracked cement pathway and knocked on their door.
A pretty young woman answered the door and asked, "Can I help you?"
"Uh, I'm Kyle Wilson," I answered. "Is William here."
"Oh, yeah," she said. "I remember talking to you on the phone. Will's over in his bedroom. I'll go get him."
She walked through the small living room and down the hall, her long, black hair reminding me a lot of William's.
"Don't just stand there," said a gruff voice from inside. "You'll let the cat out."
I stepped inside, quickly shutting the door, and saw a middle-aged man in a recliner in front of a static-ridden television. He was tall and had a rough, grey beard that matched the grey on his balding head. He had on a paint-stained t-shirt and overalls, likely a consequence of his job. The living room was covered in brown, shag carpet and smelled strongly of dust.
'Better than smelling like booze,' I thought.
"Feel free to take a seat if you can find one," said the old man.
I looked around and saw that the couch was covered in laundry (I couldn't tell if it was clean or dirty) and various forms of house-painting equipment was strewn about the house.
"You're dead meat, Sammy!" I heard William shout as he chased a rather chubby little kid clutching a backpack through the hallway and to the other side of the living room.
"Sammy! Is that William's backpack?" said the man.
"Yes, Daddy," said a crestfallen Sammy.
"Then give it back to him," said Mr. Brewer.
Sammy walked over to William and gave him the backpack, looking very upset since his game of chase was over.
"Sorry about that," said William. "You know how little brothers are."
"I guess," I said. "I am a little brother."
"Really?" said William. "I'm the oldest of three--brothers that is. Crystal is the oldest, and the only girl in the family."
"Well, at least your mom has company," I said.
"Our mom doesn't live with us," said William, matter-of-factly.
I kicked myself for making such a careless comment as Mr. Brewer turned off the TV, went into the kitchen at the back of the house and started cleaning dishes.
"Sorry," I said, as sincerely as I could.
"It's ok," said William. "I don't really mind. She was a bitch, anyway. Dad sure misses her, but he's really better-off without her."
"What happened, if you don't mind my asking," I asked.
"We can talk more outside," he said.
"Outside?" I asked.
"We can't work in my bedroom. I share it with my brothers," said William.
Now that thought horrified me, having to share a bedroom with two other siblings, one of which was a little kid who liked to steal stuff. William sure was a trooper.
He led me through a surprisingly clean kitchen to the back patio where I sat at a picnic table. As I got my stuff out, William sat down next to me.
"My mother left us a year and a half ago," he explained. "She had a miscarriage 6 months before and it made her really depressed. Eventually she was diagnosed with bi-polar. I'd always seen it coming, though. She was really emotional about everything. And the idea of having a mental disease made her even more emotional.
"So one day we woke up and she was gone. She left a note saying that she didn't want to be a burden anymore. She didn't even tell us where she went. Dad's been a wreck ever since. Crystal and me are pretty much in charge here. She takes care of Sammy and David and I provide the income."
"Doesn't your dad work?" I asked.
"Not really," he said. "He was an independent contractor before mom left. Now he spends most of his time trying to find clients, but nobody wants to hire someone who spends too much time moping to finish the job. That bitch turned Dad into a zombie."
'Well, that explains a lot,' I thought. 'Now it's easy to understand why he doesn't expect help from anyone.'
"You know, you're the first person I ever really talked to about this," said William. "Crystal thinks it's better to leave the problem alone and Dad avoids it as much as he can...and I don't really have any other friends to talk to."
"I'm sure you have friends at Club Chico," I said.
"Don't talk about that place," said William, but not as cold as he used to.
"I don't see what is so bad about it."
"Because you've never been inside."
"It's a night club. You've got people dancing, music playing--"
"That's not all. There are worse things in that place."
"Like what?"
William didn't say anything, but stared at the table. His green eyes started to shine as tears doused the fire inside of them.
"William, what's wrong?"
"It's not just a club. The whole thing is a front."
"For what?"
"A brothel."
"A brothel? What's that?"
"What? You don't--it's a goddamn whorehouse! It's a place where men pay to fuck guys like me! I'm not a dancer, I'm just some whore that sits in the back of the club, picking up guys to take into the back rooms."
"Wait a minute. Are you serious?"
"Yes, I am. I get paid to get fucked by the greasiest perverts in this whole, fucking city! And I hate it! I hate being a whore!"
As William started sobbing, I felt terrible for him. All I could think about was how his life suddenly made sense, and how I had been wrong about him. He didn't have a chip on his shoulder, he was alone and abused and left out in the cold, like a puppy in a blizzard. And I just wanted to take him away from his nightmare of a life.
I leaned over and hugged him and he clung to me and started crying harder. I felt his body shake with every sob as I held him gently, hoping it was far gentler than the creeps at Club Chico.
"How long have you been doing this?" I asked.
"For the past year," he sobbed. "I was approached by Mr. Stone and he asked if I wanted to make $1,000 a week. I was desperate and willing to do whatever he asked at the time. Now I wish I never became a whore."
"Why don't you just quit?" I asked.
"I can't. Nobody just quits working for Edmund Stone. He treats us like we're his personal property."
"But you're not. You're not anybody's property and you're not just some whore."
"It's doesn't matter. I can't quit. And if I leave, he'll just find me. I'm going to be a whore for the rest of my life!"
"Stop saying that."
"No, it's true!" he shouted, pushing me away. He got up and started pacing around the back yard. "I'm always going to be a little slut! That's all I ever was, just a friendless whore who has to find his own way in the world! And I was stupid for thinking that you could be my friend."
"What are you talking about? I am your friend."
"No you're not! How could you be, now that you know the truth? You know what a terrible person I am, so you can leave any time you want to."
"Damn-it, William, shut up!" I shouted, standing up. His little emo rant was more than I could take. "You're not a terrible person for being taken advantage of. You aren't just some whore. And I am our friend. I don't care if you have sex for a living. It's a horrible way to get money, but it doesn't mean you are a horrible person. Look at your life! It's a train wreck! You have two little brothers, a sister and a dad who's depressed, and you take care of them all. Would a terrible person do that?"
William looked at me like I had knocked the wind out of him. I bet it was the first time he had ever heard any of his rants refuted.
"You just got the really short end of the stick, that's all," I said. "You can't help it. And I'm not the kind of person to leave a friend just because their life sucks. Friends are supposed to stick around when life sucks, aren't they?"
William still didn't say anything, which was starting to worry me because I was out of things to say. He just stood, staring at me, his lips trembling as a tear rolled down his cheek.
"Do...do you really mean that?" he asked.
"Of course I do," I said. "Only a terrible person would leave his friends."
William wiped his tear-stained face and stood there, fidgeting with his shirttail. His eyes were bloodshot and his face very sullen. A cold breeze rustled thought the oak tree in the back yard and made him shiver. But still, he didn't say anything.
"Well, are you just going to stand there?" I asked.
"I don't know what to do, ok?" he said. "I just--so many people in my life don't give a damn about me. I'm just not used to it."
"Well, get used to it," I said.
The sliding glass door opened and Crystal stepped out.
"Will, I'm taking Sammy over to Mike's house," she said. "Can you watch David for a second?"
"Sure," he said, walking past me and into the kitchen.
Crystal held the door open for me and I as I grabbed my backpack and went back inside. I saw Crystal take a now-excited Sammy by the hand and led him out the front door.
"Hey, kid," said the gruff voice of Mr. Brewer from the kitchen. "I want to thank you for coming over. William never has friends over, and it was good to see him happy today. You mean a lot to him."
"Really?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said. "William has always had a hard time making friends. The ones he keeps mean the world to him."
"Well, thanks," I said. "He means a lot to me, too. A-and I'm sorry to hear about Mrs. Brewer. It's really sad what she did to this family. But it wasn't your fault."
Mr. Brewer stared at me blankly, then said, "No, it was our fault. We just weren't strong enough to take care of her." Then he went back to cleaning the dishes.
William didn't come back out of his room, but instead occupied his little brother while Crystal was out. Feeling like a fish out of water, I called James and he came to pick me up. I left William a note in his backpack with my phone number on it and told him to call me when he was ready to work on our project again.
It was 3:30 when the phone rang the next morning. It kept ringing and James yelled at me to go see who it was, so I stumbled down to the living room and picked up the phone.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Kyle? It's William," he said.
I walked over and sat on the couch and said, "So, I guess you got my note then."
"Yeah."
"So...what's up?"
"I, uh, just felt like talking. Is that that ok?"
"Yeah, that's fine. Just try not to call so early next time. My brother appreciates a good night's sleep."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake anybody up."
"So, what do you want to talk about?"
"I just feel bad about yelling at you earlier, and I'm sorry. You're not the one I'm mad at."
"It's ok. You had to let it out at somebody."
"It's just...I've never been able to talk to anyone before. My family has no idea what I do. They think I work the graveyard shift at Dunkin Donuts. They can't know how I feel. And I was always afraid that they might judge me."
"Some people will understand. You're not the first person to be exploited to make ends meat."
"I know. And there's others like me at the club, other boys who don't really have a choice but to sell themselves."
"And it's all illegal. Can't you go to the police?"
"No. Police Comissioner Monroe is a regular customer. Even the mayor has been in a few times. Mr. Stone has this city in his pocket."
"And who is this Mr. Stone, anyway? Some kind of mafia leader?"
"Not exactly. He's just a businessman. He has a few places like Club Chico over in Britain, and it's easier to get away with over there because the age of consent is 16 instead of 18."
"How old are you?"
"17."
"William, that's terrible. It's wrong on so many levels."
"I know, and I hate it. I hate all of it. But there's nothing I can do. He won't let us leave. We belong to him."
"That's so wrong, William. There has to be something you can do."
"I wish there was. I really wish there was."
I felt so bad for him. And I couldn't see him, but I'm sure he was crying. I remembered holding him on the back porch as he cried and longed to be able to hold him again. He was so beautiful and so hurt, and I wanted to be able to keep him away from Mr. Stone and the people who hurt him.
"Well, um, it's really early, so I guess I should leave you alone. I should go to bed, anyway."
"Call me whenever you want. Just try to do it during daylight next time."
"Thanks," he said, and hung up.
I put the phone back and thought about how it must feel for him to have to keep his feelings in for so long. I tried to keep my feelings in once, and boy did that make a mess.
I went back upstairs and got into bed, but couldn't go to sleep. I kept thinking about the feeling of William in my arms. He just seemed to fit so perfectly, like there was a little William-shaped hole longing to be filled. I took my pillow and held it gently as I tried to sleep. It wasn't the same, but it would have to do.
That's all for now, readers. I should be done with the next one in at least 2 weeks, if time and classes permit. And I have started posting the chapters at www.awesomedude.com as well and they usually make it there before they get to nifty. There is also a forum at AD for feedback, so e-mail me at bluedragon314@gmail.com or join the forum and tell me what you think.