[Before this starts, I have to tell you right now that there is NO sex in the first chapter. That's right: NO SEX. This isn't a story I intend to take lightly; character development is always better, in my opinion, than boring, unimaginative fucking. So if sex is all you're looking for, I'd advise you to go somewhere else... - winks - ... at least til the next chapter.]
By: Trevor Cormier
"Silver."
I blink. I'd been staring out the window listlessly, my gaze upon the sparkling, jet-black stretch of asphalt upon the driveway of our new house. The sun is glaringly strong today, belting down upon everything in its path and wilting any mouldable thing, including, it seems, my energy. I turn my eyes off the driveway slowly to lock upon the person beside me. My mother had walked into the living room moments before, all glittering teeth and jewellery: perfumed epitome of the dress-for-success woman of the new millennium. I barely manage to contain a disgusted sigh. She, however, does not return the courtesy; a heavy, weary expellation of breath following my name.
"You're going to be late."
Curt-voiced, her icy demeanour is magnified three-fold by it and the repulsed aloofness in her piercing blue eyes. I nod wordlessly and walk over to the massive wooden double doors that lead out of the graceful Victorian house we live in, bending down to intercept my bag as I go. She follows after me slowly, her slender, precise fingers flitting up to fiddle with a ballistically expensive earring, her chilling eyes sweeping over me, giving me an unhappy once-over. I'm in the process of lacing up my boots, Doc Martens, to be exact, when she speaks again.
"I don't know how you're going to manage making any new friends, Silver... much less any girlfriends..."
I sigh and stand, my hands instantly freeing themselves from the task of lacing up my boots: one boot hanging half-done. I'll have time to finish it later; I just want to get the hell out of here right now.
She hurriedly continues as I swing my backpack on, stepping back slightly as the chains that adorn it fly outwards.
"After all, what girl in her right mind would want to date a boy that wears black nail polish and eyeliner? And peircings? You could at least of toned it down for your first day at school..." she adds petulantly as I wrench open the door and step out into the blinding sunshine.
I shrug and utter the same words I do every time my gothic style of dress comes up: "Bye, Mom."
I step off my driveway and into the sun-drenched street where I finish tying up my boot. Reaching into my backpack, I pull out my discman and headphones, slipping the phones on over my hair, which is jet-black streaked through with deep turquoise. It hangs in layers around my face, the shortest ones hanging just on my cheekbones and hiding my eyes, the longest ones brushing my shoulders. Turning the player on, I breathe deeply as the music fills my senses: the dark, erotic gothic industrial of Stabbing Westward.
Peircings. I laugh quietly to myself, feeling the ball of steel resting on my tongue. Other than that, I have two earrings in my left ear, three in my right. These are the only ones my mother knows about; I also have nipple rings. She told me earlier that she wants me to stay home tonight and help her housewarm. A sigh passes between my lips as I walk, my gaze on the rapidly approaching school in the distance. I bite my lip as I think, a helpless desire to ditch my mother's orders rising, and go clubbing. Surely there must be some good clubs in Toronto? But, no... if my mother found out why I was AWOL, she'd ground me for the rest of my life. Especially if she found out I was choosing to go to a gay club instead of entertaining her damn guests. That's another thing she doesn't know about, my sexual preference, and it carries the same amount of shock factor that the nipple rings would if found out. But most of my friends back home were girls, so I was protected, and still am, I hope, from any suspicion. My mother is not a tolerant woman, as you might be able to tell.
I've never been able to get interested in girls enough to pursue any sort of intimate relationship with them, never have been since the day I saw Ewan McGregor and Jonathan Rhys Meyers in Velvet Goldmine. I smile helplessly at this thought, and instantly my mind offers forth the first image of homoeroticism I ever saw: Ewan and Jonathan kissing, their lips entangling hungrily, their trembling fingers exploring the sweetness of each other's bodies. I remember I almost exploded in my pants as I watched, my fingers trailing the semi-androgynous beauty of Ewan's face on the screen, helpless to the desire making my pants gain a lofty, throbbing tent. The explosion itself came later, when the movie was over and I was sure my mother was not home. I had been in my room, encased in darkness and a slave to the images I'd just seen; my hand giving screaming release to the lust that had driven me to distraction, the lust that had never burned in me for any girl and had felt so right and powerful for my own gender.
The song on my headphones ends, and the sudden silence brings me out of my sensual reverie. The next song begins, and with it brings the realization that the tent in my pants is not just a memory, but quite real.
"Shit," I whisper, half-sincerely.
I could never be too upset about an erection, because it is always an intense, energy-saturated, restless experience. But it wouldn't be too good to walk into my new school with a raging hard-on, no matter how crazy my appearance already is. So I concentrate on something else, mainly on the dreaded day ahead (I hated moving, I hate changes) as I cross the front lawn of the school. I lift my gaze to the grey and red brick building reluctantly, read the unrelenting, granite-carved name of the school there: East York Collegiate Institute. Institute? Jesus... they make it sound like a rehabilitating centre. This bitter thought makes me laugh sourly at the fitting irony of it, and drives any last vestiges of my hard-on into distant memory.
Dejectedly, I pull my headphones off and deposit them into my bag as I walk in. I catch glances through my peripheral vision; people crowd the halls. The noise of voices, music and laughter flood and aggravate my senses. Girls with bright clothes and heady perfumes flow past me, giggling as they pass; I can feel their banal, disapproving eyes bore into my back. Guys in their expensive clothes and glittering watches flash me incredulous stares, a few pauses to nudge one another and snicker as I try to uncaringly walk past them, pretending not to hear. A year ago, this might have proved too much for me and I would have had to turn around and go right back out again, but now I can't bring myself to care. They look just as alien and fucken stupid to me as I do to them. I head towards the office quickly, shouldering my way through the crowds. I need my timetable to find my classes, and the office is the only place I can get it.
As I open the door to go in, I hear a male voice behind me laugh: "What a fag." I simply shake my head and walk in.
The bright fluorescent lights make my head spin for a moment, and when my vision clears, I am slightly creeped out to see all three gazes of the secretaries are locked on me. I stand there for a moment, feeling conspicuously strange under the heat of their united gaze, frozen. I catch sight of myself in the mirror stuck to one of the cabinets: a long black poet's shirt on my chest, the lace-up material tight against my skin. My pants, black and wide-leg, the belt loops threaded through with chain. My jewellery, rings on almost every nail-polished finger, a spiked collar around my neck and a fingerbone dangling from the hoop in my right ear (a partner to the one dangling from my left nipple). Finally, the dark expressiveness of the eyeliner surrounding my eyes.
I was named for my eyes: the only respectful thing my father ever did for me and yet another thing my mother resents him for. They are silver, a bright metallic sheen that have weirded many people out, but have also gained compliments of beauty that I beg to contest. The shape of them is too feminine for my liking, with lashes that are longer than most girls'. They are set in a nice enough face, I guess, so maybe I'm saved that way. My features are fair, delicate, even. Most people say I resemble Hayden Christensen, if that's any help. I feel so suddenly out of place here, like a piece of artwork amongst scientific charts, that when the head secretary speaks, I am thrown even further into disorientation.
"Yes? Can I help you?"
I blink at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, then clumsily blurt out an answer. "I'm new here, and I need my timetable." Instantly the secretary smirks: I'm on her turf now.
"You'll have to go to Student Services. They'll print it out for you there."
I nod meekly, whisper as just a wimpy thanks, and slip out of the office, the click of the doorknob never having sounded so sweet. Groaning, I stare down the now empty hallway, realizing too late that I don't know where the Student Services room is. But I set out anyway; better to be late and lost rather than having to go back into the office again. So I wander down the hallway, my eyes anxiously reading the signs on every door, looking for the dratted Student Services. Suddenly, two people round the corner. Guys, both of them, and both of them ugly and "normal".
I sigh under my breath and hope I don't look too much of a reject as I hesitantly make my way down the hall. The guys have stopped at the water fountain, but I can feel their gazes burning into me as I walk. After a few agonizingly appraising moments, I hear a masculine voice ring out, shot through with sly maliciousness that makes my fingers twitch. "Hey... you...need help?" I turn to look at them and am about to coolly refuse, when the speaker's friend punches his shoulder and laughs, a grating, persecuting laugh I'd heard and learned off by heart all too well in the past. They look like twins, in their DKNY gear, their hair spiked up at the front, glittering necklaces, brand name rings and cologne.
"Watcha wanna help this twink for, huh?"
His friend sneers and they both start laughing, staring straight at me. I sigh angrily, my fingers slowly clenching at my side as the old familiar anger begins to boil.
Now, I'm not a big guy, but I'm not small either: I stand at 5'9 and am built enough to seriously have hurt ignorant homophobic fuckers like these two winners in the past. I want to tear over to them and best the shit out of their skulls with their own heads, but I instead snap a seething "Fuck off", my cheeks burning out of humiliation and anger. They laugh again, but this time the laughter is simply out of their mouths, not reflected in their cold eyes.
"Or what, huh? You gonna tie us up and rape our asses?"
This was from the slightly more handsome one, his non-descript eyes glinting meanly, mockingly. My whole body starts to shake in anger, and I'm about to break every restraint on my inhibitions when suddenly a clear, musical voice cuts in, sharp in its authority and beautiful in its sexy confidence.
"Well, if it isn't Kissenger and his ugly side kick. What the fuck do you think you're doing? Don't you have class to go to?"
The voice takes on a leering tone, and its owner appears around the corner. "Or, better yet, chicks to mack in your daddy's car while listening to Britney Spears or some shit?" The laughter bubbling forth from my lips dwindles into an awed silence as I finally register the speaker. The first thing I am faced with is a pair of the most incredible green eyes I have ever seen. They are lime more than emerald; a burning, suicidally- brilliant green, and they sear my own eyes as they lock onto me. I gasp slightly, helpless to stop myself, staring at this angel before me. His hair is long, walnut-brown with highlights of caramel shooting vividly through it, the length of the hair coming to a stop at his elbows. Already I'm shivering, but the shiver intensifies as my mind manages to take in the eyes enough for me to see the features surrounding them. They are beautiful; semi-androgynous, skin smooth and perfect, symmetrical and almost aristocratic. His cheek bones are perfect, giving light to a face that his structurally incredible: I can find no fault with it.
His jawline is pure and strong, his chin slender, his nose straight and slim, his lips erotic to the fullest degree with their lush satin look, not too big, not too small. And I know this sounds cliche, but the only thing I can hazily think is "Am I dreaming? Have I died?" The spell is broken as the guys laugh nervously and level a weak glare at the beautiful newcomer. They step back, one of them mutters a half-hearted "Fucken asshole" before they disappear. The stranger stares after them, and I am almost overwhelmed again by his eyes; the strength of the ire and simple burning emotion in their depths making me mute. He watches them go, and I am afforded the chance to look at him fully. He is as tall as me, perhaps a little taller, posture straight and gracefully unafraid. It is when I see his clothing that I take another double-take.
My dream guy, standing before me as if seriously plucked out of my lustful head: a black wife-beater shirt with a see-through black shirt overtop, the sleeves criss-crossed with black electrical tape to make it look as though he is wearing gauntlets, a pair of black pants like mine, except tighter and tucked into gleaming back army boots that come half way up his shins. Spiked bracelets on both wrists, long pains painted royal purple, and a body that despite the clothes I can tell is killer. So is it any small wonder that when he finally turned his gaze to look at me again, I am standing there like a child, mouth half open, stupification making my features slack?
The green-eyed apparition returns my stare for a moment, an amused smile grazing those perfect lips before he speaks again.
"You okay?"
I stare helplessly for a moment longer into his eyes before I jolt myself and answer, voice hoarse and ugly compared to the bardic beauty of his own.
"Uh... yeah. Just looking for something and found them instead."
I laugh nervously, inwardly kicking myself and groaning as I hear my nerdy attempt at humour, feeling the inevitable blush crawl up my skin slowly. But my salvation is found for the moment as he shares the laugh, glancing down the hall once more.
"Yeah, those dudes are idiots. If you don't speak clearly and slowly and refrain from using big words, they get scared and resort to trying to insult you."
I nod dumbly, a grin plastered to my face. He was beyond beautiful AND intelligent! He looks to me again, his gaze appraising. After a moment, he lets loose a razor-edged chuckle, his eyes burning brightly. His hand extends towards me, and he smiles.
"I'm Josh. You're new here, right?"
I take his hand slowly, sent spiralling into heaven by the bounty of his beautiful smile. Oh God, I can feel my knees seriously start to give way as our fingers connect, his wrapping around my hand firmly, mine not daring to move.
"Silver," I say weakly, "and yeah, I'm new. How could you tell?"
Our hands are still touching, his fingers like a shroud of comforting warmth around my own. His eyebrows raise slightly and his gaze sharpens even further, a smile once more gracing his lips.
"Silver? Is that your actual name?"
I nod silently, and he grins.
"That is an awesome name, man. And I could tell because you've got that customary dazed look people get when they come here for the first time."
He keeps the grin and winks; I congratulate myself on not fainting or creaming my pants right then and there. Dazed look? He'd probably never talk to me again if he knew the real reason behind the stare. But the fact that he'd noticed my dazedness makes me blush deeper, and I try to gain some control over my shocked mine. I laugh slightly, feeling amazingly stupid, when he speaks again.
"You looking for a classroom or something?"
I nod, the warmth of his hand in mine drawing my gaze from his eyes to our joined touch.
"Yeah..." I murmur. "Student Services. I need my timetable."
Josh follows my gaze, and then after a moment, his fingers are falling away from my own, our hands separating. If he's weirded out over the fact we've been holding hands so long, he says nothing on it, his smiling expression unchanged.
"Student Services? I'll take you there, its notoriously hard to find."
Thanking him as steadily as I can, I follow him as he leads me around the corner he just came. I can't help but admire him as he moves; light, graceful movements uncannily like dancing. The movement of his hips draws my attention instantly, greedily dwelling upon the shapely, firmly rounded vista of his ass. I'm swung into a longing reverie, wondering what he would look like dancing in a club somewhere, what his movements would be like when he wasn't restrained by anything; set free by the music. I am contemplating this, all the while staring at his ass as he walks, when suddenly he stops, and me, going on motor alone without any mental intervention whatsoever, I crash into him. And it's no light interception either. My boots hit the heels of his, and I fall in towards him, my hands instinctively reaching out to stop myself. The force of the impact makes him fall forward slightly, his right hand reaching out to the wall to steady himself, the other hand reach back to catch me. He is laughing before I even fall, my hands finding his shoulders, where they clutch tightly.
"Shit," I mutter, my face aflame. "I'm sorry..."
His soft, melodic laughter dances through the hall in dismissal of my apology, but this does nothing to sooth me, only mortify me more. 'Way to go, hot shot,' I think to myself bitterly. 'Crash into the most sexy guy you've ever seen five minutes after you meet him. SMOOTH.' I step away, my hands trembling as they pull off his shoulders. He turns, still chuckling, his gaze amused, sympathetic, erotic pools of emerald oblivion.
"Sorry about that, guess I should have warned you. We're here."
I nod, his gentle voice making me feel worse and worse; I want to curl up in a hole and die slowly over a period of 1000 years, or disappear. Anything. The smile on his lips is charming, lopsided and graceful, his green eyes sparkling. He opens the door for me, and I slink past him, knowing my cheeks are crimson.
"Well, thanks," I manage to say, unable to make eye contact with him. "This was really great of you...Josh..."
He lifts one shoulder in a little, cute shrug, and winks again. My head feels like a hot-air balloon.
"You'd do the same for me."
'Oh yes,' I think to myself. 'And soooo much more...' Suddenly images of my hands slipping under that tantalizing shirt of his crosses my mind, and I'm gone on a river of imaginary bliss. I can see my fingers sliding like strange snakes under the black fabric, feel his muscles jerk spasmodically at my touch, hear his feather-light moan of desire reverberate through my head...
"-out here for you."
"Huh? What?"
I shake myself, my attention span feeling worse than a goldfish's. I try to keep the blush at a low minimum, but the head of my sudden daydream keeps it on my face, and thrills of warm energy shoot through me, especially in my groin, the last place I need it to be. He laughs again, and lays a hand on my shoulder for a moment.
"I said I'd wait out here for you, show you where your class is. Not having a very good day, are you?"
His beautiful face takes on a half amused, half empathetic expression, and I grin slightly, nodding weakly. The touch of his fingers on me again seems to freeze my body; I want to stay here forever and memorize his touch, have the ability to have this god near me for just a little longer. But then he removes his hand and I turn to go in. All the while it takes me to get my timetable, I'm practically bouncing, my body a bundle of jittery nerves aching to be near him again. When I get it, I pull open the door again, my gaze eagerly looking for him, but he is not there. I frown, casting my gaze to either side for him, and then I spot him off to the right, by the stretch of lockers.
Suddenly, it feels as though my heart has combusted. My fingers go slack, my vision blurs, and my head lightens. I watch in indescribable dismay as I see him, laughing and holding some girl's hand in his own, pulling her close to his chest for an embrace. Her dark eyes are sparkling, her bright clothing becoming patches of blurry neon upon my vision as her arms encircle his waist. They are laughing about something, but whatever it is, it is lost on me as I see him bend slightly to kiss her cheek, a slender hand coming up to tenderly caress her skin, his purple fingernails glittering as they sail across her flesh. Suddenly I hear a loud, odd snapping sound on the floor beside me, my gaze snaps to follow it. I've dropped my timetable, the crease of the fold hitting the ground sharply and causing the noise. I'm hurriedly bending down to pick it up as they look over, and my fingernails drive mercilessly into my palm as complete despair washes over me. Every time he's seen me, I've either been lost and he's had to save my ass, or I've been smacking into him, or I've dropped things like the reject klutz I am. And now he's with his girlfriend; no damn hope at all.
"Hey, Silver," he calls, walking over to me, the girl following.
She is smiling; of course she is, dating a dreamboat like that! I am wondering if my pressing urge to jump on her and rake my nails down her face is justifiable when she sticks out a hand.
"This is Madison," Josh introduces, and I shake her hand politely.
"Hi," I say, smiling as sincerely as I can. She grins, giggles slightly.
"And you're Silver. What a beautiful name."
Her gaze flickers to Josh for a moment, the grin on her face suddenly looking more meaningful. I look to Josh too, wondering, but he drops his gaze from hers to look at my timetable, speaking after a moment.
"Oh, that's cool! You've got Law with me, second period. The teacher's a real prick, but the material's interesting enough, I guess, if you pay attention."
Madison laughs, and elbows me playfully, her bright features and dark curly hair making for quite the attractive ensemble, for a girl. I can see what Josh would like about her.
"Yeah, and you'd know, wouldn't you, Josh?" She turns her gaze to me. "He's failed that class twice before. Took it first and second semester last year and didn't come out of it learning anything."
Josh snickers lightly, and shrugs expansively. "What can I say? I'm a visual learner."
They both crack up and I can't help but laugh as well.
"Visual learner my ass. You're just lazy." Madison waves to us both as she says this, already heading in the opposite direction with a blown kiss to Josh. "See you, Josh. Nice to meet you, Silver. Josh, bring him to the cafe for lunch; we can introduce him to the gang."
Josh salutes and nods in compliance, his grin back and as beautifully dazzling as ever. I have to avert my gaze.
"Bye, Madison," I call after her, "thanks for the invite!"
She nods, winks, and disappears into a classroom.
"You'll like the people I hang with," Josh says as we commence walking to my class. "They're not like most of the dipshit idiots you get around here. And you'll fit right in too, most of them tend to understand the beauty of the darker side fashion and life."
I laugh softly, my past discomfort with the twin assholes gone. I am getting to like this place and the people already. The only downside is that Josh probably isn't gay or anything close to it, but I can deal with that in time as long as he doesn't deny me of his presence.
"That sounds good; I wasn't holding out much hope for finding other goths around here."
Josh nods sympathetically, his gaze dropping from my own to linger on my neck.
"I know what you mean. I love your collar... haven't seen too many of them around since it became illegal to sell spiked jewellery."
My eyebrows raise; this was news to me. "Really? Back where I come from, they're still legal. Is it illegal here because the police think we're gonna beat the shit out of people with them or something?"
Josh laughs humourlessly and nods, a sigh escaping his lips. "Yeah, pretty much. It's fucking stupid law. Totally totalitarian, if you ask me. So where do you come from?"
"A little town north of here, called Napanee." Josh starts to grin, and I do too, hurriedly continuing. "Most people have never heard of it. It's a little hick town in the middle of nowhere, but we're damn proud of our two coffee shops and one intersection, and we don't let people forget it!"
He starts to laugh in delight, his emerald eyes seeming to glow, and the sudden extreme beauty of him makes me want to laugh, cry, and kiss him all at once. Better just stick to the first one. So I laugh with him, the intermingled sound of our mirth ricocheting down the hall making me catch my breath at the sound of it. Suddenly he grabs my arm and the sudden force and surprise of it sends me spiralling into him, thudding into his chest. In that split second I know that in the next second shame will pound through me, but for this one, all I can see is Josh's slender, well-toned shoulders in front of me, see his chest rise and fall as he breathes.
My gaze follows the collar of his shirt helplessly, tracing the expanse of his lightly tanned skin that looks oh so silken, then falls to his pecs, their smooth elegance painfully obvious to me even through the shirt. His hair has fallen over his shoulders in a glorious robe of light and dark brown; the lengths shimmer tantalizingly at me, I know if I were to touch them they would feel like cool silk, I know the sensation would probably drive me to my knees. I see a flash of green at the top of my vision, and I look up, only to find myself inches away from his face, his eyes staring straight into mine. I wish I could explain to you how incredible his eyes are, how emotion-filled and intense they are. But maybe it would be suffice to say that I feel as if I've been stabbed straight through the heart with a flaming sword, his eyes paralysing me and becoming my pain and pleasure all at once.
With most people, their eyes are usually the windows into their own minds, and you can read whatever you wish from them if you are perceptive enough. But with Josh it is instantly very different. I see myself instead, reflected in the blazing green pools: I see every tear I've ever shed, every screamed word, every smile, and every hidden desire. And so, vicariously, I see him. At that exact moment, something seems to change in the way he looks at me, and both our gazes fall uncomfortably away from each other. When he takes his hand off my arm I realize that he'd not removed it the whole time, and the thought excites and despairs me at the same time; despair because I know the more I have of his touch, the more I will madly crave it.
"Sorry," I mutter, stepping away again. "Twice in the same day..." There is a howling silence for a moment; I can't bring myself to look at him. Then, a soft chuckle, but I can tell his eyes are still not looking at me.
"It's okay. Everyone needs a little excitement in their life."
His tone is jovial, and a smile on his lips as I look up at him, our gazes raising at the same time.
"Besides, I shouldn't have grabbed you so hard. But this is your class."
I offer him a weak smile. Excitement? I smacked into him. Definitely not exciting. More annoying and embarrassing than anything. "Thanks," I say, and turn to go in, but he speaks suddenly, pausing me.
"Meet me in the cafe at lunch? I'll introduce you to everyone. They'll all love you."
His coaxing smile and beseeching eyes drag an involuntary grin to my lips while at the same time twisting my heart.
"Sure, I'll see you there." Smiling, I turn to go in, the door closing behind me. 'They'll love you.' Oh, Josh. There's only one person I could ever want to love me...