Paladin, page 11
Just like most dreams, there wasn’t a linear timeline. It didn’t run from start to finish like a movie. It jumped around. Things changed—minute details. No nightmare was ever quite the same.
It had been a good night. He’d thought his father would be pleased. But, as usual, he was wrong. His report card started it, but it could have been anything. Whatever he could use as an excuse.
Arsen was no longer holding the gun. There was no gun. He was back at the beginning of his memory. His dream. His nightmare. Whatever it was.
His father was furious. “You think you’re better than me?” he asked in Russian. “You think you’ll get a big fancy job and a fancy car and leave this place?”
Goosebumps erupted all over, not just at his father’s tone but at the sound of his father speaking Russian, breaking his own rule. Only English was spoken in the house. He’d said it was to help Arsen and his mother better acclimate, but it was really just another form of humiliation. A way to mock them for not speaking English as clearly as he did.
Arsen blinked in confusion. “What?”
His father sneered at him. “Oh, now, you don’t speak your native tongue?”
There was no right answer, Arsen knew it. His mother knew it, too. His father lived for these games, for these traps. Arsen was too American, not American enough. Too Russian. Not Russian enough. He spoke too much or too little. He didn’t try hard enough or he tried so hard he must be mocking his father’s lack of education. Arsen wasn’t going to win this.
That was when his mother stepped in. “Ilya,” she said sweetly, stroking his face. “Why don’t we skip dinner and go out? We can go to the club and—”
That was as far as she got before his father backhanded her, driving her to the floor. His father was so big and she was so small. Or maybe she just seemed so in comparison to his father. She never acted small. She was so tough. And yet, that was where she stayed, on the floor, her skirt hiked up high on her thighs, her face swelling rapidly.
How had it devolved so far so fast?
It was just a normal fight.
Until it wasn’t.
Arsen was back in his father’s arms. He was trying to force his finger over the trigger. But it was impossible. Arsen’s hands just weren’t big enough. He was only eleven. And it was a big gun. Heavy. His mother often rolled her eyes behind his father’s back as he waved it around, and when he wasn’t there, she would tell her friend, Anya, next door that he was overcompensating. That it made him feel like a big man when he flashed it at people. They would laugh.
His dad always needed to feel like a man. It was in the way he talked, carried himself, and interacted with his friends—these wannabe mobsters with their weak ties to powerful families. Lackeys, his mother would call them.
These lackeys constantly joked about Arsen being too small, too thin, too frail…too feminine. Arsen didn’t think there was much that was feminine about him, not compared to other boys in his school—like Felix. Felix loved lace and flowers and skirts. That was why Arsen never invited him over.
That was the real reason Arsen’s father hated him. Because he was gay. Arsen still didn’t know what it was that had given him away, how his father had known his orientation long before even Arsen himself. But it didn’t matter now.
“Zhmi na kurok,” his father growled in his ear.
Pull the trigger.
“No,” Arsen whispered, shaking his head.
“You’re a man. Men have to do hard things.”
Arsen wasn’t a man. He wasn’t. He wasn’t even a teenager. He didn’t want to do hard things. His whole life was hard. This wasn’t fair. Other kids got to play outside and go to school and live normal lives.
Arsen’s mom sat up a little straighter, righting her skirt and turning her frigid stare from his father to him. She gave him a warm smile, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s alright, zaichik.” She turned to look at his father. “I’m not afraid to die.”
Arsen’s father sneered. “Bitch.”
“Arsen!”
Arsen bolted upright, fighting the sudden weight on top of him, his hands wrapping around thin arms as he tried to shake off his dream. Ever. It was Ever on top of him. Ever holding him down. No. That wasn’t right.
Arsen scanned the room, disoriented. Why was he in the computer room? Why was Ever there? What time was it? Was he still dreaming? Ever gazed down at him, eyes wide.
Arsen blinked, eyes stinging. When he realized he was still gripping Ever’s arms, he released him abruptly, causing him to fall forward.
Arsen caught him, righting him, flushing before muttering, “Sorry.”
Ever frowned. “You were having another nightmare.”
Right. That.
Arsen sucked in heavy breaths, trying to get his heart rate back to normal, but it seemed useless. Though he was awake, the nightmare still had its hooks in him. He tried to distract himself, asking, “Did you hear me all the way in the other room?”
Ever hesitated then shook his head. “When I woke up, you weren’t in bed, so I came to look for you. You were…crying.”
Arsen’s hands went to his face, and he realized Ever was right. He wasn’t just covered with sweat but with tears. “Oh.” He looked up at Ever’s face, painted with neon pink and blue from the LED lights surrounding them. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
Ever frowned. “You didn’t.”
Arsen fell back onto the pillows, Ever still sitting on his hips. He didn’t make any attempt to move and Arsen truly didn’t want to move him. He just stared up at him, letting his presence sooth the jagged edges of his memories.
Arsen’s crew had so many names for Ever. Angel. Dumpling. Bush baby. Gremlin. But none of those things described him with any accuracy. “You can lie down,” he offered.
Ever shrugged. “Okay.”
He didn’t move to the side as Arsen expected he would but instead blanketed himself over Arsen’s body, his head on his chest, his arms sort of starfished to the sides. Ever was so literal.
After a minute, he said, “Your heart’s beating really fast. Mine does too after nightmares.”
Arsen smiled. It wasn’t the nightmare. It was having Ever’s body on his. But he wouldn’t tell him that. He didn’t want to spook him. He brought his arms up around him, locking his fingers in the center of Ever’s back, just wanting to hold him. “Is this okay?”
Ever hummed, the sound vibrating from his chest straight into Arsen’s, then he wiggled a bit like he was settling in. “Uh-huh.”
He sounded sleepy. Arsen was tired, too, but the dream was still too fresh in his head to attempt to sleep again. It would suck him right back down into it.
Still, he closed his eyes, enjoying the heat and the weight of Ever pressing into him. But he needed to address what had happened earlier. What had sent Ever running from the room. “I’m sorry…about earlier.”
“Earlier?” Ever echoed.
Arsen nodded even though Ever wasn’t looking at him. “The kiss…”
Ever lifted his head, folding his palms under his chin as he looked up at Arsen.
“You are? Why?”
That brought Arsen up short. What did he mean, why? Because I don’t want to be another person who victimizes you and takes away your choices. “Because…I should have asked for permission.”
“Oh. Is that a thing?” Ever asked.
Arsen blinked at Ever. “It’s supposed to be, yeah.”
“Oh,” Ever said again, thoughtfully. “They never ask in my books. It’s always guys taking what they want. They never say they’re sorry.”
That was disconcerting. “There’s a difference between fiction and reality, besenok. Your body is your own.”
Silence stretched between them like a line pulled tighter and tighter, the tension only snapping when Ever whispered, “You can have it.”
Arsen’s breath punched from his lungs in a gasp as he willed himself to calm down.
Ever didn’t just say that. He couldn’t have. There was no way he’d just casually offered up his body to Arsen. “What?”
Ever tipped his head, doe eyes looking at him curiously. “My permission. To kiss me. Whenever you want. You have it.”
There was no universe in which Arsen would ever be worthy of someone like Ever. He was truly the sweetest boy in the world. “I—”
Ever shook his head, eyes closing, his voice filled with disappointment. “I’m probably not that good at it. But I could learn.”
Chert. There was nothing Arsen wanted more than to teach Ever anything he wanted to learn about kissing or sex or anything else. But this wasn’t the time or place. Cree was right. They were all perverts.
Maybe Arsen was misunderstanding. “What do you mean?”
Ever dropped his cheek to the hands resting on Arsen’s chest, hiding his face. “That was my first.”
“First?” Arsen echoed.
“First kiss.”
“Ever?” Arsen blurted.
Ever’s head popped up, looking at him in confusion, like he wasn’t sure if he was calling his name or asking for clarification. “Yes?”
Arsen wanted to kick himself. Of course, it had been Ever’s first kiss. Who would Ever have been kissing? Nobody good. Nobody who would be gentle or take care of him or make sure he was safe. That flicker of rage sparked in Arsen’s chest. He hoped that woman was burning in hell.
“I didn’t know,” he said for lack of anything else to say.
“Was I supposed to tell you?” Ever asked. “I didn’t know you were going to kiss me. Or I was going to kiss you. I’m not sure who kissed who,” he admitted, seemingly distracted by his own train of thought. “But…I’ve done other things. Not things I wanted to do. At least, not with the people who did them.”
Arsen found himself squeezing Ever tighter. “None of that counts,” he promised.
Ever frowned at him. “It doesn’t?”
Was it dismissive to say his experiences didn’t count, like they didn’t matter? That wasn’t really what he was saying. But how did he say the things other people had done to him were valid but weren’t the same thing as sex between two willing people?
Arsen tried to remember how Jericho had explained it to them all those years ago, when they’d gotten the first of many sex talks.
“Sex without consent isn’t sex, it’s assault. Jericho’s been drilling that into our heads since we were old enough to even truly care about sex.” Arsen listed off Jericho’s rules on his fingers. “Always wear a condom. Always get tested. Always get consent.”
Ever nodded like he was committing this information to memory. For some reason, it bothered Arsen. Ever didn’t need to worry about sex with other people. Arsen couldn’t stomach the thought. He mentally shook himself. This wasn’t the time.
He focused on recalling the rest of Jericho’s talk. “If they say no, it’s assault. If they’re drunk, it’s assault. If they’re unconscious, it’s assault. Sex is about pleasure between two people. Assault is about power over another person.”
Ever seemed to chew on that for a while, once more resting his head on Arsen’s chest. “Then I’ve really never done any kind of sex.”
Arsen found himself kissing the top of Ever’s hair, something unknotting in his chest. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“But I want to,” Ever said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Arsen’s heart clenched. “There’s plenty of time for that.”
Ever waited a beat before asking, “With you?”
Arsen’s brain turned to mush, all rational thought grinding to a halt. He opened and closed his mouth several times as he tried to think of any other reply than yes, please. Finally, he said, “I—”
Ever cut him off. “Never mind. Good night,” he continued in a rush, wiggling free of Arsen’s arms and rolling to face the wall like he always did. At least, he wasn’t crying this time. And he didn’t run away. Probably because he didn’t like being alone. But Arsen would take it. He’d take anything that meant Ever was beside him, toxic or not.
He rolled onto his side then, after hesitating for only a moment, he folded himself around Ever, putting his arm around him and pulling him close. He breathed easier when Ever burrowed deeper against him, even if it meant his cute little ass was rubbing against Arsen’s crotch.
Fuck.
He pressed his face against Ever’s neck, inhaling deeply, recognizing the scent as one of the soaps he’d bought just hours ago. “Good night, Ever.”
“Good night.”
Things between Ever and Arsen were…awkward.
That was the only word Ever could think of to describe the last few days. On the surface, it didn’t seem like anything had changed between them. Each day, Ever would sit on the couch in the loft overlooking the garage while Arsen worked down below. He would read his book and covertly watch him work, and watch him laugh and joke with Jericho and the customers.
At lunch, Arsen or Jericho would make sure Ever had something to eat. Arsen would sit upstairs with him, watching intently as Ever tried whatever new food he’d brought for him. One day, it had been Indian food—Arsen’s personal favorite. Another, it had been Korean barbecue. Today, there were subs from the place down the street.
Everything had been delicious.
At least once a day, Arsen would take Ever out into the world. He seemed determined that he try one or two new things each day. The activities varied greatly. Blowing bubbles. Trying hot chocolate. Sitting on the roof and stargazing. Eating ice cream. Even a bubble bath. Sadly, Arsen had left Ever to that particular task alone.
It was all fun—everything Ever never even dared dream of, really—but nothing distracted him from the memory of their kiss and his pathetic attempt at flirting with Arsen after, or the weird tension that existed between them since.
At night, Arsen played his video games and entertained his adoring fans. Ever curled up in the corner of the bed and watched from afar, reading his book—casting him and Arsen as the main characters in his head—wishing more than anything he could go back to his seat between Arsen’s knees. He liked being boxed in by him. It felt safe.
And Ever rarely felt safe. Not that he worried about Arsen or Jericho, but every customer felt like a potential threat. Every trip outside the garage felt like it could be his last. It hadn’t been that way at first. When Arsen had liberated him, he’d been scared and confused, but elated to finally be free of Jennika.
But with each passing day, his unease grew. Maybe it was the tension between him and Arsen getting jumbled in his head. Or maybe this was the trauma that Arsen had warned him about. The trauma that seemed to make him untouchable in Arsen’s eyes.
Or maybe Arsen just didn’t want him. Not that Ever could blame him. Arsen had a life. He had a job and an apartment and friends. He had hobbies and fans. Ever didn’t even have a last name. He was a ghost, forced to rely on Arsen and Jericho for everything.
He wanted to help, but Arsen knew the loud noises of the garage scared him. No matter how much Ever tried to hide his discomfort, he jumped at every sound, and it was only getting worse. But he had no other options. He had no birth certificate, no birthday, no social security card. All things Jericho insisted he needed if he wanted a life in the outside world.
Did Ever want a life outside? Not really. Every day, his anxiety grew, this weird sense of dread that weighed on him, growing heavier with each moment. Jennika was dead. He knew that. He’d seen what was left of her body. His injuries were almost healed. But the scars remained. And they were ugly inside and out. He was ugly.
Ever shoved the thought away, glancing at the clock. Unease filled him like an icy finger down his spine. It wouldn’t be long until his doctor’s appointment. When Arsen had first told him about it, he’d just nodded blankly, but now that it was growing close to the time when he would have to go, he was having a hard time quelling the panic clawing up his throat.
Jericho had made the appointment—said the doctor was a friend of the family. Jennika had called her doctor friend that, too. He’d looked like a doctor. Had degrees on his wall, had all the things he needed to bandage Ever’s burns, suture up his cuts, set his broken bones. But it was Ever who’d paid the bill. Did all doctors expect to get paid in sexual favors from children? Had Ever finally aged out?
He wanted to pace. He wanted to tear at his skin or pick at his nails—something, anything, to drive away the fear. He knew it wasn’t rational. He did. He really did. But he couldn’t seem to get his body to understand. He hugged himself for a solid minute until something moving below caught his attention.
Arsen. He was talking to a boy his age with shaggy brown hair. The panic inside Ever was now replaced by something else at the sight of them. Jealousy. Ever folded his hands on the back of the sofa and placed his chin on them as he watched the two.
Watching Arsen was one of Ever’s favorite pastimes. Every morning, Arsen would start off in navy blue coveralls and clunky oil-stained work boots, a headband pushing the hair out of his crystal-blue eyes. But by noon, he’d stripped off the top half, tying the sleeves around his waist, leaving him in nothing but a tight tank top—today, it was black—that showed off well-muscled arms and tattoos just as colorful as his hair.
Arsen was really handsome. No, that wasn’t the right word. Arsen was…hot. With his aqua hair and aqua eyes and that square jaw that always had just the barest hint of scruff on it at all times. His nose was just the slightest bit crooked, like it had once been broken, and his rough, calloused hands were permanently stained around his nails, but that did nothing to detract from how much Ever wanted him.
But, unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one.
There was a parade of girls—and guys—who seemed to stop by the garage for the sole purpose of flirting with Arsen. The girls would wiggle and squirm and put their half-naked bodies in his way as much as possible. The men were even more forward, asking for his number or hinting they’d be interested in…something more.
It grated Ever’s nerves. People complimented Arsen on his long lashes, his full lips, even his perfect teeth. To his credit, Arsen took it all in stride, smiling politely but always brushing them off. If he even noticed them at all.
