“SORRY THE CONDOM BROKE, OZZIE.”
I stand on the front steps of the unfinished house—abandoned midconstruction when the real estate market bottomed out—holding Tommy’s hand, watching the sun punch through the clouds, stretching its arms across the sky with a yawn that feels like forever.
“What?” Everything looks watercolor through my bloodshot eyes. My tie is long gone, as are the top two buttons of my dress shirt, which was neatly pressed once upon a time. I want coffee, but there’s the sunrise and there’s Tommy Ross.
His eyelids are heavy over his amber eyes, and the tail of his own shirt hangs untucked, covering his khaki pants. And when he smiles, all white teeth and too-much gums, there’s nothing else. No world, no sky, no sun. Just me and Tommy and all of time.
Tommy kisses the tops of my knuckles. “The condom. I should’ve brought more than one.”
“Whatever,” I say. “It’s not like we’re worried about getting pregnant.”
“I love you, Oswald Pinkerton.”
“I love you, too.”
“I never want this moment to end.”
“Who says it has to?”
Tommy pulls me against his chest and wraps his arms around my stomach. Strong arms. Not like my bony ones. His could move mountains. “And I’m sorry about dinner. I wanted it to be special.”
“It was special,” I say. “Everything was.”
“No, I should’ve taken you somewhere fancy.” Tommy shivers in the cool morning air. “But I didn’t have the money and—”
I face Tommy and look into his beautiful eyes. I should be freezing, but Tommy’s my radiator. “I don’t need a fancy restaurant, Tommy. All I need is you.”
“Tonight was supposed to be perfect.” His voice cracks. “I wanted our first time to be perfect.”
I can’t keep from blushing. “It was.”
Tommy shakes his head, tries to pull away, but I hold tight. “It shouldn’t have been on a sheet in an abandoned house, Ozzie. You deserve better.”
God, he’s everything. “This isn’t some abandoned house. It belongs to us tonight. And I wouldn’t have done anything different. Not one damn thing.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“You’re amazing, Tommy. The homecoming dance was amazing, dinner was amazing, and that thing we did back there, on that sheet? I can’t wait to do it again and again and again and—”
Tommy kisses me. His tongue slides into my mouth, filling it with the taste of garlic. He claws at my belt, digs his thumbs into my hips, and pulls me closer.
“Why are you crying?” I ask.
“I’ll love you for always, Ozzie. Until my skin rots and my hair falls out, I’ll love you.” His lips brush mine. His hands barely touch me, and I shiver.
“We should get some sleep before we go home,” Tommy says. “My dad’s going to kill me for staying out all night.” He turns toward the house, but I catch his hand and pull him back.
I know Tommy’s joking about his father, but I also know he’s not. Still, the damage is already done. “Let’s stay and watch the sunrise.”
“Aren’t you cold?”
“A little,” I say. “My jacket’s inside. I’ll go grab it.”
Tommy rubs his thumb along my cheek and down the back of my jaw. “I’ll get it.” He walks into the house, not letting go of my hand until he absolutely has to. I only turn back to the sun when Tommy has disappeared, but the sun is nothing compared to him. Still, I stay to watch a while longer.
263,715 AU
DR. HAMISH LEGGE WAS A QUACK—practically part duck—and I knew it before he opened his mouth. I’m not one to discount the value of therapy, especially seeing as Renny, my parents, and Calvin all could have benefited from a good psychologist, but Dr. Legge was not a good psychologist.
The motivational posters on his wall betrayed him. Pictures of penguins with sayings like, “Problems are not stop signs, they are guidelines.” Only a simpleminded fool believed the secrets to surviving life could be condensed into bullshit quotations.
“Tell me why you’re here, Oswald,” he said.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Because it was this or jump off the nearest bridge.”
I wasn’t in the mood for therapy, but Mom had scheduled the appointment and had made it clear skipping wasn’t an option.
Dr. Legge typed a note onto his tablet, pecking at the digital keys with only the first two fingers of each hand. He wore a bow tie tied so tightly it was cutting off the blood flow to his brain. His wispy more-gray-than-brown hair was combed neatly, and his beard precisely trimmed.
“Do you often think about hurting yourself?”
“Only when I’m in a useless therapy session.”
For some reason, Legge smiled at that. “How was your holiday vacation?”
“Let’s see,” I said. “I found out my father is a cheater, my brother left for the army yesterday, my best friend is about to achieve her dream and leave me behind, and I gave a blowjob to a guy I thought was my friend but who followed it up by calling me a slut, which I deserved. How was your holiday vacation?” I didn’t mention losing all the stars or the universe shrinking to just over four light-years because I still couldn’t believe it had happened. I mean, rationally, I knew it had, but my brain couldn’t process it. Also, I was already pushing my luck with that joke about jumping off a bridge, and I didn’t want to give the doctor any additional ammunition he could use to lock me up.
Dr. Legge shifted on his couch. “Quite nice. I took my children to Paris. We toured the Louvre.”
“It was a rhetorical question,” I said. “You’re the worst therapist ever.”
“You’re not a particularly wonderful patient.”
I stood up. Sitting, I’d still been taller than Legge, but standing, I towered over the man. “Christ, I’m not even going to have to make up a reason not to see you again. You’re a jerk.”
“Sit down, Oswald.”
I sat.
“Now,” he said, “the one thing you need to understand about therapy is that I can only help you if you want me to.” Legge stared me down. “Do you want me to help you?”
“I don’t think you can.”
Dr. Legge nodded and made a note in his tablet. “Then I believe we’re done. It was nice meeting you, Oswald.”
He’d dismissed me. No doctor had ever dismissed me. Even when I’d ridiculed them, they’d still tried to figure me out, to force me to open up. I didn’t know what to do.
After a moment I stood and walked toward the door.
Before leaving, I stopped, turned to Dr. Legge, and said, “The guy I mentioned. Was he right for calling me a slut?”
Dr. Legge didn’t look up from his tablet, but he said, “Sometimes when people lash out, when they call others names, it’s themselves they’re putting down.” His two-finger typing was infuriating. “That answer was free. The next will cost you. Good-bye, Oswald.”
255,024 AU