(A/N) Yes, I should be writing Barely Legal. I just couldn't help myself! I would like to thank my wonderful beta, Maryjane! She's always amazing. And I have started Barely Legal...It just hasn't gotten very far!
Important Note: This story may be taken down eventually, if the site really intends to go through all the M stories and take out the ones that are MA. If this happens, or if you wish to go there now, you can find this story on A03 under the same title and penname KittyHowell(no space).
Chapter Four: Empty Space, Part Two
There was a moment - though miniscule, still monumental in its effect - where Wes actually allowed himself to stray from his normal routine. Wes liked to drive, liked the freedom, and liked the idea of being in control of something so big and heavy and so capable of doing so much damage. It appealed to him in a way others couldn't understand. Not that Wes expected or hoped that they would. He had learned a long time ago that he wasn't normal. It wasn't 'unique' in the way parents told their children to be, but abnormal in such a way that wasn't always healthy, a way that made others uncomfortable just by him being in the room. And while Wes did not wish to become the mindless meathead most of the other boys his age were, he did wish to be...healthy. Whole.
Wes allowed himself some leeway for when he needed to be home. Because he loved to drive and loved the feel of the steering wheel beneath his fingers and the pedal beneath his foot, Wes allowed himself to take his time whenever he didn't have anywhere to be. It was really a part of his routine, as it happened on a regular basis without pause for thought. Wes didn't think about that, though; he couldn't. It was probably the only thing he did without worry, without the pressure of his illness, and without fear.
Wes would never admit it, but it was also a gateway for his father to make it home. His father had a habit of making promises he couldn't keep. No, Wes mused to himself, his inner voice sounding as bitter as his outer, he just doesn't bother to keep them. Wes' heart would always speed up the moment he turned into the neighborhood, and would only increase with each turn he made. When he finally reached his street, his heart would stop, if only for a second and then return to a normal pace. His father's car was distinctive, the only one on the block with its custom color.
It wasn't there.
It never was, and, briefly, Wes wondered when he would stop acting like a child. His hopes would be brought up with false promises he knew would not be kept, and yet, he allowed himself to fall for it each and every time. And each and every time he was left with this feeling, consisting of guilt, anger, resentment, and sorrow. He hated himself for feeling it, but knowing it all was never enough to make the feeling go away.
Wes parked his car where it belonged and got out, looking around for anything unusual. He didn't see anything but his neighbor, who made a habit of sitting outside in the sun while she read. She was nice. Wes didn't really like her, but he didn't dislike her either. He waved, because it was what his mother had taught him to do. She waved back, an obvious smile on her face. It made him feel awkward, like she knew something he didn't. He hurried into the house, quick enough to get away, but not so much where it appeared he was running. He was, but no one else needed to know that.
The air conditioner wasn't on, which meant no one was home. Of course, he had already known that. His mother's car wasn't in the driveway, either. He walked into the kitchen to look at the note placed on the refrigerator, the piece of parchment held by a pink magnet with the words 'I love you' engraved on it. His mother only used it when she left him a note. Wes had never been sure how he had felt about that.
Wes,
I had to go to the market. I somehow forgot the cheese your father loves. Be back soon.
Love, Mom.
PS. I'm sorry about your father.
"I feel like a rube," Wes murmured, taking the note down and dropping it carefully in the garbage can. He checked what was for dinner, a simple casserole his mother had finished preparing except for the cheese his father wanted. Wes walked up the stairs to his room, quietly closing the door behind him while he flicked the light on. He was reminded of his locker, bland and empty. He forced the thoughts out of his head and placed his backpack down next to his desk. He placed his laptop at an angle so he could have more room for his studies. Wes hadn't been expecting homework on the first day, not even the math teachers did that to their students. Ms. Percy was an interesting person, though, and that was putting it mildly. He had finished the assignment in class, but wanted to check over his work and answers. Ms Percy had a horrible teaching style, and Wes was unusually concerned about whether or not he actually knew the material. He finished quickly, only finding one mistake in the entire assignment. He fixed it quickly and double checked before packing up his things and putting them away.
His chore list was placed neatly at the corner of his desk. He stared at it a moment before standing up and changing. He got undressed, taking each piece off and placing it neatly on his bed until he was completely nude except for his boxers. He walked to his closet and pulled out a pair of black slacks, ones not much different from his school uniform, and a blue button down shirt. He changed quickly, stuffing the shirt in his pants and doing his best to relax. He took a hanger and neatly hung up his school uniform before placing in in the closet and moving to the bathroom. He checked his hair and brushed his teeth before going back into his room for the list.
His father wasn't here to help him, but that didn't mean he was going to save it for another day. The first thing on the list was the fix the light in the hallway, just outside his room. He went in the garage for the necessary tools. He looked over the list at what he had to do, and decided to just take the entire toolbox and step ladder with him. He fixed the light in twenty minutes time, flicking the switch on and off to make sure it worked before crossing it off and moving on to the next thing: putting up the new shower curtain in his parent's bathroom. It was a mint green color, and it made Wes want to vomit just by being around it. He was glad it was going in the master bathroom and not one where he'd have to see it, or God forbid, actually shower with it. It was a compromise between his parents. His father's fondness of green mixed with his mother's love of unusual things. He hooked it up in under five minutes and quickly crossed it off his list and moved on to the third task.
Wes took out the garbage, fixed the dishwasher, did the dishes, checked and cleaned the gutters, and painted an old rocking chair his father was using to woo a client at work with. By the time he was done, it was after six o'clock and he realized he hadn't eaten since that morning. He went into the bathroom to wash up a little before heading back down to the kitchen. His mother was there watering plants in the window when he did.
"There you are," she said happily, turning her head to look at him. "I couldn't find you after I got home."
"I was working my way through the list," Wes told her, looking around. "Did you just get home?"
"Mhm," his mother turned back to her plants, "no, I got home a while ago. I finished dinner. It's in the fridge if you want some." Wes walked over and opened the door. The finished casserole was in the fridge, still steaming. She must have just put it in. He took it out, his stomach rumbling again. He got a plate and fork and placed the meal in the microwave, just in case. He looked at the floor and then back at his mother, who was still watering her plants and humming to herself.
"Where did you go?"
"What, dear?"
"Where did you go?"
"To the store, sweetie. Didn't you get my note?" Wes frowned, taking his dinner out of the microwave and heading upstairs to eat it. "Wes, honey?" He didn't answer, and slowly and gently closed the door behind him, looking at the clock as he sat down.
The casserole only had a cook time of about twenty minutes, and it was still cooling down. It was safe to say his mother had just gotten home half an hour ago, as Wes had just been in the kitchen to fix the dishwasher and then outside to clean the gutters. Her car hadn't been in the driveway. Wes hadn't thought about it at the time, but the market was a combined ten minute drive, there and back, and she had only bought the one thing. Wes couldn't help but wonder what else she had been doing and where she had been. It wasn't really any of his business, but he couldn't stop himself from being curious.
Shaking his head, he slowly started to dig into his food. It was good. His mother had always been a good cook, and had taught him everything he knew about cooking. He'd probably be more happy with it if he didn't eat it at least once or twice a week. His mother had been sneaking off lately. Not really sneaking, per se, but she was always going some place and staying for longer than was really necessary or possible. His father was very rarely home for dinner. He made a habit of eating his wife's meals whenever he got home, if he had noticed the frequency of the casserole, he hadn't said anything to his knowledge.
He finished quickly and went back downstairs. He turned on the water and cleaned his plate and fork before drying them and putting them away. His mother was nowhere to be seen, probably in her room, and Wes was grateful for that. He really didn't want to face her at the moment. He wanted answers, but knew it wasn't particularly his place. At the same time, he wouldn't apologise for his questions. He also didn't need to hear her laughing at him for washing his dishes right after he used them. Wes was quite aware of the dishwasher's purpose, but hated to see dishes laying in the sink until there was enough to run it.
When Wes was finished, he walked over to the kitchen window and looked out and frowned upon seeing that his father's car still wasn't there. It was six-thirty now, but Wes wasn't expecting him home any time soon. His phone rang and he was even more disappointed to see that it was his father. He picked it up after the second ring, "...and I need those files on my desk by seven, Brooke. No, seven. Son? Wesley, are you there?"
"Yes," Wes said, though he knew he wasn't really listening. He was still raving to the poor paralegal who somehow managed to work with his father day in and day out. "What do you need?"
"I need you to go into my office."
"..."
"I need you to grab a file for me. Brooke deleted it from my computer and I need to know the numbers on the top right. Can you do that for me?"
"Uh, yeah, sure dad." Wes said, more than a little confused. His father never allowed him to go into the office, not even when his father was there. He never even let his mother go into the office. It was like his man cave, even though all he ever did was work in it. His father never stopped working, so Wes guessed it wasn't much different from an actual man cave. There was a very comfy couch in there, he knew. At least, that's what his mother said. It was the only explanation his mother had for his father sleeping in there more often than their own bed. She'd always given a dry laugh when she said it, and Wes was unsure who was more bitter over his father's work habits; his mother or himself. "Where is it exactly?"
"Top right drawer."
Wes coughed, turning around and walking to his father's office. The door was always closed, but never locked. It was unspoken that no one would ever go in there, and because of that, his father never bothered to lock it. Wes admired that his father had everyone under that control, but at the same time, he resented it. He, too, was under that control. Wes pretended like his father didn't have that effect on him, that he just didn't want to go inside, but he knew he was lying to himself. And Wes was pretty good at lying to himself.
Wes opened the door and hesitated. It was dark inside, the hot sun being blocked by the curtains covering the two windows. Wes rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself, and went inside. The office was clean, just like the rest of the house. Somehow it felt different, and Wes almost felt guilty for tracking his feet over the carpet, like he was stepping on a perfect patch of freshly fallen snow. He carefully opened his father's desk drawer and took out the manilla folders that were there. "Surname?" There were five folders, all incredibly large with information that Wes could only process to a certain extent. His father had written notes along the side of the papers. Unlike everything else, they were scattered, messy, and none of them made any sense to him. He was snooping, and Wes hated those who stuck their noses in other people's business. He knew this was probably the only time he'd see the office, though, and he couldn't stop himself from being curious.
"Archer," his father mumbled, and Wes was only half sure he was actually talking to him. The file was the last one and Wes opened the folder and scattered the papers across the desk neatly. There was only one with a number on the top right of any of the papers. "It's the fourth page in the folder."
"139678124-09."
"Are you sure it's a hyphen?"
"I know what a hyphen is, dad."
His father mumbled something he couldn't hear, before saying, "Put the files back in the same position and leave, okay?"
"..." He hung up before Wes could answer.
Wes put the files back and closed the drawer as carefully as he had opened it. He walked out, taking one last look behind him before closing the door. He stood there for a moment, unsure what he should do. He didn't have anything to do but he didn't want to waste the day. Went back into the kitchen and looked out the window, his frown deepening at seeing his mother getting in her car and leaving the driveway. He thought about calling her, but decided against it and went up to his room to change. Despite no one being home, he closed the door, feeling naked before ever taking an article of clothing off. He hung his outfit up on its original hanger and pulled out his workout clothes; black shorts and a dark blue t-shirt. He grabbed his running shoes and ipod and went downstairs to grab a bottle of water. He sat at the dinner table as he put his shoes on, casually drinking the bottle of water as he mapped out his usual routine in his mind. He finished the bottle of water in one gulp and put it in the recycling bin before leaving the house, locking the door behind him.
He ran down the street, taking the long way to get to the park. He went straight into the forest and down the trail. Wes wanted to run without having to think about where he was going. His neighborhood and the neighborhoods around it were all the same. They had one route to run, while the other streets ended in dead ends and small cul de sacs. Wes wanted more variety than that. Hardly anyone went on the trail, usually just kids up to no good or hanging around and talking. Wes barely noticed them. He just ran around them and kept his eyes forward. The trail had many twists and turns and it was easy to get lost if one didn't know where they were going. Wes ran there almost everyday and could navigate it with his eyes closed. He focused solely on his music, getting lost in the melody.
Wes could register how much time went when his ankles start to hurt. His footsteps started to get heavier and his breath started to come out in small, shallow puffs. He pushed through the pain and before long his entire body went numb, including the burning in his lungs. He lost track of time afterward until his ipod turned to Hearts of Longing. He slowed to a stop and turned around, not even bothering to look up to see where he was. He walked down the trail, slowly picking up speed until he was in a full out run again. He ran through the trail a couple of times before heading home. When he got back, his mother was home again, and so was his father.
He walked in the door as quietly as possible, not wanting his parents to know he was home yet. He wasn't sure why he was snooping again. All he knew was that his gut was telling him that something was wrong. He took his shoes off at the door and held them in one hand as he slowly made his way through the house. His father's office light was off, Wes could see nothing but darkness at the crack of the closed door, but neither was in the living room or kitchen. He put the shoes in his closet before walking down the hall to their bedroom. He couldn't honestly remember the last time his parents had both been in their bedroom together with the door closed. His father had been known to sleep on the couch in his office, and when he did go to bed in their room, he went long after Wes' mother had.
"Sheryl, please, just listen to me."
"No, Jeff. I'm tired of listening."
Wes' parents fought a lot. They had ever since he was a kid. His mind was full of memories of them arguing. Rarely did they ever scream at one another, both too reserved for that. His mother threw things on occasion and his father had the tendency to walk out before the conversation was over, but they never screamed. Wes always wondered if it would be better for them if they did. Wes felt awkward listening to their conversation, but he had to know what was going on.
"I'm closing a really big case," Jeff went on, despite Sheryl's annoyance. Wes could hear her sigh.
"You always say that."
"I work on a lot of big cases," Jeff said, casually, as if it was obvious and he was already done with the conversation.
"When are we going to spend time together as a family?"
"Soon."
"Jeff!"
His father sighed, "Dinner?"
"Wes already ate."
"How about just you and me then?" There was a pause. "I have time before I have to start working on the case. I just won't be to bed until late."
"...I already ate, too." Sheryl sounded angry. "Just go work on the case and honey..."
"Yeah?"
"Try to get to bed on time."
His father made a sound, a mix between saying yes and an amused huff. Wes walked backwards until he reached his bathroom. He stripped down and got into the shower. He could hear his father walk past and down the stairs, to his office, Wes was sure. His mother followed a couple minutes later. Wes washed the sweat out of his hair and off his body before getting out. He dried off quickly and went back to his room, changing back into his clothes from earlier.
He sat at his desk and turned his laptop on. It was just past eight-thirty, and Wes didn't have anything left to do. He signed into facebook, an odd feeling in his gut he would never admit was there. Wes checked over a few of his 'friend's' statuses, rolling his eyes more often than not. It didn't take long; he only had forty-three friends, most of which he never talked to in person. They were friends of Alex's, and he had been invited as their friend because of that. Wes hated facebook; he wished he could delete it. His mother and Alex wouldn't allow it, though, and he resented them both for sharing more with each other than him. He didn't have any pictures up, or videos, nor did he ever 'like' anything. Wes felt it was a waste of time, and he didn't like posing for a camera. Alex had numerous pictures of herself, with other people, and even with her family. But none of the two of them. She had tons of friends, as did most of the other people that frequently spoke with her.
Wes, admittedly, felt a bit like a loser. He was well aware of his attitude, the cynical asshole he called his personality. Wes sometimes wanted to change that, but knew he couldn't. He knew the world for what it was, had listened to his father about how the world worked and what his cases were about. Wes knew that others weren't fans of him and that he made them rather uncomfortable at times, but Wes couldn't be anyone other than who he was. Not just because that would make him uncomfortable, but because he couldn't let his guard down.
Despite knowing he shouldn't, Wes clicked to look at his wall. It was blank, save for two posts that Alex had left him and one from Dakota. The first of Alex's was a youtube video of some song she couldn't get out of her head a couple weeks before. Wes wasn't a fan, but he listened to it for Alex's sake, and posted a song of smooth jazz on her wall in reply. She 'liked' it, but they never talked about it. The second was a short message, a reminder of a project they did together the year before. Wes didn't like having his personal business on the wall like that, even though it was for school and still relatively vague. He thought about taking it down, but never did. Somehow he felt like that would be even more pathetic.
Dakota had decided to check up on him during the summer once. A couple weeks had gone by since they had seen each other when school let out. Wes was busy working and Dakota had been sweet enough to ask how he was. She had asked a couple people she hadn't seen, and that had actually made him feel more appreciative of the gesture. She treated him like a friend, and Wes would never admit it, but Dakota was probably his favorite of his 'friends'. Even if she did usually abandon them for Peter and the football idiots. They would probably be closer if he allowed them to be. When he saw it for the first time, he hadn't responded. He wasn't going to, but eventually caved. They had a small conversation, simple 'how are you's' and 'what have you been up to.' She asked for his number and that's where it ended. He didn't give it to her, and she accepted that and Wes never felt any more awkward around her after than he did before.
There were a few people on chat, most he couldn't picture faces with names and others he didn't care for. Ryan was on, but Wes didn't really like him, despite being around him on a regular basis. Their fathers worked together, though, and so Wes was stuck with him until graduation. At first Wes had thought they'd be relatively good friends. Their fathers worked on similar cases, sometimes the same. They worked similar hours and Wes thought that Ryan would understand better than anyone what it was like. He didn't. In fact, Ryan didn't seem to understand at all. He never seemed to care about his father's absence and Wes was angry straight down to his bones for that but has always kept his mouth shut.
He was about to get off when a new status popped up on his screen. It was Dakota, and seeing her name, Wes actually paused to read it. It said she was hanging out with Peter on his only day off from practice during the week, and Wes found himself almost smiling over that fact. Dakota really loved Peter, and Wes had noticed the look on her face while staring at him earlier. For a while he thought something may have been wrong, but it didn't appear so now. Within seconds, Peter liked the status. He thought about liking it himself, but didn't. Wes was once again about to get off when it changed again. He stopped, looking at the blue highlighted name that had appeared and felt something in his stomach he couldn't quite name.
Travis Marks.
He shouldn't have paused, but he did, and it was too long of a moment to deny that it happened. He hesitated, but clicked on the name and went to his profile. Despite the two not being friends, Wes could see everything Travis had posted. Wes rolled his eyes at that, making a mental note to tell him about how irresponsible it was to leave information like that lying around. The thought died, though, when he saw that there was none. Travis didn't have where he lived, where he went to school, or where he worked. He didn't have his birthday, either. And Wes felt something in his heart twitch at why that probably was. He had tons of friends and posts and other things on his wall.
Wes felt almost dirty for looking at his profile like he was. He felt like he was stalking him. Travis has his settings to public, though, and so Wes refused to feel guilty. He clicked on photos, rolling his eyes at just how many there was. Most of them were of him and other people. He didn't look like any of them, and Wes figured they must be his foster family. They looked to be taken at parties, the kind a family throws for holidays. There were a few of him working on cars. Wes was impressed. He loved cars, and if Travis knew even a little about them, he was almost considered okay in Wes' book. Wes' eyes wandered over each photo, taking a few seconds to check them out before moving on. He stopped at one photo in particular, his mouth going dry. Before he could stop himself, he clicked on it to see the bigger image.
Travis was standing alone in the middle of the room. He looked comfortable, his eyes looking in a different direction of the camera. He was shirtless, his arms stretched behind him just enough to show off all his muscles. His pants, or whatever he was wearing, couldn't be seen in the photo. Whatever they were, they must have been low on his hips because it looked like he was completely naked. Wes could see the muscles of his hips, and he was standing at just the right angle to see the muscles that dipped straight into his groin.
Wes' cock sprang to life, and he bit his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. Wes didn't usually get this way. He was normally too wrapped up in his own mind to think about things like this. Sure, he thought about sex, and he wasn't exactly innocent but he never masturbated. It was too messy, and Wes only did it in his early adolescent years before his OCD got too bad. Wes wasn't sure he could ignore this one, though, and after making sure his parents were both downstairs, he closed and locked his door. It was almost time for bed, anyway. He changed into a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, and turned his light off before slipping into bed. He lowered his pants slightly and hesitantly wrapped a hand around his cock. He bit his lip again, softer this time, if only to stop himself from moaning.
Wes closed his eyes, making slow, hesitant movements. He thought of Alex, imagining her there with him. He hadn't seen her completely naked before, but had seen enough to paint a pretty decent picture. He struggled for a couple of minutes, groaning in frustration. He sighed, opening his eyes and lying back. He cast a glance in his laptop's direction. He hadn't turned it off, but by then it had gone black. He felt scared, like he was about to be caught doing what he was about to do before he even moved to do it. Swallowing thickly, he pulled his pants up and slowly, silently, pulled himself out of bed. He took his laptop from his desk and turned the screen back on. Travis' picture was still up, and he felt his dick jump.
He set it down on his bed and laid back down under the covers. He laid there for a moment, listening for any sign of someone coming up the stairs. He heard none, and took one more glance at the picture before lowering his pants and boxers again. He hesitated once more, not completely comfortable with what he was doing. He looked at Travis' picture again, and his breath hitched, his hand squeezing his dick without his brain telling it to. He sped up in his strokes, moaning softly. He had seen Travis naked earlier, had felt his body pressed against him. He knew what was just out of sight in the picture and he...he wanted it. Before he had been so shocked, but now...Wes sped up in his movements, squeezing harder. He bit his lip to stop from moaning, his eyes never leaving his laptop.
He wondered what Travis' hand would feel like. He imagined it being a little rough, bigger and stronger than his own. He pressed harder, and accidentally flicked his thumb over the slit. He did it again, and once more, enjoying the feeling. He started to pant, his back arching a little off the bed. He felt a burning in his pelvis. It traveled lower, and lower until he finally came. It sprayed all over his hand and stomach and he just laid there, panting as he stared up at the ceiling.
Once he began to calm down, Wes started to feel guilty, his heart and stomach twisting simultaneously. He almost felt as if he had betrayed Alex. Like he had cheated on her. It felt strangely familiar to the feeling he had when Travis had walked into Physics and he hadn't wanted Alex and him to meet. He looked back at the photo and had to force the lump in his throat down. He closed it without exiting or turning it off, something he never did. He felt as if he used Travis, and almost wanted to apologize for using the photo as he had. It was ridiculous. Wes could never tell anyone what just happened, especially Travis and Alex.
God, how am I supposed to face them tomorrow? Wes started to clean up, using the roll of paper towels he kept in his room just in case something happened. He pulled his pants back up and hid the paper towels in his trash can in the corner of the room. Wes yawned as he placed his laptop back in its appropriate place. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. Wes didn't ever remember being attracted to men before, but Wes had never bothered to really look. He was attracted to Alex. She was beautiful, but he had always been more attracted to her touch than her looks, if he ever was at all. Wes pushed the thoughts out of his mind, not wanting to think about what this would mean. It couldn't mean what it seemed, it couldn't .
It took him a moment, but Wes managed to calm himself down. He plugged his phone in, set his alarm and crawled back into bed. Despite the guilty feeling burning in his stomach, Wes went to bed feeling better than he had in a long time.
And more scared than he ever remembered being.
