Kitty – Chapter 4
Bob led the way through the small, dark lobby, pausing to buy a strawberry slushy (have I mentioned how much I love strawberry anything?) and a little baggie of goldfish; tiny smile tugging at his lips.
I was too preoccupied with trying not to panic about how I was possibly going survive this…date, with secrets intact, to buy anything; or accept any offerings (though I wouldn't deny a sip of that drink, if he asked) I just followed him through the wide hallways and into the dimly lit theater, handing over our tickets for tearing at some point.
The room was a pretty good size for being a dollar theater that never played new releases, only random older films. Sometimes it had marathons, but mostly it was just random jumbles of movies from all eras.
Bob led the way up to the balcony, sitting just off center, which made me want to twitch. I sat three seats to the right of him, in the middle of the row. He raised an eyebrow and moved over until he was sitting right next to me, holding up his slushy.
I chose to ignore the smirk he gave as I took it and sucked on the straw for a few seconds, pulling back quick enough that he didn't get any funny ideas, or too close a look at my ears.
The theater was almost empty, the balcony was deserted anyway, I could see a few people interspersed in the sea of bourbon-colored chairs below. The reason made itself apparent when the thing started, trust Frankie to pick some obscure foreign film that made you read subtitles if you wanted to fully understand the plot. And not even one in a semi-familiar language, like French or Italian, no it was in like Russian or Hungarian or some shit.
"Oh, I love this movie." Bob spoke, breaking into my thoughts
I turn my head to look at him, he's wasn't the only one who could raise eyebrows here.
"Kontroll," he said, voice quietly excited, eyes shinning even in the dimness of the theater. "It's so…dark."
And it was, I soon found myself sucked into the plot, barely caring that I had to read the stupid subtitles. 'Cause fuck, people were being shoved in front of trains and nobody cared. The people were so apathetic and numb to the world, the ticket checkers were so caught up in their own depressing lives; that working for hours in that sunless, florescent-lit world was slowly making them all insane.
But soon the drone of unfamiliar tongue was lolling me into a haze, and I was relaxing past the safety level I knew I should keep. My eyes were slits as I just slumped down in my cushy chair (maybe a little further in Bob's direction than necessary) just absorbing the film and sounds and wanting bad to be petted…
It took a few moments to realize that it was happening, that Bob had removed my knit cap and his fingers were running through my hair and around my ears; that I was fucking humming deep in my throat and unable to stop myself from leaning further into his touch.
It was like I was in a trance or something, drawn down into a sea of hazy-flowing wonder, filled with the sensations of Bob's fingers threading and rubbing and the cool press of slushy-cold lips against my throat.
Suddenly, the knowledge that the blond boy had found out my secret crashed around, swirling inside along with the need to keep that touch, because shit his kisses tasted like strawberries and they were so slow and sensual. Making me feel like I was the only guy left in the world and that Bob only existed to make me feel so good, and wanted, and beautiful…
The need to preserve my few remaining secrets eventually won and I pulled away, out of the kiss and ducking away from those wonderful hands. Franticly searching for my hat and pulling it roughly over hair, only one ear making it through a hole; but I was too afraid to care.
'Cause what kind of guy would want a freak like me?'
I looked up at Bob, eyes probably giving away a lot more than I wanted them to.
"B-Bob, I- um," the other boy had a lazy smile on his face, pink flash of tongue flicking out to lick at the corner of his red-stained lips.
The movement made me want to bolt, or tackle the guy and beg him to please take me now…
I chose the first option. Muttering a lame, probably unintelligible excuse. Edging my way out of the isle and almost tripping down the stairs in the dark, credits just starting to roll.
Bob made no move to stop me, why should he?
I think I'll just go home and die now, or pig out on the Cherry Garcia I know is hidden in the very back of the freezer behind the frozen peas.