Chapter Thirteen: Mutual Manipulation

[Seven years ago]

The sun had dipped behind the city structures, giving way for the moon to illuminate the enormous snowflakes that gently fluttered to the pavement. Dim, amber streetlights shone down to give the crystalline snow a gentle orange tint. It was late December, just after Christmas, but the weather was relentless in it's downpour. The road had long since been abandoned; the day had dwindled down into the deepest of evenings, which meant the young man who stood beneath the streetlight was completely alone. He leaned on the pole, shut his eyes, and inhaled the crisp air.

He had just finished taking some pictures, all of which had been stuffed into his bag and held close to the warmth of his heart. It was almost as if he could feel the other heart, from within the photographs, beating back against him. There was a sense of yearning he felt, something he left unexposed to the world and buried deep inside. It could only be translated through the lens of his camera. No one else would ever have to know.

It was late, and cold. He had been out all day, digging through pages and pages of books and articles to try and find the smallest tidbits of information. Everything he discovered, he held close to his soul and cherished. An image on the computer screen that he could discreetly photograph and then tuck away to keep forever, an event detailed in aged newspaper clippings that he knew was vaguely related to the one thing that mattered to him. He kept himself low and inconspicuous, and as a result, no one ever bothered the beautiful young gentleman who was shrouded in secretive study. It helped that, although he'd just finished college, he still could use it as an excuse for his daily visits to the library.

College otherwise had been inconsequential and expensive. Now that he had his bachelor's degree in fashion merchandising, he wasn't sure what to do with it; getting a job in New York while battling depression and poverty proved to be more difficult than he could have ever known. There was also the other degree he had earned, but of course, he'd never expected to get a job in that field. It was more out of interest and education than anything else.

On top of the stress he and his father faced, the two of them were drowning in bills. A lot of them were, admittedly, his fault. LIM College hadn't been too expensive in contrast to some of the other schools he could have gone to, but it was still costly when they were scraping together what funds they could just to have dinner most nights.

He was twenty one and in so much debt that he felt like he was suffocating. Education was important to him, and yet, it brought him so much agony. He was far more cultured and refined than he had been going in, but at the cost of his and his father's economic status and their downfall into complete and utter poverty. They'd never been rich, but at least, before he graduated high school they were well off enough that they could afford daily meals. Things never had gone so well since his surrogate mother passed.

She had really been the source of their money, with her elusive and secretive job. She rarely spoke of it, and when she did, always in hushed tones. His father had worked as a secretary for a well established firm up until her death, but following their loss, he sunk into an inescapable depression and was released for emotional instability. It had been five years and he was still despairing, drinking quietly every night in an attempt to escape the pain. As his son, the young man had hoped that in his education, he would have found a way to solve their financial crisis. He had been wrong. He only made it worse.

The chill was beginning to bite at his exposed skin and he shuddered, wondering if he'd be able to get home that night. Probably not, but he could always try to sneak back into the library and pass out there. The only issue with that was that he knew he'd done that way too many times. The librarians would soon catch on to his after-hour visits and might, potentially, ban him altogether. Unfortunately, it didn't look like the buses would be running again any time soon, not with the state of the road. And it wasn't like his father had the car, not after they had to sell it for food money. He wasn't in a favorable position - not that he had been, for years.

Two bright headlights approached from further down the snowy road. He opened his eyes, and exhaled. A white puff of air followed.

He didn't move, didn't blink, did nothing but breathe as the only car on the road pulled to a stop just beside him. Slowly, the window rolled down, black ink glass dipping behind the door to reveal a man, staring at the younger one as if he couldn't believe he existed. This was a look he often got. Uncomfortable, he hugged his bag slightly closer to his torso. The snow continued to fall, pure and sweet like powdered sugar. It descended from the dark sky between the two of them, catching on the young man's eyelashes as he blinked.

The man took a long, contemplative drag of his cigarette before he put it out on the dashboard, allowing the hot ash to crumble against the surface. Smoke curled into the air before disappearing completely. Finally, he spoke. "...Are you out here alone? By yourself?"

He exhaled again, releasing another cloud of white into the air. "Yes."

Snow continued to fall as the driver fidgeted, shifting a bit closer. "Is someone comin' to pick you up, or are you driving?"

His eyes fell, and he blinked sadly at the collecting snow on his shoes, before shaking his head. Neither option applied to him, and he was too tired and cold to lie. Perhaps he should have, as honesty put him in a vulnerable position, but he honestly didn't care enough to try.

The man looked around, glancing this way and that. "...I'll give you a ride home, if you want. No one else is gonna come out here, not in this weather."

He didn't respond, his eyebrows knitting in a way that clearly indicated he wasn't about to agree to that. He was wary of older men who wanted him to come in their cars late at night. As he should have been; it was a logical caution. Automatically, his fears were sensed.

"C'mon," the man laughed, exposing sharp white teeth. "Gacy was just arrested, and besides, he was all the way down in Chicago… I won't put you through anything you won't like, I promise. I just wanna take you home. Your home, that is."

"I don't know," he responded unsurely, tugging at his fingers.

"It's half past twelve, snowing like hell, and you're a pretty boy on the side of the road. Eye candy, really, and all by yourself, too... If I don't pick you up, someone dangerous might." The man prodded, speaking in a tone that sounded credible. To someone as perceptive as the young man, it was easily transparent.

"How do I know you're not a dangerous someone?" He countered, raising a dark brow, wet with melted snow.

He scratched his chin in thought, but his contemplation proved superficial when he responded in mere moments. "I wouldn't hurt a fly. Trust me, I've tried, but I just feel so bad for the little fellas, you know? I'm just gonna take you home, nice and safe, so that no one hurts you. Promise."

If he was attempting to be humorous, he'd failed, as the much younger man only glanced around unhappily in response. He didn't like the odds of his situation, knew it was a bad idea to get into a strange car with a strange man. But he also knew he had no other way of getting home, and that warm car looked like it sure beat the snow. The buses probably were done for the night, and it wasn't like Maurice had a car to get him with… He might not get this sort of chance again.

He'd learned a few things from his mother before her abrupt passing. Self defense that he could use in dire, seemingly helpless situations - and honestly, he'd used it a handful of times in the past. If worse came to worse, he could always use what he'd learned to protect himself from this suspicious man. He felt more comfortable with that in mind, and relented.

With a resigned sigh, he nodded. "...Okay."

"Great!" The man grinned. "I'm Clemson, by the way. Clemson Gidro. What's your name?"

Opening up the passenger side, he slid in, allowing the pleasant heat to embrace his body. An involuntary shudder ran down his spine, as if exorcising the cold altogether. "...Julien."

"Julien," Clemson echoed, and a sinister smile crawled across his lips, like a pirate who'd discovered a trove of treasure. "Gorgeous name. Where's that accent from?"

"Madagascar," Julien slowly blinked at him.

"Aha!" Clemson snapped his fingers as he began to drive again. "I knew I recognized it… I'm Malagasian, too, you know. Grandparents moved here ages ago."

"Really?" Julien questioned, rather surprised. It wasn't often that he met someone who had roots in his homeland.

"You bet!" Clemson sneered, and Julien felt less convinced than he had seconds ago. "When did you move here?"

"Ten years ago." Julien murmured in mild embarrassment. He knew that his accent was rather thick, vocabulary rather broken for having been in the states so long.

Clemson whistled. "Impressive. You know, your english is pretty good. I'd love to visit Madagascar sometime… I've heard it's beautiful."

Julien sent him a half-lidded gaze as he wistfully recalled his homeland. "It is."

Clemson stared back, grinning in a way that told Julien he'd been unintentionally seduced. "So are the people who come from there… Especially the one sitting next to me right now."

Julien felt himself flush slightly as he looked down at his hands, playing with his fingers. Many people had flirted with him over the years, women and men alike, but it was rarely so blatant. Clemson clearly wasn't interested in giving him anything but the most accurate impression. He cleared his throat quietly and focused on the scent of stale cigarettes and expensive cologne. It only made him feel more uncomfortable, so he glanced out the window to get a view of the snow dancing in the wind outside.

Clemson chortled in amusement at Julien's submissive awkwardness. Gently, he leaned over and brushed his knuckles over the side of Julien's jaw, causing the younger man to gently start at his forwardness. Clemson smirked sharply at his reaction and leaned back, practically cruising over the wet roads. It would have been romantic, maybe, alluring even if not for the fact that Julien would never love Clemson - not in a million years.

"You know, Julien… I think we'll get along well." Clemson hummed, fingers drumming over the steering wheel.

Julien glanced down to the golden rolex around his wrist, to the fancy leather seats and the pricey stereo system in place. They were in a cadillac seville. Clemson was wearing versace, had the scent of mon triomphe dusting his collar. Julien thought of how he was just finishing college, twenty one and in more debt than he could fathom. Clemson was a man of luxury, someone who evidently saw something he wanted and attained it. Holding his bag close to his side, Julien flashed a feigned smile in return as a plan formed within his mind. A relationship was, after all, only give and take.

"Yes... I think we will, too."

The two of them drove off together and conversed, both choosing their words in ways that would benefit their ulterior motives and smiling to alleviate any sense of discomfort. Their car disappeared into the night, a warm bubble of deceit within the unrelenting snow storm.