Author's Note: Teachers are slamming down homework and projects like their lives depend on it. Sorry! I'm trying.
Marco and Corey drove home together, as they usually did, and Marco thought about how he'd successfully spent the rest of the day after lunch not speaking to any of his friends. He wasn't sure if that made him happy or not.
"What are you thinking about?" asked Corey, laying his hand on Marco's knee, keeping his eyes on the road. Unlike many guys Marco knew, Corey was a good driver.
Before he could answer, Marco felt his phone vibrating in his pocket again. He wanted to ignore it, assuming it was from Ellie or Paige, but when he saw that it was Dylan, his grew…curious. If Dylan was calling him, it was probably for something important, so that was the only reason why he answered.
"Hey, what's up?" said Marco, choosing his words carefully so that he didn't have to say Dylan's name. He felt guilty only speaking to Dylan.
"Marco," said Dylan, also taking a moment to consider each word he said, "are you with Corey?" he asked.
Marco turned to the boy next to him, raising an eyebrow. "…yes," he said slowly into the phone.
"Call me back when he's gone," said Dylan, hanging up immediately. Marco took the phone away from his ear, looking at in bewilderment.
"Who was that?" asked Corey. When Marco said he was planning on severing on ties with his friends, was Dylan included?
"Umm," he stuttered. Why, oh, why did he have to stutter? After that, he couldn't even attempt to lie because Corey would know it was a lie. He had no reason to feel guilty; he should have skipped the 'umm', and said 'my mother' or something.
"It—it was Dylan," he said hesitantly. If he'd been more confident with his answers, maybe Corey would find it more difficult to push him.
Marco was thankful they'd pulled up in the driveway because, otherwise, Marco was sure Corey would have stopped driving completely in the middle of the street. "You're not speaking to him." It was said in a final statement. There was none of the usual, 'I don't want you to,' or 'why do you want to?' It was, 'you're not', and that was that.
Marco knew, deep inside, that the fact that Corey had escalated was a bad sign of rising power, but he somehow didn't see it that way. In fact, in a moment of either courage or stupidity, he asked, "Why?"
Marco thanked God for a moment that his parents weren't home, and fiddled around with his hands, a new habit he'd picked up.
"Why?" Corey repeated, blinking, as though he couldn't believe Marco would ask such a stupid question. "He's practically in love with you, Marco. Damnit, I don't want you talking to other guys. Ever."
"This is a newly instated law?" he asked. Corey shook his head, hitting Marco across the face. Marco winced, feeling, with the blow, just how angry Corey seemed.
"Trying to be smart with me?" said Corey. "No more boys except for me. Do you understand?"
"Yes," he said tearfully, knowing better than to just say 'okay.'
Marco couldn't recall a time when his boyfriend had ever hit him quite so hard. He could already feel his cheek bruising, and had to work extremely hard to keep from crying. He looked down, ashamed that his hand was shaking. It made him feel like a coward.
"No boys," said Marco, since Corey was silent. "Only you."
"Good," said Corey, without acknowledging what he'd done. "Does Dylan know your house phone number?"
"No…" said Marco, confused.
"You know his number by heart?" asked Corey. "Or just in your cell?"
"Just in my cell," said Marco, starting to understand where he was going.
"Can I have it, please?" Corey asked sweetly, though Marco knew if he refused, the sweetness would disappear.
Marco didn't argue. He pulled his phone back out from in his pocket, and dropped it in his boyfriend's hand. "Bye, Marco," he said, kissing him.
"Bye," he said, getting out of the car. No matter what Dylan needed him for, it was apparently going to have to wait.
He walked into his house, with his left hand shaking while he tried to open the front door, and his right hand holding his bruising cheek painfully. He wanted his phone back. He was sure Corey wouldn't put himself at risk by calling Dylan or anything; he just wanted it so that Marco couldn't call him.
Marco walked into his bedroom, looking out the window to see that Corey was just leaving. He sighed. "I want my phone back," he said to himself.
Marco walked away from the window, taking a seat in his desk chair, debating what to do while tapping his fingers of the (still) shaking hand on the desk. He heard the door open and close, and walked out to greet his mother, mainly because he needed something to do to prevent his worry.
"Hey, ma," he said, walking into the living room.
Marco's mother smiled at him, kissing his cheek. "How was school, Marco?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Good, I guess."
She put her bag down beside the kitchen table, looking at him, confused. "What's going on with your hand?" she asked, sounding worried. "Are you doing that on purpose?"
"Oh," he looked down at his left hand, silently cursing it. "It's fine. I need to use the phone," he said, giving up on trying to ignore his peaking interest in what Dylan may have needed.
"Wait, your face…it has a mark on it," she said. Marco's hand immediately jumped to rub the spot almost subconsciously.
"I'm such an idiot," he said, chuckling. "See, I was walking into the house, and got distracted by Corey, so I decided…let me just walk into the door."
She didn't seem to want to press the matter any further, so Marco assumed she believed him.
Marco walked over to the base where the house phone was kept, picking it up, and dialing Paige's number.
"Hey," he said, laughing nervously as he walked back to his room. He knew she was probably quite angry with him. "
"What interest could you possibly have with me?" She sounded bitter. "I'm not hiding your boyfriend away in my closet."
"Dylan called me…" said Marco, "and I kind of want to call him back."
"Oh," she said, sounding pleased. "Well, I still don't see why you—"
"I don't have my cell phone right now," he interrupted. "It's getting fixed, so I need his number."
She sighed. "Do you know," Marco asked, "what he needs?"
"Not…exactly," she answered honestly. "Call him," she said, not wanting to get further into it. After giving him the phone number, she hung up quickly, wanting to avoid a possible fight. They weren't exactly on great terms.
Marco wrote the number down on a sheet of paper that sat in front of him on the desk. He ignored his shaking hand, which he seriously hoped wasn't permanent, and thought for a moment. Calling Dylan was okay, wasn't it? He hadn't exactly said, 'I promise I won't.' Corey had simply asked if he understood that he didn't want him to. He did understand, all right, but that didn't mean he agreed.
He tossed the phone from one hand to the other, thinking about whether or not it was okay. What if it was an emergency? A real emergency? Then again…if it were an emergency, he'd have probably called his family first. However, Paige had said 'not exactly', which meant she had some idea in her head! Maybe it was an emergency! Dylan needed Marco! Or…it could have just been something stupid, so…then again, if it was something silly, why would it matter if Corey found out? He would just tell him, 'it was something silly.'
Corey didn't want him to talk to Dylan at all, and that's why it was a problem. In fact, Corey didn't want him speaking to any friend but him. Pretty soon, he might not even be allowed to speak with his parents.
No, he had to call. God only knew what Dylan needed, and it could be important, at least, that's what Marco told himself as the phone was ringing. "Hello," said Dylan, not recognizing the number.
"It's Marco. I'm calling from my house," said Marco, trying to tell by Dylan's tone of voice if anything was wrong.
"Hey, Marco," said Dylan. "Thanks for calling."
Marco waited a moment for Dylan to elaborate. "So…what's going on?" he asked when Dylan had said nothing.
"Right. I wanted to talk to you about Corey," said Dylan.
Marco felt he should have known. "Did Paige talk to you about Corey and I or something? She's being paranoid! I never…Dylan, I don't need to hear any talk about it or anything. Are you trying—do you think--"?
"I think you're the one who seems a bit paranoid," Dylan commented. "Look, Marco, just tell me what's going on. You know I'll listen, and I won't judge you."
"That's what you say," said Marco. "Besides, everything is fine. That's what you all don't get. Nothing is wrong."
"Nothing?" Dylan questioned, disbelieving.
"Nothing," Marco repeated, and Dylan could tell his answer sounded solid. He was about ready to let him off the hook, considering he had no real proof, but Paige had said…the bruises.
"No, Marco, it can't be nothing." He was going to stand his ground. "Why do you have all of these bruises?" he asked.
Marco looked into the body-length mirror, feeling ugly again, knowing that under that cover-up there were so many disfigurements that Dylan hadn't even seen.
"Do you and Paige enjoy talking about me?" If there was one thing Marco was good at, it was the blame game, and he always found a way to draw the attention off of himself by making someone else look bad.
"Marco, we're just worried be—"
"Worried?" Marco asked, faking a laugh. "That's ridiculous. Paige lied to you, Dylan. Don't you understand? She's jealous because I don't spend much time with her anymore. The same with the rest of my friends," said Marco. "They don't care about me. They're just jealous."
"Marco, I…" Dylan thought for a moment. It actually was a possibility. He wasn't sure what to believe anymore. After all, he hadn't seen any bruises himself, so there wasn't much he could do at that moment.
"It he was hurting you," Dylan started, and Marco kept his face covered, as though Dylan could see him, "you would tell me, right?"
"Yeah," said Marco, looking down. How pathetic had he become? He was lying all the time. He thought, after he'd come out, that he was done with that. Apparently not.
"I care about you, you know?" said Dylan. "When I hear someone might be hurting you, I just…I'd be here for you no matter what, Marco. You know that, right?"
Marco wanted to cry. What was he supposed to say to that, and how was he supposed to keep up the act? "Corey loves me," was all that came out of his mouth.
"Yeah, I suppose he does." Dylan didn't mean for it to come out sounding badly, but Marco thought it sounded like he didn't believe him.
"He does!" said Marco. "Dylan, I…I can't talk to you."
"All right. Can we talk later tonight, though? I miss you," he said, sounding so desperate.
"I mean we can't," said Marco, breathing in deeply, "at all."
"What do you mean?" asked Dylan, hearing the obvious pain in Marco's voice.
"Nothing," he laughed, pretending it was fine. "I just, my phone's getting fixed, but I remembered I could just call you back on this one. Bye."
"Okay…" said Dylan slowly. "Call me back when?"
"After dinner and homework, I guess. Just…later," he said, feeling guiltier by the second.
He hung up the phone without saying good-bye, feeling so horrible for disobeying Corey's orders, but also horrible for lying to the person who he disobeyed orders for in the first place. No sooner than a minute after he walked out of the room, the phone rang again.
"Hello," he said, weary from the day's events.
"I've thought about it, and I've decided I don't believe you."
Author's Note: Please review!