The A-Z Club Chapter Seven
His stepfather didn't say a word as he lead him to the car, just kept his hand firmly planted on his shoulder. Arthur bit his lip and tried to come up with a plan. Before he knew it, he was trapped in a moving car. He briefly entertained the idea of jumping from the moving car, but he didn't like the image he got in head of a forensic clean-up crew peeling his body from the asphalt. His mother was stood at the door, stony faced, her arms folded across a fading pink night gown.
"Oh, Arthur." She said. Her face cracked. She had her arms around his neck before he could pull away. "Come inside."
"What the hell is going on?" He said.
"We've missed you, terribly, Roger and I."
And they shut the door behind them. The house looked tidier than usual.
"You must stop running off."
Arthur was pulled in the living room by his mother and pushed by his stepfather. That's when the bomb exploded. It wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be. A sharp slap across the cheek - his mother's hand.
"What have you been telling people?" She demands.
"What do you mean?" He said, realising that any niceties he'd been afforded were for show. In case the neighbours, quite close on either side, were listening or watching.
"Social Services have been here. Wanting to talk to you."
"I haven't said anything." Arthur said. "And anyway, I'm eighteen. They can't do anything -"
"Oh don't be so vain. It would be relief if they'd take you away. It's Peter, they're worried about. You've been sounding your mouth off and they think we'd hurt our son." Roger said.
"I haven't said anything to anyone." Arthur said.
"You better not have. They're coming tomorrow. At four pm. You'll come straight here after school and tell them that it is a safe environment for Peter and that there was a misunderstanding. Understand?"
"Yes." Arthur said. His mother nodded triumphantly. Arthur knew they wouldn't hurt Peter. They actually bloody liked him, for a start, but he hoped social services weren't as stupid as they are on television. Even if he wasn't really welcome, and even if they didn't care about him, they might notice something. Peter would be better elsewhere.
"You're lucky," His stepfather said, finger in his face, "We let you live here. Feed your ungrateful mouth, roof over your head, clothes on your back, all for nothing. And you're lucky those bastards are coming tomorrow otherwise..." He shook his head, face still too close to Arthur's. "And take a goddamn shower, you smell like that goddamn faggy club."
The shower always took minutes to warm up to a tolerable temperature, and it always felt like hours when you were stood shivering and waiting. And Arthur liked it extra hot. He stripped his clothes and threw them in a pile, and got in to enjoy the steaming water. It eased the stressed muscles in his back, it burnt his old scars and new scars, it washed away the dried blood and dirt. He stayed there for as long as he could stand looking down at his naked, scarred body. When he got out, the cold air hit him like a wall and his head spun. He was still shaking, as he had been since he'd left Alfred, as he dressed in baggy grey sweatpants and old greyish white t-shirt. Alfred. Alfred's lips. Alfred's soft hair, Alfred's smell. He crawled into his bed, wrapped his arms around a pillow, and pretended that he was holding Alfred close to him. With his eyes closed tight, he could almost fool himself.
He didn't get much peace, because five minutes into his fantasy (which was slowly getting more graphic) there was a soft knocking at his door. He supposed he should be grateful for the interruption - he really didn't want to have to shower again.
Peter was stood on the other side of the door.
"Hi, Jerk." He said, and wrapped his arms around Arthur.
"Hi, Peter. What do you want?"
"I'm hungry."
"Ask mum or your dad to get you something." Arthur said.
"They're playing noisy wrestling." Peter said. He pulled away from Arthur. "You make me something."
"It's late, Peter, and you have no manners."
"Please please please." Peter said. "Just a sandwich. Really quick."
Arthur rolled his eyes, but also realised he was quite hungry and couldn't remember when he'd last eaten.
"Come on then." Arthur said. He grimaced as he passed his mother's room. They couldn't be louder if they bloody tried.
The kitchen was tidier than Arthur had seen it in a while, too. He sat Peter on a counter top.
"Are you staying this time?" Peter said.
"Probably not, Peter. They don't want me here."
"I want you here." Peter said. "Even if you are a jerk."
Arthur shrugged and made the sandwich in silence.
"Here. Though you're old enough to make them on your own."
"Yeah, and better." Peter said. "But I'm sleepy. It's better to have you do it."
Arthur made himself tea, and took Peter back upstairs.
"Can I stay in your room tonight?" Peter said.
"No."
"Please."
"Only if you keep your mouth closed." Arthur said.
88
Alfred hadn't been this excited to get to school in forever. He had to talk to someone. Maybe Mattie would understand, but maybe Arthur wouldn't want anyone to know what happened. He got to school early, even though Arthur was rarely on time. His parents hadn't been as angry as he thought they'd be when he got home late. They'd just said he'd better get up on time for school, or there'd be trouble. Alfred knew it was an empty threat. There was never any trouble. They were always too distracted by themselves. He kept watch for at least thirty minutes, until he finally saw Arthur, who came two minutes before lessons began and was carrying an even bigger backpack than usual.
Alfred ran towards him, but stopped short, not wanting to embarrass himself when people were still around.
"Hi." He said.
"Hi." Arthur said, moving the backpack from one shoulder to the other.
"What's with the huge bag?" Alfred said.
"Nothing. Have you seen Francis?"
"What's wrong? Who was that man yesterday -"
"I just need to ask Francis something."Arthur said, staring into the distance.
"I haven't seen him." Alfred said. "We're gonna be late to class."
"I'm not going to class." Arthur said. He looked behind his back.
"Why not? I thought you said you were on your final warning?"
"I am. But I'm going to fuck up at some point. Sometimes it's better to quit whilst you're ahead." Arthur said. "Have you football after school?"
"Not today." Alfred said. "For once."
"Will you meet me? Not here, uh...the public library, okay? Tell Francis to meet me there, too. Go to class."
Alfred looked around, everyone had gone in, and Arthur had begun to walk away.
"Will you kiss me?"
Arthur smiled, his furrowed forehead relaxed, and he kissed Alfred gently on the mouth.
"Be good." He said.
Alfred waited until lunchtime to try and search for Francis, but he thought about it all day. Francis was sat in his usual place, with his back facing Alfred's usual table. Alfred walked straight past whoever it was who called out his name.
"Francis?"
The boy who Alfred knew to be Arthur's... friend? Turned around, one groomed eyebrow raised.
"Yes?"
"I'm Alfred." Alfred said. He was going to carry on, but Francis interrupted.
"I know who you are. You were...tutoring Arthur. I don't know where he is, if you're looking for him. Try detention."
"Uh, no. I know where he is. He was looking for you, actually. But he's dropped out now. He wants to meet us at library. After school." Alfred said.
Francis's expression changed from bored to worried.
"Did he look okay?"
"He was a bit pale." Alfred said. "And distant. He had a huge backpack with him."
88
Arthur wasn't easily bored of the library, but he was beginning to lose his patience. It was his own problem, after all. He'd barely slept that night. He was going back home. Not to talk to social workers. He'd never see his mother or stepfather again. Maybe in a few years he'd visit Peter. He was going to go to school, either. High School meant shit, and his grades were never going to improve. He'd just work a minimum wage job for a few years and die young. It would be fucking tragic and only Francis would attend his funeral. Maybe Alfred, as long as Francis never mentioned the bet. He was winning the bet, anyway. Alfred was infatuated with him and he felt nothing. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He felt a distinct tingling in his crotch area whenever he thought about him without a shirt on. He'd had a nap in a warm corner, and Rose the elderly librarian woke up him around lunch time.
"Do you want a sandwich, sweetheart?" She'd asked. He was going to say no, but his stomach betrayed him by grumbling before he could speak. She took him into a secret librarian sanctuary. The library aide gave him a distasteful look, staring at his messy hair and earrings. She didn't know how toned-down this was. He'd had more piercings, at one point, but a tearing that had happened when his stepfather's fist made contact with his face prompted him to remove them. Rose said something quietly to the other woman, who scowled at Arthur as she left the secret room.
"What kind of sandwiches do you like?"
"Uh, anything." Arthur said. He didn't care. As long as it was food, his stomach said.
"Cheese?"
Arthur nodded, and the old librarian started to make tea.
"I don't like to ask many questions, dear, but you look even more tired than usual." She said. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No. Thank you." Arthur said. He bit into the sandwich. "My friends are meeting me when they've finished school."
"That's good." Rose said. She stirred the tea absentmindedly. "If you ever need someone to talk to..."
"I'll keep you in mind." Arthur said.
"Eat up. You're looking a bit thin." Rose said.
When her break was over, they returned to the main library, and Arthur went back to his seat. He heard the library aide mutter something about vagrants, and he almost protested, but then he realised the aide was probably bloody right. Rose brought over a book which she swore was her favourite, so Arthur read it. It wasn't about to top his favourite books list, but he actually enjoyed it. Plus he hadn't thought Rose to be so into erotic fiction. Well, it was more romance. But there were several rather long passages about Fabio's member.
He was actually beginning to enjoy himself, and then he realised school would be ending any time soon, and he'd have to grovel to Francis. He'd been refusing and refusing to stay with Francis for weeks - and now he'd have to ask. He wanted Alfred there, well, because he wanted Alfred. He might be practically homeless but it didn't mean he was about to give up.
A/N: thank you so much for reading/reviewing/favouriting/following. Reviews make me feel fuzzier than a tarantula's legs.