Chapter 9

Nine

Ezra

I shut my eyes and blow the smoke out slowly. With the heat of the roof, the way my body’s tilted downward like I'm falling through some floor—with everything that's in my blood—I feel somewhere else.

Closing my eyes is a danger, but I don't see anything red. Just the pale gray of the moonlight bleeding through my eyelids.

I'm outside. I can feel the breeze tickle my hair. It feels soft.

No shirt tonight. No one's gonna see me, so it doesn't matter.

Behind my head, a few steps up from where I'm lying on the shingles, there's a window, and I want to push it open. Blow some smoke into the slit of dark between the white sill and window frame.

I want to wake him up and bring him out so I can call him Millsy. So much football lately, I barely even got to do it. Once, when he was pulling clothes out of the dryer, I walked by.

"Millsy…"

Then again a few mornings ago when he was in the bathroom .

"MILLSY!" I knocked a few times, hard, and he said, "Fuck, dude. Coming!"

Are you, though? I wanted to ask.

Josh Miller is so easy. That's the thing I like. In a world of shit, from start to finish, he’s the one easy thing. A constant. The guy is a fucking Boy Scout. Like, for real. He got the Eagle Scout badge.

The guy would never have been sent off like I was, but if he had been? He'd have done the whole damn thing the way they wanted. He'd have—

Don’t.

Not tonight. I’ve got that shit roped off in my brain.

I spend a minute breathing, moving past the danger.

The breeze…

I like it.

I don't mind the way the shingles scratch my back when I move.

I hold my left hand up and look at it. It's alright. Healing.

I don't like this feeling where my heart is beating too hard, but I went too close to that stuff. Too close to the partition in my mind. I won't do it again.

I feel something on my hand, realize my Marlboro has burned itself into a flaky rope of gray ash. Light another one up.

School here starts tomorrow, and I could just cut the cord. Why make it messy? Why get wires crossed and...lines crossed? Why pretend I’m planning to stay?

I open my eyes and startle. It's dark. Fuck.

It’s just the sky.

I'm outside.

I feel the breeze and look down at myself. I fell asleep on the roof. Again.

Every night with this, and every night for the last few nights, all the looking over at his window.

I look at my finger again. Think of his hands. His hands at dinner and his hands around my hand. I see his hands wrapping my finger. They're not sharp and hard like mine. Miller's hands are thick, like you could squeeze them. They could squeeze you.

I'm not making sense. It's too late. Phone says 1:49. I checked the phone to see the light. I've got a text from Cara, but I'm not replying. I'm pretending to be with her so this guy she likes will get jealous. Stupid, stupid Ezra.

Anyway, it's a good ruse, and she knows. Cara knows it's only play. She doesn't like me. Landry does, though.

My eyes shut. I can't help it. Not a lot of good nights lately. No screaming, but still.

I like it outside. I would never roll off. Not relaxed enough. Just dozing. It's not quiet enough to seem like that place. I can hear the traffic.

I rub at the back of my hand.

Chicken pox. That makes me smile. Not my best lie.

I think of the cabin, and at first, it's almost good to remember. Sometimes I forget the cabin, with its rocking chairs and that big ax that used to rest against the front door's frame. Riley, and the red berries. I smile.

God, that fucking cabin.

I feel like I'm floating through it as sleep drags me under. Holding me underwater. I don’t really want to die from drowning…

In the dream, I'm chopping wood. My shoulders and my triceps ache. It feels like there'll never be enough, but winter's coming. I can smell it in the air. The way the morning bites; that's a new thing for me.

It's not winter, but it will be, and I need to make her like it. I keep chopping and there's no more berries. Only bunnies. I should run. I should run despite the big fence. We should both run.

I wake with a whimper in my throat and Miller's hands holding my shoulders.

"Hey..."

I look up. Clouds over the moon, and Miller— right there .

He's still got my shoulders, warming my skin with his grip. He leans back a fraction. The clouds shift, and I see his face is twisted. “Dude, are you okay?”

I rub my eyes, trying to get my voice steady. "Fell asleep.”

“What are you doing out here?” he says. “It’s 2:30 the night before school starts.”

His hands move off me, and I sit up. Miller really does look wide-eyed, so I guess I must have screamed or something.

I give him a slow smirk. “You always get your beauty sleep, Millsy?”

“Not anymore.” He frowns and leans in closer, and I notice as he does that my eyes feel wet.

“Are you okay?”He asks it quietly.

I look at his good boy Miller face, his messy dark hair.

“Are you?” I can't help leering at him. When I'm near him, it just fucking burns inside me. What a perfect, good boy Miller. I can see a nipple through his T-shirt, and I can't stop myself: I reach out and flick it.

He jerks back, hissing a curse, and that's when I see what's in his pants.

Jos h

"What the fuck?"

I've only been awake two minutes. Woke up to Ezra screaming. I figured he'd fallen off the roof and broke his leg or something, so I hopped out the window as fast as I could.

He was crying, lying on his side with an arm over his face, his shoulders shaking till I woke him up.

Now he looks at my pants, his face hard with fury. "That's not supposed to happen."

I look down at myself. Yeah, I've got a boner. What the fuck does he mean that it's not supposed to happen? "It does, in the middle of the night! Go to bed and get off the roof. How about that?"

“You like the idea of me in bed?” His smirk is as mean as I've seen it.

“No, I don’t . I don’t like the idea of you anywhere in this house, but no one asked me. I’ve done nothing but be nice to you, and you’ve done nothing but—”

“Be an angry angel?” He grins.

For a second, I feel gut-punched. I can't even open my mouth. When I do, the words spill out in a rush. “Where did you see that? You went in my fucking bedroom?”

He shrugs, his face hard despite his smug smile. “Your mom said I could use your bench press.” I've noticed he's been looking bigger lately, especially his upper body. More like a football player.

He arches one of his dark brows. “You’re good, Millsy. That shit was like looking in the mirror.”

My heart beats so hard, I can feel it in my eyeballs, but I can't let him see. “You’re flattered because I drew you? You must have nothing else to get your dick up.”

“I’ve got plenty." He leans back on one arm, crossing his legs at the ankle as his cruel eyes assess me. "It’s you who doesn’t. It seems you’ve only got me.”

“I don’t want you.” I laugh, like it's ridiculous I'd ever want him.

He arches his brows and looks down at my lower half. I've got a hand over my hard-on, pushing it down so he can't see it. I’m so hard, my junk feels like I just got kneed there.

“Show me," he says. "Lie on your back.”

“I would fucking never , dipshit.”

“Because you’re hard enough to have a sword fight with that thing in your pants. I bet you lie in bed and think about me out here, right outside your window. Bet you sit inside and watch.”

He moves his shoulder so his pecs flex, and my dick throbs against my will. I grit my teeth. "I would never think about you. You would never be my type." My voice sounds raspy, and I hate that.

“You know where all my scars are." He lifts that condescending brow again, and my heart hammers.

There’s a scar on his forehead and another on his throat—that I drew when I sketched him. “I can’t help seeing you. Since you live in my house. You’ve got a scar on your neck that everyone can see.”

“Only if they look.” Ezra runs a hand down his chest, fingertips resting on his washboard abs. “I hear you in there, working out every day. Almost as much as I am. Who’s it for, Millsy? Are you seeing your boy Arnie?”

“Jealous?”

“Of course not. I'm curious. I’d like to know how hard you get for me. I’d like to see sweet Millsy with a big, hard boner. To see the blush on your cheeks.”

“I don’t blush, but you do, dickhead. I saw your ears turn red on the dock.”

“Did it make you want to suck them?”He sneers.

“Fuck you.”

He leans forward, and his eyes burn mine. “That’s what you want.” He scoots closer, and his hand grips my knee, squeezing hard as my mind spins. Then he reaches down below my balls and cups them through my plaid pants.

I can’t move, can't even fucking breathe, as he rolls them, then drags his hand up my erection, pressing with his palm then gripping, his hand wrapped around me, moving slow and firm, back and forth. My eyes shut as pleasure grips me like a fucking vice, and then he pinches my cockhead so hard I see stars.

“Well hung, Miller. Who knew?”

I clock the stupid fuck so hard he almost falls off the roof.

“Next time I’ll push you off, you sick fuck.”

Ezra

I walk to my window with the first twitch of a boner that I’ve felt in almost nine months. When I get into my room, I wedge a desk chair underneath the bathroom door handle in case Millsy wants an encore and lie on the floor on my back beside the bed. I reach an arm below the bed skirt, stick my hand into the underbelly of the box spring.

My fingers tremble as I brush them atop one of the plywood boards. I bump one of the bottles with my pinky, and two fall down into the box spring cover.

I draw them out in one fist, holding them above my head and blinking at the labels.

I can't read them. Can't move. I roll over on my side and barely hold a groan in.

Just breathe, fucker.

I got Aripiprazole and Lamictal. I reach back into the box spring, digging for... I bring out three more bottles. Amitriptyline. Clonazepam. Zolpidem.

I fill my palm with sixteen Amitriptylines, ten Lamictals, thirteen Clonazepams, and eight Zolpidems, then walk to the armchair, which is pushed beside the light switch, and I get my water from beside it.

My breathing is fast and shallow. Clonazepam will help that within minutes—not even that long if I chew it. Amitriptyline will make sure I pass out cold. Zolpidem, I'll be asleep and won't know how it feels to have seizures or aspirate on my own vomit.Lamictal, I honestly don’t know. But it’ll help me be on my way.

I can fucking feel how good it would be. Numb and sleepy. Heavy. Dead.

I shove the handful into my mouth and chew a few and chase them down with water. I can't swallow all of them, so I hold some in my cheek till the first batch is down, and then I toss the rest with one last painful swallow.

I shut my eyes and think of swallowing that long, thick cock that he had jutting almost through his plaid pants. I know it would be clean and groomed, the warm skin soft and silky. The tip would taste like him and smell like him. Miller's cock would hurt my throat. I'd be choking as my lips sucked at his base, or tried to. Saliva would drip down my chin as I gagged on him, but it wouldn't matter. He'd be making noises, gripping my hair or my shoulders. He would be in my mouth, spilling his precum.

I look down at my dick, pushing gently at my pants. It's just the slightest bulge—a sign of life.

I want to die so that I never see it again.

I think of sucking Miller off, pushing a finger into his hole. How he would jerk and clench, but then I'd push in deeper, and he'd moan so loud. I'd hear him groaning as I finger-fucked his sweet hole, guzzling his cum the whole time.

If I tried, I could fuck him up in the best way.

And it's evil how I want to. It's so wrong the way I want to throw him off, to fuck with him, manipulate him just so I can hear his noises, taste his skin. He's no one to me. Just a toy. A pretty, freckled, dark-haired, perfect boy for me to ruin if I want.

It would ruin him to find me dead in here tomorrow morning.

My breaths come in tight, sharp gasps. I think I can feel the stuff seep through my stomach into my veins.

Dead, Wrath. Is that what you want?

I lean my hip against the armchair's spine and reach into my pants, cupping myself as I grab more air into my lungs and squeeze my mostly limp dick.

I can die, and I will. I can die. Maybe tonight.

I walk into the bathroom, start the shower, turn on the sink faucet, and kneel down in front of the toilet. I prop my forearms on it how I always do and let my head hang over the bowl.

Don't die.

I can hear his voice say that. It's so pathetic.

Being alive is hell.

I laugh at myself.

Always so dramatic, Masters.

Something hits me. I start shaking. I get scared and start to gasp, so I have to bury my mouth in the inside of my elbow.

Don't be such a pussy.

How does that feel?

I'm shaking. Everything echoes. It's not the pills. I bring them up in just a few tries, and I wash my face with cold sink water, walk back into my room.

It's dark in my head. I hate the dark behind my eyes but...I can't keep them open.

I wake to knocking and a sunlit bedroom. Find myself on top of my duvet, still in my pants from last night.

My head hurts like a bitch.

"Open up the fucking door! I need to get a shower!" Millsy .

I roll off the bed, gather the bottles, stuff them back into the box spring.

"What?" I manage.

"Wake up! We have to get ready for school!"

I shut my eyes. "Are we gonna car pool, Millsy?"

I walk into the bathroom and unlock his door. "Me first," I shout. I'm grinning as I start the shower, picturing his wide-eyed, blue-eyed baby face in my head.