Complementary Colors (26 page)

I wasn’t sure. I don’t even think I cared if I ever found release because I was so wrapped up in the most beautiful experience of my life.

Him.

Roy snapped his hips forward hard enough to bang the bedframe against the wall and shove a cry from my throat.

“Come for me, Paris.”

He squeezed my cock and pressed his thumbnail against the slit. The bite of pain freed me. I sank my fingers into Roy’s shoulders, and with every ounce of strength I had left, I tightened my legs, forcing him as deep as possible. Roy jerked like he’d been hit. The pulse of his cock was followed by a rush of heat. I screamed because I didn’t want this to end, and he drank the sound from my lips.

The chaos faded, leaving the sound of our breathing to fill the space.

What had I done? Somehow I’d let Roy into a place in my heart that I hadn’t felt since I was a child. One that I’d forced myself to forget. A dark and sacred corner where there were first kisses and a boy whose name I couldn’t remember.

Would I betray Roy too?

“It’s okay, Paris. You’re safe.” Roy rolled to the side, taking me with him. “It’s okay.” He kissed me on the temple. “I promise it will be okay.”

But it wasn’t. I’d lost myself to him. Forever.

Even with the string pulled tight, the sweatpants I’d borrowed from Roy barely stayed on my hips. I ran the towel over my head one more time before I put on the shirt. The flannel smelled just like him. I would never get tired of that scent. Never.

Would Roy get tired of me?

The rich scent of vanilla filled the rest of the apartment. Roy stood in the kitchen, and the TV on the counter was turned low.

“I’m making french toast.” He moved slices of bread around in a frying pan. “I hope that’s okay with you?”

I sat at the breakfast bar. “It’s fine.”

While he got out dishes, I watched the news. It was going to snow or maybe rain, the weatherman couldn’t decide.

“Do you want some bacon?” Roy didn’t wait for an answer before getting it out of the fridge. “It’s sugar cured. Really good.” The fabric of his shirt tightened across his shoulders. There was a hole near the neck. There were no frayed edges or holes in the shirt he’d given me.

Why?

The weather went off, and a commercial came on. Roy dropped the bacon into the pan. Grease popped, and he jerked back. “Damn.” He sucked his thumb.

“I think it’s retaliating.”

“Might help if I could remember to turn down the heat. I do this every time. You’d think I’d learn my lesson.” He put some paper towels on one of the plates. “So how do you like yours cooked?”

“The same as yours, I guess.”

“You sure?”

I nodded.

“Okay, extra crunchy it is.”

The news returned. A carwreck flashed up on the screen. I picked at the crack in the bar. Everything Roy owned seemed worn-out or broken. I’d eaten meals that cost more than his rent. Yet sitting there in his decrepit apartment, I’d never felt so at home.

“Roy?”

“Hmmm?” He took a jug of orange juice from the fridge and poured two glasses. He sat one down in front of me. “You ever going to finish that thought?”

“Those things you said.” I twisted up my fingers.

“What about them?” He put his hand over mine.

“Did you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He went back to the stove, turned it off, made our plates, and got out the silverware.

Just those few minutes felt like a lifetime. He came back with the food and sat beside me.

Scrambled eggs, french toast, and bacon. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever eaten the combination; if I had, it was never on a chipped plate and with mismatched silverware.

“Please tell me why.” I picked up a piece of bacon but couldn’t find the strength to get it to my mouth.

“I have. Many times.”

“Tell me again.” I need to know it wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Or maybe my desperation.

Roy took the piece of bacon, broke off a small piece, and pushed it past my lips. His thumb lingered, and I sucked the tip. “Because you are beautiful and unique.”

“I’m not.”

“You just can’t see inside yourself.”

He was wrong. I could. And what I saw was terrifying.

“Eat.”

Drinking some of the orange juice seemed to pacify him. Roy ate, and I moved the eggs around the slices of french toast. The TV flickered with a nightclub scene and two figures moving through the crowd. It was a bad angle and the film was grainy, but I knew what it was.

Then his face filled up the screen. The blue of his eyes was brighter than I’d originally thought. In the photo, he wore orange and there was a number stamped across the bottom.

I dropped my fork.

“Paris?”

The new ticker passed the anchor, but my ability to read froze up on murder.

“Paris? What’s wrong?” Roy tried to make me look at him. I pushed his hand away. Nothing existed but the TV screen.

Roy picked up the remote from the edge of the bar and turned up the volume.

“…person of interest in the murders involving three other young gay men. Authorities are still trying to identify the individual who left with Hensley last night from the Diablo nightclub on Princeton Avenue.

“Hensley was last seen driving a mid-sized sedan either black or blue, with a broken headlight. If you have any information regarding the whereabouts of Thomas Hensley, you are encouraged to call…” I took the remote from Roy and muted the sound.

“He didn’t look like a Hensley.” I hugged myself. Any moment, I expected to see my breath in the air.

“That was him, wasn’t it?” There was no emotion in Roy’s voice. But something deadly had replaced the light in his eyes. Did he wear that same expression when he'd snapped the man’s neck at the bar?

“Yeah.”

“If they’re looking for him, you didn’t kill him.”

“No.” I didn’t feel any relief. What did that say about me?

Roy pushed his plate away and stood. “C’mon.”

“Where?”

“I’m taking you to the police station so you can fill out a report.”

“What?” I pulled away from him. “No.”

“The police are looking for him, and they need to know that he came after you.”

“Why? It’s done, it’s over.”

“But it doesn’t change the fact it happened. And it could happen again.”

“He’s not going to track me down.”

“What about someone else?”

The faces of three young men flashed up on the screen. They could have been anyone. But even without reading the subtext, I knew they were the men Hensley had killed. Were they the only ones? I wanted to believe they were, but there was no cure for the kind of hate and evil that drove a man to obliterate a life.

If I went, the police would ask questions that I had no answers for. Then they would contact Julia, and she’d bury me under a rock. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t.”

Roy stepped in front of me. “I’ll be right there with you.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Only because I’d gotten lucky and picked out a killer rather than some married guy looking to play reindeer games behind his wife’s back.

Roy held me by the shoulders. “Whatever you’re thinking, it wasn’t your fault.”

He was wrong. It was my fault. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why can’t you tell the police you saw this man?” He pushed my bangs back. “He could have hurt you.”

He wouldn’t have hurt me; he would’ve killed me.

“If I talk to the police, I’ll have to tell them how I got away from the man.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“Because they’ll tell Julia.”

Roy’s eyebrows came together over his nose. “So what if they do?”

“If they contact her…” The scent of disinfectant and human sorrow was just one of the many facets in my nightmares. “It would be bad.”

Roy scraped his hand through his hair. “Then tell them not to contact her.”

“They won’t have a choice.”

“You make it sound like she owns you.”

I pulled at the hair on the back of my head. The hairs were still too short so I settled for digging my fingers into the crook of my arm. “Julia controls everything in my life. Even me. If she knew I was here right now, she’d…make me leave.”

“Julia can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Yes, she can.”

“How?”

I had to force out the words. “She’s my legal guardian.”

Somewhere in the apartment building, a door slammed. Footsteps stampeded down the hall.

“You’re a grown man. How can she be your guardian?”

I sat on a stool before my knees could fold. I didn’t even have the strength to lift my chin. I counted the whirls in the hardwood floor. “When my mother died, Julia’s father got custody of me. When he died, Julia was the oldest so she took over.”

“That would have ended when you were eighteen.”

“Under normal circumstances.” A pain pecked me in the side of the head.

“And your circumstances weren’t normal?”

“No. When I was thirteen, I hurt someone. A boy in my school. They sent me to a hospital.”

“How bad were you hurt?”

“It wasn’t that kind of hospital.”

“What other kind is there?” There was a moment of confusion in Roy’s expression. “A mental hospital?"

“Yeah. After my father died, the nightmares wouldn’t stay in my head anymore.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

My laugh got hung in my throat. “How do you tell someone you’re crazy?”

“You’re not—”

“Yes. I am. I told you I was a disease. I’m sick, Roy. I’ll always be sick.” Roy stepped back, and my heart sank.

He picked up his coat off the sofa. “I need to take a walk.” He sat on the end of the bed long enough to stomp on his boots. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

When he left, all the color leached from the world.

My mouth watered for vodka; my body ached for the pills. It wasn’t the first time I’d stared into the darkness of the rabbithole, but it was the first time I didn’t run from it.

I was so close. Just one step.

“…let me love you…”

The warmth of Roy’s touch ghosted my flesh.

“…Please, Paris…”

The memory of his mouth on mine still burned.

“…I’ll teach you…”

His scent stained my skin.

Somewhere far away, a door opened and closed. There was a shuffle of fabric followed by two heavy thumps.

Roy’s presence invaded the void of space at my side. He sat beside me on the kitchen floor. The cabinet door rattled.

On the back of a sigh, he said, “You should have told me.” The disappointment in his voice cut deeper than any scream. Roy held my hand between his. He traced each finger, petted the back of my hand, and kissed my knuckles.

“You don’t hate me?”

He smiled a little. “Never.”

“You’re not angry?”

“I was. At first. It hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.” He kissed my hand again. “But then I realized, why should you? You’ve never been able to trust anyone before.”

He was the only person who ever gave me a reason to. He was the only person who’d ever given me a reason to want more than the alcohol, the pills, even the canvas. With Roy, I had nothing to run from.

Nothing to be afraid of.

“Roy?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to go home.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”

“Never go home.” I gripped his hand.

He tilted his head. “Okay. But the food isn’t all that great, and it can get pretty damn cold. I think I get three channels on the TV and that’s it.”

“I don’t care.”

“If you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

“What about your sisters?”

“I don’t care.”

“They’ll want to know where you are.”

“I don’t care.”

He bit his bottom lip. “Can I ask why?”

“Because when I’m with you, the colors are so beautiful.”

“Colors?”

“Yeah.”

He chuckled. “I guess a little color could do this place some good.”

I leaned against him, and he put an arm around my shoulders.

“I know you don’t want to go home.” I tensed, and he shushed me. “It’s not what you think.”

And I could trust him.

“That’s better.” He rubbed his chin against my temple. “I’d like for you to talk to a friend of mine.”

“Who?”

“A doctor.”

“You mean a shrink.”

“She’s not. But I know she has friends who are.”

“I already have a doctor.”

“The pills?”

“Dr. Mason gives them to me.”

“There weren’t any labels on those bottles.”

I shrugged.

“That’s illegal.”

“I know what they do, based on shape and color.”

“That doesn’t make it any less illegal.”

I tried to sit up, and he held me. “If you don’t want me to stay, just say it.”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you.”

“You’re trying to fix me. That’s just as bad.”

“What if she could help you? Maybe she could even get you away from Julia.”

“No one can get me away from Julia.”

“Have you ever tried?”

I didn’t even want to think of what it would be like to be free of her. It only gave me false hope inside my even bigger lie. “It won’t do any good.”

He pulled my chin up, and forced to meet his gaze. “Why not?”

“Because I’m broken, Roy. And I’m broken in ways that cannot be fixed.”

My reflection followed Roy’s across the plateglass window. Dressed in thrift store hand-me-downs and a wool hat, I didn’t recognized myself. I hoped no one else would either.

If I learned anything besides how clothes could drastically change a person’s appearance, it was that designer wear obviously wasn’t meant to be worn outside. In the real world, thick socks, boots, long-johns under jeans, and a sweat shirt was the only way to fight Mother Nature.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I was warm. No more cashmere for me. I was sold on corduroy and fake lamb's wool.

It had stopped snowing three days ago, but the temperature dropped and now everything was covered in ice. Sand and salt crunched under my boots, sprinkling lime green dots into the air.