Page 107 of Crown of Thorns
“What made you go inside The Black Cat when you came back here?”
“The funeral. It took a lot to come back here after all these years. To stare the fact that I was too late right in the face. It was hard. To be reunited with my sister. With my past. I needed the relief. You understand?” He asks with a note of apprehension. “That I needed to get off?”
“Oh, baby, getting off is my medicine for many things.”
“But then I got into trouble.”
I pause, my fingers twitching. “Are you calling me trouble?”
“I call you many things, but trouble is definitely a fine description for you.”
I chuckle. “I like it. Have you found peace now, with your sexuality?”
“I guess I’m getting there. It’s not just that. Sometimes there’s just so much. And then there’s us.”
“What about us?” My voice sounds low perhaps because the topic makes me tense.
“I am tainted, Louis, I'm a man with scars. You are young, handsome, and rich. You have the world at your feet.”
“Who wouldn’t want a piece of that?” I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of his words. They are compliments. Then why do they make my insides twist with nerves?
“You know I would, Louis. You know I want everything you offer. What I had before, what I thought was real, was nothing more than a ripple on the surface.You cracked my chest open and let everything spill out, sweetheart. Took my fears and replaced them with something terrifying and beautiful: yourself.You’re the only one who’s made me pause long enough to examine what I’m feeling, to face the things I’ve always run from.”
His words hit me like a tidal surge, not just strong but overwhelming, sweeping through every part of me. My heart lifts, like it’s been released from gravity. I can’t catch my breath. My chest stretches with the pressure of him. His nearness, his voice, the intensity of his gaze. He fills every inch of my awareness. I open my mouth, lips trembling, desperate to say it: that no one else holds my heart. That it beats only for him. That I want to take his hand and walk through every shadow that ever touched us.
I’m about to say it. That I love him. That I’d burn the world for him.
He brushes his lips against mine, and for the first time, I don’t feel like a secret. I feel chosen. We chose this, chose each other. I want to stay here forever. We breathe as one, the silence thick with everything unsaid. The air shifts, just enough to make the hairs on my arms rise. A pulse of dread coils low in my stomach, like we’re being watched, like something is coming. And then, a loud, sharp crack, followed by the tinkle of glass fragments, tears our moment apart.
30
NOAH
What the hell are you doing? Dad’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and heavy, like a whip. He stands in the doorway, blocking the escape.
I startle, panic shooting through me as I scramble to put distance between myself and where I sit on my bed. Pascal’s hand is still awkwardly wedged in my pants. “N-nothing.”
“You call that nothing?” Dad’s voice is low, dangerously calm. “You are disgusting, filthy boys.” He turns to Pascal, his eyes narrowing. “Pascal, does your father know?”
“No, sir.” Pascal springs to his feet, his hands instinctively cupping his groin as he backs away, his face burning with embarrassment. I quickly tuck myself in, cheeks flushed hot with shame.
Dad takes a step forward, his eyes locked on mine. “Do you know what your father would do if he found out?”
“It was nothing,” I rush, the words spilling out too quickly, like they aren’t mine. I reach up, touching my mouth absentmindedly. My lips still itch from our kisses. It had meant something to me.
“It’s sick,” Dad spits, his voice rising. “Two men. Disgusting. Go home, Pascal. Now.” Pascal doesn’t hesitate. He turns and bolts out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
Dad closes the door behind him, the sound of it clicking shut like a prison gate. He leans against it, arms crossed. “This has been going on for too long, Noah. I hoped it was some teenage confusion, but today’s action is proof that you can’t be cured.”
A sick feeling curls in my stomach as he continues. “I know about the magazines. I found them under your mattress. I won’t have any of that in this house. You are sick.” He lets out a deep breath, rubbing his forehead, and his voice softens for a moment, almost like he’s speaking to himself. “I don’t want you here with your mother and baby sister when I’m gone.”
I stand frozen, my heart sinking. This isn’t happening. He’s not really saying this.
“I’ve always known there was something wrong with you,” he mutters, as if explaining it all to himself. “You were always different. Dysfunctional. Why me?”
He doesn’t even seem to be talking to me anymore, just ranting in his own twisted world. My thoughts swirl. I’ve never touched a boy before today, but Dad is right. I have wanted to. So badly. For months now. Those magazines… the ones he found. Naked men. I’ve touched myself while staring at them, had come all over their naked sternums and barely covered cocks. It isn’t just shame, it’s sharper, like acid behind my ribs.
I look down. I should have known. The way they all made fun of me… They saw it before I did.
