Tell Me It's Real by T. J. Klune
What the fuck? “You’d run into my car door again? Why?”
He looked down at his hands. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
And, of course, I started to sputter. “What… you can’t say that… that’s just… I… you… so damn cute… why… just why….”
So, after that, at least for a moment, I was a bit more lenient. I let him nod off for a few minutes before I woke him up, just to make sure his pupils weren’t dilated and he could remember my name and answer a simple question. I asked him who the vice president was and he looked at me like I was out of my goddamned mind. “How the hell am I supposed to know that?” he grumped at me. “I didn’t vote.” So, instead, I asked him to count to five. When he started counting out of order and slurring his words, I got freaked out. Then he grinned and winked at me and said, “Just kidding.” At that moment, I gave very serious consideration to making his concussion much, much worse, but then he whined a little bit in the back of his throat and sounded so much like Wheels when he was hungry that I crumbled completely.
Manipulative bastard.
So, of course, when I finally told him he could go to sleep and stay asleep, he wasn’t tired. I listened to him bitch and moan on my couch about how much his back hurt and how much his ass hurt and, wow, wouldn’t it be nice if there was someone who would be willing to give him a massage? He’d sure like a massage, he said, to ease his sore muscles. He wondered aloud if there was anyone in his immediate vicinity who would be willing to provide such a massage; perhaps a certain individual feeling guilty about something? Perhaps that guilt extended from causing a certain accident to happen? It was entirely possible, he hypothesized, that should a person feel guilty about such an accident that caused injury, an easy atonement would be offering to give said injured person a rub down.
It took six minutes of me grinding my teeth before I got up and went into the kitchen, telling him I’d get him some more juice. While I did this, I also ground up two of the muscle relaxers into the juice and brought it out to him, not feeling guilty in the slightest (about the secret-drugging thing; I still felt like crap that he hit my car). I stood next to him as he drank it down, smacking his lips, telling me how much he loved pulp in orange juice.
It was twenty minutes later that I found out that, regardless of whatever else he was, Vince was a lightweight who got stoned very, very easily. We were sitting on the couch watching Animal Planet (“I could wrestle an alligator,” he told me confidently) when I felt eyes on me. I looked over at him and saw the loopiest grin on his face.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re awesome,” he said, a slight slur to his words. This time, the slur sounded real.
“Uh. Thanks?”
“You’re welcome. How come….” He got distracted by something on the ceiling. “Whoa.”
“Oh boy.”
He looked back at me, trying to widen his eyes. “You poisoned me!” he said, trying to be stern, but his lips kept quirking into a smile.
“I did not!” I said indignantly, even though I sort of did.
“You made me high!”
“You need to go to sleep.”
He tried to point a finger at me, but it kept going off in other directions, like he was trying to dance with one hand. “What’d you give me?” he asked, very interested in his hand. “Crack?”
“You think I gave you crack?”
“Maybe.”
“Is there anything about me that screams crack?”
He grinned as he swayed. “Your butt crack,” he whispered before dissolving into giggles.
“Oh Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “You are going to be so embarrassed when you wake up tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re giggling like a five-year-old girl.”
“I am not. I’m all man.”
“So you’ve tried to show me.”
“Hey,” he said
“Hey, what?”
“Why won’t you… oh, man, the room is like all twisty.”
I started to get a little concerned. For my couch. “Are you going to throw up?”
He shuddered. “I sure as shit hope not. I hate throwing up. I hate being sick. I hate being hurt. My back really hurts.” Now he started to pout. The effect was unnerving.
“I’m sorry,” I sighed.
“My bike’s all busted.”
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
“Maybe that bike had a special meaning. Maybe it belonged to my late grandfather and it’s the only piece of him I have left.”
Ouch. “Did it?”
“Did what? Your ceiling is pretty.”
“Did the bike belong to your late grandfather and is it the only piece of him you have left?”
He snorted. “What are you talking about? I got that bike from the bike shop over on Speedway. Can I tell you something?”
“You would anyway.”
He leaned toward me and almost fell off the couch. Once he righted himself, he said, “I like wearing your clothes. They smell like you.”
My face burned. “That’s… cool.”
Vince frowned. “How come you won’t go on a date with me? I’ll treat you so good. Better than anyone ever.”
I sighed. “Can we not talk about this now? It’s almost five. You should get some sleep.”
“Answer the question and I’ll go to sleep.”
“It just wouldn’t work, okay?”
He watched me for a moment. Then, quietly, “Is it because I’m not smart enough?”
I snapped my gaze to his. “What?”
He looked away. “I know I’m not the smartest person in the world,” he said, picking at a loose thread on my pajamas he wore. “My dad told me once that it’s a good thing I look like I do because it’s the only thing that’ll get me through life.”
“Your dad said that to you?” I asked him, keeping my voice even and trying to keep the anger from my face. This was the first time he’d really mentioned his dad, and already I wanted to find out where his father lived so I could kick him in the balls.
Vince shrugged. “Yeah, but he’s right, you know. I can be pretty dumb sometimes. It’s how I am. I know I look all right. That helps me, I think. But… you know. That’s all people can see sometimes.”
“I think you’re fine just the way you are,” I told him honestly. “And you know what? Fuck your dad. You’re totally smart.”
He looked astonished. “Wow, if you knew my dad, you wouldn’t say that. He can be kind of scary when he wants to be.”
I tried to show more confidence than I actually felt. “I’d say the same thing to his face.”
“Whoa,” Vince said softly, his eyes starting to glaze over. “You’re pretty awesome, Paul.”
“Sure, Vince.”
“Why don’t you believe me?” he asked, suddenly sounding coherent.
“About what?”
“That I want to take you out.”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
He looked aggrieved. “Don’t try to dodge the question. You always do that.”
“You’re stoned, Vince. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Only because you drugged me.”
“Guilt trips don’t work on me.”
“I’m at your house wearing your pajamas. Guilt trips work on you very well.”
“Bastard.”
“I’m going to take you out on a date,” he said, as if that was that.
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Why? Why do you keep pushing for this?”
He looked me in the eye. “Because,” he said, “I like you.”
I almost felt like bursting into song. I couldn’t look away. “Vince… people like you don’t go for people like me.”
He frowned. “You’ve said that before. What do you mean?”
I gestured between the two of us. “Look at me. Look at you. You’re… pretty. I’m… not.”
&nbs
And then he leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes, holding my hand. Every now and then, his thumb would brush over my palm. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. It seemed safer.
Finally, he opened his eyes. They looked bloodshot. He was a little pale. “Fuck, I’m tired,” he muttered.
Without allowing myself any time to think (because otherwise I would overthink and never, ever take a single chance) I tugged on his hand, pulling him down. He came easily, stretched out along the couch, groaning slightly due to the twinges I’m sure he felt. A few warning bells went off in my head, but they were silenced the minute his head hit my leg. He sighed contentedly as he rubbed his forehead against my legs as if trying to mark me with his scent. He looked up at me and I looked down at him. Neither of us said anything.
4) He Has The Softest Hair Ever
I curled my fingers through it as he drifted off to sleep. He hummed softly as I scratched along his scalp. He fell asleep and I started to. We stayed that way for hours. I didn’t move.
I didn’t want to.
5) Vince Has No Problem With Germs And Is Curious About Tampons
I woke up a while later. It was dark outside, and my legs were asleep. I looked down at my lap. Vince was still curled up against me, his face pointed toward my stomach, snoring softly, one of his hands curled into my shirt like he wanted to be tethered to me. I watched him for a long time, wondering just what the fuck I was getting myself into. This was turning out to be the weirdest week of my life, and I didn’t know if I wanted it to stop. For now we were in this little bubble, and it was only me and him, and nothing else mattered, at least for the moment. I brushed my hand through his hair again. Then I realized I was watching him sleep and how creepy that really was. Some people might have thought it was romantic. I thought it was one step away from putting him in a hole in my basement, telling him to rub the lotion on his skin or else he’ll get the hose again.
Besides, my legs were starting to cramp.
“Hey,” I said quietly, shaking him.
Nothing.
“Vince,” I said a little louder.
Nothing.
“I’ll suck your dick if you wake up right now.” I did not just say that.
“I’m awake,” he said rather quickly, opening his eyes.
I scowled at him. “That’s cheating.”
He smirked as he stretched. “You already promised. You can’t back down now.”
“Get off me. Your head weighs like thirty pounds.”
“The human head only weights eight pounds,” he scoffed as he sat up.
I stared at him.
“What?” he said defensively. “I may not be smart, but I do know some things.”
“And one of those things is how much a person’s head weighs?” I asked.
“You didn’t know that, did you?” he asked, sounding weirdly shy.
I did (I don’t know why), but it seemed important for some reason that I didn’t let him know. “Nope. I sure didn’t.”
He looked inordinately pleased. “Stick with me, kid. I’ll teach you some stuff.”
I somehow resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Are you hungry?”
He shook his head. “Those pills kinda messed with my stomach a bit.” He tried to send me a meaningful look to make me feel guilty. He failed. Miserably.
“I’m not going to feel bad about that,” I told him. “You needed to sleep.”
“You realize, though,” he said, “that I’ll never be able to take a drink from you again without worrying that you’re trying to drug me.”
“Good,” I said.
“Great comeback. Can I take a shower?”
My mouth went dry. “Uh.”
He leered at me. “You can join me if you want.”
“That’s okay. I’ll take Wheels outside and you can… take a shower.”
“Naked,” Vince said, arching an eyebrow.
“Naked,” I agreed weakly. “Most people do it that way.”
“And you could do it with me.”
I don’t know where it came from, but I decided to play back. “Tell you what,” I said, leaning closer to him. His breathing picked up as my lips almost grazed his ear. “If you can stand without grimacing, groaning, or showing you’re in any kind of pain, I’ll get in the shower with you.” I moved just a fraction of an inch closer. “Naked.”
“You will? No joking?”
“No joking.”
“Oh, man. You should not have said that. You’re going to be so naked in like two minutes.”
“If you say so.” I sat back and waited.
To be fair, he did try very damn hard, which could have meant he wanted me really bad. Which I still didn’t quite understand. He sat there for a moment taking deep breaths in and then letting them out slowly. A look of supreme concentration came over his face, and for a brief moment, I thought he was going to make it. My mind wandered to the thought of that nipple piercing again, and I wanted to know what it would look like when it was wet. Then he shot up from the couch quickly, groaning as he did so, his face contorting in pain. He gasped when he stood upright, wrapping an arm around his side. He looked almost stricken when he glanced over at me.
“I can try it again,” he said through gritted teeth.
I shook my head as I stood. “You’re an idiot,” I told him, though there was no heat behind my words.
That didn’t stop him from flinching away. I cursed softly when I realized what I’d said. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
He nodded tightly but didn’t speak. I wanted to find everyone in the world who had ever insulted his intelligence and punch them in the face. It was a weird feeling to have.
I sighed. “C’mon. I’ll show you where the shower is. The hot water will feel good on you. I’ll get the guest room ready and you can go to bed when you’re done.”
I tried not to think of the naked man in my bathroom as I stood outside with Wheels while he did his business. “What the fuck am I doing?” I asked him softly. Wheels didn’t answer, deciding to take a shit instead. I wondered if that was answer enough.
After letting him chase a lizard for a few minutes (there’s something inherently funny about seeing my half dog going up on one wheel as he tears around in circles—it’s like he’s performing daredevil tricks!) he followed me inside and went immediately for his food bowl, acting like the little boy he was and scarfing down his kibble like it was the first time he’d eaten in years.
The shower was still running and I could hear Vince singing horribly off-key to himself. At least I knew he hadn’t fallen and died in my shower, which I was eternally grateful for. I quickly made up the guest room (and by made up, I mean I pulled the covers back on the bed and sniffed the sheets to make sure they didn’t smell like ass or dog—they didn’t).
The shower turned off and I heard a thump followed by some muffled cursing. I hovered near the bathroom door, unsure of what to do. Finally, I knocked. “You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he grumbled. “Just hit my elbow against the wall.”
“You probably shouldn’t do that.”
“Har, har.”
“Drugs wore off, huh?”
“Yeah. Sorry you couldn’t have your way with me before then.”
It was easier, for some reason, talking to him through the door. “What makes you think I didn’t?”
There was a pause. “I still have spunk in my junk,” he finally said.
“You’re like a dirty Dr. Seuss.”
“I’ll do you on the grass. I’ll do you during mass.”
“No thanks. I think I’ll take a pass.” Dammit! Stop rhyming!
He snorted. “You j
“Wow. That’s thirty seconds of my life I’ll never get back.”
“Your fault.”
“Don’t even try to blame that one on me.”
The lock on the door clicked.
“I’m not going to try and bust in there,” I said, somewhat annoyed.
“Oh, I know,” he said. “Even though I wanted you to, you didn’t.”
“Then why’d you lock the door?”
“Because I’m going to use your toothbrush and I knew you’d probably freak out.”
I glared at the door. “Don’t you dare. That’s disgusting!”
“I’ve had my tongue in your mouth. Same diff.”
I blushed, even though he couldn’t see me. “I will break this fucking door down!” A six-year-old Girl Scout would have sounded more threatening than I did.
“See, I knew you’d freak out.” He started laughing. “Pink? Really? Your toothbrush is pink? Oh my God! Even your toothbrush is a homo!”
“My dentist gave that to me!” I shouted at him, as if that made it special.
“Toothpaste,” he muttered. “Where is the toothpaste?”
“Vince, I will punch your face off,” I warned him.
“Found the toothpaste. Oh, and I found the tampons too. Why is there one missing?”
Oh, crap. “I… uh.”
“Did you use one?”
“What? No! I just wanted to see what they looked like!”
“Dude. Paul. Gross.”
Then silence, for a moment.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“Opening a tampon. I want to see what they look like too.”
“Oh. This is the weirdest conversation of my life.”
“Why is there a string on it?” he asked, sounding baffled.
I waited.
“Wait… is that how they… pull it…? Oh, gross!”
“You better not have thrown it!”
“Sure did. Didn’t see where it went. That’s just wrong. Reason number 6,432 I’m glad I’m a dude.”
“That’s a lot of reasons.”
No answer.
“What are you doing?”
“Brushin’ ma teef,” he said as if he had a mouthful.
“You bastard,” I growled.
I heard him spit into the sink. “My teeth feel clean. And a whole lot gayer.”