Saving Scott

8: Horny Gay Teenager Word Vomit

I steeled my nerves, looked up at him, and plastered on a smile. "So, when did you start fighting?"

"Go away," Lakyn said. Deadpanned. Like I was a bug that was inconvincing him.

"C'mon, I gotta know. How many moves do you have? Did you take a class or is it pure street --"

He slammed his locker door shut. "Get off my dick, Scott."

"Now, that would be completely counterproductive to my seduction plan," I muttered. It just came out. Horny Gay Teenager Word Vomit. There was no stopping it, so I threw in a pout for good measure.

Lakyn stared at me for a moment, and then laughed. "You're such a fucking nerd."

This time, my grin was real. "You like it."

"True," Lakyn said. "But you have boundary issues."

My confidence faltered. Suddenly I wasn't sure if Lakyn's disdain was the odd type of flirting I'd chalked it up to, or if it was real. I ran my hand through my hair and swallowed the knot that was growing in my throat.

"If you really want me to back off, I will," I said. I was serious about it, too. I had enough girl friends to know that, despite what my father said, relentless pursuit wasn't actually what people wanted. "Give me a solid no. Right now. No hurt feelings, no arguments, I'll walk away. I'll leave you alone."

Too fast, Lakyn said, "I don't want you to stop."

My eyebrows raised and I studied his face, waiting for him to take it back. He shook his head, but what he said was, "Wanna fuck?"

The surprise nearly took me off of my freaking feet. I leaned away from him like he'd slapped me, and said the only thing that came to mind. "Doesn't your jaw hurt."

Lakyn shrugged, nonchalant. "Yours doesn't."

***

He was covered in scars. They were everywhere. Too thin and too perfect to be accidental. To be caused by anyone other than himself.

Gently, I touched one of the scars along his wrist. Vertical, thick, and ugly. An expression of feelings that were begging to explode from him. Lakyn's eyes opened slowly, and I could have lost myself in them then. The depths of the gray, the hurt hidden behind the layer of color. He was beautiful.

"You do this all the time," I said, drawing my thumb along the marred skin. "What are you thinking about?"

Lakyn sighed and tucked his free arm under his head. He was laying on his back, the sheets pulled around his waist, so close to me that I could feel his breath on my shoulder. "Scott--"

"You think about how you're supposed to be dead, don't you?" It was a question, but it really wasn't. I was beginning to recognize it. The look in his eyes. The tired way he carried himself. I left the scar on his wrist and went to the ones on his shoulders instead.

I didn't think he was going to answer me, but then he said, "Usually, yeah."

I moved down the bed so that I could put my head against his chest, and pushed at the blankets so that I could press my fingers to his hips. I'd noticed them earlier, the long scars there. "Why so many different places?"

"They're all for different things," Lakyn said.

"Tell me about them?" I asked. I didn't really know why, but I felt like if I knew the stories behind his scars, I would know more about him. Lakyn's arm fell across my back, half holding me, half just resting there. His fingers pushed at the short hair resting against the base of my neck. It took me a moment to realize he was fidgeting.