Is it surprising or unsurprising that 'Nothing, sir' just didn't do it for Seaton? I'm not sure which. You can never tell with him. One day he'll yell at you and the next day he'll shrug and say 'okay'. Today was, apparently, the former.
"Nothing," He repeats, "Nothing? Nothing? Don't fucking mess with me Jayden, 'nothing' isn't some middle age guy saying to a sixteen-year-old 'I love to watch you walk'."
I feel the color drain from my face. I didn't know he heard that...
"I have good hearing," Seaton snaps and grabs a handful of my shirt, pulling me closer to him. I'm only tall enough to stare at his chin. "Look at me, Jayden."
I do so. Fuck, those eyes. I feel my entire body heat up, a smoldering feeling ghosting through my heart and flowing through my veins. He's much too close to me. Our stomachs are only inches away from touching each other. He's just staring down at me, face blank, but his eyes angry. He's much too close.
But I want him to be closer.
"I know him," Seaton says to me finally. I blink. What? No. Who, Charlie? You can't know him. "He's a known child molester. He just did time. How. The. Fuck. Do. You. Know. Him?"
How does he know that? What the hell? I don't say anything and Seaton glares down at me. His fingers tighten around my shirt.
"Well?"
I swallow hard and finally speak, "He – He's just a friend of my dad. He... plays poker with him."
So much for silence.
"He hurt you," Seaton snarls. "He said –what he said to you. He's going to fucking hurt you, or he already has. He's harassing you at least. What's he fucking done to you!?"
I flinch and close me eyes.
"Please, Charlie –stop! ...Ah...No, it hurts –please!"
"N-Nothing," I breathe, shaking my head.
"I said look at me you fucking liar," Seaton snarls, grasping my chin with his free hand and making me look up at him. I open my eyes and he...he's got the strangest look in his eyes, "What the hell did he do to you?"
"Nothing, I –"
"DON'T LIE!" He yells at me furiously.
"I'M NOT LYING!" I shout back, before I realize what I've done. I snatch myself away from him and turn around to –to –I don't even know. Run away? Where? To my apartment, where he is?
"Go to hell," He spits at me, and I can't even look at him.
All I can say is...yeah, you guessed it;
"Yes, sir."
And I start to the door. There's a tingling under my eyes, a burning sensation pushing tears up and over onto my cheeks. Where is Hell, anyway? I wonder if you could get directions from Information. I feel as though things are happening in slow motion. Why is this happening? I don't want to leave. I never wanted to leave. I want to stay. With Seaton, here, with only him and –
My wrist suddenly hurts as a strong hand clamps down on it and pulls me back just as I'm about to grab the doorknob. I'm spun around briskly and held tightly in a pair of strong arms. I realize, after a second, that I'm crying. Sobbing, really, into Seaton's shirt, and my eyes seem to be the only part of my body that's active. I can feel the heat from his hands on my back, holding me close.
I think I could die right now.
After a long moment in this incredible warmth, I say something, "I'm sorry, sir."
"Don't be," He whispers, "You finally yelled at me. I was surprised, and... that fucker hurt you. Or he's planning to. I know it. I hate being lied to. Just... stay."
Why do you care?
"Yes, sir," I mumble into his shirt. I really like his shirt. Probably just because it's his. I really, really don't want to move. Suddenly, he jerks himself away and I barely contain my disappointment. He's down the hallway in a flash, so fast I don't get to see his face at all. What the fuck is that about?
"So I got some new movies," He calls from the other room, "Feel like popcorn?"
"Yes, sir," I reply and he comes back a few minutes later with a stack of movies that I'm supposed to choose from. I don't have a clue what any of them are about. He pushes me onto the couch and shakes his head.
"You're such a strange kid," He says, plopping down on the spot next to me, "I mean, you hover in doorways until you're invited in, you don't sit down unless a seat is offered, you say 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' all the effing time –you're unnaturally polite."
"Um... sorry, sir," I respond, because really, what else am I supposed to say? He looks at me and snorts.
"Brat," He mutters, but this time it isn't like he's calling me a name. His voice is calm and soft and 'brat' is almost an endearment. I sort of like it now. Everyone calls me 'Jayden' or 'Jay', but 'Brat'... that's Seaton's word for me.
"So which movie do you want to watch?" He asks me, raising an eyebrow. I choose the one with Adam Sandler in it. I didn't think it was possible to base a movie around a remote, but this dude pulled it off.
The movie's funny and interesting–
But all I can think about is Seaton's arms around me.
-
He orders pizza a few hours later. Half pepperoni and half green peppers and olives. He's got weird taste in pizza, but I think I can live with that. He's a really neat eater too – uses a napkin to hold his pizza and all. But he is the Chopstick Master, and apparently obsessively tidy, so I really expect no less from him.
It's sort of... cute.
Wait –cute!? I wouldn't have ever described Seaton like that before now. I mean, he's tall and rude and intimidating –not cute. Never cute. Well, apparently not never, of course, since I just thought that, but still. Hot, yes. 'Tall, Dark, Handsome' package, definitely. But cute? No. That just doesn't fit Seaton. It's just... I find the way he is... just right.
Why am I even thinking about this?
"Fuck, brat, what're you thinking about?" Seaton says, snapping me out of my reverie. "I mean, you've been staring at that piece of pizza in your hand for about five minutes already. I don't see anything particularly interesting about it."
"Yes, sir," I put the piece down. Hey –didn't I say I wouldn't like pizza anymore? That insane metaphor, right? This one didn't taste bad.
"Don't call me that anymore," he sighs, throwing his crust on the plate. It's his fourth piece –he never eats the crust. I look at him, blinking.
"What?"
"Don't call me 'sir', anymore," Seaton orders me. The movie plays on without us, the second one we're watching. I think someone got shot. Could be fireworks, or a balloon popping, I'm not really paying attention. "Do you even know my name? Besides Mr. Andrews?"
"..." Of course I know your name.
Seaton. Seaton Andrews. That guy I can't fucking stop thinking about. The guy I'm falling in love with. The guy I don't have a chance with.
"Yes, sir," I say finally, and he rolls his eyes.
"Well, use it, from now on," He commands. No way.
"Mr. Andrews?" I try, just in case he meant that.
"Now I sound like a single old man with more cats than teeth," He scoffs, "I mean my first name. Seaton, brat."
"I...I..."
"Don't you dare disagree," he says quickly, "Or spout one of those little 'no, sir's at me. I mean it. Call me 'sir' one more time and I'll dump ice water on your head to get you up in the morning."
Ouch.
"Yes, si-s-Seaton," I correct myself quickly. It feels awkward as it rolls off my tongue, like I'm speaking a different language. But, it feels good to say it out loud. To him. He wants me to call him by his first name.
That's got to mean something, right?
-
I'm nine years old, and I've just got out of school. I start up the stairs, knowing it's Wednesday and I'll have to stay outside again. I've been doing it for a few months now. It's getting colder though, so I'll have to start bringing a jacket. I haven't been able to spend much time with Charlie. I miss him.
I run into Danny, and we exchange some words I can't remember. I think he's telling me about another reason his leg's so messed up. He's a loony, I'm telling you.
And then, I sit down next to the coke machine and do what I do on these Wednesdays that I've been spending outside. I think about Charlie, and what we've been doing with each other every week for over two years. I shiver and close my eyes, imagining his eyes and his hair and his hands and his voice. Yeah, especially his voice.
"I love you, Kiddo..."
Every time he says that I melt into a mindless puddle. I...I feel so wanted around Charlie, so protected and...strange. Sometimes it's not a good feeling, though. Sometimes it feels weird and wrong. The teachers in school had some stupid education class last Friday about sex and puberty, and they told us to tell them privately if an adult had ever touched us in a way that felt weird.
I know Charlie's a grown up, but...
He's an exception, I'm sure.
-
"Ch...Charlie, what're you doing?" I ask him. He's just standing outside our apartment when I return from taking a walk around the block. It's around ten or eleven at night.
"Kiddo!" He runs over and hugs me, lifting me off the ground and swinging me around before stopping, but he doesn't let me go. I blush and the closeness of our faces. "I missed you so much! I'm so sorry about your dad making you wait out here!"
"It's...um...not your fault," I tell him, my hands resting on his broad shoulders.
"Hey –Jay, you want to go for a ride?" He asks, putting me down. When the bottom of my shoes hit the ground, he offers his hand to me, "Just around the block a few times –to catch up. I've already asked your dad."
"Yeah!" I say happily, beaming up at him. Gosh, I love Charlie so much! I've never just 'went for a ride' with anyone!
His car is dark blue, and his seats are gray and comfortable. I get to sit in the front seat, and I'm happy about that! We talk about what I've been doing in school for the past few months, and Charlie tells me about his job –he's a Guidance Counselor at a middle school across town. I wish I could go there, but it's too far to walk and Dad won't drive me, or let me take a bus.
Charlie takes us through a 'drive through' –McDonalds or Burger King, I don't recall which –and gets us both fries and a drink to share. I accept them hesitantly, but when he smiles I relax and feel better about it. I'm not used to presents.
After driving around for another thirty minutes or so, just talking about whatever comes to our minds, Charlie drops me off at home and says he has to go, and that he'll see me on Wednesday. But before I leave, he pulls me in for a deep, warm, wet kiss and I open my mouth to let him go deeper.
He tastes like salt, mostly, and coke.
He lets me go and smiles.
"See ya, Kiddo."
-
We started going for drives pretty often. Mostly just talking, but every once in a while we'll stop for something to eat or stop for...something more. This time, it was something more. Charlie smiled that smile of his and I gulped.
He unzipped his pants and patted the small bulge.
"Mind, Kiddo?"
I blush and reposition myself so that my hands are on the drink holder and my head is hovering over his lap. Apparently, he's in a bit of a rush because he puts his hand on the back of my neck and pushes me down.
I wake suddenly, with a jerk and a spasm. I sit up, breath hard and sweating just enough so that my shirt sticks to my back. The lights are out and I've got a pillow and I'm covered with a blanket.
I blush as I realize that Seaton must have done this. He got me a blanket and made me comfortable...damn it, my stupid fucking face won't stop! Thank god it's dark and no one's around.
A door creaks open and there're footsteps and the light turns on. Seaton's there, looking a bit groggy. I love his hair like that, all messy and untidy. I wonder if he looks like that after kissing...no! Wait! Bad thoughts! No, no, no, no ,no!
"Brat," He greets, and looks at the clock, "What're you doing up? It's two fifteen in the morning."
I just shrug.
"Nightmare?" He inquires, and I just shrug again, "I'll take that as a yes."
I look up at him as a question pops into my mind. I've wanted to know this for a while, and I'm just going to ask. I hope he doesn't mind.
"Are you an artist?"
He blinks slowly, and then narrows his eyes, "Why do you want to know?"
Eh!? Suspicious much? Heh, look who's talking. But I have a reason! But, I guess, who's to say Seaton doesn't too? He runs a hand through his hair, attempting to fix it a bit, and I'm almost tempted to say 'don't!' but, of course, I don't. I never do.
"I paint," He replies simply, his voice terse and monotonous. Oh –did I hit a sore spot or something?
"Oh," I say, not really sure what else to respond with. I love the way his hair falls in front of his eyes and the way he purses his lips when he's mad. I wonder, if we kissed, would he taste like olives and cigarettes? Not too pleasant when you put it like that, but I think I could bear with it. I look at him fleetingly. Oh yeah. I could bear with it.
"I'm going to have a smoke," He says, going back into his room for a moment and returning fully dressed. How the fuck...? He grabs his pack of cigarettes from the coffee table, along with his matches and then leaves, shutting the door behind him. I know he'll throw away the used match and the cigarette once he's through.
I fall backwards until my head hits the pillow.
"Seaton," I say aloud, and revel in the way it sound on my lips. I love the way his name sounds.
I turn over, and I'm about to fall asleep again when I remember what Seaton said.
Two in the morning?
Oh. Great.
It's Wednesday.