Page 29 of Petrichor

He’s loud and bold. It never fails to lift my mood, even though he’s very straightforward at times—too straightforward. We don’t talk much about ourselves, but I can see the same shadows reflecting in his eyes, the same weight pushing down his shoulders, and the same daily fight in his carefree attitude.

Old traumas are hard to overcome, so most of us suppress them. Still from time to time they resurface just to remind us what a shitty hand we’ve had.

“Where the hell have you been, Fly?” is his greeting when I enter the café a while later. The smell of coffee and sweets fills my lungs as I make my way to Art’s table. I take the scents in fully.

“Sorry. Been busy.”

He scoffs. “I’ll forgive you if A, a sexy half-wolf, half-horse alien kidnapped you and tried to impregnate you for days, twenty-four seven.” He pauses, looking at me expectantly.

I pucker my lips. “Uhm. The half horse part is it the bottom?”

“Duh!”

“I can still walk, so no.”

“Dammit! B, Hagrid came to get you for Hogwarts, but you couldn’t find the 9 3/4 platform and ended up in New Jersey?” Hewinks—I thought only grandmas and losers did that nowadays. I roll my eyes at his ridiculous words.

“C, you set your kitchen on fire by blowing up grapes in the microwave.”

“How do you set fire to a kitchen with grapes?”

“You’re not very imaginative, are you?” He pouts at me. “Unless… Is that creep still giving you problems?”

He means Jerry. “Not at the moment.” He saw the bruises that loser left on my wrist—the day I rejected him—and asked me about them. I gave him a vague explanation, He doesn’t need to know what Jerry did to me three days ago, I don’t want my friend mixed up in my mess. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have let Jerry fuck me a second time, but after what I learned that night I really needed a warm body next to mine.

Art bumps the tray with a mochaccino and a focaccia sandwich toward me. Oh, bless him. I’m starving.

“Tell me his horrible name, and I’ll help. I mean not me, since I don’t do violence unless it’s self-defense, but I know people who will with extra pleasure and a cherry on top.” He tosses a couple of french fries into his mouth, the picture of casualness.

Again, I don’t know much about Art, but from what he told me he has a brother, his mother is out of the picture and he doesn’t work for his family’s company—not an easy relationship with his father. But whatever he does I reckon is kind of line-blurring since I’ve seen the kind of people who approach him from time to time in the clubs.

Looking at him, I would never take him for a shady dude. He’s so carefree and Tinker Bell-y looking. Always chewing on something. His tray is filled with food, which is funny since Art is a half pint of a guy. Blondish hair, light blue eyes, baby skin, he looks like acute puppy—that’s just his appearance though. Some people even mistake us for brothers, probably due to our similar looks. We are both short, with lean bodies and light hair and eyes.

“If he keeps harassing me, I might take that offer. But somebody might have done that already, taking care of him I mean,” I let it slip. Marco implied it, and since then I haven’t received any texts from Jerry.

“I can’t believe he’s still contacting you. Hookups should remain as such. No name, no talking at all unless he needs to tell you how tight your ass is while he pounds it,” he utters around a bite of avocado roll, not caring whatsoever if the people around us are listening.

Hookups. My mind shifts to Marco. I thought I was hallucinating when I heard him ordering another glass at the bar that night. My heart trembled inside my chest as I listened to the gruff, smooth voice I’ve never forgotten. I slowly turned, and there he was.

He still felt as unnerving as I remembered. Imposing. His dark eyes were on that skanky chick who was drooling all over him, and he seemed uninterested, bored almost. But didn’t push her away. His voice brought back so much that I had to go and take a hold of myself. Not for even a second thinking that he would walk in the bathroom after a minute or so—with her. It strangely turned me on listening to him grunt and order her around while she tried to suck him. I do like a man who gives it rough—that’s why I’m in my current Jerry predicament.

When I left my stall, for a moment, my head felt dizzy and my chest palpitated as I felt his stare on me. My eyes eagerly took him in. He wore a suit that complemented him so well; it was dark like his hair, expensive looking, and covered his broad shoulders and strong legs perfectly. I couldn’t stop admiring his fine features, short stubble, hard jaw, and deep eyes. He wasdefinitely the same man who saved me and my brother a decade ago.

Standing that close to him, his scent hit me right in the guts. And for a moment, I was a scared kid again, leaning against that rough tree trunk with him looming over me as the whispering pitter-patter of raindrops kept falling down in the background. I wasn’t alone anymore, for just a fleeting instant.

I’ve had that dream countless times. Marco’s big presence nearby while my brother chuckled next to me. Amid the darkness, I could always hear the rain. Smell it. Feel it on my damp clothes. In the fading fog of consciousness, I was happy.

Even though since that day I’ve been carrying my brother’s absence with me like an extra limb.

“So, who’s the guy?” Art suddenly asks, taking away my dark thoughts. I can see his nipples through the net of his red shirt.

I let out a questioning hum to which he explains further, “The one who seems to have taken all of your time.”

I hesitate just for a moment. “Do you know Marco Moretti?”

“Mmmm,” Art moans very loudly around a bite of donut. “Sorry, just had a foodgasm. Fuck! Didn’t have my second snack after breakfast, I’m famished. Say that again?”Second snack?

I patiently repeat, “Marco Moretti, do you know him?” I’m pretty sure he does since Art is the gossip queen bee of New York.

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