Page 9 of The One Decent Thing

Navigating through a real town, with people going about their business, was way weirder than driving on the freeway had been. That middle-aged guy walking his fluffy dog, seemingly without a care in the world. He probably had a job, he’d gone to the grocery store that week, he had friends and family and an electric bill.

An electric bill. Would a utility company even give me an account? I’d had a phone plan, before. What happened to that? Collections? Maybe.

Fuck, I’d been better off in prison.

Sebastian’s place wasn’t that far, so I just took surface streets. Ten minutes later, I pulled into the driveway of a little Craftsman-style house with a small front yard made up of some weedy grass surrounded by a shoulder-high hedge and a couple of scraggly trees.

I peered around dubiously. There wasn’t a garage door opener in the car that I could see, so maybe someone else parked in the garage? If so, I was blocking them in or out. There weren’t any cars parked on the street in front of the house. In fact the whole block was quiet, with houses like Sebastian’s except for one bigger fake-Tudor monstrosity on the corner. My contractor uncle had me help him out with roofing a house like that when I was in high school. All the slanting roof sections really fucking sucked.

Nothing for it. I had to get Sebastian inside, and I’d deal with roommates and other complications as they arose. At least I already had the keys and didn’t have to make any more attempts at his pockets, so small mercies.

Unlocking the front door with Sebastian’s backpack over one shoulder, my own bag in my hand, and that arm clamped around his chest to keep him from tipping over wasn’t easy, but finally I nudged the door shut behind me with one foot, dropped everything but Sebastian, and closed my eyes for a second, drawing the first full breath I’d gotten in hours.

No cops here. No prying eyes. Somehow, miraculously, we’d made it.

“Sebastian, you’re home. Where’s your room?” No answer — what a surprise. Two Xanax wouldn’t have done this to me, but that didn’t mean much. Had he eaten at all that day? Or drunk any water? For that matter, had he eaten in weeks, judging by the prominence of his ribs?

Fucking Christ, but this kid was such a mess. I hoped to God he did have roommates, or a boyfriend, or something.

And that was a chilling thought. A guy could walk in any second and find me dragging his half-unconscious boyfriend to bed, and then we’d have a repeat of four years ago. I shivered, sent up a little prayer that we’d be undisturbed until Sebastian came around, and half-carried him across the room to a big beige leather couch that was way nicer than a college student should have had.

He flopped into the corner of it, curled his knees in, tucked his head down, and started to snore.

I stared down at him, from the messy mop of brown-streaked blond waves on his head to his Converse. Bright blue Converse. Somehow I hadn’t noticed those yet, but of course they were, and with multicolored stripy socks peeking out between the tops of them and the hems of his jeans. He had bigger hands than I would have expected, with long slim fingers and a few freckles on the backs of them. Sebastian wasn’t feminine, not the way I defined it, but there was still something…delicate, about the way his eyelashes fanned across the purple shadows under his eyes, about the lighter freckles scattered over his cheekbones and nose. Maybe that was why I kept feeling like someone needed to take care of him, that fragility. Or maybe I was just a moron. Definitely a moron, since I always seemed to default to me being the one who needed to do it.

I shook my head and turned away to figure out what the fuck to do next.

The front door had opened right into a living room, complete with the couch and a coffee table and a smallish flat-screen TV set opposite the couch on an entertainment center thing next to the door. A couple of arched doorways opened out of the room, neither with actual doors in them. Every other inch of available wall space was filled with bookshelves, all of them stuffed with a mishmash of sci-fi paperbacks and textbooks and DVDs, and who knew what else.

I tiptoed across the room to the opening that looked like it led to a kitchen, irrationally afraid to make even the smallest noise. It was the kitchen; there was a table in there in a breakfast nook by the windows, and all the usual kitchen stuff. Theusual stuff. I stood gaping at it for an embarrassingly long time. Being here was like being on an alien planet. It was quiet. It was clean. I could hear the ticking of an old-fashioned clock on a shelf over the sink, the low rumble of the refrigerator, a dog barking somewhere nearby. Nothing to smell but lemon dish soap, a hint of coffee grounds, and a slight mustiness that probably came from all the windows being closed.

No piss. No blood. No bleach, no reek of unwashed bodies and walled-up testosterone.

I turned around and tried the other doorway from the living room. That led to a short hallway with three doors off of it, leading in turn to a little office space with a desk and a futon against the wall, a bathroom, and a room that was obviously Sebastian’s — not just by process of elimination, but by the rainbow-patterned quilt on the bed.

I checked the bathroom again. One toothbrush in the holder by the sink, one razor on the counter, and one towel hanging up. My anxiety dropped down a notch; it didn’t look like anyone was going to walk in and call the police.

On the other hand, what the fuck? Sebastian shouldn’t be here alone. From what I’d seen so far, he needed a nanny.

Unfortunately for him, all he had at the moment was me. He hadn’t moved a muscle, but he was still letting out those funny little snores, so I figured he was all right. I got his shoes off and then contemplated the options.

Sleeping in jeans sucked. No way in hell was I going to peel him out of them, though, not without dialing my own creep factor up to eleven. Fuck it. I scooped him up bridal-style, carried him down the hall, and put him on his bed, wrapping the side of that ridiculous blanket over him like a taco. He was on his side, he wasn’t going to die, and I’d check on him anyway.

In the meantime, I didn’t think Sebastian would begrudge me a clean towel and a few minutes of peace and quiet. I’d have a smoke, find a glass of water, grab a shower — fuck, a real shower, alone, with soap that smelled good — and find out if that couch was as comfortable as it looked.

Chapter Five

Sebastian

Waking up after a double dose of Xanax felt like swimming through Jell-o. Just getting my eyelids to lift was a crazy effort, and then once I did I couldn’t figure out what I was looking at in the very faint light coming from…somewhere. That was a wall over there. Pillow? That was a pillow under my head. I had to pee like I couldn’t believe, my bladder pressing against the waistband of my jeans.

I stirred. Slowly, very slowly. Something over me shifted and let in cool air. Blanket? My blanket. My bed.

I’d been in my car, hadn’t I? With Aidan.

Oh God, Aidan.

That broke through the haze enough that I rolled up to a sitting position. My brain took a second to catch up, and I swayed back and forth. I needed to pee so badly.

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