Page 9 of Rat Park
Dominic had to crane his neck to look up as Mason approached and stopped inches away from him. Dominic shifted on the picnic bench. He could hear his heart in his ears as Mason lifted his hand slowly and threaded it through the hair at the back of Dominic’s head. The touch was gentle. A caress.
A void had opened up in Dominic’s mind. He’d thought he’d kept this one secret secure. The desire that made him sick with wanting and not being able to have.
Mason pressed lightly right at the dip in the back of his skull and he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the flat of Mason’s stomach. They’d never touched each other like that. Dominic hadn’t even suspected it would ever be a possibility.
They stayed tucked away as night deepened around them. Mason threaded his fingers through Dominic’s hair, nails scratching a lulling rhythm against his scalp. Dominic couldn’t remember ever being touched like this, with such simple affection.
It hurt.
Dominic didn’t protest when Mason finally pulled away. Mason’s face was starlight and shadow as he took a step back. Dominic knew exactly what this was.
A goodbye.
Mason and Dominic were heading to different worlds. He knew Mason’s foster carers didn’t like them spending time together, and yet it was Dominic who was always flaking on Mason. Finally, they’d reached the end of the line.
“Take care of yourself, Nickie, yeah?” Mason said.
Dominic opened his mouth.No.No, I can’t. I need help. I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared of what I’m willing to do to myself. I need someone to take care of me.
I can’t do this on my own.
“Yeah,” Dominic said. In the darkness, he watched Mason walk away.
*****
He wasn’t feeling much of anything, Dominic convinced himself. It was all numb where the rushing sickness wasn’t making him want to rip his skin off.
If only he could peel himself away and turn into someone else.
There was laughter coming from the kitchen as he stepped inside the house. He didn’t even have to use the key; the lock had been broken for weeks now. Not that it mattered—there was hardly anything of value inside.
He listened to his mom talk to somebody in the other room. Everything felt distant and warped.
He could still feel a soft pressure on the back of his head. He closed his eyes for a moment before heading upstairs.
He needed something. Something to get rid of the empty rushing feeling, of the jittery lump in his chest, of all the dogged thoughts eating each other in his head. He needed, he needed…
He looked in all the spots where he usually kept his stash even though he knew there would be nothing there. He searched his pockets and his mattress and his shoes for money, but there was nothing.
Dominic sat on his bed, panting. He threaded his fingers through his hair and pulled hard, replacing any tenderness that might still be lying to his senses. There was no space in his life for that.
He stood up, too full of burning electricity to stay still, and found himself outside his mom’s bedroom. He paused at the door, listening. He could hear her and whomever she was with downstairs. He went inside.
There was nothing in his head as he searched her room. The air was a hollow buzz. He just needed a little cash. Just a little cash to get rid of this taste in his throat, the long-fingered clench of his gut, this awful sinking that was going to drown him once and for all.
He just needed, he just needed—
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, kid?”
Dominic startled, whipping around to face the bedroom door. There was a man there. He wasn’t big, but he was bigger than Dominic and a lot meaner looking.
“Nothin’. Who the fuck are you?” Dominic said. Mason used to tell him he never knew what was good for him. Dominic had never protested the fact.
The man’s eyebrows shot up before bunching down in a scowl. Dominic knew his heart was racing, but he couldn’t feel it in his chest. It was just a pounding in his ears. His mouth was dry.
When Dominic was a kid, there had been a lot of stray dogs around his part of town, especially when the weather was warmer and they could survive outside. They mostly wandered in amicable packs or stayed away from each other, but sometimes they’d be forced into close proximity by the allure of a scarce resource. Food, shelter, a friendly hand. One second everything would be calm, and then two of the dogs would be lunging at each other, their snarls and teeth ripping the air apart. It’d be sudden and bloody—street dogs didn’t bare their teeth just for show.
At that moment, standing in his mother’s room with a stranger scowling in the doorway, Dominic realised what those dogs must have sensed before they’d thrown themselves at each other. The deep, visceral snap of danger that pulled action forward before thought could slow it down.
