Page 11 of The Secret Experimentation
Right at this moment, I feel the urge to go to the nearest bar and drink my body weight in alcohol. Maybe that would shut my scattering, freaking-out thoughts up. Or maybe I can call Daniel and tell him to take my place. My eyes fall on Mel’s trembling body.I’m an asshole.He got hurt trying to save defenseless creatures, and I’m here thinking of ditching him because I’m appreciating a butt. I grit my teeth, blanketing my expression, and without looking down, I help him get inside the tub. He hisses.
“Too hot?” I ask.
He shakes his head and then moans when his body gets settled inside the water.
“If this is awkward for you, I can manage.” I barely hear his low whisper.
Guess I didn’t cover my emotions that well.
Ignoring his words, I say, “I need to change the bandage on your torso when you’re done.”
“Under the sink there’s a first-aid kit.” He points to my left still without looking me in the eyes.
After retrieving the box and taking out the supplies I’ll need later, I turn back to him.
Mel tips his head back so it rests on the edge of the tub. His eyes are closed, but he doesn’t look asleep. His hair has dirt and some blood caked on the strands, but he doesn’t seem eager to start the cleaning. After a few more seconds, I roll my shirt’s sleeves up to my elbows and grab the small wooden stool from the bedroom. Shampoo in hand, I sit on it.
“Sit straight,” I order him.
He opens his eyes and turns his head to me with a tired gaze. I show him the shampoo bottle, and he moves forward without saying a word.
I start pouring water on his head while noticing how flawless his back looks. His skin is miles and miles of white perfection. Not even a mole disrupting the pale smoothness.
Only bruises, damn it.
When his hair is wet, I drop a bit of shampoo in the palm of my hand and rub it meticulously between the thick locks. Then rinse. I do it again, concentrating on his scalp this time. Mel must love the gentle massage because his head is lolling back and his lips are parted, letting small sighs escape. With his head all the way back, I have a pretty good sight of his body. The bath salts weren’t the bubbly kind and the transparency of the water lets me clearly see every curve, every plane—and his very hard cock pointing up toward me. It’s not the first time I’ve seen one…of course. I have a brother, and the gym I go to has communal showers. My eyes might have got a glimpse a few times.
But it’s the first one I’ve seen that’s hard because of me. The odd part? It’s not that awkward. Andthatis disconcerting.
“You really are pampering me,” Mel whispers, unaware of my internal turmoil.
I rinse his hair quickly, and dry my hands on a towel. After telling him to call me when he decides to get out of the tub, I walk straight for the window in the living room. I move the hook and push it open, ignoring the unmoving white bird three feet away. The air is suffocatingly hot, but the smell of salty water is always welcome. Yanking the soft pack of Marlboros out of my pocket, I tap the bottom until a cigarette slides half-out. I grip it between my teeth and pull it out. When I light it, the first puff is always long and slow. Needs to be enjoyed.
Unfortunately, the loud coughing noise and frantic wing flapping almost make me choke on it.
“Out, you wanker!”
When I resume breathing, I glare at…Alfred. What a fucking name for a bird. He unfortunately has a light chain around his stick leg, preventing him from flying away. But that could be a pro more than a con. “My mother makes a killer turkey on Thanksgiving, bird.”
“Killer. Mad as a bag of ferrets killer.” Alfred crocks out, cutting off my feather-picking dream.
I take another drag from my cigarette and although I’m tempted to blow it at the bird from hell’s beak, I push the smoke out of the window. What the fuck is Mel doing with Marylin Manson’s pet?
My phone vibrates and I answer Asher’s text, writing that Mel is fine and I’ll bring Jordan’s phone back tomorrow.
Alfred’s black, round, beady eye is fixed on me…I think. Not sure since he has this dead stare going on. Suddenly, a long crest sprouts on his head and he leans toward me, opening and closing his beak like Hannibal the cannibal. It makes me jerk back. Ash from my cigarette falls on the floor.
“Fuck!”
I let a tiny bird scare me and stop me from relaxing with my smoke. Can’t say he didn’t distract me from my thoughts, though.
Taking my last pull, I head to the kitchen sink to put out the cigarette with some water, and throw it away. Then I start cleaning the floor under Alfred’s static watch.
Is that a smirk I see on his creepy little face? “Are you part vulture by any chance?”
“Are you chatting with my Cockatoo?” Mel’s voice makes my head snap up. He is standing on his bedroom threshold. His side is leaning against the wooden door frame. He’s all wrapped in a big fluffy green towel, from shoulder to half-thigh. Although he’s smirking, he looks about to drop on the floor.
“Your creepy bird is a menace,” I tell him, quickly washing my hands before reaching him. “I told you to call me.”
