Page 28 of The Dramatic Life of Jonah Penrose
“Right,” Peter said, sweating himself as he glanced at his watch and groaned. “Let’s finish the last move, then we can do full run-throughs next week.”
The fight ended with Achilles straddling Hector, dagger raised above his head before plunging it into Hector’s throat. Apparently, in the original myth Achilles killed him with a spear, but spears were cumbersome onstage so a dagger came into play instead. During performances, a bloodpack would burst when the tip of the prop weapon touched it, ghastly realism that often earned several gasps from the audience and was a nightmare to scrub off your skin at the end of the night.
Dexter got into position on the floor, and Jonah crouched beside him before slinging one leg over his hip so he sat atop of him, holding his weight up slightly so as not to cause Dexter any discomfort. Peter spoke, his voice aimed at Dexter; Jonah did this multiple times a week, his hand clasped above his head around the dagger before plunging it down to kill the Hector beneath him. Only this time, Dexter threw his hands up and gripped Jonah’s wrists, his breathing heavy beneath Jonah’s thighs, and he resisted Jonah’s movement to bring the dagger down.
“Dexter. What are you doing?” Peter asked, lips in a thin line, foot tapping impatiently on the floor. “Let him kill you, for fuck’s sake.”
“Hector would fight until the last minute,” Dexter said, looking at Jonah, eyes wide, as if he were performing in front of thousands of people. “Let me try.” Jonah let him, allowing the show of last-minute strength to play out until Dexter faltered and he let Jonah plunge the dagger down to the left of his neck, the side the audience couldn’t see.
“How truly method of you,” Peter quipped. “But fine. Whatever. It works. Just make sure you don’t overrun the music. We can practice with it next week.” He picked up his things from the table and looked at them both on the floor. “That’s enough for today. I need some food.” He narrowed his eyes at them. “You can get up now, you know.”
Jonah fumbled off of Dexter’s lap and stumbled to his feet, brushing off his knees before dumping the dagger onto the table. Dexter sat up but didn’t remove himself from the floor. Jonah rummaged through his bag and pulled out his phone, relieved to see no calls from his mum, but his stomach flipped seeing a new unread message from Edward.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, sweat dripping from his curls. “See you next week.”
“Yeah,” Dexter said quickly, still not moving, his body hunched over a little awkwardly. “Bye.”
“Do you need help getting up?”
“No! I mean, no, I’m fine, I just need a minute.”
Jonah hesitated, clutching his phone as Dexter angled his body away from him. “Okay. Bye.” He didn’t turn back as he left, the phone in his hand burning his palms, the reality of his life beyond the doors screaming at him to get outside.
Fourteen
“Hera. Poseidon. Athena. We feel your feet behind us. We move with your army. You spread our arms and raise our weapons.”
—“We Build,”The Wooden Horse, Act Two
The messages came in from Edward each day, and then on Sunday Jonah finally replied. Each text said the same thing: he missed him; he wanted to chat; he regretted the way things turned out. They came between calls to nursing homes and endless scrolling online to find out every single little detail he could about the place his father might end up living, and, despite the heartbreak Jonah experienced from Edward leaving, the communication became an annoyance. Even more so when Jonah allowed himself to scope out his ex’s Instagram only to see he’d posted a photo of him and Wes an hour after sending his last message begging Jonah to talk to him. The bastard.
You have a boyfriend, Edward. Go talk to him and leave me alone.
Sending it terrified him. His hands trembled so much his phone practically shook out of his grip as he typed out the words and pressed send. He knew he should block Edward’s number, but the self-destructive devil sitting on his shoulder told him not to; the messages, no matter how inappropriate, boosted his almost nonexistent self-esteem. And he needed self-esteem. Now more than ever. He didn’t have time to dwell on Edwardand his stupid infidelity. His life was more than full with work and combat rehearsals where he definitely wasn’t enjoying straddling Dexter each day and certainly not thinking about him at random moments and wondering why he liked it when Dexter’s skin touched his.
He tried to busy his mind with other things. He listened to Sherrie talk about Romana and their topsy-turvy relationship, if they could even call it that. Sherrie told him about the birthmark on the inside of Romana’s thigh and how she liked her toast slightly burnt in the mornings. She also told him how much shedidn’tactually like Romana and was totally fine when she didn’t text her back or stood her up on dates. Jonah listened and nodded at the appropriate times and showed outrage when required. But, it didn’t matter how much he tried to focus on the confusing love life of his friend, his mind constantly went back to Dexter Ellis and his toned arms and gorgeously defined cheekbones.
And he couldn’t help but think about how nice it was when, during certain moves at rehearsals, Dexter’s breath tickled his neck, the sensation dizzying, and Jonah half wondered if he should go back to completely disliking the guy rather than feeling sorry for him so he could fold away the unwanted and unwarranted attraction he was slowly beginning to feel for him. The messages didn’t help either. They’d somehow settled into casually messaging throughout the day, to the point where Jonah found himself texting back and forth with Dexter more than he did with Bastien. The texts were nothing important, of no real substance, but Jonah still found ways to look at them and wonder if Dexterdidhide a meaning behind his playful words, or if this was just their friendship now, sarcasm and slightly fond insults galore.
The Penis Destroyer:Saw a dog today. It looked like you.
Jonah:What a coincidence. Saw a pigeon today that looked like you.
The Penis Destroyer:You’ve totally made me realize who you remind me of. The old pigeon lady in Mary Poppins.
Jonah:I’m quite the tourist attraction out there with all my pigeons.
The Penis Destroyer:And so very attractive.
Jonah:Stop flirting with me.
If anything, Jonah felt as if he were in some kind of Dexter Ellis montage, where his mind played clips of him on repeat intercepted by stupid texts. Then there were the social media posts. Dexter snapped pictures of them during combat rehearsals then incessantly posted them online and tagged Jonah in every single one, which he made him repost while looming over his shoulder. It was mildly infuriating because he never thought he would let Dexter take up so much of his time, and he let him do it willingly. In fact, he rather enjoyed it. But he would never admit to anyone that he liked it when Dexter’s shirt, drenched in sweat, clung to his arms, and he certainly wouldn’t tell anyone that sometimes, when Dexter was beneath him, he thought about what might happen if he were to lean down and kiss—
“Your harmony was off,” Dexter said, turning to Jonah when they’d finished rehearsing. “You made me question my last note, but it was you, not me.”
Jonah offered a condescending smile. “If you weren’t hollering in my ear, then maybe I could hear what notes I’m hitting.” Their vocal rehearsals often turned into a tit-for-tat exploration of annoyances. It was always only a matter of time before one of them found an issue with the other.
“I do not holler.”
