Chapter 30

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ROCCO

Jax had stood up, and was slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, slapping his mates' shoulders. Was he getting out here? I squinted out into the dark, rain splattering against the bus windows.

Along the street was a squat concrete building, sprayed with vivid graffitti. Weak orange light showed through dirty windows - otherwise, the building looked abandoned.

Ah. It was a Cobra den.

I sat stock still for about a minute, then jumped up and grabbed my duffel bag too.

"Ay! Where you going?" Rio asked, waking up from his nap. He peered out the window. "Nah, what are you playin' at? This is a den!"

I shrugged. "My mum is picking me up around the corner. Obviously she didn't know. It's all good, it's dark."

Rio frowned, unsure. "Well - you be safe man, alright?"

"Yeah man, thanks."

He fist-bumped me, leant his head back against the window, and closed his eyes.

Jax's back was just disappearing into the dark when I ran out after him. Rain immediately sprayed into my face, and I swiped a hand across my eyes.

I sprinted to catch up with him, and when I did, jostled him with my shoulder.

He spun around to look at me in the dark, blond hair wet with rain, blinking furiously. He grabbed my arm hard.

"What the fuck, man! Where the fuck do you think you're going!" He yelled over the wind.

"Wherever you're going!" I yelled back.

His grip on my arm tightened briefly, and then he let go. "Jesus," He muttered, wiping a hand across his rain-splattered face. "You know you can't fucking be here, right? They'll fucking see you."

I grinned at him. "Do I look like I care?"

He stared hard at me for a moment, then grabbed the front of my jacket, pulled me in, and shoved our mouths together. His lips were hot against the rain.

"Alright, c'mon, you fucker!" He yelled, tearing his mouth away. "I know where we can go!"

He began to run, and I followed. He turned down a shadowy alleyway beside the graffitied building. There was a fire escape ladder down the side. He crouched slightly, then leapt up and grabbed the rungs and pulled himself up.

"C'mon!" I heard him yell.

I jumped too and grabbed the rung below his feet. It was rusted, and flaking in the rain. With a heave, I pulled myself to follow him. The ladder reached the foot of a metal staircase. Jax had already reached the top and was shoving at a heavy iron door. I followed him quickly, wiping my hands on my jacket.

I moved beside him in front of the door. "On three!" I yelled to him. "One, two, three!"

We both drove our shoulders into the door. With a groan, it swung open slightly, just wide enough for two fit football players to squeeze in sideways, which we did.

Inside was a huge dark empty room. Yellow streetlight stretched in slanted rectangles across the floor from the large windows along the outside wall. Against one wall was a fireplace, and across from that was an old tattered couch. There was also a waterbed on the floor in the corner, and a locked door on the opposite wall. Tattered grey curtains framed the windows.

We were both breathing hard into the silence. Jax let his duffel bag slip off his shoulder, and I followed suit.

"What is this place?" I whispered.

"Don't know." Jax whispered back. "I found it when I was just messing around. I stay here, sometimes. That waterbed is mine. "

I crossed my arms across my chest. It was freezing in here - and my wet clothes were not helping. "So you'd rather live above a literal crack den, or whatever is downstairs, than go home?"

Jax was silent in the dark, rainwater pooling under his shoes. "Yup." He said finally.

Silence.

"Fuck." I said. "I wish... I wish you could have come to mine."

I saw his cheek curve with a smile. His shoulders shook a little - he was laughing. I slicked a hand back through my wet hair, then flicked the droplets off my hand onto the wooden floor.

"Fuck." I said again. He was infectious. "We're stupid, aren't we?"

"Yeah," He laughed, hoarse. "And we'll be even stupider if we don't get this wet shit off now."

"Wow, you sound like me."

"Yeah, I do." We were bent over, cackling with laughter now, hysterical with the absurdity of it all.

"Oh, fuck." I said, straightening. "C'mon. Can we light that fire?"

Jax moved around over to the fire, then knelt and pulled out a silver lighter and a cigarette, which he slipped between his lips. "You got any school books?" He said around the lighter.

"You're not burning any of my school books, dude!"

He sighed. "A few pages, then."

I didn't have any school books with me, but I did have a notepad for scribbling football play diagrams on which thankfully wasn't soaked. I handed it over to him and sat down on the old couch, which smelt like dust.

I heard the rip of pages, the flick of a lighter, then the soft sound of fire taking hold.

Jax stood up and looked at me, an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

"What?" I said.

He stared at me for a few more moments, then took the cigarette out of his mouth and slid it back into its box.

"Nothing," He said quietly, and slumped back down across from me on the couch. He let out a sigh and leaned his head back against the the back.

"Do you ever just..." He started, then stopped. His throat moved as he swallowed.

I blinked. "Uhh, yeah?" The firelight was glancing off his neck, his jaw, his cheekbone - triangles and squares. I grabbed the notepad from where he had left it, rested it on my knee. There was a pen tucked into the spine.

"Do you ever wish you had been born into a different family?" He asked.

I thought about it. Shadows collected in the curves of his throat. "I think..." I said slowly, wanting so badly for him to talk to me. "I think we are from different situations. "

He laughed, then quieted. "You're telling me. " He said, low.

"You don't know this, actually - why do I feel like you know everything about me? Anyway, my mom doesn't really accept me - uhh, being gay - "

He sat up. "Wait - your mom knows?"

I scowled, motioned for him to lie back again. "Yeah. I told her. "

He leaned back slowly. "You told her? How do you even know?"

I laughed. "Oh, I know. I just know. You... don't?" I held my breath. His hair looked so soft.

"I...No, not really. I mean - I've thought of myself as straight my whole fuckin' life. Still do - kinda."

Now I sat up. "What?"

He grinned lopsidedly at me, his eyes, dark grey now, sliding lazily over to mine.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, sir. " He pressed his lips together, shifted in his seat. "I think you're hot as fuck. God."

He rubbed his face with his hands - he didn't see my big fat grin.

"Damn, I just said that. Uhh..." He blew air out through his lips. "But... I don't feel like I fit with what people think gay guys are like - I mean, you know me. I'm not gonna change myself - I just think you're fucking hot - that's all. Fuck - why can't I stop saying that. "

"Yeah, stop saying I'm hot, getting kinda annoying to be honest with you."

He shoved my shoulder.

"Hey, bitch, don't move!" I growled.

"Ah, right, sorry. "

"No, but I get what you mean. I don't think I do either. I'm just me, and I wanna - "

"What?"

"Nothing! Don't wanna do anything. Look at this."

I showed him my notepad. He stared at it for a few moments, and for whatever reason I thought he was gonna get mad.

I had sketched him, stretched out on the old dusty couch, head tilted back, skin harsh with firelight. Each angle of his body, the godlike detail - he was so easy to sketch. God knows I had watched him enough.

"You are... " He began. He looked up, met my eyes, and although I was getting used to being near him and not getting punched, I felt a familiar twist of danger in my stomach.

"You - " He tried again.

"What?" I whispered. "What am I?"

He drew closer, sinuous, stretched a hand past my head to grip the arm of the couch behind me.

"You're so fucking hot, " He whispered, right before his burning mouth closed over mine.

THANK YOU FOR WAITING, YOU PRETTY BITCHES