Behind the Tears (Behind the Lives) (17 page)

Farrah started giggling. Corey opened his eyes to see what was so funny. The girls were staring at his... Shit! Corey covered his cock, willing it go down. He hoped he wasn’t blushing, because his face turned bright red, along with his neck, when he was embarrassed, something he got teased a lot for, along with his pale complexion. He wished he’d gotten his mother’s darker genes like Beth had, not his damn father’s.

He closed his eyes and took another drag on the joint, wishing he knew how to handle chicks better. Juliet was the only one he’d ever been friends with, because females in general made him feel awkward. He didn’t know what to say to them, and he didn’t like girly stuff either, especially fashion. All that crap about gay guys having a great fashion sense didn’t extend to him, cos hoodies and jeans were his dress-code, and the only thing he’d ever liked about fashion was styling his hair, but now that was all chemoed off he had nada left. Maybe he wasn’t a
typical
gay, but then again, how would he know what typical was, because he didn’t know any gay guys, well, apart from Kirstin’s cousin, who he’d only met once. If anything, he didn’t know why he was even here, because Tyler probably wouldn’t remember him.

Corey blew out smoke, wondering whether Tyler was going to show. Something soft brushed his lips, making him open his eyes. They widened as Kirstin latched onto his mouth, full out kissing him.

He jerked his head to the side, then scrambled off the bed. “What the fuck?!”

She jumped up after him. “I thought you wanted it?”

“Why?” Corey’s gaze shifted to Farrah. The girl was sniggering behind her hand. Some BF, he thought.

“I thought you were interested in me?” Kirstin said. “And you had a hard-on.”

He couldn’t stop the blush now. He was sure it had even reached his cock, burning it into non-existence. “I wuzn’t thinking ’bout you, you’re too young for me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I ain’t comfortable with this,” he said, glancing back at her friend. He didn’t want to do anything with Kirstin—and especially not with her mate watching. Freaky chicks.

Kirstin’s gaze followed his. “Get out, Farrah.”

Farrah pulled a face. “Can’t we just sit here and smoke. He’s not interested in you.”

“No, he just doesn’t want you perving while we make out.”

Ready to bolt, Corey opened the door. He stopped in his tracks as a huge skinhead glared down at him. He was dressed in camo pants, and a black bomber jacket.

“What’re you doin’ in my niece’s room?!”

Corey felt his dick shrink into the size of a clitoris. He held up the joint with a shaky hand. “Smoking.”

The guy grabbed the front of Corey’s sweatshirt. “Did you fuck my niece?”

Corey shook his head.

“Uncle Deano, let him go!” Kirstin yelled behind Corey. “He’s Farrah’s boyfriend.”

The skinhead’s attention shifted Farrah. “Is this true?”

Corey’s eyes dropped to the guy’s tattooed knuckles. A thunderbolt cut in between the letters AC and DC. He didn’t know what Farrah was doing right now, but he was praying that she was nodding until her head fell off. Huge relief washed over him when he heard a “Yes.”

The man swiped the joint out of Corey’s hand then gave him a hard shove down the passage. “Get outta here before I change my mind and add some more colours to your face.”

Corey took off into the lounge. Except for Naf, who was still concentrating on the PlayStation game, the others had wide grins on their faces. Flicking them the finger, Corey slumped in the seat adjacent to the couch.

They turned back to their game. Tag let out a loud whoop a few seconds later when his PlayStation character shot down Naf’s. Corey swore the guy looked familiar. He grinned when he clicked why. Tag’s features were similar to Ash and Dante’s, plus he was pretty sure the Rata’s grandfather had the name Talich.

“Are you related to the Ratas?” Corey asked Tag.

Tag’s face dropped. He put a finger to his mouth as boots stomped down the passage.

The skinhead appeared in the doorway. “Who said the name Rata?!”

“No one, Mr. Jones. What’s-a-face...” Tag indicated towards Corey, “...called me a farter.”

The other guys started sniggering. The skinhead’s gaze zeroed in on Corey. Corey sank into the chair wishing it was quicksand. Man, the guy was a scary bastard, fugly as too; his busted-up nose and chipped teeth perfect for a mug shot.

“You’re a li’l smart-mouthed twat, aren’t cha?” the skinhead said, glaring at Corey.

“No, sir, he just made a loud fart.”

The guys sniggered again. Kirstin’s uncle extended a finger at Corey. “Keep your pie-hole shut, boy. I don’t wanna hear shit from you again, not even a squeak outta your arse or I’ll jam your head up it. Understand?”

Corey nodded vigorously.

The man’s attention shifted back to Tag. “Have ya seen my wife? The bitch didn’t pick me up from the airport.”

Tag shook his head.

“What about Len?”

“Haven’t seen him either.”

The skinhead let out a loud grunt. “I want the stuff Ash Rata was s’posed to drop off.”

“I know him,” Naf said, totally oblivious to the situation as he continued to play the game. He let out a loud yelp. “Why the hell didja kick me?” he said, glaring at the fat boy next to him.

“How’d ja know Ash Rata?” the skinhead asked, heading for Naf.

Rubbing his leg, Naf glanced up, then dropped the PS3 controller. “Ahhh... I-I j-just heard ’bout him. He’s a drug dealer,” he said, looking like he was going to piss himself.

The skinhead sneered. “Yeah, and an arsehole too, but not as much as his brother. Fuck, I hate Dante. I’d love to kill that greasy Eyetie prick.” He waved a hand in the air. “Anyway, you kids play whatever, I’m off to bed, got bloody jetlag.” He turned and disappeared down the passage.

Tag got up and closed the passage door, then sat down on the armrest next to Naf. “The Ratas are mine and Mick’s cousins,” he said, pointing at the fat boy. “But don’t ever let Kirstin’s uncle or dad know or they’ll pro’bly give us a kicking, and won’t let us back in.”

Both Corey and Naf nodded.

Tag smiled. “Ta. Though, I don’t know why he thinks the Ratas are Italian, but I’m glad he does. He knows me and Mick have Croatian blood, so he doesn’t realise we’re related. But the racist prick still slags us off, making Serbian concentration camp jokes. And Kirstin’s dad ain’t much better. It wouldn’t surprise me if they have Nazi crap pasted all over their rooms. If it wuzn’t for Kirstin I wouldn’t even come here, and right now even she ain’t worth it. So, let’s get outta here, cos this party blows chunks. Any of you guys got a ride? I wanna do some art.”

“Art?” Corey asked.

“Tagging.”

“I’m staying here,” emo boy said. “If my stepdad catches me tagging again, he’ll lose his rag.”

Tag laughed. “Yeah, his stepdad’s a smurf.”

“A smurf?” Corey asked.

Emo boy stopped playing, and glared at Tag. “He calls my stepdad that cos he’s a cop, and wears blue.”

Corey grimaced. He couldn’t stand pigs ever since they arrested him a few months back. And it wasn’t even his fault; it was bloody Tama’s for chasing that girl. Corey hadn’t been interested in what Tama had wanted; he was just following Sledge.

“We can take my car,” Naf piped up.

“Sweet, then let’s blow this stink-arse place.” Tag headed for the door, then jolted back as it opened.

Kirstin’s cousin stepped inside. Tyler glanced around the lounge, his gaze settling on Corey. Corey didn’t know how the skinhead could be Tyler’s father, because Tyler was a Greek god in comparison, no, in bloody reality, because the dude’s face and body was chiselled to perfection. Hmm... Corey’s gaze ran down Tyler’s body, then moved back to his face again, which now appeared amused. Corey felt the burn of embarrassment punch him in the cheeks then grab him by the throat. He glanced around the room, hoping no one else had noticed his cock-up. To his relief, only Tyler was looking at him, the guy’s smile widening. Corey sat down and placed a pillow over his lap.

“Who wants a beer?” Tyler held up a six-pack, although Corey was pretty sure he had a different type under his shirt. Dressed in nicely cut pants, with a matching navy jacket over an open-necked white shirt, Tyler looked like he’d come straight from some flash party—or a fashion shoot. Corey glanced down at his grungy threads, wishing he’d made more of an effort.

“Don’t want nuthin’ from you, Tyler.” Tag went for the door. “We’re outta here.”

“I’d rather stay and have some beer,” Corey replied.

Tag stopped in the doorway. “I wouldn’t take nuthin’ from Tyler. He’s a—”

Tyler turned on Tag. “If he wants to stay, he can, so shut your trap or I’ll get my dad to shut it for you.”

Tag looked over at Corey and mouthed something unreadable. Tyler shoved Tag outside.

“You alright to get home, Corey?” Naf asked.

“I can give him a lift,” Tyler piped up. He looked over at Corey, his expression hopeful.

“Okay,” Corey replied.

Naf smirked. “Well, ya better buy some mouthwash then.” He pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, making a rude gesture with his hand.

Corey flicked Naf the finger as his brother disappeared through the doorway with the others.

Tyler sat down on the armrest next to Corey. “You wanna head out too? I’ve got wheels.”

“But, you’ve just got here?”

“You really wanna stay?”

Corey shrugged. “It’s your place.”

“God, no. I wouldn’t choose to live here. I moved out ages ago. So, you wanna go?”

Corey glanced at emo boy, who was still playing the game. The guy hadn’t lifted his gaze from the TV screen to even say bye to his mates. “Okay,” Corey said, getting up.

They headed outside, watching as Naf’s dump of a car spluttered to life. Tag stuck his head out the window and hollered obscene words at Tyler as they drove off. Tyler ignored Tag and clicked off his car alarm. Corey’s impressed gaze took in the grey Alfa Romeo. He wondered how a nineteen-year old could afford such a sweet ride.

They got in, Corey taking the beer.

Tyler started the engine and pulled out. “You’ve lost loads of weight since I last saw you. You look really hot now, not that you didn’t before, but you were more adorable back then. Now you’re plain...” He smiled, “gorgeous.”

Corey felt his face flush. He needed to dunk his stupid head in ice water tonight, because everything was setting it off. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “You look different too, I remember you having long brown hair.”

“I had to cut it for work, and anyway, I’m naturally blond. I used to dye it brown, cos I thought blond hair made me look gay.”

Corey smiled. “But, you are gay.”

Tyler shrugged. “I went through a stage where I didn’t wanna advertise it. My dad isn’t exactly the liberal type. But in the end I decided to tell him the truth. He yelled at me and said I was lying to piss him off, then shut himself in his room for days. He still refuses to acknowledge I’m gay.”

“My old man hates me being gay too and insists I keep it a secret, but my mum’s cool about it. What about your mum?”

“I don’t know where she is, she took off when I was a baby, and my stepmum doesn’t care.” Tyler stopped at a giveway sign and reached for Corey’s beanie. “You can take this off now, it’s warm in here.”

Corey grabbed it. “No, it stays on.”

“Why?”

“I had an accident dyeing my hair, so I shaved it all off.” He hated people knowing about his cancer, because they always treated him differently.

“Oh, sorry, but I bet you’re still hot even without hair.”

Corey grimaced. He couldn’t wait to get his hair back next year, well, he would as long as he didn’t cark it.

“What happened to your face?” Tyler asked as he turned a corner.

Corey reiterated the story.

Tyler laughed. “Sorry. Well, at least you didn’t do it to a bloke, they punch harder.” He glanced over at Corey. “But I wouldn’t hit you if you did it to me.”

Corey dropped his gaze, wondering whether Tyler thought he’d gone with him for sex. Yeah, Tyler gave him a boner, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to do anything about it. He’d never fucked a guy before, and he didn’t want to make an idiot of himself, and what if Tyler wanted to do something he didn’t, like rimming. He didn’t mind watching it on the internet, but actually doing it to someone...
ooh yuck
... no fucking way! Corey’s face dropped. Oh God, he was smaller than Tyler, which meant he was the twink. He didn’t know if he wanted to get fucked. He’d stuck a carrot up there once and even with plastic wrap it had stung like buggery. Oh... it was buggery. Guess he knew where the saying came from now.

Tyler stopped at an intersection. “Are you alright?”

Corey glanced up. Tyler was staring at him with a concerned expression, which made him want to pull the beanie over his face. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look scared.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Tyler patted his leg. “Don’t worry, Corey, I’m not gonna throw myself at you, I’m just happy you’re here. Though, don’t take this the wrong way, but I thought maybe we could go to my place, but if you’re not comfortable with that I can take ya home.”