Omorphi (29 page)

“So many excuses,” Christy whispered before taking Michael’s mouth in a blistering kiss.

He broke away from the kiss. “Christy, we can’t.”

Christy reached down and took Michael in hand and began to stroke. When Christy stood on tiptoe and brought their bodies together and continued to stroke, Michael knew it was hopeless. He wanted to be with Christy more than anything in the world. Against his better judgment, he succumbed as he had so many times in his dreams and let Christy do as he pleased. When Christy’s hand slipped between his legs, he jumped, and Christy hushed him with another blistering kiss. Christy’s hands went to places Michael had only ever dreamed of touching and redefined the meaning of “where no man has gone before.” He had to brace himself against the shower wall to keep his footing, and when he spilled over Christy’s hand, Christy joined him. The new sensations, the raw emotion, and the fresh feelings were intense, more intensely wonderful than their first time together, and he couldn’t prevent the embarrassing, quivering moan that escaped him.

Michael held Christy for a long time afterward. He thought he should be angry with himself for breaking his word to Rob, but he wasn’t. He thought he should at least feel guilty, but he didn’t. He loved exploring, learning, allowing Christy to guide him, to teach him, at his own pace. Christy had been confident and radiated a peaceful happiness Michael hadn’t seen before. And, man, Christy was
knowledgeable
. Still, he had to wonder why Christy wasn’t afraid of having sex with him after everything he’d been through. His thoughts were interrupted when a cell phone rang somewhere in the other room and then stopped. “Guess we should get out.”

Christy nodded against his chest, then looked up at him, and Michael saw a sterling calm in his eyes for the first time.

“I feel very safe with you.”

The words filled Michael with a joy more pure than sunshine. “I’m glad.” The phone rang again. Only his mom turbo-called him and generally not without good reason. He frowned, not yet content to relinquish their private moment. He leaned down and kissed Christy thoroughly, and when Christy moaned softly, Michael thought this must be what heaven was like. The phone rang again, and he turned the water off and handed Christy a towel. “My mom’s climbing the DEFCON scale.”

Christy’s phone chirped with an incoming text message, a distant blip in the other room.

“Something’s up.” Michael pecked Christy’s lips one last time, wrapped a towel around his waist, and went to retrieve their phones.

A knock sounded at the door, and Christy moved to answer it. Something bothered Michael about the flurried attempts to reach them, and the knock at the door was just a little too insistent. “Wait up, Christy. Don’t answer it yet.”

Christy turned back, and Michael handed his phone to him. He looked at his own phone as it began to ring again. The number was blocked. “Hello…? This is him…. If it’s okay with my parents, sure…. Not until I speak with my parents…. I know I’m eighteen, but I have a deep-seated need for parental approval.” Michael held the phone away and made a rude gesture at it. “Let me call my parents, and I’ll call you back. Can I have your number?” He went to the kitchen counter where Christy’s pad and pen lay. “Okay, I’ll call you back as soon as I speak with my parents.” Michael hung up. “That was a detective. He wants me to come down to the station and give a statement about last night.”

Christy held his phone up, and Michael read the text message. “Don’t answer the door. Send Rob a text message.”

Michael dialed his mom. “Yeah, Mom, where are you…? We’re both fine. A detective just called me, Christy received a text message, and someone’s knocking on the door. The police want us to…. You too…? Them too…? Okay, see you in an hour. Will you call him back for me…? Thanks, Mom.”

Christy held his phone up again. “Good.” Michael dialed Rob. “Morning, Rob…. Yeah, I know. I’m going to meet my parents there in an hour. Jake and Sophia are already there with Jake’s dad…. Sure. Anything I need to know…? Okay…. Ah-huh…. Okay…. Let me ask him. Are you comfortable answering questions for the police without Rob?” Christy’s eyes went wide with fear, and Michael didn’t wait for his answer. “No, he isn’t.”

Christy interrupted, his whisper breaking up midsentence. “Can you be with me while I speak with them?”

“Hang on, Rob. We can ask. If not, they’ll have to wait until Rob can go in with you.”

Christy nodded an okay.

“Rob, did you hear that…? Okay, thanks.” Michael hung up. “You sure you’re up for this?”

Christy nodded and walked away, pulling the towel from his waist as he entered the bathroom. Michael couldn’t help but admire him as he toweled off. A week ago, he only knew Christy in his dreams. Today, Christy was his boyfriend. His…
lover
. He’d only ever dreamed that word would one day have a place in his life. It was pleasing. Wonderful. Exciting. Scary.
It happened so freakin’ fast
. Michael said a silent prayer for them as he followed Christy into the bathroom.

They dressed quickly, and Michael watched as Christy sifted through Sophia’s many jars, makeup containers, and hair products on the counter. Christy selected a bottle, poured a clear gel into a palm, rubbed his hands together, and ran his fingers through his hair.

Michael picked it up and read the label. “Guaranteed to prevent frizz and flyaway hair.”

Christy only nodded as he wrapped a scarf around his neck and reached for a small jar. He held it for a moment, then set it back on the counter as if he’d changed his mind.

Michael went to pick it up, and Christy stopped him. Without taking his eyes from Christy, Michael slowly wrapped his hand around it and raised it to read the label. It was watermelon-flavored lip-gloss. Christy’s eyes filled with fear, and Michael’s heart went out to him. “Put it on.” He held it out to Christy.

Surprise lit in Christy’s expressive eyes.

“It tastes good.”

Christy took the small jar from Michael’s hand and opened it. He met Michael’s eyes in the mirror, questioning, uncertain again.

Michael gathered Christy’s thick mane and kissed the side of his neck. “When you’re with me, you can wear whatever you want.”

Christy drew back, turning his head to look up at him, his eyes searching.

“Any clothes you want, any makeup you want, any jewelry you want.”

Christy’s knuckles went white around the small jar. “Anything I wish?” His question was a breath on the air.

“Absolutely anything.”

A smile flickered across Christy’s lips before he dipped his finger and expertly applied the gloss. It was nearly clear, with only the slightest of pink sheens. Unless you saw Christy in the right light, you wouldn’t notice that he wore it.

Michael studied Christy in the mirror as he straightened his scarf one last time. Christy was gorgeous. Christy was beautiful. Christy was perfectly pretty.

T
HE
police station was a hive of bustling activity. Officers escorted handcuffed offenders to and from desks and back rooms, and people stood and sat as they awaited appointments. The place was redolent of body odor, burnt coffee, and something sour. Michael guided Christy to the front desk, and they waited in line to speak with the desk sergeant. A filthy, skinny, bearded man made rude kissing noises at Christy as an officer led him past. Christy stiffened, and Michael saw fear fill his eyes before it was quickly masked, replaced by no emotion at all. Michael shot the creep a nasty look and moved Christy to stand in front of him in line. When they reached the desk sergeant, Michael made his request.

The sergeant turned to Christy. “Who are you?”

“Christy Castle,” Michael answered for him.

The sergeant gave Christy a thorough once-over and, if the man hadn’t been a police officer, Michael would have said something rude. The sergeant hollered over his shoulder. “Richards!”

A fresh young cadet appeared. “Yes, sir?”

“Take these two to room four, and inform Davis they’re here.” He handed the cadet a slip of paper.

“Come with me.” It was an order, not a request.

They followed Officer Richards down a dingy, mint-green hallway. From the gouges and pockmarks in the walls, Michael thought it looked as if the hallway had substituted for the O.K. Corral at some unfortunate point in its life. Officer Richards led them to a room marked I
NTERVIEW
4, and they took seats on the same side of the solitary table.

“Detective Davis will be with you in a few.”

“Will you please tell my parents and Mr. Santini we’re here?”

“Mr. Santini, the lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“He your lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“What about him?”

Michael didn’t like the way Officer Richards pointed at Christy. “Him too.”

“Yeah, sure,” Officer Richards sniggered as he left the room.

Michael hoped Officer Richards’s attitude wasn’t indicative of their impending meeting with the detective. “You okay?”

Christy nodded.

Michael took his hand and held it in his lap. “You’re not okay. You’re shaking.”

“I don’t like police.”

“We’ll be okay.”

A large, burly man, who Michael assumed was Detective Davis, entered the room, followed by Nero Santini. Michael stood, and Christy followed suit. Mr. Santini put one hand on Michael’s shoulder, the other on Christy’s. “Michael, Christy, this is Detective Davis.”

They shook hands with the detective, who was nearly as rotund as Mr. Santini was but was nowhere close to his height.

Nero cleared his throat. “I have explained Christy’s circumstances, Michael. Detective Davis knows you’ll be answering Christy’s questions for him.”

“Okay. Where are Mom and Dad?”

“They’re waiting for us with Jake and Sophia in the lobby.”

Detective Davis motioned for everyone to take a seat as he sat across from Michael and Christy. Michael could have sworn he heard the chair beg for mercy as it supported the detective’s largess. Mr. Santini sat at the end of the table and looked more than ready to play referee.

Detective Davis gave Christy a critical look before turning to Michael and setting a small digital recorder in the center of the table and turning it on. He announced the case for the recorder and said, “Michael, please state your full name, birth date, and tell me in your own words what happened last night at The Silent Woman.”

Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, Michael relayed the previous night’s events to the best of his ability. Detective Davis took notes and interrupted occasionally, asking for clarification. Michael also took the time to tell the detective about his talk with Jason during their lunch period three days prior and about their fight in the locker room over Stephen. When Michael finished his statement, Detective Davis turned to Christy. “Is there anything you want to add?”

Christy shook his head.

“We understand Jason Whitman harassed you on several occasions. Would you like to file a complaint?”

Christy shook his head again.

“You might want to rethink that.”

“I’ll discuss it with him,” Mr. Santini interjected.

“Christy, spell your name for me.”

Michael spelled it for the detective.

“The initials T, and I guess there’s an A. What do those stand for?”

“They’re unimportant, Detective. Christy is a Greek citizen and needn’t provide any more information than exists in his visa,” Mr. Santini stated with zero inflection.

The detective eyed Christy again.

What the hell bothered these cops about Christy?
Michael thought bitterly.

“For purposes of clarification, are you two—”

“Yes,” Michael said quickly.

“In a relationship,” the detective finished.

“Yes,” Michael repeated.

“Are you out at school?”

“No.”

“How do you think Jason Whitman found out about your relationship?”

“My guess would be the news after yesterday’s meet, and he put two and two together.”

“Why the news?”

“I hugged Christy on stage when we accepted our trophy.”

The detective made a note. “How do you think things will be at school tomorrow?”

Mr. Santini interrupted. “Why do you ask, Detective?”

“We need to keep our school liaison officer informed.”

Mr. Santini nodded to Michael to answer the question.

“I think some people won’t like it, but we keep it low-key at school. One of Jason’s friends, Rich Carlisle, doesn’t like gay people. He might hassle us, and maybe Stephen too.”

“Who?”

“Stephen Engel, the other gay guy on the track team.”

“Do you know for certain that he is gay?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

Crap.
“Yesterday, after the meet”—he glanced at Christy—“he, ah, asked about Christy.”

“What about Christy?”

Double crap
. “He asked if Christy was seeing anyone and if it was serious.”

“Why?”

Shit
. “He, ah, wanted to ask Christy out.”

The color drained from Christy’s face, and his eyes went the widest Michael had ever seen them.

“How did you respond?”

“I told him Christy was taken, and it was serious.”

Detective Davis stood and went to a wall phone, a phone Michael hadn’t noticed before then. He made a call and spoke softly into the phone for a minute, then hung up and returned to the table.

“Did you tell Stephen Engel that you were Christy’s boyfriend?”

“No. I only said that he was taken.”

“Why didn’t you tell him—”

A sharp rap sounded on the door a moment before it opened, and young Officer Richards entered and handed the detective a report. He departed in silence, closing the door with a crisp click.

Detective Davis scanned the three pages quickly before asking his question again.

“I didn’t say it was me because I’m not into outing myself, and we, Christy and me, haven’t discussed what we want to say to people yet.”

Detective Davis leaned back in the chair and studied them with practiced eyes. “I’m going to read a part of Stephen Engel’s statement to you.” He turned a page and read, “‘I kissed Christy, then left the bathroom.’ In response to how many times he kissed Christy, he indicates three or four times. What do you have to say in response to that?”