Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ My (More Than) Acquaintance with a Rentboy ❯ I don't want to know ( Chapter 2 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

dark blur of charcoal was swirling down the drain as I watched absent-mindedly. Scrubbing lightly, I rinsed my hands under the sink as I got ready to leave my figure drawing class. That sound of the pipes swallowing the water was somehow transporting me out of reality.
"Are you awake David?" Mel, a cute girl in my class, washed her hands beside me.
"Hardly."
We shared a faucet, watching the black leak from our hands.
She transferred a little late so she had to use the same table as me in the back, but she was a fun person so I didn't mind her company. She liked the bizarre ideas in my projects and I liked her off-trendy disturbing ones. Mel was very sweet and her art seemed to reverse expectations. She was Filipino, with short black hair tied back in a ponytail and often wore colored contacts that caught attention. Turning off the sink, she handed me the soggy, paint-stained towel that the rest of the class had used. Wiping the remaining water on the side of her pants she looked to me.
"I don't think falling asleep while standing is very healthy."
"Don't cows do it?"
"Are you changing the subject? But yeah, cows can! So do horses and elephants and penguins. And Flamingos. Did you know that?"
" ...Now I do." She was always full of bizarre information. But... that was Mel.

"Time for work huh?"
I nodded and rolled down my sleeves. My classmates were already out the door, leaving their footprints to echo in the large room. The classroom was a big white studio that mostly looked clean, save for the paint spots all over the floor. We were usually last to clean up, but I was slower than usual this time. About four days had passed and I was working on three hours of sleep in between. Like usual, my body was giving up on me. I didn't feel at all like going to work that day, considering I had a headache the size of rhode island. Around this time I'd start hearing a faint buzzing, like there was a fly somewhere in the room, except nobody else would hear it. But besides that, I was starting to feel it- the feeling that just maybe I'd be able to sleep that night. As Mel bounced her way towards the door I caught her shoulder in time. "Mel, I almost forgot." I handed her the CD I had borrowed. "I forgot your other one though." She stared at it for a second, blinking, and then it registered.
"Oh! How did'ja like it? They're pretty cool huh?" She seemed almost giddy to share her musical tastes with me, and she looked so cute with that flashy smile.
"Yeah, I liked it a lot. They're pretty different. And catchy as hell. "
"I thought so too! okayokay, now I have a bunch of others for you to borrow too. I'll give 'em to yah next time, kay? And remember to bring my other CD next class!" Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she snatched the CD case into her coat pocket and waved lightly on her way out. The band was a local band that her brother happened to have friends in. They were Korean inspired, called Seoul's Zine and they were really good. It was no doubt that they were getting popular within the community, so for their upcoming show, Mel was promoting as much as possible by sharing demo tapes. I was thinking about snagging a ticket myself.

"Oi, David, C'mere a second." It was my professor. He perched reading glasses atop his salt-and-pepper hair. "I was going to ask you abou- Christ! You look beat! Are you okay?"
Yeah, I was used to hearing that by now. I hadn't really been looking at myself in the mirror, but I could only assume that I looked as terrible as I felt. Mel compared me to a 'dead poet', whatever that meant.
"Yeah, It's nothing."
He peered at me skeptically before continuing. "Anyways, About entering one of your pieces in the art show..." and he continued on. Really I was miles away, and just in a pattern of nodding my head at this point. Even talking would take up too much energy. My professor was one of the few who cared to know about my insomnia. Actually, I had a pretty good theory that he supported my wake-coma just for the fact that it helped me produce other-worldly paintings and sketches. Of all the luck, he taught both of the classes I was taking. " Okay, now that that's cleared, I'll let you go. See you."

After leaving the classroom to the teacher, I decided halfway down the empty hall that I officially didn’t want to go to work that night. It was rare for me to skip anything, even if I was sick, so usually managers wouldn’t mind if I took off id I had to. And this boss actually seemed to like me a bit, so I didn't want him to see me in my state; especially considering I've been keeping it under wraps. Most employers don't find that hiring insomniacs that see movement in the corner of their eyes that vanishes when they turn their head as good for business anyways. Maybe walk around before going to my room or something. Get out of the diseased area, and just break routine for a bit. All these symptoms will go away when I finally get sleep.

Pushing the door open to the outside, the chill of mid-winter fell on me like a blanket. There were only a few scattered flecks of people walking across campus in the dark of midnight. I decided to use the nearest payphone (which was a terrible, piss-smelling choice) to call and get off of work before making my way home. I was thinking about the café and its warm coffee, but they weren't open late hours, so I had to make my feet break their autopilot. It was probably a booming time for the prostitutes by the bar anyways; somewhere I wouldn't want to be. After talking with Roz that time, I hadn't seen him or the others hanging around so much anymore. Bethany said that the bar beneath the brothel was going out of business, so maybe that was why. But strangely, he had kept to his word, seeing as how no one approached me anymore at my patio spot. Maybe they had moved to a busier street.

Walking down the night sidewalk I quickened my step. The orange lights were especially glaring this time of night, bathing the streets in its color. It was the hour of drug dealers and murderers, street dwellers and rebel youth. I wanted get out of the cold, if anything. But the mind starts playing strange tricks when it hasn't been allowed to dream for a while. Minor hallucinations aren't uncommon. And once you get over the idea that you're not crazy, they aren't so bad, just distracting. As I walked by an alley, I saw a contrast in the pitch black of the building's shadow. My most common hallucination was seeing dark figures or a small flurry of gnats that weren't really there, so for a moment I thought that I should keep walking. I just saw a jeaned leg illuminated in the thick orange light, but out of the obscurity of black, I distinguished a figure. A skinny frame, with the back leaned against the dumpster, and head resting on the brick wall beside it. This wasn't a trick. I froze immediately, as my brain tried to calculate what this potentially troubling situation was. As any person would worry, there are three plausible excuses for the state of this figure. Either it's a drunkard/crackhead lost on his way home, a homeless person, or a dead body. My conclusions lead me quickly to the third. I felt a small panic that snapped me into a reality that I hadn't felt in a long time, so to my surprise and subconscious happiness, the figure, sporting some familiar Chuck Taylor's, slightly shuffled.

"…Roz?" I asked cautiously, quietly. The name hovered in the air for a moment.

The figure recognized my voice and seemed to respond by lifting his head slowly. With a groan, Roz rubbed a hand over his face stiffly, trying to move the rest of his unwilling body in my direction.

"Roz?" I asked again, "What the hell happened to you?" I didn't mean to say it with disgust in my voice, but it came out that way. His body was still covered in shadow, but I could tell it was him. A groggy voice replied back: "…ugh, I…-Do I know you? I think…" He didn't finish his sentence as he tried to stand up using the wall as support. "David…" Oh, so he remembered my name.

"ffffuck. I feel …really bad." he chuckled, as he stepped into the light. What poor shape he was in. He was just filthy to start, with hair astrewn and an expression drenched with sleep-deprivation not unlike myself. A cute face was now drained and his charm was gone, replaced with a glazed stare and mysterious smell.

"…Are you on drugs?" I was direct, as usual.

"No, no, I'm coming down from it."

"So you were on drugs."

It was no wonder, now that I thought of it. "Well, what are you going to do now? I hope you're not planning on sleeping on the street. You'd freeze to death." Again, my voice was edging on spite without me intending it to. I was genuinely worried, and I hated to feel bothered with that feeling.

He lowered his head and his darkened eyes stared toward his feet as they awkwardly held him stable. "Nah, probably crash at like...a friend's or something. Yeah. I'll try to remember where they live." His words were slightly slurred and now the entire upper half of his body was leaning against the wall. He couldn't go anywhere in this condition. He was now my burden. A mental debate started in the back of my skull. Should I really allow this person into my living space? He's an obvious wreck.Well, he is someone in need, and what kind of person would that make me to ignore him now that I've seen him? But He's a dirty prostitute. And a troubled kid who will probably steal my shit. Then again, he's suffering the fatigue of after-use; He might very well crash then leave ASAP...As long as he distances himself…Very well then, but as a Good Samaritan, I do this reluctantly. Besides, why should I offer my favors to someone who does this to himself?

"Hmm? What?" He asked stupidly, as I helped him stand. He instantly supported his weight on me as I started to walk him out of the alley to the lit street.

"Christ Roz, You're lucky I'm the first one to find you. What …the hell is that in your hair? Ugh, never mind, I don't want to know."

It was a long haul through the streets. The last thing my exhausted body needed was to half-carry the weight of another person, and it almost felt like I was walking underwater. My eyes were even stinging like they had been washed over with chlorine. By the time we got to the small apartment, Roz was half asleep on my shoulder. His legs moved for him as his head lolled to the side with eyes closed most of the time. "Alright, Come on now." I told him as I jangled with the keys to open the door. He slid both arms around my neck along with all of his body weight. He gave a weak laugh. "Noooo I want to sleep."
"For god's sake Roz..." I roused him from his slump and he groaned as his footing was demanded to support his own bulk once again. As soon as I opened the door, his feet directed him to the nearest furniture. He fell to his knees next to my couch and rested his head on the cushion. Without saying anything, he probably could have laid like that the rest of the night. I was a bit exasperated at this point, but for some reason I couldn't stay mad at him. "Will you at least take a shower? I don't want that smell on my couch. I mean…no offense or anything." Although offense was partially meant.

He lifted his head as if it was a great effort, and wordlessly dragged his limbs up. He seemed to feel as far away from Earth as I did. Stepping on the heel of his shoes to remove them, Roz took off his jacket and scarf and dropped them onto the floor thoughtlessly. As he scraped his shirt over his head, I stopped him mid-strip to usher him towards the bathroom. He blindly stumbled through the door, seemingly making as much noise as possible. His skin was cold to the touch and it made my own hand feel like it was burning. Fumbling for the light, and trying not to step on his now-bare feet, I switched it on for him. I winced in the sudden light and left, closing the door behind me. After a few clumsy minutes of listening to Roz knock things over, I heard the showerhead start. I switched into my sleepwear quickly, but I worried about waking the neighbors. At this point I had no clue what time it was and didn't bother to check. The night seemed to have blended the hours together.

It was several minutes before I realized that the showerhead was going with a steady rhythm. I walked over to the bathroom door and listened, but there didn't seem to be any movement. "Roz?" I asked. There was no response. I creaked the unlocked door slowly, cautiously.

Roz was huddled in the bathtub with his jeans still on, asleep against the warm water. He was curled up like a cat, completely at ease with droplets running down his face. I had a stroke of pity for a moment, before my common sense told me that there was a junkie sleeping in my bathtub. I squeaked the faucet off and threw the nearest towel over his head. He stirred and sat up to the stop of water flow. He rose slowly, as if his body ached, and rubbed the towel against his hair groggily. In the bathroom, the flaws on his skin were well lit. He had a few bruises and redness on his small back, and he seemed frailer without a shirt on. After removing the towel from his head, his hair followed it, leaving strands sticking out at funny angles. Now that he was cleaner, there was a definite improvement. There was a little bit of color returning to him. Roz's hands moved the towel over the rest of him and wrung the water out of the jeans hopelessly as they still clung to his legs. He started to shake as the air cooled around his exposed chest.

"I have clothes in the hamper that you can use if you want. Stay on the couch and help yourself if you get hungry. But I want you gone in the morning."

He looked at me, shivering, eyelids pink with fatigue. He had an intangible expression, like the melancholy eyes from before, on the patio. But it was not an angry or regretful look. No, he seemed very grateful...if not confused. And then he looked away, pulling on the still dripping hair on his neck. It made me wonder of what he was thinking. Why would I get such a look? Was he ashamed? Did Roz think he deserved less? And I wondered how he got to that alley in the first place. I could completely dismiss the worry if I wanted to, by shrugging it off as just a sad rentboy life, but I didn't. It's my nature to be curious and I wanted to know what made him go so low as to take drugs and sell his body. It's none of my business of course, but maybe I could help the guy out if I wanted to.

Roz continued looking away from me, and mumbled something that sounded like "Sorry", then, "It was a rough night."

I wanted to say something, but nothing sounded right. "Don't worry"? "It's okay"? No, he definitely seemed to have a lot to worry about, and didn't look in the least bit okay. I'm terrible at comforting people anyways…best to just let him alone.

I rubbed my eyes in the bathroom's humidity and walked out of the bathroom, leaving him to clean up. My feet dragged across the room, with my body definitely feeling like it had dragged a body 6 blocks. Without contemplating on Roz anymore, I crashed onto my bed and, in rare occasion, fell asleep almost immediately, knowing tomorrow I would feel much better.

I woke up the next morning with my head in the clouds. The only thought occupying my mind was my pillow and the blankets that I was rolling around in. It took the morning alarm on my radio - one of those irritating and loud mouthed DJs (you know the kind) to slap the reality back into me. Sleep. I had mercifully been given sleep. And the clock said... six hours! A wonderful six hours. And then I remembered. I was still feeling some post-sleep delusion, but my satisfaction was replaced with dread. I got a knot in my stomach thinking that Roz might still be asleep on the couch. What trouble have I brought to myself now? I remembered that I was pretty frustrated at Roz last night, but my tolerance was strong enough to help him out. I regretted my attitude a little. Every day that passed, every hour, every minute, I grew exhausted, and after about a four day wake-coma I had been reaching my limit for a second there.

Dragging myself out of bed, I saw that Roz was no longer in my apartment. But the farther I wandered from my bed, the more evidence I found of his stay. The first thing was the strong smell of cigarettes, which I really don't like. He at least opened the window, but I couldn't believe he actually lit up a smoke right in my living space. A disposable plate sat on the windowsill, where the remnants of the cigarettes lay. He probably used it as an ashtray, and that was a bit annoying to me. The shirt that I had found him in was in the trashcan, probably because of a large stain on the front. But that means he borrowed one of my shirts doesn't it? Ugh, he can keep it then.

On the kitchen counter there was a half-solved crossword puzzle atop yesterday's newspaper, and the scribbled sentiment:
"David, Thanks for everything. -Roz"
I scratched my head and held the note for a moment. It was only a thanks, but if I imagined it coming from his voice... Tossing it in the trash, I felt a bit better for myself. It was terrible that Roz was a drug user, but maybe what he needed was someone to help him break that lifestyle. Maybe he just needed a friend to give him support. Was that something I could do? When I walked into the bathroom, I was thinking of Roz with good intentions; that was, until I saw that he had used my toothbrush.