Five Boroughs 01 - Sutphin Boulevard (31 page)

“Having fun?”

He turned me so I could face him and the view shifted in a dizzying arc. I dragged my fingers down the dark stubble shadowing his jaw. We stood eye-to-eye, but he looked bigger as he pushed me back.

“You still okay to share the bed?”

All I could do was look at him, drink in his intense gaze—the soft black hair, his broad smile—and pull him closer. Where else would I want to sleep? Who else would I want to sleep with?

I nodded.

Nunzio tilted his head and brushed his lips to mine. I licked them, wanting inside. He acquiesced and let me taste the inside of his mouth. A groan bounced off the glass walls. I couldn’t be sure which one of us had made the sound, but it was clear that we both wanted so much more.

More came with a suddenness that ripped me out of the dream.

My eyes slit open, and I was aware only of the darkness surrounding me, the dampness of sweat on my T-shirt, and a hand stimulating my dick. It made no sense, but I arched into the grip. The feeling intensified, the pressure increased, and the sound of my own moan woke me up fully.

“What—”

“Shhh. I got you.”

Drew.

He was sitting on the edge of my narrow bed and gazing down at me. His hand moved faster.

“Oh fuck.”

My eyes shut again, and my hands balled up in the sheet. It felt good. I wanted it. Wanted him to sink between my thighs and tug my cock until I busted all over his face, but I shook my head.

“Stop.”

“Want me to suck it?”

“I said stop.”

“I’ll swallow.”

I grabbed his wrist. “Get the fuck away from me.”

Drew snatched his hand back. His breathing was almost as fast as mine, and his pajama pants were tented.

“You don’t even know me, you stupid fucking kid.”

“Oh, like you’ve never blown someone on a one-night stand?” Drew didn’t move from the bed. He sat there, glaring.

“That’s not the point. Go back to your bed, and don’t put your hands on me again, or I’ll break them.”

“Fine.”

He leapt to his feet and crossed the small space between our beds with loud footsteps.

“Me cago en diez….” I hunched forward, scrubbing my face with my hands. I was caught somewhere between sexually frustrated and wanting to lecture him. “Why would you ever think that was a good idea? Have I looked at you twice?”

“You don’t have to be an asshole.”

“You don’t need to be groping people in their sleep. I don’t give a shit what you did with your other roommates. I’m not them.”

“You think I just suck off every guy in here?” Drew asked shrilly.

“I met you seven days ago. I don’t know what the hell you get up to, but between this and your cigarettes for sex comment, you’re not exactly making a good impression. Also, you’re practically a child to me.”

“I’m twenty.”

“Whatever, kid.”

I expected one of Drew’s now infamous retorts, but all I got was stony silence.

I lay down and adjusted my dick. I had no idea how I’d given myself away as gay. Apparently I was a massive fail at being halfway in the closet.

“Can you not make a big thing of this?” he asked after a stretch of silence.

“How would I do that?”

“Like make a complaint. You might be leaving in a couple of weeks, but I’m stuck here for months. I don’t want everyone thinking I’m the center cum-dump, okay?”

“Then don’t act like one. Is this why you had problems with roommates in the past?”

“No. It’s not like I wave my flaming gay banner for everyone. I didn’t think you would freak out over a hand job.”

I raised my arm to look at his side of the room. Drew’s eyes were luminous in the darkness, open wide. That combined with the sight of his slender body swathed in sheets chipped away at my annoyance.

“Look, it’s not that big a deal. If I gave you the wrong idea at some point, I’m sorry. But I’m not interested.”

“I just thought maybe you were lonely too.”

“Why would you think that?”

Drew continued to stare at the ceiling. “You look down a lot, so when I heard you making noise in your sleep, I figured maybe we could have a good time.”

My brow furrowed. “Making noise?”

“Moaning. Saying some guy’s name.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Heat rose to my face.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Hell yes, I’m embarrassed.”

“Good.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” I said dryly. “But my hard-on was meant for someone else.”

“That’s adorbs, but my mouth is here and his isn’t.”

If he expected me to spill the details on Nunzio, I wasn’t going to rise to the bait.

I watched him fidget with his sheet. It was a drastic change from his usual sass monster tactics—deliberately offending everyone in the room and eating up every drop of attention that followed.

“Why are you here for so long, Drew?”

“I got into some trouble.”

I waited, hesitating to push when I was so unwilling to share. It took half a second for him to crack.

“I had a boyfriend who… helped me get into a lot of trouble. We got caught up in a bad situation, and I ended up in here as part of a plea bargain.”

“Where did he end up?”

“Jail.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Yeah. He deserved it.” Drew twisted back an arm, propping his head on it. “I still miss him, though. I don’t have that much family or friends anymore. When you’re alone, even shitty people start to look like saviors.”

I nodded, but I couldn’t relate. The people in my life weren’t toxic to me. It was the reverse.

“Is he doing a lot of time?”

“Yeah. I met him when I was in high school and I was living at a group home. I was already into Oxy, but he helped me get it faster.”

“Was he older?”

“Yeah, he was around thirty.”

I cringed. “Sounds like a real winner.”

“I was seventeen, not twelve. Or let me guess, perfect teacher over there never messed with an older guy either?”

“I didn’t say that, but when you speak, all my mandated reporter instincts kick in.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

I shook my head. “Never mind.”

“Hmph.” Drew turned his head. “Do you want to hear the rest of my sob story or what?”

I smiled. “Go ahead.”

“
Anyway
, he had these friends, and they’d go upstate to, like, New Rochelle and Yonkers to rob pharmacies for painkillers and benzos. I think mostly they sold it, but Rob was in it just to get free shit. I started going with them.”

“And got caught?”

“No. Not with the group.” Drew curled onto his side. “A few months ago, he got it into his head that we should try to do it here in the city, just me and him. He wanted to rob this twenty-four-hour Walgreens in Staten Island, and I fucking knew we would get caught, but I went anyway so he wouldn’t do something stupid. Turned out he didn’t listen to me when he was desperate, so… he shot the girl in the pharmacy.”

“Did she die?” Now that he was talking about it, I vaguely remembered hearing the story on the news.

“No, thank God. But I testified against him and got probation and a few months in here.”

“You’re lucky, then.”

“Yeah….”

“Any risk of retaliation from his friends?”

“I don’t think so, because I could have turned them in about all the other stuff too and didn’t. And they like me.”

I cringed at the lilt in his voice. I didn’t want to know what them liking him entailed. Instead of asking, I wondered about my students. In a lot of ways, Drew reminded me of Mackenzie. In other ways, he reminded me of Shawn. Drew was a combination of their worst flaws and all of the horror-movie scenarios that played out in my head every time Mackenzie alluded to how many guys he’d blown since he’d hit puberty, and all of the shady things I suspected Shawn of doing to get by.

“Damn,” I whispered.

Drew looked at me again. “What?”

“I miss my job.”

“What about that guy you were dreaming about?”

I closed my eyes again. “I miss him too.”

Week Two

T
HE
SOUND
of a flipped chair yanked me out of my silent contemplation of an unappetizing lunch.

In the time it took me to look up from my tray, the dreary cafeteria erupted with chaos. Drew was screaming at Tracy, and she was being restrained by Kenan and a member of the staff. Some of the other patients circled around them to help, but most watched from their seats.

“What the hell?” I muttered, pushing away from my own table.

They went back and forth, Drew’s shouting growing louder and Tracy’s voice booming in return. Between lack of sleep and their high-pitched yelling, any chance of peacefully choking down my rubbery chicken seemed impossible. I had little interest in their argument; Drew getting into screaming matches with one person or another was almost a daily occurrence.

I stood, dumped my tray, and left the cafeteria. Bypassing the indoor common areas, I grabbed my hoody from my room and headed to the small fenced-in courtyard at the back of the building. It was almost always deserted because of the subzero temperature but was preferable to the constantly bustling facility.

My breath fogged in front of me the moment I stepped outside, and I pulled the hood over my head. I walked toward a group of benches partially blocked by a tree, but paused when I caught sight of Jones sitting there with a cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth.

“You’re not supposed to smoke on the property,” I blurted.

Jones snorted. “I’m not a patient.”

I walked closer, zeroing in on the burning white cylinder between his fingers.

“Can I bum one?”

“Nope.”

Shaking my head, I scanned the area. “Does anyone else catch you out here?”

“Not so much in the winter, but I usually sit in my car.”

“Oh.” There was nothing else for me to say to him, and my desire to sit down was gone. “I guess I’ll go back inside.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding.” His eyes fixed on me like they did when he tried to figure me out. I retreated a step, then another, but then he extended his arm and offered me the still-burning cigarette. “Kill it.”

My hesitation vanished. I sat next to him and brought the cigarette to my lips. I wasn’t even that much of a smoker, but just the taste of one of my vices loosened some of my tension.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“You don’t strike me as a smoker. Usually they’re biting their nails off and starting trouble right off the bat.”

“I don’t smoke much, but being in here has me craving it.”

“Makes sense.”

I exhaled slowly and nodded at a metal rack next to the gate. “What is that thing?”

“A bike rack. Apparently the state had high hopes of us being good little bicyclists.”

I snorted. “I bet Kenan rides a bike everywhere.”

Jones was trying to suppress a smile and failing. “He seems the type.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the calming effect smoking had on my nerves. It would have been even better with a drink. Vodka—no, something smoky and dark that would warm me up. Scotch. Neat.

I could practically smell and taste the spices from a mouthful of Johnnie Walker.

“You got it bad, my man.”

Blinking away my fantasy, I glanced at Jones. “Got what?”

“You’re jonesing bad.”

“Did you just make a pun?” I sucked on the cigarette again, watching with regret as the distance between the cherry and the filter lessened. I should have drawn it out more.

“Heh. Kind of.” Jones put his hands in the pockets of his down jacket. “My real name is Carlos. My friends used to call me Jones because I always had that look on my face. The same look you just had—like you’d rather be doing something other than what you’re doing right now.”

“Huh.” Carlos fit him better than Jones, but I kept that information to myself. “What did you jones for?”

“Heroin. It took me thirty years to get clean.”

“Damn.”

Jones inclined his head. “It’s not easy. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar.”

My eyes dropped to his arms, but the track marks were covered by the sleeves of his jacket. He couldn’t be older than his early fifties, and I wondered how and why he’d started using.

“When are you going to start opening up in therapy?” He switched gears so quickly I was caught off guard.

“I really didn’t come out here for this.”

“I know, but it’s a good opportunity for us to talk one-on-one.”

I killed the rest of the cigarette and flicked the butt over the fence. “You’re not my one-on-one counselor.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. You’re good with people individually. I noticed it right away with Drew and Carina, but it makes me wonder why you don’t work better with your own therapist.”

“Because I’m not sold on this whole process.”

“Is that so?”

My comment was probably offensive to a person who was dedicating their time to trying to make us all better, but I couldn’t bring myself to take it back.

“The problems I have are deeper than me jonesing for a glass of scotch. I don’t think thirty days of feel-good sessions and positive vibes is going to change the direction my shitty life is going in.”

“It won’t with that attitude.”

“Jones, not for nothing, but you don’t know much about me.”

“Maybe not, but I knew your father.”

I stared at him, trying to find something that would set off my bullshit meter, but it didn’t even flicker. The guy just looked back at me, his expression placid. Maybe he was waiting for me to remember him or put two and two together, but my father had introduced me to so many of his Sutphin Boulevard buddies as a kid that they’d all blurred together after a while. I could vaguely summon a memory of a tall, white-looking guy who spoke Spanish—the only reason he’d stuck out to me at the time.

“Did he call you Carlito?”

Jones smiled. “Yes. He was the only one who did. We met when we were kids. Both lived in the Baisely Park projects before I was jonesing all the time. He didn’t care for my nickname.”