Freed, page 7
“Dylan Whitford, this is Bianca Weathers,” he introduces us. “Bianca, this is Dylan.”
She steps forward and extends her hand to me. I take it and gently kiss the back of her knuckles, flashing her a smile.
“Nice to meet you, Bianca.”
She runs the tip of her finger down my chest as she gives me the elevator eyes. “Pleasure’s all mine.”
“Well, it seems my work here is done,” Zach says and smiles at Spencer.
Spencer nods at me and then walks off with Zach to join the rest of the group that had walked in, leaving me alone with Bianca who perches on the edge of the stool nearest to me. We’re sitting so close our knees are touching and she’s looking at me with an expression of undisguised lust on her face.
“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while,” she purrs.
“You weren’t trying too hard,” I reply. “I’ve been here the whole time.”
“I’m shy.”
A half smirk pulls my lip upward. “I somehow don’t think you suffer from that particular affliction.”
Her laughter is like rich, flowing honey that pours down over me, sending waves of goosebumps marching across my skin. I sneak a peek over at Wes and he’s staring at me openly, a look of profound disappointment on his face. I can tell he’s upset but try to shake it off. I remind myself that it’s not my problem. It’s his. I never promised him anything and what happened between us was a mistake. A God-awful fucking mistake. I look at Bianca’s shapely thighs and notice how high her skirt rides upon her, trying to summon my arousal.
Bianca leans forward and brushes her lips lightly against mine and it sends a small shiver of excitement crawling along my skin. I catch Wes’ eye again and see his expression darken as he purses his lips, the disappointment on his face deepening. Seizing on the moment to prove him wrong and show him I’m not gay, I lean forward and pull Bianca toward me. She squeals and giggles in delight as I pull her into my lap. Bianca nuzzles my neck and bites my ear lobe playfully the slides the tip of her tongue down my neck to where it disappears beneath my shirt collar.
“You’re a naughty girl,” I groan.
“You have no idea, baby.”
“Then maybe you should show me.”
I use my peripheral vision to see Wes still has his eyes on me so I press my lips to Bianca’s and kiss her deeply, forcing my tongue past her lips as I slide my fingertips up her bare thighs. She moans into my mouth as she runs her hands through my hair, our kiss growing even more intense. It’s not long before our bodies are tangled together, limbs wrapped around one another, and we’re practically dry humping right there at the table.
“You’re making a fool of yourself. You do realize that don’t you?”
I detach my mouth from Bianca’s and turn to find Wes standing a few feet from us, his eyes locked to mine. The anger and hurt on his face couldn’t be more clear. He’s swaying on his feet a bit, his words are slurred, and his glassy, watery eyes tell me he’s pretty well drunk at this point. I’m starting to worry that perhaps I pushed him too far with my little PDA session with Bianca. I’d only wanted to show him that he was wrong about me. That I’m straight, regardless of what he thinks.
But since alcohol tends to wash away a person’s natural inhibitions and filters – and he’s obviously pissed – I’m worried about what he’s going to say. I’m afraid he’ll blurt out what happened between us. And the only way I can prevent that from happening is to show him that he means nothing to me and I’m all about the pussy. I hate the idea of hurting Wes like this but I have no other choice if I want to keep my indiscretion a secret. I’m hoping to get him angry enough that he just leaves.
“Who’s this?” Bianca asks languidly.
“This is Wes,” I respond casually. “He’s a TA in one of my classes.”
Wes arches an eyebrow and glares at me. “A TA in one of your classes?” he snaps. “That’s what you’re going with, huh?”
“Yeah,” I respond. “Because it’s true.”
Bianca looks from me to Wes and back again as if she’s picking up on the undercurrent of tension between us and the subtext in our words. I’m starting to worry that she’ll work it all out if I don’t get Wes out of here soon.
“Dylan, I think you and I –”
“Spencer,” I call out. “Gimmie a hand?”
Wes’ look goes from hurt to outright shock and anger. Spencer is there in a flash though, his arm around Wes’ shoulders. He looks from me to Wes, and back again, a goofy grin on his face.
“This guy bothering you, Dylan?”
I nod, glad he didn’t call Wes a fag. “Yeah, I was wondering if you could escort him out of here,” I say. “I’m just trying to spend a little time getting to know Bianca here.”
A wide smile crosses Spencer’s face. “Glad to do it,” he says and nods to Bianca. “You kids have yourselves a good time.”
Wes protests and tries to break free from Spencer’s grip but to no avail. Spencer is just too big, too strong, and too mean. I watch as a couple of the other guys follow Spencer out of the bar and feel a nervous lurch in my stomach not knowing what’s about to happen. I know Spencer won’t do anything on his own – at heart, he’s a good and decent guy. But if one of the others starts in, Spencer will follow along. That’s just who he is.
Bianca turns my face back to hers and leans forward again, a sultry smile on her lips as she tries to pick up where we left off but I’m distracted and I turn away from her. A look of annoyance flashes through her eyes but she leans in for another kiss and I dodge her advance again.
“What the hell, Dylan?” she pouts.
“Sorry, I just –” I keep looking at the door, worried about what’s going on out there until finally, I can’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry. I need to go check and see what’s going on out there.”
Bianca stares at me, her eyes wide, an expression of consternation on his face as I turn and head for the door without waiting for her reply. I push through the doors and step out into the cool evening air, looking around for Spencer and the guys. It’s then the sound of raised voices catches my attention and I hustle around behind the bar to find Spencer and the guys working Wes over pretty good.
“Stop it,” I call out as I run toward them.
Wes is curled into a tight ball on the ground as they rain down savage kick after kick on him. I hear his choked sobs and their howls of delight as they beat him viciously.
“Spencer!”
I jump between him and Wes and push him hard in the chest and he takes a couple of stumbling steps back. The other two – Mike and Danny – take an awkward away, looking from Spencer to me and back again, not sure what’s going on.
“What the hell man?” Spencer shouts. “I was making sure this assclown didn’t bother you again.”
I nod. “And you did. You got him,” I say. “Message received, right Wes?”
Bruised and bloodied, Wes looks up at us and nods. His breathing is ragged, his face a red mask, and a light in his eye starting to dim. The hurt from what happened tonight is going to go far beyond the physical pain he’s going to be in. This crossed the line and I know it. I can see it in his eyes and it sends a dagger of ice plunging straight through my heart.
Part of me wants to fall to my knees and comfort Wes but no matter how hard I try, I can’t force myself to do it. Instead, I push Spencer backward and get everybody walking away from Wesley, leaving him to fend for himself.
“Come on you guys,” I say. “Thanks for having my back. You got the message across.”
The sound of Wes sobbing, as well as his pained gasps, follows us, driving an ice pick of sheer torture into my ears – as we walk back across the quad. And for the second time, I turn my back on Wes, leaving him there after taking a beating because of me.
The pain inside of me swells but I do what I do best – stuff it all down and pretend it’s not there.
Chapter Eight
Wesley
“You have to do something about this,” she says.
“Like what?” I grimace as I shift in my seat. “There’s nothing I can do. They’re stars around here, Auddie. For fuck’s sake, people worship them like gods around here.”
After taking the beating Dylan’s friends had dished out, I managed to drag myself up off the ground and back to my apartment. Every step was an exercise in agony and pain continues to radiate from my every nerve ending. I run and work out all the time, I’m familiar with the body’s musculature, but I have pain in parts of me I didn’t know could hurt.
“They’re not gods though,” she snaps. “They’re despicable homophobic assholes.”
Auddie – my best friend Audrina – was my first call when I finally made it to my place. She rushed straight over to my place and helped me get into the shower where she washed all the dirt, blood, and debris off me. After that, she helped me into some clothes and then over a few glasses of wine, started tending to my wounds.
Auddie leans down, carefully stitching a cut on my upper arm I don’t recall getting. She thinks I fell on a piece of glass or something sharp. Ordinarily, I hate needles and the idea of getting stitches terrifies me but her touch is so light and gentle, I can barely feel it.
“You are going to make an excellent doctor when you’re done with school,” I tell her.
“I know,” she grins. “And stop deflecting from the subject. What are you going to do about this?”
“I told you, there’s nothing I can do, Auddie,” I groan. “Those guys are untouchable.”
“Nobody is untouchable,” she growls.
“Let’s see, their parents are all filthy rich – and likely big donors to the school. They’re athletic gods, control the most powerful and popular cliques on campus,” I note. “Yeah, I’m sure Administration is going to get right on doing something about them kicking the shit out of one meaningless scholarship fag.”
Auddie grabs hold of my chin and forces my face toward hers. She looks at me, her eyes burning with an intensity that slices straight through to my soul.
“Listen to me,” she says, her voice burning with the same intensity I see in her eyes. “You are going to make them listen. We are going to. What they did is so fucked up on so many levels and this is not going to stand. Do you hear me?”
“Kind of hard not to when you’re shouting in my face like that.”
She gives me a soft, playful slap on the cheek and laughs. “Smartass,” she says. “I’m serious though. We can’t just let what they did pass, Wes.”
I let out a slow breath and nod. “Yeah, maybe.”
“There’s no maybe about it, babe,” she presses. “You have to talk to somebody. I mean look at you.”
“Auddie, I appreciate what you’re saying, but do you really think the school is going to do anything to them?” I ask. “I mean seriously.”
“Honey, if you let this go, what’s to stop them from victimizing somebody else?”
“I’m not a victim.”
“You are,” she says. “And you have a duty, if not to yourself, then to everybody else who suffers through this sort of bullshit.”
“Oh, don’t make me responsible for everybody else.”
“I’m not trying to,” she sighs. “But if you let these guys get away with these, they’ll keep doing it.”
“I don’t think the school is going to do anything to them, Auddie.”
“They’ll have to,” she says. “If you bring this to them, they’ll have no choice.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, maybe.”
I gingerly get to my feet and Auddie helps me walk into my bedroom where a full length mirror hangs on the wall. When I see myself for the first time, I grimace and a groan passes my lips. My body is covered in dark, angry looking bruises and cuts – thankfully most of them are shallow. There’s no question though, that I’m a mess. The beating the gave me was pretty thorough.
“Well, if there’s one bright side to this,” I chuckle. “There are so many different colors on my body I can go stand in a gallery and call myself a modern art installation.”
Auddie rolls her eyes. “This isn’t funny.”
She helps me back out to the sofa and sits me down before disappearing into the kitchen. I hear her rummaging around and the clinking of glasses before she comes back out, smiles at me and brandishes the bottle of wine in her hand.
“I think we both need a drink,” she says.
I nod. “That’s a good idea.”
She pours out a couple of glasses and hands me one. We both sit in silence for a few minutes, sipping our wine, decompressing from what’s been a long, emotional night. I wince and draw in a sharp breath as I sit back, my entire body aching. I look at Auddie and give her a small laugh.
“I’ve never hurt so bad in my entire life.”
She gives me a weak smile. “That’s going to happen when three guys take tire irons to you.”
“I’m thankful they didn’t have tire irons,” I say. “I can’t imagine what I’d feel like if they did.”
She laughs softly. “Such a smart ass.”
“It’s my coping mechanism,” I note. “You should know that by now.”
“I do,” she replies. “But we’re still not talking about the elephant in the room.”
“And that is?”
“The fact that you need to talk to Administration about this,” she says. “What they did is not okay. It’s a hate crime –”
I shake my head and take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I can’t do that, Auddie,” I say softly. “I don’t want to bring that sort of trouble down on Dylan.”
“Even after all he did – he’s the reason this happened,” she hisses. “If not for him –”
“He’s confused. Really confused,” I cut her off. “He’s just trying to figure out who he is right now. He’s not in a very good place.”
“Oh so because he can’t accept the fact that he’s gay, you have to pay the price?” she asks. “You have to allow yourself to be beaten because he’s fucked up in the head about what he is?”
“I don’t think – no, I know for a fact – that he never intended any of this to happen,” I say. “He never asked his friends to do this.”
“And yet it happened anyway.”
“He’s struggling, Auddie,” I tell her. “I don’t want to ruin his entire life over a mistake. And accusing him of a hate crime would do just that.”
Auddie gives me a half-grin. “You’re a hell of a lot nicer than I am,” she spits. “I’d crucify all of them.”
“So I’m seeing,” I chuckle. “I’ve never seen this fierce side of you, Auddie.”
“Nobody messes with my boy,” she responds. “I’ll kick anybody’s ass who tries.”
“I don’t know, Auddie. They were all pretty big guys,” I give her a wry grin.
We lapse into silence and sip our wine as my head continues to spin. On an intellectual level, I know what she’s saying and I agree. If I let those guys get away with this and they suffer no consequences, it may embolden them. It may lead them to believe they can get away with this kind of behavior. It may lead them to believe they can do worse. It probably would. I know what entitled assholes like most of Dylan’s teammates do when they get away with things – they get bolder and turn into even bigger entitled assholes.
“So what are you going to do about Dylan then?” she asks. “I can tell you care about him.”
I nod. “I do. Even after all this shit, I do,” I confess. “I think deep down, he’s a good guy.”
“Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that.”
“He is, Auddie,” I assure her. “He’s just in a bad place right now. He’s struggling. I’ve been there so I know what he’s going through.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I doubt you had your friends kick somebody ass because you couldn’t deal with being gay.”
“Well no, but learning to accept it is tricky,” I tell her. “It hits people differently and no two people are going to handle it alike. Nor will they all handle it well.”
She smiles at me. “So I guess you’re the exception, huh?” she grins. “You just came out of the womb knowing how to handle everything with style and grace.”
“Well of course,” I laugh. “I’m the exception to every rule.”
“Of course you are,” she shakes her head, smiling wide at me. “Good guy or not though, I think you’d be better off if you didn’t see Dylan again. He’s caused you nothing but heartache and trouble.”
I can’t fault her for that opinion since it’s not entirely inaccurate. I think Dylan is capable of being somebody who makes me happy and somebody I could genuinely let myself care about but he’s got to learn to accept himself first. And I don’t honestly know if that’s going to happen.
I give her a rueful smile. “Good news for me is that looking like I am right now, I won’t be seeing anybody for a little while.”
Chapter Nine
Dylan
I’m sitting in Professor Maybin’s class listening to her lecture but not hearing it. Her voice is fuzzy and muted. I feel like I’m listening to her from underwater. My eyes are focused on the empty desk at the front of the room – the desk Wes usually occupies – and my mind is consumed by thoughts of him.
I think back to a few nights ago, watching him lying on the ground, being kicked and beaten by my friends. I remember he looked directly into my eyes at one point and it was like he pierced my soul with a white hot iron but I felt powerless to stop what was happening to him. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I never meant for things to go that far.
But it did. And I was responsible for it.
The door to the lecture hall opens with a creak that echoes throughout the room and sixty pairs of eyes turn in unison. A tall, thin black woman steps in and smiles at Professor Maybin. The newcomer walks over to our instructor and confers with her quietly. A troubled look crosses Professor Maybin’s face and I don’t know why, but my stomach clenches tightly. A moment later, she looks up and locks eyes with me.
