Love (and other four letter words)

Hi humans of the internet. As you can probably tell by the fact that I haven’t updated this story in, oh, forever – I’ve been experiencing writers block and it’s a real bitch. With that being said, this chapter takes a bit of a left turn in contrast to the previous few. It is still lighthearted and funny, but gets a little dark towards the end. If you are someone with a particularly weak stomach, I advise you not to read any further than Travis' text messages. You have been warned (it's not THAT bad but hey, you never know these days.)
 As always, I have done my best to edit this but yada yada yada, please forgive me for any mistakes I have made, I will correct them as soon as I notice them.

Furthermore, I have ideas for what will come after this chapter, but if anyone wants to help me with my writers block by giving me a jist of what you’d like read more of/less of, it would be really helpful and appreciated. Lastly, this is a sex- free chapter so don’t hold your breath. Or your penis.

That Friday night, after I got home from Noahs, my parents left me to look after my sister while they went out to buy dinner.

 I stood in my kitchen washing dishes (as Tom had not-so-politely demanded before his departure) while I spoke to Nina from London on the phone.  I had promised to call her as soon as I had settled into my new place but had completely forgotten about it, for obvious reasons. This caused her to call me in a panic and demand that I tell her every minute detail about my short time away from her, which had apparently been more distressing for her than it was for me. I chose to exclude the part about me getting called a faggot by some random stranger, or that I had been able to make any friends at school, since I didn’t feel as though it would be conducive to her happiness, which was rapidly depleting since I had moved.  I did however recount in graphic detail about how I had found myself an incredibly hot guy in my building to spend my free time with.

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” she said to me through my ear buds after I had relayed the events of the past week to her, “Not only did you meet a super hot guy, but he lives 5 seconds away from you, drives his own car, has his own place AND isn’t a douche?”

“You forgot the part about him giving head like a Hoover, but yes, you have all of that straight,” I gloated as I washed a spoon carefully, trying not to let it splash water back in my face the way only a well curved utensil can accomplish.

“So, how hot are we talking here?” She asked.

“10 out of 10,” I answered honestly.

“Be more specific! I’m single as fuck, I need to live vicariously through you,” she pressed.

I stared up at the cupboards while I tried to think of an appropriate way to phrase my response.

“SO hot that my balls throb when I look at him,” I concluded.

“OH. MY. GOD, TRAVIS!” She gasped, “That’s it, I’m done! Hang up the phone, we are NOT friends anymore!”

“You said be specific!” I defended.

“Not THAT specific!” She exclaimed, “Would you want to hear me talk about how my pussy throbs when I look at Joe Jonas?”

“Oh god, so does mine,” I agreed, “That’s kind of a gross word, isn’t it? Throb. It just hits the ear wrong. Thob. Moist. Pustule. Ugh! I’m creeping myself out…”

“You know what? I’m mad at you,” Mina fumed, her jealously radiating through the phone, “It took you a whole week to tell me about this? I thought we were friends.”

“We are, I’ve just been busy!” I defended.

“Yeah, busy getting laid.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” I shot back.

“Not for lack of trying! I’ve been trying to find a decent guy for like, forever, and yet you somehow you managed to move to a brand new city and find one in less time than it takes to cook a turkey? That is so not fair! And what are the odds that he would even be gay? That’s like finding a rainbow needle in a totally hetero-normative haystack.”

“That was a rollercoaster of a sentence,” I replied.

 “I need to come visit you soon, because if you can find a boyfriend in that city in less than a day, I should have no problem getting one for myself. Clearly, their standards are lower than the boys in London,” she jabbed.

“I don’t know if I’d call him my boyfriend just yet,” I said, placing the spoon on the dish rack, “I hardly even know anything about him other then what I just told you.”

“So what?! He’s met your parents, he texts you every day and you’ve had sex 3 times. You may as well buy a dog together and make it FB official. Oh! You should link me to his profile so I can see what he looks like!”

“He doesn’t have any social media, I already checked,” I said, finishing off the last of the silver wear.

“Uh,  weird. Well, in that case, just take a Snap of him while he’s sleeping and send it to me so I can make sure he’s up to par.”

“Because that’s not creepy at all.”

“So, what’s his hamartia?” Nina asked, sounding overly proud of herself for using an uncommonly used noun in casual conversation.

“You’re not clever for using that word, you know. I’ve read The Fault In Our Stars, too,” I informed her.

“…’read’?” she asked after a brief pause.

“I don’t know what his fatal flaw is,” I shrugged, “Maybe he doesn’t have one.”

“Yeah, right! All guys have at least one, if not many, fatal flaws,” Nina sighed.

“And with that kind of thinking, it’s no wonder that you’re still single,” I laughed.

“Come on, there’s gotta be ONE thing wrong with him. Nobody’s perfect. Hannah Montanna taught me that,” Nina insisted.

“The only thing that comes to mind is that he’s got a bad temper. But that’s about it.”

“A bad temper as in ‘he might punch a wall’ or a bad temper as in ‘he might punch me in the face’?” Nina questioned.

“The first one. He wouldn’t hurt me unless I wanted him to,” I shrugged whilst washing a bowl, “So, Miss-Nobodys-Perfect, what’s my fatal flaw?”

“Easy. You’re insecure so you use humor as a coping mechanism so you don’t have to deal with your problems,” she replied, without even having to think about it, before adding, “Oh! And  I know this is more of a body flaw then a character flaw, but sometimes when we hug, your collar bones hurt me. Oh! And do you remember that time in grade 9 when you asked if I could smell the vinegar deodorant you were wearing and I said I couldn’t? I could totally smell the vinegar deodorant.”

“Okay, thank you, I’d rather not talk about my painful adolescence,” I urged, turning off the water.

“Oh! And sometimes when you say ‘about’ it really does sound like ‘aboot…””

“Okay, thank you, I think that’s enough,” I sighed, placing the last bowl onto the dish rack.

“Okay, your turn, what’s mine?” She asked curiously.

“Your fatal flaw? Simple, you’re a bitch,” I answered, only half joking.

“I am not! Go fuck yourself!” She laughed, most likely knowing deep down that I was right.

“Nah, unlike you, I’ve got someone to do that for me,” I boasted. Suddenly, I heard the front door swing open and hit the wall behind it.

“Travis! Come here!” Tom shouted.

“One second!” I called back, drying my hands with a dish towel.

“Is that him?” Mina asked excitedly, “Wow, he even sounds hot!”

“Uh, no, that was Tom,” I informed her.

“Oh my god! Ew, sorry. I take it back,” she shuddered.

“TRA. VIS!” He shouted again, breaking up the syllables in my name with vigor.

“I said I’m coming! God… I’ll talk you later, okay?” I sighed.

“No problem. I should probably get dressed now anyway,” She replied.

“Nina, I told you to stop calling me when you’re not wearing clothes,” I harrumphed.

“It’s a rush like no other! Don’t judge me. Later boo.”

“Bye.”

I hung up and pulled my ear buds out, shoving them in my pocket along with my phone, before meeting Tom at the door where he handed me plastic bag.

“Go set the table,” he instructed.

“Yes sir!” I saluted, taking the bag from him.

“Did you do those dishes like I asked you to?” He shouts after me.

“Yes I did,” I called back, placing the bag on the table.

“They better not be up in the cupboard, soaking wet and causing mold!” He bitched.

“Then do them yourself…” I mumbled as I walked to the kitchen.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!” He shouted after me.

“I said they’re on the shelf!” I replied. Tom seemed to believe me and was soon followed in by my mother carrying a trey of drinks.

“Tammy, dinner!” She called out. My sister ran from her room like Wiley Coyote and jumped up to sit at our recently arrived and assembled dining room table.

“So, did everyone have a good week?” She asked, distributing the food from Espinosas Chicken and Co. on everyone’s plates.

“Oh, I’ve eaten out from here before,” I said as she filled my plate.

“Really? When?” she asked as he began to fill Tammys plate.

“When I went out with Noo…..”

My sentence trailed off as I looked at Tom, who stared at me contemptuously.

“….body.” I concluded.

“Okie dokie then,” my mother said, changing the topic, “SO. Did everyone have a good week?”

“I did!” Tammy proclaimed proudly, “I learned to count to ten in French! Un, deux, trios, cat….haha, cat! And, um….trois…”

“That’s great, honey,” my mother politely cut her off, turning her attention to me, “How about you? “

“I learned that I hate wearing a stupid uniform every day,” I shrugged, before putting a forkful of food in my mouth.

“I love my uniform!” Tammy chimed in, “I get to wear a blue dress everyday! Like Elsa!”

“I look good in blue. You wanna trade?” I asked.

“Sure!” she squaled.

“Absolutely not. For starters, boys don’t wear dresses. And it wouldn’t fit you anyways,” Tom said, obviously missing my attempt at humor.

“Did you make any friends?” My mom asked.

“I did!” Tammy spoke up again.

“What about you?” Tom asked me.

“A few,” A few lied through a mouth full of rice vegetables.

“Swallow before you speak, honey,” My mom urged.

“That’s what she said!” Tammy beamed.

“Tammy!” Tom and my mother both gasped over the sound of Tammys giggling and me, choking on my food.

“Don’t say that again! That is very rude!” Tom scolded.

“But Travis says it all the time!” Tammy rationalizes

“Travis, do not say vulgar things around her!” Tom growled at me.

“Hey, don’t look at me! I have never said that around her!” I insisted, “But…I mean, you’ve gotta admit, the timing was brilliant. Good job Tams.”

“Don’t encourage her!”  My mom says, slapping me on the knee under the table.

“Ow! Abuse…” I frowned, rubbing his leg.

“I’m glad you both had a good week. I was scared that you wouldn’t be so comfortable in a brand new city, but I’m very proud of both of you for being mature about this move.”

“How’s your week been, mom?” I asked.

“Uneventful,” she admitted, “I’ve mostly just been setting up around here and firing off a lot of resumes online. I haven’t gotten any responses yet, but I’ll keep trying.”

“I’ll pray for you, mommy!” Tammy offers.

“Same,” I added.

“It would be so much easier if you didn’t to compete with all these immigrants,” Tom shakes his head.

“Thomas…” Tiffany sighs.

“Well, it’s true! They come over here, illegally, and take all the jobs from us home-grown Canadians!

“Who are you, Donald Trump?” I scoffed.

 “Hey, you may laugh now, but that guy becomes president-“

“He’s NOT going to become president,” my mother interrupted.

“Mark my words,” Tom insisted, “When that guy becomes president, he’s gonna fix America’s economy, and that will trickle down to Canada’s economy and it will do us a world of good. Just you wait and see.”

“He’s not gonna win,” my mom said, shaking her head.

“How was your week, daddy?” Tammy asked, bopping along to whatever song was playing in her head, as kids do.

 “Exhausting. But I got a lot of repairs done, and of that, I am very proud,” Tom says sounding very gratified.

“Did you fix the elevator yet?” I asked casually. Tom stared daggers at me as he placed his drink down on the table.

“Do you know how much work I have to do around this building?” He sneered.

“It was just a question…” I mumbled.

“DO YOU KNOW. HOW MUCH WORK. I HAVE TO DO AROUND THIS BUILDING?” Tom repeated, louder.

“No…” I replied.

“Exactly! I just told you I had an exhausting week, this place is falling apart and I’m the only person here doing anything about it! And you have the NERVE to ask me if I’ve fixed the elevator yet? Do you know how long a job like that takes?!” He barked.

“No…I just…it’s just that-“

“I just, I just…you just what?” Tom berated in a mocking tone.

 “I just thought that since you said you fixed a lot of things this week, that elevator would be a top priority because it’s such a big inconvenience,” I explained, “I guess I was wrong…”

“You are wrong!” Tom shouted back, “And if it’s such a huge inconvenience to you, why don’t you go try to fix it?”

 “Walking up and down those stairs all the time hurts my legs, daddy,” Tammy said sadly. Toms demeanor softened instantly.

“It does?” he said empathetically, “Well…maybe I can get it fixed this weekend. I’m not making any promises, but we’ll see.”

“Figures,” I scoffed under my breath. Tom dropped his cutlery on his plate and stared at me like he was about to jump across the table and strangle me.

“Excuse me?” he asked, turning his head to the side slightly, “I couldn’t hear you, why don’t you speak up a little?”

“Tom, let it go…”my mother urged.

“No no no, Tiffany,” Tom silenced her, “You’ve got something to say, Travis? Go ahead. Say it.”

In my mind, an entire alternate reality played out where I told Tom exactly what I wanted to say.

“Tom Rhodes, you are a FUCKING ASS HOLE! You treat my sister like gold and you treat me like garbage. You constantly put me down while you put her on a pedestal. When I ask you to fix the elevator, you yell at me but when SHE asks, you put it at the top of your to-do list. And why is that? Because SHE’S the your favorite. And why she your favorite? Because SHE is your biological kid and I’m not. All I am is a walking reminder of some guy who used to fuck your wife up until she got pregnant and then bailed on both of u and then YOU fell in love with her, but got stuck with having to raise me, too. But as much of a douche bag as my real dad was, you are 10 times worse because at least he LEFT, so that I wouldn’t have to put up with his bull shit the way I have to put up with yours. You are a rude, stupid, racist, ignorant FUCK and I wish you had never knocked my mom up so that I would never have to look at your ugly fucking face ever again, YOU STUPID FUCKING CUNT!!!!!!”

But what came out instead was:

“No, Tom. I don’t have anything to say.”

“You sure about that?” Tom asked, goating me.

“I’m sure,” I nodded, staring down at my plate.

 “Good. That’s what I thought,” Tom said, picking up his utensils.

We ate the rest of our meal in an awkward silence until my plate was clean and I was finally allowed to retreat to my room. I tried to distract with weekend homework, but couldn’t help feeling like shit. Not only because of what happened at dinner, but because this was my first Friday night in Kingston and I was spending it completely and utterly alone.

If I hadn’t had to move, I could be down at the Lakeshore with Nina watching the boats go by, or viewing terrible B-List movies with Robbie and making fun of them, or doing my homework with Max and finishing in record time due to our fool proof system of doing half the work and trading our answers. But I wasn’t doing any of that. I was laying in bed, listening to my parents fight in the living room.

“Why does he have to be so disrespectful?” I heard Tom complain.

“He wasn’t. He’s a teenager, they don’t realize when they’re being rude,” I heard my mother reply, “And lower your voice, these walls are too thin.”

“He has NO idea how hard it is to support a family on a single income!” Tom said, not lowering his voice at all.

“It’s not Travis’ fault that I haven’t found a job yet,” I heard my mom reply. 

“Well, why doesn’t HE get a job?” I heard him suggest, “Oh right, I forgot, Sarcastic Smartass isn’t a profession.”

“School is his job,” I heard my mom defending me.

“That boy needs to learn when to keep his mouth shut,” I heard Tom say. That was the last I heard of their conversation before they moved it to their bedroom, which was too far away for me to hear.

I hated living with Tom. I hated talking to him, I hated being around him, I hated the fact that my mother had inexplicably found something about him to love. I would be completely satisfied if he dropped off the face of the earth, at least at the top of our apartment, so that I wouldn’t have to put up with him anymore. But if that were to happen, we wouldn’t be able to afford to live here. And then I couldn’t see Noah, which really was the only good thing about living here. I decided to pick up my phone and text him.

(10:30) Me: Hey, you home yet?

(10:45) Me: Guess not…lol

(11:00) Me: If you are, let me know…I’d be down to cum over ;)

(11:01) Me: See what I did there? Lol

(11:30) Me: But seriously, message me when you get home.

(11:45) Me: I’m basically having a conversation with myself right now so if you could at least send me a K or something so I know you’re not dead lol….or ignoring me

(12:00) Me: HAPPY NEW YEAR! Just kidding….I’m not funny….why do I try to be funny? I’m not funny.

(12:30) Me: Is your phone broken or are you sick of me already? Lol

(1:00) Me: Are you asleep already?

(1:20) Me: I just realised that if you’re asleep, you’re gonna wake up to all these messages and think I’m crazy lol

(1:22) Me: I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell

(1:25) Me: That was my attempt at humour. I use humour as a coping mechanism, apparently

(1:30) Me: OK you’re obviously asleep so I’m gonna stop messaging you now because this is getting pathetic lol

(1:45) Me: I MEAN IT…I’M GOING TO BED….LAST CHANCE TO TAP THIS ASS………

(2:00) Me: I am pathetic. I’m sorry. Goodnight. Or good morning. Depending on when you’re reading this. Hope you had fun with whatever it is you had to do tonight.

(2:02) Me: That last message sounded sarcastic, but I swear it wasn’t. It’s hard to judge tone through text.

(2:05)Me: Ok, I’m actually gonna go to bed now. Talk to you tomorrow (today)

I threw my phone on the table and went to bed, feeling rejected and dejected.

Unbeknownst to me, Noah was still awake. He was hauling a 120 pound plastic bin down the stairs of our apartment into the basement of our apartment complex towards the boiler room.

When he reached the bottom of the steps, he tugged on the door while his unseasonably gloved hand, finding it to be locked. He took out his phone, cleared all of my texts without reading them, selected a phone number and sat down on the lid of the blue bin while it rang. And rang. And rang. It was eventually  picked up by a groggy and irritated man asking one very angry reasonable question.

“Loveless, do you have any fucking idea what time it is?!”

“Half past two. Is D awake?” Noah replied, unbothered that he was clearly bothering his friend.

“No, he’s sleeping, because that’s what normal people do at two in the god damn morning!” The man on the other end growled.

“Well, wake him up. I’ve got a job for him,” Noah said calmly.

“Unless it’s a blowjob, I can guarantee you that he isn’t interested,” the other man replied.

“It’s not, it’s a different kind of job. An important one. And a time sensitive one. Tell him I’ll give him money,” Noah replied, still relatively calm.

“Bro…” the man on the other end exhaled, “It’s two in the fucking morning! He’s gotta get up for work in….6 hours!”

“That’s fine, this isn’t going to take long. He just needs to come downstairs for five minutes and then he can go right back to bed,” Noah replied, his calmness slowly being replaced by urgency, “So, for the last time. Wake. D. Up.”

“Bro, you gotta fuck off…”

“WAKE HIM UP, WESLEY!” Noah shouted into the phone, his patience officially gone.

“Oh my god….” the man on the other end sighed as he pulled the phone away from his ear, causing his words to be less distinct, but still audible to Noah, “D? D, wake up….wake up….”

“Huh?” a voice in the background muttered, “What? Why? Is it morning?”

“Nah, Lovedick is on the phone, he said needs your help with something...” Wes explained.

“Tell him to fuck off!” D spat.

“I did, he wont listen. He says he’s got a job for you.”

“Unless it’s a blowjob, I’m not interested,” D declined.

“I told him that, too. But he said he’d pay you,” Wes informed him.

“For a blowjob?” D said groggily.

“No, I JUST said that’s not what he wants! God, listen!” Wes snapped.

“I’m half asleep!” D rationalized.

“Time sensitive matter, Wesley,” Noah sighed into the phone, though not sure his friend could hear him, “Time…sensitive…matter...”

The phone shuffled around, being passed between hands, dropped, and then picked up again.

“What?” D groaned into the phone.

“I need you to come downstairs and unlock the boiler room door for me. The new maintenance prick has started locking it, for some stupid fucking reason.  It will only take a minute. But you need to come now,” Noah insisted.

“What’s in it for me?” D asked, the bed creaking in the background as he sat up.

“Oh my god, do you have ears? Wes JUST said I’d pay you!” Noah said, losing patience.

“I’ve been awake for a total of 10 seconds, cut me some fucking slack!” D shot back, “How much you gonna give me?”

“Fifty bucks,” Noah replied.

“I want a hundred,” D bartered.

“A hundred bucks? For five minutes of work? Fuck no!”

“That’s my price, take it or leave it,” D sighed.

“I’ll give you sixty. That’s my final offer,” Loveless negotiated.

“Goodnight, Noah,” D bid him farewell.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Noah said urgently, “God, you’re a greedy bastard.  I’ll gve you  a hundred bucks, okay? One hundred dollars for your precious time. But you need to come NOW. Like, RIGHT NOW.”

D sighed as the sound of his feet hitting the tile of his bedroom were picked up by the phone.

“Be down in a minute.”

Noah hung up the phone and took a deep breath, which he immediately regretted due to the foul smelling contents of the bin he was sitting on.

“I shouldn’t be sitting on this,” he mumbled to himself as he stood up, pacing back and forth as he waited D’s arrival. A few moments later, the door at the top of the steps opened up, and a dark skinned man descended the stairs.

“What the fuck is that smell?” He asked when he reached the bottom step.

“It’s a basement. Basements smell weird,” Noah rationalized.

“That’s not a weird smell, that is a fucking disgusting smell,” D practically gagged as he walked over to the door, kneeling in front of it with three door-unlocking mechanisms in his hands.

“Yeah, well, you know…” Noah shrugged, letting his sentence trail off as his D stuck two of the long, thin tiny pieces of metal into the keyhole, jiggling them around.

“This could take a minute. I’m a little rusty,” he said as he fiddled around with them. Noah said nothing as he leaned against the cement wall, examining the attire of his companion; blue pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt adorned with many small, yellow faces with goggles,

“Bruh, are you wearing fucking minions pyjamas?” he scoffed.

“Yeah. They were a gift from my sister,” D said as he continued to work the keyhole.

“And you actually wear them?” Noah half chuckled.

“Look, I didn’t realise my jammies were gonna put on trial when I agreed come down here to help you, all right?” D said as he tried to unlock the door. Noah raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side.

“Did you just call them your ‘jammies’?” He grinned. D stopped trying to unlock the door and stared up at him, un-amused.

“Do you want my help or not?!” He growled.

“Sorry, I’ll shut up,” Noah conceded. D turned back to the lock, continuing to fiddle with it, glancing momentarily at the blue bin behind Noah.

“That smell…” he said, focusing on knob instead of looking directly at Noah, “Is it coming from that box?”

“Anything’s possible,” Noah shrugged, crossing his arms, “How’s that lock coming?”

“It’s goin,” D sighed, still fiddling, “So…what’s in there?”

“Same thing that was in Al Capones vault, Geraldo. Absolutely nothing,” Noah replied, nonchalantly. The door clicks and pops open slightly. D smiles, satisfied as he stands up straight, placing his un-locking mechanisms in his jammie pockets.

“Still got it,” he smiles proudly.

“Thank you,” Noah says, pushing the door open.

“Don’t thank me, pay me,” D says, sticking his hand out. Noah rolls his eyes and reaching into his pocket, retrieving his wallet and pulling out a crisp, brown $100 bill.

“Smell ya later,” D salutes with one hand as he stuffs the money in his pocket with the other.

“Hey, listen,” Noah says to D as he turns to leave, “If anyone asks, you were never down here. And I was never down here, you got that?”

“Got it,” D nods, “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.”

He begins walking backwards up the stairs, symbolically placing both hands over his mouth, before turning around the heading up the stairs the right way.

“Do no evil,” Noah mumbles to no one in particular as he kicks the door open all the way, lifting up the blue bin and carrying it into the pitch black room. He flicks on the lightswitch and makes his way over to the large, charcoal colored coal burning furnace. He opens the door and lights the coals as fire and smoke begin to fill the furnace. He removes the lid of the blue bin and stares down at the contents with a mixture of sadness, disgust and sorrow. He hesitantly reaches in, withdrawing his hand briefly, before finally grabbing piece of a person.

First he throws an arm into the fire. Then a leg. Another arm. Half of a torso that had been chopped in two. Ripped up and bloody pieces of clothing were the next to go in. Then the other leg. The second half the torso. And finally, a head is removed from the bin, shaved and stripped of any distinguishable features. Noah frowns as he stares down at it with a mixture of sadness, empathy and disgust,  before tossing it somewhat gently into the flames along with the rest of her. Lastly, he throws the final piece of evidence - his gloves- into the flames, closing the door and taking a step back. He sits down on the floor with his knees pressed to his chest, watching the contents of the furnace burn through the glass window on the door until there was next to nothing left.