One

The first chapter of my recent novel draft, Latch.

He sat out front, arms wrapped around his knees and mellow music flowing through his earbuds, when the boy across the street caught his eye.

The house had only recently been occupied. There was a boy his age there, he'd been told, who'd be going to his school by at least next week. He'd been curious- no one he knew had actually seen the boy- but Carlin was pretty certain he was looking at him right now.

The boy clambered out a window on the side of the house, legs dangling a moment before he jumped the short distance to the ground. His dark hair matched the dark t-shirt and tight jeans he wore, and when his eyes flitted around and across the street, he was taken aback by how wide-set and serious they were. The boy's lips curled tauntingly in the dim light from the street lamp next to his house, and he sauntered over the yard to grip the fence in his little palms and hop on over. A nondescript package was pulled from his pocket as he sat on the curb, followed by a smaller object- he realized as he lit a cigarette and held it to his pouted lips what it was.

"You just gonna stare?" Carlin barely heard the words over his soft music, but the lips that spoke them weren't hard to miss, and immediately he found himself ripping the earbuds out and setting his phone down as his eyes blinked wide at the boy across the street.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." His voice was light, a musical quality lilted his words with a teasing air. "Keep staring. Or come over here."

It wouldn't have taken much more convincing for Carlin to jump up and cross the street, which he did just fine without, hands shoved and fisted in his jacket pockets as he seated himself beside the boy. "I'm Carlin."

"You go to Triad?"

"Yeah."

The boy smiled as he took another drag of his cigarette. "Mmm. We'll have to keep in touch, then." Carlin rolled his lips together, and his eyes trained on the boy as he stamped out the cigarette on the sidewalk and tossed it into the street. "Don't worry, I'm not a raging drug addict or some s**t. I smoke when I'm stressed."

"Why are you stressed?"

The boy grinned, and his teeth gleamed in the lamp light. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Carlin shrugged. "Sometimes talking helps."

"Oh, honey," he drawled, stretching his legs out and crossing them in the street. "Tell me about yourself."

A pause. "Only if I get a name."

"Mmm."

"I seriously doubt that's your name."

The boy giggled, tipping his head back in the process. "You never know."

"I have an inkling."

"You're cute," the boy informed him. Suddenly the door behind them clicked, and the boy jumped quickly to his feet. "Come with me."

"What?"

"Shut up," he whispered harshly. His hand- warm and soft and demanding- clasped Carlin's and tugged him up. His eyes were wide and glinted in his new, thrilling idea. "And come with me."

Before he could ask where? Carlin was being dragged over the fence and down the side of the boy's house, to the window he'd crawled out of only a minute ago. The front door opened and squeaked, then slammed shut as keys rattled and shoes clicked down the porch, to the side of the house and the garage. "They're going out to dinner," the boy whispered, then pushed himself up to sit on the windowsill. "Come on in."

"I-" But the boy swung his legs over and slid inside, which left Carlin and his burning curiosity with no choice but to lift himself up and follow suit, then to slide the window mostly shut behind him. "Don't think this is a good idea."

"It's a great idea." Inside the boy had flopped himself onto his bed, and Carlin gave himself a moment to take in everything. Boxes were lined against one wall- the only things really set up were the bed, a dresser, and a desk with a little canvas backpack sitting atop it. "I've been putting off settling in," the boy explained, laying back to sprawl out on the gray sheets.

"Your parents don't know you were smoking."

"My mom thinks I'm an angel," he laughed. His dark eyes settled on Carlin's, and he began to shift uncomfortably as he wandered over to the edge of the bed until he hit his knees on the mattress. "Only I don't think angels can be gay."

Carlin paused a minute as he let the full statement sink in before responding. "Why not?"

“Good answer,” he teased. “Have a seat. Tell me about this place.”

The boy shifted upwards on the bed, pulling his knees to his chest to give Carlin space to sit. He complied, and his hands dropped from their refuge in his pockets as he shrugged. “It’s nice. Really quiet, though. Nothing exciting really happens.”

“I can tell.”

Carlin’s brows lifted. “How?”

“You looked terrified when I had that cigarette out.”

At that his eyes widened, and a blush spread across his face. “Sorry. I just, it’s not- I’ve only seen a few people smoke, ever. Those punk rocker cliques at school- I mean, sorry if that’s your thing.”

“Never,” the boy assured him, shifting his legs around until he sat cross-legged. “Although their music taste isn’t too bad.”

“Yeah.”

A comfortable silence reigned for a moment, and Carlin scooted further onto the bed until his back hit the wall. A frown crossed his face then. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

The boy snickered. “Two more questions first.”

“Shoot.”

“Am I gonna be the only gay kid at school?”

Carlin thought hard. “I think so, yeah. At the very least, the only openly gay kid I know of.”

“F**k.” Carlin laughed. “Okay, last question. Are there cute boys here?”

His laughs doubled then, and he shrugged uselessly, his face burning against his will. “Um, I don’t know? I don’t know.”

“I mean, besides you.”

Carlin rolled his eyes. “What a kiss up.”

“I’m just kidding.” The boy stuck his tongue out playfully. “I won’t flirt with you… that much.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” he muttered jokingly. A pause. Carlin leaned his head against the wall, then turned  it to look the boy in the eyes. “I think I was promised a name.”

“No way, you gave me some really s****y answers.”

“It’s not my fault I don’t know if the boys here are that cute!”

“Oh, come on, at least give me an idea-”

Through the open bedroom door a clicking noise sounded, followed by a slow creak and the click of shoes on tile. The boy’s eyes widened, and he leaped off the bed and shut his door as quietly as he could.

“Forgot my purse!” a voice called.

“Kay!”

Carlin stayed absolutely still and trained his eyes on the boy’s every move until the noises faded and the front door groaned shut. The boy sighed, leaning his back against the door and throwing Carlin a grin.

“Well, that was fun.”

Carlin raked his fingers through his hair, a loud sigh of relief escaping him. “Okay. Now that I think I’ve recovered from a probably literal heart attack-”

“Oh, calm down, you baby.”

He shot the boy a glare. “Name. You promised.”

The boy broke into a wide smile as he sauntered over to the bed, head cocked to the side adorably as he looked Carlin up and down, almost as if sizing him up. He pursed his lips, and Carlin watched the shift in his expression as the gears in his head turned in thought.

“Call me Vant.”

~

He stared into the mirror.

Carlin had never particularly liked what he saw. Brown. Milky white. Inconsistently colored eyes. Lanky limbs, which were muscled, but barely so. Broad, but not broad enough. Built, but not built enough. Or strong-jawed enough. Or strong enough.

Girls flocked to him because he was sweet, because he was golden. They were all sweet, all nice and lovely, and seemed to race with the sunset off into each passing summer. But he didn’t really care much about any of them.

It drove him insane.

What’s wrong with me?

What’s wrong with them?

Why can’t I do anything right?

These thoughts constantly swarmed Carlin’s mind. He felt it seep into his skin walking down the halls of Triad, heard it ring in his ears in his silent bedroom at night, felt it knaw persistently at the back of his mind and work its way up to the forefront for him to face and deal with- but he never did. Something had always been wrong, or at the very least, not right. Something had always been holding him back.

He just wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know what.

For the four years of high school he’d endured, Carlin had prided himself on staying focused on school, getting good grades, keeping his well trained eye on the horizon- on the future. His future. His parents had done a good job of drilling the importance of a good education into his head, and with a burning conviction he had followed that mantra to the ‘T’, striving to please his parents, to make them proud. It wasn’t paid grades or rewards that motivated him to work harder than his damn hardest. He couldn’t bear the mere thought of letting his parents down.

He sighed, loosening the tie around his neck in order to discard it and toss it to the floor. By now his parents had already left for church, and he didn’t care enough about catching up. Once again he found himself making up excuses not to go- the calculus homework on his floor, the laundry piling up in his hamper, the clenching and unclenching of his hands that made him want to go for a run to relieve stress. Senior year was taking its toll on him, but his parents had always told him that bringing your problems to God would help you figure out any situation.

But even with the weight lifted off his chest, Carlin could see it hanging midair, waiting to settle back down and nag at him just a little more. Eventually he’d resolved to simply let it fester inside his chest. He could never get the words out to fully describe what it was that bothered him. Maybe it was because he wasn’t quite sure what the real problem was called. How could he ask for help when he didn’t know why he needed helping?

They said God just knew what was wrong. So when was he going to get around to fixing it?

When was he going to get around to fixing him?

Author's Note

Any constructive criticism would be welcomed gladly.

Reviews

[M. Black]

Great story :) would love to read more of it. this story has good potential :)

[Paige Nicole]

Thanks so much! :)