Hematoma Ch. 06

It was dark.

I had woken up in an unfamiliar place, groggy and sleep-eyed. I inhaled deeply, trying to place my location. Very dark. Was it even morning? Had I woken up in the middle of the night?

I began to remember the night before. Oh, the night before... It was real, wasn't it? Yorick had brought me home... I stared up at the ceiling and recognized Yorick's black canopy hanging over the bed. I felt the wonderfully soft mattress under me and the warm duvet over me. This was not my bed. So that must mean...

I pushed myself onto my elbows and groaned, blinking. To my left, fast asleep, was Ricky, with his dark hair splashed over his pillow like an ink spill and one limp hand raised to his cheek. Even in the darkness I could make him out with how incredibly pale his skin was, almost glowing... If I hadn't just seen his chest rise and fall (if only very slowly), I would have thought he was dead.

Assured of Ricky's presence and remembering what had happened to me, I began to feel out the side of the bed, pulling my legs over it. I pushed aside the canopy in front of me to find a blue glow emitting from a digital clock on Ricky's nightstand. Nine thirty-two A.M. Wow, it was morning. Why was it so dark then? I felt for the floor with my toes and got to my feet, only just then aware of my nudity. Pants first, or at least underwear.

I scuffled my feet along the hardwood floor and the edge of the rug under Ricky's bed, searching for my discarded clothing. My toes met a pile of denim. Ah, there it was. I fished into my pants for my underwear and pulled them on, then turned about looking for a source of light. I saw just then a sliver of it coming from the side of a curtain... Thick black curtains were drawn over both of the windows in Ricky's room, so impenetrable that I couldn't see an ounce of light coming through; just this splinter at one curtain's edge. I walked over and threw the curtain open.

As the harsh sunlight flooded the bedroom and made me squint, I heard a loud groan and a rustle of blankets. "Close the fucking curtain!" I heard Ricky's voice snarl from the bed.

I looked over my shoulder, bewildered. Ricky had thrown the duvet over his head, shielding himself against the sunlight from the window and the canopy I had left open.

"Are you deaf?" he growled, voice muffled by the blanket. "Close that fucking curtain already."

"Oh... sorry," I said, pulling the curtain shut and plunging the room back into darkness. Clearly Ricky wasn't a morning person.

I sat back down on the bed as Ricky emerged from it, looking ruffled. He sat up and groaned as he rolled his broad shoulders, and then looked to me with darkened eyes. "You're still here," he noted plainly.

I blinked. "Well... yeah," I said. "Am I not... supposed to be?"

Ricky waved a hand dismissively and reached up to run that same hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp. "I assumed you'd have gone home when you woke up. Of course, you passed out pretty hard last night. Right after coming in my mouth."

I could feel my face heating up as a blush crept over my cheeks and the bridge of my nose. I had done that... I wondered momentarily if Ricky swallowed or spit. Then I wondered if I should ask.

"Um..."

"Yes?"

"... Nevermind." I couldn't.

Ricky tilted his head this way and that, his neck crackling softly. I watched as he slid himself from under the covers, and tried and failed to take my eyes away. He slept naked. In the dim light I could make out the lines of his muscles beneath the ivory skin. In unhindered curiosity my eyes fell below his waist as he stood up... His manhood was soft but thick... I met his eyes again. Even in the dark I saw a glimmer in them, his mouth perked at the edge.

"See something interesting, Shay?" he asked, amused.

"No," I said quickly. "I mean... yeah but... I wasn't staring or..."

Ricky laughed, shaking his head and turning away. "I was teasing you. Look all you like. I had your cock down my throat last night, there are no secrets here." He reached over and flicked on a lamp on another nightstand, then stood quite still, seemingly thinking. "Perhaps one or two," he added.

With the light on, I was able to see more of Ricky's bedroom. The walls were a neutral color, only one or two simplistic paintings here, a closet which Ricky had just opened up, and indeed another TV and a combination VCR and DVD player on a large bookshelf in front of the bed. I wondered how he'd managed to hook up a VCR to a flatscreen TV.

"Anyway," said Ricky, pulling a shirt and a pair of dark jeans from the closet, "What are you doing today, Shay? Perhaps we could spend a bit of time and get to know each other."

Get to know each other? Well, Ricky certainly knew me well enough. But what did I know about him? Nothing, I thought.

"That sounds great," I said.

Ricky's smile appeared from the collar of the shirt he'd just pulled on. "Good. Then let's fetch breakfast. I imagine you're starving."

I felt slightly ashamed to be wearing the same clothes I'd worn the previous day; even now they still smelled of my warehouse locker, musty and slightly sweaty. But that didn't seem to bother Ricky, so I guessed it shouldn't bother me. I watched him from the sidewalk as he locked his door behind us, my eyes straying to his tall and polished boots, very different than my raver ones. Once again he was wearing those leather gloves, but his sunglasses were tucked into the collar of his jacket and his hood was down this time, his hair hanging wayward where it liked. I looked up as he joined me, my eyes scanning the cloudy city sky.

"Think it'll rain?" I asked mildly.

"Not likely," he replied. "I don't smell precipitation."

"Smell? What, you can do that?"

"Oh, anyone can," he said. "Rain has a distinct aroma before it comes. It's usually easier in the summer... Come, then. I don't expect you'd like to hang around chatting about the weather."

The weather... Geez, I was doing that, wasn't I. This man blew me last night and I was talking about the weather. I snapped back to earth and picked up my stride in order to catch up with him on the sidewalk, our steps scuffing up dry leaves beneath our feet.

"So where are we going for breakfast?" I asked, shoving my hands in my pockets. Ricky had done the same.

"Just a little place up the road," he said. "Hole-in-the-wall. Their breakfast smells delicious."

"Just smells?" I laughed. "You HAVE eaten there, right?"

He shrugged. "They make a decent coffee," he said.

Ricky was taking me to a place he hadn't even eaten before? That sounded weird... "I mean... Is there a place you'd rather go? It's okay if it's a bit of a walk..."

"This is fine, don't worry. You'll enjoy it."

I had to trust him, I guess.

I soon caught a whiff of something frying as we walked, and indeed, it smelled amazing. Ricky turned to the door of a tiny diner, its few windows plastered with ads and posters - missing dogs, band members needed, personal ads, local gigs, and lots of papers with their cut-up bottoms lined with phone numbers. Over the top of the door was a frayed awning with peeling letters telling me that this was "Gio's Diner and Eatery" established in 1973. I looked quizzically at Ricky. With his expensive taste and his high-end styled home, this hardly seemed the type of place he'd frequent. But it did smell incredible. My mouth was watering from the aroma.

"Don't be put off. This is the sort of place that the real Philly people frequent, so you know it's good. Come on," said Ricky, and he pulled open the door to usher me in.

Immediately I was hit with a wonderful warmth which carried the smell of bacon fat and griddle leftovers. There were no booths or tables, just a row of barstools with chipping vinyl covers, on which were seated an assortment of customers: a businessman with a tie and briefcase, a pair of flannel-shirted workers, and a black Fed-Ex driver who was gulping down coffee and checking his watch. The little chatter that was going on between the customers was drowned out by the clattering of dishes, the hiss of the griddle, and the scraping of the line cook's spatula under pancakes and eggs.

I took Ricky's lead and sat on one of the cracked stools at the far end of the bar. "Need a menu?" he asked, plucking his fingers from his gloves.

"Er... No, I always get the same thing in these places," I said truthfully, and no sooner had I gotten that out then an older waitress with curled brown hair stepped over to us.

"Mornin', Rick, the usual?" she shot to Ricky, a slight flutter in her mascara-caked eyelashes. Her voice was curt, and I became relaxed in the presence of one of our city's many abrupt mid-40's waitresses. You usually knew you were in good hands with these ones; what you saw was what you got with them, and they'd usually been working in whatever restaurant for as long as the place existed.

Ricky smiled, weaving his fingers together on the bar. "Yes, thank you, Maddy, and whatever my friend here wants," he replied, giving a nod to me.

Maddy turned her blue-rimmed eyes to me, not bothering to ask what I wanted. "Oh, um... Eggs over-easy and rye toast, thanks," I said.

"Coffee, hun?" she supplied.

"No thanks, but... that bacon smells good. I'll have some of that too."

"Sure thing. Be back with your coffee, Rick."

I watched her march away to give the line cook my order, then turned to Ricky. "Rick?" I questioned.

He shrugged, eyes rolling. "Karen has her nickname. Maddy has hers. If it's endearing, then so be it."

"Yeah but... Rick doesn't suit you at all. Ricky is better."

"I see. Well, it fits in here. Thank you, Maddy," he added, as a stained coffee cup had appeared brimming with steam at his hand.

My breakfast arrived as well, unbroken eggs and bacon with a side plate of buttered rye toast, and a small selection of jams with it. No jam for me, but I added salt and pepper to my eggs before sampling the bacon. Thick, juicy and wonderfully crispy, just the way hole-in-the-wall diners should make it. Amazing. I grabbed a half of toast and pushed it into my egg yolk, digging into my meal with vigor.

"Hungry, I take it?" offered Ricky, smiling over his coffee cup.

I nodded, chewing hard in order to clear my mouth for speech. "Starving," I said. "I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon... We didn't eat dinner last night..." I licked my lips and reached for another piece of toast, swiping the yolk up that had spilled around the whites. Taking a wide bite, I chewed thoughtfully. "Neither have you, for that matter," I said suddenly. "You.. I mean, did you eat last night after I feel asleep?"

Ricky contemplated me mid-sip. His coffee cup clinked into its saucer as he shook his head. "No, actually. I was quite worn out myself," he said. "I merely read for a bit and turned in for sleep with you."

"But you're not hungry now? I mean, just coffee, really?"

"I suppose not. Don't worry. Eat your breakfast."

I became concerned. I wondered why Ricky wouldn't eat. He seemed to simply be thriving off his caffeine, yet he seemed very healthy and normal. It couldn't be anorexia. But I barely knew Ricky... There had to be secrets about him I might never know.

And I left it at that.

Full of eggs and with the taste of bacon lingering on my tongue, I walked with Ricky down the streets of south Philly under the day's constant cloud cover. My curiosity about Ricky as a person was in full swing. He didn't seem to mind.

"I heard you listening to the Sex Pistols when I came in for my piercing the first time," I said. "So... You're into punk?"

"I'm into a lot of things," he replied lightly. "Punk was a bit of a phase for me. Shortly before the grunge period, followed quickly by the metal period. I like plenty of musicians. And I've traveled for my pursuit of that art."

"Traveled?"

"Yes, quite a lot. I've been to a lot of concerts." He turned to me as he walked, pushing a lock of hair from his face. "And you? What do you listen to, Shay?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "Ah, geez... I guess my tastes aren't as broad. I mean, I like some metal, but not that 'screaming bloody murder' stuff, you know? Like -"

But I slowed to a stop, having watched Ricky halt in his tracks.

He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. "Can I help you?" he said coolly.

I turned as well, wondering who he could have spoken to. Behind us was a young and willowy Asian girl, maybe seventeen with a cascade of straight black hair squared to her face with her short bangs. Her hair stood out to me the most, as the rest of her was completely white... Her ivory ensemble comprised a long peacoat with the frills of a skirt puffing out its hem around her thin legs in their white stockings and short ankle boots. Everything on her seemed to be accented with bows, from her scarf to her gloves to the umbrella she carried in her hands. Most poignantly, she was staring daggers at Ricky.

"I'd like for you to stop avoiding me, Yorick," she said coldly. "We seriously need to talk."

I looked at Ricky incredulously, as if to say "Who the fuck is that?" But he didn't meet my eyes, only shook his head laughing under his breath. "Whatever you have to say, save it. I'm really not in the mood today."

"You're never in the mood," she said harshly. "You can't dance around this. And who is this?" she snapped, looking straight at me.

I stared at her, taken aback. Shouldn't that be my line? I wanted to say as much, but with my mouth halfway open, Ricky interrupted me.

"None of your business," he replied. "Am I not allowed to have friends?"

I watched her almond eyes narrow. She crossed her arms huffily. "That's a flat-out lie. Tell me what you're doing with him."

"Walking away. Come on," said Ricky, and he took my arm in his, leading me back the way we were going.

"Don't you dare!" I heard the girl yell behind us. "Yorick! Don't you dare keep ignoring me!"

But ignore her he did. We kept silent for the next block, and when I finally got the courage to look back over my shoulder, she was gone.

"What was that about? Who was she?" I asked Ricky.

He kept his eyes forward, chuckling. "An ex-girlfriend. I'm sorry you had to see that. We haven't dated for ages but she just won't let go. Seems to think I've wronged her in some way."

An ex-girlfriend... Oh... "I mean... Have you, though?"

"Of course not," he said slickly. "We didn't even do anything. I left. That was that. Don't fret about her."

So I didn't.

"So what were you saying about metal?"

"Ah... yeah..."

I spent the rest of the day with Ricky, and yet our conversations never strayed from the vanilla. We talked about music and movies, and the great many that Ricky had seen. He seemed to have a lifetime of experiences that went beyond his years. But deep down I wanted to see the hypnotic power he could exert over me again, and taste his fearsome aura just like before. My body remembered how good it felt to be afraid and yet so very wanton of the pain he could cause me. So as our day grew dark and the sun fell down still behind its veil of clouds, I asked what I wanted to.

"Um... Hey, Ricky..."

"Yes?" he prompted, elbow resting on the bench we were seated on.

I hesitated, chewing my lip. "D'you... wanna come back to my place tonight?"

My eyes met his, and I saw them flare with excitement if only for a moment. "I would love to, Shay," he said quietly. "But I'm afraid I have the graveyard shift back at Inkjet... And you should rest away from me."

Crestfallen, I let my eyes return to my lap. "Oh... Okay."

"Tell you what," said Ricky, and he dug in his jeans pocket to fish out an iPhone... Latest model, I noticed, with a slim and well-made case. He swiped a couple things and handed it to me. "Trade phones. Put your number in here for me."

"Oh... sure!" I scrambled to pull my own cell phone out of my pocket, though mine wasn't nearly as nice, of course. "Here..."

We traded and I punched my number shakily into his keypad.

"There we go," said Ricky, and we traded back. Within a few seconds my phone jingled and a text appeared with his name. I had Ricky's phone number. I felt... giddy. As if my high school crush had just returned sentiments of a love note. I lifted my eyes to meet his, excited, and felt my breath freeze within my lungs as his gray eyes gleamed silver. His smile was intoxicating, a grin beneath the darkened lids of his eyes... I suddenly felt as if I had to catch myself in mid-fall, and jerked back to reality as the vertigo faded. Ricky was still grinning broadly.

"S-so..." I stammered, shifting my weight to cover up the sudden falling. "I'll see you... When?"

Ricky contemplated, rising from his seat. "Tomorrow?" he suggested. "Do you work?"

"I do, at the warehouse... But I'm only there until three."

"Four o'clock tomorrow, then. How about dinner?"

"That... sounds fantastic."

"Good," said Ricky with a smile. "Come by my place after work. I have so much I still want to talk about."

Without a goodbye, Ricky turned and walked back the way we had come, his long hair fluttering behind him in the early winter breeze. I felt its chill in the bowels of my lungs, as if frost had grown in my airways, and simultaneously my blood boiled with excitement. I wondered... would we...? Ricky's words, "Not yet," still rung with a promise for me that I wanted fulfilled. Yes, I thought feverishly as I walked off for my home. I wanted Ricky to fuck and hurt me until I bled for him... The thrill in my mind made my heart race to catch up with the runaway ideas. Ah, fuck, I was getting hard in the middle of the sidewalk. Calm down, calm down.

But for some reason, I couldn't calm myself. Even as I got myself back home, my breath and heartbeat carried on with their labor to excite my body, which longed for Ricky's fingernails and for harsher, sharper pains still... That night I laid in bed with cock in hand, masturbating to thoughts of Ricky drawing blood from me in various ways... Thoughts that then carried me to unwilling sleep.