Instance Ch. 02

This science fiction story was started in November 2016. In this chapter, Jackson and Brooke recover from the attack on Brooke, and Ian gives Jackson work, and a place to live. This chapter contains consensual gay sex. While this story contains sex, it's not the primary focus.

The story:

After a series of strange events, Jackson and Brooke begin to suspect that the world they live in is not as it seems. With the help of their addiction support group, they start to piece together what may be happening, and then must decide if they want to tell the rest of the world...

Tags: #bisexual man, #HIV, #love story, #sex club, #science fiction, #gay male, #addiction, #alcoholic

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Jackson woke, and was four years old. The scent of jasmine was thick in the air and the room was warm. Sunlight warmed the bed sheets, fresh from the line the day before. He rolled onto his side, resting his cheek against his hand, and opened his eyes. His brother stood looking down at him, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. He was holding a red plastic bucket in one hand, a yellow plastic shovel in the other.

"Get up Jackson. We're going to the beach."

I don't want to go to the beach.

"Jackson?"

Jackson's eyes fluttered open, and the dream shed away. He rolled over to face Brooke.

"Hi."

"Hi." She smiled. "You were twitching."

"Sorry."

"And moaning."

"Well. That's embarrassing. I hope I didn't say 'Daddy' at any point."

Brooke chuckled. "I think I heard an 'Ollie', but no 'Daddy'. Did you sleep okay? I know sleeping in your clothes isn't the most comfortable. Just... after everything..."

He nodded, his head still thick with sleep. "Yeah. Yeah, no, it was fine." He slept in his clothes more often than he cared to admit. He frowned, then said, "Was I really saying 'Ollie?'"

"Yeah. That's what it sounded like. Why?"

He'd said 'Ollie'. His brother's name. It'd been a long time since he'd thought about Ollie.

"No reason." But it made the skin crawl between his shoulder blades. What are you doing in my dreams, Ollie? He glanced at the damp facecloth she had pressed against her cheek. "Do you want some more ice? The tray should have frozen again by now."

She shook her head, and winced at the pain that brought. "No, it's okay. I'll get up soon anyway."

She lifted the facecloth away to fold it, finding a cooler part of the cloth to press to her skin, and he sucked a breath in through his teeth as he saw the size of the black bruise blooming on her cheek.

"That looks painful."

For a moment he felt a stab of rage that he hadn't gotten there sooner, before the police had arrived. Stood over Brooke with the bat in his hands, smashed it into the face of the prick who'd done this to her.

"Jax?"

A voice, in his head; She'll want all trace of him out of her house.

He blinked. "Do you want a hand with cleaning up? I can do a quick whip-round with the Hoover while you're in the shower, if you like."

Her intruder had left lines of mud from his sneakers' grip all down her hallway. Some of it the police had crushed into dust and walked into the carpet. Her intruder had also pulled all the clothes out of Brooke's drawers and strew them on the floor—but Jackson didn't think Brooke would want him figuring out which drawer her underwear belonged in.

Last night, they'd pushed all the clothing into a corner of the room, and a pair of red lacy underwear had floated to the top.

He'd pretended not to notice, but once the lights were out, he couldn't help imagining them snug against Brooke's hips, tight against her sex. Then his fingers hooked either side, sliding them down, the scent of her, the—

He pulled himself back. He had morning wood, he didn't need to make it any worse. In fact, he urgently needed a piss.

Brooke's smile crumpled and her composure broke. A tear spilled down her cheek, and Jackson felt a lurch inside him, as if he might cry with her.

"I'm sorry, I'm not normally like this," she said, and Jackson frowned, that urge to grieve with her still catching at the back of his throat, in his chest. He put his hand flat against the bed between them, not touching her, but placing himself within reach.

"You're not normally what?"

But he knew. Could hear it hang in the air.

I'm not normally weak.

Her fingers crawled over his, the heat of her palm against the back of his hand.

"Do you have somewhere you need to be?" she asked. It was couched as a question, and he opened his mouth to say 'no', then closed it again.

That voice, in the back of his skull, where something ached. She'll need her space back.

"Yeah. I need to get home and sort some stuff out."

He slid his hand out from under hers, and rolled off the bed. As he stretched, he glanced back at her, and saw a face pale and vulnerable. She hadn't intended to show him that face. She didn't want to date him. Didn't want him that way.

He suddenly felt as if he was intruding.

He put a hand into his pocket and closed his hand around his car keys, subtly pinning his erection in place at the same time.

"I'm going to take off. Call me if you want to talk, or if you need anything. Anytime. You know I mean that."

She nodded. "Thanks again, Jax. I can't thank you enough. If you hadn't rung..."

If he hadn't been horny and desperately lonely, and made a phone call. Yeah. What a hero.

"I'll check in with you later."

"I'll be fine," she said, then, seeing him flinch at what sounded like a dismissal, "But yeah, give me a text. I'll let you know what the doctor says."

He wanted to ask her if she wanted him to run her to the doctor, but he knew she wanted him to leave. Could see it in her eyes.

Nothing personal.

"Will do." He stood there a moment longer, not sure how to end the interaction.

"See you at group." She gave him a small smile.

"Yeah." He nodded again, and went to find his jacket.

*

Back home, Jackson looked up 'DCQE' on YouTube, and set a video to play while he showered.

He listened as he ran water through his hair, trying to absorb it.

The Delayed Choice Quantum Eraser experiment was a variant on the famous 'double slit' experiment, and appeared to demonstrate that observation had an effect on matter that somehow travelled backwards through time.

Jackson had no idea what the hell that had to do with anything. Maybe he was reading too much into this. Maybe Brooke's nutjob hadn't been talking about this experiment at all. They had no way of knowing.

But his mind hooked itself on the thought that it was all too much of a coincidence to be ignored.

Perhaps if he and Brooke hadn't both seen the blue car disappear... perhaps if he hadn't seen eight Dobermans appear, all trapped inside an invisible barrier, then disappear... or if he hadn't crashed through an invisible shoji screen and taken a power pole to his car. And, against all probability, lived to tell the tale.

If he hadn't dreamed of Ollie.

Something was going on. He didn't know quite what. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know. But something was definitely going on.

He finished his shower and tied a towel around his waist. As he lathered shaving cream across his face, his mind strayed back to Ollie.

The blade in his hand dug into his skin, and he swore as a trickle of blood coloured the foam. He pulled a tissue from a box on the vanity and pressed it to the cut. And this was why he didn't bother shaving every day. Really, what was the point? He'd met a girl who didn't want to date him, and suddenly got the urge to hack up his own face?

He finished up and found some cold pizza in the fridge that would do as breakfast, and threw himself down in front of the telly with the PS4 controller.

As the console sang to life, he glanced around the living room. The stack of empty pizza boxes waiting to be recycled. The empty beer bottles, stored in their boxes, that he hated putting out at the curb, because it made it so obvious he was drinking too much. The layer of dust that lay over everything. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cleaned the house.

He imagined inviting Brooke over to watch a movie with him. He imagined her expression of disgust.

Maybe it's time to hire a cleaner.

Maybe it was time to get a job, so he could pay a cleaner.

He dropped the controller and pulled out his phone and checked his email. Nothing. He'd sent out four job applications in the past week. Not so much as a rejection.

He brought up Ian's number and sighed.

You really think having 'bar boy at Horatian' on your resume's going to get you that next job?

Maybe not. But his dwindling savings were bringing him ever closer to ditching his pride in lieu of keeping a roof over his head.

He pulled up his bank balance and did some maths. He had enough to cover himself for another four months... then things were going to get uncomfortable.

He dropped the phone on the couch and picked up the controller. His situation was nothing a weekend of gaming couldn't fix.

But as he scrolled through the menu, he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. In the tobacco-stained half-light that pressed against the drawn curtains, a man had entered the lounge.

"Fuck!" Jackson sprang to his feet, throwing the controller across the room in his panic.

The man walked slowly towards him.

Jackson backed up against the wall, his exit blocked, as the man stopped a metre away from him.

Electricity tightened the air around him, exciting every muscle so that he twitched in place, his mouth open in a pant.

His pulse sledgehammered the inside of his ribs as the man stared at him. He was Caucasian, medium build with short brown hair, casually dressed. But his face... His eyes were huge, dark, glistening circles. One side of his mouth was much larger than the other, his deformed lips stretched grotesquely apart by unnaturally large teeth.

Too paralysed with fear to speak, Jackson stayed pressed against the wall, his heart slamming inside his chest.

The room was silent except for a scattering of birds and insects sounding their mating calls to the world beyond the yellow curtains.

It's not real, Jackson's inner voice screamed. But it sure as fuck looked real.

He stared into those huge, glistening eyes, with the barest sliver of iris around pupils the size of beer bottle caps. They were moist, intelligent, but unblinking.

The man's teeth were sheened with saliva, yellow as the light, his lips swollen, the creases in them pulled taut.

Just when he was sure he would pass out from pure terror, the man turned his back on Jackson and walked away. When he reached the coffee table, he simply disappeared.

Jackson stayed where he was, his heart an engorged fist thumping the inside of his chest, the pulse in his neck throbbing, his legs trembling.

"What the fuck was that?" he shouted to the empty room. "What the fuck was that?"

The urge to throw up rose, and he forced it back, tasting bile in his mouth.

He lurched across the room to the curtains and pulled them open. Sunlight streamed into the lounge, casting a wide slice of gold across his face, the furniture. It wasn't enough.

He went to the door and pulled it open, the sounds of birds fighting over a caught cicada, of cars on the nearby motorway, of lawns being mowed and a football game on a neighbour's TV, all muted against the blood still heaving itself through his veins.

He stood out on the doorstep under the beat of the mid-morning sun, his mind churning, until it stilled enough that he could think. It was a long time before that stillness came.

What the fuck had he just seen? He realised that, while the man had seemed solid enough, his footsteps hadn't made any sound. He hadn't been there. His clothes hadn't rustled, his shoes hadn't connected with the floor boards.

A hallucination. Had to be.

Why would I be hallucinating?

A ghost, then?

He snorted at the idea.

An urge to tell someone what he'd seen overwhelmed him, and he wondered if he should text Brooke. But no. She'd just been through hell, she didn't need him garnishing her trauma with his own problems.

Who then? Every friend who came to mind had long since asked him not to call again.

He stayed in the sun until he couldn't stand the heat any longer, then went back inside. This definitely justified opening a beer. He went to the fridge and hauled the door open, then remembered he didn't have any.

"Fuck." He stared into the empty fridge, willing beer to appear. But while strange men and Dobermans could be counted on to turn up unannounced, beer refused to.

He threw himself back on the couch, and a moment later jumped up again and retrieved the game controller. He sat down again and started the game, but it was impossible to concentrate. He kept twitching, seeing things at the edges of his vision. He needed something to soothe his nerves. Not much. Just one beer, maybe two.

He got up and grabbed his car keys, and headed out into the sun.

* Monday, Jackson woke late. Very late. He checked his phone and realised he'd slept through the day and well into the evening, and scrambled to get ready for group.

The session was more than halfway through by the time he arrived.

His footsteps echoed across the floor, and he was conscious of everyone's gaze on him as he took up the empty chair next to Ian.

"Hi all, sorry I'm late."

Ana waited patiently for him to settle, while Brooke gave him an amused smile.

Ian put a hand on Jackson's shoulder and squeezed. "Looking good, boy. That a new shirt?"

Jackson flushed red as Brooke spoke up. "No, I think he's... I think he's just ironed it."

Ian leaned into the younger man and sniffed. "Washed it too."

Jackson gave him a sidelong look. "Yeah, alright, thank you all, your observation's greatly appreciated. Whose turn is it to speak?"

Ian grinned. "I was just telling the lovely ladies and gents here that I've had a good week." He took his hand off Jackson's shoulder. "No coke. No cock either."

"TMI, Ian," said Jackson.

The older man ruffled his hair with a laugh, and Jackson leaned away from him.

Ian chuckled, while Jackson stroked his hair back into place with a look of concentration.

"Oh, could you two please get a room?" said Callie. "Just fuck him, Jackson, so we don't have to watch him drool all over you."

"That's enough, Callie," said Ana firmly.

"No need to be a bitch," agreed Ian, his voice a camp drawl, just for Callie.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I don't come here to watch Jackson flirt with everything that moves."

Jackson's face coloured as her eyes locked to his. He'd known he wasn't the woman's favourite person, but he hadn't realised quite how much she despised him.

"Callie," said Ana. "That was uncalled for."

Callie rolled her eyes. "Fuck's sake."

"It's okay, really," he said to Ana. "Let's just move on."

"Yes, move on!" Callie said, giving Ian a hard stare.

Ian drew himself up and spoke almost primly. "I'm done. Perhaps someone else desires the floor." He gave Callie a sarcastic smile.

Ana turned to Blake. "Actually, Blake, it'd be great to hear from you, if you feel up to it tonight?"

Blake's dark eyes widened. He glanced around, panicked, and Jackson gave him a reassuring smile. Blake smiled back.

"When you're ready," Ana said to Blake. "Take your time."

Blake looked down at his hands, his eyes darting left and right as he frantically tried to decide what he should say. This was his third week coming to group, and he hadn't spoken yet. When Ana had suggested he attend a group for addicts, he'd wondered what good it could possibly do. But she'd said he'd meet people who wouldn't judge him, and asked him to give it a chance. Now, here he was. About to say it out loud. With everyone watching him.

"Why don't you start by telling us a little bit about yourself?" said Ana. "Tell us anything you like."

Blake laced his fingers together, palms facing upwards and slowly unlaced them against as he spoke. Jackson noticed there was a red friendship bracelet around his right wrist, with someone's name stitched into it, but he couldn't read the name from where he was sitting.

Blake gathered his courage. It was time. He'd heard these people's stories. He was sure they wouldn't judge him.

"Ah, hi, I'm Blake. I grew up not far from here, and I'm not an addict, as such. I... am gay, in case you hadn't guessed, and I've been out to friends and family for about two years. Not publically out. Ah, I'm twenty-three, and I'm an actor."

He glanced up at Ana, and she nodded for him to go on. "Tell us something not many people know about you."

Blake dropped his gaze to the floor. He opened his mouth, forming and testing the words in his mind. Shaping the sentence multiple ways before he said it out loud.

He let out a shaky breath, "I have HIV."

While no one spoke, Blake felt their posture change around him.

He looked up and a tear spilled down his cheek as he locked his fingers together, unlocked them. "Don't worry though, I can't infect you. I'm on ART and I'm undetectable."

"I'm sorry to hear that, love," said Ian gently. "Just so's you know, we have pos-U nights up at the club. It's a very friendly atmosphere. Something to think about."

Blake nodded, his eyes on his hands. "Thanks." He glanced up at Ana. "Someone else can go."

She rubbed his back and gave him a quick, one-armed hug. "Thanks for sharing with the group, Blake. It takes a lot of courage to say these things out loud."

Blake felt a surge of relief that the attention was moving away from him, but he knew he still had the group's attention. He steeled himself to look up. To see how Jackson had reacted. Please, he thought. Please don't look disgusted. Or afraid.

He closed his eyes a moment, as Ana prompted Heavenly to talk about her week, then looked up.

Jackson's eyes were on him. There was compassion there. No disgust. No fear.

Blake dropped his head again and swallowed hard, another tear trickling down his nose. That look was what he'd needed. Ana had been right.

"So, Heavenly," said Ana, what made this week so good for you?

Heavenly put her hands together, as if in prayer, and set them under her chin. She closed her eyes and shook her head with a small smile. "I have been so many places." She opened her eyes, and looked around the group. "I've watched you all blossom."

Jackson cast a glance across the circle at Brooke, who gave him a wide-eyed 'what the fuck' look in return.

Heavenly gave Callie, sitting next to her, a dreamy smile.

"Callie, in my astral travels, I saw that hot water bottle you use on your lower back's sprung a leak around the seal. You might want to replace it."

Callie gave Heavenly an incredulous look. "What?"

"I could see inside it. There were little bubbles around the seal. You shouldn't use boiling water, just use hot water from the tap. It's hot enough."

Callie shook her head, biting back whatever sarcastic comment was forming.

Heavenly turned her gaze to Brooke. "And you. You and Jackson. I saw you together. How you shine."

Brooke and Jackson exchanged another glance, amused that Heavenly, with all her supernatural powers, seemed to have completely missed Brooke being attacked by a nutjob in her own home.

Heavenly turned to Ian, her long white hair moving against her shoulders. "I saw what you got up to, too. You naughty boy." She gave him a lascivious smile.

Her gaze came to light on Blake and her eyes grew serious. "He won't say no. But you shouldn't ask. For your own sake."

Blake looked confused, and glanced at Ana for help.

"Hev, are you sober at the moment?" Ana asked the older woman.