Chapter Three

Thanks, By the Way

I remember waking up several times in the night, only to glance over at Curt and see him sat up straight, cross legged on the end of his bed and staring into space. I had the vague impression that Curt had gone crazy, or he had fallen into a coma, but before I could move and make sure all was okay, I’d been yanked back into dreamland by the tendrils of sleep.

When I woke up for the final time, I checked my watch and found it was almost twelve. I needed more than anything in the world to take a shower because I felt like complete shit, but I’d left my duffel bag in the jeep.

Curt ignored me as I shuffled towards the door, still lost in thought as he had been all night, though surprisingly he looked no less tired than a person getting average sleep, and I was relieved to find that he was actually not comatose.

I turned back towards Curt after answering the door and mumbled, “Where are my keys?”

He looked over at me slowly, then to his bedside table, leaned over and tossed them at me which I caught easily.

“Nice throw,” I murmured, turning back towards the door, all speculations of his sporting ability just about proved right.

I was only a couple of doors down when I hit trouble.

“Oi, Roge, look ’oo it is.”

These guys blocked my path to the stairs, which blocked my path to the car pack, which meant that I still felt nasty, and my breath was probably toxic.

The bulky muscled skin head said to him, “Why the fuck should I give a shit who it is?”

They were your classic old geezers, thirtyish with tattoos up there arms trying to look hard and impressive. The first was built a little more wiry than the second, though they both had huge beer belleys, ripped jeals and studded jackets. It would drop your IQ just looking at them, but talking to them would make you feel like the smartest guy in the world.

“Its one o’ the little fags from last night.”

I felt warmth in my cheeks.

“Fuck off,” I spat.

The first one marched over to me. “You’re disgusting.”

“Get off,” I shoved his hands off the lapels of my jacket, he was standing far too close and he definitely wasn’t smelling of Dove soap and Herbal Essence Shampoo, that was for sure. I radiated nothing but disdain.

“You didn’t want to be doing that!” he hissed, and then tried a punch to my abdomen which I blocked easily.

“So little fag wants a fight!” the fat guy roared charging forward, and I knew for certain I was out numbered and out weighed.

There was nothing I could do except grit my teeth and struggle against the punches the fat guy threw at me, defenceless because the other guy had my arms pinched behind my back.

I don’t think I was there that long, thud after thud, but I could taste blood in my mouth and it was harder think straight, harder and harder to breathe. I don’t know what would of happened if Curt didn’t interrupt when he did.

The wiry one holding me had yelled out, “Roge, behind you!”

But it had been to late and Curt and smacked him in the back of the head with his knuckles so hard it sent Roge sprawling forward.

“Bastard queer!” The dick let go of me and I dropped to my knees, left without any support and spewing up blood. By then the bigger, fatter guy was on his feet and they were both going for Curt, but he seemed to be able to handle it. I’d never been a fighter.

He was quick on his feet and they barely touched him, he blocked and dodged and gave better than what he got.

And then my heart stopped at the glint of silver and I hoped beyond anything that it was just his silver Rolex that caught the light.

I couldn’t look anymore, because there was more blood coming up and I had to spit it out, but I was all the while, please please please and then there was the thud of someone falling to the floor.

The thud was too heavy for it to be Curt, though, and Curt hit the wiry man so he fell on top of his pal.

“Fucker,” the man croaked out at Curt who stared down at them in disgust, but he never said a thing.

He came to my side and hoisted my arm over his shoulder and pulled me shakily to my feet. My heart stopped again when I saw a lengthy gash down the side of his neck and no fists, rings or fingernails were capable of that.

“You’re neck!” I coughed.

“It doesn’t hurt.” He glanced down at me, “Concentrate on yourself.”

I didn’t know whether to believe him, because he didn’t seem to be in pain, the cut wasn’t actually that deep, but it wasn’t like I had extensive medical knowledge so I didn’t press it.

We also had no medical supplies, so he cleared me up as best he could with water and tissue and I sat there on the kitchen counter as he took care of my wounds, wondering why the a guy like this wasn’t somewhere nice and comfy with some glamorous girl on his arm and living it up.

“Curt,” I said suddenly.

“Mmm?” He was dabbing at a cut on the side of my face and his touches sent butterfly tingles down my spine.

And then I lost all nerve.

He nudged my shoulder with his forearm about a minute later.

“Morgan, what?”

“Did I say anything?”

“Yes, my name.”

“No I didn’t.”

He smirked at me but didn’t push it.

We didn’t say anything else and I just used the time to admire the nice blond colour of his hair which hung messily to his shoulders and the way his face looked good at any angle.

I speculated that Curt had been chased from his home by jealous boys with burning torches because they were jealous of his looks and secretly repressed gays and that’s why he was here now.

And then I glanced at his neck, my eyes roaming over the flawless skin.

“Curt!”

“You gonna tell me what you want this time?” Slight smirk.

I said, “Your neck!” And his hand shot to the place where the cut had been, his finger tips running down the line from the place below his ear and the joining of collarbones where fresh blood had been glistening not long ago at all.

He shrugged, letting his hair swing in front of it. “I just heal quicker than most.”

I gaped at him, and then reached my own hand out, gently tucking his hair back because curiosity had gotten the better of me this time. He didn’t flinch or pull away, and I ran my own fingertips down the faint white line along his neck. He shivered under my touch, but other wise stayed completely still.

“Weird,” I said quietly.

He nodded, reaching up and taking hold of my hand and twining his fingers with mine.

The small motel room that we were in was silent apart from our breathing and I wondered how I’d changed my life just by letting Curt into my car. I mean, I was still going to do what I set out to do - which was make Wilson realise that he is gay (by any means possible) and stop him from getting married - but with Curt here, complicated and secretive was taken to a whole new level.

I was dying to find out why Curt was with me, what his secrets seemed to be. I couldn’t help being drawn to him, but left in the shadow of my adrenaline rush it just didn’t seem the right time to pry.

And I owed him.

I was reminded, and I blurted out, “Thanks, by the way.”

He locked eyes with mine. “Any time.”