Babysitter, Denver Max

"Both of our numbers are on the fridge as well as a few other relatives. Just in case."

"Uh-huh."

"Try not to let him stay up too late and make sure he takes his medicine before he goes to bed. Two pills and he needs to drink the whole cup of water."

"Okay."

"He isn't allowed to watch anything past PG rating and absolutely no Fuse or Spike. If there are any problems, feel free to call us. George's phone gets bad reception, so if he doesn't pick up, just call me…"

Mrs. Sullivan looks me over once and then glances around her humble abode-the one I'm being so graciously paid to inhabit for the next four and a half hours with some twelve-year-old snot. Well, at least I'm being paid. Twenty an hour, baby. That's ninety dollars in all, for those of you who can't multiply. I tug lightly at one of my short, fire engine red pigtails as I stare up at my neighbor. She lets out a sigh and smiles a big, white, almost fucking blinding smile.

"I guess that's it. If I think of anything, I'll be sure to call," as she speaks, her husband joins us in the kitchen. He's all dressed up in formal attire: a black tux, white tie, and flawless sparkling dress shoes. Mrs. Sullivan is dressed for the occasion as well, wearing a cocktail dress that's roughly the same colour as bubble gum, complete with shiny pink sequins and one thick strap running across her bony shoulder. The make-up, jewelry and shoes all go sickeningly well with her outfit and is altogether almost as blinding as her goddamn teeth.

"Ready?" Mr. Sullivan-also known as George-asks, obviously not speaking to me. His wife-aka Melissa-nods and then both parents look at me. Oh boy. I put on my best, most innocent smile. That's just what parents want to see. They like feeling like it's okay to leave their kid alone with their neighbor's son. Which, of course, it is, but one can never be too careful these days. The world is a crazy place.

"Okay, well you guys go and have fun. Everything's totally cool here. You've got nothing to worry about," I say in my best I-am-being-a-kiss-ass voice and the Missus shoots me another one of her retina burning smiles. Ouch.

"Alright," George says decisively as he pats me once on my shoulder. Ow again. "We're counting on you, Carl."

I nod once and then follow them to the front of the house and see them off at the door, being the excellent babysitter that I am.

"Bye, honey!" Melissa calls back, waving and I wave back and smile a bit. She's the only one, I think, who's ever called me 'honey'-a curious tidbit for you.

"Later!" I call before I close the door and lock it.

Sigh.

Finally free of the parental units, I turn and head for the living room, which is almost completely quiet, but I'm more than positive that this is where the kid is. Upon entering, I almost run into a five foot something lurking there in the doorway. Only when it looks up and I see that it has a face do I realize that it's my babysitee, Jonah.

Despite the positively devious expression, the kid is definitely cute. I mean, this isn't the first time I've seen him, but it's the first time I've babysat him for four and a half consecutive hours. Usually, he'll come over for forty-five minutes while his mom goes grocery shopping or something, but that's it.

His skin is still untouched by puberty and even though he's wearing clothes about two sizes too big, it doesn't hide how skinny he truly is. His eyes are forest-fucking-green and are the wide, round shape of youth. They stare up at me with a mischievous curiosity. I stare back-blue eyes through my oval-rimmed glasses. Is it bad to think that I'd kind of like to kiss him right now?

"Are they gone?" he asks. A remote is clutched firmly in his thin hand and behind him, the TV is playing Spongebob Squarepants. Ahh, Nickelodeon.

"Yeah…?" I reply, raising an eyebrow. As soon as the word is out of my mouth, he's rushing back to the couch and turning the channel to-you guessed it-Fuse. He pulls his knees to his chest and looks positively tiny on the large, three-seater couch. He pushes aside some of the dark bangs that only just reach his eyes in the front. An eyebrow still raised, I take a few steps forward.

"Your mom said you weren't allowed to watch Fuse," I say, trying not to sound like I'm scolding him because, in my opinion, it makes me sound like an idiot.

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her," the kid says, eyes glued to the screen, where Gwen Stephani sings one of her newest hits.

"She'll know if I tell her," I say calmly, tugging at one of my pigtails again. The threat catches Jonah's attention and he turns to face me.

"That would make you a tattle-tell," he says with childish spite.

"So?" I cross my arms slowly, jutting my hip out to the side.

"Tattle-tellers go to Hell."

I laugh through my nose and click the piercing in my tongue against my teeth. Children really irk me-even if they are pretty little boys like this one. If the pay had been anything lower, I probably would have refused. They probably knew how much of a snot their child is if they paid me so much. This could be a long night. Somehow, though, it's better than being at home with my asshole father.

Somehow…

Jonah is staring at me and I'm staring back, arms crossed, clicking impatiently at my teeth. There is silence, except from the TV. His eyes scan me up and down. Am I being checked out by a twelve year old?

"Why are you wearing girl's pants?" Jonah suddenly and randomly inquires. I glance at my jeans, with their hot pink trim and skull patches and then back at him.

"They're comfortable," I reply. They also make my ass look nice, but I'm not going to tell him that. He's already a snot. He doesn't need to be corrupted too.

"Oh," is all I get back. Then, "Why are you wearing make-up? I thought only girls wore make-up."

He scrunches his face up and I can't help but smirk a little.

"I think it looks good. Don't you?" I bat my eyes a bit and then laugh. Jonah stares at me for a moment and then turns back to the TV.

"You're weird," he states.

"Tell me about it," I say, plopping down onto the recliner, away from the midget on the couch. He's lucky he's cute, or else I might end up strangling him before the night is out.

The first hour and a half goes by in silence between the two of us as Jonah switches back and forth between both the channels he's not supposed to watch, plus a few others that I'm sure fit that list. I decide to go by his advice-if you can call it that. What Melissa doesn't know won't hurt her. Plus, how much damage can something like "Top 5 Picks" or "CSI" do? I find myself gradually engrossed in each show we watch until I realize that the clock reads 7:41 pm.

"You should probably eat something," I say, but Jonah doesn't reply. His eyes are fixed on the TV still.

"Hey!" I raise my voice to get his attention. It works. He looks over at me.

"What?" he sounds annoyed. I don't care.

"What do you want for dinner?" I ask, sitting up and stretching. Jonah watches me as I do but I pretend not to notice. Is he checking me out…again? Or is that just my sick twisted mind hoping that he's checking me out?

"I dunno," he says after I've finished stretching and am staring back at him.

"Let's go look then," I state decisively and stand. He doesn't get up right away, but as I walk out of the living room, I hear the shuffle of footsteps behind me.

I go to the fridge first, scan it and the stand off to the side and motion to it as Jonah walks in.

"Anything look good in here?" I ask and, without even looking, he shakes his head and heads for the freezer. He opens it and looks around a bit before reaching inside.

"How 'bout ice cream?" he says, pulling out a carton of plain vanilla ice cream.

"Oh, yeah. And while we're at it, let's have candy for a second course and see how long it takes before our teeth rot out! I don't think so, kid," I say firmly. I'd love to just let him eat the goddamn ice cream for dinner. Hell, I've done it once or twice myself. But I'm the boss here. I have to be logical and stuff. Right.

"You're no fun," Jonah pouts, shoving the ice cream back into the freezer, "and your hair is weird," he adds, crossing his arms and looking up at me. I'm actually pretty short for my age so our height difference isn't drastic or anything, but it's still nice to be taller, y'know?

"We've established this already. I'm weird. I know. Thank you," I grab a box of mac 'n' cheese from a cabinet shelf by the fridge to distract myself from his cute powers, "What about macaroni?"

"Whatever," he mutters, sounding disappointed. Afterward, he stomps out of the kitchen and back to the living room, where the TV gets gradually louder.

As I'm boiling water to cook the mac, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I grab at and take it out. The number belongs to Aijay, my best friend forever and faithful fag hag.

"Hey," I breath as soon as I've flipped open my cell.

"Hey, are you at home?" comes Aijay's voice through the receiver. She seems like she's in a rush. I shake my head and then, remembering she can't see me, reply, "No. I'm babysitting. Why?"

Aijay curses under her breath as I add the macaroni noodles to the now-boiling pot.

"Why?" I repeat a little louder.

"You left your shirt and pants at my house and my dad said that if I didn't give them back, he would burn them," her voice is frustrated and I'm guessing she just got into another fight with her dad. It sounds like she's in her car.

"Which shirt was it?" I ask. I can already guess why he'd want to burn the pants, seeing as the only pants I own are skinny jeans, which goes against all the manliness that Aijay's dad stands for.

"The 'queer as fuck' one," I can hear a little amusement in Aijay's voice and I can't help but chuckle myself.

"Well, I'm only a few houses down from mine, babysitting the neighbor kid. You can stop by here and drop them off if you want," I suggest.

After giving Aijay the address, she told me she'd be here in a few minutes, then we exchanged our goodbyes and I hung up and continued making Jonah's dinner. I completely forgot I was watching him until I had to rack my brains to remember why the hell I was making macaroni and cheese.

By the time Aijay comes knocking, Jonah is already sitting at the kitchen table, picking reluctantly at his dinner. When I open the front door of my neighbor's house, I receive a pile of clothes to the face.

"Hello to you, too, Jay," I mumble, catching the clothes as they fall from my face.

Aijay smiles at me, popping the gum in her mouth and pushing her long sandy hair over her shoulder.

"He called me a bitch," she says after a few seconds of just standing there. Her expression turns to annoyance. Annoyance at her father, I can only guess. I step aside and Aijay walks in. I close the door behind us and allow her to lead the way deeper into the house as I fold the shirt and pants neatly over my arm.

"Well, you can be...just a little bit," I joke as we walk, currently headed-unbeknownst to her-for the living room.

"Shut the hell up," Aijay hisses over her shoulder, "So, where's the darling dumpling?" she asks, looking around. I push past her and lead the way into the vast kitchen, where Jonah sits at the dinner table, still picking at his food. When we walk in, he looks up and over at Aijay.

"Who's this? Your girlfriend?" Jonah drawls out 'girlfriend' and sings it, just like someone of his age might. Having a girlfriend is funny thing to someone his age, right? Aijay is laughing next to me with one manicure-nailed hand over her mouth. Jonah is still smirking, but he looks a little confused. Like, 'Why the hell are you laughing at me? I just made fun of you.'

Ick. Children.

"Hi," Aijay starts, amusement still in her voice, "I'm Aijay. Carl's best friend."

"Jonah," he introduces himself. Short, sweet and to the point. He still hasn't eaten his dinner. I burnt myself twice for that. He's going to eat it even if I have to shove it down his tiny little throat.

"So," Aijay looks back at me like she has something to say, but I know she doesn't want to talk in front of the kid. I grab her hand, lead her into the living room, and then out onto the porch through the sliding glass door. She sits down in one of the cushioned patio chairs and lets out a sigh.

"God, he drives me nuts," she says finally, tapping her fingers on her knees to an unheard beat.

"Join the club," I mutter. My dad never really approved of anything in my life. Me coming out of the closet was a big blow to his "respect for me" as he liked to put it. He's always telling me I'm leading a wrong lifestyle or that I'm just trying to fit in with the 'fad'. Several times, he's threatened to send me to one of those de-gayifying camps. Last time he said that, I told him that I liked dick and there was nothing he or anyone else could do about it. He hasn't really talked to me since.

As for Aijay's dad, he's a drunk and an addict. He's probably the least dependable person I've ever met. A stealing, no good druggie who's always asking his daughters for money. Aijay, being the youngest of three sisters, is stuck with him, unfortunately. For now.

We sit in the silence of the night as Jay picks at her nails and I tap the tips of my yellow Converse together.

"Nice shirt, by the way," she says, suddenly. I admire that about her. Never afraid to speak what's on her mind, even if it's the most random thing ever, "Purple is a good colour on you, fag-boy."

"It's not purple. It's Plum," I argue, pulling at my shirt a little. Aijay stares at me for a minute as though she's just been slapped by Santa-he really does exist!

"Yeeeah. I'm gonna say that scores a nine on my fag-o-meter," she says, raising her eyebrows.

"Whatever," I sigh, brushing a hand swiftly through my bangs.

Aijay and I only talk for a while and then I remember-again-that I'm not at my house. I'm babysitting Jonah and right now he's in the house all by himself and I don't really trust that. So, I remind Jay that I have a little hellian to watch and she agrees that she should probably go. I lead her to the front door.

"See you at school," I call as Jay makes her way down the path leading to where her little green Honda is waiting.

"Peace out, fag-boy," she says in a deep, manly voice, beating a fist to her chest twice before flashing me a sideways peace sign. I laugh as she gets into her car and then close the front door as soon as she turns the corner at the end of the street.

Back in the living room, Mr. Picky is sitting on the couch with a bowl of ice cream. Go figure. I plop down onto the recliner once again and glance up at the clock. 8:26pm. Freedom seems so very far away.

"Are you really gay?" I look over at Jonah and he's staring back at me with a solid expression. Who knew a twelve year old could look so serious? At the words, my heart speeds up, and then I realize that I don't really give a flying shit what this kid thinks.

"Yeah, but how did you know?" I'll admit that I'm curious. Am I that blatantly gay? I mean, there are straight guys at my school who dress gayer than I do.

"Oh, I was just listening to you and your friend talking..."

"Eaves droppers go to Hell, too," I state simply, crossing my legs Indian style and smiling-no, more like smirking-at him. He stares at me the same way he did when I was stretching earlier. It's kind of cute, but also a little creepy. Like he wants to throw me down and ravish me or something…which is a strange, dirty thought. How'd that get in here? Does he even know what 'ravish' means?

Ah, damn.

When I raise an eyebrow, he blinks as though he's just snapped out of a trance and then turns back to the TV and...doth mine eyes deceive me? Is he blushing?

Before I can ask questions, my cell phone begins to ring. At first, I think it's going to be Aijay again, telling me something she forgot to say while she was here, but when I unearth my phone from the depths of my back pocket, the caller ID reads 'Jess'-my boyfriend of six months. Seeing his name light up on my cellphone sends a shiver of excitement down my spine. I quickly flip open my cell and press it to my ear.

"Hey," I say cheerfully, bouncing my foot up and down to the music playing on MTV, "What's up, babe?"

"Carl…"

"Hold on, let me step out of the room. Kinda loud in here…"

"Carl, Idon'," he says it so fast, it practically comes out as one word. I've stood, ready to walk into the next room, but I'm frozen to the spot.

"W-what do you mean?" I ask. Godamnit. My voice is already shaking. Jess lets out a long, steady breath. The bastard.

"I mean that I just…don't think we should see each other any more," he replies and I can tell this is hard for him to admit, but I'll bet that I feel shittier than he does right about now, since my heart is obviously in this relationship a lot more than his is…or…was.

Shit.

"Oh…" I don't know what else to say.

Come on, Carl. Think. Speak. Say something.

"Okay…"

Okay? That's it?

"I'm sorry," Jess says and everything seems so quiet, despite the TV blaring music a few feet away from me.

"I'll bet you are," I spit bitterly and click the 'end' button on the dialing pad.

Slowly, I lower the phone from my face and for what seems like forever, all I do is stare at it. I half hope that Jess will call back and say 'Surprise!' or 'April Fools!'. Fuck. Something. So much for the happy couple of six months. Suddenly, I feel so...empty.

Without caring that this house and the furniture in it isn't mine, I turn quickly and kick the sofa as hard as I can, letting out a yell as I do. This seems to frighten Jonah because he mutes the TV and turns to look at me, green orbs staring, wide-eyed and maybe even a little scared.

"Are you okay?" he asks after a minute. I fall back onto the sofa, take off my glasses and bury my head into my hands. I don't want to cry. I'm the babysitter. I have to be cool and collected. I will not cry.

I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes but they're already wet and I'm shaking worse than before. I don't even realize that Jonah's hand is touching my shoulder cautiously. I glance up at him through my fingers and he's staring back with his pretty green eyes. They're still wide with shock, but his hand is rubbing circles on my shoulder and it's kind of comforting.

"Are you okay?" Jonah repeats softly and I have to wonder how he can go from being a little snot to a caring person just like that. I wipe my eyes and shake my head.

"Forget it. You wouldn't understand," I mutter, sniffing. Jonah scoffs.

"I'm in seventh grade. Try me," he says and I can't help but laugh. Ooh, seventh grade, huh?

"I've been dumped," I say. Short, sweet and to the point.

"Oh…"

I nod and stand. Jonah's hand slides off my back and he doesn't speak another word. I sniff once more and let out a sigh, shaking myself mentally. As I dry my eyes on my sleeve, I turn to walk out of the room, realizing how gross I must look, what with my eyeliner running and smudged like hell.

"Go get ready for bed, okay…?" I say, not waiting for a reply as I make my way towards the bathroom. Once there, I turn on the light and then the water and splash my face. I spend the next eight minutes wiping off eyeliner and then another three minutes reapplying it.

Once I've finished, I lean against the counter and stare back at myself in the mirror. My eyes are still red, but not as bad as they were when I first entered the bathroom. I retie my shoulder length hair into the two low pigtails they were in before and brush through my bangs with my handy dandy comb. When everything seems to finally be in order, I let out a loud sigh before exiting the bathroom and going upstairs to Jonah's room.

I knock on the closed door and Jonah gives me the okay to come in. Inside, he's sitting on his bed, reading some book or another. All he's in are a pair of pajama bottoms. His shirt lies in his lap, under his book (because, despite the way he acts, he's rather smart), as if he got distracted half way through dressing. I can't help but stare at him. He's got the body of someone who plays a lot. I see him outside everyday, either riding his bike or playing with his soccer ball-which reminds me that he plays soccer as well. His got hints of a six pack already. I don't even have a two pack.

He looks up at me after I take a few more steps in and I eventually stop and sit on his bed.

"Sorry about that," I say kindly, smiling a bit, "I didn't mean to drag you into my life drama or anything."

Jonah just stares at me for the longest time, studying me, perhaps trying to make up his mind about something. Then, as though he's made his decision, he scoots over to me. Before I can speak, he pushes his lips onto mine.

His kiss holds all the inexperience of a juvenile, which, I suppose (or hope), it should. He pulls away after only a few seconds, looking thoroughly embarrassed and blushing full on at this point.

It was an innocent kiss. A closed mouth kiss. If I wanted, I could just get up right now and walk out of the room, no harm done. So why-oh-why do I have to try my curiosity?

He'd turned his face away from me and is currently staring into his lap. I reach out and take his chin in my hand, forcing him to look at me. When he does, he's got that look again. The wide-eyed look and as I kiss him again, I seem to forget about how wrong this is because he's clinging to me as though his very life depends on it and it just feels so good.

When I push my tongue through his lips, Jonah lets out a little squeak of shock, but I don't want to stop. I let my hands explore his bare chest, running my fingertips lightly over his nipples and then down over the front of his pajama bottoms, enjoying the noise that he makes and how he arches into me at every touch. 'Stop' is not in my vocabulary at this point. I want to go further. I must go further.

I lean forward until Jonah is on his back and I'm on my knees and elbows. When I finally allow him to pull away for air, our breaths come heavy and ragged and his face is red. He stares back at me, looking disheveled and embarrassed. His youth is shining through and I stare at him for a long time, without blinking, before it hits me like a lead brick. I sit up quickly and throw my hands to my eyes.

"Oh my God…" I mutter, "Oh my God."

I hear Jonah sit up next to me.

"It-it's okay…It's okay, Carl," he tries to reassure me, but I feel terrible. I was feeling shitty about Jesse and took advantage of Jonah. Something easy to make me forget my pain.

I am a piece of shit.

"It is most certainly not okay, Jonah," I say gravely, shaking again. It's the sternest voice I've used all night.

"No, it is. It is okay. I...I liked it…" I can hear the embarrassment in his voice, even as I stare into the darkness of my eyelids.

"Oh…God."

So much for not corrupting the kid, eh? And what will the parents think? Oh well, we'll just go by Jonah's logic. What they don't know won't hurt them…It'll just put their only child into therapy for a couple years.

Oh God. Oh God.

Jonah rests a hand on my shoulder, to which I automatically shout, "Do not touch me, Jonah! Not right now! Please…"

I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes harder than I ever have, hoping that maybe, if I push hard enough, I'll wake up and realize this was just some sick dream and that I haven't corrupted any young children, but Jonah's voice keeps talking.

"Listen. Listen…I…don't know if I'm…like…gay, but I like you, Carl. I like you, so it's alright, okay?"

I pull my eyes away from their torture and open them only to see darkness. Or is it light? Eventually, though, it fades away and I can see Jonah sitting next to me, face still red, shirt still off. Still here and I'm not dreaming.

Shit.

I open my mouth to speak several times, but every time, I decide against it and end up closing it again. Jonah sits on his knees at my side, waiting impatiently for me to say something. Anything.

"This is wrong," I croak, tugging at one of my pigtails, "You're twelve years old."

"So?" Jonah counters immediately, "You're seventeen. That's only five years apart. Mom is thirty-four and dad is forty-six. That's twelve years apart and they kiss all the time."

"That's much different," I defend, rubbing my head, trying to think.

"Not really," Jonah pouts.

"I'm still a lot older than you."

"So?"

"Next year, I'll be legal and you'll only be thirteen. Do you know what a pedophile is?"

"Duh."

"I don't want to go to jail."

"You won't!"

"Oh my God, just shut up!"

Jonah falls silent and I sigh, pushing up my glasses.

"Did you like it?" Jonah says suddenly, causing me to look at him once again. His cheeks are still flushed.

"That's not the point-" I start, but he cuts me off.

"Yes, it is! Did you like it?" he repeats, staring at me with that firmness that doesn't belong to his youngl face. What do I say? Do I lie? No, it was disgusting. I'll never do that again. Or do I tell the truth? Yes, and I'd actually like to do it again but, see, you're a little kid and I'm a hormone driven teenage boy. Something's bound to go wrong at some point.

"Yes," I mutter almost inaudibly, hiding my face in my hands while propping up my elbows onto my knees.

"So…" Jonah begins quietly, shrugging, "It's okay then."

I look up from my hands and stare back a the boy next to me. I want it to be okay, but is it really so simple? This kid doesn't get what he was almost subjected to. I let in a big breath and then sigh again.

"You've got to take your pills," I say, standing up. I don't want to talk about this or even think about it anymore. It makes me tired.

Jonah doesn't say anything as I leave the room, which surprises me a little, but I am relieved, none-the-less. I head back downstairs and into the kitchen. Jonah's pills are sitting on the counter where his mom left them. I take two and get a glass of water and am about to return to Jonah's room when my phone rings. I set the water down on the counter and pull my phone out. It's Jess. I press the end button and shove the phone back in my pocket, then grab the water and head back upstairs. How do you like me now, bitch?

"Here," I say quietly once I've returned, handing Jonah his pills and the glass. He takes it with no unnecessary comments and downs the water without me having to tell him to drink it all. I leave again without another word. Downstairs, I turn on the TV to drown my thoughts. The clock reads 10:00 pm. Thirty minutes to freedom.

The TV doesn't drown my thoughts for shit. All I can think about is Jonah-running a thousand different scenarios through my head. Sorting out all the causes and effects. Well, if I do this then this will happen because of it. I don't know what to think anymore. Is it okay because he seems to like me as much as I like him? Or is it wrong because he's so young and I'll be legal in a few months. Do I really like him or do I just need to like him because I'm alone and desperate for someone?

At 10:15 pm, I stand and make my way back up the stairs. The lights are off in Jonah's room, but the door is open a crack. I poke my head in and whisper, "Jonah, are you asleep?"

For a moment, there is no reply, and so I turn to go, but just as I do, Jonah speaks up.

"Carl."

I stick my head back in the crack of the door and stare at the lumpy figure on the bed across the room before opening the door all the way and walking in. Jonah sits up and I can see him in the hallway light. When I sit down, he doesn't waste a second in crawling next to me.

"Give me time," I say finally, staring at my hands and feeling stupid, because I'm saying this to a twelve year old boy. I shouldn't have to have this conversation in the first place. If I were a normal person, I wouldn't be in this situation.

If I were a normal person. It's almost a funny thought.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jonah asks and I can hear the confusion in his voice. When I look up, his nose is scrunched.

"Give me time to think about it, okay? It's not as easy for me as it is for you," I say, tugging at one of my ponytails.

"Whatever," is the childish reply. I was half expecting it. I mean, what does any of this really mean to someone his age?

"Yeah," I say, smirking, "Whatever."

Maybe he'll forget about it tomorrow or think it was all a dream and I can go back to living my semi-normal life.

I stand to leave but Jonah grabs my hand.

"Wait!" he whispers hoarsely, tugging me back. I turn to face him and he practically tackle jumps me, clinging to my neck like some kind of monkey. He's half on his bed and half not and I'm semi-bent over. I stare back into his eyes, only centimeters from my face. Then he kisses me. It's quick and his aim was off, so he only hit's the corner of my mouth, but it's enough all the same. When he pulls back, I kiss him quickly and then he falls back onto his bed.

"Night," I say, pulling the covers up to his chest. He still hasn't put his shirt on, I notice.

"Night," he says, grinning mischievously, like he had when I told him that his parents were gone earlier this evening. For the third time that night, I leave Jonah's room, shutting the door behind me. I'm not downstairs for even five minutes before the front door opens and Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan come in, looking exhausted and happy to be home.

"We're back," Melissa announces loudly, singing it as she leans against her husband wearily. I exit the kitchen to greet them, smiling another cheesy smile.

"Welcome back," I say.

"Well, did everything go well while we were away?" Mrs. Sullivan asks, handing her bubble gum pink coat to her husband, who hangs it up on the coat rack next to him.

Well? Oh yeah. Everything went great, Mrs. Sullivan. We watched Fuse and MTV like you said not to, Jonah had ice cream for dinner and…Oh yeah, I almost had sex with your son. Don't worry though. He said he liked it.

"Everything went fine," I say, trying my hardest not to stumble over my words. I'm a shitty liar.

"Thanks for watching Jonah for us at such short notice," Mr. Sullivan smiles.

"He looks up to you so much," Mrs. Sullivan beams.

He was looking up at me on top of him a few minutes ago.

After a positively thick silence on my part, I clear my throat loudly.

"Well, I'd better get home," I say quietly, going for the door. Fuck the money. I need to get out of here before I explode. When I'm half way out, Mr. Sullivan calls out, "I'll have Jonah bring the money over tomorrow!"

"Alright. Thanks. Night!" I call, not even looking back, though I do wave. Not until the door is closed and I'm standing on the sidewalk do I even dare to look behind me. Through the second floor window, Jonah is staring down at me, the moon outlining his pale, juvenile face. I think about tonight again and, being the dirty teenager I am, I can't help but wonder if maybe-just maybe-I'll have a chance to kiss him again tomorrow.

I smile at the thought and wave at Jonah before making my way back home.

Babysitter, Denver Max-End

A/N 10132010: Alright guys, I wrote this is 2007. I think it's pretty safe to say I'm not going to be writing a sequel/next chapter (it was a one shot, guys)/whathaveyou. I haven't written anything in many moons- so while I appreciate the faves and stuff, just know it ain't happenin'. Hearts~

~Oka