Dreaming Up A Secret

“Oh, Aiden!” He cried, placing it down on the bed.
I couldn‘t say this was exactly right, but I theorize the reason I’m not crying yet is due to shock. He quickly pulled me up onto his lap, holding my head against his chest. My whole body quivered and shook uncontrollably as I finally felt the tears spring,. Welling up to form the longest line in the history of long lines, spilling down my cheeks. Not wanting to wet his shirt, I tried to retract my face.
“Shhh, Aiden, its just a shirt,” he pulled my head back.
Coincidence or mind reading, you decide. I hated my dad; He always had to fuck up everything in my life. In case you’re not dying of curiosity by now what my phone had said, it was a threatening text from, who else but, my dad.
‘I know where you are,’ it simply read.
On its own, an innocent statement, as in “hey Frank, don’t worry, I’ll meet you there, I know where you are,” but in context, absolutely terrible and frightening in every way possible. As in, my dad knew exactly where I was, where Ronan was, and, most likely, had intentions on, once more, fucking my life up.
I bit my lip violently hard until I could taste blood coming from it; If he hurt Ronan… and it was my fault, I couldn’t live with myself. Clutching him tighter to my side as if my dad were about to burst through the door right now, my brain started working a million miles an hour to come up with a plan to save Ronan. As I’ve already discovered, leaving doesn’t work, so I guess I’ll just have to keep an incredibly close watch on him.
‘Take a deep breath, Aiden,’ I told myself mentally, following my own instructions physically, ‘you’re being ridiculous, Ronan will be fine, your dad wants you.’
Ronan was stroking the top of my head absentmindedly while I somehow managed to calm myself down enough to speak.
“What if he doesn’t leave?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“Oh, Aidie, he will, he was probably just drunk,” he cooed.
I winced. Though I knew he was trying to help, that was not exactly the best way to put it, it kinda brought back the last memories I had of my dad, which were just beautiful mental pictures of his fist, hairy knuckles and all, colliding with my face, already bruised and bloody.
Realizing immediately his mistake, he muttered, “oh, shit, sorry.”
“’S fine,” I said in a quiet return.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked him when I saw the far off stare of horror in his eyes.
Nothing.
“Ronan,” I waved my hand in his face.
“Huh?” He glanced up at me, seeming to snap out of whatever it was he was in.
“What were you thinking about?” I repeated curiously.
“Shit.” He responded nonchalantly.
“What shit?” I poked his side playfully.
“Some shit,” he giggled, poking me back.
“What some shit?” I poked him where I knew he was ticklish.
He squealed delightfully and rolled onto his back with me clinging onto him, continuing to tickle his sides. He struggled with no avail to pull out from under me.
“Stop!” I could barely tell what he was saying through the laughter.
“Hm?” I pretended not to understand.
“Stop!” He gasped again.
Still, I persisted, “stop laughing so I can understand you!” I told him.
He rolled over, clutching his sides and managing to half throw me off, slightly to the side of him. He tried to cover every part of himself, but only managed to get a little bit, perhaps ten percent. My hands made their way around the rest of him, watching, er, listening to him squeak every time I hit a new place. He started rolling again, ending in a loud thump and a groan.
“Ronan? You ok?” I asked worriedly.
“Ouch,” he whispered from the floor.
“Shit,” I leapt off the bed to the ground looking frantically for blood.
He swept his leg under mine forcing me to fall to the ground beside him.
“Tricked you! Tricked you!” He sang as he jumped on top of me and started trying to tickle me.
“Uh… Ronan,” I hesitated, not wanting to burst his bubble, “I’m not ticklish.”
He stuck his tongue out at me, but did not get off.
“What are you doingggggggg?” I drew out the end of the last word.
When he didn’t answer I reached my left hand up behind him and pushed him down so he was laying on top of me, using my right hand to lock across his back and keep him on me. I pushed my lips against his in a kiss; He kissed back.
“Oh! Sorry!” I heard a feminine voice behind us yell.
I pulled myself off Ronan quickly to figure out who it was; Turns out, it was his mom. She was standing at the base of the stairs looking to the left, hand slightly covering her eyes.
“Uh, hi mom,” he muttered, his face turning a deep bright red.
“Um, I didn’t know you boys were home, I thought you were still with, uh, Alice and Tom… Ronan, I did some laundry for you, I was just going to bring it down… where should I, uh, leave it?” She asked, awkwardly trying to ignore what she had just walked in on.
“Uh, just on the bed please… thanks mom,” Ronan told his mom, still blushing crazily.
“I’ll, uh, see you two boys later, then,” she said, placing the laundry down where Ronan had told her and running up the stairs as fast as she could, “oh, and by the way,” she paused on the top step, “I’m going out for a while, I’ll be back in a few hours.” The last part seemed more like a warning then anything else.
“Well… that was sufficiently awkward, hm?” I said, pushing my arms behind my head.
“Ya,” he agreed, nodding.
“Anyhow, where were we?” I grinned.
“That sentence had a lot of W’s,” he pointed out, returning his lips to their place on mine.
I could feel his feet gripping their way around my waist. I pulled my body up, my hands supporting him, and pushed us back onto the bed. A moan erupted from his lips, causing a, well, chain reaction, if you know what I mean.
My phone went off again and I sighed, moving back off the bed to pick it up.
“Shit!” I hissed, tears already making their ways around down my face.
“Hm? What‘s wrong?” He asked from his place on the bed.
“M-my dad.” I stuttered.
“What? What‘d he say?” He propped himself up on one elbow.
I couldn’t find the right words to reply.
“Oh shit,” he was starting to catch on, “where is he?”
I found it amazing how fast Ronan was able to catch on; How well he knew me. He could understand me when know one else could, he could understand why I did what I did without needing an explanation. He was so close to me, he, well, fuck, he knew me better than I knew myself. He could explain the things I couldn’t. And how many times he had saved me from trouble? Now that was all going to be done.
I turned my head slightly towards the back door where a distinct clunking noise could be heard. It was the noise that haunted my nightmares, that kept me up a night. It was the sound of a beer bottle.
He grabbed my head and pulled it towards him protectively.
“Nothings going to hurt you. I promise, I won’t let him.” It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself then me, but still.