Good Guys Go Bad

I didn't say anything to the guy, whose name still remained a mystery to me, but to his father and Karah, who stood next to him, I did. Dismissing his comment, I told them to come on in with the most welcoming of smiles. A small world us, humans live in, huh? They followed me into the living room and I didn't just feel his stare constructing a whole in my back I knew it was there. Most people when ogling at someone keep their gaze hidden from the victim and when the victim happens to look over his shoulder their eyes flee away, not wanting to be caught red handed. But this guy was a whole new story. It was like he wanted me to know that he stared and that he stared hard.

As soon as we stepped into the living room, my mom and Sayra joined us.

They got the introduction with Karah and Ray out of the way and then introduced me and Sayra to the staring stranger.

“That's my son Heath and my niece Sayra,” said my mom.

“I'm Ashton and it's my pleasure,” he replied. His voice was dark and enigmatic, thin with its flow, but thick with intensity. And upon hearing it one would think that he would seem less strange to me that I was a step closer to getting to know him, but it didn't work like that. Hearing him talk left me more puzzled than in the beginning.

“So, what are we waiting for? Let's go eat, Heath grilled the chicken,” flaunted my mom as we all herded into the dining room.

Mom had set out her best plates, the finest wine glasses and so on. I took my usual seat and Sayra quietly took hers next to mine. I avoided his stare in fear that it would burst a flame of panic inside of me. With my horrible luck, Ashton took the chair right across from mine and I felt his gaze lift off of me to my relief. Throughout the meal, I mostly picked at my food, only to receive a nudge from Sayra, who bulged her eyes at me to act normal and nice. She thought I was being rude. She thought I disliked Ashton. She thought wrong. I wasn't trying to be rude nor did I dislike him; the guy just put me into an edgy mood with his staring disorder.

“You still play piano, Heath,” wondered Karah, placing a forkful of potatoes into her mouth, careful not to mess with her lipstick.

“Of course,” I replied, breaking out of the shell I had built to ward off Ashton's gaze. I push the chicken breast to the side and proceed to jab the fork into it.

“You should play for us later!” Sayra seemed delighted at her own idea as she proposed it.

“I'd like to hear you,” commented Ashton.

He wiped his face with the napkin and looked towards me and like the other times our eyes found each other. I saw the ocean blue flecks that filled his irises, but towards the center of his pupil the color transformed into a ring of golden ones like a miniature halo around the black hole in the ocean. With him in front of me, I got a better look at his features than I had yesterday at the coffee shop. His bangs draped down onto his forehead, swerving more to the right than the left and tickled the tips of his thin lashes. The mop on his head sprouted into all sorts of directions, but it was so messy it had to be done with intention. He had a strong jaw line, small eyes and thick eyebrows that seemed to be groomed.

“Right...” Sarcasm struck my vocal chords and spilled into my words. Sayra and Ashton noticed this and once more Sayra pried my attention to her. Though she used a different method that just the occasional nudge in the stomach: slamming that stiletto heel into the top of my Sperry's.

“Fuck, Sayra,” I yelled without thinking, my foot writhing in pain and my brows kneading together in annoyance. My mom's head, Karah's and Ray's flashed to see what stirred all the ruckus, Sayra's childish action putting me in embarrassment.

“Heath Charles! I can't believe--,” yakked my mom and I did the hormonal teenage thing and stood up and left the dinner table; my departure left my mom's unheard words ringing in the air.

Stomping up the stairs, I recalled the witty sneer Ashton released, the sound he made that lied in the background of my mom's appalled scolding. He found it funny. Those eyes of his pissed me off even more. They looked at me with enveloped obstinacy. The determination came from the inside and I could only catch a glimpse of its contents through the turquoise globes. I may have been jumping to conclusions-which I would later learn my deductions were correct-but he seemed as if ready to get to work. Like a composer gaining ground on the journey of putting together a masterpiece, except less in intricacy. Something was there, lurking, squirming, hiding in those eyes. The guy wasn't all he was made out to be: smiles, obvious mockery to my pianist fingers, and the stares, I can't leave those out.

“Very nice move, Charles,” chided Sayra from behind me, her lanky arms cast into the air, depicting her stupor.

I groaned in anger and rolled my eyes towards the ceiling and threw myself onto my bed, hugging my pillow close to me.

“You tried injecting me with your wrath through your heel,” I reminded her, nudging the guilt in the situation onto her, my hands free of dirt.

“You're not being nice to Ashton,” she murmured. Seconds later, she lands next to me on the bed.

I lift my head a bit and throw a look at her, a blond eyebrow tugging up like the arm of a dummy being jerked up with a string.

“Taken a fancy for Mr. Scruff, Sayra?”

“Nope, not my type, so you can stop hating him, ya know.”

I hesitated. “He hates me.”

She rested her chin into the crevice her joined fists caved into, her forearms on top of the pillow. She teetered at what I said.

“What makes you think that?”

“Have you not seen the way he looks at me! And then he made fun of me playing piano, saying he'd like to hear me,” I huffed and puffed.

“Sounded pretty sincere to me. Anyways, Aunt Cadence said to get your butt down stairs for dessert.”

“No, thanks,” I breathed into my pillow. My head buried into its plush surface, thus causing an obstruction to my voice.

“I don't get why you're so pissed,” she whispered more to herself than to me as she left, her shirt splashing out like a wave behind her.

I theorized as to where my frustration emanated from aside form Ashton's constant gaze on me. In all truth, I had no clue and that simple thing frustrated me more.



An antsy sentiment took shelter in me when I saw Sayra return without Heath by her side, smiling that dazzling smile of his that made my body melt down like wax under a licking fire. She looked over at me apprehensively and her Aunt Cade remained quiet, but then fell into the temptation of questioning her about her beloved son.

“What'd he say?” The worry was eminent and she did nothing to keep it at bay.

“He apologizes to all of you, but he's not feeling well,” she reported, awkwardly sitting down in her chair.

“It's carrot cake, though, his favorite. . .” With that statement alone one can see the strong connection they both have wired to one another, Cadence and Heath, mother and son.

My dad mentioned how his father passed away due to cancer. I'm not one to take sympathy on others nor to take care to such things but I figured just how much suffering the entire family had been put through as they watched a loved one die a slow death. Heath was the walking epitome of happiness from the previews of emotions he gave off, excluding his bold leave to his bedroom. He seemed to spread his carefree attitude to those around him, my dad, Karah, everyone, except for me. He held tentativeness towards me, caution, catching drift on my instability.

As amply as I gawked at him, which I knew put him off the edge and tumbling out of his safe zone, I couldn't boost my objectives to do otherwise. His presence deluged me into a trench of carnal hunger for his caress, but he was straight and that was an anthology of discord all in itself. How I would get past the barrier, his heterosexuality? I stayed clueless to any manifestation of an answer. I shouldn't prod my luck, though because the reality that I was in his home when yesterday he took my breath away was coincidental enough.

“Hello, earth to Ashton! Wanna go watch some movies in the living room?” The friendly girl waved her hand in my face, my short trance shattering.

Caught off guard I could only nod and stand up, following the leader into the modern living room. Sayra was a pretty girl and I maybe would have considered her had it not been for my longing for Heath shrouding my desires.

“Are you gonna get Heath to come?”

She spun around like a ballerina, speedy yet nimble, and gave me a look that said: Are you crazy or are you crazy?

“If you want him to bite your head off and chew you until he leaves you speechless,” she cried. What she said I adapted to my own perverted translation, pleased to what it meant dubbed in my own terms. To me that painted a prettier and more pleasant picture on my canvas.

I chose not to respond because maybe it wasn't what she wanted to hear at the moment or ever.

“Do you like it here?”

I weighed my options that consisted of answers and said, “Yes and no.”

“I love it here,” she sighed dreamily. “Heath's like an older brother to me.”

“Seems like an ass. .”

Her jaw hung down, her mouth in a large O shape. Then after she bubbled into hysterics.

“He's distant like that but he's a sweetheart,” she smirked at me.

“Uhh, okay..”



I lurched in and out of my dreams that composed of nothing significant besides murky colors of magentas fusing into reds. Ray's baritone voice echoed throughout the house and as I figured earlier upon another of my wakings throughout the night he was drunk along with that girlfriend of his and my mother. My mom was of very spontaneous character, but when it came to me all that dissolved for my welfare, uptight and rigorous when it came to my education. I moaned aloud, my hand swatting away the saliva that took it upon itself to leak out of my mouth like drips of water skedaddling from a metal faucet.

I perched up and groaned again in reply to the anger that seemed to curl off of me due to the headache that blasted in my skull. The pounding drove me crazy, but I managed to remain sane. Until, I saw that that silken cocoa head peak in through my door, did I feel some of that sanity slip from beneath my shaking fingertips. He smiled, a wide perfect one.

“You alright?”

I soughed and raked my hand through my chaotic locks, denying him of my gaze crashing with his once more. I gave in though and felt forced to glance up oddly as I replied. “I'm fine.”

He stood in my doorway and shifted his weight from foot to foot, one of his hands tucked into his pocket the other holding a plate on which a slice of carrot cake tempted me.

“I brought you this. Your mom said you loved it,” he stated as his eyes flashed over to the plate.

“Remind me to thank my mom for making me sound like a fat ass,” I grumbled and then motioned him over. Not holding back his mirth at what I said, he guffawed at me before taking a seat a few inches form my socked feet.

“You're far from fat, so eat.”

He handed me the cake and I grabbed it from him avidly, ready to shove the first spoonful in my watering mouth.

“Thanks man.” I said in between a chew.

His eyes were on the ground as if it was the most interesting thing within sight and the tension in my body relieved, thankfully.



As he devoured the carrot cake we talked about our lives. Though, I censored some of the stories I told him about my late night clubbing and hook up with random girls I didn't know. I completely left out the boys I had screwed and that screwed me. He listened as if he actually cared about what I had to say and that made something flutter in my stomach. He was comprehensive but innocent. He lived in his own quintessential life, perfected by his mother while I had seen the harsh realities of it. His naivete struck me as a shock to my turn on for him. He asked questions in just the right places and when they received the answers it appeared that he digested it slowly, memorizing it.

He then told me more about him. He had lived here his whole life and couldn't wait for college to roll around. He told me how he didn't care for girls that much, that they were just dead weight and I thought to myself, “What about guys?” He shared what happened between him and The Teal Flirt, Dahlia as I acquired her name from his and I laughed a lot because of how his expression was utterly concerned and I liked that. He was extremely open, but I still felt that barrier. I still reckoned that he talked with heed. That didn't matter much because now I had attained an excuse to stare into the grassy plains of his eyes that coruscated with his emotions.

I wanted him more than ever, but my desires were shallow then. I can't blame myself though, from what he told me everybody wanted him, but he never felt the same urge for someone else.

Like I said, I yearned for him and I was astonished at in how little time I developed such a powerful craving for the boy.

The craving mushroomed, expanded and as much as I wanted or needed to take his lips into mine I didn't.