“You will be okay given some healing time,” Jason assured him. “But you need to learn to accept a little bit of compassion, Paul.”
“I can accept it from some people,” Paul said defensively. “I had a vanilla girlfriend. She was nice to me. Danny’s nice to me. It’s just other people.”
“Okay,” Jason said, his voice doubtful as he went to the bathroom counter, picking up a clear plastic bottle. “I guess we’ll have some fun with alcohol in the meantime.”
Paul raised his eyebrows, staring at the bottle of alcohol. “Is that really what you’re gonna use?”
“Usually I’d use something milder, less agonizingly painful,” Jason explained with a mischievous smile, making it obvious he was indulging Paul. “But I think I’ll make an exception for you.”
Paul felt a smile tugging at his lips. “For real, tell me, are you a switch?” he asked, referring to the term for people who could be both dominant and submissive.
Jason shrugged, looking sad as he whispered, “Only for you.”
*
“You didn’t tell me he was an abuse survivor.”
Danny worked on cutting the onions in front of him as his eyes stung. This whole cooking thing was harder than his mother made it look. It didn’t help that the room was swimming from the level of his exhaustion.
“I thought it was obvious,” Danny said when he realized Jason was waiting for a response. “I figured the little episode the other night screamed issues as far as Paul was concerned. Why?”
“Just…” Jason started, seeming to choose his words wisely before he finally sighed. “No reason, I guess.”
“Shit!” Danny shouted, throwing the knife into the sink in fury when he cut his finger. He sucked on it, wincing over the sting from the cut mixing with onion juice and then leaned back against the counter. He rubbed the palms of his hands against his stinging eyes. “Why can’t I—” Danny gasped, feeling as if he’d just blinded himself when the onion juice ended up in his eyes. “Motherfucker!”
“Flush your eyes out.” Jason jumped out of the chair at the kitchen table to come to Danny’s side. He ran the water as Danny leaned over the sink, his eyes watering. “It’s just a little onion. It won’t kill you.”
“Suck me,” Danny growled, wanting to lash out as an outlet while he worked on flushing his eyes out as Jason suggested. “I can’t make this soup. I can’t even cut the fucking onions.”
“What kind of soup is it?”
“Caldo Gallego,” Danny said, still trying to flush out his eyes. “My mom says it cures anything.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Green soup,” Danny simplified for him. “Collard greens, beans, ham—”
“Onions,” Jason offered, sounding amused.
“Yeah, and fucking onions. It’s good. If I could make it, you’d like it. I should’ve picked her up and had her make it. I just didn’t want her to see Paul. She loves him. There’d be no way to keep her out of that room.” Danny finally stood and then pushed his hair off his forehead, the tips of it wet from the sink as his eyes continued to water and sting. “I guess I could have her make it at home and pick it up.”
“Is that your solution for everything?” Jason asked, raising his eyebrows at Danny. “Call your mother?”
“No, actually it isn’t,” Danny said, feeling too tired to bother being irritated by the accusation. “It’s really hard for me to do. I just know it makes me feel better when I’m sick or depressed. The soup, I mean.”
“Not your mother?”
“No.” Danny felt tears sting his eyes in a way that had nothing to do with the onions. He reached for the recipe his mama had written down for him, staring at it as the words swam. “Not my mother,” he lied.
“How old are you?” Jason pulled the recipe out of Danny’s hands and set it on the counter. Then he reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He took out a bandage and worked on opening it. “And don’t lie to me.”
“You carry bandages in your wallet?” Danny asked, a smile tugging at his lips despite everything.
“Right next to the condoms,” Jason said, grabbing Danny’s hand and putting the bandage over his finger that he had forgotten was bleeding. “How old?”
“Oh,” Danny said, feeling as dazed as Paul for the moment. “I’m the same age as Paul. College just isn’t my thing. I hate teachers.”
“Okay.” Jason squeezed Danny’s injured hand softly once he finished bandaging it. “When was the last time you slept?”