I stumble into Hunter’s bathroom and do the whole routine, eyeing his toothbrush if I should be stealing it. I use my finger to brush my teeth instead, half-smiling in the mirror when I see Matty’s Iron Man one, and Spider-man toothpaste.
And now my cheeks are burning. I look away from the spot where Hunter and I, well, we, uh, for the love, I rode him like I was a professional bloody jockey without meaning to. Mortification makes my eyes slide closed, even as I rinse my mouth. Right, whatever. It was a totally normal reaction.
And now I’m thinking of what I did to Hunter last night on his couch. Of how I touched him and how he felt, and the sexy sounds he made, and now I need a cold shower.
I might have to tell him I’m a virgin. I’m probably going to have to tell him. Walking to Matty’s room, I ponder this eventual situation.
Hi, Hunt, well, before we go any further, I just wanted to tell you I still have my v-card. Yes, you heard right, my v-card. I’m a virgin. A vir-gin. As in untouched, pure as the driven snow. As in I’ve never had a man before, you get it? Stop looking so shocked. Did you swallow your tongue?
Yeah, that would go over super well.
I knock on Matty’s open door, watching as he quickly ducks his head under the sheets and plays dead. Shaking my head, I go over to the bed and commence one of many tickle-fests I hope I’m going to have the chance to give in the near future.
“What’s up, little man? What’s with the glum face?”
Matty’s eyebrows are low on his face, and he’s sucking on his lower lip, thinking. I blow a raspberry on his cheek and he explodes into laughter. Score for me.
“Where did you come from?”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “Well, uh, from next door, of course!”
God, he knows, he knows! Just look at that face, his baby blues are lasers of truth cutting through all my white-lies and exposing me for the liar I am. Gah! Matty nods slowly, and he knows, he has to know that I slept over last night.
I would cut off my big toe with a light-saber if he heard us last night. How did we think whatever we were up to, Hunter and I, that it wouldn’t affect him? I’m pretty sure I have a one-way ticket to the bowels of Hell.
“I don’t like Sundays,” he says. I’m surprised he knows the days of the week. I sure as hell didn’t at four. Well, maybe I did, but I’m sure I never got the day right when asked. Matty MacLaine is a little genius! My boy is a genius!
Uh, whut?!
Rewind, stop, and play again. Did I just say that? When did that happen? Why am I thinking of him as mine! He’s not mine!
I clear my throat, wishing I could Etch-n-Sketch whatever thoughts are tumbling in my brain.
“Nobody likes Sundays, kid. It’s a fact of life.”
“Tomorrow is Mondaaaaaay,” he wails, covering his face with the sheet again. “I have to go to school tomorrow, and I don’t wanna!” And then he dissolves into tears, like actual real violent sobs.
“Matty!? What the bloody hell is going on?!” My attention is divvied up into three parts: yep, still wondering why I called Matty my boy, like he’s my kid; why is he crying; and oh-my-God, Hunter is going to think I made Matty cry!
“Kids at school make fun of meeeeeeee,” he whines, still under the covers. I move closer to him, lie myself down, prop myself up on an elbow and gently coax him to bring down the covers (no matter how cool they are), so I can see his face.
My heart twists, knocking against my ribs, and my throat gets tight thinking about little asshole children making fun of (yeah, I’m gonna say it in my head) my kid, my Matty.I’m enraged, I want to go and beat up on little kids because they fraking dared make fun of the sweetest, cutest little kid in the world who gets my jokes, and called me beautiful.
He won’t look at me, instead he faces the wall, and his whole body is shuddering as he pours his heart out. “They say I can’t play with them because I can’t keep up. They won’t even let me try, Sera! Daddy says everyone gets a chance, sometimes even two! And they won’t give me one, ever! It’s not fair!”
I curl my body around his little one, and push his hair back off his forehead, leaning down to kiss the shell of his ear. I start to remember old hurts as well, what is was like for me, being made fun of everyday, only to come home to it as well. How many times had I been stepped on, how many times had others’ words cut me down to the bone? How many times did those same words take root deep inside me and made me believe what everyone else said? I’m twenty-five, and I’ve believed those two false truths my entire life.
I don’t want that to happen to Matty. So everything that comes out of my mouth, I make sure he gets it, that he understands that no matter what happens, there’s always someone in his corner handing him the water bottle and wiping the invisible blood at the end of the day. Me.