Stomach empty, mouth rinsed, he ran cold water over his fingers and slicked them across his heated skin and through his hair. Then he sat against the bathtub and laid his head on the cold tub edge.
The headaches were getting worse. He was getting worse. The shitty, half-ass pain pills were almost gone, and he’d had to kiss the good stuff goodbye a few days ago. They couldn’t get to the dome quick enough. But what if Joe was as unwelcome there as Maribou had been? Joe would be stronger than her, wouldn’t he? But Joe was already acting weird, pulling away, pawning Devin off on Flix more than he needed to. Having to spend the night with Aria probably wasn’t helping. Not that the barn had been a laugh a minute, either — stuck between Flix and Peter, cold and lonely even as squished as he was. Lonely for Joe.
Joe had to snap out of it. They needed him to lead them north.
Devin just needed him.
***
Another day spent with Clinton and Maribou was a mistake, Joe was sure of it. Staying here didn’t get them closer to their goal. And it was still a goal, even without his father being a part of it. Their hosts insisted they spend another night, though, and Joe loved the electricity and the warm shower and the midday nap enough that he couldn’t say no.
Staying here was easier, too.
Everyone fighting the chill in the air by cuddling together on the floor of Clinton and Maribou’s tiny living room, they watched mindless images on the EC — four men engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Burly and tattooed, the fighters punched and kicked and clawed and bit. The fighters howled at the stadium lights while a crowd cheered for more and more violence.
Dulled by the furor erupting onscreen, Joe’s brain was silent. No thinking. No father, no choices, no losing Devin. The dog, Hopper, curled up at Joe’s feet. Aria’s hand in his; Devin’s big body pressed against his other side. Joe tried his best to ignore the occasional stuttering of Devin’s breath, pretended Devin wasn’t being hit with more wracking pain.
Joe just wanted to be someone else, someone not in charge, not responsible, for a little while. Watch dumb entertainment and let the mourning for his father sink in as gentle and quiet as sand resettling when you run your hands through it. He wanted it to be easy, to be safe.
Minutes went by, and he melted more into Devin’s space, until he could hear Devin’s breathing, feel his heartbeat. A little movement, so small, and he’d be able to rest his head on Devin’s heavy shoulder. It’d look like he’d fallen asleep — nothing suspicious, nothing odd. Just a bit more...
The tenor of the voices on the EC changed.
Devin stiffened, and Aria’s hand clutched Joe’s fingers too tightly.
Joe pried open his eyes and flinched away from the image on the EC.
Him. He stood there next to Bea. Her in her fancy mesh bra and panties. Him in a t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, abdomen bare, tiny Northern-style running shorts only barely covering his penis and testicles. A disembodied voice welcomed tourists to the nation’s finest wish fulfillment service, Flights of Fantasy. Stunning models, the voice promised as the scene showed Joe and Bea, uncertain, a little afraid, running mostly-naked through the streets of Austin. Another shot. Them naked, kissing. The voice talked about their beauty, their willingness to do anything. Cut to a new scene. Bea’s legs wrapped around Joe’s hips, her body splayed. Joe’s kisses and thrusts, his ass in sharp detail. A man’s shadow closing in on him from behind.
“Can you turn the channel?”
Flix’s question, almost bored-sounding, snapped Joe back to the present.
Maribou changed the channel to a game show. “Sorry, honey. Clinton and I get desensitized to the ads, almost like they aren’t even there.”
Advertisements? That’s what he’d just seen? His body, his friendship, his sexuality on display for anyone to see. Boggs was using him, even now. Almost a thousand miles away, and Joe was still a prostitute, still Boggs’s whore.
Had his father seen that ad? Known it was him?
Clinton and Maribou. Oh, God. Joe pulled his knees to his chest and peered behind him toward their hosts. They both watched the EC like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Flix caught Joe’s eye. He mouthed, “You look different.”
Joe nodded, though he couldn’t understand why Flix’s assertion put a lump in his throat. The room felt stifling, all those warm, comforting bodies too close, too intimate. Joe jumped up, startling poor Hopper. “I’m getting water.”
In the kitchen, he pulled a glass from the drying rack on the counter. His hand shook as he held the cup under the tap. A quick gulp, then he tried to set the cup carefully on the counter, but the glass clinked against the hard surface all the same.
Joe leaned his forehead against the cabinet and squeezed his arms around himself. He hadn’t thought Boggs could touch him again. How many people had seen that ad? How many more people would look at him and only see a whore?
Someone came in, but Joe didn’t check to see who it was. Body heat. A hand in the small of his back. He expected Devin. Maybe Aria.
“Your hair’s longer now.” Flix. His voice steady, quiet. He bent around Joe, caught his eye, before continuing. “Your skin’s a little darker. You weren’t too damned skinny then. They didn’t recognize you.”
“Thank you. For getting them to turn the channel.”
Flix shrugged. “I don’t want to be reminded of being there, either. Shittiest part is, I think we might have been better off with Flights of Fantasy. Did you know you were a movie star?”
Joe barked a little laugh and wiped at his eyes. “Boggs had Bea and me fuck in a room
