Long Way Home
(Benedict story. Mallory's point of view.)
Synopsis:
Mallory’s former foster father, Benedict, surprised him by picking him up from work. They repeat a conversation that they’ve had many times before.
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IT HAD BEEN EARLY autumn like it was now. Mal, Lark had said, his soft brown hair in-between Mallory’s fingers, facing away from him the way he did when he knew Mallory wouldn’t give him the answer he wanted. When he knew, in his head, that his old Mal was long gone, but he couldn’t stop wishing differently anyway. Mal, he had said, are you ever going to stop?
“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”
Mallory blinked and it was another foreign ceiling. Warm light glowed on top of the nightstand, making shadow plays. Right there, on the age-stained gypsum, Mallory thought, turning to smile at his bedmate for the evening, he could almost see shadows of someone being choked to their death. Someone familiar. Someone with long braids like his. He said, “Only dozens of people or so.”
The woman laughed. Even under this circumstances, it was, Mallory could admit, a nice laugh. “You’re not very modest.”
“No,” he rose up from the bed, picking up his discarded clothes, “I suppose not.”
“Leaving already?”
“Somewhere else to be.”
“No chance for you to stay?”
“Only if there’s enough incentive.”
The woman laughed again, her wavy hair slid off her shoulder. “Thomas told me that you’re endearing.”
Shirt half-buttoned, Mallory stilled. He turned to the woman then, smiling. “Well? Are you endeared?”
Her eyes were gleaming. “Very much so.”
Minutes of silence. Mallory went back to dress.
“What kind of incentive?”
Mallory didn’t pause. This was routine. “That depends.” A black credit card landed on his lap. For a moment he stared at it, then he looked up.
“Another hour?” the woman asked. Confident and in control. Her hazel eyes would have reminded Mallory of Lark’s if they hadn’t been so predatory. “I’ll make it worth your while. What do you think, pretty boy?”
Images played in his mind: of a younger Lark playing tags with him; of pushing Lark on their former foster home’s swing set; of walking through the edge of the forest with Lark and seeing him smiling. Then, of a hunched down Lark curling into himself before him, eyes rimmed red—he’d always been so much softer than Mallory would ever be. Of his childhood friend asking: are you doing this because of me?
Mallory climbed back into the bed. It was a lot of things, he wanted to say, but, right now, pretty boy was good enough.
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He would recognize that midnight black car anywhere, even though he’d really rather not.
Benedict sat at the driver seat. His typical maroon long-sleeved shirt was rolled up to his elbows. He was looking straight at Mallory, his face stern. As usual, he was not saying anything.
Mallory turned right and began to walk. Not that, he considered to himself, there was ever anything to say.
The car reversed, following beside him. There was a growl, then: “Get in the fucking car.”
“Good evening, Mr Benedict.”
“Stop acting so difficult.”
“It’s not a long walk home.”
Harsh exhale. Harsh inhale. “You know better than to walk alone around this neighborhood.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Mallory.”
He stopped his steps and turned to the familiar car. Even under the dim street light like this, Benedict was a striking man. Mallory knew this—everyone knew this. Even the man himself was aware of this and used it to his advantage many times before.
It was a shame that there was no kindness underneath the hardness. “Mr Benedict,” Mallory began, as he had many times before, “I appreciate your gesture, but I’d really rather not have you following me around like this.”
“I’m not following you around.” Benedict waved his hand. “I know exactly where you are.”
“How is that?”
“I have my ways.”
“I’ll find the GPS you’ve planted on me eventually.”
“You may try.”
“This is stalking,” Mallory pointed out casually, not really caring. “This is harassment.”
“I’m allowed to protect my investment.”
It was past midnight. Mallory was exhausted. He opened the passenger door then climbed in.
Minutes passed in the dark. The car was quiet. For a moment, Mallory couldn’t decide if he wanted the silent ride back home or the one filled with arguments. It was always either of those with Benedict. Mallory would know; he’d been in this exact same situation many times in the past year.
The first time, a little bit more than a year ago, Mallory had been surprised to see this same car milling around the place he’d been visiting for the evening. He had only moved out of the foster home for a couple of months. Money was tight—it had always been tight—so he worried. He hadn’t gotten enough money to pay Benedict for the month. There was also rent payment he still had to fix up. Either way, he’d needed to appease Benedict so he wouldn’t come for Lark, so Mallory got into the car.
The ride had been awful. After the choking silence, Benedict had ended the ride with an order: Stop this bullshit or you’ll regret it. But Mallory was not a child anymore. He had moved out. He had part-time jobs and he went to university classes. He didn’t live in Benedict’s foster house anymore. Mallory, frankly speaking, was no longer so powerless under Benedict’s control.
So, that had started the arguments during the next “ride homes”. Like right now, it began with: “Quit doing this shit. You have a reputation now and it’s not good.”
Mallory continued watching the passing scenery outside the car’s window. He knew about the reputation. “My reputation is that I fuck like a dream and I live up to it.”
Leather creaked as Benedict gripped hard onto the steering wheel. “Don’t you have skills other than being a hole for some dicks to stick into?”
Cruel words, but Mallory had expected it. “I do. But this way I also get to have fun.”
“Think about your health, you moron. You think they’re all clean?”
“That’s my problem and none of your business, Mr Benedict.”
“What the fuck do you need so much money for anyway?” Benedict turned the car around and Mallory recognize this long way home. Sometimes he did this, Benedict, when he wanted to have a conversation. “Give me that, at least.”
“You’re still asking me for monthly payments. And I have rent to pay.”
“If you’ll stop being such a brat you can just move back in and use that money for something else instead of wasting it on fucking rent. What the hell do you think the monthly payments are for?”
The argument was sensible, as it was the other times he had thrown it to Mallory’s face, but he remembered the suffocating life he’d had under that roof. The lack of privacy. The cramped rooms. The bullies. In the midst of the awful memories was a picture of Lark, sobbing in his room, unable to make the payments. The bruises on his arms, his neck. All those times he was unable to speak.
So, Mallory pulled out the cash he had on hand and made a show to count them. He placed the money on the dashboard. “This month’s payment.”
Benedict didn’t even glance at him. His face was hard like granite, his teeth grinding so hard Mallory could faintly hear the sound. “That’s double the amount you’re required to pay.”
“It’s mine and Lark’s.”
“You can’t keep paying his share. He’s got to grow a spine one of these days.”
“It’s mine and Lark’s,” Mallory repeated.
“He’s leeching off you,” Benedict spat. “He needs to learn how to pick up his own weight.”
“I decide how much weight I’m able to carry.”
“You’re so fucking stupid. He has you wrapped around his little fingers. You—”
“Mr Benedict,” Mallory said as the car stopped in front of his apartment complex, “I’m not yours to keep anymore.”
There was only rough breathing in the silence. Outside the window, rain had started to fall. It would be cold, Mallory thought to himself nonsensically. Cold enough for his teeth to chatter if he didn’t run inside quickly.
“Fuck that.”
Mallory didn’t reply.
“You’re my investment. I’ll be fucked if you’re ruining my hard work like this.”
There was nothing to say to that. “Thomas said there would be a charity event this Saturday,” he said instead. “Will you be coming?”
Tense seconds. Then Mallory watched as Benedict tiredly wiped his face. “I have to.”
“Good. I’ll be coming too.”
His former guardian let out an unhappy scoff before turning to him. His dark eyes were still blazing with anger. “As Thomas’ date, I presume?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s twenty-five years older than you. He’s too old to be fucking you.”
Mallory couldn’t stand it anymore. “So, what age is old enough to still be fucking me then?” he asked. “Yours?”
Benedict barked a laugh, but it was such a derisive sound. “Keep dreaming, kid.”
That hurt. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. He wanted to get out. He want to go away from that cramped room full of unsaid feelings and impossible wants. He pushed the door open.
“Mallory.”
He paused.
The silence stretched, taut enough to cut. Mallory waited, but he hated that he waited. He wanted to leave. He wanted to—
Standing outside the car, Mallory turned to face Benedict. The man wasn’t even looking at him. He was staring through the windshield, his eyes hard, and Mallory felt stupid for waiting. He felt stupid for anxiously expecting the familiar car outside the place he was staying for the evening. He felt stupid for wanting the companionable silence or the heated arguments. He felt stupid for thinking that Benedict cared.
“I like your new dye.”
Mallory blinked away raindrops falling over his eyes. “What?”
“The pink tips.” Benedict finally turned to him. At that moment, Mallory thought, he looked unbearably sad. “It suits you.”
Then, the car drove away while Mallory stood alone in the dark.
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