The Plot Thickens
My heart pounds in my throat and I start to go ballistic when I see that strange guy holding Sonny’s hand, but just as I walk in and spot them, Sonny shakes the guy off with an irritated, “I told you not to do that, Dale. We’re over, remember?” At this moment he reminds me a lot of me, but I push that thought aside ‘cause Sonny looks up and sees me just then. He leaps to his feet and he races toward me, and he’s got a hold on me that would choke a lesser man, his arms tight around my neck as he leaps up into my arms and I catch him, which isn’t easy, cause he ain’t that light.
But I don’t mind. Not at this moment. I ignore the fact that he’s my ex, that I’m pissed at him for putting me through this, whatever this is, and I simply hold onto him for dear life. The only reason that I’m not crying is ‘cause I know we’re not alone, and that we’re quite possibly in some sort of deep shit. No, scratch that. Not possibly. Definitely.
“Aw, ain’t they sweet?” That’s the first guy talking now. “Regular lovebirds.”
I glare at him, although I’m pretty sure he’s singularly unimpressed.
“Alright, break it up, you two, go and sit on the couch.” I know he has a gun, so I don’t argue. I manage to unwind Sonny from me, and I manage to get in a few soothing words and soft kisses to calm him down, although I’m honestly not sure which of us is more flustered, him or me. He might just be excited to see me. I’m honestly scared.
We take seats on the couch—I make sure to place myself between Sonny and this Dale character, whoever he is. When he reaches across me, trying to take Sonny’s hand back or something, I give it a quick karate chop, and he retracts it, while Sonny curls up against me like a contented cat.
Okay, time to assess the situation. I glance around me. Other than me and Sonny and bozo Dale and the first guy who brought me here, there’s only one other guy, at least that I can see. I don’t recognize him either. In my mind I label them Thug #1 and Thug #2, for lack of a proper name. It’s time to find out what’s going on.
Thug #1 hands out the drinks, one to everyone but me. Figures. I paid for them, right? Not that I give a big shit. Sonny offers to share with me. I shake my head no, tell him to drink it, it’s cool. He ends up with an orange moustache which I can’t help but wipe away. Old habits die hard.
Thug #2 slurps on his loudly and then belches, which earns him raucous laughter from everyone but me. Grinning, he turns on the radio that sits on a shelf on the wall, next to some kind of trophy. Music fills the room. I recognize it as something by Matchbox 20. Sonny begins to sing to it, taking my hand in his—don’t ask me why, it’s not exactly romantic—but I let him, to keep him calm. Okay, to keep me calm.
“It's 4 A. M. and … I must be lonely,” he warbles, in a not particularly good but passable voice, “and he says baby, baby….”
Damn, he’s butchering it, like he does everything he sings, ‘cause he doesn’t pay attention to the lyrics. “It’s 3 A.M.,” I correct him in a perfunctory manner, but it’s just out of habit ‘cause really, who gives a big shit at this moment? Not me.
Enough of this crap. I want to know what’s going on and why and who the fuck Dale is, and if he doesn’t quit trying to get past me to get to Sonny, I’m going to seriously hurt him.
Thug #1 and Thug #2 apparently need to have a confab, as before I get my words out, they exit the room, first making a show of locking the front door. Yeah, like we can’t unlock it. Idiots. Of course the chances that we can make it out that same door quietly and not be followed and shot are probably nil.
Okay, then. I turn to Sonny, and I hiss, “Who the fuck is that?” Trying to be discreet is difficult when the subject of my inquiry is right there, picking his nose. I inch closer to Sonny in disgust.
Sonny quits singing, looks at the guy, then back at me. “That’s Dale.”
Duh. I figured that one out already. “And?” I prompt him.
“And what? Oh, well, we used to go out.”
Great. One of Sonny’s ex somethings. At least it’s past tense.
“So why are we here?” Seems a reasonable question, I think.
“Dale borrowed some money from those guys but he couldn’t pay them back, so he called me.”
“He called you?” I can’t help but ask myself why, as Sonny never has money, he spends it as fast as he gets it.
“Yeah, and I said I’d help, but I don’t have any money.” He sounds almost apologetic, the sap.
“Didn’t you say he’s your ex?” I want that fact firmly established.
“Yeah, I don’t go out with him anymore,” Sonny affirms.
“So then what?” I ask.
“Then they told me that I had to ask you for it,” Sonny says, finishing off his drink with a loud satisfying suck, and again he has this moustache, but I refrain for the moment.
“Sonny, you never asked me for any money, in fact I haven’t seen or heard from you in two weeks,” I splutter, trying to make sense of it all.
“I know,” he says solemnly, as I give in and use my finger to wipe his orange moustache off. “I was trying to keep them away from you, Tim-tim.”
I think I’m gonna melt now.
Don't forget to check out the other Silver Flashers:
Sui Lynn m/m
RJ Scott m/m
Ryssa Edwards m/m
Lindsay Klug m/f
LM Brown m/m
Pia Valeno m/m
Victoria Blisse m/f
Lily Sawyer m/m
Pender Mackie m/m