Summary: AU - David is the governor’s son, and Pierre is a newly released delinquent, doing community service for the governor and his family.
Disclaimer: Not real. No matter how much we wish.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
Dedications: All of my readers and reviewers, I love you all so much.
Authors Note: I was hesitant to move it along so fast, but at the same time felt it was appropriate.
“Duuuude,” Pierre said, laughing, “Where did you learn to do that?” We were both sitting under a big oak tree, it was supposed to be shading us from the evening humidity but I was still sweating profusely, as was Pierre. I passed the stubby cigarette back over to him and sighed.
“Camp. I guess my dad did do at least one good thing for me,” I said, watching him take a final puff of the cigarette and blow it out of his nose. He started coughing halfway through, and ended up blowing the rest of the smoke out of his mouth. “It’s hard to get used too, it always used to make me cough too,” I added, to make him feel better.
It amazed me how well we had gotten to know each other over the past four nights. Every evening while Pierre was waiting for his ride I would sit with him. We would chat, mostly Pierre talked, describing his life and his past horrors. He had witnessed his step-father shooting his mother and then turning the gun on himself, and he supposed that’s what made him start acting out. He had never knew his father, and was perfectly fine with that, since he was apparently a drunk.
And I thought I had it tough!
Pierre put out the cigarette as we saw bright lights coming down the drive. “Well, see ya,” he said, waving. I nodded back and smiled at him but he didn’t smile back. It seemed to me that this was a rarity for him, although I suppose I couldn’t blame him. The car pulled away and I stood and walked along the courtyard, trying to get the smoky smell off of me. The wind was chilly, and the heavens were threatening to open up and pour down rain any second now, but I was oblivious to it.
All I could think about was him. That boy, that amazing piece of work. He was exquisite, everything about him. From his grungy Chuck Taylor's, to his tattered clothing, to his filthy hair.
Pierre. I didn’t even know his last name. I smiled again.
I was enchanted with him. There was this feeling inside of me. I can’t even explain it in words. My stomach was all tied up in knots, my hands were clammy and my heart was beating so rapidly it felt as if it would beat right out of my chest. I felt that I was capable of anything. There was something about him. I had never felt this way before and although it was enlightening, it was also scary. To feel so strongly for an individual and to not know what it was.
Was it love? No. How silly of you David, it couldn’t be. Boys didn’t love other boys and girls didn’t love other girls. At least that’s what father had always said. He told me that right after my aunt told me that mother loved other girls and that’s why she went away.
But if it wasn’t love, than what was it?
Still walking on air, I tip-toed into my house. It must be late now, or at least past my bedtime and if father found me down here he would have a fit. I crept up the three flights of stairs, dodging any frightening shadows and silently praying that I would make it past his room, and up to mine.
The light from his bedroom shined under his door, enlightening the dark corridor. I got down on my hands and knees, and crawled passed the door. Maybe he had accidentally fallen asleep with his light on?
Apparently my luck was cheap.
“David? Is that you, son?” he called from inside the door. I contemplated whether or not I should answer him, and decided against it. I stood and broke for a run, scrambling up the hall and darting around the corner into my bedroom. Safe at last.
I had awoken early that morning to the birds giddily hopping from tree to tree. It was as if they were mocking me. Cawing, “Pee-airrr, Pee-airrr!” I desperately hoped that I wouldn’t see him today. I had been awake half the night dreaming of him, and still couldn’t think up a half-decent conversation to have with the boy.
I dreaded facing my father this day. So instead of getting out of bed, I decided that today I would just stay in bed. Maybe even claim I was feeling ill. Yes, that’s it. I was having an asthmatic spell, or something equally nerdy. But Pierre wasn’t there that day. Or the day after that either. Two days that I hadn’t seen him. And trust me, I kept a close eye on those boys.
But there he was today, sitting in our lawn chairs, feet up and exchanging jokes with those other boys. A cup of lemonade in one hand, the other I could tell was just aching for a cigarette. God, how I wished I had the chance to be social. But father always said that this was best for me. “I wouldn’t be able to handle it properly.” He always blamed me for moms leaving, but sometimes it seemed like he went too far.
Like that time he told mom that my sister Allison was pregnant and it was all her fault that Allison was turning into a “crack-addicted whore.” I can still remember the way mom looked that day. Her normally gleaming eyes were now dull and filling with tears. She ran upstairs, and locked herself in a guest room for three days, not even coming out when I told her that I was dying. That was three-months before the miscarriage, which is when she left. It’s been six years, and we haven’t seen her since.
I continued to sit there, staring longingly at those boys. I smiled and laughed along with them, though I couldn’t hear a word they were saying. Faith wouldn’t be bothering me today. She called in sick at the last moment, and fathers last words were, “Stay put.”
And as scared as I was to go down there, I had to see Pierre.
After dressing in some play clothes, and pulling a comb through my hair (what? I didn’t want to look like complete trash in front of the boy,) I swung the window open and peered out. Directly below me was a cement ridge, which I could dangle from and just barely reach a second story balcony.
Hesitantly, I eased myself down onto the ridge, and then down to the balcony. Now what to do from here? If I could just reach over to the left a little more than I could – *thump*. Rubbing my head, I now realized that I was on the ground. Way to go David! I had just officially snuck out. I heard snickering behind me and turned around to see Pierre walking towards me.
“Dude, that was an insane fall, are you okay?” he asked me, offering me a hand. Brushing it aside, I stood up on my own. He had just called me dude!
“I snuck out!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands up and waving them wildly around, expecting everyone around me to smile. No one did. And being self-conscious kicks in right about now. I lowered my hands back down to my sides, and looked down at the ground shyly. Great, now everyone thinks I’m a big idiot. I opened up my mouth to speak, but Pierre interrupted me.
“Those rich kids and their recreational drugs!” he said, and everyone around him broke out into laughter. Now how did he do that? Sighing, Pierre grabbed a hold of my arm, pulled me into our now empty garden and we sat down on the ground.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, “I’ll just go back inside now.” I attempted to stand up, but Pierre wouldn’t let me. Instead he led me back behind the garden and toward the clearing near our private lake.
“No, stay,” he insisted as we sat down on the rocks. “I have something to show you.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a baggy, filled with something that looked like ground up seasoning and a pipe. Before I had time to even ask what exactly it was Pierre explained. “... and I figured since you liked cigarettes so much you might want to try something new.”
The truth was that I hated the cigarettes, I hated them with all of my might but I did them for him. And I would do this for him too. I was not normally this easily convinced, but it was Pierre. Pierre wanted me to feel loose, and care-free. And I suppose part of me wanted to as well.
He took the first “toke,” as he called it. Showing me how to suck the smoke into my lungs and hold it there for as long as I could, then let it out slowly. “Lets get fucked up!” he shouted more than once, as I took the pipe from his hands. Pierre was grinning wildly, desperately trying to keep the smoke in. I took the lighter from him, held it above the hash and as I lit it, I breathed in deeply. It burned all the way down my throat, and when it hit my lungs I coughed it all out. Pierre hit me on the back, "Fuck man, that was a huge hit." Then he took the pipe back from me and lit it again. I watched him breathe in deeply, he was so good at this. And I wondered how often he "got high."
I took a second hit, then my third which led to a forth and fifth until I could barely tell the ground from the sky and all of my thoughts seemed to flew away. The world was spinning and Pierre was in the background, laughing like a hyena. “I used to sell this shit, all sorts of drugs,” he said. “A kids gotta make a living you know, that’s why they threw me in the slammer. Fucking pigs.”
"You have such big eyes, Pierre," I said, giggling. Yes, I David, was actually giggling. Pierre smiled back, and it seemed like this was the first time I had ever seen him do that. He looked so pretty, just sitting there, smiling, his bulging eyes were all bloodshot and he looked like a maniac.
"All the better to eat you with, my pretty," he replied, his grin somehow becoming even wider and he opened his mouth and hooted with laughter. "Oh god David, that sounded so wrong. Sooo wronggg."
That set us off into another spiel of laughter, until we were laughing so hard we were rolling around on the ground, clutching our sides and tears were streaking our faces. "Eat me - eat me, Pierre! Eat meeeee!" I exclaimed laying on my back and staring at the misty sky. "It's so pretty.." I said. Pierre stopped laughing and laid down beside me and sighed contently.
"Yeah, and to think that I missed this while I was in prison," he replied. We laid their for a few more moments, and then Pierre suddenly stood up and started spinning. "Ahhhhhhh," he screamed, "I am, the coolest person alive!!" he said, laughing. When he noticed I hadn't stood up with him, he grabbed my arms and pulled me up. "It's fun David, try it!" And then he started spinning again. Yelling all sorts of obscene things and I started spinning too.
"I'm on top of the world!" I shouted, sprawling my hands out and spinning like a windmill.
"Your a fat loser, and you have body odor," Pierre said, giggling even more and looking over at me.
"Yeah well, you play ball like a girl!" I shouted back, feeling euphoric. The sky looked magical from this view.
Pierre stopped spinning, and so did I. He looked serious and for a second I though that he was going to freak out. His glistening eyes met mine and he gulped. "God, you're so hot," Pierre suddenly blurted. I sat there for a moment, still smiling, until I realized that that hadn't been movie quote.
"I - I," I tried to reply, but nothing came out. My intoxication suddenly wasn’t as good-feeling as it had been at first. I felt bile coming up my throat and turned around quickly, trying to hide my vomit. What had I gotten into? I turned back to Pierre, my face flushed and all of the sudden hot tears sprang from my eyes. Pierre seemed to sober up immediately.
I wouldn’t meet his eyes, as he stared down at me. “Shh David, it’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, trying to sooth me. He arm was around my shoulder, and he allowed me to continue crying. And for once, I wasn’t ashamed.
We sat like that for a few minutes, until my sobbing had ceased and my breathing was stabilized. "We should probably get you.." Pierre started to say, but I wasn't listening. Instead I laid my head onto his leg, closed my eyes and within seconds I was asleep.
It was getting darker outside when I opened them again. My head was pounding and Pierre's work jacket was laid across me like a blanket. Pierre was laying out under the hazy sky but I couldn't tell if he was awake or not. I crawled towards him, "Pierre?" I said in his ear. He jerked awake and sat up suddenly, frantically looking around the clearing. He relaxed when he saw me, and his eyes lowered from my gaze.
"Shit, we better go, it's probably 7!" he said, standing up and walking towards the edge of the trees. I picked up his jacket and pipe and followed him back to reality. He was walking towards the front of the house, but I stopped him when we got to the edge of the trees and handed him his things. "Thanks," he said softly, still not looking at me.
"Pierre I - " I couldn't finish my sentence because I didn't know what to say. Pierre held up his hand, as if to say 'don't mention it.' And I didn't. Instead I shocked both of us by grabbing him and hugging him tightly, as we pulled away I mumbled a quiet, "Thanks." And headed off to my window.
As I climbed back up to my tower, I couldn't help but feeling scared. Scared of what would become of us. I undressed and got under my sheets, although I was not tired at all. Instead I laid awake as 'what ifs' invaded my thoughts.
What if Pierre never talked to me again? What if he quit community service? What if nothing was ever the same? I replayed his words a million times in my head, but I still couldn't make any sense of it. Maybe he didn't mean it. But if he didn't, why was he acting so weird? I contradicted myself all night but by the time I fell into a dreamless sleep I still didn't have an answer.
I awoke the next morning to those words echoing in my head.
"God, you're so hot."