Aaron (20 page)

Aaron had never bothered to take them down. It was almost like they belonged to someone else. They could have, for all he cared about them. He waited as Spencer took a long, slow inventory of his room. What the hell was he looking for? Aaron’s skin crawled at the scrutiny, and he scratched absently at one of the scars on his arm underneath the longsleeved polo shirt he wore. No one except his family had been in this room in years, but even then, he didn’t feel judged by it as he did with Spencer.

“What?” he demanded. The blood rising in his face made it feel like it glowed with embarrassment.
Did you find what you were looking for in the freak cave?
Aaron could not meet Spencer’s eyes, choosing instead to focus on his own hands. The trailing end of a deep knife scar peeked out of the sleeve, mocking him, and his fists tightened around each other in helpless anger.

“You. Are. Not. Like. Anyone. I. Have. Ever. Known.. You. Are. Kind., Sensitive., And. Thoughtful.. I. Want. To. Know. More. About. You.. I. Thought. I. Might. Find. That. Out. By. Looking. Around. Your. Room.. But. None. Of. This. Stuff. Seems. Like. It. Would. Belong. To. You.. It. Surprised. Me..” Spencer jerked his head up to indicate the trophies. It was the longest conversation they’d ever had aloud, and Aaron reeled from the compliments. He had misjudged Spencer’s intentions so badly. Shame crept up the back of his neck, replacing the embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. I’m not used to having… friends in my room. But you’re right. This stuff doesn’t have anything to do with my life now. It belongs to the old Aaron, the one that died.”

They stood facing each other for a few long, tense moments. When Aaron didn’t say anything else, Spencer sat on the side of the bed and grabbed his laptop.

“Want. To. Get. Started.?” he asked, and even with the slow cadence, Aaron heard the trepidation. A part of him wanted to tell Spencer it wasn’t a good night, but a deeper part of him, the selfish part that was so desperately lonely, that part wanted Spencer to stay. That part of him wanted to tell Spencer everything, all his secrets, just to get the poison out. Instead, he just nodded.

Aaron brought up the chat window on his computer first, and left the development environment closed. He wanted to talk to Spencer more than he wanted to work on the project. His fingers hovered over the keys on the laptop even as his wrists rested on the bottom edge. Glancing over at Spencer, who typed furiously on his keyboard, he envied Spencer’s focus. A “ding” on his computer caught his attention.

SPENCER: I wish you would stop saying that. You did not die. You are right here in front of me, and I am very grateful for that. Not many people see past my deafness and want to be my friend anyway. You did.

AARON: I’m so out of practice at talking to someone. The shrinks try to get me to talk. My mother tries to get me to talk. Whenever I try, something inside me locks up, and I can’t get the words out. With my mom, I think it’s because she already has to deal with so much because of me. I don’t want to add any more to that. With the shrinks, I guess it’s because they don’t give a fuck about me. They don’t want to help me. They just want to get paid and move on to the next schmuck with a problem. See how many they can fit in a day before they drive home in their Lexus to play golf.

SPENCER: Not all shrinks are like that.
AARON: The ones I’ve met are. Did you have to see a shrink?

SPENCER: I’ve had to talk to psychologists. I had some behavioral problems in school. Mostly, I acted like a dick because I was sick of getting bullied. See, the school administrators never saw that part. They just saw me fucking up. I was so glad to get out of high school.

AARON: I was homeschooled my last two years of high school. After what happened, I couldn’t stand being around other people, so my mom kept me home. She figured out everything she needed to know to get me through the requirements. She bought me books and videos. She sat with me every day and went through every subject with me.

SPENCER: Your mom sounds amazing.
AARON: She really is. I couldn’t imagine growing up without her.

SPENCER: I had dad and my aunt Nelle. My dad was everything to me growing up, mom, dad, interpreter, everything. He and my aunt Nelle learned sign language with me. They studied everything they could about ASL so that they could help me. It took me a long time to realize how hard that must have been for my dad, taking care of a premature deaf baby on his own after his wife had been murdered.

AARON: What happened to her? You said she was mugged. AARON: I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it.

SPENCER: No, it is okay. She was a nurse. One night as she was leaving the hospital where she worked, a guy attacked her in the parking garage. He raped her, and then shot her and left her for dead.

Aaron’s insides froze, and he was thankful Spencer couldn’t hear the pained sound that came out of his chest. In his mind, he saw Juliette’s face, contorted in pain as the man with the mole on his cheek violated her on the floor next to him. He could almost feel the body on top of him as it pinned him to the floor. Adrenaline screamed through him, filling his body with fear. His hands shook on the keyboard, and every rational thought disappeared like a flash of lightning. A deep throbbing he recognized as his heartbeat echoed through his head until there was nothing left.

The computer beeped with another message, but he couldn’t force himself to look. Shocked into horrified silence and nearly incapacitated by the mention of the word “rape,” Aaron stared unseeing at his desk and tried to will the panic attack creeping up his spine to wait… just wait until Spencer left. Another long, deep breath and his frantic heart slowed enough for him to stay upright.

“Aaron..” Spencer’s voice, clear and strong, filtered through the fog of panic and pain. Aaron raised his head to meet Spencer’s message on the screen.

Aaron stared at the screen as his throat closed around the breath trapped in it. No force in heaven or on earth could make him utter those words to Spencer, even electronically. He could not talk about it—ever— not to Spencer, not to anyone. His parents knew; he could see the shame in his mother’s eyes. They’d found… well, evidence when they’d taken him to the hospital. She asked him about it exactly once and decided his reaction wasn’t worth getting him to talk about it. It was the closest he’d ever come to ending his own life, and his mother would never take that chance again.

AARON: I can’t.
AARON: I can’t talk about it.
AARON: Please.

Before Spencer could respond, his mother stuck her head in through his bedroom door. Something in Aaron’s face made her pause, and she looked at him for a long moment and then glanced at Spencer.

“Boys, dinner is ready,” she said quietly, making sure to look at Spencer when she said it so he would understand. Aaron closed his laptop, and Spencer did the same. They both sat quietly as Aaron’s mother left, unsure what to say to each other in the awkward silence. When Aaron looked into Spencer’s face, he saw the pity he hated so much.

conversation to see what he could have said to set Aaron off, one word stood out among all the others—raped. His father had been right. Aaron’s sympathy aside, only that word would have caused his extreme reaction to the story of his mother’s death. God, he felt sick.

Aaron unfolded himself from the desk chair and walked over to the bedroom door like he was going for his last meal. Spencer wanted so badly to hug his friend and take away every bit of his pain. The depth of it remained in his eyes, those fathomless blue eyes that hid nothing from the world. Not as eloquent as his father nor as empathic as his aunt, Spencer said nothing as Aaron wrapped his frail arms around himself.

He followed Aaron downstairs to an open dining room situated between the kitchen and family room. Two boys sat on the couch just beyond the dining room table and played a video racing game with tiny little characters in primary colors. Steering wheels in their hands, they held them out like weapons, crashing into each other on particularly wild turns. Their smiles and silent laughter made Spencer envious.

He turned to watch Aaron help his mother set up platters of hamburger patties, packages of buns, a bowl of fries, and a load of other serving dishes on an island in the center of the kitchen. It looked like a tiny buffet, with plates and silverware on the counter across from it. Spencer saw Aaron’s mother call the other two boys for dinner just as their father, who looked remarkably like an older Aaron, came into the room.

“You must be Spencer. Aaron has told us so much about you,” he said as he held out his hand. Spencer took it tentatively and had to swallow hard before he answered. Meeting this many new people in one day made his fucking skin crawl.

“It. Is. Very. Nice. To. Meet. You.,” Spencer repeated, just as he had with Aaron’s mother, giving the minimum his aunt would allow him to get away with. He hovered in awkward silence near the table as the family milled about in the open space. Aaron’s father wandered over to grab the boys, who, heedless of their mother’s instructions, continued to play their game. His whole life, it had been just him and his father. Spencer never played sports, wasn’t in band, and had few real friends, so his house had been calm and quiet growing up. He never had the rowdiness and chaos of three boys and two active parents. He wondered what it was like.

A hand touched his arm, and he jerked from his thoughts.

“Here, honey, just fill this right up and take a seat next to Aaron,” Mrs. Downing said as she handed him a plate. He looked over to see Aaron drop into a chair on the far side of the table with a plate half full of food. A harsh growl rumbled through his stomach, and he wondered briefly if Aaron’s mother heard it. In his family, cookouts were reserved for family get-togethers and Dad’s professional friends. They didn’t even own a grill. Spencer took the plate over to the island, which nearly overflowed with food, and began to fill it.

“It’s good to see a boy with a healthy appetite,” Aaron’s mother said after tapping him on the arm to get his attention. He could tell by the way she looked at her son that the comment was more directed at Aaron than at him. Aaron glanced up at the comment but didn’t say anything. The pain still lingering in his eyes from their earlier conversation tore at Spencer. Carrying his plate carefully with both hands, he set it down at the place next to Aaron on the far side of the table.

“There are drinks in the refrigerator. Take whatever you want,” Aaron told him as he looked up briefly from his plate to make sure Spencer could see his mouth. Aaron’s brothers and father came in from the other room, and Spencer squeezed in around them to grab the first soda he could from the refrigerator. The shorter boy elbowed the taller one in the ribs and said something Spencer didn’t catch, but the older boy moved out of his way with an apologetic grin. The camaraderie between them made his heart ache for Aaron, who sat alone at the table.

He sat next to Aaron and pulled his plate closer just to keep an arm from going around his friend, who looked so lost Spencer couldn’t bear to see it.

“Hey, Spencer, are you….” The rest of the older boy’s statement was lost to Spencer as he crammed a handful of french fries into his mouth. He looked at Aaron, who studied his food like he had an exam on it later that night.

“Allen, for God’s sake, swallow before you talk,” Mrs. Downing said after setting her plate at one of the heads of the table. Mr. Downing put his plate at the other and affectionately bumped his middle son on the head with his hand.