Authors: J.P. Barnaby
Aaron (7 page)
“Okay,” he replied, without even a moment’s hesitation. If his parents were giving him another chance to stay in their lives, he’d grab onto it with both hands. If college would make them happy, he’d at least give it a shot rather than ending up in a completely different kind of institution.
“Okay? Just like that?” she asked, and her tone turned a bit wary, like she was waiting for the catch, the punch line of his joke. Her face softened when he nodded.
“I’m not sure that’s something you want to do. Degrees like that are pointless because employers discount them. Maybe you could look into that extension of ITM over in Donner,” she countered, and Aaron could hear the determination in her voice.
“Any degree is going to be pointless, Mom.” The fight had gone out of his voice, but so had any hope. Aaron wanted to argue, wanted to remind her about the panic attacks he got just by leaving the house. He wanted to question her about how he was supposed to function in a classroom full of people, or hold down any kind of job. He wanted to explain to her how useless he was as a person, but the words died in his throat. None of his well-reasoned arguments would be anything new to her. She knew them all, and she could use every one of them against him as a reason to send him away. So instead, he said nothing. He’d figure out how to survive in a classroom with a hundred other people, staring at him, judging him, making him feel worthless.
With one sharp nod, he accepted his fate, rose and trudged up the familiar path to his room. Nothing would be gained by putting off the inevitable. Rather than simply lying on the bed listening to music like he did most days, Aaron grabbed his rarely used laptop from the desk and balanced it on his lap as he sat back against the headboard. The website for ITM, Institute for Technology and Manufacturing, had a wealth of information in a clean, well-managed, and organized page. It was the only type of school in the area that would be considered a trade school or junior college. Two years ago, before his life ended, Aaron was looking at schools like Stanford or UCLA, but those dreams were gone.
Clicking on
Programs
, he looked through the offerings to see what his options were. Information Technology had the largest list, with degrees in networking, programming, security, forensics, and a host of other geeky proclivities. Also listed were degrees in business, electronics technology, drafting and design, criminal justice, and apparently to round things out, health services. Out of habit, Aaron read through the criminal justice list with a pang of regret. In high school, he’d wanted to be a lawyer, like his father. Working toward that career, he’d gotten involved in political campaigns, joined debate, and sometimes helped his father do research for a case. But that wasn’t his life anymore. No way would he be able to stand in front of a courtroom and be confident or articulate like his father. At this point, he needed to work with what he had left.
Starting with Information Technology, he scanned the different opportunities, searching for one that would allow him the comfort of isolation. Networking, mobile communications, project management, they all sounded like group type settings. Instead, he moved down to the Associate Degree programs. Maybe he should start smaller. More than one shrink had used the phrase “baby steps” with him. He fucking hated that term. They had no concept of what it meant to increment your life by inches.
He clicked on the software development associate degree and read the description. Yes, he liked to solve puzzles, or at least he used to. Yes, he liked computers, as well as anyone else. He felt comfortable with them, more comfortable than he did with people, anyway. Computers didn’t stare at your scars or give you looks of pity and disgust. They couldn’t burn you or destroy your soul. He read through the rest of the description and decided that it sounded just as good to him as anything else would. With grim determination, he clicked the
Apply Now
button and filled in the form.
When he received the response, he read through it briefly, feeling the sweat bead on the back of his neck. They would be sending him a brochure for the college, and wanted to schedule a campus tour. They’d be calling to talk to him. They wanted to meet with him. Forwarding the email to his mother, he slammed the computer closed and all but threw it onto his desk. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. His breathing came in sharp, pained gasps as he rolled to his side and pulled his knees up. Curled like a baby, he stared at the wall and tried not to think about what would come next.
Just because he applied, that didn’t mean he had to go.
Until it did.
Just as she took care of everything else in his life, Aaron’s mother handled everything with ITM. She met with the dean to explain about Aaron’s issues. She met with his instructor to give him an idea of what having him in class would mean. She didn’t accept the dean’s recommendation that maybe Aaron should wait before attending college. His class was scheduled, paperwork was completed, tuition was paid, and throughout the process, Aaron sat idly by and watched his life being lived without him.
As Aaron sat ordering his textbooks for the new semester, the one thing his mother let him do alone, he wondered why in the hell he couldn’t just take classes online. He could register online, buy his books online, even turn in homework online—it was a fucking computer degree, and yet he couldn’t take classes online. He’d signed up for only one of the recommended four courses.
Baby steps.
After talking it over with his mother, they decided to wait on taking English and public speaking. English frustrated the hell out of Aaron, and his mother planned to talk to the dean about public speaking. They were sure when they explained the magnitude of Aaron’s discomfort, the school would let him take a different elective. It would take him much longer than two years to graduate at that rate, but degree or no degree, he doubted that he would ever be high functioning enough to hold down a job. Most of the time, he was barely able to make it to dinner.
Entering the credit card number that his mother had given him for the books, Aaron set the pick-up date for the Friday before classes started. His mom could take him over to the college. Even in his diminished capacity, he should still be able to walk into the bookstore and pick up a bag. Vaguely, as he clicked the order button on the badly designed bookstore site, he wondered if he would be the only student on campus whose mother chauffeured him to and from school. After a moment of deliberation, he printed the receipt and decided that he probably would.
Shivering lightly in the late night breeze, he closed and locked the sliding glass door and grabbed one of the throws from the back of the couch. Carefully, he laid it across his father’s legs and brought it up over the man’s chest. His father merely grunted and slept on. With a heavy sigh, Spencer went up to his room and pulled out his new laptop. Memories from his encounter with the delivery guy flooded his mind and made his cock begin to fill. They were marred only marginally by the delivery boy’s post-sex behavior, but he could look past that and remember what being inside the boy had felt like.
Bringing up his favorite Twitter app, he watched his timeline for a few minutes to see who else was up who could distract him from worrying about his father. He talked to people all over the world in a dozen different time zones. Having friends on Twitter was easier than having them in real life. He didn’t have to tell them he was deaf. He didn’t have to see the fucking pity in their eyes. He could simply be Spencer, and that was okay. Talking to guys and flirting with them online was safe—it wasn’t like he’d ever see them. Fucking guys over Twitter had turned into his escape.
ikr? WTF? I’m sick of hearing str8 guys going on and on about pussy. #Unfollow
I’m so bored
Doing an insanely hot three way with this mega fucking stud and his boyfriend
Hey @Spence9876 Where the fuck have you been?
Spencer clicked the link to switch the page to his private messages, and sure enough, there was one from @BottomBoi asking him to Skype, and it pissed him off. He’d already explained about a dozen times that he didn’t want to talk to him over Skype. The kid thought he would be getting great video chat sex. All he’d get was fucking silence and maybe a video to jack off to.
It was an excuse he’d used over and over again, but one that seemed to work. Well, except with @BottomBoi, who offered to ship him a brand new computer headset so they could talk. God, if the guy only knew what he was asking, he’d shut the fuck up. One day soon, he’d just give up and unfollow Spencer, who couldn’t wait for that day.
@Spence9876 No prob man. Wanna chat?
Mark, whoever he was, understood that Spencer didn’t Skype. He’d asked once, and when Spencer refused, he hadn’t asked again. Instead, they’d gone onto chat and talked there privately. It was faster and more reliable than the private messaging system in Twitter.
@Mark4873 Yeah, logging on now.
He brought up the chat window and minimized Twitter, no longer in the mood to deal with BottomBoi and his neediness. Besides, Mark was always fun inspiration for a late-night hand fuck. Just to be safe, he got up and locked his bedroom door as Mark’s first message popped up on his screen.
Spencer leaned back in his desk chair and popped the button on his jeans. He might not be able to talk a guy to orgasm, but he could certainly share some hot come shots. A few videos might reside on his phone, too, but he felt reasonably sure his password would save him from curious eyes. He hadn’t been brave enough to send one of those out. A still shot he could argue he’d gotten from the Internet and shared. A video taken on his phone was another story.
