I carried a paper bag in one hand as I speedily walked home. I felt so anxious. I didn't stop even when Tom stepped out of the shadows to walk beside me, pulling out and lighting up a cigarette simultaneously. He was keeping up with my pace, so I didn't bother to tell him off.

"What's your mother gon’ say?" Tom asked with his voice slightly muffled by the fag pinched between his teeth.

"Nothing good," I hastily replied.

"Well, for what it's worth, I had fun," he shrugged.

I chuckled a bit, "I know you had fun, but my mother has been waiting on her soup for how long? 3 hours? I don't think it takes that long to buy ingredients."

He looked at me from the side of his eyes and grinned slightly. He caught my arm and pulled me against him, causing me to drop the bag. We stumbled a bit until Thomas's back was pressed against the ridged bricks. He blew a puff of smoke in my face, and I scrunched up my nose from the lack of clean air.

"You're so fucking handsome," he whispered.

I looked him up and down, eyeing his delicious body. It was very tempting to just kiss him and forget about the food, but I knew better. So, as much as I wanted to stay the night and do some other things with him for the third or fourth time that day, I wasn’t going to. I had to feed my mother, despite how much I hated her.

I pushed off of Tom and picked my bag back up. I got my pace back eventually, but Tom's footsteps never followed behind me. Instead, when I looked behind me, he was still leaned against the wall, cigarette in hand. I smiled at him as I looked back, but he didn’t notice my gaze. He just stared off into the distance at the street around him. My thoughts drifted back to what Tom said to me, “You’re so fucking handsome.”

I blushed and smiled to myself as I headed back home.

If I end up in prison, at least it'll be with him.

After I got back, I immediately started working on the food, and when I was finished, I poured the steaming soup into a bowl at the kitchen stove. I carried it carefully into my mother’s quarters, smiled at her as I entered. I sat down on a stool on the side of her bed that she was propped up on. I spoon-fed her some soup for a bit before she started a conversation.

"Tell me where you went," she demanded to know.

"No,” I responded simply.

"I bet you were fooling around with the Fery boy," she scoffed.

"I'm not a homosexual."

"Mr. Sinclair, the neighbor across the hall, wasn't a homosexual either, but he is doing the butler,” she countered with precision.

I looked at her in shock for a second then shook my head, trying to get the horrid images of that relationship out of my head. "Not the same,” I sighed irritably.

My mother clicked her tongue dismissively. "Then I guess you won't mind meeting your new fiancée."

"Okay," I muttered while handing the soup to my mother. Then, I realized exactly what she had said. I dropped the bowl. It and its contents fell to the floor of her bedroom.

"What's wrong, dear? Do you not want to meet her before you get married? I can have that arranged actually,” she tried to provoke me.

I turned to her to start listing off excuses as to why I couldn’t marry, but I found that I really had none except that I wasn’t interested in women. It felt like a bad dream. I had just gotten Tom in my hands. He was mine, and I was his, but then the bitch had to go and arrange a fucking marriage!

The puddle of soup began to seep through the seams of my leather shoes. I couldn't bring myself to move though, for I was in shock. Ma stared at me expectantly, waiting for a reply that was never going to come. Or if one did come, she wasn’t going to like it very much at all.

Before I could say anything compromising, I briskly walked out of her room and into mine. All the while, I could hear her calling my name, but that didn't mean much seeing as I was too far out of it to even comprehend that the noises coming out of the hag's mouth was the series of syllables specifically designed to get my attention and label me. Well, those syllables must have been constructed improperly because I did not once even think about answering her calls. I had only two things on my mind:

1) How do I obtain a bottle of cyanide?

2) Where is that wonderful man whose syllables sound awful like Thomas?

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

I felt his lips travel up my inner thigh, getting closer and closer to the only place I wanted him to touch. "T-Thomas," I whispered.

I reached my hands out to the back of his head to grip his hair, but what I found was long and silky. I looked up and saw Thomas transforming into a young woman. I pushed her away and pulled up my pants hastily. I tried to run away, but it seemed like she followed me no matter how far I went. She was coming after me, screaming, “Just say I do!”

I woke up in a cold sweat, soaking the sheets below me. I cringed and picked up my hands, disgusted by the sheets.

Great! Now, besides having to go see Thomas, I have to change my sheets too.

It's not that I didn't want to see Thomas (because I did), but I knew what would accompany trying to talk to him. Again, it’s not that I didn’t like what came with a simple conversation; it was that I wanted just that: a simple conversation. I didn’t want any strings attached for once. I just wanted to talk with him.

I got out of bed and got dressed. Then, I went for the front door, but as I opened it, the witch screamed out my name.

I rolled my eyes and paused. “What!”

“You better not be going to see your little bitch, Timothy or something,” she yelled back harshly.

“It doesn’t matter what you say; I’m still going,” I told her.

Boy, the neighbors must think so highly of us, I thought, walking out and slamming the door behind me. I was immediately greeted with the smell of fresh smoke and the sound of his smooth voice.

“I guess I’m Timothy or something?”

I pinched the top of my nose and hung my head. “You heard that?”

Tom came up to me and wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing at my ear. “Every word. I’m more than just a bitch, right?”

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” I chuckled.

He moved to my side and put his arm around my neck, leading me down the stairs and into the lobby where a lady in a satin dress and a tight corset sat patiently in a chair. She eyed me very carefully as we moved across the floor. When Tom noticed her, his smile dropped, and his arm fell from my shoulders to snake around my waist. I jumped at his touch before remembering that it would seem like a friendly act to others and not like the sexual intentions Tom had.

Thomas started walking a little faster through the lobby as if to get away from the woman, and I soon saw why. She got up from her chair and practically started gliding toward us. She was more of a mirage than a clumsy human.

"John Mark?” she asked in a high-pitched voice. It wasn’t annoying though; it was more … angelic.

I grabbed Tom’s shirt to stop him from going any farther. “That would be me,” I replied.

She suddenly flew up to me and embraced me, making me drop my hand from my grip on Tom.

"Hello, my name is Martha. I'm your fiancée. My family immigrated here from Germany. I am sorry if I seem too forward. I am only slightly aware of your culture here. I have only heard that Americans greet each other with hugs,” she burst.

I gave her a shocked look at her enthusiasm and threw a concerned one to Thomas, who was turning quite green with envy.

Then, before I could stop him, Thomas spoke, pulling me closer territorially, "I think you are mistaken, John is in a relationship already."

"What? I am confused. I was told John was looking for a wife. Am I mistaken?" Martha sounded like a lost dog.

"Ye—" Thomas started, but I cut him off with a nervous laugh.

"No, my mother arranged for us to be wed. You are not mistaken. I am your fiancé. We will talk about wedding plans shortly. I have some, um, errands to run with my dear friend first," I lied through my teeth. The fake smile hurt my face.

She beamed and thanked me before she went her way whilst waving wildly at me.

Dead silence fell upon her absence. Thomas just searched space, trying to put things together, and I was trying to find a way to explain before he got too angry.

I sighed, breaking the tension, "It's not what it seems. I—"

"Not what it seems? Do you think I'm dumb? I think I know what you mean now. I'm just a bitch, a side course, while you're working on the main meal. Whoop-di-do, evening special: Teuton, hot and fresh out of the boat," Thomas barked. With every word, it seemed he got angrier and louder.

I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close to me. He tried to yank himself away, but I refused to let go.

"Tom, listen to me. The witch arranged a marriage. I didn't want this. Calm down, you're not a side dish, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. I was joking earlier. You're not just my bitch. Just calm the fuck down,” I scowled.

I felt him relax a bit, but he was still fuming.

"Why didn't you tell me, then?” he complained.

"I only found out last night. That's why I left the house; I needed to talk to you," I reasoned.

"Oh," Thomas mumbled, his face falling in shame. I couldn't tell if it made me want to hurl or hold him. Jealousy was not a good look on him.

“Drinks?” he asked hesitantly as if he’d understand if I said ‘no’.

I was unsure at first, but I found myself nodding my head anyway.

He smiled a bit wider, and his dimple appeared. I couldn’t restrain myself from pulling his head down and crushing his lips into mine.

"That goddamn dimple gets me every time,” I huffed. “It holds unreasonable power over me.”

"I don't have a dimple," he claimed, sounding confused.

"Think again, Tom," I hummed.

He touched his face tentatively. "Do I really?"

I laughed and walked out the front door. It took Thomas a moment to realize I had left, and he had to run to catch up to me. I saw him light up a cigarette between his teeth as he walked beside me in comfortable silence. Despite only have been there once before, I seemed to have had the route to Pen Ink's memorized perfectly. I wonder why that is.

I glanced over at Thomas and noticed how short the cigarette was becoming, so before it could get any shorter, I reached up and pulled it from between his lips. Thomas looked startled and very confused. Then, he saw me place the butt in my mouth and take a drag, but his confusion did not melt away.

"I thought you hated smoking."

"Whoever said that," I replied. It tasted refined and like, well, smoke. It was calming too. Most importantly, it tasted like Tom, and that's all I wanted.

"I don't know. You always look repulsed when you smell it. I try to not smoke when you’re around, but you make me too nervous," he countered, scratching the back of his neck.

I took another drag and thought about what he said. He noticed? I make him nervous?

Just before we reached the bar entrance, I blurted out, "How about we skip the drinks and head to your place?"

His reaction was possibly the most mesmerizing thing in the world. I've never seen a man so happy in my life. When presented with the offer of sex, Thomas acted how a child acts when given candy, overexcited and fanatical. And crazy. He was a bit of a madman when he was in the mood. This time was absolutely no different.

Thomas suddenly pulled me against him, making me drop the cigarette. Then, he leaned into my ear. "First you have to tell me you want me. Tell me it's only me,” he purred.

I sighed, "It's only you." I sounded bored and tired, but he seemed to accept it. I wanted one thing, and he was pulling a shit-show. It seemed like some overbearing maiden's novel.

"And the second part?” he whispered suggestively. He was so close that I could feel him biting his lip.

I didn't want to say it. It was too embarrassing. He should know that already. I don't want to have to say it. We are two men after all.

He pulled me closer if that was even possible. "Say it."

I turned my head away from him, realizing that he wasn’t going to give this up. I sighed in defeat. 

"Iwan'chuan'you'retheonlyone,” I slurred together quickly.

Thomas nibbled my ear. "I couldn't hear you, John."

I shivered at my name as a blush spread across my cheeks. "I-I w-want you. You're the only one."

Suddenly, I was swept off my feet and thrown over Tom's shoulder. He carried me all the way down the street like that despite my struggling and kicking. By the time we got to his house, I had worn myself out, but that didn’t matter; he did not fail to make me scream what I had been too ashamed to even say before.

Lust does strange things to people. It makes you shameless. Until afterward.

Afterward is just awkward.