His bedroom was the same as ever: slightly stuffy, smelling of unwashed clothes and incense. The macramé mandala on the wall was askew, as always, and the ceramic Buddha watched gleefully from his perch on the chest of drawers. Dylan lit another stick of incense, tapped his phone, and a slow, thudding beat came out of a set of speakers.
“Get on the bed,” he said, kicking off his shoes.
Auggie sat on the bed.
Dylan grabbed the hem of his shirt and then released it. “Do you have any idea how fucking humiliating that was for me?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m tired of this, Auggie. I’m tired of living some sort of half-life because you’re not willing to commit to a real relationship with me.”
“Dylan, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care if you’re sorry. I had to stand there tonight and sound like a fucking high-schooler, talking about not putting labels on things, because you aren’t willing to be an adult. I honestly think you like it. I think you like dragging me down to your level. I think you like humiliating me.”
And a part of Auggie thought, that’s what tonight was about for you? And a part of Auggie thought that Dylan had been the one to insist on no labels—hadn’t those been Dylan’s words from the beginning?
But he said, “I don’t. I swear to God I don’t. I hate how tonight went. I hate how I fucked everything up.” His face was hot. His eyes wet. When he reached up, he found his cheeks already sticky where tear tracks had dried. “God, I ruined everything.”
“I think you should go. I don’t do drama, Auggie. I told you that from the very beginning. And you don’t want to make this thing real.”
You thought it was real enough when my hand was on your cock, Auggie thought. You thought it was real enough when you tried to face-fuck me and made me choke.
“No, Dylan, please. I’m just—I’m not ready.”
“Yeah, well, you’re never going to be ready. I guess I figured out why: you’re still hung up on Theo.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Go home, Auggie.”
“Please don’t make me go. I want this. I want to make this real.”
Dylan shook his head.
Turning himself out of his shirt was awkward in a sitting position, but Auggie managed. Then he unbuttoned his jeans, arching his back to work them down to his knees. He touched himself through his Jockeys, scratched lightly at his chest.
With an irritated grunt, Dylan pulled off his own shirt. He kicked his pants loose and stepped over to the bed to stand between Auggie’s knees. He kissed Auggie, pulling his hair hard enough that Auggie whimpered, clawing furrows into Auggie’s thigh with his free hand. Then he climbed up, straddling Auggie, pinning him against the wall. The kisses were bruising. He bit Auggie’s lip until Auggie cried out and tasted blood. His nails twisted Auggie’s nipples. Auggie recognized that this was punishment; it wasn’t nearly enough.
When he felt the capsule pressed to his lips, he opened without thinking. Dylan’s thumb rested on his throat until he swallowed.
After that, things got hazy. His skin was like fire, but it was also like light. Dylan’s mouth, wherever it touched Auggie, left a shimmering trail. Auggie was vaguely aware that his shoes and jeans were gone, and he moaned at the sensation of cotton dragging over his erection as Dylan removed his underwear. When cold air touched his skin, he reached down.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Dylan said, moving Auggie’s hands back up over his head. Auggie was on his back. He was staring up at the macramé mandala. This is a place of peace, Dylan had told him once. This is where I come to be centered. The cheap incense stunk, but Auggie could smell himself too. Something cold touched him between his legs. This is a place of peace. He flinched at the sensation of pressure, and his head thumped the wall. The mandala trembled.
“Hold on,” Auggie said in woolen voice.
Pain.
“Ow, Dylan, I said hold on. Hold the fuck on!”
He pushed with his feet, only to find that his feet were in the air, over Dylan’s shoulders.
“Calm down,” Dylan said, twisting the finger inside him.
“No, stop. Hey! Dylan, stop!”
“You’re going to like this.”
Auggie kicked him in the face. Dylan sat back, his face blank with shock, and then fell backward off the bed. Auggie slid up the mattress until his shoulders touched the wall. He tried to sit up, and the whole room tilted.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dylan shouted.
“Um, Dylan, bro,” Smash called from the kitchen. “Everything all right?”
“Fuck off,” Dylan screamed. He kept touching his nose, but as far as Auggie could tell, he wasn’t bleeding. Getting to his feet, Dylan said, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“I don’t—” The room twisted, as though the walls were made of putty, folding together and then stretching apart. “I don’t want to do that. Not yet.”
“I can’t believe I wasted so much fucking time on you. You owe me. You owe me this. Do you realize that? I’ve wasted months, wasted an entire fucking year on you.”
“I need to go. I want to go.”
“Then get the fuck out.”
Somehow, Auggie got to his feet. He had to hold on to the bed to keep himself from falling. His vision was blurred, and he couldn’t tell which clothes on the floor were his and which were Dylan’s. The incense made him want to gag.
“Do you know what you are?” Dylan said. Something soft hit Auggie in the face, and he caught it, mostly by chance. Underwear, he thought, and tried to pull them on. “You’re nothing. You’ve got nothing inside you. You’re fake.”
“Need my . . . need my pants.”
“I thought maybe you were just a kid, but you know what, Auggie? It’s even worse. You’re not just a kid. You’re going to be a kid for your whole life. You’re going to play with your stupid videos, do your stupid jokes, and the whole world is going to pass you by. Do you even know how fucked up you are? You’re a joke to everybody in the frat. People laugh when you walk by. You can’t get a boyfriend. You can’t get a hookup. You can’t even get anyone to take you seriously. And that’s all you’re ever going to be. You’re as real as one of your fucking videos. I can’t believe I wasted my time on you.”
Denim hit Auggie in the face. He caught the jeans, and somehow, he stepped into them. That was enough. He didn’t care about the rest. He wasn’t even sure he could stay on his feet, but he made it to the door and stumbled out into the kitchen. The light. The smell of old garbage. The rasp and rub of the denim against his skin. His senses were in overdrive.
Burger was standing. Smash was sitting. Both were still holding their Xbox controllers, and both were staring as Auggie stumbled past them.
Dylan came after him. “Nobody is going to put up with your kiddie shit, Auggie. You have no idea how lucky you were with me. You have no idea how patient I’ve tried to be. And then you pull this shit on me again and again. You are going to come crawling back—turn around and look at me!”