***Please Note: This story contains scenes depicting sexual acts between men and boys. It also contains scenes depicting incestual sex. If you are under the age of 18, or if it is illegal for you to read such material in your state, please do not read further. If you are offended by this type of material, again, please do not read further.
This story is completely a work of fiction. The characters and situations in the story exist solely in the author's imagination. If you have questions, comments or suggestions regarding this story, please email me. Flames ignored.
For a list of my other stories, and info about me, go to my Website.
Copyright 2002-03 Eric Draven.
All Rights Reserved.
I awoke in Evan's arms, and I have to say that the feeling was incredible. As I shifted in the bed so that I could see his face, his arms tightened around me slightly, and I knew that he didn't want to let me go. He loved me, and I'd been an ass to him for so long. I couldn't believe that I'd let my slump affect the boy that I loved with all my heart. I made up my mind then and there that I was going to do everything I could to pull myself out of the slump I was in, so I could go back to enjoying my time with Evan.
"Morning," he said without opening his eyes.
"Morning, yourself," I replied.
"How did you sleep?" he asked, finally opening his eyes to look at me. I saw concern in those beautiful brown eyes of his, and I smiled.
"Like the dead," I replied. "It was so wonderful to sleep with you again."
"I've been here," he said simply.
"But I wasn't," I replied, looking away from him. "At least not mentally."
"Chris, I know that you need to sort things out in your head," he said. "Just don't take it out on Dad anymore. Please."
"I've been such an ass," I said. "I hope that you and Dad can forgive me."
"Nothing for me to forgive," said Evan. "You've been through a lot, and I think it would have been unnatural if you had just sprung back from all of it with no scars."
"But I could have at least tried to talk to you guys a little more," I said.
"Don't do this," he said, tightening his arms around me.
"Do what?" I asked.
"Don't go feeling guilty," he said. "You're coming back to us. If you start feeling guilty, then you'll slide back into that shell you've created."
"Do you remember what you said to me when I first said that I hated Mother?" I asked, remembering.
"Yes," he said softly. "I told you that you would turn into a person that no one would want to be around, or something like that."
"That's right," I said. "Well, I think I was getting to be that person. Evan, I thought of nothing but ways to make them pay for what they'd done to me. I hate them so much that it eats at me sometimes. It scares me."
"Are you talking about this stuff with David?" he asked me.
"We talk about everything," I said.
"Even about us?" he asked.
"Well, ok," I said. "Maybe not everything."
"Chris, I think you have a right to hate those who have hurt you when they've hurt you that way," he said. "Just be careful, and don't let that hatred drive you to do something that you will regret. You aren't the person that you fear you've become. We all still love you and love being around you."
"I love you, Evan," I said, trying not to cry.
"I love you, too," he said, kissing the top of my head.
Without talking, we both got up and got dressed. It was going to be another long day for me, and for the first time since returning to Springfield, I was sure that I could face it. I didn't want to go through another day of stares and whispers. I just wanted everyone to leave me alone.
As soon as I got downstairs, I heard someone knocking on the front door. I thought it might be someone for Evan, but when I walked up to the door, I could see James and Sheldon standing outside. At first, I didn't want to open the door. Then I thought about what Evan had said about my not being the person that I feared that I'd become.
"Morning, guys," I said, opening the door.
"Hey," said James. "I hope you don't mind that we stopped by."
"Come on in," I said, stepping aside to let them enter.
"I know how everyone found out what went on in court," said Sheldon as they passed me.
"How?" I asked, walking behind them into the kitchen. Dad and Evan were sitting at the table.
"Yes," said my father. "How?"
"Todd's mom was the court reporter," said Sheldon. "She tells him all about what happens when she's in court."
"I think I need to have a talk with the court house," said my father. "And I'm calling the school."
"How did you find this out?" I asked him.
"They live right next door to me," said Sheldon. "I'm friends with Todd's younger brother. He told me that his mom told them about court, and he asked me to tell you that he's sorry to hear about what happened."
"Tell him thank you for me," I said.
My dad talked to him for a while, and then Evan had to leave for school. His school starts an hour before mine, so we still had a little bit of time. When it was time to go to the bus stop, my dad offered to give us all a ride to school. We happily agreed, and we set off.
My dad parked down the block from the school and got out with us. He told me that he was going to talk to the principal about what was going on at school. We'd told Dad everything that had happened yesterday, and he just got even more upset about it as he drove us to school.
The whispers continued that day, even while my dad was there. Seeing what was going on, he seemed to get even more upset. He went straight to the main office, and I didn't see him for the rest of the day. I was called down to the office to talk with the principal during second hour. He told me that he would try his best to put a stop to what was going on.
I wasn't really happy to go to third hour, because I shared that class with Todd. I didn't want another run in with him. As it turned out, I didn't have to worry, though. Todd wasn't in class. I found out at lunch that Todd had been expelled from school for spreading what had gone on in court.
The rest of the day went pretty smooth, and I didn't have a run in with anyone. I was thankful for that. I met Sheldon and James at Sheldon's locker so we could walk home together. James had told me that he was living about two blocks away from me now, so we all walked together.
Later that night, I got a phone call from Khayman. I was so excited to hear from him, and we talked for over an hour. He told me about what was happening at school, and we talked about Puck for a few minutes, and then his dad told him it was time for him to get off the telephone. I promised to write to him, and he said he'd write me back when he got my address.
When Evan got home, the two of us played video games for a while in our room, and then I went back to my painting. It was still dark and forbidding, but I was starting to understand why. It was a culmination of all of the thoughts, feelings and fears that I had centering around my life in Chicago. It was hard for me to believe that my time there had been so short. It seemed like I'd been gone forever.
By the end of that week, the painting was finally finished, and I left it to dry. My dad must have looked at it, because he commented on it at dinner that Friday night. He'd taken us to a restaurant, and he told us that he had a few things that he wanted to talk to us about.
"Do you think you can tell me what the painting you were working on represents, Chris?" he asked as soon as we'd ordered our food.
"I just painted what I was feeling," I said. "I'm going to take it to my next session with David."
"What do the two of you talk about?" asked Dad.
"We talk about what happened in Chicago," I said. "We also talk about my feelings and thoughts."
"Do you think that the sessions are getting you anywhere?" he asked.
"I really do," I said after a few minutes of thinking it over. "The painting really helped me a lot, but talking with David is helping, too. I am getting a lot of things out in the open, and we discuss the things that I talk about. I like seeing David."
"I'm very happy that the sessions are going well," he said, sipping his coffee. "Its good to know that you can talk to someone."
I sat there for a few minutes, thinking about how I could have talked to Dad or Evan the whole time. It made me feel like shit to think about how worried they were about me, and I didn't even say anything to them to let them know that I was still the same old me. Kicking myself sounded like a good idea, but I remembered what Evan said.
"Dad, I'm sorry," I said just above a whisper.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," he said.
"Yes, I do," I replied. "I should have talked about how I was feeling with you. It shouldn't have taken David to make me open up."
"Chris, sometimes its just easier to talk to someone who is impartial," he said. "Talking to David about how you feel doesn't mean that you were just leaving us out in the cold. Believe me, we're both just glad that you're doing so well now. I think I even saw you smile a few times this week. That is a major improvement."
"Thank you," I said, looking at my plate of untouched food.
"I'm also glad to see that you have been hanging out with James and Sheldon," said my father. "When you first got home, you wouldn't even answer your phone calls. Now, I see James and Sheldon every morning, and that's a vast improvement."
"James and I kind of understand each other," I said simply.
"I'm sure that the two of you can definitely relate to each other now," said my father. "Just be careful, Chris. James has been hurt, too, and when he tries to show you that he understands, just listen. You don't have to do anything more than listen."
"I know," I said, looking down at my plate.
"Well, none of this is really the reason that I wanted to talk to you both," said my father quickly. "I wanted to get your opinions on something."
"What?" asked Evan, who, up until then, had remained silent.
"Well, I've met someone," my father said slowly, watching both of our faces for reactions.
"Who?" I asked.
"Well, I'm not sure that either of you know him, but he will be coming around the house from time to time," said Dad.
"Why hasn't he been around before?" asked Evan.
"Well, I wanted to make sure that the two of you were alright with it, and I wanted to warn you first," said Dad carefully.
"I don't know why you think you have to warn us about anything, Dad," I said. "This is your life, and we will accept whoever you decide to be with."
Dad looked at me for a long moment. I could tell that my statement had startled him, but I meant what I'd said. He deserved to be happy. Who were we to tell him he couldn't see someone? I was about to say something else to him when we were interrupted by Kyle.
"Hey guys," he said, walking up to our table. "Nice to see you again, Mr. Wallace. Evan. Chris, I didn't even know you were back in Springfield."
A big grin stretched across his face, and his eyes were shining. I'd forgotten just how good looking he was. His dark hair was cut short and his eyes looked like onyxes. His body was even more developed than before, and it was hard for him to hide it under his white tuxedo shirt.
"Hello, Kyle," said my father. I couldn't mistake the slight irritation in his voice.
"Hey, Kyle," said Evan.
I just sat there, staring at him. He looked so good, but I kept remembering the way he'd taunted James before I'd been taken to Chicago. I couldn't decide if I even wanted to say anything to him. He hadn't done anything to me. He was the first guy that I'd ever had any kind of sexual contact with, and remembering that first time, I felt my dick getting hard in my pants.
"Hi, Kyle," I said, trying to smile.
"It's nice to see you again, Chris," he said, smiling at me. "I can't stay. I'm working. Talk to you all later."
With that, he was gone, and I just stared after him for a few minutes. No one said anything. I think that Kyle's interruption had spoiled the moment for us. I know he'd definitely given me a few things to think about. I just hoped that I would be able to get that smile and those eyes out of my head.
"Chris," said my father, drawing my attention back to the table. "What you said caught me off guard."
"Well," I said. "You don't need my permission to do anything, Dad. I'm happy for you as long as you're happy."
"Its just so shocking to hear you say something like this after . . ." He trailed off. I knew what he was going to say, and I wanted to kick myself all over again. I had really been an ass to him.
"Dad, I'm sorry for the past few weeks," I said. "I promise that I'm trying to do better, and I meant what I said."
"I know you're trying," he said. "I'm not faulting you for reacting to what you've been through, Chris. I just want you to be happy, and I don't know what it is that will make you happy again."
"I'm trying, Dad," I said again.
"Tell us about the guy you're seeing," said Evan, trying to redirect the conversation.
I looked over at him and gave him a small smile of gratitude. The conversation was headed into very uncomfortable territory. I wasn't ready to talk it all out just yet. Evan knew that, and he was trying to save me. Dad didn't mean to pry, I'm sure, but he just couldn't understand that I wouldn't be able to talk about what I felt until I was ready.
"Well, his name is Clint," said my father, smiling. "I met him a few months ago."
"Months!" cried Evan a little louder than I think he'd intended. "Why haven't you told me about him?"
"Well," said Dad slowly. "I wanted to be sure of where the relationship was heading before I just told you all about him."
"And where do you think its headed?" I asked.
"Well, we've talked about it, and we've decided to become exclusive," he said, looking at me.
"That's great," I said. "When do we meet him?"
"Well, let me tell you how I met him," he said, smiling again. "First of all, I sold one of your paintings, Chris."
He looked at me strangely. I think he was waiting for my reaction to the fact that he'd sold one of my paintings. I don't think that registered with me at first. I was silent for a minute, but then it hit me. He'd sold one of my paintings. I hadn't ever really thought about selling any of them. I guess I'd just thought that no one would want to buy them.
"How much did you sell it for?" I asked.
"Three thousand dollars," he said, still eyeing me carefully. "I placed the money into an account for you."
"Three thousand," I said slowly. "You mean that someone paid that much for one of my paintings?"
I was stunned. I wasn't upset with him for selling one of my paintings. I just never imagined in a million years that anyone would buy one. I never would have thought that someone would buy one for that much. I couldn't believe it.
"Yes," he said. "They also would like to see some of your other work."
"You mean you want to set him up with a showing?" asked Evan. "In a gallery?"
"Well, yes," he said. "I approached a few of the galleries here in Springfield. I took along a few of the paintings, and both galleries were interested. They were very shocked to learn that both paintings were painted by my fourteen year old son, though."
"But they liked what they saw anyway, right?" asked Evan excitedly.
"Yes, they did," said my father, looking at me again.
"What?" I asked after we had all been silent for a few minutes, and he kept looking at me.
"Do you want to put together a show?" he asked.
"I don't know," I replied, wiping the smiles off both of their faces. "I don't have a lot of paintings."
"You have seven in my office," said Dad. "There are six on your bedroom walls, two in the living room and one in the kitchen. That's sixteen. And if we count the one you just finished . . ."
"No," I said quickly. "That one is private."
"Alright," he said, eyeing me strangely again. "You have sixteen paintings to show."
"I don't know," I said, thinking about all of the paintings in the house. They were fine for the house, but I wasn't so sure that I wanted to put them in a show. Most of them were of Evan, and he was in various poses. A few of them were of both of us, and they might not look right.
"What's wrong with them?" asked Dad after I'd been silent for a few minutes.
"Dad, they are almost all of Evan," I said.
"Yes," he said not understanding at all.
"I think he's worried of what people might think of a few of them," said Evan, understanding perfectly.
"Well, we have a while," Dad said looking from me to Evan. "You could pick which ones you want in the show and which ones you want to keep private."
"I could paint a few more," I said absently. I was turning all of this over in my head.
"You could do that, sure," my father replied.
"I'll get right on it," I replied, happy for a task to distract me from my thoughts.
"Alright," he said. "Clint is also an artist. He does sculpture. He was having a show at one of the galleries that I checked out. That's how I met him."
"That's cool," said Evan, eyeing me. "Another artist."
"Well, that gives him familiar ground with Chris," said Dad. "But he's also really into working on his body. I thought that might be up your ally, Evan."
"So he's into weight lifting?" asked Evan.
"You should see his apartment," said Dad.
The two of them talked about Clint and his weights for the rest of the meal. I just thought about what I was going to paint for the show. I couldn't believe that my dad had shown my work to a gallery, and they wanted me to do a show there! It was like a dream come true. I'd have to call Rick and let him know when the show was going to be held. I just hoped that my dad wouldn't be upset that I called and invited him.
When we got home that night, I went straight to my canvas. Dad had told me on the way home that he would buy me a whole new set of paints, but I quickly reminded him that I already had a new set. He looked a little hurt by that, but I asked if he could get me some new canvases, and he brightened again.
I worked on my painting well into the night. By the time I was too tired to continue, you could still only see that it was a person. You could tell that it was a male, but that was about all you could tell about it. I still wasn't sure who it was that I was painting, so I didn't even know much more about it.
Evan had been watching me paint since I started, but when I crawled into bed beside him, he was asleep. He woke up enough to wrap his powerful arms around me, and then I felt sleep take me.