Date: Sun, 28 Jul 2019 14:40:04 +0200
From: Ryan White <liciousryan@gmail.com>
Subject: Austin and Ricky

WHAT UP GUYS!?! It's your boy Ryan!

I have taken a bit of a hiatus from writing. Writer's block is a
bitch. When you sit in front of your laptop and NOTHING comes to
mind. Urgh.

You might remember me from stories such as OFF LIMITS and LOVE HAS NO
GENDER. I hope you enjoy this one as well.

I dedicate this story to my fellow South Africans, especially Capetonians.
It is set in rural Cape Town, inside it's gang invested areas.

I absolutely love chatting to my readers!! Please feel free to email me ;)

liciousryan@gmail.com

Peace always,
Ryan xx


AUSTIN AND RICKY
CHAPTER ONE

"Have a good day, Austin! Say hi to Victor from me! Oh, and tell him happy
birthday from all of us!"

"Will do, Leyla, thanks!"

I grabbed the bag of MacDonald's and left the store. I smiled as I checked
thoroughly that everything was fine with the contents outside the store, if
that Leyla had in fact gotten my order correctly. Nothing could go wrong
tonight. Everything had to be absolutely perfect. Spot on, if possible. You
simply don't get a second chance to do, what I had taken up the courage to
do, later on tonight.

I clasped my jacket tightly around me as a shiver ran through my body. Long
walk home. We didn't own a car, and I didn't have enough on me for a
taxi. I clutched the bag of warm food to me, and started my journey
homeward. It was freezing cold in the middle of the South African
winter. Rain was pouring down severely and the wind was a total bitch. Cape
Town, especially, was well known for it's glaciate temperatures during the
month of July. I wanted to get home as quick as possible. I haven't seen
Victor all day, exactly what I had planned for over a week now. He had no
idea I had taken off work early and I was in reality, coming home a full
two hours before I usually do.

I never take off work. Not even when I'm ill. I simply couldn't afford
to. We needed every cent we could scrape together.

However, that doesn't worry me. In the slightest. Not when I was about to
ask the man I loved most in this world, to marry me.

I smirked. Whilst I told him I was doing double shifts nearly every day for
about two-and-a-half months, without even taking my leave days that I was
entitled to, because I was saving for a heater, he had no idea, that I was
actually putting money away to buy him the most beautiful gold-plated
engagement ring I could possibly find. The moment I saw it in the pawn shop
so many weeks ago, I knew it was a sure sign.

I knew that I loved him and he loved me, and even though he was unemployed,
struggling desperately to get a job in this recession, I knew, he was my
guy, my person, my soulmate... the man I was going to marry.

Sounds ludicrous at the tender age of twenty-one, doesn't it? Well...not
when you have been through what Victor and I had been. He was my sponsor,
at our AA meetings, where we had first met. He was there for me in a time
where I would have sold my own mother for a drop of booze. When times got
tough, and boy, there were times where I was a bastard in my drunken
stupors, he was always there. Only a mere phone call away. Always ready to
talk, to comfort me, to crack a smile as I was shaking, craving alcohol so
badly, that Victor had to fucking cuff me to my bed during one particular
bad drunken episode.

Eventually, I didn't need booze anymore. Eventually, the lust, the
desperate wanting of that dangerous liquid life slipped away. Victor
however, stayed in my life. We fell in love, who would have thought. That
his unbelievable and non stop support and dedication during my struggle to
get sober, would result in us both developing feelings for the other.

Alcohol was out of my life for two years now, but Victor came and he stuck
around. It was me that made the bold move to have us take the step to move
in together. We shared what little finances there was, shared an open
planned apartment, where everything, including the bed and kitchen were in
the same cramped space. We didn't care. We had each other.

Victor though, was laid off from his job as a cleaner a few months ago. He
was trying with all his might to find work, but without Grade 12 to his
name, at least, nor any qualifications, finding employment was hard. My job
at the local MacDonald's, including the tips I earned, paid what few bills
we could afford to have. I didn't care that I had to provide for Victor. He
hated it, of course, and many a night my guy fell asleep crying in our bed
because of it.

I would simply caress his arm and shoulder, occasionally run my fingers
through his hair, cup his face, and quietly whisper to him, that everything
was going to be fine. That I loved him. He would kiss the palm of my hand,
stare into my eyes, and rest his head on my chest. Asleep within minutes,
the tears streaked across his cheeks, still very much visible.

Our love was stronger than our poverty. Much. As long as we had each other,
we didn't need anything else.

I was getting near close to our apartment building. Lord knows we were
lucky it hadn't fallen apart yet. It had to be older than the fucking
Titanic. More run down even. Oh well. I wish I was kidding. Haha!

My hands were icy cold, it was a struggle to even get them active. I gently
placed our food down, and unlocked the front gate. Gathering the by now,
wet paper bag, I walked towards the front door of the building and buzzed
in our apartment intercom. Victor had to be home, he had no interviews
scheduled for today. And where would he go in this horrible weather? I
really needed help with getting inside, I was soaked to the skin and I
didn't want our food to get more drenched than it already was.

No reply from inside the apartment. I buzzed in again, maybe he was
listening to the radio or watching TV, and couldn't hear me. I waited a few
more minutes. A thought crossed my mind...Don't tell me he went fucking job
hunting in this weather! Shit. I carefully balanced the paper bag of
MacDonald's on my arm whilst withdrawing the key from my back pocket. My
hands were shaking from the cold. They actually felt numb. It took me three
attempts to successfully unlock the door. Once inside, I started the ascend
towards our apartment, which was situated on the third floor. Needless to
say, the building didn't have an elevator.

I didn't mind. I could do with the exercise. I finally reached the third
floor and marched over to number 23. Again, I placed the bag of food on the
ground-floor, and unlocked the front door. Inside, it was even colder, if
that was at all possible. Gathering our food, I entered and placed it onto
the kitchen table. Dropped my keys onto the bed. He clearly wasn't
here. Right, lets get this started.

Not the most romantic of meals, but the two Big Mac meals I got for free at
work, would have to do. There simply wasn't money for anything else right
now. The ring inside my jacket had seen to that. I carefully placed both
burgers and fries on plates, and dipped the cold drinks from the take out
cups, into glasses. I tried my best to make the best of a weak
situation. There we go...everything was as perfect as it could be. Now, my
guy just had to get home for me to ask him the most important question I
have ever asked anyone in my life.

It was after about 90 minutes, when Victor still wasn't home, that I
started to slightly get worried. He didn't know I was getting off early, so
he had no reason in rushing home. I understood that. But I tried calling
him and his phone went automatically to voice mail. He always answered when
I rang. Always. Or at the very least, returned my call if he missed it, or
sent me a Please Call Me. He had never, ever, had his phone switched
off. He reminded me at least three times a day to make sure mine was
charged. I glanced at the clock. 16:30.

By now, I was usually on my way home. So why wasn't he here? I had no
bloody idea where he even was! Why was his phone switched off? I rubbed my
arms. They were cold as ice.

16:30 overlapped to 17:00 and then finally 17:30. By this time I was pacing
violently up and down the apartment in sheer frustration and
worry. Sticking my head outside the window every ten seconds to see if he
wasn't coming down the street on his way home.

Where the heck was Victor? And still, his phone was switched off. By then,
I had tried calling him about fifty-three times. I sat down on the bed,
that Victor had so carefully made only that morning, only to jump straight
back up when the intercom buzzed. There was someone down stairs.

Oh good God. Thank you. It was probably Victor who had simply lost his
keys. He was home. I rushed towards the intercom.

"Vic? That you?"

"Sorry, is this the apartment of Austin Jackson?"

Didn't recognise the voice. At all. It certainly wasn't Victor. My heart
sank.

"Yeah...who am I speaking to?"

"I am Sergeant Capper from Goodwood police station. I would like to speak
with you, if possible?"

What the FUCK was going on...

"Uhm, sure I guess, I'll buzz you in."

My finger left the buzzer, only for my upper chest to be enfolded inside a
dark mist. Somehow, somehow...I instinctively knew...this had something to
do with why Victor wasn't home yet.

A knock on the door woke me from my slumber. As if in a dream, I felt
myself walking over to the door, and quietly, very quietly, opening it.

A brown skinned man appeared on the other side. Overweight. Wet. Panting
from the climb. He held up his police badge as identification.

"Sergeant Brendan Capper. Goodwood police. May I come in?"

No words. I simply stood aside as he entered.

"There is no easy way to say this, Mr Jackson. I'm afraid I have sad
news..."

My heart stopped. My brain seemed not to compute.

"I dread to inform you that we found the body of Victor Valencia a couple
of hours ago..."

Silence.

"Unfortunately, it looks like a robbery gone horribly wrong..."

Numbness.

"...regret to inform you that he had multiple stab wounds across his
body..."

Please God. No.

"...understand this must be terrible news, however, we need someone to
identify Mr Valencia's body. You were listed as his next of kin."

Everything went pitch black.

I don't know how I had managed to get through the next few hours that had
followed. Jean from number 22 across, had to call her husband Robert to
carry me outside and drive me to the hospital because apparently, I
collapsed a few a seconds after receiving the news, and started shaking
violently. I have never suffered from any kind of seizures, but I guess my
brain just gave out. My body physically couldn't handle what I was told.

I found out afterwards from Jean that I was given a sedative and further
treatment at the hospital. Both Jean and Robert were fantastic in that
terrible time. Robert even offered to identify Victor's body so that I
didn't have to, but once the fog had lifted from my brain and things were
starting to make sense again, I kindly refused. This was after all, the
final thing I could do for him.

As the coroner withdrew the sheet covering Victor's lifeless body, just by
enough inches so that I could see his beautiful face one more time, I knew
my guy, my man, my person, was truly gone. Killed for his cell phone and
some spare change he had on him. His body found near the taxi rank. The
bastards left his wallet, empty on top of his body after they had stabbed
him. Inside was my details, as was his inside mine, in case anything ever
happened to either of us. This was Goodwood after all. We knew we lived in
a dangerous area. But stuff like this...it happened to OTHER people. Not to
us. Not like this.

Or so, I always thought.

Two days after it had happened, I was busy cleaning and disinfecting the
apartment, literally doing any, and everything I possibly could to get my
mind off Victor's death, when I found it. The wind must have blown it off
the bed and somehow ended up underneath without me seeing it the day he
died. A sheet of paper. The last thing Victor ever wrote.

"Babe, I'm heading out. I don't have airtime to call you and you're
probably busy working. I got a call from a job I applied for last
week. They wanna see me. If I'm not home when you are, don't worry. Taxi's
are gonna be a nightmare. I'll see you later. I love you. Hold thumbs!"

Ironic, isn't it? That it had to happen at a time in the month when there
wasn't any god damn money to top up our airtime balances. That he had to
write me this note. That I will forever have this letter. This precious
piece of paper. Money wasn't everything. And yet, he was killed because he
desperately wanted to get a job and help me out, to better our current
lives. In the end, his decision to go, cost him his.

The next few weeks flew by. I went back to work eventually, because God
knows, I couldn't sit at home staring at those four walls all day. To see
everything we as a couple had gathered since the beginning. All the
memories we created. He was literally everywhere. I could see him in the
apartment. Making coffee, making the bed, watching TV, celebrating when the
Springboks defeated the All Blacks in his favourite sport. He loved Rugby.

After about two months of living in silence, allowing no one remotely near
me, purposely avoiding being social, Jean and Robert knocked at my
door. They knew I was home, living across from me on the third floor. They
sadly told me, that they had been seriously thinking of moving for a while
now, and that Victor's death just was the stamp on the title. They couldn't
handle the gang violence in Goodwood any longer and was moving back to the
Karoo, where they originated from. I would be lying if I said I wouldn't
miss them, they were a big part of my, and Victor's lives. The ideal
neighbours you could wish for in a poverty stricken apartment block like we
lived in.

The day they left, I forced myself to saying goodbye. It felt like losing
Victor all over again. Both Jean and Robert hugged me and we exchanged
emails and WhatsApp numbers, promising each other to stay in contact. As I
waved them goodbye, their truck disappearing into the dark night of another
winter's evening, I realised I would probably be getting new neighbours.

Honestly I hadn't even thought about it. I wasn't over Victor's death by a
long shot. I was just vaguely getting to the stage of acceptance. As I
climbed the stairs to the third floor, I felt like death. I felt
lonely. So, so incredibly alone. No parents, no relatives, no
partner...just me. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I closed the door behind
me.

About a week later, I was heading home from the night shift at
work. Now...I'll admit, I wasn't looking where I was going. It was almost
07:30 in the morning and I wanted sleep off a very busy few hours at
MacDonald's. As I crossed the street towards the apartment building,
someone crashed into me with a ferocious speed. Smack bang. Blocking the
attack with my hands, I tumbled towards the ground, taking who ever I had
bumped in to, with me. As my twenty-one year old eyes regained their focus,
I saw a body lying on top of me. It was the body of a teenage boy.

Suddenly, I heard screams. Threats. Insults being cried with malicious
intent. Someone was coming towards us with a blistering speed. I managed to
manoeuvre myself from underneath the boy, when they arrived. They stopped
in their tracks when they saw the boy.

Three men. All carrying knives, and holding it threateningly out before
them. The leader, who I personally knew of...God, everyone knew these three
men around here, stepped forward.

"Walk away. Now."

My mind went blank. It was like I was reliving what Victor must have went
through before he was stabbed to death.

"Are you deaf? You wanna die?" the leader threatened yet again in a pure
Cape-gangster accent.

I glanced down at the boy, who was looking like he was about to puke. He
was frightened beyond belief. I haven't see him around here before, and I
pretty much know majority of the people in this area. The leader of the
gang came ever closer.

"Slice him, Zappa! Lets get out of here!" one of his cronies hissed.

"How much ching you got?" Zappa's eyes flashed menacingly.

I carefully withdrew my wallet and took out all the cash I had in there. It
wasn't much, about R70. I folded it neatly and handed it over, slowly.

"R70? Are you serious? Gimme your phone. You wanna fucking die, faggot? I
said gimme your phone!"

My heart in my throat, I took my phone out of my jeans and handed it
over. There were still text messages from Victor on there, that I had
saved.

Zappa seemed satisfied with the phone and lowered the knife. He pointed it
at the boy, who was still down on the ground.

"You owe me. I'll find you."

Still holding the knife out towards me, they sped off, laughing like
maniacs. I knelt down and attended to the boy. He was still shaking.

"You...you saved my life..." he whispered, his voice breaking.

"What on earth are you doing messing with people like the Roots? Zappa is a
hardcore gangster!"

"I didn't know that, did I? Me and my mom have only been here for a few
hours. He wanted my necklace. I didn't wanna give it to him. My dad gave it
to me before he died. They chased me," he said, only then, I saw the silver
plated necklace dangling from his neck.

"Welcome to Goodwood, I guess. You really shouldn't walk around here with
things like that. Is there someone I can call...fuck...my phone..."

All the photos I had of me and Victor was stored on the memory card inside
that phone. An anger so severe, so raw...built up inside me. What fucking
right did they have? I was sick and tired of the gang violence in this
area. The police didn't seem to do ANYTHING about it, and the crims seemed
to get away with EVERYTHING!

Get a grip, Austin. Don't cry in front of the child.

Only, he certainly wasn't a child. Taking a decent look at him, if I had to
guess, he was almost sixteen, brown coloured skin, so akin to the Cape Town
area. Short black hair, muscular build. He wasn't ripped, but he clearly
worked out. He was wearing t-shirt probably two sizes too small.

Not that his muscles would be much affective against three gangsters
carrying knives. All in all, a rather attractive looking dude. The girls
would love him around here.

"No need to call anyone. I live here," he said, pointing his finger towards
my apartment building.

Wait. A. Minute.

"Number 22? Third floor?"

"You psychic or something?"

I smirked.

"Nah. I live in number 23. Just a across you. Since you're new here, and
live here, it was kinda obvious. It's the only open apartment in the
building."

For the first time since this whole ordeal, he looked at me, for real. Took
me in. His eyes...I could have sworn I have seen it before. There was
something suddenly, very familiar about him. I couldn't exactly place
it. But he had just moved here, so why would it be?

"Okay, so you're my neighbour. Lekker dice. I'm Ricky. That's me."



THANKS FOR READING!!

You've probably noticed this story is called `Austin and Ricky'. Keep that
in mind :)

I wanted to set the storyline in the first chapter, so apologies for the
non sex chapter.

This is Nifty tho, so there will be ;)

Throw me an email if you want. I love chatting with you guys xx

liciousryan@gmail.com