240"So, what's your name?"
"Morgan."
"Hi, Morgan."
"Hey." The smile felt stiff on his face. His throat was dry, and he could hear his heartbeat.
"Have you done this before?"
"Porn?"
"Yeah."
He shook his head. Porn hadn't been a possibility a month ago. Funny thing, because now it was the only possibility.
"Well, how do you feel knowing you're going to do it with a guy?"
Like he was backed into an inescapable corner. "I'm just here for the cash."
The director laughed. "They always are."
Morgan's Story
Morgan had been a regular kiddo at one point, had the whole baseball cap, picturesque innocence that every kid once had. He had liked running around until the street lights came on, then he knew it was time to hike it home. He stayed up late, playing too many video games and binging on Kool-Aid like it was the Blood of Christ. He ran around with his friends, terrorizing neighbors and dogs and – really – whatever he could find.
At one point, Morgan Killam had been completely normal. Then his father left.
He was twelve, just entered the sixth grade, and the leaves were the same colors as the sky when the sun was slipping below the horizon. It had been a regular Tuesday: school, home, friends until it got dark, and then back home for dinner. This time, though, his mom was on the couch, feeding Joey and Jane who were about six weeks old while dinner stewed on the stove, and his dad was at the door, lacing up his old boots with holes in the soles.
"Hey, Dad, where are you going?" Morgan asked, assuming his father was going somewhere from the two duffel bags by the door and his golden saxophone case resting on the arm of the couch.
"Business trip," Dad responded briskly, picking up the bags and standing up. He slung them over his shoulders and looked back at Mom. "Rocky, get Morgan." He turned his strikingly blue eyes upon Morgan – the ones that Joey and Jane had gotten while Morgan was left with his brown ones that looked black in almost every lighting. They were Mom's eyes.
Morgan stepped back, feeling really small. He looked over at Mom and saw that she was still breastfeeding Joey and Jane. Her face, though, was calm as she said without looking from the TV, "Morgan, baby, come watch cartoons with Mom."
But he didn't want to. Wasn't Dad going somewhere? Dad always spoke of the adventures he took when he was younger. He used to be what Mom called a "gypsy," whatever that was. All Morgan wanted was to go on an adventure with Dad. He even had his saxophone with him. Wherever they would go, at least Morgan could hear the instrument that he was quickly beginning to associate with his father.
But Dad just shook his blonde mop of a head. It didn't look like Joey and Jane's. It looked like Morgan's.
"Real helpful." He looked at Morgan, his cool eyes regarding him for a few seconds until he sighed and patted Morgan's head. "Look, Morgan, I'm, um,... going on an adventure."
Morgan grinned. "I knew it," he whispered.
Dad half-smiled, and then glanced at Mom. "But it's an adventure I have to take alone."
Though Morgan was disheartened, he understood. The adventure was probably only meant for adults, which, unfortunately, Morgan was not. But that was OK. It just meant Morgan got to be the man of the house until Dad returned. He could do that.
"That's OK, Dad."
Dad looked surprised. "Really?" Again, he glanced at Mom.
Morgan nodded. "Yeah. I'll just have to be the dad until you come back, right?"
Dad hesitated.
"And," Morgan continued, and this time he looked back at Mom, too. When he saw his mother looking at him kind of sadly, he smiled to try to make her feel better. She probably was sad Dad was going on an adventure, too. "I'll just have to come home earlier from playing with my friends and do the dishes more. Right?"
Dad gulped. He looked kind of slumped, like some invisible person was pressing down on his shoulders. There were purple shadows under his eyes and the lines in his face seemed deeper. But still he smiled, though it looked stretched and painful, and said, "That's right, baby."
Morgan felt a swell of pride in his chest. He puffed out and grinned. "When are you coming back, Dad? My friends are going to be really mad at you now that I can't play until dark anymore. I'll have to tell them when you come back so they know when I can stay out longer again."
"I um... Well, it's going to be a while. A long while actually."
"Like how long?"
Dad looked at Mom, and this time he continued to stare. When Morgan looked back, he saw her looking at Joey and Jane, the sad look that was on her face still there, but this time, it was even sadder.
"A long time," Dad admitted. Morgan looked back at him and saw him look at the ground. "And that's all you need to know."
Morgan felt like he'd been slapped. Had he made Dad angry somehow? Maybe he shouldn't have asked what he had. He hated making adults angry, especially his father, whom he looked up to more so than anyone else in the world. So, he looked down and apologized.
After a few seconds, a large soft hand patted his head. Morgan looked at his father and saw him smiling wanly. But a smile was a smile, and that meant his dad wasn't angry at him. He beamed and watched Dad stand up with his bags, grab the saxophone case, and open the door.
"Promise you'll be back soon, Dad?"
Dad stopped, and Morgan watched him just like that. Messy blonde hair, leather jacket, and faded blue jeans. Two duffel bags on each shoulder, a golden saxophone case in his right hand, and his broad, broad back.
"Do you promise?"
He continued to stand in the doorway, and the smell of cat pee was drifting into the apartment from the hallway outside. It mixed with Dad's menthol scent, and Morgan remembered to commit it to memory for when he missed his father.
"Just take care of your mother, Morgan. The twins too." Then, he shut the door on Morgan's smiling face.
Morgan did as he was told, skipping out on playing with friends because Mom and the twins needed him. And they kept needing him the day after, and the day after that, and the day after that.
Dad had never returned from his adventure, and it took Morgan far too long to realize that this "adventure" he was journeying was permanent.
No one had ever expected anything from Morgan but tragedy. Or failure. Or sometimes the mixture of the two. Whatever beautifully dark concoction people boiled up, well, he was ready to make it happen, mostly because he was destined to come across it sometime. So might as well get it out of the way as soon as soon as possible and move onto the next Shakespearean tale of woe.
Yes, Morgan was a sob story that hid under a hardened shell of solemn broodiness and the occasional bout of sarcasm when provoked. Eight years of fatherless journeys through puberty took a toll on a man, especially if that man had to deal with his mother's imprisonment, his deaf-mute grandmother's inevitable silence, and one particular evil caseworker assigned to his twin siblings' foster case.
Not exactly ABC Family worthy, but still. Maybe HBO. Yeah, HBO would probably take his story.
As a gloomy teenager, it was a surprise Morgan even graduated. His grades sucked, he did absolutely zero sports or extracurricular activities, and was absent more times than not. Not that anyone ever tried to change his behaviors. They all just figured he was a good kid gone bad because of daddy's escape. But it was just an assumption. It didn't have any real merit because what people failed to realize was that Morgan had always been bad in school, mostly because he hated school. He didn't have ambitions or goals, just wanted to work somewhere and make decent money. That didn't involve getting good grades or getting scholarships.
But it didn't stop the PTA or the principle from believing what they wanted so they could gossip and start rumors to season their juicy steak of real-life soap opera land.
Morgan never corrected them though, and neither did the twins or their mom. The Killam's simply didn't care what people had to say about them. Their hardships were long and detailed and certainly had no room for baseless gossip. They minded their own even if everyone else didn't. It was how they coped. Trying to defend their honor would only be more stressful, something they really couldn't afford.
That was that, wasn't it? People would continue to talk behind his back, saying things like:
"Oh, he was such a good kid when his dad was around."
"I feel sorry for him. His father was such a deadbeat, and he's old enough to remember it too!"
"I don't know how his mother does it. Not only does she have to deal with his problems, but did you hear about the twins? Their absolute geniuses. Must be hard having a kid who is so... educationally inept, and then having two other ones who are even smarter than yourself."
That was only skimming the surface of the things people said about him. And, yeah, OK, if he was being honest, their words hurt. He really did love his father, you know. When he was around, Dad was always so nice and funny and personable. He'd play his saxophone and dance around with Mom who – at the time – always had a smile on her glowing, youthful face. Yeah, he was a good guy, then, and when people called him a lowlife or a deadbeat, it was like a rusty steak knife deep in the gut, twisting and pulling. Because they didn't know Dad like Morgan did, so why did they talk like they knew him?
Now, don't get him wrong. His father was the biggest piece of shit the moment he stepped out of that door when Morgan was twelve. Before that: great guy. After: lower than the bacteria. Yeah, when Morgan suddenly realized on a rainy day in March that his dad was never going to come back, something that had been bundling inside his chest that he had been purposefully ignoring finally popped.
Enter the big Personality Change. He stomped out of his room where Mom was cleaning the kitchen and stated angrily and simply, "That fucking asshole isn't coming back is he?"
His mother was astounded. She placed the rag she had been using to wipe the counters down and turned to him, hands on hips in the universal, Hulk-like "Mother mad" stance. "Morgan Killam, what the hell did you just say?"
Morgan was unfazed by the warning tone sizzling in her voice. He stood in the living room with fists clenched as his feet felt like they were permanently stuck to the carpet. He spat with all the angry, fatherless-child venom he could muster, "Dad – he's gone, isn't he? That fucker left us and that's why he didn't promise he'd come back when I asked him."
Mom's anger had flushed away and she stood in the kitchen looking small and weak and pale. Her usual glow had faded, and in its place was a lackluster shell of the mom he once knew. And if all the confirmation he needed was her glancing at her slippers and the slight opening of her mouth to give a petty excuse... well, he got it.
He turned and ran, shutting himself in his room for three days without eating and only drinking the energy drinks he stashed underneath his bed. It was that precise moment that something inside twelve year-old Morgan Killam had drained out, and something even eviller – something so dead on the inside it rivaled the French Catacombs – had filled him to the very brim like water in a cup. And whatever it was that replaced his childhood had hardened him on the inside and outside, and the only thing that could get through to the outside world was his negativity towards life and people through his pessimism and sarcasm.
Welcome to the new and drastically unimproved Morgan Killam – broody, apathetic, and shut off from his problems. He focused on what he had to do to survive both in life and the storm of gossip that flooded his surroundings on the daily.
He and his mother had made up, and not a day later, he applied for a worker's permit, got it, and applied everywhere he could. Was it like people wanted to hire a random twelve year old? No. So, yes, it was hard getting a regular job when everyone laughed in your face when you went in for an application, so he stuck to detassling corn in the summer and volunteering at shelters or nursing homes during the school year just to keep his mind from wandering too far.
That's how it went until he turned sixteen. His first job was unloading boxes and other junk at a local fish market. He smelled like raunchy fish everyday and he certainly got made fun of for it, too, but Morgan didn't care. He popped in his earphones and drowned out the world with some Good Charlotte or Chili Peppers or – even on some days – My Chemical Romance, if he was feeling broody enough. Morgan was damn determined to not let anyone or anything breach his shell and put up every defense mechanism psychology had to offer.
So, he smelled, but he made good money, and after Mom lost her secretary job for some motorcycle shop, he became the man of the house and paid the bills until she got off her feet. But getting off her feet meant that they would have to hire a babysitter to take care of the twins or drop them off at the daycare they had been going to during the weekdays.
What did that involve? Money. Money Morgan did not have. So, until there was a bigger source of income flooding in, Mom was just going to have to stay home and watch over Joey and Jane. So, the twins got pulled out of daycare and Mom became an official stay-at-home mommy.
But there was a slight problem – problem named "Ruthie Morelo," grandma to Morgan and Joey and Jane on their mother's side. In the summer of Morgan's sixteenth year, when the money was efficiently spent on bills and a little on food, Grandpa died. He had double kidney failure that finally took its toll on him, and that meant that the Killam's had to take over the one very important asset he left behind, which was Ruthie.
Now, the problem with Ruthie was that she was deaf in both ears – had been for twenty-five years – and refused to use sign language to communicate with anyone. Mom had learned it and so had Grandpa, but it didn't matter: Ruthie wasn't going to sign to anyone.
Ruthie was a deaf-mute, which made Morgan's life ten thousand times harder. He hadn't really known Ruthie all that much like he had Grandpa. She would sit in her rocking chair, reading or staring out the window in his big house near the river. Morgan left her alone because if she wasn't going to try to communicate, then why should he?
Unfortunately, since Mom was still the adult of the house, she decided to take Ruthie in instead of sending her to the nursing home. So, they placed her in Mom's room so she could watch over Ruthie (also because their apartment was a two bedroom, which meant the twins had one room and Mom had the other while Morgan was stuck on the couch).
All Morgan could think about, though, was that he had another mouth to feed. Which sucked. He'd have to talk to his boss and ask for more hours, which cut into his school time, and he was already pleading with the principle not to expel him for having too many absences.
Ruthie didn't eat much, though. Just read or stared out the dusty window in her and Mom's room. That was a plus. Also, Morgan didn't have to come in contact with her at all because Mom would fix her dinners and Ruthie would eat in the room. No awkward encounters, which was nice.
But then Mom had to run Joey and Jane to a doctor's appointment one afternoon on some random weekend, so Morgan was left all alone with her and had to fix her lunch. Mom told him Ruthie liked oranges and bologna which was an odd mixture, but Morgan liked hot Cheetos and chocolate milk together so he wasn't going to judge.
Regrettably, Morgan made her a bologna sandwich with orange slices and some crackers on the side and also a glass of milk. He trudged to her room and was planning on just giving it to her – no eye contact whatsoever – and then leaving as quickly as he came in. But it didn't go like that.
Mom had always said how Ruthie never looked anyone in the eye. She hated contact of any kind, especially touch and eye. She ignored anyone who came close to her and never spoke or – least of all – got rid of her blank expression as she stared out the window.
So, that's what Morgan was expecting when he went in there. His head was down as he handed her the plate and glass, but something tugged inside of him and he found himself sneaking a glance at his grandmother. And what he saw could have knocked him out cold.
She was looking at him as she took the food, and then when she glanced at it and then back to Morgan, she gave a quick smile and then picked up an orange slice and ate it.
He had stared at her a good thirty seconds afterward. Did she really just look and smile at him? Had hell frozen over? That's what it seemed. Morgan didn't know how to feel, but after that day, he found himself making her food more often and bringing it in for her, hoping she would look and smile at him again. More times than not, she took the food and continued to look outside or read whatever was in her lap. No eye contact and certainly no smile. It was disheartening for Morgan, and he wanted to give up and make Mom cook her stuff again, but he couldn't find it in himself to stop.
Then, finally, she looked at him and smiled again. His heart jumped to his throat, and he found himself smiling back.
Morgan quickly began to feel special. Apparently, Ruthie only looked and smiled at him, and this made something warm and fuzzy bubble in his chest, through the midst of the darkened miasma plaguing his very soul, no matter how emo that sounded.
So, when Morgan started teaching himself sign language, no one questioned it. It seemed befitting actually. Because Ruthie had made some kind of contact to the real world, and she had made it through Morgan. Who wouldn't want to learn her language after that?
His junior year ended in a flash, and Morgan was basically a master at sign language. Thanks to his mother's teachings, random books he found in the library, a few tips from the translators at school, and some websites, he was fluent in sign language and was excited to try it out on Ruthie.
She was still silent, however. Even when he'd take her her lunch, she would sit there quietly, reading or staring out the window. And did it hurt? A little. But Morgan was happy enough – surprisingly – just signing to her even if she wasn't paying attention.
And then sometimes, she would look at him as he signed and smile. It let him know that Ruthie was there, understanding and capable of processing what he was telling her. There was a formidable bond there – something soft, like a whisper, yet pliable – that was strengthening each meeting between the two of them.
Life was a little brighter. Even Mom had found some of her lost glow through smiles and times when she would peek through the doorway and see Morgan signing to Ruthie excitedly, a large grin of his own stretching across his luminescent face. Joey and Jane had even taken it upon themselves to sit on the bed and watch Morgan and Ruthie, their five year-old minds trying to comprehend just why Morgan was so satisfied with himself as Ruthie continued looking outside.
Yes, life was somewhat good. His job was tough and hadn't eased on hours and certainly hadn't upped his pay, but home life wasn't such a pilgrimage anymore. The dark cloud that had floated listlessly in their tiny apartment had seemed to disperse, and Morgan's shell had begun to crack, and the positive energy he was so determined to hide from the world was slipping through.
The Killam's lived like that for a year, their scars finally starting to fade, but three months before Morgan's graduation – three months before the torture he had suffered for thirteen years had ended – his mother was sent to prison.
Mom never drank. Like, ever. She couldn't hold her alcohol and had always thought it tasted disgusting. But one night in April Mom had decided to go out with some friends and have a couple drinks, nothing major, nothing that would make her lose herself.
It didn't turn out like that. Morgan remembered waking up at two in the morning to his mother's slurred words, saying things like:
"I did it... I killed them..."
"I'm scared, Morgan. I'm so scared."
"Mommy's hurt, Morgan. Tell the twins I love them."
She was frantic and crying, which was odd. Mom never got worked up and she certainly didn't cry. So this was like a huge blinker flashing red in Morgan's vision, and before he knew it, he was screaming at her to tell him where she was. But after a minute, she either hung up or her phone died. It was only later, after throwing Joey and Jane in the backseat of his van and waking Ruthie up to sign to her that he was going out, that he found her with cop cars and ambulances and firetrucks surrounding the damage she had created.
And it was like someone had taken the rest of his soul away from him. His breath caught and he ran quickly to the scene of the accident, telling the twins to wait patiently in the car, and had found a black Hyundai totaled against the pavement and his mother sobbing wildly, her face splotchy and wet, as orderlies ushered her into the backseat of an ambulance.
"What happened?" Morgan asked a cop who had tried to push him and several other onlookers out of the way.
"What happened?" Morgan repeated loudly, terror and stress gripping his heart tighter than anything he'd ever felt before. Again, the cop shook his head and pushed him further into the growing crowd of bystanders.
Something snapped inside of him, just like the day he realized his father was never coming home. Morgan pushed against the cop and screamed, "WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY MOTHER?"
And, finally, Morgan was told what was going on.
Rockelle Morelo was driving drunk and had hit the black Hyundai at one-hundred and ten miles per hour on a thirty miles per hour road. As she collided with the other car, she had totaled it, and had inevitably killed one man – Augustus Parker – and his infant in the backseat.
Vehicular manslaughter, they called it.
Unfair, Morgan called it. So fucking unfair.
Mom got fifteen years in the prison a few hours from the city. Before she actually left, though, she was able to see Morgan graduate. Ruthie was even there. It was cool, he guessed.
But the next day, Mom was shipped off to prison and had lost custody of the twins. The state asked Morgan if he was going to take care of them and become their legal guardian or if was he going to put them in foster care. And, really, why the hell would he put his kid siblings in the system? What kind of monster would he be if he took them away from the only home they had ever known? No, of course he wasn't going to give them up. He was going to take care of them, just like he had since they were born.
Things had settled into a stressful and tight schedule. The twins were assigned a case worker – one Genevieve Addams, who came from the pits of hell it seemed and who undoubtedly had it out for Morgan – while Morgan had to attend classes for a while. Genevieve would check up on him, criticize him to his very bones (especially about his dead end job at the fish market), and then leave with a grumble and head shake.
Morgan realized that he had to get another job to not only support the twins better but to appease Genevieve. So, he got a construction job that paid well enough and had settled the Evil Caseworker somewhat. Money from the state for taking care of the twins was nice; however, it went all on Joey and Jane – as it should – but it ran out fast each month, considering that they were put into a special school for gifted young people like them. The school was also costly, but the twins deserved it. They were absolute geniuses and needed to be challenged (as if skipping two grades already wasn't challenging enough, but Morgan digressed).
Yes, it was hard. Managing food and bills and school funds was hard, and he found himself working overtime a lot and depending on Old Man Cherokee from across the hall to watch after the twins. He also had to wedge in time to feed and sign to Ruthie, though it was becoming harder and harder by the day, and Morgan could see her retreating further into herself. She stopped smiling and looking at him all together, and – fuck man – it hurt. But he couldn't do anything about it. He was stressed and ragged and just needed a break. Please, just a tiny break would be fine.
Morgan had stopped softening up after he gained custody of Joey and Jane. He hardened back up and didn't let anything in or out. He hadn't the time now or later, so it was best just to focus on getting through the day than meaningless stuff like prying for his grandmother's smile or taking the kid's to the park or, simply, being a family.
And that, friends, was the life of breadwinner, legal guardian of two genius twins Morgan Killam. No relationships unless they were casual, no time for fun unless it was on the job or he was getting his rocks off. Morgan was a shut off and shut down who was going through the motions.
He was the man of the house. He had people to take care of and things to do to assure normalcy. And if he lost himself in whatever dark, bitter thing he had become... well then that's what happened. And there was no going back. Not now. Not later.
"So what's the story with you?"
Where to begin? he thought humorously. Instead, he shrugged. "I'm twenty and have been single for way too long."
"Ah, so it's been a while since you've gotten your dick wet?"
"Kind of."
"You're pretty much ready to go, then."
Morgan glanced at the guy next to him. He was smiling sleazily, just like he was supposed to. It made something acidic burn the back of his throat.
"I guess so."
"You know," Morgan mused, "this is all because Joey has one sick punch."
Joey fumed in the back while Jane – who was in the passenger's seat – laughed. As always, Joey was scraped up and bruised from defending his and Jane's honor while Jane – the princess – was unscathed and all prim and proper.
"It's not my fault," Joey grumbled. His raven hair was disheveled and fell into his face, covering his black eye and only partially the cut on his cheekbone. Morgan could still see from the rear view mirror the cut upper lip and crusted blood along the nostrils.
"He was joking, Joey," Jane said softly. Morgan looked at her, smiling, just as she was pushing up her bulky glasses.
Joey rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. I'm able to detect the sarcasm that practically emanates from him."
"You're eight. You shouldn't know what emanates means."
"You hardly know what it means, loser."
Morgan chuckled. They were driving up the steep hill to get to their apartment complex, and a sense of foreboding was laying thickly in the air of the van. The one, the only Evil Genevieve Addams: Caseworker from Hell was waiting there. And how did Morgan know? Well, the thirteen texts and three calls from her helped a bit.
"But, really, it wasn't my fault," Joey said more quietly. Something sounded off in his tone, which caused Morgan to glance at him from the rear view. Joey looked less angry and more defeated. Morgan didn't know which one was worse.
Jane hadn't looked back, but she could sense her brother's distress just as much as Morgan could. She looked out of her window, watching the trees passing by. "We don't understand why kids don't like us."
"Yes, we do."
Jane smirked. "OK, you're right. We do."
"And why don't kids like you two?" Morgan asked, making sure to keep his voice flat, making sure to give the impression he was only mildly interested. He already knew the answer, had heard it many times before.
The twins knew he knew, but still, they said at the same time, "We're younger."
"And smarter," Jane commented.
"And definitely more mature," Joey finished.
It was true. The twins were incredibly smart, and even though they were supposed to be in second grade, they were in fourth, and got a lot of hate because of it.
"Ah, who cares about them?" Morgan reached the top of the hill and saw the apartment complex. He died a little on the inside. "You'll be their bosses one day, so enjoy their jealousy while you can."
"At the expense of our faces?" Jane inquired, looking at her older brother knowingly. And, damn, did Morgan hate when she used that look and tone at the same time. Like she was some kind of scholar who knew everything while Morgan was here – twelve years older than them – and knew nothing.
"You know what I'm trying to say." His tone screamed that he wanted to drop the subject, and they had. They made their way to the complex's parking lot in silence and then all of them got out and made their way up to their apartment, while Genevieve – in all her red, frizzy hair and cat-eyed glory – waited with crossed arms and a too-tight pencil skirt and blouse.
"Genevieve," Jane said with a smile, "how nice to see you again."
Genevieve's catlike expression toward Morgan softened tremendously as she looked at Jane and Joey. She squatted down – her skirt straining against her thick thighs – and hugged both of them. "How nice to see both of ya'll," she said in her thick southern accent, the one that got under Morgan's skin. "Ya'll keeping good, right?"
It was at that precise moment that Genevieve looked at Joey as she hugged him and gasped. She examined the bloody nose, black eye, cut lip, and gashed cheekbone. Carefully, she hovered her fingers over the injuries as Joey turned his head from side to side. "Oh, no... What happened?"
"Jealousy," Joey responded, glancing – glaring – at Morgan.
The Caseworker didn't understand – clearly – and shook her head. "Are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital?" Joey shook his head. "Are you sure, honey? Who did this? Did you talk to your principle? Jane, did you get hurt, too?"
"Joey was protecting Jane," Morgan finally said, drawing Genevieve's sweet motherly gaze to him, and he watched it turn cold and criticizing. He tried to ignore it, though, as he explained more. "There were these boys – the ones who always pick on the twins – who were teasing Jane, and Joey was there and got pissed. What's new?"
Genevieve scowled. "What's new? Really, Morgan? This isn't something you should be so blasé about. Joey got hurt, and Jane was teased! This constant abuse is causing psychological damage to them, and I don't think–"
Morgan sighed loud enough to cut off her rant. "Let's just... go inside so you can gripe at me, OK Gene?" After, he pushed past them as best as he could – the hallway was rather narrow – and unlocked the door. He opened it and let the Caseworker and the twins inside. He entered after them and closed the door.
As expected, Genevieve continued her rant about psychological trauma and whatnot as the twins went to the TV and put in some type of game that – no doubt – Gene disapproved of because it wasn't educational and may or may not have been rated M.
He caught sight of chains and a flash of red on the screen on his way to the kitchen and sighed. God of War. Definitely not kid-friendly.
"Hey," Morgan said, cutting the Caseworker off and drawing the attention of his siblings. He pointed to the TV and the twins looked. "Get that off. Put in Zelda or something."
Joey and Jane rolled their eyes but did as they were told. Morgan turned around, rummaging through the cabinets for fruit snacks for the kids.
Before Genevieve could start bitching again, Morgan said quietly, "Hey, Gene?"
"Yeah?"
"There's something I have to tell you."
"OK..."
He didn't find fruit snacks. Instead, he found granola bars, grabbed four and a couple Gatorades from the fridge, and walked over to hand the food and drinks to the twins. They took it without looking at him.
After, he motioned for Genevieve to follow him into the twins' room to talk privately. He couldn't really go to his room, considering his room was technically the living room which Joey and Jane were currently inhabiting.
Morgan closed the door after Gene was inside. She stood near Joey's bed, her arms crossed, as she jutted one big hip out. God, Morgan hated that stance. It reminded him of one of his middle school teacher's.
"So, you were telling me something?" she said expectantly.
Morgan sighed, feeling extremely tired. It wasn't like he wanted to tell Genevieve the news, but he knew he had to. She was supposed to know every detail of his and the twin's lives. If she wasn't in the loop, it was like a state law was being broken, and they didn't want that.
"I got fired from my job," he told her quietly. It was swift, like ripping a band-aid off quickly, and feeling that tiny moment of pain. Only the pain continued for several seconds after telling Gene the news.
As expected, she shook her head and the Evil Caseworker went on a rampage about what an absolute disappointment he was. They spent half an hour in there as he listened to Genevieve complain about how she was going to have to tell her higher ups. It was revolting, and it felt like something was sitting on Morgan's shoulders, weighing him down further and further into the ground. Pretty soon, he was going to crumble under the pressure, and then where would this family be? In ruins, that's where. And, fuck, maybe Genevieve could put it back together after the fact.
"Hey, Gene?" Morgan cut her off.
"What?" she snapped, obviously annoyed that he interrupted her bitch fit.
"Could you, like, not bitch at me?" He could see in her eyes how pathetically defeated he looked and sounded. He ran a hand through his mop of hair and closed his eyes. "Just, like, once. Don't bitch at me."
It was quiet for a long time, until the Caseworker stated simply, "Well, what are your possible job prospects?"
Morgan opened his eyes to look at her in confusion. "My what?"
"Job prospects." Genevieve waited, and when she saw Morgan's continually confused look, she sighed. "Are you looking for other jobs? What possible jobs are you looking for?"
He was looking for a lot of things. He had already put in applications anywhere and everywhere the moment he was fired a couple days ago. But no luck so far.
"I've applied everywhere I can, Gene. It's just... hard." He shrugged, sitting on Jane's bed which was directly across from Joey's, where Genevieve stood. "I even asked for my job at the fish market back, though it's been two years since I last worked there."
"At least you're looking places, Morgan."
"Ha... that sounded kind of nice."
"Well, I'm trying to be. Though I really shouldn't, since you're so damn troublesome."
Morgan laughed again. Then, he let his head drop in his hands. He felt like something was taking a giant shit inside of him, weighing him down until he was beneath the earth's plates, melting from the lava at the very core of this doomed planet. It sucked.
"Fuck, Gene... What am I going to do?"
"You're going to get a job. Any job because you have two kids to support."
"Any job, huh?"
"Yeah. Any job. You owe the twins this."
Any job? Morgan mused. He raised his head from his hands and looked through the open window to his right. Any job.
Morgan didn't understand unemployed life. He couldn't fathom the complete hopelessness he felt as he sat day after day on the couch, watching Discovery Channel and Netflix like those two things were the Messiah. Depression hit him pretty hard, hit him in every nook and cranny. It was like his bones were made out of lead – he just felt so heavy all the damn time. He was left to do nothing all day long but eat, sleep, and occasionally clean.
That wasn't how someone was supposed to live. Morgan Killam was a productive person – he had never been out of a job since he was sixteen. He wasn't good at anything except doing and keeping a job, but now what? He wasn't doing either of those things, and it felt as if the ground had crumbled underneath his feet and he was free falling into an inescapable chasm.
It was sickening. This total... dependency on someone with only one thing missing: the someone. Sure, there was some money in the bank that he was dabbling into, but that was dwindling fast, and if Morgan didn't find a way to make money soon, there was trouble ahead not only for himself, but for the twins and Ruthie as well.
Speaking of Ruthie, she was kind of the only good thing that got him through the days when the twins weren't there to keep him company. He had stopped making her lunches before the day started. After all, it used to be when Morgan and the twins would get up, he'd make them breakfast alongside Ruthie, and then he'd make Ruthie lunch for when they were all at work or school respectively. Now, since he didn't have a job, he didn't have to go through the effort. So, he continued making breakfast for everyone, but when lunchtime rolled around, he'd cook Ruthie something hot, instead of cold like he previously did.
That's where some mending occurred, quite quickly too. A week into unemployment – when Morgan was so slumped and depressed he could taste it on his tongue – he made Ruthie and himself grilled cheese sandwiches alongside tomato soup and a can of Coke. He took both of their lunches into her bedroom, and they ate in the normal silence.
After lunch, though, Ruthie had glanced at Morgan ever so slightly and quirked a smile. It threw Morgan off balance a little because for two years she hadn't done so much as look at him, but now she had smiled, and it was odd. He felt nostalgia hit him like a boulder to the face, but even more so he felt the tingly happiness that ached through his whole system just like it used to during his junior year.
So, yeah, those were what Morgan looked forward to the most. Minimal, but he was unemployed and friendless (well, except Atticus, but he was in college so that didn't really count), so he found comfort in little joys, and – Morgan thought – so did Ruthie.
Morgan had begun to sign to her again. It felt good.
Even though Ruthie was beginning to open up again, it didn't help that their cash was slowly dwindling. And it sucked because Joey and Jane knew what was going on, but they didn't say anything, and when you have a couple of mature eight year-old's staring at you with worried looks on their face, it rips you to shreds, man. The twins shouldn't worry about money. Morgan should, and he didn't have a steady source of it right now.
No one answered his applications. He called and he emailed and he was in everyone's face about potential jobs, but no one was hiring. No markets or construction sites or fast food restaurants. The list went on, and still Morgan was jobless.
So, when he had stooped to the lowest of low and began searching on the death sentence that was Craigslist, he hadn't really thought of what he would find, but a gay for pay ad hadn't even come close. It sounded weird mostly because he didn't know what it was, but the name kind of gave him a hunch, and when he opened the ad, he was right.
These people – these "FuckSquad 69 Studios" – wanted straight guys to have sex with other straight guys for negotiable money. The catch: it was to be filmed.
Porn hadn't been a possibility until Morgan opened that ad. But when he thought about it – thought about fucking a guy for money – something inside of him curled up, and he figured it was his pride that was doing the curling before completely dying. Morgan wasn't gay, but he had never been in a stable straight relationship either. That didn't mean, however, that he didn't know what he liked. He liked girls and said girls' parts. Thinking about penises and assholes turned him off and made his stomach clench. There was no way he could fuck a guy, let alone be fucked, if it came down to it.
But... money. And Joey and Jane and Ruthie. The three most important people in his life. Oh, God, he needed money so badly that he was willing to do anything, but anything didn't constitute porn, did it? Plus, wasn't that totally illegal for people in his situation? He couldn't do porn while fostering his siblings, could he? It was... unethical. Weird.
No one was calling him back, though, and the money in the bank was running low. Pretty soon it would run out, and the slim amount of money the state gave him for the twins each month wasn't going to cut it for everyone in the household.
So, what was he to do? Do something that went totally against what he liked and – even more so – could get him in trouble with the state? Morgan couldn't afford to lose his siblings right now. If he did, he'd probably crack and go insane; he had lost too many family members already.
Morgan didn't know how long he stared at the ad. It felt like centuries before he bookmarked it and filed it under his memory as a "Maybe."
It was three days later that Morgan found himself outside the huge house with the same address as the one in the gay for pay ad. He was supposed to meet FuckSquad 69 Studios here, but this whole situation seemed off. He expected this to go down in a building, not a super nice house with high ceilings, shimmering stained glass, exceptionally green grass, and the works. It felt all wrong. The sick feeling in his gut churned faster.
But he went in and met Kellan Mercury, director; Andy Summers, editor; and Liam Crenshaw, cameraman. That was it – just three people who called themselves FuckSquad 69 Studios. Was that usually the amount of people who worked on porn? Morgan tried not to think about it too much or he might actually throw up from how much his stomach was rolling.
"So, what's your name, kid?" Kellan asked him. He sat on the coffee table while Morgan sat on the white leather couch.
"It's Morgan," Morgan replied stiffly. He looked from Kellan to Andy to Liam. Then, he gulped when he saw their contemplative stares.
"Like Morgan Freeman?" Liam asked. "Cool. I've never met a boy named Morgan before."
"Have you ever been in a porno before?" Kellan cut in, picking up the tablet that had previously lain on the coffee table. He read questions off of it. "Do you have a history of venereal diseases – herpes, AIDS, HIV? What about STI's? Have you ever had those? Is there any possible way you could have them right now?"
"No to all," Morgan replied stiffly.
Kellan looked at him for a long time, then nodded. "Are you eighteen or above and not in high school?"
"I'm twenty."
"May we see some ID?"
He nodded and pulled out his wallet. He gave Andy his license. Kellan continued to ask questions he answered numbly, until the director stopped and looked at him seriously.
"OK, so, just between us..." Kellan leaned closer and raised a brow. Morgan felt himself lean away responsively. "A lot of the time, the so called 'straight guys' who come to gay for pay auditions are really gay. Or in the closet." Kellan's stare was intense. "Are you gay?"
"No," Morgan replied easily, shrugging for good measure. Kellan continued to stare at him, and so Morgan looked behind him to Andy and Liam who were looking at him just as intensely as Kellan was. It made him feel awfully uncomfortable, and Morgan found himself shrugging again. "I'm straight. Have been all my life."
"You can tell us the truth," Andy said, looking at him distrustfully.
"Yeah," Liam chimed in, smiling widely. "It's OK if you are. We'll give you an audition, but we'll just have to make sure you act straight during filming."
"Well, now that you mention it," Morgan said, feeling a twinge of annoyance creep into his nerves, "I guess I'm not completely straight. I mean, I kissed my friend Atticus once when we were drunk on his seventeenth birthday, but threw up afterward. Could have been from the alcohol, who knows?" He shrugged again. "It was like kissing your brother. Which I've done before, too. So, I don't know, I guess I do have a little gay in me."
All three of them stare – unamused – at him for several seconds before Liam said blandly, "Yep, he's straight. Kind of an asshole, actually."
"In a cynical, flat way," Andy added, looking down at the information she was copying from Morgan's license.
Kellan hummed thoughtfully, looking Morgan up and down. Then, he nodded. "That's good. I like them fresh and straight." He stood from the coffee table and walked over to a nearby nightstand. There was a satchel on it, which he reached into, and pulled out a piece of paper. He walked back to Morgan and handed it to him. "It's our contract. You sign this for the audition, and then if we choose to use you for our videos, we'll have you sign another one. Each video you do, you will receive two hundred dollars, and if the viewings of the videos increase, so will the pay."
"I thought the pay was negotiable."
"It was a lie."
"O... K."
"This contract basically states that we are allowed to film you fucking and you won't go leaking any of your videos secretly or go work for any other porn industry."
"Well, if they have better pay than you."
"I'm not quite sure I like this sarcasm of yours."
"Sorry. It's a reflex."
"Just keep it in line, straight boy." Kellan nodded towards the paper. "I'll give you time to read it through."
Morgan did just that, which basically stated everything Kellan explained. But, really, he only skimmed because what was on his mind wasn't what whatever the contract said. It was on his family. Joey and Jane: his two genius twin siblings who got him through the eye of storm more times than he could remember; and Ruthie: his deaf mute grandmother whose smiles were worth more than any amount of money he could make. All of them lay thickly on his mind like sap from a tree, and his hand shook around the pen he grasped.
What if he got caught? His siblings lives were at stake – not in a life-threatening way, but a future-dependency way. Morgan didn't want the twins living with someone else, eating someone else's disgusting dinner, laughing at someone else's stupidity other than Morgan's. He didn't want them to be scared as they slept all by their lonesome in some big house or some shitty trailer or with a bunch of kids or with no kids at all. There were countless possibilities when it came to foster situations, and Morgan would rather throw himself under a bus than subject his siblings to that life. In his mind, he needed to keep everyone together. He needed to be the thick root underneath the earth, while the leaves that were Joey and Jane and Ruthie grew unharmed and unprovoked. Morgan had to support his family at all costs because if he didn't, what was he? A shitty brother, a shitty grandson, and a shitty son. He would be just like his father, wouldn't he? Deadbeat – unable to keep this family from disintegrating completely.
He had to do anything to make sure things were upheld. Morgan had to get his siblings through school so they could become adults of importance, unlike him. Morgan had to make sure his grandmother didn't get lonely; he had to make sure she knew that he was there, was never going anywhere, and that – most of all – he cared. Even if Morgan was a stone cold bastard who was too gloomy for his own good and pessimism ran through his veins like heroin, he had a duty to his family to make sure they never turned out like him, that they could lead normal lives.
It was a difficult task, but one that Morgan had to suffer alone. He was the hero in this great bedtime story. He was guarding the Kingdom of Normalcy – which was already crumbling as it was – while the dragon who was every obstacle in Morgan's life attacked him with everything it had. And, yes, Morgan was running out of health, and he was running out fast. But there was another player – another knight – in this fairytale, and while it was neither the greatest nor healthiest, it was a lifeline. And it was porn.
Morgan's pride and his fear for his family were being put to the test. He had to put everything on the line – had to throw all his chips in – for this one chance, and if it didn't work out, he was screwed. But if he didn't try, he was screwed as well. So, all he could do was hope and pray and stay strong. He could do this. He could throw away his pride and clutch onto the memories of Joey's bitter insults, Jane's calm and knowing look, and Ruthie's faint but lovely smiles.
He could do this. He could do this for his family.
Morgan signed the contract, and this time, his hand was steady.
FuckSquad had sent him upstairs after he signed the contract and told him to wait. The audition would start soon – which was him just masturbating on camera – but just as he was at the top of the steps, the doorbell rang.
Morgan stopped and looked down at the three of them. They themselves were looking at each other confusedly. Were they not expecting guests? Morgan thought it weird, but didn't stay to see who was at the door.
He entered the door that was painted a bright blue and was actually pretty shocked by how plain the room was. The room was medium-sized, with sage-colored walls and mahogany floors. There was a giant king-sized bed draped in black silk sheets and pillows. To the right and left of the bed was a nightstand that held nothing on the tops. Morgan went over and looked in one of the stands' drawers and promptly found dozens of condoms and a couple bottles of lube. The sight made him shudder – just another reminder of the work he would have to do for the money – and shut the drawer and sat gingerly on the bed.
So, this was it, huh? Where he'd jerk off in front of the camera? Morgan looked to his right and saw a camera pointed at the bed, and behind that three chairs side-by-side-by-side. The room seemed very suffocating at that point. The weight of what he was doing hadn't completely sunk in, but Morgan was purposefully avoiding thinking about it, too. If anyone said he wouldn't do anything for his family, he might just punch them out.
The silence rang in Morgan's ears louder than anything he had ever heard. He wasn't used to the quietness. Whenever he was at home, so were the twins, and they always had the TV blaring or were arguing senselessly about something. Video game beeps and cartoon voices and the sounds of two eight year-old's fighting were what he knew. He was used to things being so loud that he couldn't think. But right now – with the silence reigning down on him – he could think. And now was the only time he wished he didn't have to.
Is this what Ruthie experiences? Morgan thought as he looked around the room. When Ruthie was staring out the window – her face a blank slate without the tiniest fraction of emotion – was she thinking? She had to be. In this silence that was as dead as a corpse, there was nothing to do but think.
Morgan had no idea how long he sat there in silence, rolling over his thoughts, when FuckSquad came through the doors. Liam came first, grinning so widely Morgan feared his face might stick like that forever, and said, "Found you a fuck buddy. And – damn – is he attractive!"
Liam's words scraped through Morgan's mind like a stone on concrete. What did he mean a fuck buddy? "What are you talking about?" he voiced his mind.
Liam went over to the camera, picked it up, and checked things on it. He was still grinning as he explained, "So, we were originally going to have you jerk off for your audition, right?"
"Yeah?" Morgan felt sicker than before. Something was definitely wrong.
"Change of plans." Liam looked at him, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. That expression made Morgan's chest heavy.
"What's the plan now?"
The cameraman opened his mouth to explain, but something caught his attention at the door. Both he and Morgan looked and saw Kellan coming in, his expression looking a little stormy, and then Andy came in, her usual grimace still in tact.
And then some unknown guy came in. Tall – taller than Morgan, possibly 6'0, 6'1 – with wavy brown hair that brushed his jaw, freckles along his pale cheeks and nose, and almond-shaped brown eyes, cherry-brown from the way the lights hit it. This dude was lean, no real bulk like Morgan, but it was easy to tell he was into sports. Or used to be, anyway, but no real hint of actual labor like the guys Morgan used to work with back at the construction company.
When the guy caught sight of him, he froze on the spot and stared. He kind of had a horrified look on his face and his mouth opened slightly. Only after a few seconds of ogling did he snap it shut and look at the ground. His fists and jaw were clenched and he was breathing sort of heavily.
Morgan had a hunch of who the guy was, and he knew for a fact he wasn't a member of FuckSquad.
Kellan was the first one to break the silence as he came up to stand by the bed. He motioned to the guy and said, "Morgan, this is Ben Kingston." He moved his hand to where he motioned to Morgan. "Ben, this is Morgan Killam."
The guy still didn't look up even if everyone was staring at him. Instead, he unclenched his fists and crossed his arms, standing there and looking like Joey when reprimanded.
"Hi, Ben Kingston," Morgan spoke, surprising even himself. When he said it, it was heavily laced in sarcasm, which hadn't been the intended purpose at all. But Morgan was nervous and faced with who he knew he was going to get up close and personal with soon, so his defense mechanism was in full swing. And his defense mechanism just so happened to be sarcasm.
The room had fallen into a tense silence. Everyone seemed to be waiting for what to happen next, and what did happen next reminded Morgan too much of being at a zoo and watching two caged animals circling around each other. Only this time, he and this Ben guy were the animals.
Ben looked up at him, his face dark and glowering, and said, "I'm going to have to suck off this prick of a dude? His sarcasm is suffocating me, Kellan, and I feel offended."
Ben's words punched Morgan so hard in the face that he was seeing stars. He looked over to Kellan with a questioning look. "He's going to be sucking me off?"
Kellan nodded. "Yeah. Look, I know your audition was supposed to be you masturbating, but–"
"Wait, wait, wait," Ben chimed it, holding up his hands. Everyone looked at him and saw his confused and mildly offended-looking expression. "What the fuck do you mean his audition was supposed to be masturbating? Like, solo? Solo masturbation? How come it's changed now?"
"Because we have two guys here, now," Andy explained, looking tensely at Ben. Ben seemed to back off a notch, but not completely. "That's how usual porn auditions go; however, we were going to have Morgan masturbate solo because he was our first and only respondent of the advertisement on Craigslist. Then, you showed up."
Liam nodded, coming up to Ben with the camera and pointing it in his face. "Yeah, so might as well put you two together and see how you guys cum." His grin was catlike, and Morgan saw Ben's eye twitch in annoyance at the camera still hovering inches from his face.
Kellan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Yes, that's how it was supposed to be. Morgan was here first, and he was our first applicant, so we wanted to see how sexy he looked solo to partially see how compatible he'd be on camera."
Liam still hovered by Ben, looking at him through the camera and grinning. "Mostly because no one else responded to the ad, though."
"Yes. Mostly because no one else had responded to the ad." Kellan crossed his arms and looked pointedly at Ben. "That's when you showed up, and so we changed the deal. We wanted a more authentic tape to give to the audience, and so we decided to put you and Morgan together."
"Only this one here had a break down in the living room, so now the whole contract is void for Morgan." Ben scoffed and looked away from the camera as Liam continued to grin and push forward against Ben.
Morgan looked at Kellan at this. "What does he mean my contract is void?"
Kellan looked at him, seemingly exasperated at the whole situation. "Ben was uncomfortable with the terms and conditions, so we gave him a proposition, all contracts aside. So, we ask of you, Morgan, to please overlook the contract for a slight moment and hear our proposition we had extended to Ben and are now extending to you."
"OK?"
"We will not film you today." Morgan creased his brows but felt a sigh of relief whirl in his chest. His shoulders relaxed and he wanted to laugh a little. "But what you have to do is give a hand job and blow job to Ben, and he will give one to you. Varied positions are optional, of course, and are highly recommended, but since we are not filming you we aren't going to tell you what to do. Both of you will cum in the end–"
"Possibly," Ben stated.
Kellan rolled his eyes and corrected, "Possibly. After, you both will receive two-hundred dollars each for your services. In the end, if you decide it isn't that bad, you sign contracts and you work for FuckSquad 69 Studios if we like what you bring to the table. But if you really cannot stomach touching a guy let alone fucking, then you don't have to sign a contract, you take the two hundred, and we never see the two of you again. OK?"
Morgan thought about it. It sounded like a good deal, if not a little fishy, but he trusted these people to some extent. Plus, this Ben guy kind of got him out of a rut. If Morgan does this and decided to chicken out, he could just take the money and leave. There would be absolutely no evidence for Genevieve or anyone else to see and bust him on it. It would just be a thing he had done, and he would have gotten two-hundred dollars for it. But something squirmed in the back of his mind, and it was the fact that it kind of sounded like he was whoring himself out to FuckSquad, especially if he was going to perform sexual acts for money without being filmed.
"To be honest," Morgan said, "it sounds awesome. I just love prostituting myself. It's on my bucket list actually."
Ben looked at him in disgust. "Are you this sarcastic all the time? It's fucking annoying, dude. I hate this just as much as you, but at least I'm not being a fucking sardonic ass about it. Get a new way of coping with this fucked up situation."
Morgan froze, looking at Ben who was now watching Liam lean against him, continuing to film him like it was nobody's business. Was it that obvious that Morgan was so freaked out in this situation that he was using sarcasm like an armor? Did everyone realize this, or was it just this Ben kid?
"So, what do you say, Morgan?" Kellan asked, looking away from Ben. He looked patient. "You can say no, you know? You can just leave. We'll get rid of your contract, call our lawyers and shit and get this fixed. We just..." He looked across to Ben and sighed. "We just are lucky you guys answered the ad. We'd be willing to bend the rules all you guys want if it meant you'll do this with us. And Ben's idea doesn't seem that bad. We can lose four-hundred bucks if there's a chance you guys will stay with us."
Morgan looked at Kellan. Like, really looked at him. He was short and chubby, but wore an oversized sweater and jeans. His hair was a disheveled mess and his glasses made his eyes look way too big. He reminded Morgan of a teddy bear almost. A defenseless teddy bear who was honest and loyal and all the good things like that. Maybe that's why Morgan trusted Kellan and his coworkers.
"Yeah, I guess I'll do it," Morgan said flippantly. "Whatever."
"God, you are the biggest bullshitter I've ever seen in my life," Ben said, and Morgan snapped his head up, ready to fight back with Ben because Morgan was seriously done with his stupidly annoying quips, but found that Ben was shaking his head at Kellan. This confused him, so he looked at Kellan and saw him shrug.
"Sometimes you have to put on the sympathetic act," Kellan admitted, and then Morgan felt like an idiot. So, maybe Kellan wasn't as honest or teddy bear-like as he had originally thought. Maybe Kellan was actually pretty witty and cunning and knew which strings to pull with people to get them to do his bidding.
Looking at Ben, he saw him standing there with his arms still crossed, listening to Kellan talk. Liam had moved from bothering Ben to bothering Andy, filming (fake filming, it seemed) her this time. Morgan briefly thought about how Ben had called Kellan on his bullshit. He also thought how he called Morgan out on his sarcasm.
Who the fuck was this Ben guy, anyway?
"Alright, guys, let's do this thing," Liam said. He skipped over to his chair, putting the camera in it's case and zipping it up. "We'll be sitting here if you need us."
"You'll be watching?" Morgan asked.
Liam nodded, a too-happy look in his eyes.
"We have to make sure you guys actually hold your end of the bargain," Andy said. She sat next to Liam in her own chair. "And we have to gauge how well you do. After all, this is an audition, no matter how informal it is."
"Informal?" Ben said, taking reluctant steps towards the bed. Morgan became hyper-aware of where he was and what he was about to do, all because of how wary Ben was being. "For porn? Funny."
"It's actually not," Andy retorted, glaring at him. Morgan could kind of understand why she didn't like Ben. He was too outspoken for his own good.
"Yeah..." Ben had come to the bed and was staring at the spot next to Morgan. His eyes looked absolutely petrified, and he reminded Morgan too much of a mouse backed into a corner. The question was, who was doing the backing? Because it sure as hell wasn't Morgan. He was just a mouse too. "Yeah... whatever."
Ben stood there for a few seconds, which only made Morgan's throat tighten and his stomach roll even more. If this guy was nervous, did that leave any room for Morgan to be nervous?
"Try to act normal while you're doing it guys," Kellan said, sitting in the chair next to Andy.
"Yeah, try to like it, too," Liam commented, laughing a little.
Morgan looked at him. He was enjoying this too much. He took a breath and glanced at Ben. When he did so, Ben looked at him. Together they shared a similar look – scared, confused, and the inevitable falling-look. Falling into the unknown. Falling into an inescapable pit they might regret for the rest of their lives. Just this falling look that encompassed everything Morgan didn't want in his life, but had to breech for the sake of what he loved the most.
The look wasn't comforting, but then again it was. More so, it was painful and awfully confusing. Here was this guy, and Morgan was about to do things with him that were supposed to be reserved for him and a girl. But they were sharing a look that screamed camaraderie, like they were thinking the same things and feeling the same emotions. Which they probably were. Ben was straight, too, right? So, he got it. He got what it felt like. Like he was breaking a sacred rule apart of some sort of intangible and unspoken guy code, but it was only sex. There was no sacredness in that. Not for Morgan.
"Are you guys ready?" Kellan asked calmly. While Morgan nodded, Ben tensed where he stood. "Ben, are you ready? Ben?"
"Huh?' Ben said, snapping his head in Kellan's direction. All that unfiltered junk that he was flapping on and on about was gone, and this guy looked like he was about to pass out.
"Are you OK?"
"Um..." No. No, he wasn't. It was plain as day to see. Morgan wasn't OK either, but they really didn't have a choice of being brave or scared, did they? "Not exactly, but I'm coping."
"Then, take a seat on the bed."
"Next to... Morgan?"
Kellan nodded. "Yeah. Next to Morgan."
Ben took in a shaky breath and turned around. He arms were glued to his sides as he lowered himself on the bed. And when he finally came in contact with the sheets, he let out the breath.
Morgan felt like he was going to puke.
"Good," Kellan complimented. "Now, you guys can start."
"Right now?"
"Yes, Ben. Right now."
Ben looked at Morgan, and it seemed sort of... pleading. "Right now?' he whispered to him.
Morgan saw how scared this guy was, how backed into a corner he seemed to be. It reminded him of when Joey and Jane used to be scared of the dark, and Mom wasn't there to chase away monsters because she was locked up. So Morgan was left to comfort them when they woke up, and he remembered how they trembled like two tiny vulnerable mice that were in a cage, looking up at the person that could end their lives. At the time, he needed to be strong for them – needed to show how unwavering he was and how they could depend on him to make it through the night. And now, he needed to be strong, too, even if he felt so, so, so weak. He just needed to be stronger. Stronger than Ben.
Morgan nodded firmly. "Right now."
He just needed to be strong.
"So, you ready to fuck a guy, Morgan?"
No, actually, he wasn't, but did it matter how ready he was? "As ready as I'm going to be."
"Ha ha, that's understandable. You might even like it."
Morgan glanced at Ben and saw that fucking gross grin on his face. Underneath it all, though, he knew Ben was freaking out. Even more so than Morgan was.
"Yeah. Yeah, maybe."