reward that hope with a positive answer, to give Caesar the happy ending he desired. But he couldn’t.
“She died. When I was twelve.”
“What?” Caesar looked shocked, as if he had known her. Or maybe the idea that everything could go so wrong was alien to him. Regardless, he scooted closer to Jason, their shoulders touching. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Jason shrugged. “There’s nothing to talk about. I saw her occasionally. There were visits, and she looked… tired, I guess. Then the visits stopped and after awhile they told me the news.”
“What happened?”
“You mean how? She drank herself to death. They hid the truth from me for years, but my current caseworker, Michelle, she’s different. When I asked her about it, she told me straight-up. I know people were trying to protect me, but I spent years wondering how she died.”
“Oh man,” Caesar whispered.
“Yeah,” Jason said lamely. Talking about this was always too hard. He felt he should be wailing over her death, even all these years later, or at least crying at little. He really did love and miss her, but it was like he’d developed a tolerance. The pain was still there, but it didn’t overwhelm him anymore. Sometimes he felt it should. If he really loved her, that pain should tear him up just as much today as it had back then. Jason changed the subject, hoping to escape these uncomfortable thoughts. “What was your nightmare about?”
“Huh? Oh. Zombies were eating my papier-mâché brain, except in my dream it was stuffed full of Chinese food instead of explosives. Listen, I know you hate hearing it, but I’m sorry about your mom.”
“Shit happens.” Jason shook his head, exhaling in a huff. “Sometimes I wish it had happened sooner.”
“What do you mean?”
“I would have been put into care; I would have been seven and upset, but I wouldn’t have been angry. I fought for five years, refusing to settle down because I wanted to go home. By the time she died and I realized I never would go home, I guess fighting had become a habit. Besides, nobody wants a twelve-year-old. Not really. They want little kids.”
“Not true. Peter had just turned eleven when he came here.” Caesar nudged him. “Or you. Why do you think you’re here?”
“To make your parents feel good about themselves.”
Caesar’s jaw dropped. Then he laughed. “You’re cold, man! Maybe you were named after an axe murderer!”
“Then you shouldn’t have invited me to your bedroom in the middle of the night. Look, I even brought my axe.”
Jason grabbed his guitar and began lightly plucking at the strings, the notes gentle, the music minimal. Caesar scooted down, grabbing a pillow and lying flat, but his head was upturned, eyes shining as Jason played. This made him feel special, like he was some sort of treasure, the most prized among everything in this trove of a room. Jason closed his eyes, focusing on making the music the best it could be. When he opened them again, Caesar’s were shut, his breathing deep. Jason stopped playing and watched his face for any reaction. When it didn’t come, he let his eyes travel over Caesar’s body, the black hairs on his arms, the shape of his fingers that gripped the pillow next to his head, the small of his back, the curve of his butt.
Jason sat there and stared until his eyes burned. Then he set aside the guitar and scooted down so they were on an equal level. If the space between them wasn’t there, their lips would be touching in a kiss. He studied Caesar’s face, memorizing every detail of this unwilling emperor until his eyes betrayed him and refused to stay open any longer.
Chapter Four
Jason yawned and stretched himself awake. Caesar did the same a few moments later. He sat up, considering the three small windows set into the vaulted ceiling that were the only natural source of light. The muted blue sky suggested morning was still breaking. Caesar rolled over to reach the
“She died. When I was twelve.”
“What?” Caesar looked shocked, as if he had known her. Or maybe the idea that everything could go so wrong was alien to him. Regardless, he scooted closer to Jason, their shoulders touching. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Jason shrugged. “There’s nothing to talk about. I saw her occasionally. There were visits, and she looked… tired, I guess. Then the visits stopped and after awhile they told me the news.”
“What happened?”
“You mean how? She drank herself to death. They hid the truth from me for years, but my current caseworker, Michelle, she’s different. When I asked her about it, she told me straight-up. I know people were trying to protect me, but I spent years wondering how she died.”
“Oh man,” Caesar whispered.
“Yeah,” Jason said lamely. Talking about this was always too hard. He felt he should be wailing over her death, even all these years later, or at least crying at little. He really did love and miss her, but it was like he’d developed a tolerance. The pain was still there, but it didn’t overwhelm him anymore. Sometimes he felt it should. If he really loved her, that pain should tear him up just as much today as it had back then. Jason changed the subject, hoping to escape these uncomfortable thoughts. “What was your nightmare about?”
“Huh? Oh. Zombies were eating my papier-mâché brain, except in my dream it was stuffed full of Chinese food instead of explosives. Listen, I know you hate hearing it, but I’m sorry about your mom.”
“Shit happens.” Jason shook his head, exhaling in a huff. “Sometimes I wish it had happened sooner.”
“What do you mean?”
“I would have been put into care; I would have been seven and upset, but I wouldn’t have been angry. I fought for five years, refusing to settle down because I wanted to go home. By the time she died and I realized I never would go home, I guess fighting had become a habit. Besides, nobody wants a twelve-year-old. Not really. They want little kids.”
“Not true. Peter had just turned eleven when he came here.” Caesar nudged him. “Or you. Why do you think you’re here?”
“To make your parents feel good about themselves.”
Caesar’s jaw dropped. Then he laughed. “You’re cold, man! Maybe you were named after an axe murderer!”
“Then you shouldn’t have invited me to your bedroom in the middle of the night. Look, I even brought my axe.”
Jason grabbed his guitar and began lightly plucking at the strings, the notes gentle, the music minimal. Caesar scooted down, grabbing a pillow and lying flat, but his head was upturned, eyes shining as Jason played. This made him feel special, like he was some sort of treasure, the most prized among everything in this trove of a room. Jason closed his eyes, focusing on making the music the best it could be. When he opened them again, Caesar’s were shut, his breathing deep. Jason stopped playing and watched his face for any reaction. When it didn’t come, he let his eyes travel over Caesar’s body, the black hairs on his arms, the shape of his fingers that gripped the pillow next to his head, the small of his back, the curve of his butt.
Jason sat there and stared until his eyes burned. Then he set aside the guitar and scooted down so they were on an equal level. If the space between them wasn’t there, their lips would be touching in a kiss. He studied Caesar’s face, memorizing every detail of this unwilling emperor until his eyes betrayed him and refused to stay open any longer.
Chapter Four
Jason yawned and stretched himself awake. Caesar did the same a few moments later. He sat up, considering the three small windows set into the vaulted ceiling that were the only natural source of light. The muted blue sky suggested morning was still breaking. Caesar rolled over to reach the
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