The Carnivore [boyxboy]

Chapter 8

“Well why not?” Kristen said, her voice getting louder in the house.

“There’s no reason for you to, Kristen,” Deacon answered lamely.

Rory snuck down the stairs and peeked into the living room where they were having their first couples fight.

“You’ve come over to my house plenty of times. Why can’t I ever go to yours?” Kristen complained. “You have dinner with us a few days a week, and I’ve never even met your parents! I don’t even know if you have siblings!”

“I have an older brother… and only a dad,” Deacon answered. “And neither of them are to prone to having girls over. I don’t want you coming, Kristen.”

“You know, traditionally, the parents of the girl give her to the husbands family in return for money or goods. They don’t care much about meeting parents,” Rory finally spoke up from his perch on the stairs.

Kristen whipped around. “Rory this is not your problem! Go to your room!”

“Kristen, relax,” Deacon hissed. “Don’t get so pissed at him. But I’m serious. I don’t want you coming over to my house, okay?”

Kristen let out a shriek of frustration before storming passed Rory and up into her room. Rory flinched at the slamming of a door, and Deacon gave Rory a helpless look. “Well that went well. What are you doing?”

“Listening,” Rory answered simply, standing up from his crouch. “I could hear you guys upstairs anyways.”

Deacon sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Think I should head out, or do I have a chance of her cooling down in an hour or two?”

Rory shrugged. “Like I would know anything about that.”

“This is true. I’ll stay for a bit, see where she is around dinner time. If she’s still pissed I’ll just leave then,” Deacon decided. “Mind if I come hang out in your room for a bit?”

No, it was not okay. What if Deacon tried to do something again? “Okay,” Rory agreed dubiously, mentally kicking himself. He should learn to say no more often.

“How was your day at school then?” Deacon asked as he led the way upstairs.

Rory slowly followed. “History teacher kept giving me crap about going to counseling for my ‘condition’,” Rory admitted sourly. “It’s not a condition. I just care about cleanliness more than most people.”

Deacon chuckled and started exploring around Rory’s room. Rory took a safe seat in his computer chair, preventing Deacon from getting too close and personal. His eyes kept drifting to his bed though, remembering what had happened that one night.

“Your ever expanding collection of magazines,” Deacon murmured. “What happens when you run out of shelf space?”

“Boxes in the garage, starting with the oldest. After I pick out a few that I want to re-read often,” Rory answered.

“Is that a new one?” Deacon asked, pointing at the one on Rory’s desk.

Rory glanced over his shoulder, only realizing he still had the most recent one out. “Uh, yeah.” He silently begged Deacon not to look through it and not to see that picture.

Deacon picked it up anyways, flipping aimlessly through the glossy pages. “Oh, this ones on art,” he commented. “Now that I can understand. Not swine flu.”

“Give it back,” Rory managed to croak, holding his hand out and hoping he could get it before Deacon got too far.

“I’m just looking,” Deacon protested innocently. Rory could tell when he saw the picture—he flipped by it at first, but then he went back a few pages to stop and look. Deacon smiled slightly and looked up to Rory. “Interesting picture.”