T.G.I.F.
Written by Caleb Wilson
Part 2
Twenty minutes later Dylan reappeared in the sitting room, washed and dressed, to see Lucas watching the box and smoking.
"Okay you ready for some breakfast, Lucas?"
"Ready? My guts have been rumbling for the past half hour," he said, putting out the cigarette.
"Oh Christ, I'm sorry, I'm not used to having guests who are hungry first thing in the morning, I should have told you to help yourself instead of waiting for me."
"It's okay," the boy said, "Let's go eat."
"Alright but you'd better help yourself. I'm not much of a breakfast person myself, I'll just have some more coffee."
He accompanied the boy to the kitchen and watched as Lucas fried a couple of eggs, some sausages, four rashers of streaky bacon, and, when they were all fried and on his plate, he added a tomato to it. He buttered three slices of bread then sat down to demolish his breakfast in three minutes flat. When he'd finished he pushed his plate away, gulped some tea, burped, and sat back saying, "That was just great."
"Right, now that you've filled your stomach, you ready to do some shopping?"
"Yep, let's go," the boy said and stood, ready to leave.
On the drive to the mini-market the man changed direction and the boy looked at him enquiringly. Before the boy could ask, the man answered the unspoken question, "If you're going to stay for the next few days, the mini-market won't be able to supply us with all we need, so its better we go to the super-market and do it all in one go."
"Okay, Dylan. I've got a bit of money. Do you want it to help towards the groceries?"
"Thanks for the offer, but I think I've got enough in the bank to cover the costs for both of us."
"Okay, where are we headed?" Lucas asked.
"Tesco's. We can get the groceries and after that go over to the shopping mall to get you some clothes and underwear, you can't keep washing and wearing what you've got on, they're liable to disintegrate after a few more washes."
"I've got my case stashed over in the garden at the squat that I was using. We can go and pick it up, I've got quite a few clothes in it so it will save you a bit of money."
"Alright, Lucas, but if you don't mind we can still go and see what we can pick up for you, then you can decide which of your old clothes you want to keep, then dump the rest in the bin."
The boy was quiet as they continued to drive to the supermarket and, by the time they had arrived and parked in the multi-storey car park, he still hadn't said a word.
"What's the problem?" Dylan asked.
"Huh? What did you say?"
"You heard, why the silent treatment for the past five minutes."
"Umm, I, umm, uh…"
"Come on, Lucas, spit it out, and if I don't like the answer I promise I won't get mad."
The boy pulled his cigarettes out, preparing to light one.
"Put the ciggies away and answer the question. You can light up when we're out of the car."
The boy did as was requested, then said, "I, umm, thought you were being kind because you wanted to get up my arse."
"Shit! What gave you that idea?"
"Dunno, just thought it."
"Okay if that's what you think, tell me where you've stashed your case I'll drive you there, then you can pick it up and be on your way."
"No, okay, I'm sorry. I just didn't think that anyone would do something without asking for something in return."
"Yeah, I'm asking for something in return. I'm asking that you stay with me till you can get in touch with your parents and get back home. To have a kid like you on the streets is just plain criminal."
"I don't have any parents, Dylan. I used to live in a home till I turned sixteen four months back, then I got a room of my own and a job in a shop. It only lasted a month and the shop closed because of dwindling sales. I didn't want to go back to the home so when the money got short I gave up my room and started living in squats, till I met up with you."
The man looked at the boy's downcast face and ruffled his hair, saying, "Come on Lucas, let's get the groceries and you some new clothes, before you pick up your case. Then we can discuss what to do, and for your information, and to put your mind at ease, unless you've got a pair of boobs and a slit between your legs instead of a dick, you're not my type."
The boy's expression perked up and he retaliated with, "Fuck you, some men have really fancied me and I earned some good money giving them hand jobs."
Dylan was startled at the boy's response, then said, "Yeah, well I'm not 'some men;' now let's get the shopping done," he said, getting out of the car followed by the boy. "And seeing that you're the skinny one, I'll let you choose what we get."
Lucas surprised Dylan by picking foods that he wouldn't have dreamt of. Since he'd left home and acquired his own apartment he mainly had snacks in the house and had all his main meals out.
Before they went to pay, Dylan stopped the boy who was pushing the trolley towards the checkout counter. "Umm, Lucas, I'd better tell you the groceries you've chosen won't be of any use."
"Why?"
"Because I can't bloody cook, that's why," the man said.
"Shit, I knew that when I saw your kitchen and what was in it, with all those brand new pans that have never been used and nothing but eggs, bacon, sausages, and bloody pizzas in your fridge," the boy said witheringly.
"Then what's with all this rice, lentils, beef, pork chops, and chicken?" Dylan enquired, "and God knows what-all spices, some of which I've never bloody heard of, and all the rest of the stuff. What the Hell are we going to do, preserve them?"
"No sweat, I'll do the cooking. When I was in the home we had an Indian carer and he taught me how to cook quite a few Indian dishes, and also English as well, with a bit of spice added to them to give them a bit more kick."
"Okay, if you say so," the man said. "Now let's go pay for this lot then we can get your clothes."
An hour and a half later with his bank account being reduced by a couple of hundred quid (pounds sterling), and having picked up Lucas's case, they parked the car outside the apartment and started unloading it of all the purchases of the day.
When they'd finished the boy turned to Dylan, "Thanks for all you've done."
"Yeah, well, I'm happy to have the company. I've found out that living on one's own is not all that it's cracked up to be."
"How long have you been living here?" the boy asked.
"Just over a year, all the pots and pans you see in the kitchen were what my mother put in. I really thought living on my own would be ideal, but when you have to cook, wash, iron, and clean for yourself, it gets a bit too much. But then when I think of being able to do whatever I want to in my apartment, and don't have to answer to anyone, it all becomes worthwhile."
"How old are you, Dylan?"
"Why d'you want to know?"
"Fuck you! If you don't want to tell me, get stuffed," Lucas snapped.
"Shit! What's wrong with you?" the man responded heatedly. "The moment you can't get answers to your questions, you become abusive."
"Yeah, well, you know more or less all about me, but the moment I ask you anything about yourself, you ask 'why'."
"Okay, if it makes you feel better, I'm twenty four years old. I work at my dad's firm, we're cabinet makers. I decided to live on my own just over a year ago and bought this flat, or rather, my father put the down-payment on it and I've been making the mortgage payments since. Now, anything else you want to know?"
"Yeah, where's your bird? I'd like to meet her."
"I don't have a regular bird as of yet, I'm still looking," Dylan replied.
"Okay, so what do we do now till I cook us some grub this evening?"
"You go and sort your clothes out. Select what you want to keep from your case and dump the rest. I'm going to check my lottery numbers on the telly."
Lucas made his way to the bedroom to do as Dylan had suggested and was halfway through sorting his clothes when he heard a loud, "Yeaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh," from the sitting room. He dashed in to see Dylan with a huge grin on his face waving his lottery ticket in the air, "I actually got three numbers and one star number up. I've won twenty three quid!"
"Fucking Hell!" the boy exclaimed. "All that bloody noise for twenty three bloody miserable quid?"
"Why the hell not?" Dylan retorted indignantly, "I've been doing this frigging Euro Lottery for over a year and I've won sweet F.A. so far."
"Well, at least you can use the money to do the Saturday draw now," Lucas said.
"Yeah, and buy a few lagers as well," the man said, smiling.
"Lager lout," Lucas mumbled, and turned to go back to sorting his clothes, leaving Dylan to revel in his first Euro Lottery win.
After having consumed a meal that had been prepared by Lucas, with Dylan helping out as odd job man, then washing and putting the plates and dishes away, they sat together in the sitting room watching the telly.
Around 5.00 p.m. Dylan stood, telling Lucas he was going to get showered and changed, then go and do his Lotto numbers for the Saturday draw before going on to the pub.
"Okay," the boy replied, "Will you want anything to eat when you get back?"
"No thanks, I can always grab a snack in the pub if I want," he made to leave the room, then hesitated and looked at the boy, "Umm if you want I can give you some cash and you can rent a couple of videos from the mini-market."
"No thanks, I'll just watch the box."
"Alright," Dylan said and left the boy to his television while he went get ready to go out.
Half an hour later he said bye to Lucas and left to collect his winnings, do the Saturday lottery numbers, then head for the pub.
Dylan met up with his drinking friends and after looking around the bar noticed that there were the usual females frequenting the premises, most of which he'd shagged at one time or the other. 'They weren't oil paintings, but then again,' he thought, 'who looks at the mantelpiece when you're poking the fire?'
By 10.00 p.m. he was getting fed up with the company he was keeping and the alcohol was beginning to get to him, as he'd been drinking faster than he normally did. He downed the last of his drink in one big gulp, made his excuses to his companions, and made his way out of the pub.
The moment he stepped out from the warm stale atmosphere of the drinking establishment into the cool fresh air, his head started to swim. 'Oh Shit!' he thought, 'Why the fuck did I drink so quickly?' He started to walk a bit unsteadily in the direction in which he lived when a voice enquired at his side, "You need some company mister?"
He recognised the voice and, turning, he smiled, saying, "Lucas, what the Hell are you doing here?"
"Making sure you get home in one piece, didn't you get a piece of skirt?"
"Nah, just seemed to go off them, they looked really rough."
The boy smiled to himself and inside he was happy that Dylan hadn't pulled a bird.
Dylan felt his arm being taken by the boy and although he wasn't that drunk allowed himself to be led home by Lucas. He was beginning to get attached to the boy, although the way that Lucas spoke at times, if you didn't know him, it would make you feel positively insulted.
They reached the apartment and without asking Lucas pulled the keys to the front door from the man's trouser pocket. He opened the door and got both their bodies inside.
"You need anything to eat Dylan?" the boy enquired, bending over him after getting him seated on the sofa."
"Bloody Hell! Lucas, you're treating me like a bloody invalid."
"You're not an invalid. You're pissed, which is fucking worse, at least most invalids can do things for themselves, whereas piss-arses can't do a bloody thing."
"I'm not pissed. I just let you bring me home because you wanted to."
Dylan stood and made his way to the kitchen. He put the kettle on, then proceeded to get a couple of mugs and add coffee to them, ready to pour the water into the mugs when it boiled. With boiling water added to the mugs, he added milk, then turning to the boy who had followed him into the kitchen, asked, "How many sugars do you take?"
"The same as you."
"Well at least we've got something in common," he said and added the sugar and milk, stirred the coffee, and handed it to the boy. "Now d'you reckon I'm pissed?" Dylan asked, making his way to the sitting room with his coffee.
"Well, not pissed," the boy said, following the man, "but you've still had a few, and anyway, why did you let me lead you back to the house? Do you like me holding your hand?"
"Bollocks, just thought I'd let you think you were being useful," Dylan said and sat down on the sofa, with the boy sitting down beside him.
"Fuck you, too," Lucas said, "The next time I see you coming out of the pub pissed, I'm going to let you fall on your ugly fucking face."
"Calm down Lucas, I was only having you on, and getting back at you for calling me all sorts of names."
"Such as?"
"'Drunken slob', 'Arsehole', and some others I can't remember."
"Umm, okay, I'm sorry, I don't mean anything by it when I call you those names, its just the way I talk."
"Yeah, I know, that's why you're still here. Otherwise, I wouldn't have let you in the front door."
The man finished his coffee, put the mug on the side table, leant his head back, and closed his eyes.
"You tired, Dylan?" the boy enquired.
"Tired no, sleepy yes. Some plonker disturbed my lie-in this morning, demanding I get off his bloody clothes."
"I wonder who that could be?" Lucas said innocently. "No plonkers here that I can see."
"Huh, you're not looking very hard."
"And you're feeling sorry for yourself because you haven't got a piece of skirt to fuck."
"What d'you mean?" Dylan asked, opening his eyes and looking at the boy.
"What I said. You forget I've been living in this area for the last four months and I've seen you before, staggering home at the weekend with some slut slobbering all over you. God, I wouldn't fuck some of the woman that you've brought home with yourcock, let alone mine."
"Yeah, well, mine's already been up them, where's yours been? In your bloody hand. You'll go blind doing that every day."
"Fuck you!" Lucas snarled and got up to take the mugs into the kitchen.
"I'm sorry, Lucas, I was just being sarky."
"I know. I'm just taking the mugs into the kitchen to wash them and put them away, unless you want another coffee."
"No thanks. I had better shut my mouth and go to bed, I'm feeling a bit rough," Dylan said as he struggled to his feet and made his way to the bathroom first, to relive his bladder, and then to the bedroom. He looked around for his night shorts and saw them folded and at the foot of the bed. He stripped and let his clothes fall where they were and then climbed into the bed. He lay on his back, his eyes shut, and his head slowly turning; he lay like that, enjoying the light-headedness the drink brought, and thinking about the boy and what he would have to do about him, and how was he to go about it.
He was deep in though when he felt movement on the bed next to him. Knowing it was Lucas, he didn't open his eyes but just continued with his thoughts, which were suddenly interrupted by the boy whispering in his ear, "Dylan, you want me to give you a hand job, seeing that you haven't had a bird the last two nights?"
"WHAT?" the man yelled, sitting up. "You must be bloody joking, piss off!"
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