He cocked his head at Dingo when Madge’s words sank in. “Wait. How old is he?”
Marge grinned and petted her dog’s head. “I never counted. Had him since I was a little girl.”
Reed sighed. She was either out of her mind, or the dog was one more element of the freak show that was Grit, Ohio. He wouldn’t be investigating again.
“You’re going to Bingo?” he asked, seeing Zane jogging their way.
Madge’s bright pink lips stretched, and when she smiled, raising her head as if she were modeling her elaborate pink hairdo, she really did look a bit like an eccentric movie star. “I have a good feeling about tonight. Wish me luck, boys.”
“What did I miss?” Zane asked, touching Reed’s back. It was a discreet gesture, but it said enough to make Reed feel good about himself every time.
Madge was off after a short “toodle-oo!”, so they made their way to the Harley.
“Oh, not much, she just told me her dog’s like, a hundred years old.”
Zane chuckled, picking up his helmet. “Maybe he’s the real witch then?”
“I mean… he did lick your face.” Reed had a quick look around, but no one was watching, so he gave Zane a kiss before mounting the bike.
They didn’t have any time left to waste, so Reed dropped Zane off at school, but he wouldn’t be the one to pick him up later, because no matter how tough it could be at times, he headed off to his own personal purgatory.
Once a week, he went to therapy, all the way to Columbus. He could afford it now, but making up his mind about it had been tough and had required a lot of support from Zane. A few months in, however, he could see the merit of talking to someone about his traumatic past. He needed to confront what had been done to him in childhood if he wanted to truly heal, grow as a person and be a good partner to Zane.
Reed liked seeing his therapist on some days, but while he detested her on others, he was starting to notice that real change always came after those difficult sessions, as if something inside was trying to prevent him from making progress. But he prevailed. For himself. And for Zane.
As far as therapy sessions went, this one was among the most average. He hadn’t cried once, but as he recounted his time at school and friends he’d lost because of who he used to be back then, the middle of his chest started feeling odd. The sensation was reminiscent of tickling at first, only to become a minor ache.
He ignored it, not wanting to make a fuss over nothing. It was possible that Zane had fallen over and hit himself or something, but as much as he felt sorry for him, he wasn’t particularly anxious. He’d know if something serious was going on. Even all the way in Columbus.
But once the therapy session was over, he went straight to the bathroom to see what he’d have to live with for the next couple of days
He entered the beige space decorated with fresh orchids, and pulled off his T-shirt, glad that he was alone. But where he’d expected to see a bruise was a black picture surrounded by reddened skin.
A new tattoo. The size of Reed’s palm, it depicted a cockroach with wings spread to create the shape of a heart.
Reed was so shocked he opened a message from Zane without thinking.
It read, [Roachie <3]
Reed should’ve been mad at Zane for marking his body without asking, he knew he should, but it was impossible, because the ink meant Zane now also had a roach on his heart. Right where it belonged.
The end
(not really, there’s a post-credits scene further on! ;) )
Post-Credits Scene
Zane still wasn’t sure whether this was a good idea, but he needed to introduce Reed to his family at some point, so he might as well do it over Thanksgiving. His parents’ home wasn’t much to look at, but unlike some of the properties in the same street, the little beige house and the garden around it were tidy at least.
He patted Reed’s thigh as they rode down the uneven asphalt road he used to play on as a kid, and waved toward the house. He hadn’t been here in over a year, though his own anxiety couldn’t rival Reed’s. He could sense it under the skin as if it were his own.
As soon as they parked in the narrow driveway, Reed jumped off the bike as if he were on fire.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, we’re late,” he whispered, as he tried to arrange his messy hair in one of the mirrors.
The door opened seconds later, and Dad emerged with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re late,” he confirmed Reed’s words, frowning so deeply Zane was reminded how similar their faces were. Both he and Dad had stern brow lines, small eyes, and identical dips in their chins. And while Dad appeared way more conservative in a blue polo shirt and jeans, he still had his hair. There, a good prospect for Zane’s future.