Candy Boys (Hot Candy 1)

City lights. They remind me of another city, another time. Another life, one I thought I left behind but I find every night in my nightmares. A place I both miss and dread. A time I was both myself and a frightened kid without hope.

Joel made Madison my home, my city. He’s my country, my continent. My god. I’ll never forget all he did for me. I’ll fucking worship him, worship the ground he stands on, every day, for as long as he lets me.

Shit, now I sound crazy. Maybe I am. Hell knows I thought so for a while.

In the dark hours of night, as I lean out of my window, trying to find a sign, a path, I wonder if it’s ever going to be enough.

***

Candy is avoiding me at work. After waking up and going in search for coffee in the kitchen only to realize Joel is avoiding me, too, this is fucked-up.

Just great.

To top it off, my concentration is worse than usual. I can’t set the books straight on the shelves, I spill coffee over a coffee table edition of Fantastic Animals, and when I stumble, stubbing my shoe into a display, I bring everything down with me.

Candy comes to help me get up and straighten the place. She asks if I’m okay, and I only nod. My hands are shaking.

Everyone’s freaking out. Maybe it’s my turn. Anyway, I’m tired. Been struggling to get on with the reading material for the GED, and it’s like banging my head against the wall. Throw in the fact I didn’t catch a wink last night, and I’m officially done in.

“Jet…” Candy is stealing quick glances at me as she arranges the books in a circle on the stand. Today she’s dressed in a short dress with a wide skirt that shows off her curvy legs. “Did you have a fight with Joel?”

“No, why?”

“You’ve been scowling at me all day.”

“I wasn’t.” Is that why she has been avoiding me? “Had a fight with books.”

“What do you mean?”

“Reading. All those damn books for the GED. And the essays I need to write. Dammit.” I grip my hair, tug on it. “I’ll never make it. I’ll never pass that test. I should go back to bartending.”

“No.” She rounds up on me, so fiercely I take a step back, my eyes opening wide. “You can’t give up. This is about your future. Do you want to be a bartender forever?”

“Hey, I’m good at it. And at least I don’t have to write essays about it.” I can’t quite keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Maybe pouring drinks is all I’ll ever be good at.”

“There’s nothing wrong with bartending.” She takes my hand, turns it over, studies my palm like she would a painting, turning it this way and that. As if it’s a book and she’s reading it. “The only question is whether it’s what you want to do for the rest of your life.”

“That sounds like a long time nobody has any power over,” I grumble. As if anyone can know how long they’ll live. Life is too short.

My hands are shaking again, and my breathing is harsh. It seems to echo between the shelves.

“I offered to help you with the reading. Let me.” She takes my other hand, too, squeezes it. Her chocolate eyes are warm. No panic, no fear there. It’s so easy to fall into them, believe everything is okay. “After work. I have helped students with their homework before. I’m not a total newb. I know some techniques that you might find useful.”

Hope flares in the dark pit that’s my mind today. “You were serious? About helping me, I mean.”

She smiles, slowly and brightly, and for the first time I really believe she’d try, at least. Until she realizes just how bad my disagreement with reading is, that is.

I’m not holding my breath.

“Let’s sit here, after work.” She gestures at the armchairs and tables we have for customers to relax and leaf through books. “We could do an hour every day.”

Better here than at home, I guess. Less likely that we’ll end up fucking on the floor with everyone being able to see us through the front window.

“Okay.” I look down at our hands, held between us like knots, like promises. I wonder if she knows she’s giving me something nobody ever has, not even Joel.

A direction.

“Jet…”