Real by Amy Bellows
Buddy
H keeps pulling clothing from the racks for me to try on. One of the pairs of jeans makes him stare at my ass. I can’t believe an alpha like H would look at me that way. I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I can’t stop thinking about it as I fumble with all the buttons and zippers. I’ve unbuttoned Dorian’s shirts before when I was washing and ironing them, but it’s harder when the clothing is on my own body.
After a whirlwind of putting things on and taking them off, I end up back in the beautiful shirt with the crane on it and the pair of jeans that made H stare. I’m also wearing a pair of underwear like Candlewick’s. It’s pink and made of lace. The lady initially brought me underwear like Dorian’s, so maybe I’m not supposed to wear this kind. H told her I could have lacey underwear if I wanted to.
I step out into the parking lot with my new clothes on. There are other people milling about the strip mall, and they don’t stare at me. They don’t even notice that I’m made of plastic. For a moment, I’m just a guy walking through a parking lot.
It reminds me of the Christmas when Dorian was in Belize and Candlewick came over to see me. He made me hot cocoa and played Christmas songs through the sound system in the kitchen. When I asked him why he came, he laughed as if the question were ridiculous and said, “Because you’re my friend, Bud. I want to spend Christmas with you.”
I almost felt human that day.
H opens the back door and sets the bag filled with my new clothing on the seat. “You said you can drink liquid, right? Can you eat ice cream?”
“I can eat the plain stuff without bits of solid food in it.”
Technically, I can eat whatever I want, but anything solid gives me an awful stomachache that lasts for weeks. I don’t smell very good during that time either. It’s like the food has rotted inside me but can’t come out until it’s nothing but mush.
H climbs into the car. “Then let’s go get some ice cream.”
I get the passenger door open on the first try. “But aren’t I supposed to stay under the radar?”
He searches my face. “It’s hard to tell you’re made of plastic in the sunlight. It brings out the texture in your skin. We can probably go to a drive-through, and you won’t even need to cover your head.” He reaches over and tucks my hair behind my ear. The shell of my ear tingles along the path of his fingertips. He stares into my eyes, and I’m overwhelmed by how pretty they are in the sun. There are flecks of yellow and brown amongst the green.
The engine of a car near us roars to life, and H looks away.
“We should probably get going,” he says. He slides his key into the ignition and looks behind us. The initial movement backward is a little jarring. Riding in the car is completely different this time. When I was riding with Candlewick or Steppe, I hid my head under a hoodie.
I can see the road clearly now, and watching the world whiz by while H drives is exhilarating. It’s exactly like the TV shows and movies, except it’s bigger. There are trees everywhere, and the road stretches before us like an infinite black ribbon. Cute stoplights shine red, yellow, and green at every intersection. H turns on his sad music, and it all seems too beautiful to be happening to me.
We slow down next to a building with a big sign that says “Menu” at the top. The sign crackles, and a voice says, “Order when you’re ready.”
I’ve seen this on television. I’m at a real drive-through. I cover my mouth and try to hide my excitement. I wonder if there’s a person wearing a uniform at the window with one of those head microphone things.
H is looking at me with a smile on his face. “You okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just… we’re at a drive-through. I’ve never been to a drive-through before. Are they going to give us cups with little lids?”
He chuckles. “Probably. If we order drinks. Do you want a drink?”
Right. We’re ordering ice cream. That’s not a drink.
“I don’t have any money,” I remind him.
“That’s okay. I’ll pay. What do you want? The food at this restaurant is pretty cheap. You can get whatever you like.”
I scan the menu. There are all sorts of things.
“Um, how about a hamburger, a grilled cheese sandwich, chicken, french fries, onion rings, and a shake?”
He laughs. “I thought you couldn’t eat solid food.”
“I can’t, but I can smell it.”
Dorian never ate any of the things on that list. He liked salads, soups, and fresh produce. I’ve never smelled a hamburger before. Candlewick said they were delicious.
H rolls down his window. “Okay, we’ll have a hamburger, grilled cheese, chicken tenders, fries, onion rings, two vanilla shakes, and a lemonade. Anything else, Buddy?”
I shake my head. I don’t know what possessed me to ask for that much food. H probably thinks I’m ridiculous.
He drives forward to the window where a young man is wearing one of those head microphone things. He even has a little hat! He takes H’s card and swipes it through his little register. I get so caught up in watching him that I forget to be self-conscious.
The man hands us our food without asking about H’s robot or even noticing that I’m not real.
“And here are the vanilla shakes. Have a good day.”
He hands H a tray with three drinks and two big paper bags. H gives me the first paper sack. It’s hot to the touch. I open it, and the delicious scent of hot food rushes at me.
“Hold on one second,” H says. He drives forward until we’re in another parking lot. This one looks connected to the restaurant. H parks in the corner of the lot.
“Okay. Go ahead. Let’s smell this stuff.”
I stop. Why would H want to smell food with me? He can actually eat it.
H reaches into the bag for me and pulls out what looks like a sandwich. “Grilled cheese.” He brings it to his nose and breathes in deep. “Damn, that smells good. I never take the time to notice. Here, you try.”
He gives it to me. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by how kind he is. He just bought me clothes, and now we have a pile of food, not because I need to eat but because I wanted to smell it.
I lift the sandwich to my nose. The scent of cheese and warm butter envelops me. Cheese has this salty, tangy smoothness to it that I could smell for hours. Especially the stuff Dorian brought home on a cheat days and asked me to sprinkle over hot noodles for him.
When I open my eyes, H is staring at me. Not the way the lawyers did last night or even the way Candlewick does when he’s trying to understand me. This is different. There’s a tender warmth in his gaze.
He reaches into the bag and pulls out another package. “These are the chicken tenders.”
The salt is a little stronger on the chicken, and there’s a sweetness that accompanies the fried meat. H hands me the hamburger next, and that’s a whole combo of scents. There are sliced pickles, a tomato, and ketchup. It’s a symphony of sorts. I take my time with each item, and H doesn’t ask me to rush.
After I smell all the warm things, he casually hands me a cold cup with white ice cream inside. Like ice cream is the most common thing in the world.
I’ve only had ice cream twice in my life. It was almost impossible for Candlewick to bring me anything frozen. The things he snuck in for me had to survive in his overnight bag until Dorian left the next morning.
The first time was when Dorian still thought I could be real. The second time was three months ago. Candlewick showed up out of nowhere while Dorian was on vacation. He had a black eye and a wry smile on his face. “I got sent home early. I was feeling sorry for myself, but then I remembered you and I could party without any interruptions from certain alphas.”
That night we had ice cream and danced in the kitchen. He stayed with me for two full days before Dorian returned. After that he didn’t come back for three weeks. I thought he had left me forever. I didn’t blame him. I knew how mean Dorian could be.
When he returned, things were different. We didn’t cuddle in the mornings anymore. He was busy studying the security system and opening the hoods on Dorian’s extra cars. He asked me lots of questions about what I remembered before I met Dorian and how my body worked.
He also ended up with a lot of bruises. He told me to wear earplugs at night while I was in my closet, but I could still hear the crash of Dorian’s fists.
Sometimes he had more than bruises. A split lip. A limp. I begged him to stop coming, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Then one morning there was a big welt on his right cheek in the shape of Dorian’s favorite ring.
I have marks on my chest that are shaped like that ring too.
Candlewick ran around the house, grabbing things like the scent dampener in my closet and a collection of food from the fridge. He spent a long time in the garage. So long, I wondered if he had called for an Uber and wouldn’t return. That’s how Dorian preferred for him to leave. He was never allowed to bring his own car.
When he came back, he handed me one of Dorian’s hoodies and told me to put it on. I shook my head. “Dorian doesn’t want me to wear clothes.”
Candlewick clenched his jaw. “We’re leaving, Bud. Dorian’s rules don’t apply anymore.”
I stare down at the ice cream H gave me and wonder if I could have stopped him. Maybe if I had told him I was fine, he would still be free instead of stuck in jail. Sure, I’m here with H wearing new clothes and smelling delicious food, but at what price?
Guilt churns in my stomach. I got so caught up in my shopping trip with H, I forgot all about Candlewick.
“Be honest with me. What are the chances we’ll win?” I ask H. I know his lawyers are good, but it doesn’t matter how good they are if the case is hopeless.
“What do you mean?”
“What are the chances we’ll win in court and Candlewick will be set free?”
H doesn’t say anything at first, but his face tenses, which is a type of answer.
“There is a chance,” he says. “I’ll do everything I can—”
“Tell Dorian I’ll go back to him if he’ll let Candlewick go.”
I know what it feels like to be trapped. Candlewick deserves better than that.
H places his hand on my knee. “I really think you need to give our lawyers a chance to prove you’re human. You get to meet the lawyer in charge of your case tomorrow morning. Will you talk with her before you make your decision?”
I try to memorize the pretty colors in his eyes for later when memories are all I have left of the big, beautiful world. What difference will a few more hours make in the long run? My lawyer would be the person making Dorian the offer anyway, right?
“Okay.”
I bring the milkshake to my lips and suck in the sweet, cold liquid. When I go back to Dorian, I’ll be going alone. Candlewick will never come to the house again. There will be no one to talk to. No one to touch me. No one to bring me little gifts to help me pass the time.
Today is probably the last time anyone will be kind to me.
I have to savor it.