Skurdulka's House (a LGBTQ chosen-family thriller)

Part 7: Black Nails

 There was something soothing about the woods.

Maybe a mile from civilization, the modern world seemed to fall away between the oaks and maples, the bramble and the weeds. An ageless creature wading between the now and the then, Ari liked knowing it was there, an ageless place.

Some people said the woods were scary. And it could be, for those who spent their lives so far away from the lawless wild. But, when accompanied by the right guide, Ari had yet to find someone who didn't find it soothing. Storm was no different.

He'd been holding back for a long time, maybe years. When he finally let go, sobbing wordlessly in Ari's arms, that cold shell that seemed to hold him upright broke. When his tears ebbed and his breathing evened and Ari gently stood him up, he looked a bit lost. Holding his face gently in both hands, Ari looked the young man in the eyes. Ringed with raw red, the slivers of green in his amber eyes seemed to shine. He sniffed once, pressing his lips together. He looked so scared.

"I'm proud of you." Ari folded him gently into a hug.

"For what?" Storm's voice was choked.

"All of it."

"Tch." He half-sniffed, half-scoffed. "You're so full of shit."

"Feeling's a lot harder than fighting." Looking into his eyes again, Ari held him by the shoulders. "Believe me, I know."

Storm rubbed his arm over his nose. "You know about fighting?"

"Yes. I do."

Storm looked up. "Can you show me?"

Ari's brow arced, a piteous look sliced with pain. "It won't make you feel any better."

"Not having this happen anymore," Storm gestured to his bruised eye "that would make me feel better."

Drawing a breath, Ari patted his shoulder. "Come on. Let's keep walking."

And so the woods soothed. Ari pointed out more plants and flowers, telling stories about how they got their names—their histories, their roots. Some of them were true, some of them were legends, some Ari no longer knew the difference.

For long stretches, they just walked together. Dead leaves crunched, green leaves licked at their heels, and the scent of wet, earthen air was everywhere.

Then, "It was David."

Ari turned their head. "What?"

Storm stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath. "It was David. I—he..." Storm shook his head. "He kissed me. Then—everything was different."

Ari tilted their head towards two large rocks on the edge of a stream. Ari sat down on the larger boulder, dipping their dirty, black-painted toes into the water and watching the mud drift away. Storm sat down on the other, drawing his knees up to his chest.

"What was different?" Ari asked. They didn't look at Storm. Through the air somehow, they knew Storm didn't want them to.

"It was just—" Storm sighed, a sound almost like a growl. "I knew I shouldn't of been friends with him. Everyone told me not to be friends with a fucking queer."

Ari let the comment drop into the water and wash away. They knew it didn't come from hate.

"But he was..." there were a thousand words that could've ended that sentence "nice."

That was the one that counted.

Ari watched the baby fish circling around their still feet, their fragile bodies like glass with black marks.