End Scene

(a touch of taboo)

By Nicky James

End Scene

Copyright © 2020 by Nicky James

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover Artist:

Nicky James

Editing:

LesCourt Author Service

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author

The author recognizes all Trademarks

Table of Contents

End Scene

WARNING

NOTE TO READER

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Atti and Ash’s End Scene Playlist

Other Titles by Nicky James

WARNING

This book contains content of a taboo nature which some people may find objectionable. The two main characters are consenting adults, but their actions may be regarded as disturbing or unnatural to some readers.

Proceed with extreme caution.

NOTE TO READER

As a reader and writer of MM romance, I like to envision a future where gay romance is as mainstream in a bookstore as any other genre, regardless of sexual content or theme. Imagine a world where even taboo fiction has its place and doesn’t have to be hidden away and shamed.

So, for this story, I’ve taken those liberties and created just such a world.

Chapter One

Dear, Mr. Charming.

We have reviewed your application for the Ontario Student Assistance Program and regret to inform you, you do not meet the requirements for a student loan at this time for one or more of the following reasons:

• Net annual family income exceeds our threshold of $150,000 …

I CRUMPLED THE LETTER without reading further and launched the wadded-up ball of paper at the far wall.

“Motherfucking fucker!”

I kicked my desk chair, sending it clattering onto its side and scrubbed at my face.

Perfect. This was just fucking perfect.

I didn’t ask to be born into one of the top ten wealthiest families in the province, nor did I ask to come flying into this world, waving a rainbow flag. And I certainly didn’t ask for two prudish parents who were appalled by any sex that didn’t involve a man and a woman in strictly the missionary position.

Christ, they probably had a sex calendar in their bedroom that outlined their sex schedule. Tuesdays and Thursdays at ten fifteen sharp. Ten minutes of lackluster foreplay, no more no less, ending with two moderate, snore-inducing orgasms. Postcoital showers? One hundred percent compulsory and separate. Heaven forbid sex be a messy venture.

Eww… Why am I thinking about my parents having sex?!

I shuddered and flopped onto the hideaway bed I’d been sleeping on over the past two months. The mattress was lumpy, thin, and covered in questionable stains I preferred not to think about. It was one of three pieces of furniture my best friend, Aaron’s, parents had offered me when I’d temporarily moved in to their basement.

The steel-framed desk in the corner reminded me of the ones my teachers all had in elementary school. It was bulky and practical but horrifyingly ugly. A pressed oatmeal style dresser held the few outfits I’d managed to pull together during my allotted, “You have ten minutes to clean out your belongings!” which had immediately followed my glowing and exuberant, “I’m gay!” announcement.

Biggest. Fucking. Mistake. Ever.

To punctuate my misery, a shrill cry and scampering feet sounded from above. A male voice yelled, then a herd of elephants stormed across the floor above my head, which was followed by more squeals and cries and child-like yells.

I tugged my phone from my pocket, the one piece of my old life I still owned that hadn’t been confiscated by my parents, and texted my twin brother. I held my breath each time I used the device, waiting for the day Dad remembered to remove me from the family phone plan.

Thankfully, today was not the day.

Atticus: Rob a bank with me?

Asher: LOL. Hate the working man’s life that much already, do ya? What’s it been? Three weeks on the job?

Four. I sneered at my phone. Four stupid weeks. Who knew finding a job was hard? I’d spent a month after being kicked out of the house looking for anyone who would hire me. It was a desperate venture.

Finally, I’d secured part-time work at West End Pumps gas station, working for minimum wage three to four nights a week after school. I’d been at it for four weeks. A whole month. And it was long enough to decide I hated every part of this disownment to my core. Especially the shitty-ass, bullshit job which came with exposure to the cold, Southwestern Ontario winter weather, a wretched smell that lingered in your nose, annoying customers, and a ball-busting boss who barely tolerated me.

Not a single part of this new life was appealing.

And every cent I made—which was horrifyingly minimal—went toward food, personal hygiene supplies, and the two hundred and fifty bucks room and board Aaron’s parents charged me for staying with them. It was a sweet deal to live in hell’s basement.

I was never going to have enough money to pay for my last year of university. Ever. Not even close. I could kiss my degree goodbye at this rate. Adios. Sayonara. Thanks for coming out.

Atticus: I’ve been working there four fucking weeks! I’m going to be eating ramen noodles for the rest of my life.

Asher: Never tried them.

Atticus: Dude, fucking disgusting. Trust me.

Asher: Matilda’s making roast au jus for dinner tonight with those homemade Yorkshire puddings you like.

Atticus: I hate you. Loathe. Despise. Basically every synonym for hate there is.

Atticus: Call me?

My phone rang a minute later, and I whined long and loud into the receiver in place of saying hello. I’d been accused of being overly dramatic in the past. There might be some truth behind it.

Asher chuckled. “You’re pathetic.”

“Why have you not run away with me? We’ve been separated. I can’t stand it. It’s like the individual cells in my body are trying to divide again and make another you. It hurts. I can’t do it twice.” I whimpered again for emphasis. “Ash, I’m screwed, and not in the bend me over the hood of the Jag and pound my ass type of way. The bad way. The painful way. The oh-crap-my-bank-account-is-in-the-negative way. I’m fast running out of ideas, and you’re over there living the high life and eating roast au jus with my goddamn Yorkshire puddings.”

“I get the sense you’re trying to tell me something, but whatever it is, it’s getting lost in translation. You’re rambling. What’s going on? Speak-a the English. What’s the problem?”

“What isn’t the problem? I’m poor and miserable. I was not ready for adulthood this soon. Tell Mom and Dad it was all lies. I’m not gay. It was a phase. I’m over it. Ha, good joke, right?”

“Riiight, and how do you propose I magically make the burned image of your mouth around Ryan Vector’s cock disappear from Matilda’s mind?”

“Fuck. You know what? We don’t need a housekeeper. Fire her ass! Tell Mom and Dad she’s a big fat liar who lies and hates me. Tell them she’s stealing from them. She’s an illegal immigrant! No, tell them, she’s a housekeeper by day and a hooker by night. I saw her walking the streets of Fifth Avenue after sundown in a mini skirt and fishnet stockings.”

I paused, envisioning our sixty-year-old housekeeper/used-to-be-nanny in that kind of attire. Asher and I both audibly ewwed at the exact same time.

“Dude, that’s fucking gross as shit, and you know it. I just threw up in my mouth. Why would you put that image in my head?”

“I regret many of my life decisions. Add it to the list. Ash, I’m serious. Just make something up. Get rid of her. We don’t need a housekeeper, and we’re long past requiring a nanny. Especially one who walks into rooms without knocking. What was she thinking?”

“The door wasn’t closed.”

“Not the time, Ash!”

“Okay, so let’s pretend for five minutes Matilda dies in a horrible car crash.”

“We could make that happen.”

“No, shut up. My point is, what about the rainbow pompoms and tutu fiasco where you leaped out of the closet when Mom and Dad got home from work, announcing, ‘I’m gay,’ in a singsong voice while ‘YMCA’ blasted from the speakers. And then, and then, there was the dance. I’ll never forget the dance.” Asher chuckled. “That was fucking brilliant. The look on Dad’s face. He almost had a heart attack right there when you bent over and wiggled your ass in those shorts. Where did you get those tight little stripy things anyhow?”

“Online from this cute little gay apparel store. Gays R Us or something fun like that. I was trying to be creative. That was the most epic coming out announcement in the history of coming out announcements. Why did no one appreciate it? Do you know how hard it was to find rainbow pompoms on half a day’s notice? They cost me a fortune.”

“You used Dad’s credit card.”

“They cost Dad a fortune! Besides, I thought it would be best they hear it from me before Matilda gave them a play-by-play of my deep-throating skills—which are fucking amazing, by the way.”

“TMI.”

“Whatever. I give amazing head. Ask Ryan. No, I take that back, don’t ask him. We broke up, he’ll lie and say I’m a gagger or a spitter. I’m neither, for the record.”

“Atti, please stop talking!”

I sighed.

“Give them time,” Asher continued. “It will blow over. You’re being dramatic, as usual. You have to admit, it was kinda a shocker for them. Mom and Dad are a bit … conservative. You should have dampened the blow.”

“Can you stop saying blow? I keep thinking about—”

“You’re impossible.”

“I know! What is wrong with me? It’s like I’m flawed. How did you get all the perfectness?”

“Atti—”

“It’s been two months. Two! Mom won’t take my calls, and Dad canceled my credit card within three days. Ash, I’m serious. I’m broke. I can’t keep going like this. You don’t know what it’s like. I didn’t know before now either. We are two spoiled rich kids, do you know that? Fuck me, I’ve learned my lesson. Tell them to let me come home. I’m not gay anymore. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick a needle in my—this is the stupidest promise-making rhyme ever. Why did I not notice that before? Who would stick a needle in their eye?”

“Atti—”

“I’m serious. Who?”

“Let them come to terms with it.”

“No. You don’t understand. This gas station, working-for-a-living job thing is bullshit. I hate it. I want to be spoiled again. Do you know how bad I smell after a four-hour shift? It’s disgusting. It’s like bathing in gasoline. It lingers on my clothes and in my hair. It’s not sexy. Plus, I live in a zoo. Why would anyone have six million children? Do you know how crazy it gets around here? I can’t hear myself think. Between work and trying to study with all the chaos going on around me, I’m gonna fail school. Speaking of which, I have to fix this whole debacle before next year’s payments are due, or they’re gonna kick me out of the program.”

“What are you talking about? Kick you out? Are you serious?”

“I wouldn’t joke about this. Have you not been paying attention? Disownment doesn’t come with an allowance, much to my disappointment. It comes with a hefty dose of humiliation, an awful part-time job that pays shit, and a basement apartment in the Von Trap house, which I share with spiders and mold. Dude, there is something growing in the corner. I’m not shitting you.” I peered toward the corner in question and shuddered at the strange, black, mossy-like stuff growing along a crack in the cement wall.

Asher grew quiet. I knew he was thinking through possible options, but there weren’t any. I was the brains of the two of us. He was the brawn. If I couldn’t come up with an answer, there was no way he would.

“Shut up, dickhead.”

“What?”

“I’m not a fucking idiot. Just let me think for five seconds.”

Oh, and we had that whole twin, voodoo, mind-reading thing in the bag.

Being an ass, I whistled the Jeopardy theme song.

“Atti, I’ve got nothing. I don’t know what to suggest.”

“Me neither, hence my need to rob a bank. It took us far too long to come full circle. So, are you in? We can do this. Bring ski-masks. I’ve broken down the mechanics. All I need to do is hack into their—”

“Stop. We’re not robbing a bank.”

“Aren’t you listening? I have one hundred and ten dollars and thirty-seven cents in my bank account. That’s it. I told the Santiagos I’d pay them rent every month. They only want two hundred and fifty bucks—which is a steal, according to Aaron, but that leaves me with barely enough money each month to feed myself, never mind pay for my last year of school. Asher, I’m going to have to drop out and work a minimum-wage job for the rest of my life while living off hot dogs, Kraft Dinner, and ramen noodles.”

“Why don’t you apply for a student loan?” I knew the face he was making, even when I couldn’t see him. It was the same face I’d made when I’d realized I needed to borrow money from someone if I wanted to finish my degree—exactly the same face since we were identical twins.

“PS, I did apply, and do you know what they told me?”

“What?”

“Hold on, hold on, let me grab the paper.” I hung off my bed and stretched until the tips of my fingers made contact with the wadded-up ball I’d tossed earlier. I couldn’t quite grab it. “Fuck it, I can’t reach it, and I’m not getting up. It landed too close to the no-no spider zone. I’ll paraphrase. It said, ‘Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. You loser. Ha. Go beg your rich-ass parents for money because you suck. Next time, don’t be an idiot. Once you leave the closet, there’s no going back. The end, buh-bye now. Yours truly, Ha!’”

“Ouch. That’s pretty harsh.”

“It hurt my feelings.”

Asher sighed. “All right. Let me try to talk to them. I can’t promise anything.”

“I know. But I’d appreciate any effort.”

“I’m walking on thin ice, Atti. Do you know how many times Mom’s asked if I’m gay too? Dad keeps watching me like I’m going to start barfing rainbows. I feel like they’re ready to kick me out just because we share DNA.”

“I’ve done that once.”

“What?”

“Barfed rainbows, but I may have eaten too many Skittles before chugging a twenty-sixer of vodka. Bad scene. I don’t recommend it. I tasted the rainbow all right. It wasn’t half as fruity and fun coming out.”

“You’re right.”

“I usually am. About what?”

“You aren’t ready to be an adult.”

“I know! I’m not. Twenty-one is the new twelve. Let me come home. Puuleezz.”

“Leave it with me. I’ll try.”

“We could Google mind-altering potions, but you’d need to front me the money so I could buy the ingredients. I’d make it. All you’d have to do is put a few drops in their morning coffee and implant new memories. Make them good ones. In fact, while you’re eliminating the bad stuff, maybe you could make Mom forget about that time she walked in on me jacking off. I swear, I’m scarred for life because of that.”

Asher groaned. “Atti, are you really that broke?”

“It’s not good.”

“Do you have enough to eat?”

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yeah. The Santiagos said I can always join them for dinner if I want. It’s just … there are so many kids. It’s loud. And I can only eat so many casseroles. Who knew regular people ate this much casserole? Seriously, they make a casserole out of everything. Oh look, fish! Let’s make a casserole. Chicken? Casserole night. Hot dogs? No problem. Casserole coming up. Dude, I’m not shitting you. I had a hot dog casserole last week. It took everything in me not to gag as I choked it down.”

“You’re a spoiled brat.”

I let free a long, long whine. “I aaaaam!”

Asher chuckled. “I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, what about a bank loan if not a student loan?”

“I’m hanging up.”

Asher laughed and disconnected first.

A bank loan.

A freaking bank loan. As if.

Could this be more humiliating? My parents made enough money I could live off the interest in their bank account and never have to work another day in my life, but no, I had to be gay, and they had to be too close-minded to accept a gay son.

Why did I get the gay gene? How does that happen? When the embryo split and I made Asher—because we all know I’m the original and he’s the carbon copy—somehow his cell makeup turned out all straight and narrow and my cell makeup turned out all … glittery and curvy.

Whatever. I knew my analogy made no sense, but I was a computer genius, not a fucking geneticist. All I knew was my twin brother, my other half, got to live at home, eat good food, and had his university paid for while I was living in a spider-infested basement, eating ninety-nine cent cans of ravioli for dinner, with a deadline to pay my next year’s fees.

And I was broke.

“HI, I NEED MONEY.”

“Yeah, you and everyone here.” The lady behind the counter at the bank blinked her mascara-thickened eyelashes and puckered her cherry-red lips like I’d said the stupidest thing. Which, maybe I kinda had.

“That’s not what I meant. It came out wrong. What I meant was, I need to apply for a loan. A big one.”

She studied me for a beat before shifting to her computer. Her long acrylic nails tapped on her keyboard as she side-eyed me. “Do you bank with us?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I lifted my chin, pride swelling in my chest as I remembered opening my first bank account a month ago when I got the job at West End Pumps. Yeah, twenty-one years old and opening my first account seemed odd at the time, but it felt good. It felt like the birthing of my independence—that was before I knew the true definition of independence.

“Please put your card in the reader and follow the prompts.” She gestured to the handheld device on the counter.

I slid in my card and inputted my pin number.

“Thank you, Mr. Charming. So you’d like to apply for a loan today, is that correct?”

“Yes. For school. University. I’m a software engineer. Or I will be when I finish my degree, which can’t happen unless you guys give me money. To borrow,” I added when she frowned. I needed to stop talking.

“I’m going to set you up with one of our financial advisors, and they will take you through the process to see if you qualify.”

“Wait. What? Qualify? What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I qualify? I have to qualify?”

“Yes, they’ll look at your tax assessment from last year, your current employment and how much you make, along with checking your credit rating. We don’t just hand out money here, Mr. Charming.” Her nose turned up with obvious disgust as she sneered. She must have thought I was some stupid kid.

“Oh. Of course. I knew that.”

I didn’t know that.

“Have a seat over there. Someone will be with you shortly.”

I retreated, less enthused and optimistic than I’d been when I walked in. I should have just gone with the ski mask and water pistol in my jacket pocket. I’d competed on the track team during my first year of high school. I could outrun every single overweight cop on the force if I wanted to. Maybe. How hard could it be to rob a bank? It happened all the time.

Slumping in the waiting room chair, I pulled out my phone and texted Asher.

Atticus: Tell me you have good news.

Asher: I tried at dinner last night. No go. Besides, Matilda was there, and between the looks she shared with Mom and their matching, twisted sour-lemon faces, I’d say the cat’s out of the bag.

Atticus: Shit. I may have to sell my body on the street at this rate. I have a cute ass, right? It could earn me enough for another year of school.

Asher: Let’s not forget your deep-throating skills. Would Ryan give you a reference?

Atticus: Probably not, but maybe Matilda would. She saw the whole thing.

“Atticus Charming?”

I jerked upright in my seat and pocketed my phone. The man who’d called my name was a middle-aged guy with salt-and-pepper hair, a navy pinstriped suit, and a caterpillar for an eyebrow. He wore a white button-up under his suit jacket and a pencil-thin tie. He looked constipated, and his bushy mustache was straight out of the seventies. All he needed was a white, windowless van and a pocket full of candies for the unsuspecting children, and he’d be set.

“That’s me.” I waved.

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