Michael Griffo - Unwelcome

“A little,” Michael admitted. “It was kind of fun, just the two of us here while everyone was away.” It was Michael’s turn to be sensitive. He didn’t rattle on about how enjoyable it was to spend a few weeks alone with his boyfriend when he knew that Ciaran had to spend most of that time in Devil’s Bridge, a small town in Wales with his stepmother and her relatives. Michael had been informed that this step-family was a bizarre clan who practiced alternative medicine and ran their own church and who, in Ronan’s opinion, made water vamps look completely normal in comparison. Michael thought he would get to see Ciaran on Christmas at Edwige’s flat in London, but Ciaran had decided to stay in Wales since his stepmother, though hardly loving and affectionate, was slightly more maternal toward him than Edwige. Since she had spent most of the day lamenting how much she hated the pagan holiday, Michael thought Ciaran made the right decision. Still, he hadn’t realized how much he missed his friend until just now. “But I’m glad everybody’s back.” Michael said. “I’m looking forward to a fun semester.”

Ciaran glanced over at Ronan, who was chatting with Nakano. “One can only hope. If one happens to be the hopeful type.”

Michael also saw his boyfriend talking to his ex-boyfriend and was happy to note that he could hardly feel the pangs of jealousy any longer. He had to be honest: They were there, but just barely. “Well, you know me, Ciaran. I’m Mister Hopeful.”

Yes, you are, Ciaran thought, hopeful and eager and filled with little optimistic rays of sunshine. Ciaran stopped his sarcastic stream of unconsciousness. He liked Michael, he really did, but sometimes it was hard to like the guy who always gets everything he wants. “Well, it looks like all your dreams have come true,” Ciaran said. “So why shouldn’t you expect more of the same?”

That’s right, Michael told himself, so much good stuff has happened to me so far, in such a short period of time, why shouldn’t I expect my lucky streak to continue? Because all good things must come to an end, he reminded himself. Nothing lasts forever. Michael laughed out loud at his last silent and foolish remark. Not only some things but also some people last forever. Fortunately, Mr. Blakeley blew his whistle at the same time Michael laughed, so he didn’t look like a total fool in front of Ciaran. Not that he had much time to worry about his reaction; within seconds, Blakeley had the starting team lined up for the first practice heat of the new season.

Ronan, Michael, Nakano, and Fritz each took their positions on top of their swim blocks, goggles on, bodies bent, heads down, arms stretched out behind them, no one daring to move a muscle until the loud blast of Blakeley’s gun was heard. But Michael couldn’t help himself; he was too close to Ronan, the magnetic pull between them too strong for him not to shift his eyes the tiniest bit to the left to get a glimpse of him before they were all underwater. He was glad he took the risk. In his arched position, Ronan’s body was like sculpted white marble, his calves a solid curve, his thighs strong and thick, his right arm a series of rolling muscles. When Michael looked up to see Ronan’s perfect profile, he was thrilled to see Ronan smiling back at him. He was trying to get one last eyeful of Michael as well.

While the echo of Blakeley’s gun still reverberated off the walls and windows of the gym, the boys were already in the pool, stroking, stroking, stroking, left arm, right arm, deep breath, kick, kick, kick, each trying to win, each trying to claim the first victory of the season. Michael felt the cold water rush past him, envelop him, and he imagined he was swimming in the Atlantic Ocean off Inishtrahull Island toward The Well. He tried to swim toward the finish line with the same abandon and the same purpose. If he did, maybe he could get there first.

But Ronan was a formidable opponent. He had more experience and knew better than anyone on the team how to move with unabashed freedom in the water. And even though he loved Michael and wanted him to achieve every one of his goals, Ronan also hated to lose. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Michael had a slight advantage over him, less than half a stroke but a definite advantage, and Ronan was duly impressed. Not impressed enough to admit defeat prematurely, however. Using all his natural and preternatural skills, Ronan surged his body forward to pull ahead of Michael to come in first, which everyone, including Ronan, expected would happen anyway. No one, however, expected Michael to come in second.

“Kano, you’re slipping!” Blakeley called out. “You let Howard beat you by two full strokes!” Before he could continue berating Nakano in front of the whole team, his cell phone rang. Looking at the number displayed on his phone, Blakeley grimaced and started walking toward the locker room. Just before he disappeared from view, he hurled one more barb over his shoulder. “B team, get ready so you can show Mr. Kai how to swim like a loser.”

Michael spit out some pool water he laughed so hard. “Looks like I’m beating you in everything these days!”

Lifting the yellow goggles off his eyes and onto his forehead, Nakano stared at the pool water for a moment. There were still little waves rising and falling all around him from the race. He was confused by Michael’s comment. Not by the words; he knew they had nothing to do with swimming and everything to do with Ronan, but by the tone. It was arrogant and smug. Nakano had been spending so much time with Jean-Paul that he hadn’t thought that much about Ronan and less about Michael, and he thought everyone had moved past all that, grown up a bit. Guess not. “Like I care,” Nakano finally replied, in a quieter voice than Michael had used. “I found someone a lot better than any of the boys here at school.”

Still feeling the power of the swim and obviously feeling the pangs of jealousy more strongly than he originally thought, Michael tried to keep his mouth shut, but couldn’t. Climbing out of the pool, Michael felt adrenaline pump through his veins, he felt the water race down his face, his chest, his legs, and the late afternoon sun penetrate the gym windows and warm his body. He knew how he looked, like a glistening young god, and he knew looking down at Nakano, who was still half submerged in the pool, that he would think he looked like a god too. He took advantage of his superior position and hurled another insult at his nemesis. “Yeah, you had to go find some old man because nobody here wants you!”

Even if Ronan spoke out loud, he wouldn’t have been heard, not with the roar of laughter that sprang from the crowd, but he knew Michael had heard him telepathically. Since Ronan created Michael and together they had offered their souls to The Well, they were linked; symbolically, they were one. However, they could also exercise free will and choose to sever that connection forever or for a moment, as Michael did now. He didn’t want to hear Ronan’s unspoken warning to back off from Nakano because he’s stronger; he was strong too, didn’t Ronan know that? He was stronger than ever before. And to prove his point, he pushed Nakano back into the pool just as he was on the top step of the ladder.

Although Ciaran couldn’t eavesdrop on Ronan and Michael’s telepathic conversation, he knew Ronan well enough to know what he would say. He also knew his words would not help Michael change his mind or his actions, so Ciaran grabbed Ronan by the arm just as Michael dove into the water after Nakano. “No,” Ciaran advised. “He’s got to learn on his own.”

Propelled by a desire Michael didn’t completely understand but couldn’t resist, he grabbed Nakano by the ankle and, just as Kano’s head broke through the surface of the water, pulled him back down. Caught by surprise, Nakano had time only to take a quick breath, hardly enough to fill up his lungs, but he wasn’t concerned about that. He really wanted to know why he was being attacked. Motives would have to wait because Michael wasn’t showing any mercy.