Rentboy

you were living on the street and something bad had
    happened to you. All the time you were going to school and living…where?”
    “Finchley,” Fox muttered.
    “Oh, very posh. You acted so impressed by my home when you come from a wealthy
    neighborhood yourself. Were you laughing at me behind my back? Were you telling your friends at
    Wimbledon College about your geeky boffin of a boyfriend?”
    “I never told anyone about you,” Fox said. “I’d never laugh at you, Eddie.”
    “Oh, I think you would. Everybody else does, so why not you? Why were you picking up tricks
    that night? Just for the experience or what?”
    My dad told me to pick you up so I could rob your computer. “I thought it might give me some
    insights for an installation piece I’m working on about prostitution.” Where did that come from?
    “I’m part of an art project? Lovely! I’m flattered!” His voice rose up, anger, hurt, and irony
    grappling for precedence. “Nik tells me you think I’m too old for you.”
    “That’s not true.”
    “You didn’t say that?”
    “Yes, I did, but…”
    “You tell so many lies you don’t remember how to tell the truth, do you? Did you say it or not?
    Nik may not be able to hold her own water, but she’s always truthful when she gossips.”
    This was horrible, and there was no way out. “Yes, I said it. I’m sorry, Eddie. Truly I am. I
    didn’t mean to hurt you.” Eddie wasn’t too old; he was perfect.
    “Too late for that.” Eddie wore his heart on his sleeve. He didn’t even try to play it cool. “I am
    hurt, and I feel betrayed.”
    The pain in Fox’s upper arm from his most recent cutting episode flared up, making him grip it.
    The scabs were still raw. Aside from that his entire body was bruised from the beating Baillie had
    given him.
    Eddie’s voice was quiet now, the anger dulled. “Have you cut yourself again?”
    It was over between him and Eddie, so why hide the one thing he hated admitting to. “Yeah.”
    The sarcasm and hurt were back. “Is it part of your persona? The Goth art student all dressed in
    black, even on a hot day like this, who cuts himself for…what? As part of an art project? Do you take
    photographs of your cuts?”
    Fox pressed the cold beer bottle against his inflamed arm for a minute, before drinking the
    remains. But he didn’t bother to answer. Eddie no longer believed anything he said, and why would
    he?
    “You’re a liar and a thief. I’m glad I found out before you wasted any more of my time. You
    know, I actually admired you, a lost boy living on the street, selling himself to survive. I thought it
    was noble even though I hated the thought of you doing it. Now I find out that you have no need at all
    to do it. It’s just for an art project. That doesn’t make you a hero. It just makes you a tart.”
    A desire to bite back suddenly overwhelmed Fox. “And you hire rentboys, so I s’pose we’re
    both a bit pathetic and lacking in morals.”
    Eddie fell silent and lowered his eyes, fingering the label on the bottle, scraping it away from
    the glass with his fingernail. “Yes, it does,” he said very quietly. “I was desperate not to reach my
    thirtieth birthday as a virgin, so I took the risk of paying for sex. Sad, isn’t it?”
    “Eddie.” Fox watched his face, wanting to erase the hurt he had inflicted. Not just his last cruel
    words, but all of it. Every stupid thing he had done in the last few weeks. “You’re not sad. You’re
    fab.”
    The softness in Eddie’s eyes when he looked up again made Fox despise himself even more for
    making such a decent bloke feel like a bag of shit. “For a short while there I felt happy and excited
    and sexy as hell instead of boring and ordinary. I should thank you for that if nothing else.” As if
    resolved, Eddie pushed away his empty beer bottle and stood up. “Here’s the thirty quid I owe you.”
    He threw the banknotes on the table and walked out.

    * * * *
    “He’s not here,” the man said. “Hasn’t been back. The bloke with the black eyes. That’s who

    you’re looking for, isn’t it? Fox.”
    Never in his life had Edward chatted with a vagrant. In the last few weeks he’d done it twice.
    After his conversation with Fox he had felt confused and angry, and for some strange reason he
    needed to know just how many men Fox had had sex with for his art piece.
    “No. Actually. I was looking for you.”
    “I don’t sell my arse.” The tramp reared back against the