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‘This is the moment when you would hear annoying pop-rock-rap music and I would say something incredibly witty and awesome. That’s not going to happen. Just leave a message, OK?’ BEEP!
“Hey, it’s me. I figure since you're just hanging out at home today that you'd want to watch a movie or something. Give me a call when you get this. Oh, this is Aaron. Bye.”
Two hours later he called back.
“Hey, I expected to hear from you by now. I hope you're not still asleep because you're wasting a perfectly good, though drizzly day. Call me when you get this.”
An hour later…
“I'm not saying I'm worried but I expected you to call me back. I don’t want to call your house phone but maybe your cell phone has been stolen or something. I could be leaving these messages at the bottom of a dumpster. If I don’t hear from you in an hour I’ll just call your house.”
Ninety minutes after that…
“OK Anderson, I hate to be a worry wart but I haven’t heard from you all day. If you're not dead or in a coma could you please text me or call me back right now. I'm just worried. I'm gonna run by your house and ring the bell next. Call me.”
It was interesting to listen to the messages in rapid succession. He listened to Hotch’s voice go from perfectly natural and pleasant to frantic and even a little angry. Anderson sighed; for some reason he saved all the messages. Then he went to his missed call log and pressed Hotch’s number.
“Are you alright?” he answered. The relief in his voice didn’t manage to outweigh the panic.
“Well I do believe the little woman cares.” Anderson tried to smile. It didn’t matter, Hotch couldn’t see him.
“You're not alright. You always cover something bad with sarcasm, movie quotes, or a combination of both.”
“I think you're getting to know me too well. I hope you realize this means that I have to kill you now. I’ll apologize for that in advance.”
“Where are you?” Hotch asked. “What happened?”
“I'm outside of Penelope’s house with her and Emily Prentiss, passing some weed. All hell broke loose. You wanna just meet up?”
“I can come and get you?” Hotch said.
“No, I think I'm gonna walk home. It’s only about a mile and a half.”
“That’s pretty far when it’s cold and drizzly.”
“I’ll be OK; I promise.”
“OK.” Hotch didn’t sound convinced but he knew when he could push Anderson and when he couldn’t. “I’ll meet you at your house.”
“Cool. I’m leaving here in like 15 minutes.” Anderson said. “I really didn’t mean to worry you. Believe me, the plan was to spend the day in my pajamas.”
“We’ll talk in a little while.” Hotch said.
“OK. Bye.” Anderson hung up, slipping his phone into his back pocket. He took the small pipe from Penelope and lit it. “Oh God, I need more of this.”
“For $20 you can have some of your very own.” Emily said.
“It’s the holidays; money’s a little tight.” Anderson went into his wallet. He had $42 so he took out two $10 bills. Emily went into her messenger bag and pulled out a vial of weed. “And what exotic location is this from?”
“There are parts of Alaska that are nothing but daylight for six months straight. That’s where they cultivated this. It’s called Northern Exposure.”
“That’s original.” Anderson smirked and put the vial in his pocket. “I need to say goodnight to Amanda. Hey, I really owe you guys for having my back today.”
“Don’t even go there.” Penelope hugged him. “If we didn’t have each other then we’d have nothing.”
“I'm Demi Moore in this St. Elmo’s Fire thing.” Emily said. “Anderson is Andrew McCarthy.”
“I am soooo Andrew McCarthy. You're going to have to fight Amanda tooth and nail for the Demi Moore thing though.” Anderson said.
“I’m not opposed to being Rob Lowe. He's sexy and wild like me.”
They laughed and Anderson went into Penelope’s house while the girls finished off the weed.
***
Anderson stopped walking, squinting to see who was talking to him. This area could be sketchy at times even though he was now just three blocks from home. His first thought was to tell the person to fuck off but his mother raised him better than that. Still, being the victim of a serial killer was not the best cherry on top of the day he had.
“New wheels?” he asked as soon as he recognized the driver.
“It’s my stepdad’s car.” Hotch replied. “Do you want to finish walking?”
“I'm freezing my ass off.”
“Get in here then.” Hotch smiled.
Anderson walked over and opened the passenger door. He didn’t think he’d ever been so appreciative of heat in his life. Though he told Hotch that he would walk, Anderson knew almost immediately it was a shit idea. The teen was mentally exhausted. The temperature dropped when the sun went down though it wasn’t below freezing.
It was also still drizzling. Anderson felt like Atreyu in the swamps of sadness with each block. Just when he thought he couldn’t go on, the Escalade showed up like his luck dragon. That was probably one of the most ridiculous thoughts Anderson had ever had in his life. Clearly he was beginning to lose his mind.
“Your hands are freezing.” Hotch held Anderson's hands in his. “Why aren't you wearing gloves?”
“I was in a bit of a rush this morning. I'm lucky I remembered my coat.”
“What happened?” Hotch let go of his hands. He turned the blinkers off and moved back into traffic.
“There was an epic meltdown with Amanda and the sperm donor.”
“Who’s the sperm donor?”
Hotch pulled up in front of Anderson's house, already decorated for the holiday with Santa and snowmen on the front lawn. He parallel parked in front of Mr. Donovan’s work van.
“That’s her dad. I can trust you right?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean really, really trust you?” Anderson asked. “Not like trust you a little bit but seriously trust you.”
“Yes.” Hotch nodded. He cut the car off but kept the heat running. “You can tell me anything.”
“OK, but don’t tell a soul.”
“I won't.”
“Amanda’s dad is a class A douche.” Anderson shook his head just thinking about him. “He beat up her mom for years. After her mom’s suicide, he started pushing her around. When she decided to come out as transgendered, it just got worse.
“Douchebag works the second shift at his job so they barely see each there. That managed to work out for a few years. Unless he got drunk and then there would be these blowups. Amanda lives out of suitcases and trash bags cuz douche would find her girl clothes and destroy them. Apparently this morning, since tis the season and all, he decided the world could do without another faggot.
They really got into it. He beat the hell out of her. When she called me, she’d just called 911 from the bodega down the block. She was barely dressed; no coat or shoes.
“It was bad. I called Penelope to go to the hospital with me. She called Emily Prentiss for a ride. We spent most of the afternoon there.”
“Oh my God.” Hotch could barely think as he took it all in. He knew what it was like for your father to slap you around once in a while. Alexander Hotchner always called it keeping his son in line. He didn’t know what it was like to live in absolute fear because you were who you were.
His mother tried to commit suicide once, though the family covered up what it really was. Hotch was a bright boy and he knew they were all in a lot of pain. Tonight he realized how much he and Amanda Jackson had in common. “Is she going to be alright?”
“She took a beating.” Anderson replied. “At first she told the cops she was jumped on the way to the bodega. Who the hell goes to the store in no coat and shoes in the middle of December? Plus Amanda seriously wouldn’t be caught dead outside in yoga pants and a baby doll tee. After a long conversation with me, she decided to fess up. The cops were able to get even more files from the children’s hospital for a history of suspicious visits.
“Unfortunately she’s turning 18 in February so they can’t place her in a safe foster situation. They weren’t going to release her without a roof over her head. Penelope said she could go home with her. The Garcias are totally good people. Now Amanda is living in their guest room. They said she can stay forever if she wants and she can always be herself there.”
“What about her father?”
“They arrested him. Once the house was empty, we went over and packed most of Amanda’s stuff. She's scared but this time she promised to press charges. He's never done anything but push her around. Fuck that douche.”
“I'm sorry.” Hotch said.
“Why are you apologizing?” there was some anger in Anderson's voice but he couldn’t help it.
‘I'm sorry’ was one of the things he hated most in the world. People just opened their mouths and it came out. They didn’t empathize or even care most of the time. It was just something to say. He knew, he hoped, Hotch wasn’t like that but hearing it again brought a bad taste to his mouth.
“I called you a million times today being ridiculous and you were dealing with important things.” Hotch replied. “You don’t owe me your time.”
“I was actually looking forward to today. Off school for two and a half weeks; no studying and no worries. I hoped you would call and I’d have an excuse to spend time with you.”
“We’re spending time together right now.” Hotch reached over and put his hand on top of Anderson's. They both sighed when Hotch’s fingers slid through his.
“Yeah.”
Hotch turned in his seat still holding Anderson's hand. He held it to his belly, his heart, and then his lips. Anderson looked at him and managed a little smile. He really was beat to hell.
“My parents are home so I can't take you upstairs and make you shiver.”
“This car has a much bigger backseat than the Mustang.” Hotch said. “Just thought I’d point that out, not to be Captain Obvious or anything.”
“You dirty boy.” His smile grew. “I'm hopeful that I had something to do with this acceptance of your bad side.”
“You had a lot to do with total acceptance of myself.” He leaned forward, caressing Anderson's face. “OK not total acceptance because I'm not sure if that’s even possible, but I think…”
Anderson kissed him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear Hotch talk. Even the few times that he went into nervous rambling mode, Anderson still loved the sound of his voice.
“When we kiss,” Anderson whispered as their lips barely came apart. “I hear Belinda Carlisle in my head.”
“What?” Hotch laughed some. “Seriously?”
“She's one of my guilty pleasures and the song is I Get Weak. It’s our song.”
“We have a song?” Hotch kissed him.
“Yeah.” Anderson nodded.
“Couples have songs.” He ran his hair through Anderson's thick brown hair as they kissed.
“I'm painfully aware of that. God, I want to kiss your neck.”
“Damn console.” Hotch whispered. “We shouldn’t become a couple without our knowledge.
“What are we going to do about that?” Anderson asked. They were still close. He ran his thumb over Hotch’s bottom lip.
“I'm not entirely sure but I want you to be kissing my neck when we figure it out.”
“I'm spoiling you.”
“That’s true.” Hotch didn’t want to stop kissing. He didn’t think he'd ever wanted to kiss someone so much in his life. How had this happened in just a few months? How did people stop this feeling long enough to eat, sleep, and function in the world?
“It’s been a long day…I need to eat. After that I’ll probably fall face first into a pillow. So much for a relaxing day.”
“You're a good friend. Sometimes it’s about more than a day to yourself.”
“Thanks.” Anderson smiled some. “Oh before I forget, and I really want to, my mom thought you could come over Wednesday for dinner. It’s close to Christmas and all but she's making spaghetti.”
“I like spaghetti.”
“Do you want to kiss some more before I go in?” Anderson asked.
“I think it might be better to restrain myself. I wouldn’t want Belinda Carlisle to overwhelm you.” Hotch grinned. Anderson stroked his cheeks and felt his dimples. “Just call me tomorrow if you wanna hang out or something.”
“Are we ever going to hang out at your place?”
“My house is empty probably more than it should be.” Hotch replied. “I'm sure I can arrange something on break. I don’t think tomorrow will be good though.”
“We’ll make due.” Anderson kissed his lips. “Goodnight, Aaron Hotchner.”
Anderson went straight up the stairs when he went into the house. He closed and locked his bedroom door, falling over on his bed. It took all he had not to bawl his eyes out. Amanda was his best friend in the whole world. She’d had her share of ups and downs; they'd had their share together.
It was so difficult to see her beaten and broken today. She tried to be strong. She sucked it up like she always did. Anderson didn’t know if he could suck it up anymore. He punched the pillow. He punched the pillow again.
Dragging himself out of bed, he went and put Saxon’s Wheels of Steel on his ancient record player. Anderson knew he couldn’t turn it up too loud; he didn’t want his parents bugging him. He grabbed the vial of weed out of his pocket and fell back in the bed. He wasn’t going to smoke anymore tonight. He should’ve been feeling good from his puff, puff, pass session earlier but that was barely enough to take the edge off.
It wasn’t going to be easy to sleep tonight. It wasn’t going to be easy to function tomorrow. He just had to keep going. One foot had to step in front of the other. If he stood still, Anderson was sure he’d lose it.
Now he was pulling his phone from his pocket as well. He opened his messages and began to type quickly over the keys.
‘I don’t know what this is but it makes me happy. You make me happy. I'm not happy a lot; maybe that’s my own fault or maybe it’s life’s fault. I don’t know but I have a thing for you. It’s a thing that’s not going away. It’s a fucking Belinda Carlisle song thing. I feel like shit right now but I know I’ll see you tomorrow. That’ll make me feel better. Sorry not sorry that you're kinda stuck with me.’
Send.
***