48 Hour Short Story Contest

Gotcha


         “They let anyone into Cambridge these days,” Richard said, pointing with his chin towards the figure in the black motorcycle outfit. He stuffed the last bite of his hamburger into his mouth and discarded the wrapper on the ground where it was immediately blown away by a gust of wind. The air was unusually cold for early September, and Richard pulled the collar of his blazer up.

         “How can you even eat this stuff at this time of the morning?” Marcus asked with disdain.

         Richard shrugged, still chewing. From their elevated point on the wall by one of the main car parks, they made it their business to critically examine the newcomers, and so far not many had gained their approval. This one was the worst so far. As Richard watched him kill the engine and dismount, he reflected on his own first day exactly a year ago, and the group of established students who had made fun of him. It was only fair, he thought, that he would carry on the tradition.

         “Tally-ho!” he shouted, effortlessly giving his voice that nasal quality he considered extremely annoying. “I say, pizza deliveries round the back please, this car park is for professors and students only!”

         Marcus laughed and gave Richard a high-five, while the rider removed his helmet to reveal a mop of blonde curls and piercing blue eyes, which he trained on Richard. Richard’s grin died away as the boy slowly made his way toward them, slightly pulling his left leg as he walked. He stopped in front of Richard, still staring him down.

         “I’m hurt,” he said in a soft voice.

         Richard’s smirk momentarily flashed back over his face before disappearing again, only to be replaced by a puzzled look.

         “What sort of a welcome is this, sweetheart?” He turned to Marcus. “Are you his new boyfriend? Does he treat you like this?”

         Marcus’ stunned gawk indicated that no answer would be forthcoming, so he turned back to Richard. “I take it you haven’t told him about us?” His voice sounded disappointed.

         “I don’t know what you’re talking about, mate,” Richard said. His voice was sharper than he intended and he made an attempt at standing up to escape the stranger’s uncomfortable stare, but was pushed down by a gentle but determined hand. The hand held him in his previous sitting position, while its owner again turned to his friend.

         “He hasn’t told you how I got this?” The stranger lifted his leg and slightly wriggled his left ankle, wincing in pain to demonstrate his injury. He laughed and removed his hand briefly from Richard’s shoulder, only to replace if after playfully slapping Richard’s cheek a couple of times. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t. I guess it’s not one of his favourite memories. Nor mine.” His face contorted with anguish as he continued, “it was our last night together.”

         He left the words hanging for a moment and lowered his head. From below his wavy fringe he shot Richard a quick glance, and Richard could have sworn he saw him wink.

         “This has gone far enough, mate,” Richard attempted to salvage the situation and regain the upper hand, but the stranger cut him off immediately.

         “Mate?” he asked. “You used to call me darling.”

         “Now listen here,” Richard started but was interrupted again, this time from a different corner.

         “What happened?” Marcus asked.

         “Nothing happened,” Richard snapped. “I don’t know this guy, I’ve never seen him before in my life and I certainly never called him ‘darling’”. His posh voice was gone and had been replaced by a high, almost screeching sound that Richard didn’t much care for.

         Marcus paid no attention and kept his eyes on the stranger, who produced a woeful little smile.

         “Whatever you say,” he whispered. He removed his hand from Richard’s shoulder and turned to leave.

         “Wait!” Marcus wasn’t going to let this story slip away so easily. “How do you know Richard?”

         “He doesn’t,” Richard said. “This is all a load of bullshit! Don’t tell me you believe his crap even for a second! I don’t even know his name.”

         “Jason,” the stranger said, offering his hand to Marcus.

         Marcus introduced himself quickly and with an obvious air of frustration. “So?” His question was an invitation and Jason was only too glad to accept it.

         “We met at one of the fox hunts on his father’s estate,” he started. “I was invited as a friend of a friend, you know how these things are,” he vaguely waved his hand, indicating that it would be immensely boring to go into the details.

         Marcus nodded.

         “Well, what can I say? It was fireworks the first time we met. We couldn’t take our eyes of each other. I mean, look at him! Who could?”

         Marcus turned and tried to see Richard through Jason’s eyes, failing miserably. “Right,” he said unconvinced. Richard squirmed.

         “I had a bit of an accident,” Jason continued and winked at Marcus, who recoiled slightly. “One of the hound dogs ‘attacked me’” Jason wriggled the first and second finger of his hands in the air, indicating the speech marks,” so I had to stay behind. Of course he stayed with me. We… well, you know…” He left it to his audience’s imagination what happened next as he absent-mindedly caressed Richard’s cheek.

         Richard brushed his hand away and jumped up. “Enough!” he roared. “Get the fuck away from me, you freak, and take your bloody lies with you! Don’t you get it?” he asked, turning to Marcus. “He’s making it up to get back at me because I made fun of him when he first got here. Just how stupid are you to believe it?”

         “Shut up and let Jason talk,” Marcus said.

         “Well fuck you, then, fuck both of you! I’m not going to sit here and listen to this shit!”

         “Whatever,” Marcus said with a smile. “I’ll tell you later what I think of the rest of the story, shall I?”

         Richard’s mouth opened and closed again. His usual sharp wit deserted him, and all he could do was slowly sink back onto his previous seat on the wall.

         “That night,” Jason continued, “I climbed up the side of the house and into Richard’s bedroom. We spent the night together. Our first, and only, night. We didn’t get to sleep until the early hours and when I left in the morning, I missed my footing on my way down. I guess my legs were a little weak…”

         Richard winced at the innuendo while Marcus blushed and cleared his throat noisily.

         “I broke my ankle. Richard didn’t even come to the hospital with me. I never saw him again.”

         “Right,” Marcus said slowly, looking first at Jason, then at Richard, who had turned bright red with anger.

         “Are you done now?” he asked coldly.

         “Not quite,” Jason said. He pulled Richard off the wall and into a surprisingly strong embrace. “I missed you, darling,” he said.

         “What the…” Richard started, but Jason closed his mouth with a passionate kiss. Richard’s eyes rolled and caught Marcus staring speechless at the bizarre scene. Eventually he struggled free. Spluttering and wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he backed away from Jason and would have run had he not heard the harsh laugh which stopped him in his tracks.

         “Gotcha,” Jason said quietly.

         “You bastard!” Richard cried. “What did you do that for? I was only having a bit of fun!”

         “So was I,” Jason replied and held his hand out for Richard to shake. “No hard feelings?”

         Richard looked at the extended hand, then at Jason, considering his options. Eventually he grinned. “No hard feelings,” he said. “Boy, you had me going there! By the way, welcome to Cambridge, darling.”

         “Thanks, sweetheart,” Jason said. He gathered his rucksack and turned to leave.

         “Wait!” Jason stopped, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

         “What happened to your ankle?” Richard needed to know.

         “I came off the bike last summer. Broke it in several places. Never thought it would one day come in handy.”





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