𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗔𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥 ⚔︎

20

the boys returned to new york on saturday at ten o'clock in the morning. when they stepped out of the revolving doors of the JFK airport, sal was waiting for them, wearing a brown and gold pinstripe suit and standing beside a brand new dark blue camaro; the same exact car he had had before it got shot to pieces in a drive-by with mike in may.

upon seeing the two, sal let out a deep, hearty laugh; despite their skin being so bronzed, their eyes were rimmed with rings of light purple due to a lack of sleep, and their suitcases weighed them down as if cement blocks had been chained to their arms.

"there they are," sal said, smiling. he held out his arms and they each engulfed him in a short hug. "how you boys doin'?"

"we're fine, sal," jesse answered, pulling away and shooting him a faint smile. "we're fine."

sal yanked the collar of jesse's t-shirt down and giggled. "looka you! getting down and dirty with those soviet babes, huh?" he said, looking at the hickey on jesse's neck.

giovanni smiled awkwardly. jesse forced a laugh and readjusted his shirt collar. "ha-ha... yeah, yeah."

sal stepped around to the trunk. he opened it before loading giovanni and jesse's suitcases into the back, letting out grunts as he did so. "so, was it fun? did you boys enjoy yourselves?"

"yes, it was very fun," giovanni said, nodding. "my parents were very happy to see me again."

sal grinned at him as they all got into the camaro. jesse took the passenger seat while giovanni sat in the back. "that's great, red. what about you, jesse? did you enjoy your holiday?"

jesse stretched, trying to fix his stiff neck. he was absolutely sure that he would never sleep on the floor again. "yeah, it was real good. we even went to moscow and saw a little bit of pisa."

sal began making his way out of the airport, the tires screeching on the road through the half empty parking lot. "did you get pictures?"

"yes, we got quite a few," giovanni said, nervously jittering his leg. "jesse took them all on his camera."

"m-hm..."

the car journey back to the house was the most uncomfortable and awkward experience giovanni had ever had in his entire life. it was an all new low for him — in the backseat of sal's camaro, he was having a breakdown triggered by an intense identity crisis. his thoughts were whirling around his head like a gigantic tornado. what kind of man was he? how could he have slept with jesse lavigne, his boss' son?

giovanni volkov was not a gay man. he definitely still liked girls. besides, he hadn't been on the receiving end of the ordeal last night. that didn't make him a homosexual, surely?

... surely?

he could not stop thinking about it. he was in a state of disbelief. it felt like a nightmare. he couldn't believe he had had sex with another man — and worst of all, he had liked it. he felt dirty, like something was inherently wrong with him. he kept recounting the events of the night, running through them over and over again like old film on a reel. they had just been talking and drinking together in the garden, so why, he thought, did it turn into intercourse? he decided that it must've been the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed at dinner. he would've never have done anything of the sort while sober. not in a million years.

the question still stood. was he attracted to men? was he attracted to jesse? it could not have been a coincidence that he had had another 'incident' with him. yet he could not imagine himself in a relationship with another man. that was just far too shameful. homosexuals couldn't get married, they couldn't conceive children, so what was the point? they couldn't even hold hands in public without being ridiculed and spat on, or worse — beaten and even murdered. and not only that, there was an awful, infectious disease going around, killing young men and boys who took part in such a lifestyle. it was a dangerous, dangerous world to live in.