Black Velvet (Chapter One) (Patreon)

Tobias Amadeus was built from another man's sin.

A pure and absolute —

Sin.

—

His friends call him Toby.  He's grown taller, firm, as handsome as everyone had expected.  The man's dark eyes are open and honest when he speaks to the elders at church but wicked when night falls, and he stumbles into his house, half boozed out of his mind.

Tobias' romance with alcohol started young... Heavily, regularly — until you could barely tell if he was intoxicated at all.

—

When I was younger, much younger, I'd looked up to him. 

Idolized him.

My own brother was goofy and lanky — made fart jokes and snored too loudly. He was a passing fad to my twelve-year-old self, not nearly as cool and reserved as the neighbor's oldest son. 

Tobias had hit his growth spurt first, had towered above my brother in only his first year of high-school. He had a strong Grecian name and a stronger arm, putting the rest of his teammates to shame at Jameson's annual baseball game.

At six o'clock on Wednesday afternoons, I'd abandon my books and my half-finished scale model of the orbital system. I would wipe the glue residue off my palms and onto my pajama bottoms, skirting past the kitchen with a suspicious nonchalance that had my mother lifting one sculpted eyebrow and smirking.

I was excitable, as my mother would delicately describe to her friends; spastic is what my brother called me. I myself felt as if I was precariously dangling between both accusations.

—

That particular Wednesday, as if on cue, Nic pushed through the door before I had ample time for escape from paternal questioning, the palm of his hand willing and ready to grasp my forehead and shove me to the floor.  I'd scowled up at him, nose wrinkled as I fought against his weight.

"Nicolai Abernathy," my mom had scolded, crossing her arms expectantly,  "you can't rough house him like you do your friends, he's too small."

I'd given a petulant sort of frown; eyebrows narrowed in preparation for rebuttal. I was in my own strange limbo between being too smart for the kids my age, too off, but too young to hang around my brother's friends.

"Whatever you say, Ma."  My brother sighed. He rolled his eyes at me, gathering himself and standing sluggishly.  He grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and moved to shrug his sports bag over his shoulder.

"Where are you heading?"  Mom asked, though she knew the answer, and so did I.

"Toby's!  Gonna practice ball,"  He dipped his head towards his bag,  "the game against Richardson is Saturday..."  Nic sounded somewhat offended that Mom hadn't kept track, and she thrust a splayed hand across her chest.

"Right — oh, how could I forget?"  She gasped, her eyes wide and voice as dramatic as she could manage. Nic had given another roll of his eyes as I tried to sneak past him and through the open screen door.  My socked feet were quiet on the hardwood floor, but my mom caught me by the collar of my shirt with a deep frown.  "— and where are you sneaking off to, Oliver?"

"I- uh, I need more dirt for my earthworms."  I stuttered out, the lie embarrassingly unconvincing.  Nic's nose wrinkled, his hands moving to rest on his hips in defiance.

"No, you don't.  He's gonna come spy — like always." He sneered, a smarmy grin rising on his face.  "If you like baseball so much, why not join instead of spending all your time on that weird space stuff?"

"I don't like sports."

"Then, why do you watch us?"

My voice caught in my throat, strangling out a half-formed sound instead of an actual response.  The tips of my ears burned, and Nic gave me a curious look, body turned towards the exit where I stood.

My mom had frowned, deeply, before giving Nic a slight push out the door.

"Stop harassing your brother; he's not doing any harm by watching —" her tone carried enough disapproval to keep Nic from any sort of rebuttal, "— and you should be happy he looks up to you."

"Whatever.  Is Dad coming to the game?"

"Yes, he took the day off specifically for it.  Now get out of my hair," she patted my shoulder softly while Nic skippered off, hands in his pockets because he had been chastised, "and you go get the dirt for your worms, honey."  She whispered, smiling knowingly at me in that strange way she always had.

—

I stood with the shovel in my hand, moments later, clutched against my chest like an alibi.  I watched the dark-eyed boy from my mother's neatly trimmed rose-hedge, my curls tangled in the leaves and thorns.

His bare, broadening shoulders would flex in the husk of the afternoon light, each pitch of his hand leaving a dull thud of force on metal ringing in the air. I couldn't focus on the sound of it, could only stare at the boy across the hedge —

Tobias Amadeus.

The baseball continued to thrum noisily off his garage door as my brother rambled on about his crush on the head cheerleader —

I sometimes wondered how they were friends, Tobias, and my brother,  where Nic was perverted, cocky, and outrageous — Tobias was calculating and quiet — eyes scanning the surroundings like he mentally stored every detail for a later use.

Later on, I learned that not all young boys led the same carefree life.  Later on, I learned —

That we pay desperately for the sins of our fathers.

--
Chapter 9 Chapter 8 Chapter 7 Chapter 6 Chapter 5 Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1