Arson Read Online Free Page A

him.
    So Arson often studied them, observing the way some moms reacted toward their own children, and then he watched how they reacted with others, even complete strangers. In one moment, they were as lethal as black widows and the next as carefree as butterflies. It made him wonder what his mother would have been like if…
    Before the thought could put a period at the end of itself, Mandy and the new clone were gone. He was unable to wave goodbye as they made their retreat past a swarm of frustrated housemothers. She and her friend took the free ice cream and escaped without even offering to pay. Not that he would have charged them. Mandy was very dear to him. Arson knew better than anyone that love was rarely fair, that just because you wished away a feeling didn’t mean it left you. And he was now sure that no matter what she did or could ever do, he had no choice but to remain corruptibly in love with her.

 
    Chapter 4
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    GRANDMA STORMED INTO ARSON’S bedroom with a fury. The sound of the door bashing into the wall disturbed him half to death. “Are you some kind of pervert?” she yelled, smacking his face with a newspaper. She must have heard him through the walls. “What’s the matter with you, wretch? I raised you better.”
    She laced each blow with sick pleasure, a mix of disdain and contempt. Arson wasn’t sure which he was more afraid of: her eyes or the raw knuckles silencing all feeling within him. What had he done? For the longest time, Arson had believed it was normal. Other kids did it; what else could it be? They were just thoughts, after all. Thoughts he let turn into something more, something passionate. He liked the way they felt. The way he imagined a girl might touch him, kiss him, even love him, if ever they got close enough. It didn’t feel wrong. He didn’t ask for these thoughts; they just came, and he didn’t know what to do with them. But the more Grandma screamed, the more she sank her harsh resolve into his skin, the more the thoughts began to abandon him. It had all been a mistake.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he whimpered.
    But she didn’t seem to care. If only she’d listen to him.
    She grabbed Arson by the head and struck him once again. “Those impure thoughts will send you straight to hell, you little demon.” Another blow sent bits of black ink and white paper falling to the floor like filthy snowflakes.
    When he was younger, kids ridiculed him, as if he were some abnormal freak because he didn’t do it. Didn’t even really understand what  it  was for so long. Bragging school ground punks, with their pierced ears and ripped jean jackets, exiled him in the bus lines time and time again, played tricks on him.
    He used to despise them for their violence and sick jokes. The last days before summer were the worst, with heat so thick teachers focused more on when the bell would ring than noticing the taunts and crimes of adolescent boys. If they didn’t see it, it didn’t matter. The tormenting culprits found little to fear in suspension anyway. To them, it was all just sport.
    Arson hated how sheltered Grandma kept him, entombed in mere existence. She never had talks with him about his body, about the natural and  unnatural  changes. The thoughts. The fevers. The shakes, not quite cold or hot, just miserable. Arson often wondered if this happened because of his dreams. Angry dreams. But it was Grandma who constantly warned him against getting angry. That was unacceptable, and the result of such disobedience would bring devastating consequences. She threatened to leave him forever.
    â€œI never thought you’d have the nerve to do something like that in your granddaddy’s house,” Grandma said, spitting. “Arson Gable, you’ve shamed me. You’ve shamed your mother, God rest her soul. Look at you.” He did, staring down at the pants around his ankles. “Animals