Confusion

Part 3

When I woke up, it was after dark again. I really had to get my sleeping schedule straight. The first thing I noticed was that Mike was no longer in bed with me. I looked around, squinting in the faint light peeking through my blinds. Mike was on the floor underneath a blanket. I guessed that he was worried about my room mate walking in on us unexpectedly. Though his shoulders were bare, I was sure that he was wearing shorts underneath the blanket.

I sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed at the bottle of vodka. The large plastic container was still half full. I unscrewed the cap and began taking large gulps. Though I could handle the intense taste of alcohol, something that seemed to run in my family, my stomach still felt as though it were on fire. Once again, I went through an entire day of forgetting to eat.

The light coming through the blinds fell on Mike's face. He looked so peaceful sleeping on my floor. I wanted to lay down next to him, but I also didn't want to disturb his rest. His hair was lighter than before, the effects of his time in the sun settling into his features. In the bluish light of the moon, it looked like it was glowing faintly. The blanket was pulled up close to his chin. I didn't realize it, but it had gotten significantly colder outside and the window was slightly open.

I sighed and closed the window quietly. Putting my running shoes on, I stood up and pulled a black t-shirt over my head. I decided I shouldn't make too much noise and had to navigate my way around the various piles of clothes, CDs, and other junk laying all over the floor. I grabbed my green wind breaker and headed out the door, making sure that it was locked behind me.

It was frigid outside. I regretted not throwing a pair of jeans on before I left. Goose bumps sprawled out across my arms and legs as I descended the steps in front of the dorm and headed towards the lake.

I wasn't sure how late it was, but the lakefront was deserted. The only sound was the waves crashing over the white rocks that lined the cement walkway. There was a wire fence lining the sidewalk that was meant to keep any adventurous college students off the rocks. It was pretty feeble. I suppose the university thought of it more as an honor system than an actual fence.

In three seconds flat, I was over the barrier and crawling across the rocks. I had to be careful. I was still wearing my running shoes, and they obviously weren't designed to carry a person over the jagged, slippery surface. I sat down on a relatively flat rock, far away enough from the water that it wouldn't splash onto me.

The night was incredibly peaceful. The moon was high in the sky, scattering its light over the tumbling waters of the lake. I leaned back, staring into the water, the liquor I drank working its way through my system. Soon, I was becoming numb to the effects of the cold. The absence of feeling left me absorbed in my own thoughts.

For some reason, I felt incredibly guilty over what I had done with Mike. For one instant in my life, I had let someone inside of myself. The sensation was foreign to me and seemed out of place. My stomach was unsettled, more from my own confusion than from any liquid I had drank illegally. I loved him, or I thought I did. His face was ever-present in my mind. He understood me, better than anyone else ever had.

Still, something within my gut gnawed a weight at me. My heart was beating at an accelerated pace, much like an adrenaline rush when you barely save yourself from falling at a great height. That was what I was feeling. I had fallen. I was on a pedestal once. I held myself to it. All my life I was told how smart I was, how I held such promise. To let myself be who I was would only shatter the dreams of those around me. I had to live for other people's dreams. I couldn't have my own.

I reached into my coat pocket and found a crushed pack of cigarettes. I took the match book from the pack and lit it. I could barely light the tip. My hands were trembling. A deep drag helped calm my nerves somewhat, but I was still nervous, like a dark presence was looming just over my shoulder.

And what would I do about Mike? I laid my soul bare to him, and here I was ready to snatch away again. And for what? Just so I could maintain the illusion of the perfect son, the perfect grandson, or the perfect friend.

Half-smoked, I hurled the cigarette into the water, watching as the ebbing waves carried it farther out. I stood, my head spinning. I was no longer sure if it was from the booze or my thoughts. I needed to piss. Cautiously, I climbed down closer to the water. The spray from the waves against the rocks covered my legs, making me shiver. Still, I sighed in relief as I emptied my bladder. I zipped up, ready to return to my room.

Either I was drunker than I thought, or the rocks had become even more slippery. Suddenly, my feet disappeared from underneath me. My knee was the first to return to earth, smashing against the ragged edge of a large rock. I was about to cry in pain, but I fell forward, knocking my forehead against another rock.

I froze. I wasn't sure what other part of me might have been damaged. Then, my brain exploded with pain. Tears streamed down my face, but it was warm and stung my eyes. I wiped them away, only to realize my hand came away stained in crimson. I panicked. Quickly, I stretched all my limbs. I had sprained my ankle a few times before, so I had a rough idea of what it was like to be injured.

Convinced every other limb was in working order, I stood, hoping to get the hell off the rocks as soon as possible. My knee buckled beneath me. I caught myself, just barely, and made my way slowly and painfully up the rocks and over the fence.

I was nauseous from pain. After emptying whatever was left of the vodka in my stomach onto the pavement, I started limping towards my dorm which was still some distance away. I clenched my teeth at every step, my head swimming. I was praying to God my wounds weren't too serious. I was ready to pass out.

When I finally did reach the dorm, the security guards stood and asked me if I was all right. My head was foggy from pain and liquor. I knew I must have looked like hell frozen over. I just nodded weakly and muttered an excuse before getting on the elevator and pushing the button to close the door. I wasn't exactly in the mood for questions.

I fumbled around for my keys and opened the door. My desk lamp was on and Mike was in my chair, reading a book. "What the fuck!" Mike leapt from the chair and ran over to me. I shut the door behind me and slid down to the floor. I was exhausted and no longer thinking coherently. Mike kneeled down next to me and started taking my coat and shirt off. When I looked at the coat, I saw dark stains spread all over the front of the it. That I had lost a lot of blood barely registered in the back of my mind.

"Erik, what the hell happened to you?" He was examining my wounds gingerly. When he touched my knee, I drew my breath in sharply. "I think we should get you to a hospital."

I shook my head. "No, we can't. I've been drinking dude. If my parents find out, I'm as good as dead."

"Well, we can't just leave you like this!" He was starting to panic too. As gently as he could, he picked me up and walked me over to my bed. I was surprised at his strength. He carried me as easily as he would a child. He laid me down on my mattress and left the room, carrying a towel. When he came back, it was damp with water. He dabbed at my forehead and knee. I looked at myself. Blood had streamed down my leg soaking my sock in red. "Really Erik, this is no time to fuck around. I've never seen so much blood before."

"No," I said as forcefully as possible. "I'll be fine. I don't think anything is broken." I laid my head down on my pillow, letting Mike poke, prod, and rub different parts of my body, just to make sure the pain in my knee and head hadn't left any other injuries undiscovered. He dabbed at the deep gash in my knee. Fortunately, the cut on my forehead was only superficial. A bleeder to be sure, but not as serious as it looked.

It was my knee that held his interest though. A long cut ran just below the kneecap. He cleaned up as much as the blood as possible, before leaving with another clean towel. The other was soaked through. Once I was fairly washed up, he started studying my injury. It looked something awful. "I want you to bend your knee for me, dude." I did so, though it put me in no small amount of pain. "That's good. If you can bend it, then I don't think you've fucked yourself up too much."

He got up and went to my closet, searching for bandages. My mom worked in a hospital, so a variety of medical equipment was never far from my reach. She had insisted that I bring gauze and medical tape with me. I was prone to getting stitches as a kid, and she knew I was never far away from harm. I would thank her the next day.

"You still haven't told me how you did this to yourself." Mike returned and started wrapping up my leg.

"I was on the rocks. They were a little slippery, that's all. I probably shouldn't have gone there after drinking." My body ached all over. I felt like I had spent the entire day working out. Perhaps my body was starting to shut down after the initial shock. I may not have hurt my head too badly on the surface, but the force of the blow was enough for a concussion. I knew that much.

"No, you shouldn't have been there," Mike scolded. "Would if you had passed out and fallen into the water? Then what?" He was really worried about me. My guilt returned.

"Don't worry about it, dude. I can take care of myself." Man, I didn't want him be concerned about me. It was bad enough that I spoiled his night already.

"Yeah, well if something had happened to you, I would not be a happy camper."

I laughed, only causing myself more pain. Somehow, the image of Mike camping in a tent came to mind. I laughed some more, but stopped after he looked at me with a confused expression on his. "Sorry, I just thought of something."

He looked into my eyes and put his hand over my forehead, feeling for a temperature. "Seriously though, I don't want anything really bad to happen to you. Not now. Not after tonight."

The corners of my mouth tugged down. I was really feeling shitty. Here I was, preparing to tell him that what had happened never could again, and he was showing me how much he cared about me. Maybe I needed to rethink everything. Maybe I couldn't give him up to make everyone else happy. Was I ready to take that chance? I didn't know. I couldn't think. I was confused...

Part 4

"No, mother, I'm fine. I don't need to come home this weekend." I said, in my most whiny, teenage tone. Mike concealed a laugh as I rolled my eyes. Telling my mother about my injuries was a mistake and a very stupid decision on my part. I figured she'd find out about it when she saw my knee and head bandaged up, so I might as well have told her ahead of time. Now, I was getting snared into a weekend at home. "Mom, listen. Everything's all washed out and they weren't that deep. I probably just bruised my knee a little bit. It's no big deal."

Mike scurried towards Greg's desk, looking for things to hurl at me playfully while I tried to think of a good lie to get me out of going home. He contorted his face in a mockery of my own annoyed expression before throwing an eraser at my head.

I dodged the projectile easily before tossing a shoe in his general direction. He caught it in his chest, then proceeded to pretend he was in pain. He betrayed himself though as a burst of laughter fell from his lips. He smiled broadly, then started picking through the clothes hanging in my closet. "You wear this?" he asked, holding up an old blue shirt riddled with holes.

"Yes. Gotta problem with that?" I arched my eyebrow with a slight grin.

"I dunno," he said coming towards me with an evil smirk. "It might be sexy." He wrapped his arms around my waist before tickling me. He really wanted to get me in trouble with my mom. While running his fingers up and down my sides, he lavished the back of my neck with his kisses.

"Mom, no," I said between laughs. "I don't need to come home." My voice cracked. Mike found this terribly funny and fell to the floor laughing. I kicked at him lightly with my good leg before turning my attention back to the phone. "I'll go to the student health office. How 'bout that?" My gaze fell on Mike as he laid on the floor. He was lifting his shirt so I could see his dark nipple. I tried to frown, but I failed. All the thoughts and events of the night before were melting away under his persistence.

I finished the call, hung up the phone, and sighed. My knee was aching, so I collapsed in a chair. "She can be really annoying when she wants to be."

"So can I," Mike returned, crawling on his hands and knees towards me. He leaned back on his heels and started running his hands up and down my thighs.

I reached down and messed up his beautiful golden hair. "Yes, you can be." I let my hand rest on his cheek before pinching it. "But you're just so darned cute," I teased, using my best grandma voice.

He slid his hand underneath my boxers and brushed his fingers across my soft cock. It immediately sprang to attention. "I can think of something even cuter," he taunted. He wrapped his hand around the base of my hardness and gave it one, long slow stroke. "Hmmm," he said devilishly, "very cute."

I tried to keep a serious expression on my face, drawing my eyebrows down low. "Yeah, well, cute as it is, I'm still in a little bit of pain." His grip tightened, and I shuddered. I hadn't come in two days. The effects were showing clearly.

"Funny, it doesn't look like you're in pain." He leaned forward and lifted my shirt up, kissing my stomach.

I reached down and massaged his shoulders, marveling at the muscle there. "Really, dude. This isn't the greatest idea right now. Greg could be back at any minute. This," I said, putting my hand over the one he held my cock with, "is something I don't care to explain."

"So," he said, removing his hand from my shorts and sitting back, "what's the game plan?"

"I have to go home," I said mournfully. "She'll keep bugging me until I give." I saw his face fall a little bit at this revelation. "Don't worry, I'll be back tomorrow. This is just so she knows I'm not hiding any gunshot wounds from her."

He laughed and gave me a light tap in the chest. "Well, if you have to go home every weekend, she might see that's true."

I smirked and stood, wincing slightly. The pain in my knee was subsiding little by little, but I still limped when I walked. I managed to gather up my laundry and a few books and threw them into a black garbage bag. I kissed Mike good-bye and watched him leave. I felt as if my heart was leaving with him. I was still a puzzle to myself. I only knew him for a few short days, and I wanted to run after him and drag him into my bed.

Resigning to not deal with anything until I was back home in my own room, I left the dorm carrying the sack of clothes over my shoulder. It was tough getting around on my leg. The extra burden of laundry didn't help much, but I handled it well enough.

The ride on the subway was relatively uneventful. Being the middle of the afternoon, the cars where empty of the characteristic homeless and drug pushers that usually occupied the seats. No, there were mostly business people just leaving work and children on their way home from school. I settled into my sleep and began to cat nap.

My scant moments of sleep almost caused me some trouble. I barely realized that I was coming up to my stop. I jumped up and hobbled off the train, only to sigh loudly when I saw the stairs I'd have to climb to reach the street. I swore that every supernatural force in the universe was conspiring against me.

Grimacing, I made my way to the streets in the heart of downtown. I was not happy. I was dressed in a blue t-shirt. My plain, black hat was covering my wavy hair backwards. My jeans were a little ripped, and my gym shoes looked worn. I was going home. I tried to emphasize comfort more than style. Of course, I also didn't realize that more than one person mistakenly thought me to be homeless. I was shoddily dressed and carrying a large bag. I thought that being young and white might dispel these notions, but I never claimed that I wasn't naive.

"Hey man, can I bum a cigarette?" I turned around and saw a thin, black man approaching me. He was dressed in a shaggy gray coat and old slacks. His shoes had holes in several places. I was always nice to the homeless, even if they did annoy me from time to time.

"Sure, man," I said, digging into my pockets. I found a fresh pack of cigarettes and handed him one.

"Thanks, man. I appreciate this." He kept repeating his thanks over and over again.

"Hey, dude, take these." I produced four more cigarettes from the pack and handed them to him. I have a soft spot for the homeless. I don't know why. One time I gave a homeless man twenty bucks. Sure, people always tell me that they use it to buy alcohol and things, but I really feel horrible about their station in life. "Do you need a pack of matches?" I asked, already handing him the pack that I kept in my wallet."

"Thanks, man. This is really cool of you." He immediately lit up a smoke and took a huge drag. "Man, I'll look out for you. You're on my turf now. I won't let nobody mess with you."

"Thanks." I smiled broadly. At least I could grant him some small happiness, even if it came in the form of five cigarettes.

"Yeah, man. So where are you staying around here?"

I chuckled softly, realizing what he was saying. "I'm not homeless, dude. This is just my laundry. I'm on my way home."

"Aw, man. That's cool."

Oh, what the hell. "Here dude, get yourself something to eat." I reached into my wallet and pulled out a ten. My parents would drop dead if they knew just how much money I pissed away on the homeless. I don't know why I'm like that. Any other person would have ignored the guy in ten seconds flat.

The man kept thanking me over and over again, amazed that I was taking the time out of my day for him. He would have given me a blow job right then and there had I asked for it. Unfortunately, I liked guys with more than four teeth. I shot the shit with him as he smoked and gave him a few more cigarettes. I excused myself from his presence, pointing to a large clock over a bank and explaining I had a train to catch. Poor guy. I hoped his life would get better soon.

I got on the train that would take me to my suburb and shivered. What the hell was the temperature on this thing? I climbed the steps to the second level and sat in the back. It was ten seconds before I realized that I could see my own breath. This was ridiculous.

I fished a history book out of my bag and began reading about the Civil War. It was a small, informal book that explained things with a humorous yet truthful approach. I was laughing to myself about a little known comment made by Abraham Lincoln when I felt someone tugging on my bag.

"Hey mister, do you like pictures?"

"Collin, don't bother him. He's reading."

I looked up from my book and saw a pair of bright blue eyes staring into my dark ones. They were framed by a face that had yet to shed the baby fat of youth completely. Pure blonde hair hung just over his eyes. A little hand kept brushing it up, but it kept falling back in protest. He was a cute little boy. He's exactly what I hoped my kids would be like someday; happy with an inquisitive look on his face.

"No, it's ok," I said, putting the book down. I turned to Collin. "Sure I like pictures. Are you an artist?" I smiled and used that strange, higher pitched voice that adults get while talking to small children.

"Yeah," he said with excitement. "What's your favorite cat? A bobcat?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Hmm, I think I'd have to say a white tiger is my favorite kind. What's yours?"

He sat back, furrowing his brow like he was deep in thought. He really was a cute kid. I love all those facial expressions they make. They're just like an adult's only taken to a ridiculous extreme. "I like bobcats." He sat down, set a pad of paper in his lap, and started drawing furiously.

I looked at the mother, a heavy-set woman wearing a baggy coat. She looked exhausted. Looking at the active child, it wasn't hard to tell why. "He's cute. Seems smart too."

The mother nodded proudly and smiled. "Yes, he is. But quite a handful."

"I can imagine," I said politely. I leaned back and chatted with the woman as her son drew picture after picture for me. I appreciated each one. I really did. Little kids could make anyone happy, I swear. Collin certainly brightened my day.

I bid them both farewell when I reached my stop and wrestled my bag off the train. My mother told me she would drop a car off at the station for me to use. I studied the ocean of cars before I found the iris colored Neon in the back of the parking lot. I hobbled over to it, threw my bag in the trunk, and hit the road.

I live to drive. There's a certain freedom I feel whenever I'm behind the wheel. I feel as if I could go anywhere in the world that I wanted. Nothing could stop me. I also get maximum privacy and adequate time to think. Sure, I speed as much as anyone my age does, but that didn't stop me from rolling down the window and letting the wind rush over my face. I turned the radio on, lit a cigarette, and sped off down the busy streets, weaving in and out of traffic. I was in a great mood.

The trip home was only about ten minutes long. I pulled up in the driveway and took note of the neighborhood that I grew up in. Tree lined the streets in perfect rows. The lawns were neatly tended to, and the scent of freshly cut grass hung in the air. That scent was always the one that would let me know I was truly home. Only after I left for school did I really appreciate the tranquillity of suburbia.

No one was home, so I had the run of the house. I tossed the bag on the washing machine and ran upstairs to my own room. The door to my bedroom was always shut. My cat was always wreaking havoc in the house, and I wanted my room spared from the wanton destruction of mister kitty. The offender was busy rubbing up against my leg and purring loudly. Every time I came home, he gave me a warm welcome.

I picked up my cat and went into my room. A pile of mail was on my desk, dating back from god knows when. I ignored it and laid down on my bed, letting my cat settle in on my chest. It was one of his favorite places to sleep. I don't think he ever looked more content than he did when he was lounging somewhere on me. The vibrations from his purring were making me drowsy. My knee was throbbing rhythmically. The combination of the two quickly settled me in for a nap of my own.

When I woke up, the cat was still laying on me undisturbed. I sat up slightly and listened. The house was deathly quiet. My house at night gets pitch black. I lifted the cat up and set him down on the bed before fumbling through my room. For some reason, I hated turning lights on. I was comfortable walking around in the dark. It seemed to be my natural element.

I made my way to the kitchen and decided to raid the fridge. I was starving. I had to squint when I opened the door. After a few hours of darkness, any light was painful. Nothing in the fridge interested me though. I'm a picky eater and quite particular about what I'll eat after it's been put in cold storage. I noticed a nice little bottle of Jack Daniels though. Well, no one would be home for awhile. They were all at work. What the hell. I'm no alcoholic, but there was nothing better to do.

I sat at the kitchen table doing shots in the dark. I drank a Pepsi as a chaser. It may have been a gross combination, but I was reaching the end goal; I was getting good and drunk. It only took me about thirty minutes before I started seeing double.

Of course, when you're sitting in the dark drinking, a million thoughts float through your mind. There's not much more to do when you're drunk. Strangely, my mind floated back to Collin. He really was a cute kid. I wondered what my own kids would look like. My looks came from some definite dominant genes. Me and my little brother were identical in looks. Very little set us apart. We could fool people over the telephone as well as trick someone in person. Not so odd for twins, but strange enough for brothers a year apart in age.

I imagined having dark-haired, dark-eyed kids. I was pretty sure they would end up looking like me. I was even flipping through names in my mind. If there's anything I wanted in life, it was children. I was in love with kids. I wanted to raise them and be there when they discovered all the things that life had to offer. To me, kids meant an extension of your own happiness through them. I wanted to take them fishing and hiking. I wanted to teach them to enjoy nature. I hoped that they would inherit my intellect. I would teach them everything I knew. I cannot explain how much I wanted kids.

My hopeful thoughts turned darker though. I was gay. Of this, I was becoming more and more certain. I had already acted on my feelings for Mike. I wouldn't take back what I had done for anything in the world. But still, I didn't know what to do. I wanted to be with Mike more than anything. But, if I stayed with him and let my feelings for him take their own course, I wouldn't be able to have kids.

I was splitting my own loyalties, to Mike and my own unborn children. If I decided to be with Mike, there would be no children for me. If I separated myself from my love, then I could move on, get married, and have children. But, I'd still know that I hadn't been true to myself.

Suddenly, I realized that I was in my older brother's room. He was never home, and we had never gotten along much as kids. He rarely entered my thoughts. Still, he had an impressive collection of fire arms. He said they were for hunting, but somehow I think it helped him feel more manly. What a person needs four handguns and a rifle for is beyond me. But they were there.

I reached up and wrapped my fingers around a hand gun. It read "Uzi Eagle" on the barrel. People always said that guns were heavy and cold. This, in fact, was the opposite. It was light to carry and the metal was warm to touch. Three dots, two on the back and one at the end of the barrel, glowed in the darkness. I remembered my brother describing the joys of night sights to me. I looked on the bottom shelf for a clip and couldn't find one.

What was I doing? I was drunk and depressed. I knew that. But, the weight of the decisions I would surely have to make were weighing heavily on my shoulders. I wanted to get out. I didn't want the responsibility of my hopeless situation to haunt me for the rest of my life. I had to make a sacrifice no matter what. I could either stay with Mike, or resign myself to having children. I thought that was grossly unfair. I couldn't do it. I couldn't force myself to make that choice.

For the first time in years and years, I felt tears slide down my cheeks. I never cried. I don't know why. Some people do it constantly. I never did. It was something that I simply didn't do. But this, the thought that I was alone no matter what I did, was too much.

I hurled the gun against the wall. This was no way to deal with my problems. Even if I could find bullets, which my brother had hidden very well, what would that solve? No, I had to make a decision. If I took the drastic measure of ending it all, there would be no pleasure in my life. There would be no life. There would be nothing. No one deserves that fate. I knew in my heart that death was no alternative to life, as hard as it may seem at times. I had to think. I needed to think. Where could I think?

I heard a car door shut. Someone was home. I placed the gun back on the shelf and stumbled down the stairs. I ran down to the kitchen and slipped out the back door. I had to get away. I couldn't face my family yet. I couldn't face the phantom that always hung around my shoulders like the albatross. The weight was too difficult to bear. I would put off facing the world that was planned out for me, for now.

I walked around the house and flipped myself over the fence. Soon, I was running down the street, too drunk to realize that my knee was screaming in pain.....

Part 5

"Mike, this is Erik." My voice was shaky as I talked to the half-awake person on the other end of the phone.

"Erik?" he asked groggily. "Where the hell are you?"

"I dunno. Somewhere downtown. I think State and Lake, where the el trains cross." I was freezing and couldn't keep my teeth from chattering. Another unpredictable bout of Chicago weather had sent a downpour accompanied by a severe chill. What in the hell kind of spring was this?

"How did you get there?" I could tell that he was getting worried, as his voice was becoming stronger and stronger.

I didn't want him too concerned, so I only related to him the cab ride downtown. I do strange things sometimes, and I attributed this episode to whim. I think Mike knew there was more to the story than I was telling, but he seemed to go along with me for the moment. "Dude, I know it's late, but could you meet me somewhere?"

"Yeah," he said quickly. "I'm getting dressed while I'm talking to you. You're at State and Lake? I'll be on the subway in two minutes." He hung up the phone.

I sat there listening to the dial tone. Then the automated operator came on giving me the "If you'd like to make a call" spiel. Last came the unnerving grinding noise that hurt my ears. A sober person would have hung up the phone, but I was drunk. I was oblivious.

A half an hour later, I saw Mike walk up from the subway. He was dressed in loose fitting jeans. His hands were tucked underneath a white wind breaker. I waved to him from across the street. He ran over, swearing at the bitter cold and rain.

"Thanks for coming, you didn't have to do this," I said gratefully.

He looked at me seriously, his normally bright blue eyes darker in the night. "You're drunk, aren't you?" He stated more matter-of-factly than questioningly.

I nodded, half to affirm his suspicions and half to keep moving, to keep myself warm. "But that's not important. I may be drunk, but I can still think. That's the important part. I need to talk to you."

He reached up and felt my face, then took my hands in his. "You're freezing, dude. You know, if you keep doing what you're doing, you're going to end up in a hospital. I'm surprised you haven't come down with something already." He put is arm around me and started walking me down the street. He always did make me feel safe whenever he touched me. I began to relax.

He looked around, the waved his hand in the air. A yellow cab pulled up to the curb and we got in. It was a pretty nice cab. A lot better than many of the ones I had been in. It even smelled nice. Perhaps the most surprising aspect was that driver spoke English.

Mike rattled off a location and an address. I barely caught what he was saying, because he was leaning forward to whisper to the driver.

"Where are we going?" I asked, leaning back into the seat. I wasn't feeling so hot all of a sudden. My stomach was doing acrobatic feats inside of me, and my head began to spin. I cracked the window, hoping to get some fresh air which always settled me down.

Mike leaned back and put his arm around my shoulders. "We're going to my house. My parents have a cottage and never are home on weekends. We'll have the place to ourselves."

I nodded and tilted my head against Mike. I detected the scent of cologne and breathed deeply. I can't say that I've ever smelled anything like it, though I knew I would always associate with him. It was spicy, yet somehow subtle. Difficult to describe at best.

Mike reached into his coat and pulled out a fresh pack of Marlboros. He banged them against his knee for a minute or so, making sure they were packed tightly. Then, he unwrapped the cellophane and ripped a smoke from the box.

I sat thinking while he smoked in silence. Neither of us really felt like talking about anything while there was another person in the car. The driver kept talking with us, trying to break the silence. Mike would give him generic replies and laugh in a fake manner whenever the driver thought he was being funny. I thought it was torture. At that moment I wish we did get a foreign driver. They're much less likely to talk to you.

I looked out the window as we approached Mike's neighborhood. God, the houses were big. Many of them sported three or four car garages. I guess the price ranges of the homes were about four or five hundred thousand dollars. Many of them were sprawled out in the middle of huge lawns with long, winding driveways leading up to the front doors.

We reached Mike's house after a few minutes of driving through the suburban streets (I would later discover the place was a country club). Mike opened his wallet, and my eyes widened. There were several $100 dollar bills there. His family was very well off, I could ascertain that much, but I would have never have guessed by the way he carried himself. Most of the rich kids I knew were assholes. But he was different. Then again, I knew this well before I knew that he was loaded.

He paid the driver, and we got out of the car. He helped me up the steps, as the pain in my knee was starting to come back. The liquor was beginning to wear off. When we got in his house, all I could do was gape at its enormity. It was also spotless. There wasn't a speck of dirt on the perfect white-tiled floors or the light colored walls. I suspected a maid. Most people with that kind of money have one.

He made me take off most of my clothes after entered his house. I was left standing in the foyer in only a pair of black boxers. He left the room for a moment then came back, telling me that my stuff was in the dryer.

We decided to go up to his room. My boxers were soaked also and I needed a new pair if I was to sit anywhere. Mike's room was pretty cool. It was large with a queen sized bed propped against the wall. There were posters of baseball players, as well as a few pennants decorating the walls. He had a huge stereo system, complete with 100 disc changer, dual tape deck and surround sound. How he could give this up for a cramped dorm room was beyond me.

"Here dude," he said, tossing me a pair of red boxers. I slipped off my wet ones, and tried to put the new pair on, but I stumbled around a bit. Mike laughed and came over, helping get them on me. I caught him staring at my crotch, but for some reason, I wasn't embarrassed. Usually I get a little weird about being naked around people, but I was completely comfortable with him.

After making sure I was settled down, Mike sat at a desk and grabbed the remote for the stereo. He punched a few numbers in, and Green Day started playing quietly. I thought his selection of music was slightly ironic. "She" started floating through the room. The lead singer started singing the refrain, which held some significance with me. "Are you locked up in a world that's been planned out for you? Are you feeling like a social tool without a use?"

I climbed up further on the bed and leaned against the headboard. The cold had finally gotten to me, so I had to pull Mike's blanket over me.

Mike seemed nervous for some reason. He was fiddling with a White Sox hat while the music played, before deciding to put it on his head backwards. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk.

I began staring down at the bed. I was a jerk. I knew that much. I dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night into the rain and cold. And now, we were back at his house. I was pretty sure that this was the last place he wanted to be. But why? If I had a room like this, I would be home every weekend. I stared at him harder.

He continued to sit at the desk, his hands resting behind his head. He was looking at his shoes, though I could practically see the gears turning in his head. He was absorbed in something. His normally brilliant eyes had smoldered to the color of night time waters. His tanned face was blank, except for the corners of his mouth which dipped every few moments. He was nervous. No, he was afraid of something.

"Mike?" My voice broke him out of his reverie. I drew the blanket up to my chest. "What are you thinking about?"

"Me?" He reached down and took his shoes off, discarding them carelessly on the floor. "Nothing, really. I guess I'm still not fully awake." He looked at me. Why did I get the feeling I had just caught a deer in headlights?

"You look like something's bothering you. Are you pissed at me? I would be if a drunk made me pick him up in the middle of the night."

"Dude," he said dejectedly, "you're not a drunk."

"Yes I am," I replied matter-of-factly. "I know I am. It doesn't bother me none." I drew my legs up against my chest and put my arms around them, sort of hugging myself. "But it bothers you."

"It doesn't bother me." He seemed kind of irritated. Maybe frustrated was more accurate. "I just don't think you should drink so much. It makes you do stupid things, and I know you're a smart guy."

"Did you ever think that I drink because I'm smart? That it's the only thing that makes me stop thinking so much?"

He shook his head. "No, that's not why you do it. If anything, drinking makes you think more. That's why you do what you do."

Maybe he knew me better than I was giving him credit for. Still, I had to admire his ability to turn the conversation away from his own feelings. I had been selfish with Mike. I had taken advantage of him. Not once did I consider what effect my childish actions were having on him. This was the second night in a row that he had ended up taking care of me.

"You don't like being here," I pointed out.

"Why wouldn't I like being here?" he asked, growing more uncomfortable.

"I dunno," I said, explanations sifting through my mind. "I don't think you and your parents get along."

"How would you know?" he said defensively, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Because you look like you're about to run out of this place, and I can't think of a better reason. Actually, that's really the only reason I can think of." I continued to stare at him. When I'm paying attention, I miss nothing. His face remained unchanged, but something inside of him had. I don't know where I inherited the ability, but I can detect changes in people, even if there is no outward sign. He was sad, as if he were grieving over a loss. Not depressed, just sad. "They know you're gay."

Mike let the comment sit for a few long, awkward moments. Suddenly, he grabbed his hat and threw it at the wall. "It doesn't matter what they know."

His story was unfolding before my very eyes. Suddenly, I knew. He had faced the terror that I had always dreaded. He had told his parents, and they had rejected him.

"They didn't understand," I said sympathetically. I got up off the bed and picked his hat up from the floor. I handed it to him, and he accepted it in silence. He was a young man at the edge. Why didn't I see this before? Was I truly so self-absorbed that I had been ignorant of his own pain? I tried to think of any sign, any phrase that he might have said that would have made me notice. I couldn't think of one.

"No, they didn't understand," he whimpered quietly. Unshed tears filled his eyes, his golden lashes the only things blocking their path.

I kneeled on the ground in front of him, though it pained me to do so. I rested my hand on his knee and looked up at his face. He was miserable. Just seeing him hurting so much put me at the edge of crying myself. "What happened."

"Nothing," he sniffled. "Absolutely nothing."

I rubbed his legs, hoping that I was able to calm him down a little, maybe get him to relax and feel safe like he had so many times for me. "Please," I pleaded.

He wiped the tears from his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath. He quivered as he let it out. "Me and my parents don't talk much these days. They figure by ignoring me, they can ignore the fact that their only child is gay."

"You used to be close?"

"Yeah," he laughed slightly which seemed out of place. "Me and my dad used to go to baseball and basketball games all the time. We used to take trips and go camping. He was my best friend. After I told him though--" A tear ran down his cheek. "He won't even look at me. It's like I betrayed him. When I told them, they both left the room without saying a single thing."

I reached up and brushed the tears away for him. He was petrified. He was still afraid of what his parents thought of him. He hadn't developed a shell to defend him from pain. He hadn't needed to. His parents had never hurt him, not like this.

"I went up to my dad's den to talk to him about it. His eyes were red. I could tell he was crying. He just stared at me. I'd never seen that look on his before. He was so cold. He just said one thing: 'You are not my son.' I got out of there right away, and we haven't spoken really since."

Now, I was crying. He had experienced the thing that I had always feared; rejection. I leaned forward and hugged Mike, letting him sob into my shoulder. He was heaving terribly, letting every disappointment in his life pour out in that moment.

I smoothed his hair back and stroked his cheek. He was beautiful to me. He looked like an angel, one that might have wept bitterly upon the death of Christ. His flawless features were distorted in pain, inevitably instilling the observer with the same sense of loss.

I stood, taking his hands and urging him to do the same. He rose, though somewhat uncertainly. I looked into his eyes and kissed him gently on the lips. I pulled away. His eyes were half closed. "We're going to bed," I announced. "You're exhausted, and I'm about to pass out myself." I put my hands under his shirt and lifted it over his head. My god, he was worth worshipping. In seconds, he was naked, and so was I.

I crawled into his bed, and let him climb in next to me. I covered us both with the quilt. We wrapped our arms around each other and just lay there. I let him rest his head on my chest as I ran my hand up and down his arm. I felt his whole body relax. His skin was warm and comforting. He was breathing quietly in a slow rhythm. I knew he was asleep.

I had lied, though. I wasn't ready to pass out. In fact, I was quite sober. I lay there with him wide awake for hours. I knew what I had to do. What we had to do. My mind, if not my heart was made up. I couldn't think of a better person than Mike to share my decision with. But that could wait for morning. I needed a plan. The logical half of my brain kicked in, envisioning every scenario. I smiled to myself and kissed Mike on the forehead. He deserved more. Any person that suffered what he had deserved happiness. And that was exactly what I had in mind as the sun rose, and I drifted off into a light sleep.....