=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= This story is a work of FICTION. While actual people and/or events may inspire some characters and situations, no implications are intended or should be drawn. Any similarities to actual events or persons are strictly coincidental.
THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF CONSENSUAL SEXUAL ACTS BETWEEN TWO ADULT MALES. IT IS INTENDED FOR A MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY! IF YOU FIND THIS TYPE OF MATERIAL OFFENSIVE, IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, OR UNDER THE LEGAL AGE TO VIEW SUCH MATERIAL THEN PLEASE READ NO FURTHER.
(c)2007-2008 All original material contained here within is copyrighted by the author, Cameron Maxx, and may not be reproduced in any form without express written consent. The Nifty Archive is granted a non-exclusive, worldwide, royalty-free, perpetual, and non-cancelable license to display this work.
PLEASE NOTE: Feedback, both positive and negative, is welcomed and greatly appreciated. Abusive correspondence or flames of any kind will, of course, be strictly ignored - cameron.maxx@gmail.com =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
INTRODUCTION
So, what can I say? There proved to be quite the delay between this chapter and the last. For that, I apologize. But, at least I have a pretty good excuse. In addition to traveling a lot for my job, I also started having some back problems in late January that have resulted in 4 different doctors, X-rays, MRIs, prescription painkillers and muscle relaxers, and a great deal less energy than I normally have (and, sadly a great deal more pain than I'm used to). I've learned that my goal of a new chapter every week is probably just not realistic. But, my promise to you, faithful reader, is this: I do love these characters. I know where they are going and I will finish this story. You will not be left hanging.
To all those who've written and expressed their encouragement, support, and patience I am eternally grateful to you. Your e-mails have helped keep me going and served as inspiration to sit down and type even when I thought I was too tired to do so. I hope you all continue to read and enjoy and as always, please keep your comments coming!
-Cameron
CHAPTER 4
Josh followed me across the living room. To our right was the kitchen and dining room and to the left a couple of sofas and my television. We got to the three short metal steps that led to the upper hallway. Entering the hall, we passed the study on the right and the door to my bedroom and bath on the left. Walking a bit further, I turned into the last door on the right. Stepping inside, I stopped and turned back to look at him.
He was standing in the doorframe, looking around my former guest room that was now his. To the left was his bed, the headboard up against the wall. Two side tables sat on either side of it. One held a lamp, the other an alarm clock. On the wall opposite the door was his dresser. There was a bare patch of wall above the dresser with a small hole cut in it. That's where the TV was going to be installed. There were a few framed posters of various sizes from some of my favorite movies hung on the walls.
After watching his eyes move around the room, taking everything in, his gaze came to rest on me. "This is my room?"
"Yup. This is it."
"Alex, it's great. Has it always been blue?"
I thought for a second, debating on whether I should lie or not. I decided not to. "No, I repainted it."
"Recently?" he asked.
"Not really."
"I can still smell the paint. You painted it blue when you found out I was coming didn't you?"
It was like that Christmas years ago when I'd gotten him the game for his Nintendo Wii. I suddenly felt awkward and unsure of how to proceed. Finally, I said, "well, I've never really done much with this room and it needed some painting done anyway. So, I figured, since you were coming I might as well."
His calm demeanor was disarming. I fought the urge to break eye contact and look down at my feet. As crazy as it seems, Josh had this way of sometimes making me feel like the younger of the two in the room. There were moments when the gravity of his focus made me feel disconnected, like a compass spinning around, searching for true north.
Finally he said, "you remembered my favorite color was blue and that's why you chose this color and painted the room. I know you better than you think."
Suddenly feeling a little defensive, I said, "okay, so what if I did paint it blue for you. Is that such a bad thing to do? I knew you were going to be living a long way from home for the first time ever and I thought it might be nice to do what I could to make things a little more comfortable for you. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
His face broke into a huge smile, and the tension in the room washed away immediately. "Dude, no need to get grouchy. It's great! I love it and I appreciate you doing it for me. I really do."
As much as I wanted to hold on to that slight flush of anger that I had felt, I found it impossible to do so. When push came to shove, it was just like it always had been; if Joshua was happy, I was happy. For better or worse, I did care about what he thought and that's just the way it was.
"Well, good. I'm glad you like it." I tried not to let myself sound too needy. I didn't want him to know anymore than he already did.
"So, should I start unpacking you think?"
"Absolutely. Here let me open the closet for you."
With that we tossed the suitcases on the bed and opened them up. Between the two of us, it took about 20 minutes to get everything hung in the closet and folded in the dresser drawers. He chatted about his flight and other casual things as we worked. It was amazing to me how that old familiar comfort came back. Our conversation came quickly and easily. We laughed and teased each other with smartass comments as if no time had passed at all since I'd left Austin.
When we finished, I flopped down on the bed. Laying on my back with my feet on the floor and my hand folded behind my head, I took a deep breath. Josh laid down next to me, on his right side, his head propped up on his hand.
"So, now what?" he asked looking down at me.
"Oh, Christ. Josh - give me a minute. Remember, I'm getting old. I need to catch my breath."
"Shut up," he laughed. "You're not that old. And besides, if what we just did left you breathless then you have much bigger problems than getting old."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're 35, NOT 75. And besides, if you need to catch your breath in the bedroom, it should be from doing something a lot more fun than unpacking a couple of suitcases." I raised my head to look at him. He had one eyebrow cocked up and there was the hint of smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Josh," I said with a fair amount of genuine shock. This was the kid who almost never cussed and had never once mentioned anything even remotely sexual to me.
"What," he asked, a full smile now breaking across his face. "C'mon, Alex. I'm 20 years old you know. I'm not the same kid playing video games I used to be. I mean, don't get me wrong," he added quickly and with great emphasis, "I still love video games. There's just, uhhmmm ... other things I like doing now, too."
"Yeah, okay," I said slowly. "Okay," I said one more time before laying my head back down.
"What's this?" he teased. "Did I leave Alex speechless? Mr. Up-For-Anything-Liberal shocked into silence?"
I couldn't help but laugh a little, "Shut up! God, I really hate you sometime. I was just ... I just didn't expect to hear you say something like that. I mean. Uh! Whatever. I really do hate you sometimes."
He laughed again, "please! You couldn't hate me even if you wanted to and we both know it!"
I raised up now, perched on my elbows I was still slighting inclined, but was now looking down at him. "You better, listen here. I'll have you know ..."
The doorbell interrupted me.
"Ah, ha!" He shouted triumphantly. "See, you couldn't even pretend to be capable of hating me before fate cut you off!"
"You wish," I said getting up from the bed. "Fuck fate. Fate had nothing to do with it. This just happens to be some asshole installer guy who was supposed to be here like, three hours ago."
"Installer guy?" he asked. I could tell he'd already forgotten the previous conversation; his face showed his curiosity had been roused like a kid on Christmas morning.
"Yeah, installer guy," I said, pointing at the hole in the wall over the dresser. "Why do you think there's a hole in the wall?"
His head turned towards where I was pointing and then back me. "I don't know what that's for. I just figured ..." I saw the recognition dawning on his face. "Oh, my God! You got a TV to mount on the wall in here?"
"Yup," I said. I was already in the hall, walking away from the bedroom. I heard his shoes hit the floor and his footsteps rushing out of the room and into the hall.
"Alex! Oh, my God," now he even sounded like a kid on Christmas morning. "That's so awesome!"
I just kept walking away down the hall. Knowing he couldn't see my face, I stopped trying to hide it and let myself smile. I knew I'd broken through that tough outer wall he'd built at such a young age when he had become the man of the house. I loved that I had. There was something very satisfying in knowing that, despite all the years and even after he'd pushed me away for leaving Texas, I could still do something that made him feel special. I kept right on smiling all the way to the front door, knowing Josh was practically bouncing along behind me.
Having Josh in the house with me brought back long dormant memories of life with Ryan. I wish it didn't, but it did. There was something, some certain little personality quirk, that the two of them shared that was undeniable to me. While Ryan had been more outgoing and sunny all the time, Josh was more guarded. But, when he was really happy or unabashedly emotional, he had that same enthusiasm and exuberance that Ryan had.
By nature, I did not have a sunny disposition. That's not to say I was dour or sad by any means, I just tended to be much more cynical and sarcastic. You might chalk it up to being gay as well as having the unfortunate experience of being raised in the south by conservative, Republican, Baptist, God-fearing parents. But whatever the reason, I rarely tended to have an abundance of faith in people. And, I was very rarely awed by anything. So, I think it made sense that I'd be drawn to people who saw the world through a different lens; Ryan was one of those people.
After that first night he spent asleep in my arms, he became a fixture in my life. During that semester, my classes were finished by late morning or early afternoon. He didn't get out of his last class until around 4:00 or so. Most everyday he'd show up at my place soon after. We'd spend the afternoon together, watching TV, working on class assignments, or whatever else there was to do. He got into the habit of bringing his laundry over because his place didn't have a washing machine or dryer and mine did. I'd put the clothes in to wash and then move them into the dryer when they were done; he'd take them out and fold or hang them. Sometimes we'd go out for dinner with friends or alone, other times I'd cook and we'd eat in. His friends became mine and mine his; our two worlds melted into each other's seamlessly and we fell into a comfortable rhythm of daily domesticity. Most, but not all, nights he stayed at my place and I'd fall asleep with my arms around him. The sex was good. The sex was very good. To be fair, he wanted it more than I did. Sometimes I'd get him off just so I could get some sleep. But, I wasn't really complaining.
This routine continued for about two years. I was happy. I loved him. I felt like our relationship was whole and I assumed we were dating; all of our friends assumed we were dating. Ryan did not make that assumption.
He would disappear for a week or two. This first happened about 4 months after our initial meeting. Without warning he didn't show up at my apartment one afternoon. I called him. I called him again. He never called back. A week passed. He still didn't call. I was on the verge of panic, trying to hold it together and go about my daily life as if nothing was wrong. I felt awful and began throwing up two or three times a day. My stomach was inside out. Then, ten days after disappearing, he showed up at my apartment one afternoon as though nothing unusual had happened.
After hugging him more times than I could count and making sure he was okay, I was suddenly very, very angry. I fought to keep the volume of my voice in check, "where the fuck have you been?"
"What," he seemed shocked that I had spoken to him in that tone.
"What do you mean, what? I mean, you haven't fucking called me in over a week. You just disappeared off the face of the fucking earth and you never even bothered to tell me you were going or anything."
"OK, well don't get so upset," he said rather calmly. The fact that he seemed so calm made me even angrier.
"Don't get so upset?" I was almost yelling. "I have every right to be upset! You didn't even return my phone calls. You could have been dead for all I knew. I was so worried I've been fucking throwing up almost everyday. I was about to call your parents. I mean, fuck Ryan."
Finally, he was getting angry, too. "Well, you should have called my parents if it was that big of a deal. I was with them. We went to go visit family in Atlanta. We do every year around this time. I still don't see what the big deal is."
"The big deal is you didn't say a word to me. For the last 4 months I've pretty much seen you everyday and then you just disappeared. What did you think I was going to do? Just assume you'd gone to see family?"
"Well, I don't know. I mean, I was just busy and didn't get a chance to call you back. It's not that big of a deal."
"Yes, it is. What are you not getting here? I was worried sick about you; literally sick, dude. I think at this point the least you owe me is a heads up when you're going to be out of town."
His eyes turned cold at this remark and his cheeks flushed red, "I don't owe you anything. You don't need to know where I am all the time. I don't have to fucking check in with you."
"No, you don't have to check in with me. I don't need or want to know where you are every second of every day. That's not what I'm talking about here. You were gone for over a week, Ryan."
"Well, whatever. It is what it is and I don't feel like talking about it anymore." And with that, the conversation was finished. He turned, went into my room, sat down at my desk and starting working on a class paper. I was floored. I was angry and frustrated and really had no idea how to feel or even how to process what had just happened. So, I sat down on the sofa and turned on the TV.
Josh interrupted me at that point. "So, you've basically been getting over this Ryan guy, who treated you like crap, for the last 15 years?" He peered at me from the other end of the sofa, his cheeks flushed slightly, no doubt, due to the 5 or 6 beers he'd had.
"I'm going to overlook the rather mean spirited implications of that question considering how many beers you've had in the last couple of hours."
He laughed a little. "Whatever. You know I wasn't being rude. I just know all that time in Austin you never once mentioned you were dating anyone and I hate to think it was because of this guy."
"You don't know I never dated anyone in Austin. That's not a conversation I would have had with you at that point. Remember, you were still fully entrenched in childhood at that point."
"Yeah, but you would've talked to my mom about it and she would have said something to Cadee and me sooner or later."
I considered his statement for a moment. "Yeah, I guess that's probably true."
We'd spent the afternoon around the house waiting for the guy to finish installing the TV in his room. I'd given him a tour of the place and explained how I had worked with a friend that's an architect to convert the old warehouse into a residential structure. USC offered a program for its staff that helped to pay the closing and certain other costs if you bought a place in a redeveloping neighborhood near the university's campus. I'd always been a renter, but was making more than enough money at that point to buy, so decided to take advantage of the offer.
I knew I didn't want a typical house with a backyard. So, when I discovered this row of warehouses that were being sold as residential conversion projects, I couldn't resist. It wasn't too big, just about 1,800 square feet. Anything larger seemed like a waste for a single guy. So, with the help of my friend, we drew up a floor plan that divided the space into three levels. At the front, closest to the street was the old loading dock. Since that was already at ground level, we decided to keep the concrete floors and use that space as the garage, front entryway, half bath, and laundry room. The rest of the original building was elevated about four feet off the ground. So, in the middle we created my living and dining space, as well as a galley style kitchen. We laid bamboo hardwood floors over the concrete in the living and dining areas and slate tiles in the kitchen. Finally, we added a three foot elevated floor to the back half of the building and that's where we put the two bedrooms, the two full baths, and the study. At the end of the project, I discovered that I still had some money left over and decided to splurge. So, we added a very small pool and sundeck on the rooftop. It was this feature, of course, that most interested Josh.
As we climbed the offset, nearly vertical, steel stairs he could hardly wait. "Hurry up," he said from below.
"Hold on," I replied from my spot higher up on the stairs. "The space was really tight, so we had to install - well, it's basically like an attic door." Just as I said that, the door swung open and the late afternoon sun shone down on Josh and the hall below him.
"Cool," I heard him whisper in an almost reverent way.
After being out on the rooftop for a while, we headed back in to check on the progress of the TV installation. It was just about done. As he was finishing up, I wrote him his check and walked him to the front door. When I got back, Josh was sitting on the sofa looking at me.
"So, now what?" he asked.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm tired. You want to order a pizza or something and just hang out here tonight?"
"Sounds good to me."
With the pizza ordered, I pulled a cold bottle of beer out of the refrigerator, kicked off my shoes, and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa from him.
"Can I get a beer?"
"I'm pretty sure you're not legal yet."
"Not legal in Texas, but I think I'm good to go here in Cali."
"No, I'm pretty sure 20 is still illegal in all 50 states, buddy."
After a good deal of pleading on his part, and a guarantee from him not to tell his mom on my part, I relented and he soon had a beer in hand. We sat and talked while we waited for the pizza. After it arrived we kept on talking and drinking for a couple of hours. After a fair amount of both conversation and beer, I found myself telling him about Ryan and all those events that seemed like they'd happened in another lifetime.
Our relationship went on like that month after month. For the most part things were good; Ryan was with me and I was happy. Then, without warning, he'd disappear for a week or longer and, of course, not return my phone calls. I'd worry. I'd get angry and swear that this time was the last time. Then he'd show up, all smiles and apologies, telling me how much he'd missed me, and I'd melt just like I always did and things would go back to normal. It became our running joke that really wasn't funny.
When the end came, it came hard and suddenly. Ryan had disappeared again, but this time, when he returned, he didn't tell me how much he had missed me. Instead, he told me he'd been in New Orleans and that he'd met someone. A guy. And he really liked him. He wanted my advice.
I felt like a ton of bricks had fallen on me. I wouldn't have been more shocked if he had punched me in the face. My stomach rolled over and my legs felt weak.
"What do you ... what do you mean you met someone?" I asked, probably almost stuttering.
He seemed confused by the question. "I mean, I met this guy and we really like each other. I'm kind of nervous about it since I haven't dated anyone since Stephen and I don't want to mess it up. So, I need you to talk to me about it."
I couldn't reply. I literally could not speak. It was as if I'd been struck dumb. He looked at me, anxious for my response.
Finally, I managed, "I need you to leave now. Please, just go for now." My voice was very low. I could hardly believe that it was steady as I had expected it to come out as a quivering whine.
Looking shocked he said, "do what?"
"Go."
"You mean you want me to leave, as in get out of your apartment?"
"Yes. Just go."
His mouth opened, then closed. It opened again, as though he was about to say something, then he closed it, stood up, slowly turned to the door and walked out. I didn't move even after the door closed. I sat perfectly still, frozen to the spot where I stood. I was crying. I don't know when I started, but suddenly tears were rolling down my face, my nose was running, and then I just couldn't take it anymore. I turned, walked quickly to my bed. I laid down and cried until I finally fell into an uneasy, restless sleep.
"Dude, that's really messed up," Josh said in a low voice.
I was staring off into a corner of the room, my eyes unfocused. The emotions I felt talking about Ryan and the end of it all shook me. Even after all these years, it touched some deep, cold place in me and left me chilled; the wounds were still more tender than I'd like to admit.
I looked at Josh. "It gets worse," I said. "It's not over yet."
"What did you do?"
"Why am I telling you this? I've never told anyone about all of this, not even your mom, and you are the last person I should be telling."
"Why would I be the last person, Alex?"
"I don't know. It's just, I mean, you're just ..."
"A kid?"
"No. That's not what I meant."
"Then what?"
"You're ... I don't know."
"Alex, we've known each other a long time now. You always said I was like your little brother. So, treat me like your little brother and tell me the rest of the story. I don't mind. I want to know what happened."
I thought about what he said for a moment, than smiled a tired smile before continuing. "Well, Ryan was collecting bees and hammers ... he used one on me."
I took two weeks; it was two weeks after I told him to leave my apartment before I called him. He'd called me four times. He'd sent two e-mails. I'd replied to none of them. I needed some time and space. I need a "Ryan free" life for a bit to figure out just what I was going to say. Two weeks allowed me to attempt to somehow process all the pain and anger that bubbled and boiled just below my surface. I needed to know I was in control of those emotions before seeing him.
Finally, I called and left him a voicemail. I told him we needed to talk and asked him to call me. He returned my call almost immediately and we made plans for him to come to my place that night. When he arrived he tried to hug me. I didn't hug back. He sat on the couch; I sat in a chair on the other side of the room. We looked at each other for a moment before I took a deep breath and began speaking.
"I need you to listen to me. Just let me say what I need to say and please don't interrupt. Let me get this all out and then you can say whatever you want, but this could be the hardest thing I've ever done and if you don't let me finish I don't know if I ever will. Okay?"
He nodded.
"I love you. I'm in love with you, Ryan and I thought you felt the same way about me. When you said you hadn't been in a relationship with anyone since Stephen it felt like I'd been punched in the gut. It took my breath away. I never knew anything could hurt so bad. In retrospect, I guess we never said we were dating. We never confirmed anything. But, I just thought you felt the same way. I mean, to me, friends don't spend every day together like we did. Friends don't go to the grocery store together, friends don't do each other's laundry on a regular basis. Friends don't take weekend getaways to San Diego together, Ryan. Friends don't do what we have done, physically. I know you inside and out. I know what gets you off. If we're just friends, why do I know that? Why do I know what your cum tastes like? Why do I feel incomplete when you're not with me? Why do I hate waking up in the middle of the night and rolling over to find you're not in bed with me? Why? If we're just friends, why?"
I paused, took another breath, "I have friends. I have lots of friends, Ryan. I don't need another friend. I need you. I need you to need me the way I need you. I thought you were the family and the foundation I've been looking for my whole life. I felt like you had saved me. In the end, it all comes back to what I said first. I love you. That's what this all means. And, when you came in here telling me about some guy you met in New Orleans, it made me sick. I mean, Ryan, it made me physically ill to think about you with another guy; him touching you, holding you. I can't do it. I can't see it. I can't talk about it. I can't even think about it. I love you. I love you and if that's not enough, if that's not how you feel, then I can't do this anymore. I can't keep doing this - I just can't. It hurts too much. I just can't do it."
I looked up, met his eyes directly. I knew there were tears shimmering in my eyes, threatening to spill over. But, I held them back. I would not cry in front of him. There was a flurry of different emotions shimmering on his face, coming and going. The one that settled seemed cold and defiant.
He said, "well, I'm sorry you feel that way. And you're right. We should have set our boundaries more clearly and then not crossed certain lines. But, that doesn't change the fact that we were never more than friends."
My heart broke.
"Listen, Alex. I never really felt comfortable in some of the situations you put me in. But I felt - obligated. I mean, that's the truth if you really want to know."
The words stung like a slap to the face. I almost couldn't comprehend what he was saying. "Are you saying, that I ... I mean, what are you saying exactly?" I asked incredulously.
"I'm just saying that the sex and the physical stuff was never really what I wanted. But, you had done so much for me; you had put yourself on the line that first night for me and we were friends, so ... I just, I just wanted to make you happy."
I felt a bright burst of anger bloom across my face. "You're saying the sex, all those times, I forced you to do it. You didn't want to?"
"No, you didn't force me, I mean it's not like that, but yeah ... I never really was comfortable with it."
I struggled to maintain the fury, my hands balled into fists, released, then balled into fists again. "I'm sorry, Ryan but I just can't believe what you're fucking saying to me. I mean, am I really hearing this? Do you even remember that first night you came to my apartment? You came here uninvited. You climbed into bed with me and you were the naked one. You got on top of me. You. Not me. That was you."
"Well, yes. That was me. But, I was in a really bad place that night and you could have said no. I mean, maybe you should have said no." He was beginning to sound small and petty, like a spoiled child who was losing an argument and was now grasping at straws.
"Ryan, I did say no. You didn't want to hear it."
"Well, either way we were never more than friends and I'm sorry if I ever led you to believe otherwise. We should have had this talk a long time ago."
I was on the verge of saying something nasty; something that I wouldn't be able to take back. "Okay, then that's that. We both know how the other one feels so I guess there's not much more to say. So, please - leave now. I need you to leave."
Now, it was his turn to look like the one who'd been slapped. "Leave? Alex, look we can work this out. We can still make this work," his tone had changed completely now. There was a hint of panic in his voice.
"No. No, we can't. I already told you, I can't be just your friend. That's not going to work."
With that panic growing in his voice, he said, "Alex, listen ... this happens all the time. People fall in love with someone who doesn't feel the same way. It's happened to me. It sucks, but it happens. We can still be friends."
I was suddenly very tired. "Ryan, no we can't. Maybe you can. But I can't; especially not after what you just said to me."
He began to cry. The panicked tone in his voice increased as he begged and pleaded with me. He told me he needed me; he couldn't imagine his life without me. I listened, wearily for another minute or two before I was just too tired to hold on another moment.
"Ryan, listen. Maybe in a month or two or, I don't know, at some point in the future we can be friends. But, not right now. I need some time, okay? Please. I need some time. I can't do this anymore. Not right now."
His face went limp and he dropped his head. He looked defeated and deflated. Despite it all, I ached for him. Hating myself for doing so but unable to stop, I walked to him and pulled him into me. He hugged me back. He felt small and fragile in my arms.
I stopped talking; there was nothing left to say. The story had been told. After a moment Josh said quietly, "Alex. I'm so sorry."
I looked at him. I felt like crying. The pain felt incredibly fresh. I didn't like how quickly it had all come back. I didn't like having to admit how very vulnerable I still was about it all.
"It's okay. I mean," I chuckled, "it's not okay. But with every passing day it gets closer to being okay."
"So, was that it? What happened after that night?"
"Not much really. He'd call me occasionally or e-mail me, but I'd almost never pick up the phone or reply. I just wasn't ready. Plus, to be honest, I was just really mad, too."
"You never talked to him again?"
"Not really. There were a few brief phone calls and a couple of e-mails. We met once for coffee about five months later. It was very weird, for both of us I think. And that was the last time I saw him. Eventually he stopped calling and writing and I never bothered to call him. Weeks became months, months turned into years, and sooner or later we just learned to live without each other, you know?"
"And that's really it? You haven't talked to him since?"
"No. Not even once. I'm not even sure where he is now. It's ironic, huh? I'm the one who ended it and yet I'm still the one trying to move on. I'm still fucking paralyzed and clearly, he's not."
"Have you dated anyone here in California?"
I considered his question. "Yeah. Well, sort of. It would depend on your definition of dating, I suppose. Over the last few years, I've gone on plenty of dates. A dinner here, a movie there ... you know. I've been with a couple of guys for a while, too. But, nothing ever really stuck. Nothing really lasted more than a few months."
"Did you want them to last longer?" he asked.
"You know, I don't even know. They just never did." I thought about the guys I'd dated over the last few years. "I liked them; I cared about them. I just never fell in love with them. Some of them became friends and I still see a few from time to time."
Josh took another swig of beer then said, "were you always comparing them to Ryan? Is that why?"
I grinned despite myself. "Boy, you are not afraid to ask the tough questions are you?"
"What? That's a fair question!"
"Yeah, I guess it is." I pondered a bit longer before saying, "I don't know if I was comparing them to Ryan so much as I was afraid it would all end like Ryan. I doubted myself. I doubted every move I made. And, for that matter, I think I doubted them, too. I was always wondering what they were really thinking or when they'd realize that I wasn't what they wanted." I stopped and took a deep breath. "You've got to understand what Ryan did to me; what it did to me emotionally and psychologically. It wasn't just a normal breakup; he really fucked with my head. He said he'd never been in love with me. He completely zeroed out my feelings and all that time we'd spent together. He just erased it. Boom! Just like that. How could I be okay with that? How do I sort that out, set it aside, and move one. I didn't know. I still don't really know."
"But, you know he loved you. I mean, you have to know that. What you shared with him happened. His words shouldn't take that away from you."
"I know that. Trust me, in my brain I know all of that. But it doesn't change the way I feel. There was something really awful about what he did. He took our relationship, our love, away from me. I didn't even get to keep the happy memories because he said they were false; there's no closure there. Josh, I just don't know how to let that go - I just don't."
During the couple of hours that we'd been talking and drinking, Josh had been moving down the couch, closer and closer to me. Buried deep in the past, reliving the end of it all with Ryan, I hadn't even noticed him making the move. As his left leg came to rest against my right, I became aware of how close he was. I peered, as though I was outside my body watching it happen, at him as he sat his beer on the table in front of the sofa, turned, and leaned his body towards mine.
Instead of flinching or worrying about what might happen, I just closed my eyes and waited. I felt his cheek against mine. His shaggy hair brushed against my face. I could smell him. The faint scent of shampoo and beer filled my nostrils. I breathed him in and without thinking moved my left hand up and ran it through his hair, holding his head in my hand; holding him against me. I felt his warm, moist lips on my slight stubble and he kissed me. He held his lips against me a moment longer then his cheek once again pressed against mine. He was wonderfully alive, wholly present, and there with me. It was perfect. I held his head a moment longer, feeling his sweet, soft hair in my hand, before letting him go. He lingered against me a moment longer before he pulled away. I looked at him.
He put a hand on my knee, "You'll get over it. We'll figure out how. I promise."
Like a child clinging to a parent's comforting promise, I nodded gratefully and smiled. He stood up and stretched. His torso was at my eye level and with his arms above his head, the bottom of his shirt pulled up revealing just an inch or two of his honey skin and tight, flat stomach. I had a moment to appreciate the light dusting of hair that trailed from his navel down into his briefs before he finished stretching and his shirt dropped back into place. I pulled my eyes away quickly, feeling like I'd been caught looking at something I shouldn't have been. I tried not to blush when I looked up at him.
He was smiling down at me like the cat that got the cream. I expected a wiseass comment but instead he said with a bit of a hiccup, "I'm very, very tired. It's been a long day for me so, if it's okay with you, I think I'm going to turn in."
"I don't mind at all, buddy."
He seemed to be thinking and then said, "I'm really glad I'm here."
"Me, too," I said and it was one of the most honest statements of my life.
He smiled again, bent, kissed me on the forehead, and said, "goodnight."
"Night," I answered.
He turned and walked towards his room. I sat on the couch, sipping my beer, and remembered how he had smelled with his cheek pressed to mine. I smiled.