CHAPTER 11
TRENT
Another week, another meeting. They’re getting easier now. Next week I get assigned a sponsor and I’m surprisingly excited about it. Shocking, I know, but it’s been going well. Kian stops by every night for at least thirty minutes after he gets off work. Every other night he sleeps over.
His green eyes are getting back the shine I love so much.
The time apart has been good for us, but it fucking sucks just as much. Knowing that he’s so close yet so far away. I’m trying to stay on the right track for him just as much as I am myself.
We haven’t had sex since that night, we’ve been content to lay in bed and hold each other until we drift off to sleep. Sex has never been a problem for us, if anything it's the way we fixed issues in the past. We would fight, fuck, and make up. I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to be better, a better person, a better lover, and a better friend.
Ever since my breakdown that night, I've been focusing on communication. Which fucking sucks, but Matt–the leader of the group–sat me down one day. When he told me he and his husband went through the same thing that me and Kian are going through, I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. I don’t know any openly gay people. I mean, sure, there are lots of out and proud people, but not in our small town.
He told me even being sober wasn’t enough to help them. What helped was talking, telling the other person what was going on in their head even when it seemed difficult.
That terrified me, as I’ve always protected Kian from the worst parts of me. But I guess I wasn't protecting him enough, since we still ran into issues.
So I took the advice to heart, and I went home and started small with Mitch.
“My stepdad once told me I was never going to amount to anything.”
It was hard to confess that out loud to Mitch, even though he already knew to an extent, from the talk of town and from what Kian had said. But this was the first time it came out of my mouth.
“Fuck him and fuck your momma, too, for letting that piece of shit into your home.”
I choked on a sob, but Mitch pulled me into his arms and held me close. The woodsy scent of his aftershave reminded me that just because things are bad now, they won’t be bad forever.
I tried it with Kian next, and it was even fucking harder.
“Sometimes, I think you’ll see the real me and resent me for it.” Swallowing bleach would have been easier than forcing those words out of my mouth.
But, in true Kian fashion, he reassured me that he loves me. That he’s seen every part of me, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that I’m damaged, and that alone was enough to make me fall in love with him all over again.
Today, I told Mitch I had plans to surprise Kian with a full date night as soon as he got off. My ideal goal was to decorate the apartment and go all out to make Kian feel appreciated. I should have been doing it this whole time, but there’s no time like the present to change.
And I'm focused on making changes for him, for us.
When Kian shows up at Mitch’s at five forty-five on the dot, he’s still dressed in his work clothes and looks so good I want to gobble him whole, then let him bend me over the couch and fuck me senseless. Not today, though. I have big plans for today.
I intercept him on the way in, handing him the garment bag I picked up downtown on my way back from work. My new job is going great, and it’s easy manual labor, so I can’t complain. Especially since I simply get told what to do, and then no one watches over me waiting for me to make one wrong move. It’s nice.
I’ve been saving up, and when my paycheck hit last night, I decided that splurging on getting Kian a new outfit would be the perfect idea. I scanned the racks for what seemed like hours, trying to pick out the perfect shirt to compliment his eyes and then pants to match it.
“What’s this?” His bright smile is adorable, but when his smile drops and he turns his head to cough into the crook of his arms, worry overtakes my senses.
“Are you sick? What’s wrong?” I push his blond curls away from his forehead, replacing them with the back of my fingers, checking his temperature. “You’re burning up! Have you taken medicine?”
Fuck, I don’t know what to do. Kian never gets sick, and in all the years we’ve been together, he’s never had a fever.
“Come inside,” I urge, taking the bag from his hand and leading him straight to the room I've been staying in.
“I’m fine, Trent. I don’t know why you’re worrying so much. It’s probably just allergies or something,” he says, though his flushed skin says differently.
And he has been acting sluggish the past couple of weeks. What the fuck? Of course I missed the signs of him getting sick, too fucking focused on myself.
“Here, take your clothes off and lie down. I’ll go get you some water. Does your throat hurt?”
He nods, and the child-like expression on his face has me pressing a kiss to his forehead. When he lies down, I tuck him under the covers, turning the fan so it’s blowing directly at him. I don’t know how to take care of someone who’s sick.
After making sure he’s comfortable, I leave and hunt down Mitch. He’s on the back patio, working on a sudoku puzzle. The sunglasses on his face obscure his eyes, but I know he can see the worry on my face.
“Kian’s sick and I don’t know what to do.”
Mitch places his book down on the table and pushes himself to his feet. “What’s wrong?” he asks calmly. How can he be so calm?
“He’s sick,” I say in an irritated tone, because, hello , I just said that.
“Obviously. You already said that. Is he throwing up? Coughing, sneezing?”
“Coughing and he’s running a fever.”
Mitch walks inside, and I follow behind him, hot on his heels. In the kitchen, he opens up the cabinet beside the sink and hands me a bottle of over-the-counter medicine. “I’ll run to the store real quick and bring him back some gatorade. Give him water and make him take that medicine. We’ll keep an eye on him.”
I don’t wait for Mitch. I grab a cup from the drain rack and fill it with water.
In the room, Kian is sound asleep. His nose is slightly scrunched and his exhales sound like small wheezes. Fuck. I don’t want to wake him, but I know I have to. The faster I give him medicine, the faster he can get better. That’s how it works, right? Please fuck, let it be right.
“Freckles? I need you to wake up.” I gently rub his back in soothing motions, waiting patiently for him to open his eyes. “Come on, please wake up,” I beg now. My hands are shaking, and I feel tears burning at the backs of my eyes. I’m so fucking worried about him.
His eyes finally crack open, the bright green hazy with sleep.
“Ki, you have to take some medicine, okay? And drink a little water, then you can go back to sleep.”
“Tired,” he mumbles, his lips barely moving with the words.
“I know, I know. But do it for me, please?”
He opens his mouth slightly, and I quickly crack open the lid on the medicine bottle, tipping the liquid into his mouth, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. I’ve never seen him sick before, nothing like this. I press the cup against his lips for him to drink from. A few soft sips later, he closes his mouth and lets his head fall back onto the pillow. His eyes slip closed. There’s nothing now except the harsh sounds of his breathing filling the room.
I lay on the bed, on the opposite side of him, and brush the sweat-dampened curls away from his forehead, pressing a kiss there and tasting the salty hint of his overheated flesh. While he sleeps, I lie there staring at the ceiling. Running through scenarios in my head, moment after moment, until our memories and my thoughts of the future blur together in one big slideshow of our life.