CHAPTER 16
KIAN
Even if I lose it all in the end
I know that I will never have truly lost
Because I have you
Back then, I’m not sure we even understood the trials and tribulations life would really throw at us. But hell, those words still punch me in the chest like they did that first day. The constant poems that have gradually grown better every time Trent presses the tip of his pen against the paper.
From that moment, it’s been the two of us against the world.
I hold the piece of paper against my chest, like I did that day, and thumb through the rest of the box’s contents. Love notes written on used napkins that I can’t throw away, no matter how nasty that is. Pieces of thread that once resembled a braided bracelet. Polaroid pictures of us–some faded and yellowing around the edges.
My fingers instantly connect with my favorite one, pinching the film between my pointer finger and my thumb. Holding it out in front of me, I see Trent’s hair, longer than it is now, and his face smashed into the side of mine. My grin is aimed at the camera, my eyes full of love for the silly man beside me. It was his eighteenth birthday and all he wanted to do was take a picture together. The moment of child-like innocence in the rubble that was our life.
We snapped that picture on Mitch’s couch, the same one we still sit on. That couch holds many fond memories of the two of us. Stolen kisses, whispered conversations, and lots of stuff that we should never let Mitch know we did on it.
How different our lives turned out from how we used to plan them–dreams of raising kids on farm, dogs who’d run through the fields but came in each night to a loving home, hot chocolate in front of our fireplace with matching pajamas.
I need to text him, but I can’t get over how this happened. Oral gonorrhea. Even the name is off putting. He’ll think I cheated on him, and then even worse, I passed it on to him. Now he’s at risk for being sick and he’ll have to get a shot. He hates getting shots. I always need to be there to hold his hand. Will he still let me be there for him, knowing this?
Heck, I hope so.
My phone is in the pocket of my athletic shorts… All I need to do is pull it out and text him. Ask him to meet me at our apartment. I don’t think I'll be able to do this in front of Mitch. The humiliation of the situation is already horrendous, and the thought of having an audience, even someone I consider a father, makes my palms clammy. Mitch will be so disappointed in me. But honesty is the key, right?
Kian: Can you come to the apartment? We need to talk.
I guess I could have said something to reassure him everything was okay, but with the way my world feels like it’s imploding, I don't have the energy to lie.
Not to him.
Trent: ya, everything ok?
No, everything is not freaking okay.
Kian: Yeah, everything is fine. Pick up dinner?
Trent: sushi?
Kian: Perfect, be careful.
Trent: I will I love you
“I love you,” I whisper into the emptiness of the apartment, choking back the sob that is trying to get me in its clutches. If I let myself break down now, I won't be able to tell him. I’ll end up falling to my knees at his feet and crying until I make myself sick, and that doesn’t benefit either of us.
Trent knocks on the apartment door, and since I've been standing beside it for the past ten minutes waiting for him to come, I open it immediately. The dark eyes that I love so much, framed with dark eyelashes, make him beautiful on a good day. Add in the slight definition he’s gaining in his arms from all the manual labor, and I'm tempted to jump his bones right here in the opening to the hallway, neighbors be damned.
He leans in for a kiss and I remember to turn my head at the last minute. Even if he is already infected, I don't want to make it worse. His warm lips press to my cheek and then he rubs his nose along my cheek and across the bridge of my nose to my other cheek, where he places another kiss. The movement is so soft and deliberate and sensual, I want to cry and also readjust my dick in my pants. My body doesn’t know how to react.
I sidestep and let him into the apartment. He sets the food down on the table while I grab drinks for us. Like I've done countless times before. It’s second nature to want to take care of Trent, no matter how many times he demands he can do stuff on his own.
He already has the lids off the sushi platters when I sit down beside him, setting his drink on a coaster. I can feel him looking at me, trying to figure out why I wanted him to come here when we’ve been exclusively staying at Mitch’s. It hurts having him here, just like this is old times. And I know he’s changing. I can see it in the way he starts each day with a grateful attitude. So different from the man that night and the man he was on his way to becoming.
“So,” he says.
I twiddle my thumbs in my lap, stalling. Staring at the food instead of acknowledging him trying to start a conversation. He got california rolls, spicy tuna rolls, and even one of my favorite–
“Are you going to say what you invited me over here for, or keep staring at the food and avoiding me?”
The hurt in his voice has me turning my head toward him, seeing the slight furrow in his brows and the downturned angle of his lips. He looks sad, but doesn’t he know that what I’m about to tell him is tearing me up inside? I don’t want him to look at me any differently. I couldn’t handle that from him.
The words stick in my throat, and I try to clear it to help force them out.
“Tell me, Ki, what’s wrong?” he pleads. “I’m freaking out over here.”
I wipe my clammy palms against my pants and inhale deeply before blowing it out between pursed lips. “I have an STI,” I say quickly, then look away from him. I don't want to watch his face morph into disgust.
“Is that why you’ve been so sick?” His voice is so small.
“Yeah, oral gonorrhea.” Stupid tears burn the backs of my eyes, and I'm not strong enough to fight them. They trickle down my cheeks, and I dart my tongue out to lick the wetness off my lips.
“Oral? How?” Trent doesn’t sound disgusted, just curious, and slightly worried.
“I’m not sure, the doctor just said it was very common.” Why does it matter how I got it, and why is he not making a bigger deal of this? If the tables were turned, I would be absolutely distraught at the thought of him being with someone else and then coming home and giving it to me. “She also said you need to be tested,” I throw in there, because why the heck not. In for a penny, in for a pound. Might as well get all the bad news out in one sweep.
“Oh–um, okay.”
I can still feel his eyes burning holes into the side of my head, but I keep my eyes downcast at the food I'm not even hungry for anymore. Hearing rustling, I watch out of the corner of my eye as Trent pulls out his phone and quickly types on it before holding it up to his ear.
“Hi, yes, this is Trent Matthews. I need to make an appointment.”
I sit in stunned silence while he gives them the details then calmly hangs up. His body shuffles against the couch, and I feel his weight disappear.
Closing my eyes, I try to get the tears to stop. He’s leaving. He made the call and now he’s going to go to the doctor. He’s going to take the medicine and be fine. And walk right out of my life as easily as walking through an opened door.
My head falls back onto the top of the couch, too heavy for me to hold up. At this moment, I think I would be content to stay here forever, until my bones turn to dust.
Hands encase my face, holding me securely between two palms. Rough calluses that haven’t always been there scratch against my soft cheeks.
“Look at me, Freckles,” Trent pleads, pulling my head toward his face. I crack my eyes open to find his irises are dark, like the smoothest chocolate. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”
Is he serious right now? The ball of anxiety that’s been festering in my chest explodes. I want to kick, scream, punch. Anything to release this overwhelming feeling.
I remain silent, turning my eyes away from his, choosing to look at the hallway instead of right at him.
“Kian, please, please look at me. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”
“Are you dumb? Why are you even asking me that?” I regret the words as soon as I say them, wanting to snatch them out of the air and swallow them back down. Trent doesn’t deserve those words. I’m no different than all of the people before me that spoke to him in anger.
His hands drop from my face, and the heart that lives outside my chest shatters into a million pieces. I want to take it back. I need to take it back.
Trent stands up, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. Then he walks around the couch. He opens the door, his movements slow and deliberate. He doesn’t turn around to watch me watching him as he walks out and closes the door, leaving me behind.