Chapter Eight #2
My shrug felt awkward, like my shoulders were unbalanced. “I just thought...”
“Just because you know what the inside of my boyfriend feels like, don’t assume you know anything else about me.”
I made myself hold his furious gaze. “So did he let you screw him, after I left? Or did he make you go jerk yourself off in the bathroom, like a horny little kid?”
Flynn’s mouth tightened. I waited for the retort.
“Why are you so fucking angry at me, all the time?”
Not the question I was expecting, the direction I was prepared for. My vitriol feeling like it’d been punctured, surprise suddenly letting out the angry head of steam I’d been building.
“I’m not.”
He almost looked amused. “Oh, no. Of course not. Not like you roll your eyes at me whenever I say something, or as if you’ve ever missed an opportunity to be caustic, or condescending.”
“Let me guess,” I spat, “everyone else in your life is just tripping themselves up to fawn over you and tell you how goddamn perfect you are.”
Flynn shook his head, in disbelief. “What does that even mean, Oli? What the hell am I meant to have done, here? I thought we were friends.”
I snorted. “We were convenient. And then you managed to figure out a way to leave, and have a big, fancy, impressive life, and give your mom something to crow about whenever she fucking can, to me and my parents.”
“You’re mad, because my mom is proud of me?”
It was a laugh, but there was scant humor in it. “Good thing she doesn’t know that her precious, clever, talented son is a hopeless cuck, who can’t get off unless he’s watching his boyfriend get plowed by another man.”
“Don’t worry, Oli.” Flynn’s voice was cold. “There’s plenty my mom doesn’t know about, that she could be disappointed over.”
I sneered at him. “Let me guess, the fancy SUV was just a rental.”
“No,” he said, placidly, “it’s a lease, and the monthly payments are killing me.”
Scowling, I sat back in the chair. “How relatable of you.”
“But then, at least they’re not as much as my rent, which is fresh levels of can’t-really-afford-it,” he added, as if he hadn’t even heard me. Just watching me, with that tight, almost mask-like expression. “And the student loans, of course,”
“Sorry if I don’t sound entirely sympathetic, but nobody made you lease a luxury car, or rent a nice apartment, or do some expensive degree.”
Flynn’s smile came nowhere near his eyes. “Oh, no. I did this all by myself.” He chuckled, mirthless, into his drink. “But hey, I did just get to watch my boyfriend get fucked by the guy who hates me. That’s gotta count for something, right?”
“Your dick said you liked it,” I reminded him.
“William said yours felt pretty good inside him, too. Though he likes it when people pull his hair more. While they’re nailing him, I mean.”
I glanced around us, suddenly self-conscious. Not that we’d been speaking particularly loudly, but still.
“I’ll bear that in mind,” I said, annoyed at myself for feeling uncomfortable. “So, what do you get out of it?”
I wasn’t sure it was the sort of question you were meant to ask, but it wasn’t like Flynn had been holding back.
He grimaced. “My therapist used to say that, in a world which otherwise feels out of control, withholding your own gratification can feel like a kind of success.” Flynn shrugged, as though he wasn’t sure if that was laughable or an insightful read.
“Used to say?” I echoed.
“Turns out, therapists will typically only make appointments with you if you can pay them.”
I stared at him - at his handsome, blank face - for a moment. “Like I said, if you’re looking for sympathy...”
“From you?” Now Flynn seemed genuinely entertained. “Never.”
“Why did you want to meet, then?”
“You mean you’re not enjoying this touching reunion?”
I slapped my mug down, angry. “Okay, fuck this.” I pushed myself up.
Flynn reached out, fingertips just brushing my arm. “Look, I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry. Just... wait, okay?”
Grudgingly, I sat again. Stared at him, expectant.
“I just wanted to talk. After the holidays. After last night.”
The urge to throw up my hands in exasperation was strong. “But talk about what?”
Flynn’s body language made it seem like he was just as frustrated by the confusion as I was. “Don’t you ever want to reconnect, with where you came from?”
“Some of us never left.” I didn’t even bother trying to hide the bitterness in my voice.
He shook his head. “Yeah, you did. Maybe not physically, but inside, you did.”
“And what am I meant to leave for?” I continued. “You’ve not exactly been making the best pitch, here. All this success just to be so lost in debt, the only way you can get your kicks is by watching strangers nail the guy you love.”
Flynn grimaced. “It’s not like that.”
Part of me wanted to ask just which aspect he was suddenly taking issue with - the debt, or the kink, or the love - only, even by the measure of the topics we’d discussed already, that seemed hopelessly intrusive.
“You could just leave,” I said, instead.
Flynn’s stare was flinty. “So could you.”
Silence, for a moment. Uncomfortable, in the same way that holding a tray full of glassware is uncomfortable. Knowing that the slightest mistake will trigger a chain-reaction there’s no coming back from.
He sighed. “I need to go. William is...”
“You don’t need to explain your relationship to me,” I said, talking over him.
Another slow nod. Flynn stood.
“It was nice to see you, Oli. Dressed and undressed, I mean.”
I watched his back, wrapped in that soft, expensive sweater, as he left.