29
He opened the last Stella and challenged me to a drinking game, during which he couldn't stop leaning across to kiss me.
After a few lazy pecks, he would return to his seat until he felt the urge for more.
Tonguing my scar like it turned him on. During the game we took turns answering a series of uncomfortable questions, and if we couldn't answer adequately in twenty seconds, we had to drink.
He ran to get the whiskey in case the beer ran out, and grabbed a coffee mug from a Mercedes dealership on the way.
The Weeknd's "I Can't Feel My Face" drifted about the room.
"Alright, Rafe...first person you had sex with after I left?"
"Fuck’s sake, mate! You went straight in with the dirt." I facepalmed hard. He pulled my hand away.
"Go! Timer's set!"
"Fuck, fuck, fuck ...umm...it was a woman. I met her at the farmer’s market in downtown London. Um...the end!"
I cringed so hard recalling my time with her. I just wanted to drink it away. I necked the Stella until he snatched it from my mouth, creating a suction sound with the bottle.
"Heyyyy..." I said, licking my lips.
"What're you drinkin' for? You've got ten whole seconds left. Make ‘em count!"
"Mate, I'm done. She was older than my fooking mum. I always said I wouldn't go older than my mum...but I did. I really did.” I cringed again, drawing my knees to my chest. "I'm not telling you about that. Hell no—"
He fell back and kicked his feet in the air with a ridiculous laugh, to which I couldn't help but cackle too.
"Mate, shut up! Stop torturing me! She lived in this tiny loft in this old historic district, and she had this weird, jeweled screen around her bed.
And these giant Virgin Mary candles everywhere.
She was Catholic, I think. And she barely spoke any English, and she just played this, uh, Russian gypsy music the whole time—"
"Fuck, babe,” he barked with laughter. “You cannot be serious!"
"Shut up! I am! And she made me eat this weird soup when I was done. And she stood over me the whole time until I finished."
He began to choke on his laughter, doubling over onto his side. I slapped his ass.
"Go, your turn!" I set the timer for him as he collected himself, wiping tears away.
"Wait, wait wait...was the gypsy music on a CD?!"
"No, vinyl! A record player! Shut up!"
After another laughing fit, he breathily asked: "Same question for me?"
"Damn straight, same question."
"Alright," he snickered. "Easy…P."
"Piper? No, mate, fuck that. That's not good enough. She was your freaking fiancé, she doesn't count."
"Quit being a baby, Rafe, before I put some fookin’ gypsy music on—"
"Arghhh! Give me something else, Rome, or drink!"
He kept snickering while I reset the timer.
"Ok, so...when I first left the U-Kay, I ended up in Vegas and did some writin'. Me and the fellas were goin’ out like every night, gettin’ fucked up.
Sleepin' late. Eatin' bad. Then one mornin' I was workin' out, pulled somethin' in me leg, and asked for a massage in the hotel room.
They sent up a woman—let's just say a rather mature woman—and she did a lot more than massage me, so to speak.
I was fuckin' shocked. I didn't even ask her to do anythin'.
She just did it, I guess because she knew who I was. "
"Ah-ha! Got you!" I triumphed. "Was she older than your mum?"
"I dunno. I don't even wanna think of her in that context."
"Fuck, you're right. " I facepalmed. "So she knew who you were?"
"I think. What about yours?"
"No, not at all. She just told me I was, uh, cute or something." He called me cute in an affected Russian accent and leaned across to kiss my dimples.
"Hey…you wanna know something even more fucked up?" I asked.
"I dunno, do I? Will it change the way I see you?"
"Probably..." I laughed. "I just wanted to say...
I kind of liked that she didn't know who I was.
The anonymity was crazy sexy. And I liked how creepy she was.
And I liked the old smells in her dim little flat.
And I liked her brothy soup. She made me feel weirdly good.
Like calm and hidden. So, eventually I went back to her.
She gave me these pills... Percocet, I think—I can't remember.
They made me feel spacey and euphoric. And she had tons of these, uh, bitter hand-rolled cigarettes that I chain-smoked the entire time I was there.
It was another world, I guess. I was able to be someone else.
Someone who couldn't think of you to save my life, and that was a good thing. "
"Babe..." he said, sobering. "What the hell? Was it really that dark?"
"Worse than dark. Deeply wounding. Mind-bending."
He leaned across and kissed me contemplatively, then told me I had nothing to be ashamed of.
The remainder of our game dug deeper. We went through weirdest sex dreams since we were apart.
Weirdest come-ons from strangers. Weirdest places we'd woken up drunk.
Weirdest purchases. Biggest regrets. Eventually we drank the whiskey just for the hell of it.
For a while we sat across from each other and attempted to write a song using memory only; no paper or pen.
He lit a joint and enjoyed himself. I got a contact high and became stupid and giggly.
Eventually he crawled over and straddled my lap.
He took a hit from the jay and cradled the back of my head, blowing the smoke directly into my mouth.
I'd done this with him a hundred times before, so I knew to ingest it slowly.
It seeped down my throat like a welcome poison.
I slipped my hands up the back of his shirt to trace his spine, before he kissed me and wouldn't stop.
I laid him on his back and snatched his sweats down, shoving away his hands.
I took him into my mouth semi-flaccid and felt him come to life, surrounded by my warmth.
I was so stoned I had no idea what I was doing.
I only knew that I liked it. That he liked it.
I could taste the salt of his perspiration. Could smell the soap in his pubes.
I cupped his balls and he bucked his hips up into my mouth.
I felt him at the opening of my throat and fought through a gag.
I dragged my tongue up and down his length, circling the tip.
I slipped a finger into his ass and he winced, clenching it.
I loved the sensation of him tightening around my knuckle, growing drunk on his sticky heat.
Smoke filled the air. He stared beady-eyed at the ceiling before nutting in my mouth.
Afterwards we lay in the center of the floor passing the weed back and forth until it was burned down to our fingertips.
Slowly, I came to the realization that we were living a total lie.
This was not real life. We were trapped together in a sex-deprived hallucination, most likely in my head, and I would wake alone in my bed any minute now.
I looked over at dream Rome and the furrows in his brow deepened.
I pressed my lips to his to test if he was real.
Oddly, he’d never felt more present, more warm, more supranatural.
It was for me to enjoy him now. In a day he would be gone.
Back to Mila to recharge. To feel normal and uncomplicated.
***
Much later we ended up on his roof, watching the enormous stars.
He said he came up there most nights to get inspiration to write.
The view was astonishing. It was as though we sat on the edge of the Earth, gazing out at the entire universe.
Like two gods surveying our demesne at the inception of time.
The sky yawned out above us, deep and dark, speckled with silver and primordial secrets.
We sat, knees touching, catching the balmy midnight breeze and listening to the wildlife chirp. I was wasted. In no shape to govern my thoughts.
"I needed you," I said at last, picking up a conversation we’d never had.
"I needed you more," he quipped. "But I needed to break away more than either of us needed each other."
"I know."
"I watched every show after I left.”
"I was afraid you might. I was nervous thinking of that."
"And every interview."
"I stalked your socials. Even the new ones."
"I nearly went to the final show, but thought against it at the last minute. I thought I'd look like an idiot or somethin’. Like I was beggin' to be taken back."
"I wish you had. Things might've been different."
"Maybe." He sniffed and rubbed his nose. "Wanna go to bed, sweetheart?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
He hauled me to my feet and followed me back to the bedroom. We collapsed onto the mattress, lazily undressing.
"Did you break up with Piper by email?" I muttered.
The room was luminous, filled with moonlight. It cast long shadows from the yard since the drapes were still open.
"It's complicated."
"How so?"
"She only yelled in the end. I wasn't gonna have her screamin' at me. Makin' me feel like shit because I wanted to end it. You have no idea how many times I tried to end things before. So I stopped bothering to reach out, and she got the message."
"Kind of like me."
"Yeah...I was done listenin' to anybody at that point. Sorry."
We slid beneath the sheets and I lay on his chest, drowsy and leaden. He stroked my hair.
“Rafe…”
“Hm?”
“I’m so sorry I hit you. Back before I left…”
It had been two years in the making. Suddenly I was fighting full body chills. It was the first sober, sincere mention of his violence, and it made my blood run cold.
“It’s all good.”
“It isn’t. And I can never express to you how shitty I feel about it.
Each time it happened. I think of it more than you’ll ever know.
How much I must've scared you. How I justified it by tellin’ myself you were a man, so it didn’t count.
That we were in a mutual fight, even though you never hit me.
I can’t fucking fathom that I put you in the hospital.
That you took it all and kept coming back.
That you’re here now, as loving as the day I met you. It makes me wanna kill myself.”
“I get it, Rome. And I’m sorry things came to that. I forgave you a long time ago for everything, to be honest. Because I guess my need for you outweighed my desire to be angry. But everything you’re saying now…it matters. More than you’ll ever know. It helps.”
“I will never hurt you like that again. I promise, Rafe. You hear me? It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me, I swear. I’m so sorry, baby.” He crushed me.
"I like your yard," I said, at a loss for all else.
"I'm done pretending I don't want you."
"Good.”
"I can't get you off my mind. Ever. Even when I'm already with you, you're all I think about."
"Rome, I love you..."
"Can I kiss you?" he pleaded, swapping our positions and settling atop.
I could barely think before his tongue was in my mouth, making itself at home, taking me with such familiarity I nearly pissed myself. My legs wrapped around his waist, and he loomed above me in the darkness. We lay grinding weakly. Dry humping. Utterly pathetic.
"You love me?" he muttered into my throat, remembering my unaddressed remark from moments ago.
I nodded.
"Say it.”
"I love you."
"You love me, what?"
"Baby..." I breathed, stoned out of my mind. "I love you, baby."
Within moments he was inside, and I was groaning his name until I grew hoarse.
***
The next morning when I got home, I climbed the stairs like I weighed a metric ton, having kicked my boots off at the door. My bare feet no longer appreciated carpeted floors, and longed unreasonably for that cold, polished concrete in Beverly Hills.
After showering, I sat on the edge of my bed and checked my phone. There were already seven texts from Rome. Something wasn't right. I opened the thread and my heart leapt into my throat.
Rome: "We're fucked. We're so fucked babe."
Rome: "She knows."
Rome: "Rafe, I swear to God, she fucking knows."
Rome: "I don't know how."
Rome: "Rafe, I don't know what happened."
Rome: "Rafe??”
Rome: "Call me???"