Chapter Four
Gavin
Gavin woke up with a pounding headache, but he was in a soft bed, surrounded by all the familiar comforts of home. His home with Ben. Ben’s bed, Ben’s pillows, Ben’s smell. He stretched and wiggled his bare feet between the sheets and opened his eyes, hoping it wasn’t another dream. The same dream he’d had every night he’d spent on Tony’s shitty sofa. The dream that left him lonely and empty inside.
When the room came into focus, it seemed real enough. But instead of being in bed next to him, Ben stood over him with a stern expression on his face. “Are you done trying to prove your point now, or do you need to actually kill yourself first?”
The night was coming back to him in bits and pieces. He remembered going to the club, remembered getting a few drinks with Tony. He remembered seeing Ben talk to some little twink. He vaguely remembered Tony and Ben playing some strange game of tug-of-war over him at some point. That was about it, though.
“Is that glass of water for me?” Gavin sat up higher, moving slowly as his stomach churned in the same pulsing rhythm as his head.
Ben passed the water over and nodded toward the nightstand. “So are the aspirin.”
He took a tentative sip of the water, grateful for the chill as it ran down his throat and settled in his stomach. When that stayed down, he popped the cap on the aspirin bottle and swallowed two. “How long have you been up?”
“Most of the night.” Ben ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair and looked oddly guilty for a beat. “I slept on the couch. Didn’t want to…”
Right. Of course he didn’t want to. Gavin remembered that well enough. Suddenly the week that had passed since Ben threw him out vanished. He sat in their bed—no, Ben’s bed—and felt the pain and frustration, the confusion, as if it were fresh. “I’ll be outta your way soon. Just lemme get my shit together.”
Ben looked ready to pull his hair out. “Look, just… let your head clear, and I’ll get you some breakfast, okay?”
“You’re gonna cook for me? This is new…”
He’d turned for the door, but Ben looked at Gavin over his shoulder. “You left me that egg casserole. I figured I’d heat it up.”
That made more sense. After Ben had left him, Gavin had fluctuated between bitter pettiness and wanting to make sure Ben didn’t kill himself on fast food. “Sprinkle some cheese on top when you heat it up. It’s better that way.”
Ben stopped at the door, his shoulders slumped. “Yeah, you said so in the instructions.”
Gavin could tell Ben felt guilty just by looking at him. Good.
When Ben left the room, Gavin got up and looked around. His phone was on the nightstand, but the battery had died. He’d cleared all of his belongings out when he left, so he didn’t even have his phone charger on him. He’d be damned if he was going to ask Ben to use his phone to call Tony. He could take the bus. After he took a shower, because, Jesus. Before he could face Ben again, he needed to at least feel human.
Gavin moved as silently as he could, sneaking around the apartment like he’d broken in, like a stalker or a thief. And how fucked was that? He’d lived there for three years, and now he felt like an intruder.
In the bathroom, he grabbed a towel from the closet and dug around in one of the drawers until he found a fresh toothbrush. Gavin took a long moment and stared at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He looked like shit with his blond hair sticking up, dark circles under his bloodshot blue eyes.
Getting wasted and picking another fight with Ben hadn’t been his finest moment. And God knew he didn’t need the hangover this morning. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something so stupid. Probably not since the first night they met.
None of that mattered, though. All Gavin could think about now was the fight they’d had, the one that ended their relationship. What had Ben said? That he didn’t like thinking about Gavin drifting through life? That all Gavin did was play house and not think about his future? That he needed to pick a direction with school, pick a direction for his life.
Gavin had thought taking care of Ben, taking care of their home, cooking and running things was his future, his direction. He thought it was Ben’s future too. But, no. Ben wanted Gavin to go find himself—whatever the hell that meant—or open their relationship up, or… what? Gavin wasn’t sure. The entire thing came out of nowhere, hit Gavin sideways. He’d thought they were happy. He’d been happy.
But, knowing Ben, he’d been thinking about it for weeks before he said anything, so what could Gavin do about that? Not a whole lot, probably. For the most part, anyway.
He ran his hand through his hair and pulled the curtain back on the shower, turned the water on full blast as the room filled with steam. “Fuck him,” he muttered, feeling his eyes sting again, the heartache and the disappointment settling in again, as if it were getting bigger, deeper.
Gavin let out a long sigh and stepped under the hot running water. He could do this. He didn’t know how he’d do it, but he knew he could. He could make it through another day, he could have another fight with Ben, he could go back to Tony’s and start looking for a job, maybe an apartment of his own. He could manage.
He’d be fine.
Right?
He didn’t need Ben, didn’t need to be with Ben in order to survive or even be happy. He could do it on his own. No matter how much he didn’t want to.