17. Phoenix
Phoenix
The Dirt I'm Buried In
I waited until Eli fell asleep, and then I left.
It was cowardly of me because I should’ve told him that as much as I promised, I couldn’t actually stay the whole time. All my stuff was on the bus, and I didn’t want everyone to be stuck in Vegas while I buried myself deeper in this hole with him. Part of me thought that if I dug my heels in, he’d open up like he did when he was scared to death. That’s not Eli, though; I’m still not ready to fight.
We got back to California later that afternoon.
I went to my parents' house, got Helios, and immediately left. I didn’t have it in me to deal with my family—not after the tour uprooting so many things I haven’t wanted to look at in years. So, for the past two days, I’ve been in bed…with my cat…miserable.
I don’t know if Eli is still in the hospital or flew back to Illinois. I haven’t asked. Kelly is at her great aunt’s house for the next week, leaving the apartment for me to wallow in. I don’t mind, though.
Jorge says I need to get drunk and fuck someone. He’s probably right.
The idea of a quick lay being a cure-all for my sickness that is Eli seems enticing, maybe even exciting. Some nameless guy to make me forget it all for a little while. But that’s the thing: I don’t want anyone except someone who doesn’t want me. Okay, clearly, he wants me—at the very least, physically. Thinking about that night in the storage room both turns me on to the point my balls hurt and makes me so disgusted with myself that I want to chop them off.
I don’t know what happened in the hospital between him and Leon. Jorge saw him leave while I was having my thirty-seventh piss. I’d been so excited about the possibility of Leon being out of the picture, opening up the spot that was always meant for me. My heart truly felt alive for the first time in so long. I was damn-near skipping on the way back to Eli. And then I overheard the doctor. I discovered Eli has never actually had a prescription for any of the drugs he takes.
I realized he was just like Oliver.
And goddammit, that destroyed me.
So, I’m back to square one. Dead heart, lying in a cesspool of emotion that’ll never go away, spooning my cat, who probably hates it, and wondering what the fuck I’m going to do with myself. Helios squirms in my arms, meowing softly so I release him. He darts off my bed and out the door. I pout, flipping on my stomach and cradling my pillow. My dick pokes at the mattress beneath me, not caring that I’m depressed and demanding to be dealt with.
I can’t remember the last time I jacked off. I think the last time was on Eli’s face.
A ripple of repulsion and pleasure washes over me.
I did use him like a whore.
The part of my brain that loves him promptly checked out for it, too. I wanted him to…take it. To do what I wanted. To give me a moment where I could be the selfish one for once.
I blow out a heavy breath, rolling my hips a little. Lifting my head, I quickly scan the room to make sure Helios isn’t in here—I don’t want to scar my child. Popping off my bed, I shut my door even though no one is home besides me and Helios. It’s always creeped me out thinking about the possibility of stroking my dick in front of an animal.
I grab my laptop, find a familiar site, and start browsing. It’s been a fucking while since I’ve watched any porn. A slew of cocks and abs fill the screen. I stuff my hand into my sweats, hissing at how sensitive I am. My hole clenches, too, and that is a telltale sign of how sexually frustrated this whole situation has me.
Before Eli, I strictly topped. I’d never let anyone even look at my asshole, let alone fuck me. As creepy as it sounds, I thought it’d somehow matter to my dad. Like, I was still a dude or something. The point is, Eli was my first. I lost my ass virginity to him, and since we broke up, I haven’t felt the need to touch anything back there.
But right now ? God, I want to be stuffed full and stuff something full.
I just need to come. Period.
Fisting my cock and working the head, I keep scrolling, not finding anything amazing. Meh, my imagination is better. I close my laptop and yank down my sweats. Fuck, I’m stupid hard right now. Spitting in my hand, I’m just about to get back to it when my phone buzzes. I glance at it, balls throbbing and hugging my shaft. Nope. Whoever it is can wait.
It keeps buzzing, though, which means someone is calling me. I palm at it, flipping it over to see who it is, and I sit up with a startle. Eli’s name lights up my screen. Is he in trouble again? Right when I’m trying to nut? I debate ignoring it because if he thinks he’s going to call me from Vegas for a ride, he’s lost his damn mind. I might’ve done it two days ago. Not today. The longer my phone rings, the worse I feel about not seeing what he wants.
Maybe…maybe it’s something good?
God, I’m desperate.
“Yeah?” I answer, still holding my dick.
“Um. Hi. Are you…are you…busy?”
Here we fucking go. I pump my fist once. “Yes.”
“Oh.” He’s quiet, so I keep jacking off. His little breaths in my ear aren’t doing anything to get rid of my boner, either. “I’m in LA.”
“So?” I grunt, twisting my cockhead.
“Actually. I’m outside your apartment.”
My hand flies off my dick. “What?”
“I want to talk.”
I’m stuffed back into my pants with speed as I launch from my bed. “How do you know where I live?”
“I texted Jorge.”
That traitor. “I don’t have long,” I tell him before quietly smelling my armpits. “I’m…going somewhere.” Holy fuck, where is my shirt?
“Okay. I won’t take too long. Can I come up?”
I want to laugh hysterically. Spinning in a circle, I abandon my shirt, lost somewhere in my room, and snatch one out of my closet. “Yeah. I’ll unlock the door.” What am I even saying?
This is bad.
Terrible.
Not only am I hornier than shit right now, but I’m in mourning . My heart can’t handle seeing him. I can’t handle it. I still pick up my dirty underwear and chuck them in the hamper. I still run to the bathroom to gargle with mouthwash. I toss the pizza box I left on the couch where I fell asleep last night watching Animal Planet. Oh, who am I kidding with this? Eli is single and I have the apartment to myself. Talking is the last thing we will do, even though I know it’s the worst decision.
I unlock the door, peering through the peephole while my heart beats faster than I can double pedal. In my head, the past several weeks didn’t happen. Eli was never with Leon. He didn’t torture me and fuck with my head. The hospital didn’t happen. I didn’t leave him hanging. In my head, this is our reunion. He’s finally come to his senses—he’s sober and ready to admit everything he’s keeping close to his chest. I’ll open the door, tug him inside, and kiss him.
God, we’ll fucking kiss like we’re starving. Like we’ve spent a year apart knowing this moment would happen, and we’d be together again.
He’ll climb me like he used to. I’ll hold him by the ass and carry him to my bed. He’ll moan against my lips and bite my neck while I whisper in his ear that I love him so much and I’m never letting him go. It seems so perfect when I imagine it. I can hardly breathe because I want that to happen. Why can’t we skip to the good part? I grind my forehead against the door, wishing with every ounce of my being. But the knock comes, the soft rap of his knuckles. My hand glides over the doorknob, twisting it and backing away.
My dreams aren’t coming true today.
“Hi,” he says, breathing harshly and sweating. Massive purple bags hang under his eyes, and a hood is pulled over his head.
I stare at him, at the suitcase handle in his fist. He’s in black sweatpants and a gray hoodie. He came straight here from Vegas. And because I’ve seen Oli go through this too many times to count over the past eight years, I know he’s detoxing. Eli shivers, offering me the tiniest smile before he sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth, hangs his head, and cries.
“I know I shouldn’t be here,” he weeps. “I don’t know where else to go, and I’m sick. I’m sick, Phoenix.”
There’s a sharp twist in my heart, a flicker of hope forming. “Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he laughs through his cry, lifting his eyes to mine. They are so startlingly blue right now. “I am.”
I take his suitcase from his hand, grab his other and gently guide him inside.
E li is showering while I make him whole-grain pancakes with honey and berries.
I have a kettle heating up for tea.
It’s still breakfast-ish.
A lot of people eat breakfast at 11 am.
Helios rubs his body over my legs as if he senses I’m stressed and need the affection. The washing machine buzzes, letting me know Eli’s clothes are ready to change. I kill the fire under the skillet, use the spatula to scoop out the last two pancakes, and set them on the plate.
I switch over the load, throw in some fabric sheets, and press the button just as he emerges from the bathroom. He’s wearing one of my shirts and a pair of my sweats. The sweats are too big for him, so he’s got them tied as far as they go and rolled up at his ankles. My heart lurches seeing him clean and in my clothes.
He tucks a few locks of wet hair behind his ear, nibbling on his right lip ring and taking in the apartment. I know he feels like shit, but he’s being remarkably tough about it. We haven’t spoken since I told him to shower, so I wait impatiently for him to break the ice.
“Kelly is a packrat,” is what he settles on.
“She likes her things,” I say with a shrug.
When I first moved in here, I had similar thoughts. I’d even asked her where I was supposed to keep my stuff because her apartment was already so full. She just laughed at me. I don’t think it’d have the same charm without her random half-dead plants, posters, and mismatched art on the walls. Or the crystal bowls on the counter that hold old receipts and thumbtacks. Her zebra print throw pillow on the yellow sofa and the white rug that has a wine stain that looks an awful lot like someone died on it.
Kelly is chaos, but the good kind.
I cross the apartment and get Eli’s tea steeping. Grabbing the plate, I gesture for him to sit at the little table where I’ve shared many meals with Kelly when we want to be adults or when the couch has a pile of her unfolded laundry. “Pancakes okay?” I ask as he walks over to me.
“Perfect.” He sits down, his face gaunt and sickly, but he isn’t shivering.
There are a lot of things I want to ask. What ended up happening at the hospital? Why didn’t he get a plane and go home? I know Eli isn’t broke—he can afford last-minute airfare. I also want to know if he was prescribed anything for his stomach. I don’t imagine he can continue throwing up, but if he’s going through withdrawals, he might. I grab his tea and place it before him, unsure what to do with myself.
“What’s this?” he asks, smelling the tea.
“Camomille.”
“The calming tea,” he mutters before cutting into his pancakes.
Sitting across from him, I watch him take a ginger bite. His eyes lift to mine while he chews and swallows. “It’s good.” And he takes a bigger bite this time.
He eats faster with each bite. It's like he’s truly starving. The tea is sipped cautiously because it’s hot, but he drinks it all. I refill his plate, wondering how long it’s been since he’s had anything to eat. A drop of honey lands on his chin, and I have the urge to reach across the table and swipe it away with my thumb. I crave those little acts of intimacy that we don’t have anymore. It’s getting increasingly more difficult not to acknowledge anything. This isn’t normal; I’m not okay, and neither is he.
“About the hospital—” I say while he says, “I left Leon.”
My hand shoots to the back of my neck to rub it anxiously while he swallows hard and stares at his nearly empty plate. “Probably sounds so pathetic,” he says softly.
“It doesn’t.”
“I’m not mad that you left,” he tells me, rubbing his palms over his thighs.
“I didn’t want to,” I admit. “But I couldn’t stay. Everyone was waiting.”
He nods once. “The doctor gave me this stuff called Zofran…for my nausea. It works alright.”
The urge to ask what else they gave him almost overpowers everything. “Good.”
Fuck this is awkward. It’s like we don’t know how to act around each other. There’s this funk in the air caused by everything that’s happened. I rub my eyes, struggling to find something to say.
“My aunt is living in my house,” he blurts after long seconds, and I snap my eyes to his. He shifts in the chair, curling his arms around himself. “She’s been there for six months.”
“How come?” His lips purse, a stubborn move he’s done before when he doesn’t want to say something. I have to be gentle with him even though all I want to do is scream at him to talk to me. “Do you two not get along?” I ask instead.
“No,” he breathes and picks up the butter knife to fiddle with it. “No, we don’t.”
“Okay.”
“Her trailer magically caught on fire. Probably one of her many exes getting pissed he couldn’t crash there anymore.” His fingers tighten around the knife, the knuckles blanching. “So she came knocking.”
“And you let her stay?”
He nods once. Eli hasn’t said anything about her other than she was a pain in the ass. I don’t know their history or why it’d be acceptable for her to live with him. But he’s talking to me. Finally.
“Is it…permanent?”
“I’d really like for it not to be,” he grumbles, dropping the knife and wiping the sweat off his forehead. “She’s driving me crazy.”
Well, he can’t stay here. Kelly would lose her shit. Hell, everyone in my life would. But still, I find myself saying, “Kelly is going to be gone for the week. You can…if you need a place…”
“I’m not staying. Don’t worry. This isn’t me couch surfing,” he growls and leans back in his chair. “I didn’t come here for pity.”
“Then why did you?”
Scoffing, he glances at the ceiling. “Because all I want is my medicine, Phoenix. I feel like I’m dying. Everything hurts. Everything is too loud.”
My chest squeezes, remembering what he’d said in the hotel bathroom. “But it’s quiet with me?”
“I used to think that. But it’s not quiet. And you keep looking at me like that.”
I blink, straightening. “Like what?”
His head lowers, so we’re at eye level again. “Like I’m a bomb ready to go off.”
“Aren’t you?” I snap, slamming my palms on the table. “If I had anything in this apartment that’d take the edge off, you’d be stuffing it up your nose or swallowing it down despite knowing that this shit is killing you.” My arms shake while he glares at me.
“I probably would!” he yells at me, shooting to his feet and knocking the chair over. “No, I would because I can’t stand feeling this way.” He slaps his fist into his chest. “Coming here was a fucking mistake.”
He stalks over to the dryer and rips open the door. Gathering his still-wet clothes in his arms, he dumps them beside the suitcase. I go over to him and kick it out of his reach.
“Letting you in was a mistake,” I tell him, bumping my chest into his. “Giving you all these chances. Hoping you’d figure out your shit. You are an addict . You have a problem.”
“Fuck you,” he snarls and pushes me.
I grab his wrists and yank him back to my chest while he fights me, but he is too weak. “The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it?”
He slips his left hand free and slaps me. “You motherfucker.”
“Admit it,” I sneer, ignoring the sting in my cheek, and grab his head. My forehead bashes into his while he digs his nails into my chest to get me away. “Just admit it , and then maybe you can fix yourself.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then, finally, something you said would matter. ”
That makes me flinch. He sees it and laughs, eyes wild. I guess he remembers the few times I tried to get deeper. The times I tried to talk about the ugly. “You’re going through withdrawals. Only junkies experience that.”
“Oh really?” He rushes forward, cups my cock, and laughs when I grunt. “Then you’re a junkie too, baby. And I’m your drug. Always waiting for the next time I’ll give you that fix. Feels good, doesn’t it?” He strokes me through my sweats, and I can’t help but grind into him. “Hypocrite.” Snatching his hand away, he bends to get his suitcase.
He’s not leaving, not like this, not after ripping each other up like we are. He’ll find the first drug dealer in LA, and I’m not having that shit on my conscience. I wrap my arm around his waist and pull him away from his suitcase, and he bellows, kicking like crazy. “Let me go!”
I don’t answer him. Instead, I flip him, toss him over my shoulder, and carry his flailing body into my bedroom like some mindless caveman.
“Damn it, Phoenix!” He grabs a wad of my hair and yanks.
I toss him on the bed, startling Helios, who leaps away. “You started this shit.” I pin him down.
“There you go again, desperate bitch,” he snarls, bucking under me.
“Maybe I am!” I scream in his face. “Maybe I am desperately tired of your bullshit—tired of wanting you.”
His dick swells under me, pretty blue eyes searing holes into my sanity. “Do it,” he taunts, lifting his head to lick my lips. “Use me. Get your fix.”
Taking his thin wrists in my hands, I hold them over his head, panting and trying to get a grip. I’m so angry . Like last year, my temper is getting the better of me, and I don’t know how to stop it.
Nothing he’s said has been wrong. God, I hate him for it.
“I’m the only one who has ever made you feel seen. You love that I live in your blood. That the only time your dick gets hard is because of me. So fucking take what you want.” He kisses my chin, and I jerk my head higher. “Don’t stop now. You have me just how you want me.”
“I don’t want it like this. I never have.”
“Liar,” he sneers and rubs his hard cock against mine. “This is us. And now you have me beneath you. Do it. ”
I glare at him, shaking over his frail body. “This was never us. We never went for blood.”
“Didn’t we?” His eyes well with sudden tears, all the fight leaving his body. “Either fuck me or let me go.” Slowly releasing his wrists, I swipe away the water staining his cheeks. “Stop fucking looking at me like that,” he growls, chin wobbling.
“How bad is it?” I’m asking about several things as the air leaves my sails, and I see so much pain in his features.
“We aren’t doing this.”
“How bad is it?” I repeat, cupping his cheek and stroking the stubble growing there. I search his face, recognizing all those telltale signs I keep ignoring because it’s easier to be mad. It’s easier to cling to my heartbreak than to acknowledge what I’ve done to him.
“Please,” he whines, trying to kiss me, but I don’t let him. He's not using his body or plush lips against me.
“I just want to know, Eli. I want to know everything, but I’ll settle for this. How bad is it without your medicine?”
Fresh tears spill as his lashes flutter. He holds my eyes for long seconds, arms still above his head like he can’t muster the strength to move them. “Without it,” he croaks, fear riddling his face. “Without it, I hear screams. Grunts. Without it, I remember. I remember everything.”
He's waiting for me to freak out or be aggressive. It's what he wants. To mask that vulnerability with hostility and lust so neither of us has the bandwidth to talk anymore. “Thank you,” I whisper, getting off him so I can lay on my side.
He breathes hard, fingers twitching near the headboard. His throat bobs before he says, “I don’t get high anymore. I can’t remember the last time it felt like that. Like…I was floating. It used to feel so good—better than anything.”
I stay quiet, watching him crack open. “I don’t feel good anymore. I wish I could tell you I felt good the whole time we were together. Most of the time, I did. But not all of it. That’s why I didn’t want to talk to you. Or see you. Because I knew you’d realize. I knew you’d see it. I’m so scared of you seeing this.”
“Why?” I ask softly.
Finally lowering his hands, he covers his face and cries. “I’m ashamed.”