Chapter 22
the twenty second chapter
YOUNG MARCO
I’ve never been touched like this.
Every caress between us feels so deliciously intentional.
A slow, sensual unfolding that goes far beyond lust or desire.
How have I ever let myself believe that an orgasm is something to be rushed? The way that Olsen holds me, the way he moves inside me, it feels as though I’ve spent years listening to a song from the other end of a tunnel, and have finally stepped onto the stage.
Hands and mouths say everything they’ve been forbidden to say.
Skin presses against skin, a thirst that has long been denied.
It’s without a doubt, at least until now, the most erotically charged night of my life.
◆◆◆
But it doesn’t end there.
He makes me feel loved and seen in every way.
Intimacy flows far beyond closed doors.
No need to step away the minute we hear footsteps.
No need to look over my shoulder when we flirt.
This man holds my hand in public, and puts his arm around me in crowded bars.
He utters words like we and us without even blinking.
He pays attention to the little things.
Leaves me notes inside coat pockets and bathroom drawers.
Remembers my favourite ice cream at Coles.
Never drinks at parties when I’m there.
And for the first time ever, somebody calls me ‘mine.’
“Have you met my boyfriend, Mark?” he asks proudly.
“How the hell did you score a hot country boy?” someone teases.
As if Olsen isn’t stunning himself.
“Wild luck, and a whole lot of patience,” he beams.
His eyes melt with pride as he turns to look at me.
“It wasn't luck that won me over,” I say. “It was your cute butt, obviously.”
“Damn, I knew it,” he sighs in defeat.
Our kiss is soft and tender, a shameless display of how we feel about each other.
A wolf whistle echoes from the other side of the pool.
But our friends are used to seeing it.
The two of us are inseparable.
We can’t keep our hands off each other, in public or at home.
With a sexual hunger this magnetic, it’s a wonder we bother to wear clothes at all.
◆◆◆
Things are more awkward than ever in Franko's kitchen.
I submitted my three weeks written notice immediately.
I wasn't ready to tell Beth the real reason why.
She assumes my resignation is cos I’ve found a new job at a party hire company.
And I have, that part is true.
“Seems more fitting for an up and coming event planner,” she says over the phone.
“Valuable work experience, especially now that you're doing a bachelor's degree.”
But every remaining kitchen shift drags on for so long.
I can’t wait to leave this place.
Being in the same room as Porter and Sutton is brutal.
There’s nothing hidden about their affection for one another.
Even though I’ve made the right choice about letting him go, it’s still uncomfortable.
Olsen makes me a calming playlist to listen to as I work.
“Pretend I'm washing dishes with you,” he offers breathlessly as we recover from our sunrise fuck. “I'll be waiting at the door to walk you home.”
“I don't finish until one in the morning,” I laugh.
“I'd walk you home at any hour of the night,” he vows.
And I can’t deny that it feels good when he kisses me hello in front of Porter.
We’re not doing it to be shallow, not really.
But it’s almost like Olsen is saying:
Pay attention. This is how you treat a man like Mark.
◆◆◆
We’ve been living together temporarily until I can find a place of my own.
And yet, after a month of browsing online ads there doesn’t seem to be much point.
“I love waking up in your arms,” I simper.
“Then stay here with me,” Olsen suggests.
“Yeah?”
“It's not like we just met, we've known each other for a while. And…”
“And?”
“And I already checked with the landlord. My lease can be adjusted. So… say yes?”
“Wish granted,” I smile. “Look, my clothes are already in your closet.”
“Our closet,” he replies, kissing below my belly button.
And it really is our closet, in more ways than one.
Olsen has excellent taste.
He teaches me all there is to know about style, about hair and accessorising.
He introduces me to one of the best barbers this side of the river.
“Which do you find more arousing?” I muse. “Dressing me or undressing me?”
He considers neck and shoulder kisses an essential part of getting ready.
Occasionally a nipple lick, too.
“One guess,” he replies. “I can't behave myself around you either way.”
I give a bum wiggle as I turn in front of the mirror.
“I know exactly why you loaned me these pants, Ol.”
“What could you possibly mean?” he flirts.
“Nothing left to the imagination, is there?”
“Mark Watford, it would be a crime to hide that ass from the world,” he claims.
“You’re trouble,” I laugh.
Olsen winks as though he’s proud of this.
“Pair it with the blue shirt, I think. Fuck, you look edible. It really makes your eyes pop.”
◆◆◆
As the years dissolve, the coat hangers on my side of the rail increase.
I discover thrifted or discounted items that give me a more professional edge.
“Just because we're broke students, doesn't mean we can't turn heads,” he grins.
I kiss his hand as we take our seats in the lecture hall.
My fashion sense isn’t the only thing to evolve.
For my twenty-first birthday, I sign the papers to bid my old name farewell.
Marco Adams, reads the official document when it arrives in the post.
“Love it,” Olsen applauds. “New name, new chapter.”
It feels so empowering to let go of the old version of me.
I’ve also done it to keep my online presence clean as I start my own company.
Don’t want any ghosts from the past interfering with my success.
I’ve chosen Marco, in honour of the boy who survived.
Then Adams as a last name, to carry a little piece of Beth with me wherever I go.
And Louis as a middle name.
Short for Louise, the mother who raised me despite her demons.
The woman I’ll never forget.
I whisper my new identity over and over in front of the mirror.
I create a different signature, experimenting until I find one that I like.
To celebrate this new chapter, I splurge on a weekend getaway to Lake Moogerah.
Dark sky sanctuary, says the website. Paradise on the edge of the Scenic Rim.
“Come with me,” I smile as we wake the next morning. “Let me show you what real stars look like.”
“Tonight?” he yawns. “Babe, it's almost two hours away.”
Not the response I’d hoped for.
I can tell that Ol isn’t keen.
Just like he’s never keen about the beach or hiking.
“We could sit by the lake and toast marshmallows over the fire,” I promise.
“I don’t know,” Olsen shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I'm not really an outdoors guy. I’d rather stay indoors so we can…”
“Have your wicked way with me next to the lake,” I tease. “Or in the lake.”
“Tempting,” he replies. “But I’m not a huge fan of mozzies or grass stains on my clothes. How about… when you get home, I’ll take you somewhere fancy for dinner.”
I struggle to hide my disappointment, even though I can never resist this boy for long.
“Can I be dessert?” I negotiate.
“I shall worship you beneath the sheets until you can't take it anymore,” he pledges.
I have no doubt in my mind that Olsen will follow through on that.
And I don’t want to force him to go on holiday if he’s gonna be miserable.
We devour each other until noon, then I drove to the cabin alone.
As evening falls, I walk a tightrope between ache and euphoria.
Standing beneath the galaxy I once abandoned, I hold my arms wide.
I let the tears flow.
I let myself miss her.
These are real stars.
This is a long anticipated sweet reunion.
One that I almost let slip through my fingers.
It’s not identical to the sky above Jundah.
The colours are softer, of course.
But it’s close enough, and the lake and mountains are majestic.
◆◆◆
“What time are we meeting the others?” I ask.
“Around nine, I think.”
The clubbing scene is more Olsen's thing than mine.
I’ve never been a fan of crowds or loud noises.
But I do love to dance.
There’s something so seductive about it.
The press of our bodies in a darkened room.
The way the ultraviolet glow enhances the contours of his arms and chest.
The slick sweat that makes his shirt cling.
An invitation of sorts.
I’m not oblivious to what the others are passing around underneath the table.
I say a firm no when it’s offered to me.
Does it make me feel a little uneasy being around substances?
Maybe.
As the child of an addict, who could blame me?
But it’s not like Olsen is a drinker.
That would be worse, right?
And at least he saves the powder and pills for parties only.
Perhaps it’s dehydration or lack of sleep that causes me to spiral tonight.
A claustrophobic heat closes in on me as the music pulses.
Heart rate spiking, the floor begins to spin beneath me.
Somehow everything looms louder, brighter, more abrasive.
“You okay?” Roz asks. “You look a little peaky.”
“Think I might be having a panic attack,” I yell over the noise.
“Come outside with me, babe.”
She takes me by the hand.
Together we sit on the curb, cool air soothing my nerves.
The steady groan of the bass hits a crescendo when the door bursts open.
“Is he okay?”
Olsen looks worried.
“Yeah, just feeling a bit anxious,” Roz soothes. “Smokey as fuck in there. No ventilation. Breathing in all that weed made me feel yuck too, the first time I came here.”
I adjust to it eventually.
Kind of impossible to avoid when all of my mates work in the party scene.
But I linger toward the edge, bolting outside for fresh air whenever I can.
It’s there in the alley that I spot a lone star in the sky.
Defiant survivor of the darkest depths.
Resilient enough to shine despite the harsh world below.
The courage of that stubborn sparkle reminds me of my mother.
What would she think if she saw me right now?
Dressed all fancy to fit in with the crowd.
Tall and clean shaven.
Building a career.
Would she be ashamed that I love a man out loud?
Would she recognise her little boy?
Would she forgive me for leaving?
I nudge the thought from my mind, at least until the day of graduation.