Chapter 23
Oliver
The lips on my neck are soft, and I think there’s a hand under my shirt, but I can’t be too sure because the world spins with every blink of my eyes and I’m struggling to grasp onto reality.
The lights in the club are dim and there’s this throbbing that could be the music but could also be my heartbeat.
Though at this point, I don’t know if my heart is capable of beating.
Too broken and bruised to function the way it should.
There’s a dance version of Chris Isaak’s Wicked Game playing, the words hitting hard as though written for my broken heart.
“You wanna get out of here?” the voice in my ear asks and yep, there is definitely a hand sneaking along my torso.
I try to focus, turning to look at the person leaning against my side.
His hair is dark, long enough to touch his shoulders, and he has really pretty green eyes.
He’s nice and definitely deserves so much better than me.
“Or,” I say, turning him so his front is to mine. “You could blow me in the bathroom.”
His eyes darken, and he bites his bottom lip.
“Um…” he seems to consider the suggestion for a moment.
“Yeah, um…okay. Sure.” He slides his hand into mine and my body tenses.
It’s all wrong. The way our hands don’t seem to fit together.
The scent of his skin as he leans in closer.
The set of his lips. The colour of his eyes. It’s all so wrong.
I drop his hand and when his lips ghost mine; I turn my face and he lands up kissing my cheek. With a hand under his chin, I turn his face to the side, and press my lips to the shell of his ear.
“I don’t kiss. You can suck my dick. Or I’ll happily fuck you, but I don’t kiss.”
Kissing is intimate and vulnerable. It’s for the people you let into your heart, and I’ll never do that again.
“Sure.” He turns and this time he doesn’t reach for me, just looks over his shoulder as he heads towards the bathrooms at the back of the club. I follow, pushing my way through a sea of writhing bodies until I reach the narrow corridor.
It’s been a month since Darius left me. A month since I realised everything I believed about us was a lie.
Do I honestly believe he left me for someone else?
Maybe. It’s not impossible. Darius is perfect in every way.
Of course, other men would pursue him. What I really think happened though, is that he realised I’m too much of a mess to be with. I was too needy. I leaned too hard.
I try to push thoughts of him aside as I slide into the tight cubicle with my current conquest. He’s looking at me oddly, and his hands are wringing together in front of him.
The confidence I thought I saw out on the dancefloor is gone, and it occurs to me that maybe he hasn’t done this before – hasn’t hooked up with some random in the back of a dark club.
“You sure you want to do this?” I ask.
“Yes. Yes…I um…” he looks around the stall, straightens his shoulders and says, “I want to do this.”
“Good.” I slide a hand into his hair, then apply subtle pressure.
He understands the gesture, falling to his knees.
He undoes my belt and unbuckles my jeans before pulling my cock out of my boxers.
I’m not hard, but his mouth is hot and his tongue is eager and it doesn’t take long until I’m thrusting between his lips, my hands still in his hair.
The pleasure is short-lived and when I’m done, I tuck myself away, then help him to his feet.
With a hand on his hip, I turn the guy around so his back is to me, then I wrap an arm around his front, slide my hand into his jeans and jack him hard and fast until he’s making a mess in his boxers.
His eyes are dark and his lips glisten when he looks at me again.
“Thank you.” He smiles and fuck, why is he thanking me? “Do you, uh…want to meet up again sometime? Maybe get a drink somewhere not so crowded?”
God, I knew he was nice. Sweet even. I bet he’d make someone really happy. Just not me – I’m not looking for more than this.
“No. But that was fun.” His face falls as I gesture to the door behind him. He gets the idea, opening it and sliding out, dejection clear in his slumped shoulders. Fucking hell, did no one tell this guy that this is not the place to come to find a meaningful relationship?
“What’s your name?” I ask as I saunter over to the row of sinks to wash my hands. I keep my eye on him in the mirror.
“Seth.”
“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Seth. But it’s not me. It’s never me.”
With that, I open the bathroom door, letting it shut behind me as I work my way into the middle of the crowd. I drink and dance for hours after that. The thumping in my bones giving way to a numbness that carries me into the early hours of the morning.
I hate the taste of the night before. My tongue feels like cotton wool and my head hurts so badly I can barely sit up. But there’s an annoying ringing coming from somewhere. I open my eyes and it takes me far longer than it should to realise it’s my phone.
Groaning, I throw off my blanket, noticing that I’m stark naked and also, thankfully, alone.
“Fucksake,” I grumble, retrieving the ringing device from my jeans that were in a heap next to the sofa.
Caiden’s name flashes on the screen and I sigh, hit to reject the call and then carry my weary body to the shower.
Eyes closed, I let the water run over my head, visions of Darius’s blue eyes and dimples appearing behind my lids, the same way they always do.
I turn the shower as cold as it can go, shocking myself awake while also chasing the memories of him away.
Once I’m out of the shower, I sit on the sofa and pick my phone up to find a message from Caiden.
Caiden: Fancy coming over for a drink?
This isn’t the first message he’s sent me in the last month. Hell, it’s not even the fifth. For some reason, he’s holding out an olive branch, and I’m both intrigued and wary about why.
Me: We both know your knight in shining armour doesn’t want me around.
My message shows as delivered but when no reply comes back after a few minutes, I leave the phone on my lap and pick up a newspaper I bought earlier in the week, turning to the crossword.
One down, eight letters, clue: a tall yellow bloom.
SUNFLOWER. Of course it fucking is. I throw the newspaper across the room, launching the pencil after it.
Looking down, I see that Caiden has replied.
Caiden: It’s good to see you haven’t changed, Oliver. Now, stop being a fucking prick and come over for a drink. 5pm. You know the address.
Me: And if I say no?
Caiden: I will keep asking. Every week until you say yes. You’re being a stubborn shit. Stop it.
I type out the next message about how he used to like me even though I’m stubborn, but then delete it. I’m not going down that route again. Riling him and Jamie up isn’t fun anymore. Not now I’ve seen how genuinely in love they are. Not now that I’ve experienced that kind of love for myself.
Me: Fine.
I’m going to need a nap and a couple ibuprofen before I can face that part of my past.
By the time I drag myself to Caiden’s place, it’s already past five and I am severely regretting my decision to take up his invitation. We’re not even friends – he made sure of that – so why the fuck am I here?
Because you’re lonely.
Fuck.
It’s Jamie who opens the door when I knock. He’s dressed in a white t-shirt and blue jeans, and there’s a huge fucking hickey on his neck. He doesn’t smile when he welcomes me in and I get the distinct impression this was not how he wanted to spend his Sunday evening.
“Hey,” Caiden says in greeting. “Jamie’s making lasagne if you want to stay for dinner? It may be edible.”
“Hey!” Jamie remarks, shooting his boyfriend a grin. “It’ll be edible. I think.” He furrows his brow then heads further into the house, leaving me with Caiden.
“Nah, thanks though. I’ll take a beer if there’s one on offer?” I’ve had two therapy sessions so far and while I’ve opened up more than I expected I would, I’m a long way off from sharing a meal with people I barely consider my friends.
Darius though…I push away the thought. It no longer matters that he was the one person I was most comfortable with.
“Sure, come sit.” I follow Caiden to the kitchen, pulling a stool out from beneath the bar.
Taking a seat, I look around the place and, like in my own home, I can picture Darius in this space.
Darius making pasta at that stove. Me almost kissing him that day.
If I went through to the lounge, I’m sure I’d be confronted with memories of the two of us sitting on that sofa, the silence between us more meaningful than any words I’d heard in my twenty-four years.
Don’t ruin this. Well, fuck, somehow I did without knowing how.
Caiden opens the fridge and Jamie comes up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist while leaning over him to reach inside.
He pulls back, a block of cheese in his hand.
He returns to the other side of the kitchen, where there’s a mess of flour, tomato paste, and milk on the counter next to a glass dish. A lumpy white sauce sitting on top.
“Here.” Caiden pushes a beer across the counter to me and I take a sip before putting it back down.
The silence that falls between Caiden and me is awkward.
Other than the brief chat we had on the night of the quiz, I think the last time we had a conversation that didn’t revolve around drinking, sex, or a party, was back when we were sixteen.
“How are you?” He eventually asks. I pick at the label on my beer, narrowing my eyes at him. Why does he suddenly care?
“Fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yep,” I answer, popping the p and then taking another swig of my beer. “Why wouldn’t I be? Got head from a sweet twink last night, may go out again later. Life is peachy.”
Jamie eyes me over his shoulder, his lips pursed but he doesn’t speak before he turns back to his lasagne.
“Good…um…I’m glad you’re okay and that you’ve moved on,” Caiden remarks.
Moved on. His invite this evening suddenly makes so much sense.
“Holy shit! He asked you to check on me, didn’t he?
” Caiden shrugs, but he can’t look me in the eyes.
I stand from my stool and open my arms wide.
“Well, here I am, Caiden. You can tell your bestie that I’m fine.
But if he really cared, maybe he shouldn’t have…
” I shake my head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna go.”
I pocket my keys and phone that I’d left on the counter earlier.
“He’s just worried about you.”
The laugh that passes my lips is bitter. “He doesn’t get to worry about me, not anymore. I get that he’s your friend, Caiden, but he cheated on me. I may be a fuck up, but I would never have hurt him the way he hurt me.”
“He didn’t chea-”
“Caiden.” Jamie interrupts his boyfriend and Caiden squeezes his lips together before pushing my beer towards me.
“Don’t go, Oliver. Stay. Finish your drink.
” I’m about to take it when my eyes catch on an orange piece of card stuck to his fridge.
I saw it earlier but didn’t give it a second glance.
Now, though I don’t know why, I study it harder, vaguely making out the words and what I see makes my stomach turn.
My vision narrows, my heart beating so hard I can feel it in my ears. I leave my seat, round the countertop and stride towards the fridge.
“Fuck,” Caiden exclaims when he realises what I’ve spotted.
He makes a grab for it, but I reach it first. Everything happens so fast, my eyes tracing the words as Caiden tries to pry it from my hand.
I shove him away with more force than I realise, and his back hits the counter with a thud, before he loses his footing and falls to the floor.
“What the fuck?” Jamie is on me a moment later, and if I wasn’t so numb from the details printed on that rectangle of cardboard, I’d probably have felt the moment his fist connects with my jaw.
“Jamie, don’t!” Caiden is on his feet again, his arms around his boyfriend, holding him back. “I’m okay.”
The invitation is crumpled in my hand and I look down at it, a drop of blood from my split lip distorting the words, but they’re clear enough that I can read each and every one of them. When I look up, Jamie and Caiden are both watching me closely. Pity swimming in their eyes.
“He’s getting married?”
Caiden looks sad when he nods. “Yes.”
“Good.” My eyes blur and I press the heel of my palms into them, the invitation awkwardly clutched in one hand. “I hope he’s happy.”
“Oliver.” Caiden’s voice is soft, but I can’t look at him when I drop my hands, so instead I study the invitation. There are roses on it. He hates roses. Or maybe that was another lie. I don’t even know what’s true anymore.
“I only ever wanted him to be happy. I just wish –” I wish it had been with me. The lump in my throat makes it too hard to speak so silently. I put the invitation on the counter, then turn to walk away.
“Oliver? Will you be okay?” There’s concern laced in Caiden’s words. “I know you’re hurting now but it will get better, you have to –”
“I’m not hurting, Caiden. I’m fucking destroyed and it won’t get better. It was better. Back when I thought he loved me. When I thought we had something real.”
“He does love you.”
I shake my head in disbelief. I found it so hard to believe Darius had cheated on me, had convinced myself he left for other reasons, but it’s all so clear now.
“Leave me alone, okay? You once told me to lose your number. Do the same for me.”
With that, I leave their apartment, slamming the door. I look over it one last time, laughing to myself at how I’ve come full circle. From meeting Darius in that apartment to realising with a painful finality that I’ve lost him.