Chapter Five Colin
Chapter Five
Colin
I’m lying on the thin mattress in my room when Declan bursts in with nothing but a towel around his waist. The cold weight of something glass lands on my stomach, and I let out a grunt. The paperback I was holding falls from my hands as I pick up the brown glass bottle my roommate tossed at me.
“Thanks,” I mutter as I inspect the cheap beer. “Where did you steal these from?”
Declan rips off the damp towel and throws it on the floor with the pile of dirty laundry. My gaze lands briefly on his bare ass as he tugs on a pair of tight black briefs. Forcing myself not to look at his naked parts, my eyes catch the rivulets of water dripping slowly down his back instead.
“That idiot at the end of the hall. They left their door unlocked,” he jokes as he cracks open his beer and takes a swig.
“Malcolm?” I ask, fumbling to crack the cap off the beer with the corner of the bedpost.
“Yep,” Declan replies.
“He’s going to kick your ass,” I say, still struggling and nearly splitting the wood off the bed.
“I’d like to see him try.” Declan laughs as he takes my beer and swiftly pops the cap off with ease before handing it back to me.
“Have you seen that guy on the rugby pitch? He could fold you in half, Dec.”
My friend only shrugs.
After living with Declan Barclay for the last three months, I’ve learned that he behaves as if he’s invincible.
And I get the itching suspicion that it’s not something he acquired from being rich.
I think he gets it from not having a care in the world.
Declan isn’t afraid of death or failure or injury.
I don’t think he’s afraid of anything.
It’s just one of the many things I admire about him.
He doesn’t bother getting dressed. Dropping onto his own mattress in just his underwear, he drinks his stolen beer without looking at me.
Living with another man my age for the first time in my life has been very enlightening. The level of comfort Declan has exhibited is new to me. He’s not afraid to undress in my presence. He strolls around our small room with hardly anything on.
It’s almost as if he acts like I’m not even here, and it’s strange how much I like that. There’s never anything uncomfortable or awkward between us.
“I’m bored, Shakespeare,” he says with a groan as he reaches the end of the bottle.
I toss my book on the foot of the bed. “What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know about you, but I need a good shag. It’s Friday night. Let’s go out.”
As he hops up from the bed and starts rifling around in his messy pile of clothes, my stomach clenches.
The topic of sex and/or sexual partners hasn’t exactly come up yet.
From time to time, Declan has boasted about the girls he hooked up with in secondary school, but he never once asked me about my own experiences.
Which aren’t many.
Or any…at all.
I sit up on the bed and do my best not to appear stiff.
Taking a swig of my beer, I watch Declan throw on a wrinkled polo shirt and some loose black trousers that hug his hips and ass.
Even with his unkempt appearance, I have no doubt my roommate will succeed in finding a bedroom partner for the evening.
He has the good looks and charm to pull it off.
Me, on the other hand…
“You wearing that?” he asks, nodding his head toward my knitted cream-colored pullover.
I glance down at my attire in confusion. “Should I change?”
“You won’t get your dick sucked in that,” he quips as he takes my beer and pulls a swig from the bottle.
“I’ll change,” I say, standing from the bed. The truth is, I don’t quite know what someone wears to get their dick sucked. It’s never been the motivation behind my fashion choices, but maybe it should have been.
After looking through my wardrobe, I find a plain gray T-shirt and a nice pair of denim trousers. Declan lets his gaze rake over my body after I’m dressed before he shrugs and mumbles, “Good enough.”
Then, we’re out the door and on our way to…
I don’t even know where. Declan and I have never been out before.
He sometimes stays out late alone, but in the three months we’ve known each other, even as close as we’ve become, he’s never invited me.
Truth be told, I always assumed he thought he was better off alone.
I follow Declan to a pub in town that is lively and crawling with uni students.
The energy is raucous and wild, and we have to squeeze our way through the crowd to reach the bar. It smells of beer and sweat, but with the music and conversation so loud, it overloads my senses.
If I’m going to last in here tonight, I need to get drunk, and fast.
Declan uses his dimples and flirty smile to score us each a pint of beer and a shot of whisky from the bartender.
Then, we find a place near the edge of the bar to stand and get our bearings.
Immediately, he spots two beautiful women who look around our age at a tall pub table.
Even I notice the way they glance at us in the midst of their conversation.
The liquor burns its way down my throat as I take the shot. Then, Declan tugs me toward the women in a rush, as if they’re about to be claimed by two other horny, drunk blokes.
“Hey!” he shouts over the music as we reach the pub table. “Can we buy you a drink?”
The woman on the left has long brown hair in perfectly placed waves.
Her face is caked with makeup, and her eyelashes are unnaturally long and thick.
The other woman has short strawberry blond coils that reach her shoulders.
She doesn’t have as much makeup on, but still, nothing particularly excites me about either of them.
They’re both pretty—beautiful even, but there isn’t even a spark of arousal or excitement in my body at the sight.
Of course, I knew this. I’ve always known this about myself. It might not be something I outwardly express or own up to, but it’s plain as day in my own mind. I’m not attracted to women—not at all. I don’t need to fondle their breasts or explore the space between their legs to know it.
As I stand behind Declan, who is charismatically flirting with the one with the makeup, I glance around at the other men filling the crowded space.
They all seem so fiendish and feral for the opposite sex.
With their puffed-up chests and lascivious mannerisms, they remind me of those exotic birds who prance and preen for a mate.
And all I’d really like to do is take this beer home with my roommate and do literally anything other than this.
When Declan goes back to the bar to fetch two more beers for the ladies, I’m left to converse with them alone, and it’s mind-numbingly painful.
I try to make small talk about school, but it turns out both of them are American tourists backpacking around the UK during their gap year, whatever that is.
Thankfully, Declan doesn’t take long with their drinks, and I rely on him to lead the rest of the social interaction.
To my surprise, he’s even more captivating when he’s trying to get sex.
His stories are funnier, and the way he talks with his hands is more mesmerizing.
The women are totally falling for him—as am I.
The three of us just watch him talk, laughing at all the right moments.
The beer keeps flowing, and the longer we stand there, the more comfortable I feel. I’m suddenly not so worried about the fact that I’m supposed to be flirting with one of these women and have no desire to. I’m out with Declan, and he keeps giving me that smile, and everything is great.
The details start to grow fuzzy. A song I love blares from the speakers, and I even start tapping my foot to the music, feeling light and carefree.
I look away from Declan for one moment to scan the crowd with a sense of pride.
This is what I came to uni for—a real experience.
This noisy, smelly pub is a far cry from my sheltered life in London, and I’m ecstatic about it.
Declan is still talking, his flirtatious laugh piercing the din of voices around me.
But when his laughter fades, I turn back to the group to find his lips tangled with the brunette’s.
Suddenly, the alcohol hits my system differently, making the room spin.
I can’t tear my eyes away from them, watching the way he strokes her jaw as his tongue presses into her mouth.
She smiles against his lips, and my stomach drops like lead to the floor.
I’m abruptly aware of the curly-haired girl staring at me, but I can’t bring myself to turn my drunk gaze to her face.
I’m just watching Declan make out with that stranger, wishing I was sober enough to force myself to look away.
The longer he kisses her, the more my stomach turns.
It’s no longer a lead heap on the floor.
Now it’s a roiling, rebellious thing, threatening to heave all over this table.
Like a bolt of lightning, I stumble away from the group and rush through the crowd toward the loo.
I barely make it to the toilet before my stomach empties itself. Kneeling on the floor of a disgusting pub’s bathroom stall, I continue to retch. This is definitely not the dream I had about coming to uni.
The vision of Declan kissing that woman replays over and over in my head. Jealousy and anger swirl in my now empty gut. He’d rather be with them than me. He’d rather kiss them, talk to them, fuck them.
What am I even saying? It’s not like he would ever want that with me. Is that even what I want with him?
I’m too drunk.
The door opens and someone barrels in, bouncing off the stall doors clumsily.
“Shakespeare!” a loud, slurring voice echoes in the cramped chamber of this lavatory.
“Oh, mate,” he says behind me, but the way his voice ricochets back and forth against the linoleum stalls, it sounds like he’s everywhere.