Chapter 13 #3
God, I’ve actually said it. Out loud. My pulse throbs everywhere, even in my fingertips.
I feel flayed wide open and stupidly vulnerable over the silliest of things—a fucking crack in the ceiling plaster, for fuck's sake. Why does it even matter? Next I’ll be telling him I’m scared of monsters under the bed.
Yet Luke simply nods, like it’s perfectly reasonable pillow talk. His outline fuzzy in this light, I wait for his verdict, a comforting answer, a question.
“As I see it, Neil,” he begins in his calm, serious voice, “you’ve got two options.”
Brow furrowing, he shifts a little closer. Not close enough. Ideally, I’d prefer him under me, doing what I do best. Flaying someone else open, with my dick and my mouth, putting an end to this self-fucking-flagellation.
I blink rapidly. If we carry on like this, I’ll start to cry.
“What are they?”
The cute frown lines disappear, replaced with the tiniest tug at the corner of his mouth, a flicker of mischief. He squeezes my fingers. “Either you buy yourself thicker curtains or invest in a small tube of Polyfilla.”
In an instant, I’m glad I’ve told him about the stupid ceiling thing.
Warmth rises up through me. I grab his wrist, pulling him closer. He thinks I’m going to kiss him, and I almost do, but then I pounce on him instead. My fingers find a spot between his ribs. Suddenly, he’s squealing and twisting under the duvet, trying to wriggle away.
“Get off!” He’s breathless and helpless, laughing and protesting.
The mattress shakes beneath us as we tussle and tickle.
Then, suddenly, his wrists are trapped under mine, and we’re chest to chest. He’s warm and solid underneath me, flushed and pouty.
I’m semi-hard, and what’s the betting he is too?
I could easily turn this into something; I could rut against him, get myself off, get him off too.
Reluctantly, I flop back, letting him go. He’s more precious than that, much, much more.
“Now it’s your turn to tell me what scares you the most,” I gasp. “Seeing as I’ve confessed my irrational bedroom ceiling phobia.”
“Being suddenly pinned down and tickled,” he shoots back. “In someone else’s bed.”
I huff a laugh. “Tell me really.”
“Okay.” He nods, just once. “Falling into the void.” No hesitation, no wavering. “And not being able to haul myself out.”
Falling into the void. I’m kind of in awe. How does someone learn to be so in touch with their feelings? Mine are basically hungry, thirsty, tired, mischievous, horny, happy, and sad. Less Goldilocks, more the seven dwarves all rolled into one.
“I don’t know what that even means.”
“Becoming so ill again I can’t trust my own brain,” he elaborates.
“It’s the bit about mental illness they don’t talk about, but for me, that fear is always there in the background.
What if my depression comes back? What if it’s even worse?
I’m forever second-guessing myself. I never know if I can trust my thoughts.
Am I really happy, or is it the pills? Am I sad because I watched a sad film, or because I’m slipping? ”
“Are you thinking like that now, here with me? That’s like worrying about the hangover while you’re still at the party.”
Eight dwarves. I should add hungover to the cast list.
Luke shuffles a tiny bit closer. Already, our hands have reunited. “Is this what we’re having?A party?”
“Sure it is, rash whisperer. A private sleepover party, just for two. And I’m asking if you’re enjoying it.”
He bites down on his pouty bottom lip, considering. “I think so. I’m trying not to worry about being here with you. I’m still anxious, though, because I’m doing stuff I haven’t done since I’ve been ill. But under the anxiety, I’m pretty sure it’s making me happy.”
“Were you always this cautious, before you were ill?”
He thinks again for a moment. “No. I wasn’t ever brash or cocky or anything.
But I had enough confidence and self-belief to train to become a surgeon.
I worked all the hours and took the first set of exams. I secured a place on a training programme, beating a lot of other people to get it.
And then…and then all the chemicals in my brain decided to fuck with me.
When I finally crawled out the other side, I was still me, but taking things carefully and living a different life. I reassessed.”
“Different or worse?”
He studies our hands. “Not worse, no. Different. Who knows? I might have hated surgery after ten years or burned out from it. This life is much quieter, a lot slower, and more thoughtful. But still mostly good. I have friends, an interesting job, and a nice flat.”
Fuck it, I’m going to cuddle him. From the way Luke’s inching his way towards me, he wants one, too, but he hasn’t the balls to initiate it.
Bridging the gap in one move, I snake my arm around his waist and tug him into me.
“Well, now you have a visually impaired admirer to add into the mix. What more could a guy need? This cuddling okay?”
“Yes.”
I press my lips to his nose, because he’s all snuggled up, and there’s very little other exposed skin I can reach. “You sure?”
“Yes. You…you somehow help me forget to be anxious.”
I swear parts of me thaw I didn’t know were frozen. “Any more of those kisses left?”
“Bucket loads,” he whispers.