Chapter 29 Will
Will
It’s been a week since that night with Trouble.
Feels longer. Feels like time has been crawling.
The first few days weren’t all that bad.
Work was normal and Mat seemed mostly okay.
What happened was a lot, so I thought he was just processing, but he’s definitely been a bit off this weekend.
This morning he cleaned and tidied the entire apartment.
He did it while I was out. Didn’t even leave the mopping and kitchen for me, like he normally does.
He looks a bit sheepish when I ask him about it.
I’m super happy about the clean apartment until I piece it together and realize it’s been a week to the day since we met Trouble. I realize at once that Mat’s somehow convinced himself that today is the day Trouble will come back.
He doesn’t.
By the time we call it a day, Mat’s shoulders are sloped and he hasn’t said a word for forty-seven minutes, which might be a record for him.
“We should have gotten his number,” he says as he turns off the living room lights.
It’s the third time he’s said it.
“He’ll be back,” I say.
His eyes widen and he looks happy. No, he looks more than happy. He looks relieved. “D’you think so?” I don’t answer. “‘Cause I was thinking, maybe we should get tested, you know, in case he comes back, and…”
“Sure. Sounds like a plan.” Seems sensible, and I have a feeling giving Mat a little project and something else to focus on might help.
It’s not that I’m not hoping Trouble will be back.
I am. I don’t mind admitting it. It’s just that I have a feeling he’s one of those people who enjoys playing it cool.
Like, way cool. I bet he’ll do something totally random, like stop by on a Tuesday.
I bet he’ll just turn up. I bet he’ll just ring the doorbell.
We’ll open the door and there he’ll be, standing on the welcome mat.
He’ll act like it’s no big deal. Like we should have been expecting him.
That’s what I think he’ll do.
I’m pretty sure he’ll give it a few more days, and then he’ll turn up out of the blue.
When the doorbell rings on Tuesday night, my heart speeds up, and I scramble off the sofa and onto my feet. I let Mat get the door because I’m almost sure it’ll be Trouble, and I want to see his face when he sees him.
It isn’t.
It’s the kid from downstairs. He’s gotten himself locked out again and needs to be buzzed in.
I feel a little flat by the time I hit the sack.
I’m okay, but I’m starting to worry about Mat.
Moping isn’t like him. Sure, he gets bummed when things don’t work out with a girl he’s into.
He feels things strongly, but he bounces back quickly.
Normally, it’s a couple of days on the sofa ordering pizza for dinner, saying he’ll never, ever recover, and then like that, he’s up an at ‘em again, dragging me out with him as he does it.
When Saturday rolls around again, he’s back to cleaning and tidying.
More determinedly this time. This time he does the oven, taking down the grates covering the exhaust fan and cleaning them too.
Can’t say either of us has done that before.
I stay home to help him. I try to keep the conversation light, but the short pauses before he answers my questions make me think he might be finding it hard to focus on what I’m saying.
He stays up until after midnight despite me suggesting we call it a night several times.
He doesn’t move from the sofa. He slides down on it thanks to the ridiculously low back and narrow bench seat.
Instead of shuffling to sit back up again like I do, he stays like that.
Half-on, half-off, a hand on the floor is the only thing keeping him from sliding all the way off.
By the time I insist he get up and head to bed, he gives me an intense look as if he’s waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, he says, “When?”
“When what?”
“When will he come back? You said he’d be back. When is he going to come back?”
I shrug and don’t answer.
I did think he’d be back. I thought for sure he’d come back. That night was something else. I don’t care who or what you are. It wasn’t normal. The chemistry between us was off-the-charts. There’s no way he didn’t feel it. I thought he’d be back, but now I’m not so sure.
The problem is, when you really think about it, we know nothing about Trouble.
Except that he’s Trouble.
Mat goes to the gym every weekday and does the grocery shopping on Thursday.
Aside from that, he doesn’t leave the apartment except for work.
I’m worried about him. This isn’t like him at all.
I’ve never seen him like this. Gould invites us out for tacos on Friday, and Mat says no.
He doesn’t give a reason. He just flatly says no.
Gould calls me and gives me an earful about it.
I decide to go on my own when I can’t get Mat to see reason, but his face as I leave makes me unsure if it’s the right decision. I don’t have a great time while I’m out, and I come back early to find him sitting on the sofa, staring unseeing at the TV. I sit next to him and tap my chest.
“Mattie, come ‘ere,” I say.
Usually, I don’t need to say it. In fact, I can’t think of a time I’ve done this before. Usually, he’s cuddly as fuck. If he needs it, he comes and gets it.
He puts his head on my shoulder and wraps his arm tightly around my chest. I let my hand rest on his back and pat him a handful of times.
He sighs softly. It’s a short, jerky sound that sounds like something he’s been holding in for a while.
He tightens the arm he has around my chest and presses his face into my shoulder.
I lock my other arm around him, circling him fully and holding him as tight as possible. I don’t let go until he does.
I do it again the next night.
And the next.
The next night he goes to bed early to read.
I let him go without pointing out he hasn’t read a book voluntarily in all the time I’ve known him.
I take out my phone and settle into bed for a nice little scroll fest. I go at it for a while.
I’m watching these tall dorks on TikTok who make videos showing their height and then using a tape measure to show how tall a five-foot-six girl would look standing next to them. It kills me.
How fucking random?
I’m about to click on another video when a message pops up.
Mat: This guy looks kind of like him.
I click on the link, and a porn clip opens up.
It’s two dudes fucking against the wall.
The bottom has long black hair, but that’s where the similarities end.
He doesn’t move like Trouble. His voice is all wrong.
It’s high-pitched and nasal. Still, I’m instantly hard, and I watch the whole clip with my hand in my pants.
I don’t stroke. I just hold my dick as I watch it, and then send Mat a clip I found a few days ago.
I’ve watched it ten times in the past three days.
Me: I like this one.
Mat doesn’t reply, but I can see he’s read my message.
I click on the link and start stroking right away.
I curl my fingers around my dick and move them slowly up and down, teasing, not jerking in earnest. There are three guys in the video.
Two big, built ones and a smaller, leaner guy.
The big ones have the little one on his knees on the bed.
One has his dick in the little one’s ass, and the other is fucking his mouth like he means it.
The bottom is totally skewered. Absolutely stuffed.
Full to the brim. Chock full of cock. He’s making the same kinds of noises Trouble made.
Choked muffled moans, desperate groans that reverberate around the excess of dick in him.
Mat: Kvjjfjfkljfsk.
I don’t know if Mat means to send that, but it makes me think he might be doing the same thing I am right now.
Something about that turns me on hard. Impossibly, unbreakably hard.
Hard like I was that night with Trouble.
I start stroking in earnest. Long, hard strokes with a little twist at the end.
I speed up because I know the video I’m watching is nearing the end.
I jerk faster and faster and explode seconds before the two big guys dump their loads all over the bottom’s ass and lower back.
When it’s over, I check my phone to see if I have a message from Mat.
I do.
There’s no text. Just an eggplant and a splash emoji.
A week passes.
And another one.
Gould is tearing his hair out with Mat. He’s had it to here with him not coming out.
Gould’s kind of an acquired taste, if I’m honest. When we first met him, I didn’t immediately acquire the taste.
We were seniors in college, and he was a freshman.
We met while playing water polo. He took to Mat right away.
Gould’s one of those guys who’s really hard to shake if he decides he likes you.
Fortunately, Mat has a soft spot for him, so he didn’t want to shake him.
I do too, now, but it took a while. Mat always says, “Yes, Gould’s a handful, and yes, he expects a lot, but that’s only because he gives a lot. ”
It’s true. Gould would give you the shirt off his back and be happy to do it. Not just happy, he’d be honored you thought to ask him.
The third time Mat nopes his way out of plans Gould makes, I text him and invite him to our place for dinner.
We make steak and fries. It’s a really nice night if you ignore the fact Mat doesn’t talk nearly as much as he usually does, and I have to carry the entire conversation.
I manage to neatly skirt around any discussion that seems as though it might touch on the fact that Mat has completely refused to leave the apartment for over a month because he’s afraid if he does, a guy we hooked up with once will swing by and we’ll miss him.
Additionally, I manage to avoid any mention that, in a strange turn of events, I’m staying home now, too, in case my good friend Mattie needs a cuddle or feels inclined to send me a porn clip of three dudes banging it out.
It’s a lot of balls to keep in the air, and it takes some doing, but overall I’m pleased with my performance.
I think Gould is too. He seems suitably placated by the time he heads home.
“You guys should come out next Tuesday. It’s Izzy’s birthday. It will be shitty of you to miss it,” he says.
Gould’s one of those guys who talks about his friends as if you know them regardless of whether you’ve met them or not. In this case, we’ve heard about Izzy for years, but we’ve never met her.
“Can’t,” I reply without casting so much as a glance at Mat. “Work night. Big day at work on Wednesday.” It’s not a lie exactly. I’m up for a huge promotion, so every day is kind of a big day at work at the moment.
“Sucks to be you,” says Gould. “It’s going to be good. Everyone’s going to be there.”
There are few things in this world Gould loves more than gathering all the people he likes and shoving them into a room together.
Usually, when we hang out with him, we hang out with the water polo guys.
But since he stopped playing and finally graduated from college, it seems like he’s getting more and more determined to merge us with his old gang from Carmel.