Milo #3
I could hear the alarm in his voice, and I stiffened as he stumbled into the hallway.
I had a moment of clarity, relieved he was wearing a shirt and a pair of loose shorts.
Of course, they were the exact kind of shorts that in the right conditions could be very distracting, which I knew from firsthand experience.
The number of times I’d found myself trying not to be distracted by movement in his shorts since the bastard didn’t wear underwear with those shorts unless he was working out.
He hunched as he peered down the gloomy hallway, slowly advancing as he cleared his throat roughly. “What the hell is going on?”
“Uh...you weren’t answering your phone?” I said more as a question than anything because now I felt like an even bigger jackass.
I had been in a full-blown panic about him, and here he was, just fine, sleepy and a little annoyed, but he hadn’t been trying to move out, he hadn’t been ignoring me, and now that he’d heard how I must have sounded when I came thundering into the apartment, he had woken up alarmed.
“It’s charging,” he said, stumbling into the living room to pick up what I now saw was his phone sitting on the table beside the couch. “And on silent while I napped.”
I could see that now , which did nothing to alleviate my sudden embarrassment at being dramatic. “Uh...right.”
“The fuck is going on?” he asked with a frown, setting the phone back on the charger. “Christ, I thought something happened, but you’re not bleeding.”
“Nope,” I said with bright cheeriness, holding up my casted arm. “Still the only injury to speak of, and I still can’t wait to take it off because it’s beginning to itch.”
“Just don’t cut this one off yourself,” he said with an irritated huff, but I didn’t know if it was at the reminder of how a broken wrist had turned into needing stitches because of my impatience or because I’d woken him up so rudely.
“Now, why the hell did you come busting in here like you were being chased down?”
Now that I was here and talking to him, I suddenly found that I didn’t want to admit what was going on in my head.
I had come here in such a flurry of stress and anxiety, fully prepared to blurt out that I knew what I’d done, and to express how fucking sorry I was for taking advantage of him like that.
..and for groping him, definitely that part.
Now that I actually had that chance, though, I could feel the urge to speak the truth curl up and die.
It was our thing to be honest with each other, but it wasn’t like he had brought anything up either, so why should I?
Well, probably because I was the one who had done the groping and God knows what else I hadn’t remembered, so it should probably be on me.
But shit, if he had been violated like I remembered, why wouldn’t he say something?
If only to make sure I didn’t get drunk again like that, so he could spare himself the embarrassment of me losing all sense of decency because of a wild night.
Then again, he was the one who liked to hold back from saying anything when he knew those things could upset the other person.
And, possibly admitting my long-held feelings and copping a feel counted as extremely upsetting to me if my race to the apartment was any indication.
Sheesh, that would explain his silence for the past week about the entire thing, and now I felt even worse.
He had been forced to endure my drunken ass being all hands, and now he was keeping things quiet because he was worried about how I felt about the entire thing.
Damn it all, there was no way I was going to be able to keep my silence without feeling like a total piece of shit.
“What...is that face?” he asked, coming back in with a bottle of water, using one finger to gesture toward my expression.
I screwed up my face, trying to think of the right way to put it.
It wasn’t like I could just blurt out that I was sorry I copped a feel.
I wouldn’t really call it an assault, but it was close enough that I had to find a way to say it in the best way possible.
He had probably been holding onto that knowledge the whole time, and here I was, freaking out because I felt bad, not just because he was uncomfortable.
So I had to find something that covered what I’d done and how he was right for being weird with me for the past week, even though he had probably been doing his best not to be.
“I’m sorry I groped you while I was drunk and made you listen to me ramble about all kinds of shit while I was shit faced, and I’m sorry that you’ve been weird as hell because I touched your dick without permission,” I blurted out because I was a master wordsmith and mere mortals should feel nothing but envy at my linguistic prowess.
“Well...fuck, wait...it wasn’t supposed to come out like that. Hold on.”
I had to say the last words louder than usual over the sound of Eli exploding into a fit of choking gasps that sent water flying everywhere.
I winced as I watched him fight to get his breath back, staring at me in disbelief as he wheezed.
Using the back of his hand, he wiped his mouth and held on to the wall, eyes wide and watery as he let out another few coughs before standing upright.
“Christ, I should be used to the shit that just...flies out of your mouth. But sometimes you still catch me off guard,” he managed to get out, shaking his head. “Give a guy a warning, won’t you?”
“Sorry,” I winced. “I was trying to think of something better to say, but that...just kind of came out instead.”
“God, one second,” he said weakly, and I listened as he went to the fridge. I heard bottles clinking before he returned with two beers, holding one out.
“Is this...a good idea?” I asked, eyeing the bottle like it might explode at any moment.
He rolled his eyes. “You’re not getting shitfaced, so I think you’ll be fine. Plus, you look like if you don’t get some alcohol in you soon, you’re going to collapse. So take a drink, there’s more in the fridge if we need it, but not enough to get wasted.”
“Yeah,” I said, taking the bottle. He shuffled down the hallway, muttering, and I waited until he was out of sight before tipping the bottle back and draining it in a series of quick gulps.
It was empty when he came back. He stared at it, a towel in hand that he dropped onto the wet carpet. “Wow, okay.”
“Sorry,” I said, and then all the carbonation bubbled up noisily in my gut before I let out a harsh belch that made him blink. “Err?—”
“That counts as gale force wind,” he said, shaking his head. “Step on the towel and get most of the water, will ya?”
“Sure,” I said, feeling a little better but nowhere near normal.
I did as he told me as he walked back into the kitchen, raising a brow when I heard him give a belch of his own before the clinking of more bottles could be heard.
He reappeared with two more beers, and I took one while diligently stepping on the towel.
I wasn’t focused on soaking up the water, just stepping mindlessly where the water had splashed, and I watched him move into the living room to sit down.
My nerves felt like they were constantly fracturing and dashing off all over the place, only for me to draw the pieces back and force them to stay put.
I wondered if that’s what it had to be like, trying to do a puzzle or play Jenga on a boat in a storm.
It definitely left me with the same sense of sea sickness, but I didn’t think any medicine was going to take care of that particular problem.
Especially since the cure for my nerves was ironically the same thing that caused the problem in the first place.
“And now...I don’t know what to say,” I said with a wince as he stared at the wall opposite, a distant look in his eyes which faded when I spoke. “I kept trying to come up with different ways to...handle this on the way over here, and I just...it’s all gone now.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Weren’t you supposed to be having lunch with Arlo?”
“Oh, God,” I muttered, pulling out my phone, and wasn’t surprised to see texts from both Arlo and Marshall. “I left them without explaining myself.”
“Them?”
“Oh, I, uh...invited Marshall to come with us after making sure Arlo was alright with it.”
“Arlo was probably surprised you remembered to check with him first.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m an oblivious ass who doesn’t think about other people. I’m well aware, considering that’s exactly why we’re both awkwardly staring at each other in a way we’ve never had to do before.”
“You have your moments,” he said with a small smile. “But the rest of us know you don’t mean to.”
“Being an asshole by accident doesn’t make me less of an asshole,” I said and then winced. “Or a molester.”
He stared at me for a moment before sighing and rolling his eyes. “You aren’t a molester.”
“Look,” I said, still shuffling my feet on the towel because it gave me something to do with all the anxious energy building inside me. “I’m not sure how much I remember about that night, but I’ve remembered enough to know that title definitely counts.”
“It does not,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Then what would you call it? Because you definitely got groped, and I do not remember you telling me, ‘Yes, Milo, that is a perfectly acceptable thing to do.’ Unless I’m really missing something, which I could be. I don’t even remember what you said when I did that.”
His brow furrowed deeper, and I braced for what he was about to say, deflating in surprise when he asked, “Okay...what do you remember?”
I frowned, the shuffling of my feet slowing as I thought hard.
Trying to remember something that really didn’t want to be remembered was like trying to hold on to an icy piece of sheet metal roofing so you didn’t fall three stories to the ground because you thought it was a good idea to take a piss off the top of the building. ..which I knew personally.