45. Adrian
FORTY-FIVE
ADRIAN
We fuck.
A lot.
We fuck like fiends.
We fuck until it starts to feel like I can never get it up anymore, only for one of us to wake up in the middle of the night just to fuck some more, and for my dick to remember that it’s insatiable.
We fuck greedily.
We fuck ferociously.
We fuck like there’s no tomorrow.
Like we’re at the end of the world.
There’s no one else.
Just me and Dylan.
So we fuck.
A lot.
We don’t talk about it.
Not at all.
I don’t know what to say or feel or think, and maybe Dylan doesn’t either. It’s a bitter, poisonous cocktail if I let myself think about what we’re doing. The confusion and guilt and loneliness and fear and despair. I can’t think about any of it. I’ll go insane if I do, and I can’t afford that.
So we don’t think.
And we don’t talk about what we’re doing.
We fuck.
It distracts.
It feels good.
It makes me feel alive.
I learn things.
All these times I’ve been quietly jealous that there are parts of Dylan he’s keeping from me… I get a refund for those now.
Most of them, anyway.
There are moments when I catch him looking at me, and I can’t read him at all. I can’t even begin to guess what the faraway look in his eyes is about.
There are days when he gets very quiet.
I don’t ask, and he doesn’t explain.
Mostly we both pretend like everything is business as usual. People have sex all the time in all sorts of situations. Doing it while being stuck on a deserted island is just one of those things people do.
Yeah, I’m really grasping for straws here.
My point is, I don’t know how to stop.
If I’m gonna be brutally honest, I don’t know if I want to stop.
It’s easier not to think.
So I don’t.