Gabe
Jason stirs in his sleep as I tiptoe around the trailer. I should be leaving for work right now, but I’m stalling.
I sit for a moment at the table, watching him. He smells like beer, and he’s still in the clothes he left in. It’s a reminder of a life I try to push out of my mind.
Dad was like this.
A lot.
Passed out, sleeping around the trailer with his mouth hanging open like a slob and smelling like cheap liquor.
But Jason doesn’t look like a slob. He looks amazing even when he’s passed out after a night of drinking. His chest rises and falls with his heavy breathing, and he cuddles with a cushion that I wish were me.
I can’t help it.
I rush back to my room and grab my sketch pad and pencil.
The morning light creeps in through the crack in the curtains and shines on Jason’s fiery hair.
He’s still bruised from the numerous fights he’s been in since arriving back in Belmont, but his face is relaxed.
Jason walks through life with a scowl most of the time, but I’ve gotten to study his features when he’s just existing.
He has high cheekbones and an amazing jawline, and he’s always had dark circles under his eyes (when they’re not bruised), which I’ve always thought were kind of hot.
I drag the pencil across the paper, using my finger to shade the areas in shadow.
When the picture is finished, I hold it up next to him. It’s good. Damn good. I feel a sense of pride for a moment, and then sadness washes over me.
Jason fucked me yesterday.
And then he left.
I think I’ve been living off the adrenaline of finally being with him, and with this picture in my hands, I’m finally crashing.
This is it, isn’t it?
This is all I’m going to get from Jason. Just enough to have a taste but never all of it. I fucked up—broke his trust, and he’ll be at arm's length for the rest of my life.
I look at the picture once more before closing the cover.
As I rise to leave for work, I hear, “Gabe.”
My heart leaps in my throat. He caught me creepily drawing him.
God, I’m such a loser.
I open my mouth to say something when I hear, “Gabe.”
Then I examine his face a little closer. His eyes are closed.
“Gabe,” he says again.
He’s asleep.
I slowly lower myself to sit on the floor and watch as Jason pulls the pillow closer to his chest and whispers my name again.
He squeezes the pillow a little more and smiles. “Closer, Gabe. Come closer.”
Quietly, so quietly it’s barely a whisper, I say, “Jason.”
His smile grows, and he sighs with satisfaction. “Gabe,” he whispers again.
“What is it?” I ask, breathless with a racing heart.
He nuzzles into the cushion. “I love when you’re close.” Jason squeezes the cushion again. His breathing relaxes, his shoulders soften, and he sleeps deeply.
I cover my mouth to muffle my frantic breathing.
He’s dreaming about me.
I want to wake him so much, but I’m afraid. I don’t want this to end. My heart can’t handle hearing him say something other than what he just said.
So, I just leave and go to work.
Leaving the picture I drew of him on the kitchen table crosses my mind, but I stop myself.
This moment is mine. No matter what happens between us, I’ll have this moment.
And a picture to remember it with.