20. Chapter 20
Maddo x
The sound of Rylen's door slamming shut behind him echoes in my ears. I grab the corner of the couch cushion and drive my face into it, letting out a frustrated groan.
He was right about the phone. I’ve been obsessive, relentless, a goddamn stalker.
But how am I supposed to be casual when he nearly fucked me on our kitchen counter and then walked out to go on a date?
What's so special about Bry, anyway? What does he have that I don’t?
What makes him so much better than me? Is he really worth pushing through all that internalised homophobia for, when I never have been?
I grip the pillow tighter with each debilitating thought, the fabric bunching under my knuckles until I send the thing soaring across the room with a guttural roar.
Gremlin zips out from under the couch, a streak of black and white fur coiling into a frightened little ball at Rylen’s door.
She’s searching for a way in, for a safety I can't give her right now. Fuck. I didn’t even know she was in here.
“Hey,” I coo, cautiously slipping off the couch. I inch toward her at a snail’s pace, my voice soft and hopefully reassuring. “Sorry, Grem. Didn't mean to scare you. ”
My hand hovers in the space between us. I wait until she slowly uncoils, rubbing her soft head against my knuckles. I scoop her up, cradling her like a baby, and revel in the soothing, motor-like hum of her purr. “You’re not so bad, huh?” I murmur, scratching the underside of her chin.
“Sorry. Daddies are in a fight right now. I know it sucks.”
The sight of her big, doe eyes staring up at me has my heart fluttering. God, when did I start caring about this little shit? Ugh. Probably around the same time I became irrevocably in love with her father.
A sigh rips its way out of my lungs, making Gremlin squint as the air hits her face.
I snicker, plopping her next to me on the floor before slumping against the doorframe.
Tears streak down my cheeks, but I’m too numb to wipe them away, despite how much I detest the feeling of them pooling in the hollows of my collarbones.
The hours bleed into one another, a blur of heavy-lidded exhaustion and the sharp, stinging grit of salt on my cheeks.
I drift in and out, the vision between the loungeroom and the darkness behind my eyelids becoming a smear.
I’m travelling through a thick, gray fog of sleep, waking up just long enough to feel the chill of the floorboards through my hoodie before the fatigue drags me under again.
It’s a cycle of misery, my brain refusing to shut off even when my body gives out.
I don't even realise I’ve passed out until my head lolling against the doorframe jerks me back to a half-conscious state.
I listen to the silence from the other side of the bedroom door.
Either Rylen disappeared in the hour or so that sleep finally pulled me under, or he’s finally passed out.
His sleep has been fitful, too. I could hear his muffled movements all night—the pacing, and then the sudden, sharp silence when he’d stop.
He’s punishing me, but he’s starving himself of rest, too.
I should go apologise. I should retract the confession, tell him I was drunk, that I misunderstood my own feelings—tell him anything to bring back the easy, broken comfort of our old friendship.
I push myself up, my feet finding the cold floor. I reach out toward the handle, hovering mere inches from the brass before I stop, my heart hammering a warning beat against my ribs.
No—I shouldn’t have to apologise. If I take the words back now, he’ll be safe, but I’ll be locked back into the role of the devoted best friend; I’ll have to watch him date, flirt, and find comfort with other people while I pretend I haven't tasted him, inhaled him, and felt him break in my hands. It’s a simple, brutal loop—I love him, and he hates me for it.
Well, fuck him, I hate that his walls are built so high.
I hate that he thinks of love as a weapon.
And more so, I hate myself for loving a man so thoroughly terrified of being loved.
I wish I could take it all back. I’m losing myself to this delusion that we’ll actually end up together, and I’m pathetic enough to take whatever scraps of affection he’s willing to throw my way.
I stumble back, slipping down until I’m seated on the floor with my head dropping against the cool wall.
My eyes squeeze shut, trying to contain the sudden, devastating wave of defeat.
I don’t want to break him, I want to save him.
I want him to be whole enough to let me in, but he’s so terrified of losing the friendship, he’d rather destroy me with coldness than risk it.
Doesn’t he realise the friendship isn’t surviving this?
That I might not survive it? My heart hammers against my ribcage, a dull, agonising ache.
I know who I am—I’ve never been ashamed or confused in my pansexuality.
I’m not trying to push him to open up about his trauma; I’m just trying to show him it’s okay to go for what he wants.
Because that boy is gay as fuck, whether he wants to be or not.
But what if he never lets himself be happy?
What if Rylen prefers the quiet, dark safety of his clean half of the apartment to the explosive, chaotic passion I bring to his life?
It’s true what they say—you never know how damaged someone is until you try to love them, because men like Rylen believe they’re only good for one thing: dying.
He can't comprehend that a heart like mine could genuinely love a heart like his, because he’s been taught that love has consequences. I’d give anything to erase that fear from his soul.
My eyes burn, a raw, searing heat from the hours of crying that I can’t seem to stop. Every muscle in my body is stiff, wired shut and aching from the unforgiving pressure of the floorboards against my spine.
I’m supposed to be the confident one. The one who pushes through the tough times, the one who always has a plan.
That’s how it’s always been; it’s what led us here.
But right now, I’m just the humiliated man who confessed his heart on the floor of our shared apartment, only to be rejected for a god-damn phone call.
I wish I didn’t keep repeating that on a loop, but that’s the truth of it.
He hasn’t picked me. He hasn’t shown up for me.
He doesn’t really want me, and I’m just refusing to accept it.
I let out a shaky, silent breath. The only way out of this is through it, and if I have to wait for him to drown in his own guilt and exhaustion, then so be it.
There's no life for me if he isn't by my side.
I try to shift, to find even a second of comfort, but there’s nowhere for the pain to go. The weight of the defeat is heavier than the exhaustion. I let my head thump back against the wall one last time, my vision blurring as the morning light starts to feel like a physical weight on my eyelids.
Gremlin is still there, a small, warm pulse of life curled up against my thigh, her steady purr the only thing keeping me anchored.
I reach out, my heavy fingers grazing her soft fur, and finally let the darkness take me again.
I sink into a deep, heavy slumber, nothing more than a heap of broken pride left at his door.