Chapter 20 #2
I’ll also miss the hours of intimate conversation we’ve clocked.
Laying entangled on a grassy verge in Alexandria.
Making out on a carpeted staircase halfway to the bedroom.
This time with Porter has been magical.
So I try to make the most of it before he disappears again.
I know it will happen.
And sadly, I’m right.
◆◆◆
Before our drive south, I mail another letter out west.
Can’t wait to tell Mum about the beach.
I never mention which beach.
I never give her any details that might lead the drunk monster my way.
I’ve stopped writing my name at the end.
Just an initial.
She’ll know who M is.
I’m the only M in her life.
◆◆◆
That first week or two as we settle back into reality, it’s not so bad.
We try to keep the flame burning, even in secret.
When the lights are out, and the hallway is finally silent, I leave my bed.
Tiptoeing next door, I seek comfort in those arms.
My Porter.
The one from the beach.
At least until the crows began to sing, then the facade resumes.
Monday arrives.
Best day of the week.
Our eyes are barely open, warm bodies and sleepy smiles.
“Can I stay under the covers with you?” I ask.
Oops, I said that a little too loud.
“Wish you always could,” he sighs. “Whisper though. They might hear us.”
I pull a face.
“Don’t worry, they'll piss off soon. And then it will be just us.”
“Just us.”
We doze off again, stupid enough to let our guard down.
Bang bang bang.
That’s all the warning we get before the door bursts open.
Not enough time for me to hide behind the sheet.
“Come on pansy boy, join us for a game.”
The slur from Damien cuts deep.
I can see it in Porter's eyes.
I feel the way his body tenses, especially when the next bomb drops.
“The bird watching camera in Mum's garden had some very interesting footage.”
Damo smiles coyly.
“Seems you two have a dirty little secret. But don't worry, I probably won't tell the lads.”
“Probably?” I stammer.
“Nah. Wouldn't want them to think I was a poofter for watching it twice, would I?”
It sickens me to think of someone watching us at all.
He leaves our door wide open and goes to harass someone else.
◆◆◆
Porter spends more time playing footy after that.
He starts showering alone more often, even when there’s nobody else around.
His texts shorten and shallow.
Emojis, mostly.
Or one word replies.
Then without warning, his cold behaviour veers hot again.
A stolen kiss. A hushed apology.
A naked rendezvous.
And in those fleeting moments, the world is ours alone.
Better than nothing, I tell myself.
Better than losing him completely.
On one of those rare shower-fuck mornings, we are rudely interrupted.
An electrician comes upstairs to repair a light fitting above the bathroom sink.
Porter grabs a towel, raising a finger to hush me.
Then he walks out of the cubicle as though nothing has happened.
I stay hidden, standing there behind the door for almost an hour.
Last thing we need is an audience to fuel the rumours.
Our flirty texts and late night conversations begin to wane.
I miss him more than I care to admit.
It’s not forever, I remind myself.
One day we’ll have the money to move out of here.
And hey, I understand.
It’s damn scary to desire something forbidden.
I learned that the hard way back home.
Getting a stiff cock for another guy?
Catching feelings for a dude?
Not something that’s easy to confess.
Especially under this roof, where tough Aussie blokes are the norm.
He barely makes eye contact in the kitchen after that.
Not with me, anyway.
He flirts openly with a waitress named Sutton once or twice.
Even makes some crude comment about her boobs after she's walked out of the room.
That gets a few cheers from the boys.
But not from the boy who loves him.
◆◆◆
The next few years blur together, like pages stuck by a spilled drink.
Perhaps my mind has muted them.
An attempt to avoid rehashing the loneliness I felt whenever we were in a group.
As each season passes, the tree outside my window blooms and withers.
So does my hope of ever being worthy.
Worthy of being anything more than a secret.
I distract myself with other pursuits as best as I can.
I ace my hospo course.
Beth sends care packages and encouraging texts or calls to nudge me along.
I’m still ten or eleven months shy of eighteen when the final semester ends.
So I enrol in a second year.
A certificate in event planning this time.
The credits aren’t much, but it will boost my application to university later.
Porter has become disenchanted with books and tests.
He’s chosen a slightly different path.
Learning on the job feels more valuable to him than some piece of paper.
As soon as he graduates, he announces that he’s done with formal assessments.
◆◆◆
But on the other side of the wall, textbooks and sticky notes cover every surface.
My bedroom morphs into a labyrinth of academia.
Lists and charts.
A rainbow of reminders.
Turns out I have quite a knack for event planning, even as a beginner.
The thing about growing up broke in the middle of nowhere?
Imagination blooms.
Pair that with a craving for order amongst chaos?
The possibilities are endless.
How wonderful to be good at something.
I’m finally more than just a poor kid with bruises or a shameful horny secret.
A world of unfathomable opportunity opens up to me.
◆◆◆
But it comes at a cost.
When I’m finally old enough to start my diploma, my study load triples.
Midnight and early mornings were once our time for stealthy snuggles.
Now, even with an extra cup of coffee, I can barely stay awake.
“Uni going okay?” Porter whispers across the pillow.
“Yeah, keeping me busy,” I reply.
It’s like I’m talking to a stranger.
“Way harder than TAFE. But I’m enjoying it. Making some new friends.”
“Nice.”
“Uh huh.”
Most of the time we fall asleep in each other's arms.
Too tired for a quickie or a blow job.
Simple is the new spicy.
Gentle comfort. Familiarity.
A tender peck on the cheek at one o’clock in the morning.
A quiet promise in the dark that we won’t have to lay low forever.
Maybe one day we’ll move to Noosa, Porter says.
One day we’ll find that spark again.
I pin my hopes to that maybe.
I can’t bear the thought of letting go.
So for now, a sleepy good night is better than goodbye.