Chapter Twenty-One
Zander
He’s gone, and he’s taken a piece of me with him, as he always does.
This loss feels different, though. The space left behind feels cold and empty, full of insecurities and disappointment.
One look was all it took for me to know I had hurt him deeply and irreversibly.
His eyes were flooded with grief, like he’d lost not only the prospect of a future with his Mom, but also his best friend, too.
He trusted me. He trusted me with his friendship, with his family, and from last night’s conversation, I think he was starting to trust me with his heart, too.
I begged him to tell me that I was wrong, simply because I don’t know what to do with the information.
I’m not ignorant of the fact that there’s more hidden beneath the surface of our friendship; I’m just afraid of the intensity of my feelings for him.
I’m not gay, I’ve never looked at another guy and thought, yep, totally would.
But, on the same token, I can’t say I’ve ever looked at Jules and thought, nope, absolutely not.
I’ve felt the pull of attraction and lust, but what I feel for Jules doesn’t fall into either of those spaces.
He’s one on his own, too unique to label, too important to compare.
He’s always been everything to me: a friend, a brother, a shoulder to lean on, and a hand to hold.
What’s to say he couldn’t be more? Because everything you love dies, Zander.
When he had left, I was three steps behind him and reaching for the handle of the door, when Theresa called out for me to stop.
She said he needed to process the information to rationalise it within himself first, before he could make sense of it all.
I didn’t like the idea of him being alone and hurting, but she was right.
We had both hurt him with our overbearing need to protect him, and now, we have to face the consequences.
Hours rolled by without any word from Jules. With each passing minute, the room seemed to grow smaller and smaller until I eventually took myself upstairs. I open our text thread, close it, then open it again, my thumbs hovering over all the different ways I want to tell him I’m sorry–
Me: Jules, forgive me?
Delete.
Me: Come home, please.
Delete.
Me: Set your pace, Jules. I’ll be right beside you x
I hit send and lie back, alone. This is the first time since I was sixteen that I’ve been left with the darkness.
The air feels different, thicker somehow.
Shadows crawl along the ceiling from the trees outside, and the uneasy feeling that often plagues me starts to settle into my skin.
I know what’s coming; the signs are always the same.
I need him with me; he’s the one who gives me a reason to endure it over and over, night after night.
I push myself from my bunk and scan the room for something to occupy the space in my mind that calls for self-sabotage.
My eyes land on a scrap of black fabric poking out from Jules’ top drawer. He’s with me, even when he isn’t.
I tug the drawer open. The mess that greets me sends feelings of irritation and gratitude carouselling around my brain.
He knows of my need for order, so to find this when I can’t find him is comforting, in the most messed-up kind of way.
It’s a toxic and unhealthy outlook on the situation, but desperate times call for desperate measures– I’d say rifling through my best friends’ pants is definitely a new all-time low.
I’ve successfully managed to keep the demons at bay by folding seventeen pairs of boxer shorts, pairing twenty-four socks, and pulling the entire bedroom apart trying to find the partner to five rogue ones.
My crusade for the last stripey sock has me lying on my front, aimlessly waving my hand around under the bunks.
Just as I’m about to give up, my fingers brush against something solid– a box.
Gripping it with the tips of my fingers, I manage to wiggle it out.
I swipe the dust from the top with the side of my hand– whoops, more mess for me to clean, shame.
Opening the lid steals my breath. Nestled inside the box are two shoes– the left one his, the right one mine. I trace the rubber sole with my finger lightly, like I’m scared of causing further damage to him by extension.
It’s then that the door swings open, and suddenly, it’s easy to breathe again.
I don’t say anything for fear of saying the wrong thing.
I simply let the comfort of his presence surround me as we stand here in the silence.
There’s an undeniable charge running through the air, amplified by the stillness of our bodies.
It feels hostile but contained, reminding me of the calm before a storm.
He takes a step forward, his eyes darting to the shoes in the box. Nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition or emotion. I match his step.
“Don’t, please,” he says, completely resigned.
I take another step. It’s a dangerous game, but I need him to need me, it’s the only way this works– the only way we work.
Another step. He looks physically pained, his body angled away defensively, and his face pleading for me to stop.
“Zander… Don’t make me do this, please.” He recognises my strategies, even before I do.
It’s the bond that runs soul deep, just existing between us on a level that we can’t comprehend– the safety we find in the other’s surrender, the catharsis we find in control, and ultimately, it’s the understanding of the undefinable connection that always pulls us back together.
“Do you want to shout at me?” Step.
“Scream at me?” Step.
“Hit me?” Step.
We’re standing chest to chest now. I’m crowding him, pushing into him with the hope that he will push back. C’mon, Jules. Show me your fight. I implore him with my eyes to let it out, to admonish himself of the anger he’s clinging onto.
“Give it to me, Jules, let me carry it.”
“I don’t need you to,” his response is forced and strained as it passes through the gaps in his clenched teeth. I press my forehead against his, nudging him, baiting him.
“I think you do, Jules. I think you need me to–”
A forceful shove knocks the breath from my lungs as I stumble back a few steps, catching myself on the rail of the bunk.
“I SAID, I DON’T NEED YOU TO HELP ME!” He seethes between heavy breaths.
There he is.
Pride swells in my chest at the sight of Jules finally taking ownership of his emotions.
It’s beautiful, he’s beautiful.
I need him to let me have it all, to free me of the guilt, but also to harness the strength he’s had all along. There’s a heavy pause as the world feels like it realigns. I look up to meet his eyes, giving him a taunting smirk
“Do something, Jules.”
He launches himself at me, and I don’t move. I don’t protect myself. I just welcome him into my space, ready to take his anger, his pain, and his turmoil. But the strike never comes, the brutality never lands, he hits me with the very thing I least expect–
His lips on mine.
It’s not gentle, and it’s not kind. It’s bruising and punishing, it’s vulnerable, and it’s him. His mouth presses against mine, unmoving but determined. I don’t think about anything but how he feels, as my lips soften against his. He eases the pressure slightly, allowing me space to make a choice.
I don’t know why, but I don’t pull away; instead, I reach up and hold his face between my hands, pulling him back in.
It’s slow, delicate, and hesitant. But somehow, it feels as natural as breathing.
Our mouths explore every curve, every dip, every taste.
There’s no thought behind each swoop of our mouths.
No rush. It’s just the two of us– nothing else exists outside of this moment.
My mouth opens wider, and Jules stills from inexperience.
We’re both learning something new tonight, so I don’t push.
Instead, I plant tender kisses across his mouth, sucking slightly on his bottom lip before he goes back in for more.
Kissing my best friend should feel wrong, so why can’t I stop?
His confidence builds steadily; I feel the curiosity of his tongue when his mouth parts slightly. I open for him, encouraging him with a brush of my own against his lower lip. He’s quick to respond, mirroring my move.
A kiss has never had this effect on me before.
It’s almost as though I can feel everything he feels, like he’s channelling every ounce of pain, love, and need into me with his mouth.
It’s a build-up of fourteen years of friendship, a culmination of shared experiences, and the exposure of our most intimate selves.
I’m fully clothed, but I feel completely naked before him; he sees me in a way that no one else does.
When his tongue brushes against mine in a slow and steady sweep, I groan from the overwhelming buildup of tension and emotion.
His hands land on my waist, anchoring me in place, refusing to let this moment end.
I don’t want to stop, I want to kiss him until my lips are numb and my breath is barely there, and even then, I would continue.
Giving him everything I am, as he has given me.
But there are still things to be said, feelings to be considered, and changes to be addressed.
It’s torturous, having to decide between pulling away and letting reality seep back in, or continuing on this path that feels like it was the only way all along.
I don’t want to push Jules too far; I don’t want to scare him away by being too forward, but my body is craving him in a way that I’ve never experienced.
He’s awakened something within me, something that I never knew was there before, and now it's made its presence known; it’s demanding all of my attention.
I slowly lower my hands from his face, tracing the column of his neck and resting them on his chest. Jules continues to explore my mouth, his needy whimpers between breaths are unravelling me bit by bit.
They’re like my own personal siren song, luring me into the unknown, the danger adding to the thrill of what the future holds for us now we’ve crossed the line.
“Jules…” I pant into his mouth between kisses.
His name falls from my lips like a prayer.
My composure is slipping, and my mind is spinning so fast I can’t grab on to a single thought– I don’t know what I want right now.
Usually, it would be a race to get undressed and bury myself deep.
But that’s not what my body is crying out for with him.
How is it possible to want everything and nothing all at the same time?
“I’m still mad at you,” he all but moans.
“I’m mad at me, too.”
“What are we doing?” He asks, but he doesn’t stop. His attentiveness to learning every inch of my mouth is intoxicating. I know we should stop, but I can’t bring myself to be the first one to pull away.
“Being mad, together.”
Jules slowly pulls his mouth away from mine, still going back for light pecks, before finally making up his mind.
Even our lips protest the separation by sticking together for as long as they can.
He rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes– not tightly, just enough to keep everything else out.
“She’s going to die, Zander,” he whispers. It’s not a question, and there is no doubt in his tone, just raw and unfiltered desolation.
“I know.” His head rolls against mine as he blows out a shaky breath. A tear falls from his eye, then another, and another, until it’s too hard to watch. I pull him in by the nape of his neck and bury his face into my shoulder. His body heaves under my hold with the sobs he lets out.
I slowly guide us over to the bed. Jules doesn’t ask questions; he doesn’t hesitate at all.
He simply holds on and follows me wherever I go– his blind faith reminding me of our younger years.
Once I’ve got him comfortable, I settle myself beside him, curling my body around his and holding on tight.
We’re both wearing jeans, but I don’t move to undress, neither does he.
We’re bridging the gap between who we were and who we could be; exploring the possibilities and testing the limits of our relationship.
Tonight, Jules set the pace, but he’s trusting me to explore the boundaries.
I hold on to him, instead of what I thought we were; I let go of the worries that tomorrow brings and embrace the comfort as I embrace him.