Chapter Twenty-Six
Jules - Three weeks later
She’s leaving me soon, I can feel it deep in the marrow of my bones.
It’s the kind of hurt that no amount of preparation can dull, and no amount of time will ever heal.
Her body is tired, as is her mind. It’s letting her down day by day.
I miss the way she would call me honey just as much as I miss the vibrancy of her smile.
Her muscles are weak and wasting away, leaving the only traces of happiness in her eyes– she was always right about that.
The nurses are here all the time now. Topping up the pain relief and turning her every couple of hours; their sole focus is her comfort, above all else.
On top of everything with Mom, Zander has reduced his hours at work.
I told him it wasn’t necessary; I promised to be nice to the nurses, and he should stick to his routine.
After all, I’ve seen the effects first-hand of what happens when he doesn’t have the safety net of structure.
It starts with little things like bursts of irritability, then it moves on to more physical urges, such as organising and rearranging.
Then the nightmares start. The pained screams and gasps for breath.
Sweaty sheets and sleep paralysis. When everything around him feels so unstable, routine and discipline are the solid ground he needs to keep his head above water, for now.
I’m lying on the bottom bunk waiting for him to finish his shower and settle in beside me for the night.
The soft pitter-patter of water splashing down into the tray is a welcome distraction from the silence.
Mom’s feeding tube malfunctioned earlier in the evening, covering Zander in a concoction of saline and Fortisip.
It smelled like sour milk and looked a lot like baby puke.
I swear I saw the corner of her mouth tip up in amusement– her eyes were definitely watering with the laughter she couldn’t release, all while Zander held it together, pretending he couldn’t smell the pungent liquid seeping through his clothes.
We ended up having to change the sheets on the bed; a laborious task under normal circumstances, never mind the ones we find ourselves in.
I let Zander do all the heavy lifting; he’s no stranger to lifting kegs at work, what’s a tiny lady in comparison?
That turned out to be a mistake, too. Once the sheets were back on the bed and he placed her back down, the smell had transferred from his clothing and onto hers.
We both looked at each other, stuck at a crossroads, knowing that if she could protest us changing her, she would.
That’s when a miracle happened; the night nurse arrived early to administer her evening medication.
The relief in the room was palpable, and we left her to it, giving Mom a kiss goodnight and our endless thanks to the lovely nurse.
She just chuckled and went about her business, speaking to Mom the entire time about how some things needed a woman's touch. Zander was right when he said there are limitations to what we can do for her– not because we don’t want to, but because no matter what, I always want her to keep her dignity.
Too busy thinking about the events of the evening, I don’t hear Zander come in until an almighty– “Fucking hell!” travels from across the room.
“What's up?” I ask, my inner child obviously wanting to laugh.
“Did you move the drawers?”
“What, no. Why would I move the drawers?”
“I don’t know, it just kinda seems like a ‘Jules’ move.”
“Presumptuous, much?”
“Defensive, much?” He shoots back, completely serious. I climb out of bed to see for myself what all the fuss is about.
“Zander, they’re in exactly the same place they’ve always been. Let’s just go to bed.”
“No, they’re not, if they were I wouldn’t have smashed my toe into them, would I?” Ohhh, so because he lacks spatial awareness, it’s somehow my fault. Got it. Out of nowhere, he drops to his hands and knees, examining the divots in the carpet as his compulsions outweigh his control.
“Zander, seriously? Your foot is still attached, so let’s just get into bed, please?” Grunting his disapproval at the lack of evidence to back up his accusation, he stands, grabbing the boxers from the drawer and dropping the towel from his waist.
Right in front of me.
Without warning.
Without shame.
Just… Nakedness. My eyes drop straight to where the towel is now missing.
I can’t help it, it’s been a long day. He still hasn’t accepted my touch yet, but his reasons seem to have shifted.
At first, it was because he was still figuring himself out; he wanted to give himself time to adjust to the change.
But now, he just says he wants to make me feel good, that I deserve the pleasure, with the weight of everything else.
Selfishly, I’ve accepted his touch and his affection, because he’s right; the release does make things feel a little lighter for a while.
But I want to touch him, make him feel just as good as he makes me feel.
I want to know that I can summon the same response from him, but above all else, I need confirmation that this is real.
Sometimes, I find myself wondering if he would have chosen this life if my Mom weren’t unwell.
Would we have fallen into the relationship under more natural circumstances, or is this just one broken person finding comfort in someone equally as tarnished?
“You good there?”
“Why won’t you let me touch you?” I guess the filter is still missing.
“Touching me isn’t what you need right now.” He’s so confident with his answer.
“But what if it is? What if it’s exactly what I need? Better yet, what if it’s exactly what you need?”
“Jules, do you understand how wrong it would feel for me to let you do something like that, with everything you have going on?”
“Do you think I don’t know what I want, is that it? Do you think I would regret it?”
“No, well–” Rubbing the back of his neck, he reaches to cover himself with the towel. I grab the free end before he has the chance. “Jules, I don’t want to take advantage of you. Letting you would feel a lot like that.” I give my end of the towel a sharp tug, pulling him closer.
“What if I told you I really, really, want to?” I move my mouth to hover over his, “What if pleasuring you made me feel better for a little while?” Closing the gap between our bodies, I drop my end of the towel, just as he drops his.
I press my groin into him, the evident arousal from hearing my request digging into my stomach.
“What if I touched you, right now? Would you tell me to stop?” I seal our lips together, hoping it’s enough for him to change his mind.
“I don’t think I could,” his words fall breathlessly against my mouth.
That’s all the confirmation I need to lower my hand between us and take his length in my fist. He’s thicker than me, which makes it even more apparent that I’m holding onto something other than my own erection for a change.
My grip tightens, pulling a hiss from between his teeth with the pressure.
“Tell me what to do, Zander,” I encourage him, squeezing and releasing his base over and over as I wait for his direction.
“Th-that feels good.”
I know he’s enjoying my touch from the way he twitches with each squeeze.
Without experience to guide me, I think about the way Zander touches me, how I so often touch myself, and slowly start to move my hand, maintaining the pressure as I go.
There’s already a silky smooth liquid coating his head when I reach the tip, which makes my own excitement strain beneath my shorts.
“Like this?” I scan his face for signs of pleasure; eyes closed, head tilted back– all the right signs so far. Dark stubble covers his jaw and throat, and my impulses take over. The coarse hair is sharp and rough against my cheek as I nuzzle into him, inhaling his scent. So undeniably him.
“Exactly… that…”
I pick up my pace, tugging up and down in long, extended strokes while taking his mouth with mine.
Our tongues meet, hot and hungry, making me think of what I would do with it elsewhere.
I test the theory, sucking his tongue between my lips and lashing the end with my own.
Another bead of come oozes from him, and a groan rumbles from his chest, passing through his mouth into mine.
“Can I use my mouth?” He freezes, looking at me through lust-filled pupils as he tries to weigh up the possibilities. The fight between everything that could be so right, and everything that could go disastrously wrong.
“Do you want to?”
“It feels more like a need right now.”
He bites his lip and nods once, taking hold of himself as I lower to the ground. He surrounds every one of my senses, robbing me of everything but him, yet he makes me feel like I’m the one holding all the power with just one look.
“I won’t last long,” an apologetic look takes over.
“That's okay.”
I don’t think too hard; I don’t worry about the right or wrong way to do it; I just follow what my body is telling me to do and what his body is silently asking for.
Zander rocks back on his heels when I wrap my mouth around his tip.
The viscous warmth of his release allows him to glide along my tongue easily when he regains his balance, pushing him deeper.
His taste is foreign to my tongue, but recognisable to my heart, like the missing ingredient to an almost perfect dish.
“Holy fuck, Jules…” A groan interrupts his words as he reaches the back of my mouth.
I gag around him, my cheeks constricting against his hardness as he withdraws a little.
My lips tighten around him in protest. “You wanna keep going?” I nod my response, my mouth too preoccupied for words.
I slide back down his length, testing my limits and enjoying the feel of Zander’s possessive hold on the back of my head, guiding me gently.
“Jules… I’m close.” There’s no urgency in his movements as his thighs tense under my grip, just small pauses when he buries himself deep, savouring the moment.
“Where shall I–” He quickly pulls back, the orgasm robbing him of words.
Stroking himself once… twice… his release hits, sending short bursts of come spurting through the air and dribbling down his hand.
He strokes himself through the waves of pleasure almost elegantly.
I rest back on my heels and watch as his face changes, shifting from the one that’s always been so familiar, into the version I only ever want to see from now on.
Swollen lips press tightly together to stifle the groan working up from his throat.
His eyes are closed, surrendering to the moment– I’ve never seen anything so devastatingly beautiful.
I don’t move, not for a little while; I just take the opportunity to learn this new version before me.
The veins in his hands strain against his skin.
His chest rises and falls as he tries to slow his heart back into a steady rhythm.
There’s a glow in his cheeks and a thin film of sweat coating his brow.
His eyes open, tentatively and slowly, peering down at me like someone he’s never seen before.
I guess we both look completely different at this moment.
“Was that okay, are you okay?” He asks, quietly as though the question will bring an answer he doesn’t actually want to hear.
“I’m good, Zan. Are you?”
He reaches for the discarded towel– “Yeah, I think I’m good too,” a lazy smile forms as his thumb rubs along the length of my jaw.
My insides liquify under his gaze, the emotions bubbling away like molten lava, and the sudden urge to cry washes over me.
The love I’ve held for him since we were nothing more than boys is strong and true, and right now, I feel it in return.
Settling into bed together, Zander pulls me in close, resting my head on his chest and wrapping my curls around his fingers.
“I’ve been listening to you sing to your Mom.” Releasing the hold he has on his mind, Zander speaks freely into the darkness.
“Yeah?”
“The song… It’s familiar. She sang it to me once before when I was struggling; it helped me stay focused. But I remember it from somewhere else, too.”
“It’s a popular song, you’ve probably heard it a dozen times…”
He lets out a sigh and presses his fingers into his eyes. “No, it feels familiar because of the way she used to sing it. I think it’s from my dreams.” The blurred space between his dreams and reality laces his tone with frustration.
“So, I’m definitely crazy because she wasn’t there that night, and even if by some miracle she was, I doubt she was holding a concert in the midst of the chaos,” He lets out a shallow laugh at his confusion.
I don’t say anything, because what is there to say?
I don’t know what to do for the best; either option is risky, and I daren’t suggest he try therapy again.
Instead, I shove my worries to the side and nestle into the crook of his neck.
“I love crazy,” I manage to mumble before sleep finally takes me.