NINE:: when you've been holding your breath.

Carlos Vera was in- fact gay and Rilee was once again 100% right.

He had big, brown eyes and the first thing that I ever noticed about him was how full they were. My parents moved us from Florida when I was twelve, that was also the age I realized that my mind worked in a creative way. All the boys in Michigan were pretty stoutly, like they farmed or something, Carlos Vera played volleyball.

My cousins, Ivan and Daniel, moved in when my Aunt Rebe had her second heart attack, family had this open-door policy, and they were around my age but they liked cars, they liked pretty girls and batting cages and Pete always looked up to them.

I didn't have a brother in that sense, Milo became reserved when he turned 14, he had some ego phase that shifted hard into jock his sophomore year.

And Carlos Vera was in one of my classes even if he hung with my brother, they both played sports, were around the same people but Carlos was nicer.

Carlos was so nice, he had this Aeropostale hoodie that he was always wearing and a cheesy smile that paired well alongside his best friend, Gabriel Melendez's jokes. He liked pranks, was always attached to the latest and sometimes he posted vines that were Michigan-famous.

He played basketball with Landon Ross and I would always find myself at his games.

Michael Martinez-Jones, my dad, he co-owned a moving company -ironically going by Martinez and Sons to seem relatable despite his whiteness- like a real bootstraps, grassroots company, he did home improvement on the side to make up money for Milo's soccer ambitions that never really led anywhere.

There weren't many family dinners; my father's business nearly went bankrupt by my thirteenth year. Milo didn't want to work and the apps like TaskRabbit had just launched, people were hiring regulars and renting vans to move and there just wasn't a line up of families around the block moving to or from Brighton, Michigan.

And I'd just hit a weird growth spurt, body completely mis-proportioned; I was taller than my cousins... I hid it with larger clothes to feel less awkward, slowly becoming aware that we never had any common interests. I latched onto my older female cousins to fill the space and Milo would play soccer with Ivan and Daniel instead.

Maybe it was always obvious that I wasn't interested in video games and contact sports and pretty girls but the boys never noticed, just stopped inviting me places.

Milo was never home, he was sixteen with dad's beat up old Audi and a lot of angst, maybe it had to do with the lack of attention in an all-boy household. Everything was shared, nothing was his and his alone except soccer.

Dad stopped funding sports when Milo started smoking weed, staying out at all hours, fucking some trailer-park white girl from Wixom.

But Carlos Vera. He was fourteen, closer to my age, he'd been held back a grade and something about that felt, almost, cool. His being already had a maturity to it, his voice was deeper, he had a definition to muscle and a crooked smile.

And he was kind.

It felt embarrassing, how attractive I found him, and standing next to him in any given moment made my knees shake.

He would walk with a sureness about himself, a lightness and gracefulness and he would hold hands with the prettiest girl in school. Carlos Vera always annoyed me... until the Ross Twins had moved to town.

: : :

There was a stack of boxes in the back of Carlos Vera's midnight blue Ford pickup truck when he exited Highland, tanned skin blotched over and sweat dampening a furrowed brow. A cigarette perched itself between my two fingers as I watched him stand on his toes to tug a box closer to the edge.

I could tell the exact moment he realized that I was there. Maybe he didn't expect me ton chase him, I wasn't planning on it really. It was subtle, his first move, brown eyes flickered to mine when we brushed past each other.

That first night, we'd all went out for a drink post-meet/mixer. Some bar in downtown, a hole in the wall attached to a comedy club but they served the best burgers in Oak Park. He rested his hand in the small of my back.

And I thought for sure we'd fuck. At least, that was assumed when he leant in close and recited some unfunny joke we'd heard an hour prior, he had a laugh in his throat and bronze-y cheeks flushed red.

I thought he'd kiss me when he asked if I was seeing anyone, then again when he asked what my type was... I thought he'd kiss me when he couldn't stop staring at my lips mid-conversation.

Carlos was more approachable than approaching I'd realized but he'd touched my waist when passing me too many times for there to be no tension.

A flannel was tied around his waist, staple of a true Midwestern boy, white tee with cuffed sleeves accompanied by a rosary, and some blue jeans. He looked like he could herd cattle, like he ran a booth at a flea market and something about it felt almost hot. His arms were huge, flexing as he pulled a box closer to himself and sat it on the ground with minimal struggle and complete care.

I inhaled, sat on a bench in front of the building, he was across a short parking lot and something about how long I'd been watching embarrassed me now. I hated smoking but it kept my hands busy.

It kept me lean.

It sated a small itch when I felt an anxiousness prickling my skin, but it was better than getting kicked out of an exhibit that I'd pretty much worked my entire life to be good enough for.

I wasn't drinking. Hadn't for the week, I think it was the Aries in me that could compartmentalize to that degree. I had a goal, something productive that pushed me out of my funk and I hadn't had a drink in a few days... this, of course, accompanied by the worst headache I'd ever had in my life. But I wanted this. I'd wanted Benny Marin in my list of contacts for years now.

Things were falling into place, professionally, that's what my manager said shortly after getting me the gig. Apparently, he'd sent showed some of my work to an old friend, YoHan G, who was also -coincidentally- a previous featured artist in the same exhibit in New York, no one knew Benny Marin was even in it. It was luck, I'd never been lucky.

And it was starting to feel like the parking lot anxiety again, lonely settled and unsettled, like going to Chicago bars alone and I wanted to fuck him.

His face was rounder, a lightly pointed chin that ended in a slight clef, one you could only see if you stood as close as we were the night before. I could still feel his body pressed against mine in the packed club.

His cheeks were flushed upon high cheekbones —it was likely from the exertion. He was a pretty boy, I liked pretty boys, that was something Jules sparked in me.

He was soft, had a little bite to him but when you had him by the back of the neck... hair sweaty and swollen pretty pink lips parted...

So much lust in his eyes, he would beg. It would be almost a whine, eyes soaked, my ringed fingers pressed into a wet mouth. He looked so beautiful on his knees.

Carlos probably did too.

The aforementioned boy smiled when he recognized me again, his fingers calloused over when he dapped me up, holding a little longer, they were sweaty but soft, a slight callous on his fingertips, like he played guitar.

He had a rip in his jeans, they were worn, not quite second-hand but well loved, his clothes were slouchy, a slight definition in his arms, well bulked when flexed but not quite Izzy. He had a light dusting of freckles over his nose.

Maybe opening this jar of memories was a bad idea. It was an excuse to fall back into old patterns, I knew that and I hadn't bought a pack of cigarettes in three years.

So I stood, I bit the corner of my lip and I sat up straight. "You need some help with that?"

And the view of Carlos Vera's innocent eyes looking over at me had me tossing the butt of my cig on the ground and crushing it under the Cortezes my ex had bought me for my 21st birthday.

I watched the man across the parking lot offer a smile. It was occupied and absentminded I loved a chase.

"Yeah, I do." He spoke, my eyes widened at the sureness of it and I didn't know how to play it but I knew he liked guys, at least a little, I knew he liked me. He'd dm-d Rilee about me. In hindsight, he probably saw the list of artists prematurely and was trying to get in touch prior-to, do a little networking since he was an assistant.

But, why else would he ask if I was single?

I expected a brush of the hand, some machismo when his ability to set up alone was questioned, something playful, but he was nervously biting his lip and that beckoned me closer. I stuttered in step for a second before almost pushing myself fully off the bench to trot near his pickup.

Carlos' lips quirked a bit amongst seeing my grimace.

"Benny's pieces weigh a ton."

And he wasn't wrong... they were cement, they were all 3D pieces. I scrunched my nose as he gestured towards the piece covered in tarp, a canvas it taller than him and wider too. "I just--" blink, he clicked his tongue twice, "I just nnnneed to get it on this dolly." He went to pull it off the back of the pickup, "...I can roll it in no problem." He grunted and, fuck, was it sexy.

Maybe he expected me to help him pick it up, that was understood when he'd been positioned to lift the piece for ten good seconds and when I snapped back into reality, soft brown eyes were staring at me.

But his arms were glossy, with a sheen of sweat, his lips were wet from being licked and he was tilting his head at me when I'd come back.

He knew how to tease, so carefully that you weren't at all sure if he were actually flirting or not.

But his eyes told. I shrugged, reaching to scratch the back of my neck and I watched him stare down my bicep. I watched him click his tongue then, turning and avoiding my gaze and amused, I stepped closer.

"I thought since you hit arms, what everyday this week? You could do it yourself." He stifled a smile.

I could hold it in, I realized. I could be friends with him. That lasted a full fifteen seconds... until he laughed.

It was a soft chuckle and I could feel myself getting hot. "Oh? Then why'd you offer?"

I shrugged, "to be polite." I wanted him. "I didn't think you'd need it."

"Give me a hand with this one and I can handle the rest."

Bracing myself, I gripped at the corners of the piece for a second, Carlos' glove covered hands doing the same, we lifted the piece, "turn, turn, turn, turn," and turned it upright with minimal struggle.

Or, at least minimal struggle on his end. I hadn't worked out in months really, this was the most I'd done since Christmas.

Carlos asked me to stay at the car as he rolled the piece in, returning about ten minutes later and then the next piece and then the next until it was just a few lamps for a light-study Benny had done and a portfolio.

"No, leave that in there." He had instructed when I went to grab the portfolio bag. He clicked his tongue again. "It's not a part of the exhibit."

"It's yours?"

He nodded.

And I could tell that he didn't really have a certain confidence in whatever was in the bag. I didn't wanna push. I knew Benny saw something great, something probably so personal in Carlos and a part of me wondered if I had that in me. What impressed Benny Marin?

But, I couldn't ask that, not when I hadn't seen Carlos in years. I settled for a "How've you been?"

He answered while tugging a pack of Newport's out of loose fitted jeans, asking for a light. "good. Good, you?"

"I've been better." At his confused look, I could only force a smile. I didn't wanna talk about anything heavy, I just wanted to take him home.

It was quiet, and I proposed just that. "We didn't really get to catch up last night."

"We didn't." He smiled. "You still stay around here?"

"Close, sometimes, Little Italy."

"Nice, " and as if the small talk was needed, he asked, "one or two bed?"

"Two bed, two bath. I have a roommate."

"You like it?"

I shrugged. Not much recently but that was just the tenseness. He wasn't asking that though, he was just asking about the apartment. "He's cool. The area's nice, moderately affordable..." and I tried to turn the conversation, "you looking to move?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Kinda sick of roommates." Almost as if he could read my mind, and he was also tired of the small talk, he turned back towards the truck, took one last drag before tossing a half-smoked cigarette to the ground.

And he got back to work.

: : :

Landon had basketball practice. Sometimes I wondered how I became friends with the Ross twins in the first place.

They were from the West Coast, So-Cal living, something pretentious... at least that's what my father said when I'd started hanging with them and Pete couldn't keep his mouth shut about it.

Pete couldn't keep his mouth shut about a lot of things.

Tears burned my eyes, the past few days hell and I dreaded going home. Maybe that's why I found myself scraping against my nail beds in the stands, watching our resident Bulldogs prepare to lose yet another game.

Brandon sat beside me, pinky intertwined in mine, he hadn't let me go since I'd shown up on their stoop crying three nights prior.

My little brother had outed me and it wasn't the same.

I could tell my parents didn't want to treat me any differently. They loved me, I knew they loved me. They weren't too Catholic, not too immersed and not too old school, sure they had their beliefs but they cared for me.

But we hadn't spoken about it.

Like Tia Lupe and her roommate, they'd lived together for seven years and our family refused to acknowledge their intimacy. Me being gay wasn't so much an issue but too much of a non-issue. It was small-talk at dinner, passing conversation, as if I was a stranger all of a sudden... and it was Milo pushing past me without a glance.

"No, but I just don't understand how Coach Collins sets up these plays." That was Rilee, Brandon's new friend and she was a firecracker.

She always had something to say about everything. Her topic of the day was why the coach of Brighton's shitty basketball team wasn't utilizing the younger Ross twin's undeniable skill.

"I mean, is he making playbooks in the dark, why the fuck isn't Lanny on the three-point line when he's literally the best shooting guard they have?"

And Brandon looked... impressed? Nothing really impressed him but recently everything she said did... maybe that was why she went to the skate park with us the week prior.

I could feel the corners of my lips twitching upwards. He hadn't had a girlfriend since Marcy Skinner the summer before last -at least that's what Landon had told me when I started to hang around.

Apparently Marcy didn't actually like him, she liked that all the girls liked him. Marcy spread a rumor about him being gay and it stuck for a few years.

But Rilee was new, she was sweet too, she didn't seem to care about gay rumors that... weren't really rumors but still weren't completely true. We'd been friends for a few months now and this was the first I'd heard of a crush.

She was so pretty, I understood. Warm skin that reminded me of a beach and a dark auburn-brown fro to match it. Freckles dusted a tiny, round nose and she was delicate. She was pretty and delicate and I got it.

Brandon and I kissed a few times, a few bored pecks sat cross-legged in his bed when Lanny got too busy with his music... and sure it felt nice.

He was kind. He was motivated, he was a good friend and a fantastic artist and I admired him, truly. He was earthy, he loved nature but could admire architecture.

I think I wanted to be him more.

He turned to her though, kept me out of the conversation and I was glad. She talked a lot, a... lot.

"You know your sports."

"Surprised?" She smiled, it knowing. And then she rolled her eyes. "My brother played D1 at UConn for a few years, I tried a junior league in middle school, hated it." She shrugged. "I'm not all that interested in chasing a ball back and forth for some meaningless show of bravado."

"Your brother's pretty good though... What happened to you?"

It was flirty, that was obvious. And he was feeling it, rolling his eyes playfully and she went to grab his arm to push him to the side.

"I'm a filmmaker." He offered and Brandon had always been charismatic. He saw things different, he saw people fully rounded and he saw experiences as scenes. "A different? kind of meaningless show of bravado."

"Cool."

"Yeah... I'm actually working on this short right now and you'd kinda be perfect for the lead." He offered. "... Lanny's gonna do the sound design, he's really good at music too, plays like ten instruments." He'd always been one to speak up his friends, I could see us collaborating in the future on such a large scale. "Paul does the shot direction and set design, he's making a few pieces for the background."

"You guys are kind of a team, huh?"

Brandon nodded, it full of pride of this group he'd built. He'd always been our organizer, the one who had his head screwed tightly on his shoulders, I always knew he'd be successful cause he went after what he wanted.

No matter what. And he pushed me to reach my potential in ways I didn't this possible. "Show her some of your work," he nudged."I saw you in last year's production of Death of a Salesman, I would've casted you as Willy, you acted circles around Carter Fulmer."

"Poaching me from the drama club? Now you sound like a filmmaker." She said admirably and then turned to me as I wasted time digging through my photos for the work I'd photographed. "And yeah, I think I saw one of your pieces in the trophy case by AP, Pablo, right? You did the thread and nails?"

I nodded, sheepishly and she only smiled harder. "It was sick."

"Thanks."

Brandon grinned at that, offering an explanation that got me out of speaking for the rest of the period. "He's not much of a talker."

"I can see." She looked over at me, winking so quickly I almost missed it. "Lucky he's cute."

"Tell me about the film."

: : :

His body was still pressed into mine, quiet and still. He clicked his tongue three times.

"Have you always had that?"

"What? My tic?" He chuckled gently. "Yeah... Yeah, I've always had it."

"How didn't I notice it?"

He smiled, brushing hair off my face, my cheeks cooling down from the heated make-out session. Quickly after loading everything in to the gallery, we went for a coffee... a coffee that turned into lunch which turned into him coming back to mine. We'd put a movie on for two seconds before jumping each other's bones, my dick down his throat in seconds, and shuffled into my room at the sound of keys jingling.

Carlos Vera was hot. He was hot and he wouldn't take his clothes off. "Maybe you just didn't pay attention."

"I always paid attention to you."

He grinned, it teasing. "Cause you wanted to fuck me."

"That too." He laughed at that, he probably expected a blush and denial. "I think I noticed it once, when you did that presentation for Brown in history."

"It used to just be public speaking, I'm not too good with crowds."

"So, what happened?" He looked over at me, slightly alarmed when I questioned. "Sorry, I pry, it's my thing."

"It's alright." He sighed heavy. "Uh, it got worse after my dad died, so..."

And I could read the room so I changed the subject, something prideful to counteract the sad. "How does it feel to work under Benny Marin?"

"Honestly?" He answered. "It's a lot of grunt work, I see why no one likes apprenticeships. It's lifting material and-and driving all over Illinois to find things that he probably won't even use. Once, he had me take a weekend trip to Ohio just to grab some junk from a storage locker he had in the 80s."

There was still wonder in his eyes though.

"But one conversation with him... the first day, I went home and sketched for like three hours. Also getting me in rooms with big names is a plus, Cleo Lavoie? He's volunteering me to work on curated shows... It's a blessing."

"What about you, how'd you get a spot?"

"I... have a manager."

"Shit."

I tried to explain, even if it wasn't needed. Brandon always said I had a tendency to downplay my own accomplishments. "He's Brandon's dad's friend but he loves contemporary art, Mike Truscott. He's always looking for talent, I could put in a word, show him some work."

"You don't have to." He denied. "Appreciate it, though." And maybe that was enough talking cause he was kissing me softly, kissing at my neck, down my chest... he tugged my shirt up and kissing right above my waist band.

My hands were tugging a white tee off him, it tight against blushing muscles. Carlos Vera was looking at me with deep brown eyes, pouty lips even bigger after they'd spent some time around my dick.

"Where were we?"

And he was moving closer to me, big, bulky arms curling around my waist, he'd grabbed at my skin, pinching at anything he could grab. His lips were caging mine in, he kissed so passionately, I wasn't sure what I expected but something about it felt like those hookups that felt like love.

That was always one of my favorite kinds of connections: people that could match my level of intimacy and then continue on with their lives after we'd pulled our clothes back on... maybe it was why I slept with Brandon so much... there wasn't a chance he'd fall in love so I could -as Izzy said- 'fuck him like I love him.'

Carlos Vera was kissing me when he pulled me off my bed, holding me to him, my legs curled around his waist, locking him there. The way he kissed me then made me lightheaded, he licked into my mouth with ferocity, hand skirting down my back and tugging at the waistband of my boxers. Carlos held me up with one arm then, smacking his hand across my ass harshly and when he pulled away to look at me, his eyes never strayed from mine.

He was dipping into the back of my briefs with both hands. "You like Indian?"

And he asked it so conversationally, like he wasn't pushing my body into his, grinding up into me, kissing my neck. He was nipping at the skin there when he tilted forward, laying me back on my bed and kissing a bare chest.

His tongue curled around the metal of my nipple ring, free hand grabbing at my bulge and I hadn't fucked him yet but he was so good at ensuring I'd be satisfied without proof.

His mouth was heaven and I wanted to feel it again. And he had asked me a question, what did he ask again?

"Food?"

He laughed and it was weird but he was palming my dick now, sinking to his knees and I sat up on the edge of my bed. "Yeah, I mean food."

"I-I've never really tried it." It was impressive how simultaneously conversational and sexual he could be. He was dipping me back, arms still caged under my ass, I liked the feeling of his arm.

I couldn't wrap my hand even halfway around it, couldn't squeeze past the muscle there. Something about his body made me feel softer.

And he was kissing my bulge again, I wondered how far this could actually go cause I could feel his dominance.

I knew he wanted to be in control, it was obvious in how he strong-armed me, how much he was trying to fluster me. I bit my lip and let him kiss at my thighs, hand lacing through the loose curls at the back of his head. And he'd already sucked me off, he wasn't really that good at it but he was eager and I wondered how many men he'd been on his knees for.

We'd kissed a bit more, we hadn't fucked not that I hadn't worked hard enough for it. He'd gotten my shirt off and sucked a nut out of me but he didn't initiate anything else and maybe it was better that he didn't. We had to work together and I had a habit of ruining things.

He was palming me again though, as if he wanted me to cum again, maybe he was into voyeurism, or maybe the chase turned him on... I didn't know and honestly, I didn't care.

I hadn't been touched like this in so long, my stomach was on fire, and I could barely even fight for more.

"There's this cool spot near Tech." He continued, his hand was working at me, other one massaging my balls and I sucked in a breath at how good it felt. I hadn't been touched in weeks, things were still so weird with Isaiah and I didn't have a huge urge to be intimate with anyone else.

But Carlos had big brown eyes and a romantic face and he looked so sexy drooling all over my dick, his tongue was pressed against me so firmly, swirling around the head until my body arched into him. He was pulling my boxers down then, biting at a plush bottom lip and he looked like he wanted me to beg for it... again.

I didn't beg the first time, didn't give him the satisfaction. Instead, I did that move I knew would work, knotting my hands into soft hair, yanking him so close I could feel the back of his throat.

Wait...

"Are you asking me on a date?"

He laughed, almost choked when coming up for air.

"Yeah." Mouthing at my cock, he smiled softly, fat lips parted over the head and he pressed it flat against his tongue. "you," he kissed, "me... ambiance, wine." "comida increíble."

I felt a warmth in my stomach, it extending through my chest, i could feel myself throbbing in his hand. His eyes were so sinful then, so full of innocence and he sucked my balls into his mouth.

"Fuck."

"You into it?" His question was spoken into the inside of my thigh, wet and sloppy and so sexy it almost shocked me.

Fuck yes. "I'd be into it."

"Good." He grinned, kissing back up my body so quickly. He kissed my lips longer, closed mouth and then again, so softly. "Cause you are way, way hotter than I remember." He was sitting on my thighs now, I bent my knees up to stare at him.

He was sexy, warm, his shoulders were broad, skin thick with muscle flexed.

"You thought I was hot?"

"I thought you were fucking sexy." He laughed. "Just off the shoulder sweaters, sexy eyes those curls, and fuck." My balls were in his hand again, firm hands. "A twink with a big dick?" I'd heard it so much back then, it didn't have the expected effect.

Something about it made me feel dirty, used again. I'd tried so hard not to feel like that.

Instead of acknowledging it, I pushed it away. Carlos didn't know me, not anymore, I liked it that way.

"It's so nice to meet my fans." I tried to joke, hands on the back of his thighs and then gripping his ass so tightly. In seconds, I'd unbuttoned his pants, tugging his pants down below a nice ass, smacking it. His skin was warm and hot and he moaned, it stifled and unexpected.

"Take your pants off."

Sex in his eyes, gentle lust overpowering that soft look he had, he smirked. "Fight for it."

•

The kitchen wasn't empty the next morning, Isaiah's eyes were trained inside his mug when I'd stalked in, instantly regretting it. It was chilly, it had been for weeks and because of that we'd rarely crossed paths but I knew his routine.

I knew he liked to have a cup of coffee, he'd brew it in the morning, leaving enough in the pot for me when he'd head out, probably to the gym. All I knew was he hadn't stopped even with the tense air, the coffee would be warm when I'd get up.

His jaw was clenched and I opened the fridge gingerly, as if it would set him off. He'd walked around to the counter, perched himself on a barstool as I heated up leftovers.

Isaiah was beautiful as always, and he was taking up space. I always admired that about him, no matter how weird things were, how tense a situation could be... he never inconvenienced himself for other people.

That was something I wasn't so good at, finding comfort when I felt like I upset someone, I wasn't good at being selfish. My mother always said that being selfish wasn't such a terrible trait, selfish people got things done.

Never apologize for looking out for yourself, she would tell me as she cut my hair. Every month, the first Sunday, a fresh start. While the boys busied themselves with video games, my mother and I would sit on the back porch. I would draw, her fingers gliding through an overgrown shag cut, before my curls became unruly...

She would tuck a curl between her two fingers, humming softly and clipping the ends ever so carefully. And she would tell me that I wasn't like other boys and that would get me into trouble... maybe she knew before my Abuelita did.

"Who was that?" Isaiah's question was supposed to sound absentminded, I knew that, instead a bitterness latched onto the end of the question. "This morning."

"...No one," important. No one important.

"Okay." Something about his nonchalance made me continue.

"An old friend."

"Hm." He offered. He was looking through a portfolio, I wanted to ask for what. It was tense though, too silent to mention, he hadn't played music since our fight.

I bit my bottom lip, turning to grab a mug out the cabinet, maybe that made it easier for him.

"You fuckin'?"

"What do you think?"

Maybe that was mean. Isaiah chuckled, it more like a gasp, like it hurt.

"Izzy..."

He looked so hurt when I turned back around. His eyes were in his mug, bottom lip in his mouth and bushy brows furrowed. He laughed again, wiping his eyes with both hands so quickly, I almost didn't see it. I found it ironic that this scenario, this kitchen confrontation, was the same way Jules and I broke up.

Maybe I had a thing for dramatics but I could feel tears in my throat.

"I didn't—" couldn't say that I didn't mean it when I did.

He didn't care though, he just turned his back to me and carried on with what he was doing. Stood there still for just a second too long, he asked the question I'd been anticipating.

"We're not gonna talk about it?" He asked, stirring his spoon in probably lukewarm coffee. I held my mug close to my chest for comfort. "We're just gonna live together and pretend like it didn't happen?"

"That's up to you."

"You haven't said a word to me."

"This is the first conversation we've had since..." he couldn't even say it, and he looked up, breathed out shakily, hazel eyes glossed over and so, so painful, "I miss you." That was all he had, "a lot."

He made eye contact then, tears brimming, and he said it with so much conviction. "I'm sorry, Paul. I had no intention on making you feel any way that wasn't good." Maybe I was too silent because he stood then like he wanted to come closer.

I shook my head, vigorously, tucking my lips in. "Mm-mm."

"...Paul-"

"No."

I wasn't just going to forgive people for hurting me anymore. I wasn't gonna give other people the satisfaction of letting shit go.

I have had nightmares for weeks.

"I would never intentionally hurt you, you have to know that." Part of me did. The other part of me was referencing the fact that 90% of sexual assault victims knew their assaulter, that the first time was just luck of the draw, that I didn't... do anything. "I can't take it back."

I never did anything.

I just let shit happen to me and I didn't stand up for myself, I refused to believe that I overreacted and he wasn't going to convince me that I did. And I was retreating back to my room so quickly, I could feel tears streaming down my face. He followed.

He went to grab my wrist as I was passing the couch and I snatched it back like he'd burnt me.

And I was nearly sobbing, I was ready to fall to my knees. Something about this hurt more the second time and Isaiah was trying to catch my eyes, he was crying. I think that was the first time I'd actually seen him cry. "Hey."

He was trying to catch my eyes in his again. "hey, I-I'm not gonna touch you, just, can we- can we talk?... Please?" he was talking so fast then, like he wasn't ever gonna have the chance again. "I should've listened to you when you said that you didn't wanna be with me. I mean, I get it now." he spoke, it so painful. "I-I really get it now and-and it took me way too long and I'm sorry."

"I'm so fucking sorry."

"You were honest with me and- and I want a relationship that you told me that you didn't want and that's not your fault at all." He was crying now, it painful and it looked so sincere. "And I'm sorry for-" he shook his head. "...Everything?" "I didn't- I didn't mean to hurt you and- and I know that doesn't matter much and... and your boundaries are your boundaries and they-and they matter, and they are valid even without explanation."

"You don't have to say anything."

He sighed. "I'm just- I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I said to you. And how I've been with you, I should have realized the second that things got weird between us. I should have been more cognizant."

"Thank you." He offered and when I furrowed my brows, he explained. "F-for checking me... and reminding me how important it is to make sure consent is clear. Even if we're both naked, even if it's the other person's idea. Always, always double-check, triple check, stop if-if they need to. You needed me to be more attentive and aware and I'm sorry that I wasn't."

"And I'm so sorry for not taking care of you the way that I should have. And I'm sorry for crying because I know it hurts you more and-and I have no right to make this about me-"

"Izzy."

"I love you."

He didn't say it with expectation. He didn't even look like he meant to say it but once he did, it hung in the air. Tears in his eyes, deep hazel-like coffee, warm and full of sincerity. It felt like rom-coms and wine nights and chaste kisses under thick, woven blankets.

It suffocated me, nearly.

"I love you, Paul and I'm not saying it so you'll say it back and I'm not saying it so you'll forgive me, I understand if you can't." He was smiling through his tears and I wondered how long he'd wanted to say that.

And he knew I didn't feel the same. I wasn't sure how long I'd been pretending like I didn't know. I didn't think I could feel that way about anyone that wasn't Jules.

I didn't see myself falling in love again.

So Izzy let it sit in the air and he paused for a second. He understood, he understood and he retreated back to his room. He lingered by the doorway, still for a moment.

"I love you so much that I can't breathe and thinking that I could make you feel unsafe... like, like I was gonna hurt you? Knowing that I hurt you? If you need space from me? I can do that."

"I can sublet my place. I can- I can... it's easy. I'll put an ad up and find a new place."

He left it at that.

•

"If you have a problem just-just say it then. Just let that shit out cause if you don't now, you're gonna spend the next 6 weeks making my life hell."

"Oh fuck you."

Nic had that look on his face, the one where I could tell he didn't feel bad. He didn't feel bad about cheating on me anymore, that was probably when our relationship really ended, even if we dragged it out another four months.

"You know, you really have a way of letting shit build up."

"I don't like how you are with him." And here I was again all but begging him not to cheat on me.

"For fuck sake—"

"Can I answer the question before you condescend me?"

"P..."

"No." He wasn't gonna caress my arm and offer sad blue eyes again, enough was enough. "No, you were kissing his neck! You were kissing him, Nic! That's not okay."

"So it's okay when you're drunk and drape yourself over anyone who gives you even just the slightest bit of attention? It's okay for you to be a fucking whore—"

I didn't realize what I was doing until I'd done it. Nic was breathing heavy, biting his tongue and he held his mouth open in almost hysterical disbelief. His skin was reddening where I'd slapped him.

I could still hear the sound.

There was a hand curled around my arm, fingers pressing into the skin, nails digging in hard enough to bruise. Swim shorts hung low on tanned, toned hips, hairy thighs and big muscles bracketing me to the banister. He had a tight grip on my chin and was staring into my eyes, sinful look in his, wet skin pressed into mine, slick with sweat in the brisk air.

It had been three days since arriving and I hadn't been sober since LightofDay loaded the plane.

Madrid was so nice this time of year, kids running through the streets, joy reverberating under the hot sun, something about it felt almost like returning to an old lover. Travel had always been my first love, I liked moving, maybe it was because I'd lived in Brighton for most of my life but I hated being stagnant.

That fear of complacency and an urge to run away didn't mix very well the summer of 2014. Post-graduation, we'd all decided to take the first semester of college off, LightofDay spent three weeks in London that summer, two weeks in Spain, a month in California towards the end of summer and we made travel vlogs, we made lifestyle content.

At that point, Brandon was experimenting with landscapes, more nature shots and location driven filmmaking, I think he was inspired by documentaries but our lives felt almost celebrity.

Maybe it was the fact that I was drunk through most of it.

Nic said that my need for travel was a red flag one night, drunk off a dry Pinotage. He called it flighty, in conversation, jokingly. He leant closer to me after, wine-stained lips and dazed brown eyes. He was... charming, that was the main trait in him that I fell for. He smiled with mostly the left corner of his mouth. He knew he was good looking.

He was flighty in that way, he had this large wall up, all the substance in him was locked so far behind some wall of ego. I was so determined to break past it that I dealt with the condescending tone he generally took with me. He was... perfect, he was a perfect Italian model who liked the optics of having me for a boyfriend.

He had an overwhelmingly annoying tendency to pretend like things interested him a little more than they actually did. He would beg to get invited to an art show and then act like it was such a hassle to actually go, he was one of those people that said they loved you... with a straight face and absolutely no heart.

But Jules? Jules was, he was ethereal. He had so much heart, I was so scared of breaking it.

I met him and I saw someone that was persistent, someone that I had to be 100% sure about, because I cared about him.

This time, it was the ecstasy... that mixed in with the cocktails, dark eyes caging me in from across the bar and reminding me of who I'd always been.

The wind brushed gently over my heated skin, it cooling the place he'd slapped prior. His thumb pressed into my mouth, pushing my head back, fingers curled under my chin and he smiled, it slightly insane.

And I was so numb. I wasn't there a lot of the time, thinking back, seventeen was the worst year of my life I was sure. I was always so thankful that

"You're a fucking slut, you know that?"

I was dazed, eyes glossed over, tears brimming, I hated the way my body was screaming for his touch. His weight held me in, held me against the banister, the city alive yards under our feet.

The man pressed against me was yanking my head closer, tightening his hand on my jaw and he'd smacked me once more without warning.

Not enough to hurt, certainly enough to sting. My cheek burned against a crisp breeze.

He pressed his index and middle fingertips into my mouth, my lips parting on command, his smug smile condescending at my submission. "Suck." And I could've dropped to my knees.

Nic hadn't called in days and he didn't open any of the messages I'd sent him. We'd gotten into a fight a day before my flight out, and maybe I took his 'go to Spain, i don't care what you do,' too seriously.

But he was breaking up with me again -the third time that year- I could always tell when he wanted to push me away and I was spiraling, like I always did. I was sleeping around like I always did and not caring for myself.

It was hard to find positives, hard to believe that this wouldn't be the end especially when he'd been so close to his friend Greg at the club the night before I left.

And I didn't have the self respect to end it myself.

They'd both stumbled home hours after I'd made my way home, kiss bitten lips and clothes disheveled, Greg was hanging off my boyfriend, still nuzzling a mark on his neck that I didn't give. I watched it when Nic realized I was home, blue eyes widened just a bit.

And he smirked a little, only slightly pulling back with a laugh that I was sure was supposed to make me feel crazy.

Nicolas was so drunk that I honestly didn't have it in me to care. I'd tucked him in, Greg crashed on the couch and the next morning, my boyfriend refused to admit to infidelity. He called me crazy and climbed out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom, that same laugh in his words.

That night ended in a screaming match, him leaving abruptly after relaying just how insane I was, how no one could love me because I was just so narcissistic and needy and always absurdly angry. I was vindictive for accusing him of cheating on me when he had opened his home to me, and chosen me.

He said I'd pushed myself into his space and now I was pushing him away like I did everyone. He laughed while reminding me just how broken I was and how it was not his fault, how pathetic I was. His argument had validity, how could I have expected him to wait for me when I'd only been home for a week, I'd spent three weeks out of the country only to come back and leave again.

I didn't like the idea of being stuck, when I was somewhere too long my art staled, my imagination was only piqued by new adventure and Nic only wanted nightclubs and threesomes.

I wanted more for myself. I was still so codependent, Nic had caught me in the worst time of my life, I wasn't so kind.

And he didn't follow me out.

He didn't come to the airport either, and he didn't pick up when I called him with apologies in my throat washed up with too much tequila. He was the only one who had been there for me when I couldn't be there for myself and I should've been grateful. I didn't want to go home with anyone, I wanted to be in my boyfriend's arms. Brandon offered to come out with me, told me it wasn't safe to be out alone in a strange country and my drunken mind had assumed he was on Nic's side.

I told him to leave me alone, and he did.

My vision was blurry, I wasn't sure if the tears were mainly sadness or dread but I knew the same random man's nose was pressed into the side of my neck, lips kissing up my jaw.

His beard burned my skin. His hands were too harsh, he bit my lips with too much fervor and pressed bruises into my skin.

And he'd found me outside the bar, pressed against some old brick building, even older men skulking through alleyways and fucking three meters down. He'd lit my cigarette for me and asked what such a pretty boy like me was doing all alone.

His inquiry sounded a bit like love.

A/N:

I've been booked n busy but I'm back.

Updated: Friday, February 4, 2022.