long as fuck — slight reminiscence.
love you lots

TWENTY-THREE: when hearts collide.

"We've been through this three times, J."

"I know, but-"

He's laughing at me, I know it. "Babe." It giggles out, sounds like that at least, makes no sense.

I shake the thought from my head because his stance hasn't changed. He's still leant back on the couch, relaxed, his body is sinking in.

"J." It's soft.

Ben looks natural.

He has an amused look on his face and he raises his brows. At some point, his arms cross his chest, clean hands match the meticulous way his beard is cropped. He's in a black tee, Nike sports compression, it's tight around his biceps.

They're bigger than I remember.

Navy blue basketball shorts, a black leg brace, and white Nike socks. My back stiffens. I realize I've stopped pacing.

Ben looks better with facial hair, it's an amusing fact, cause he seems to know it.

Seems to sit a little taller.

I'm worrying away at my nails, bad habit.

I shake it off, trying not to look too skittish, knowing it's obvious. My fist clenches only slightly.

I'm nervous, but he looks calm so it makes me take a step back. And for the next few moments, I hold back the question because -as he said- I've already asked three times.

He just ... left?

It didn't make sense.

Ben's voice is full of normal, level, I'm sure it's to keep me level. "He brought stuff in. Jules, hey—" I'm crouching  over a cardboard box and sifting through it before Ben's even got up off the couch, he laughs it off, "don't go through his stuff."

I hear him move before I have the chance to think.

He's coming over, standing behind me and I ignore it. He doesn't reach, just waits bores holes into the back of my scalp.

I'm pulling stuff out.

Tubes of paint, a few pencil boxes, cheaper brushes. A bunch of little trinket boxes, a plastic box of blades paired with exacto knife...

At least that explains the blades.

Under a sheet of thick ... cardboard? are little mason jars, some labeled.

I lift the cardboard, it's denser than I expect. Colorful vinyl strips with marker scrawled across the lid of 8oz jars.

I pick up a blank jar with clear liquid and a slight purple tint. Shake, unscrew, sniff.

Shake.

"Jules, it's his art stuff." I know it is, I know it's even worse if I find something here.

I shouldn't be going through his stuff but I can't help it. It feels wrong, the therapist advised that it would all be uncomfortable.

"If he was rushing—"

Ben deadpans, and maybe he's right, I'm nearly sure it's acetone in the jar, he wouldn't hide alcohol here, it's dangerous if not stupid.

I stand seconds later, try not to realize it's embarrassing and Ben steadies my shoulder.

"A normal pace. A hasten, maybe, not a sprint." He chastises, smirks a little, leans down with his forehead nearing mine and he's subtly scrunching his nose up.

He's recently got a haircut, it's obvious now, his brow has a cut in it. His skin looks even shinier than it normally does, his lip quirks it up a little and I'm looking into his eyes.

They're deep and brown and creased at the edges.

My body sways a bit when he grimaces and then pulls back to scruff the side of my hair, rests his bicep on my shoulders, and pulls me around to his side.

His black dog tags chime near a hard chest, he smells like worn in birch cologne.

It mixes with his natural scent, slightly salty, feels like he got a run in. I squeeze my eyes shut.

"You're doing a lot right now, and it's kinda giving me the ick, Jules." My eyes shoot open in disbelief, he can't hold back a laugh after that. He tilts his head before looking around and I'm detaching to start putting stuff back.

He's right. I'm nervous and I'm invading someone's privacy but I can't find it in me to feel bad.

He's here so we can keep an eye on him, that's what we agreed. If Ben's not gonna take any of it serious, I need to rethink it.

"He set up a canvas, he seemed actually okay." He always seems okay.

"And when you came back from PT, he was gone." If he was okay, he would be here, painting. Or, at least, waiting for me. It's not like him to leave when he hasn't seen me all day.

"We ate, talked." He reminds. "I even looked through the box in the kitchen." That would be too obvious.

"He didn't have a-a flask or-"

"No."

I know I shouldn't be too hard on him, that it's a lot to ask for him to turn his house into a makeshift recovery clinic.

"And you're sure he didn't say where he was going?" I can't help it, but Ben is giving me that look again so I remind him that "he's driving-"

"Jules." Ben's grabbing at my arms now, looking me in my eyes. He's then tugging me by just my left arm to sit me down on the armchair. I go, willingly. "He'll be back. You gotta relax or you're gonna set yourself off."

Ben's voice is softer now, helps me relax.

"I made him go to therapy with me." But he doesn't get it. Who's to say triggering him didn't send him right back?

"If you're so worried about him running, maybe you should rethink the whole 'living together,' thing, huh?"

"Yeah." Maybe. "Yeah, well, he's not exactly in control of his urges right now, Ben."

"Don't do that." Ben shuts it down. "You think he's at the bar... and there's a fifty percent chance you're wrong."

"Twenty-five." I respond, Ben finds a nose scrunch in that. "I'm just nervous that he's functioning."

He looks confused then, so I try to elaborate and work through it or else it'll loom over me.

"... When he feels like he can't control things, he doesn't know how to..." I don't even know how to finish that but Ben's nodding like he gets it. "And we brought him here to keep an eye on him, I mean, Mike got him that spot in the clinic and he didn't take it so it's my fault if anything—"

"He's sober, Jules. He said since his show." He reminds me and I hate to remind him alcoholism is deceitful. "He know it's his responsibility so just go easy on him."

"You don't know that he's sober." It's paired with a weird, familiar feeling in my chest. I try not to let it take over.

"You have to trust him."

I laugh, it's bitter, "how?"

There haven't been a lot of recent moments I've really felt like I could trust him. It's everything. It's Izzy, it's leaving, it's what he's been saying just as much as it's what he's been doing. It feels like I can't trust him.

And Ben doesn't seem to know what to say but footsteps are entering a bit too late. The house is so big, I wouldn't be surprised if it was a robber.

But instead it's Pablo, and he's heard everything, I'm sure.

"I'm not drinking." That echos from behind us, at least it feels like it does.

It feels loud. Even if it isn't.

He's standing at the door when I've stood and he offers a small closed-lip smile. Ben's still facing forward, facing me, sitting and looking up. Like he was there for me.

He's trying to gage the look on my face, presses his calf into mine as if a reminder.

Go easy.

I clear my throat but Paul's "I'm sorry I worried you," comes out quicker than I can apologize. He starts by coming forward, lifting the bucket he's holding, and setting it on the table beside the couch.

"I went to the store, I needed s-some staples and gesso." He explains.

Sure enough, the white bucket has a label, it's sealed with GESSO sprawled across in some ugly font.

"I didn't think I'd need 24-hour surveillance," he laughs small, it's an attempt to lighten the mood. I can't find it in me to react until Ben knocks at my calf again and I reach forward to grab the bag and stuff he had, moving to place them by his other supplies and he follows me.

Ben heads out, not before he pats my shoulder. He grabs for Pablo's too after the fact.

"You don't have to worry about me spinning out of control again." He states once we're alone.

And I don't know what to do with that, maybe he didn't expect me to because he's wiping his palms on his shorts and he's scanning the room.

When he clasps his hands together and looks back at me, there are tears in his eyes.

He shakes his head. It feels like he's been holding it back. And he breathes in once, holds it and then laughs it out.

Like it suffocates him. "I'm sorry, I-"

I want to reach for him when he cuts himself off but he finds the words quicker than he lost them.

"I went to church today..." he tries, "then a meeting." The look on his face begs me closer. "Went to the store, I'm not giving myself the free time anymore." I just nod, try not to give him too much because we went to therapy and I told him how worried I was.

He couldn't tell me where he was going to be. He didn't tell Ben.

"I know you're mad at me, and you have a right to be but I just want everything to be normal again."

Is it?

"I've been someone... these past couple months that I'm not proud of. I'm not begging you to trust me, I know it's gonna be hard but I need normal..." He's looking at his feet.

"... Ben doesn't have to manage me."

I nod.

He moves.

He picks up a stretched canvas, and flips it over to inspect the job he's done before, the staples are almost perfectly neat.He grabs a palette knife off the side table and props open the lid.

And it's quiet. So quiet it makes me anxious but Paul's reveling in it, I can tell. He loves the quiet.

He's standing to open a window and light pours in, cool air does too.

"I'm sorry I wasn't hearing you." He says, as he dips a wide brush in, disrupts the white base of the bucket, it's short and stiff and he starts to spread gesso over the canvas.

I nod, even though he can't see me.

I go to sit next to him, on the ledge, just far enough to give him space but I read the look on his face. He's frowning, it travels to his brows, and he's brushing up on the edges. "I shouldn't be scared of talking to you. I mean, you always say the right thing." He shrugs.

"It's just... sometimes, you try to fix things and it just makes me feel sad."

I understood.

I hope he knows that. "When I couldn't get up and you kept trying and I couldn't just be okay... I felt that too. Like it can't be fixed."

He nods. It's short, paired with watery eyes, he looks down, I see his face drop slowly.

"It can. It will be better, you know?" I remind, like he's done for me a million times.

"Yeah."

He doesn't believe it though, I've seen that look on myself before.

"You keep it all in. And you've seen that ruin people." You've seen it ruin me.

He knows. "I don't mind if you're mad..." He says.

"I'm not."

"Juju."

"I don't have anything more to say." I offer him a chance to speak, gesturing to give him the floor.

I'm nodding, hoping he sees that for how genuine it is. I'm over pleasantries, I've talked so much these last few weeks, it's his turn.

"I'm sorry."

It's resigned, still clear, he's suppressed previous emotion, it lingers in his worry lines. "I know that you were being kind to me by not being upset with me ... about Izzy. A-and I should have talked about it when you asked... I was hiding and it wasn't fair to you."

I nod, slowly, after what feels like forever.

"I'm sorry that I avoid conversations with sex." He apologizes again.

"I hear you, Jules. I know I'm not being consistent enough, I know I need to work for it."

"I don't remember a lot of the time I spent with him." He admits. "A lot of it is blurry cause we were-we were drinking a lot so I guess, I felt bad for that."

I try not to be angry but he said that Izzy was just a fling... and they lived together.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"But you love Izzy."

He couldn't talk about it in therapy, now seemed as good a time as any. If we're airing grievances...

He told Izzy he loved him and I didn't want that to be a deciding factor but the sentiment wouldn't leave me alone.

"Angel."

He was in love with Izzy and it was easier for him to be.

"I didn't realize how much that hurt me until you..." kissed him. "And I know I forgave you for it but—"

I can't stop thinking that you love him more.

"You keep picking him."

"I have never picked him over you."

"You did." After the hikes and the bonding and everything we talked about, he went back. He made Isaiah think that there was something more to them.

With the returning, with the touching, and the time they spent no matter how close I was.

He looks at me and states with pain: "we weren't an option at the moment— I shouldn't have done it." It's sincere, but it doesn't fix it. "I kissed him 'cause I was sad and -and confused."

"About us."

"About me, Julian."

It didn't make sense.

"It was... a bad judgement call. I wasn't thinking about it like that, and I should've been. I'm so sorry I didn't think of how that would make you feel."

"He's gorgeous." I don't want to cry but it's pushing at me, every word pulls it out so I speak no more. He's better looking than me, he's bigger, he's happier.

He's happy and I'm a fucking mess.

"You're so beautiful." He counters, it's filled with so much love it makes me wanna hide. "Why is that so hard for you to get? Losing you felt like the end of the world."

"It still feels that way, like I've lost you." He continues. "I'm sorry I couldn't say that. I'm sorry that I pushed you away. I just- I slipped and I tried to- to get back... because I could- I could feel it slipping. And I couldn't stop thinking about you."

This has to be the last time we revisit. I can't watch him beg again. "And I couldn't do that, Jules, I— It felt like I lost you and you were so far... I stopped trying. And I'm sorry that I stopped trying."

"I-I got scared so I just chose  not to. And then it was hard so I just stopped doing it."

"I really thought I was okay again. And I wasn't." He explains. "It felt like you couldn't look at me."

"We were fine." It's a lie.

"I wasn't."

"I haven't been fine in years and I convinced myself I was." He shakes his head. "I didn't mean to kiss him. I... I was drunk. I've been... I've been drinking since I was twelve, you know? It- it was easy to and he was easy to be with."

I tried not to take it to heart but all I was hearing was how difficult I was. Just as I'd assumed, everything they had was so much easier than who I was for him.

"I didn't have to be okay."

It's loaded, the way he says it.

It's heavy. He tries to explain and it only gets worse.

"The- the sponsees in group asked me why I relapsed today. There's always a why, I think that's why." He answers a question I didn't know how to ask. "Cause I couldn't cope with my grandma and cause I can't separate drinking and sex and—"

He's looking down now, his eyes on his lap. Then he's sliding a roll cart closer and lifting some plastic wrap. "And my grandma was just getting sicker, Rilee told me about the trial..."

"Everything felt like it was falling apart. I couldn't, I couldn't fix it and I needed to feel something... else."

I don't ask any questions about the trial. I don't want it to stop him from talking, maybe it's selfish.

It sinks in and washes over both of us. I know he's relieved, even if the guilt won't allow it.
I nod.

It's hard to follow him when he speaks so bluntly but I do. I trip over my words but I nod to fill in gaps, it seems to be enough.

"And I'm sorry I had to do it at your expense."

He nods.

He's picking up a paint roller and rolls it over the edges again. "I've been hiding from how it made me feel, and I took it out on you." He says, his words come with a painful breath. "And I hurt you again."

I hope he'll give himself some forgiveness.

"Baby—"

He refuses. "I hit you."

He's exaggerating, but it makes me feel better "You pushed me."

"Twice." He says. It makes me sad. "And I said the most vile things to you. And I—"

It's falling from my lips before he can spiral.  "Baby..."

He spent the day thinking about it, maybe longer.

"I got too drunk and I fucked everything up. Again. " He's swallowing hard, watery eyes stuck to mine. "It's not cool. And I know better, I was so terrible to you." I appreciate the way he looks right at me when he says it.

"I don't wanna be the guy that hurts people he loves... I don't wanna be Angry." He fills in. "Like-like Milo. Or numb like my dad."

His eyes are back on the canvas. "I-I would never want to— I cou—"

Deep breath. "I couldn't forgive myself if I—"

He stopped there, looked away, let it linger.

"I just, it's hard to believe that you're still here." He tries. "It's hard because you're so sweet, and you're perfect to me and I ruin perfect—"

"Baby."

"I'm angry. I've been angry for so long and I don't let myself feel it so it comes out when it shouldn't."

I know.

"I let... so many people touch me, you know?" He looked sick.

"The things I used to do... I sabotaged us cause I-I felt dirty." The pained look in his eye overtook, tears are falling now, even streams. He wipes them away.

He shuts his eyes, it hurts to receive, looks like it pains him to speak. "I shouldn't have judged you. I shouldn't have made you feel like it was your fault." He looks at me then, "I never meant..."

He's shaking lightly, it's unsettled in his fingertips. I pull his hands into mine.

"Everyone makes mistakes." I said.

He shakes his head. "I-I should have never thought to say that to you."

"— Nothing could justify what I — That has been my worst moment, by far." It's full of humility. He's placed all the supplies down, his hands are shaking and he's finally wiping at those tears with his sleeves. "You are the strongest person I know, you forgive me too easy and I am so sorry that I—"

"It is something unforgivable, you didn't deserve that." He wipes at his nose and he's moving towards me, crouching over to kiss my hands.

I try not to cry but it feels like he loves me.

He takes that time to recompose himself.

"I am an alcoholic. And it hurt when you said it cause it's true."

"My meeting today reminded me that a lot of it is... is unprocessed trauma and I knew that but it shows how little work I've actually done on myself if I need to be reminded." He focuses on something a world away from us, it's all he can do to avoid crying, I'm sure. "I need to do the work."

"You are. Trying. This is the longest conversation we've had in weeks... you haven't even tried to seduce me."

It's meant to make him laugh and it does, it does and it warms me. "Y-you're talking, it's the promise that you want recovery bad enough." I say. "You can do it. You've done it before, younger too."

It pushes a sad smile to his face, and then he just looks at me.

SStutters for a second, rubs his thumbs over mine.

He sighs, sniffs a stuffy nose.

"I'm so glad we're friends."

It stings like he's branded it into me... it's final, his voice leaves no room for argument. Although we've been this way for months, it stabs me in the gut and leaves me windless.

It's irrational. I shouldn't want it again but I do.

I want him more than anything.

He sees it.

"I can have a small bit of your heart, this time, not all of it." He smiles again, it brightens up his blotched pink cheeks. He's wiping at his eyes. "It's an amenity reserved for friends. You care about me, but you don't shoulder my personal responsibility. And you shouldn't be stuck with me."

"Luis—"

"I love you, so much." It's resigned and so full, his eyes are so full of love that it stuns me.

"I can't promise you the life I want for us right now, there's no dignity in that. I'm gonna slip again, I will and it's not fair of me to ask you for forgiveness if I cant..."

"... We're living together again and I can't," He's breathless, he chokes on his words. It hurts him to make this decision, and that almost makes it better, almost. "I can't stay away from you and I can't let it get messy again, Jules."

"I know I'm not ready. I don't want you to feel like you owe it to me or like you can fix it or—  'cause that's just gonna make my drinking about you and it's not." He's shaking his head, "you're the best thing in my life."

"...So I need to be your friend, right now."

It doesn't hurt.

Okay, it does.

He presses his forehead to mine. I feel the tears when they fall. He's brushing his nose against mine and it's more than enough to make my breath shaky.

My hands tremble. He kisses them.

He kisses me. Like he can't help himself, his hands are on my neck now, fingertips intertwined in the back. He kisses me and it feels like the first time. It feels soft, gentle, studied. His lips linger a little, tug back.

He looks into my eyes, they're unfocused and my head tilts back in his hold. I bite my lip, wished he would as well. He scans my face when I can finally stare into big almond eyes.

He's so beautiful.

He kisses me again.

Pulls away after a second, forces himself and only gets an inch, and then more.

And then he's resting his forehead on mine, it's warm to the touch. He's closing his eyes. Inhaling before both his hands climb to bracket my skull.

And he's scanning my face before brushing hair from my eyes. His left thumb draws circles on my temple.

It feels too intimate and I don't have the heart to ask him to stop so I don't.

My heart beats so fast, it jumps in my chest.

I lean forward, I kiss him again. I know it's probably the last time.

When I want it to last longer, it doesn't.

He pulls back, separates himself from me. I'm thankful he does it because I can't let go. My feet are pushing at his, being so close without touching feels like an impossible task.

His voice is sincere when he finds it again, it's a whisper. "Thank you for letting me move in, you didn't have to do that."

"I'm repaying the favor."

It makes him smile again.

He leans back onto the window sill, looks at me until my stomach growls. "Are you hungry?" He asks.

I deadpan and he bites at his lip. "Let me take you to dinner."

It blurs the lines a bit. I don't care to tell him. I just nod.

:::

Ben's always got a smile on his face.

Its scary almost, how he seems to find joy in the worst situations. He's leading this hike up what feels like the highest mountainside in the Midwest.

And he keeps turning back to watch us trail so far behind.

I'd be up there with him if I was still in regular training condition. I haven't been on a field in near to a year and my knees feel like jello.

I'm sure Paul feels no better.

His face is red, deeper in that bronze tone. His hair is damp with sweat and pushed back by a headband. He's barely wearing a tank and shorts and he's still drenched. The backpack I'm wearing has a water dispensing system so I offer him the straw.

I'm sure his calves are screaming. "You wanna take a break?"

He pants, shakes his head, "no, we're so close."

I laugh. I know he'll ache later. "Your funeral."

And he's picking up speed, just like a knew he would, he's taking larger steps and we make it to the top where Ben has halted for the last ten minutes.

It's a little steeper so we nearly crawl and suddenly we're at a peak that overlooks nearly all of farmland Indiana.

"It's so green." Ben says.

"Right." We're all in awe at the terrain, the plagues of the hike feel minute, almost nonexistent cause we made it. And Ben is hugging a rock, leaning on it to grab his water from his bag.

I'm so glad that he forced me to confront my fear of heights the first time we did this cause we are so insanely high up, I think it's the highest we've ever been until he grabs for his bag.

And he's drinking a ton of water before unzipping the front pocket and pulling out a little plastic baggie of pre-rolls.

"Dios mio, save the king." Paul jokes, finds himself a seat near Ben, the latter throwing him a towel from his bag.

I'm still standing now, it's a feat in itself. I take the time to look at the other mountaintops, at the trees that seem to span for miles, a plane is gliding over them.

And over us. I smile.

"I wish I went hiking in Cali." It's true. I wish I was mentally sane to get this high and not immediately feel the need to jump off. It's just a passing thought now, just enough to remind me that it's there.

"Why didn't you?" Ben asks.

I'm sure Paul's still trying to catch his breath and the thought makes me laugh. It comes out almost wheezy and my love is looking at me in amusement.

"I was really stressed." I remind. "You know, kinda isolated myself..." I'm still looking out, I see a stream about 300 feet away. "Looking back, it all really fucking sucked."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." It's too heavy. "You know too much about me already." When I smile over at them they're looking at each other and then Paul's looking at me with a frown. "Leave some for later."

They nod, we spark and the smell nearly coats the entire area. I breathe in fresh air, my eyes close instinctively.

The wind whistles past my ears and Paul's hand is now on my knee. Ben kicks a big rock closer to face us and we sit with our backs pressed against them.

It's thirty minutes of conversation when I realize Paul's gone quiet and only when Benji's standing, to find a spot cause he's "gotta take a piss," do I ask.

"You okay?"

He shrugs, spliff stuck between his two fingers and pressed to lips that drive me crazy.

He shakes his head after a second, blows out smoke through the corner of his mouth. I can't stop staring. "It feels a little weird."

"What?"

He shrugs again, passes the joint to me. I don't know what he wants to say but I hope it's not about us.

He grabs for my hand, intertwines our fingers, leans his head on my shoulder.

It feels like bliss.

"We can hang, right?" He asks. "That's what friends do?"

"Yeah, that's what friends do." I agree. His palm is pressed so tightly to mine. My eyes are stuck on it.

"Yeah."

Ben's back, boots dragging as he raises himself back up this hill. He's almost fallen over, I think, until he's dragged his body up by his hands almost. And he's slumping down beside us, his body leant entirely on mine.

And he's snatching the joint from my fingers, "think I hit some poison ivy, ankle itch like a bitch."

:::

"What's on your mind?"

"Other than the fact that we're in bed together?"

It's funny. We got back from the hike, spent a good hour pretending we weren't pulled together. Took respective showers and then somehow, somehow we ended up laying together. Again.

Clothed, three inches apart, facing each other.

It's been like this for thirty minutes now, the same way it's been every other night for the last three months. He's looking at me, and there's been a frown on his face for too long.

He climbed into my bed this time, begged me with brown eyes, I tried not to let it get to my head when he laced our pinkies together.

I can feel his warmth. It doesn't teach his eyes, they're dim.

And I'm pretending it isn't because I'm hopelessly in love with him but I wish to be closer.

Paul licks his lips, snaps out of whatever reverie he's been in.

He shakes his head and groans.

"You can talk about it." I offer.

He doesn't seem too enthused.

"I'm thinking about when I was fourteen."

Oddly specific. "What about it?"

"I lost my virginity."

I nod. He looks sad but forces a small smile, it doesn't reach his eyes but he offers a truth.

He brushes his head against the pillow, for just a second, then he's sighing heavy.

"I met this guy at the rec center in Livingston." He says. I push away the lie that it was Brandon, doesn't matter much but I'm almost relieved. "And I thought he was cute. I guess he thought the same."

The relief is short-lived.

"He was a freshman in college." I feel my eyes getting wider but the weed keeps me nailed to the bed. I can relax while he tells me but my skin buzzes. I feel anger instead.

I know it takes him a lot to open up so I try to stay still.

"He, um, invited me to this party, maybe I invited myself... and I slept with him."

I think of Jade. How young she was, it's similar and I'm angry. I'm angrier with myself.

"He raped me." He shrugged.

"I didn't think of it like that until I was in college cause I thought it-it was consensual." He laughs almost. "But it's sick. Cause I know I looked young, I know I did."

I know it took him so long to realize, even longer to say it. I know it's probably the first time he's ever said it.

"It started this weird relationship for me with drinking and sex." He acknowledges. "So, I started sleeping around and drinking a lot."

"And Brandon saw it. He was obviously upset with me and the only way I could... the way teenage boys think is... I said maybe he fuck me instead." He avoids my gaze then.

He's looking at the pendant on my chest.

Turns to his back then, as if to give himself a little privacy. "It worked for a bit."

He gulps. I focus my eyes on the curly hair sinking into the pillow instead cause I can tell it's getting harder.

He sucks in a shaky breath. "But w-when I was fifteen... I started seeing this older guy, he was probably thirty, I don't know. Rich."

His voice shakes. I tighten my grip on his pinky. He laughs for a second, just a second, it's full of air and anxiety.

Half his age.

"We would meet in his car at night near Union and sometimes he'd take me home. To this fucking sky rise, and he was really big on wine so we- we would drink." He squeezes his eyes shut, pulls away from me and all I can do is listen. "He said he liked... teaching me."

My hand finds his shoulder then, he doesn't push that away. He grabs it.

"We saw each other for months, almost every night."

It's a secret, probably blocked it out. He's kept it for so long it's eaten him alive and it's filled with so much pain I feel it.

It sinks into me, rubs me raw.

I want to cry for him but instead I listen.

He doesn't shed a tear.

"One night he rented a motel room." He struggles to get it out and it's shameful the way he says it. "He offered me two hundred bucks if I did his friends too."

"I rode my bike there at like, midnight... And when I got there, there were three guys and a lot of wine and- and loud music and they said it was a party."

"So I drank with them." He gasps. "Then there were bottles and we were doin' coke and- and they started touching me."

"On me all over and kissing but I was... I was too messed up. I couldn't... I didn't know what I was doing." He looks at me then, shellshocked. I see tears in his eyes and I want to throw up.

He kept this inside for so long, I knew he needed to let it out but my heart was hurting. I could feel my throat closing.

It was admirable how in control he was of his emotions but, it was also somewhat scary. He could keep that in, he could say it with no emotion, therapy would say that it's emotional numbing.

He clears his throat now.

Swallows, his voice is hoarse when it comes out now and I can see the tears in his eyes.

"They were moving me around... cause I couldn't stand." It's slow the way he describes it. "They moved me to the bed and changed the music. Started telling me what to do." The anger is intense now, it's cloaked in so much pain. I can't speak.

"And one guy stood me up, Freddie told me to t-take my clothes off and dance for them."

He nods before squeezing his eyes shut and I can only imagine how scared he was. How young and- and how overpowered he felt. I can only remember how skinny he was, even in his graduation pictures.

He was a tiny kid. A kid.

"Someone started to record and Freddie, he... he asked if he wanted them all to go to jail. They knew it was wrong. They all just..."

Did that to him. Again.

He loses his voice almost. "I would kill someone if they did that to Pete." His nose twitches at that, pure rage in his eyes.

I can't even wrap my head around it, and it makes me sick.

"I was a kid." He states.

"I was..." I push my legs over, offer them for him to lace his with. He lets me have that. Let's me scoot closer than we've been in months.

"I thought I was okay with it so, so I kept seeing him. And he started paying me so I felt like I was in control of it and I was- I was saving a lot now and so when— when that thing at the club happened, I think it made everything worse..."

"I was legal and it felt like I could finally say no... and he just took it. He tried to... I wish I went to the police."

"Baby—"

"I wish I listened to Ri. I should've, I just, I felt so stupid. Like I couldn't admit to it and when Lanny drove me to the station a week later, they didn't believe me."

That was heartbreaking.

"You can report it again." There's a case now, there's someone who will listen. He can report all of it, especially Freddie. Cause that was fucked up.

If he could do that once, no doubt he'd done it again. Who knows how many kids were put in that position after him?

"I can't."

He shouldn't be so afraid.

It's easy to say that it shouldn't scare him when I've never been in his position but he knows he's stronger than it.

And there was no reason for this thing to have happened to him three times. There was no reason for that many men to take advantage and no one to be held accountable.

He is living with it while they get to move on and it's not right.

"It hasn't been ten years, the statute of limitations—"

He cuts me off. "I wanna forget it."

"It's not right." I try. He's crying now.

The tears are flowing now, he shuts his eyes, turns away from me. I try to soften my approach when it feels like he'll shut down.

I reach to wipe his tears, hover a second before so he can feel me getting close.

"You didn't deserve any of that."

He nods.

"You shouldn't have to hold onto that."

"There's no evidence." He shuts it down.

"I know it's a long shot but my dad works with less, I'm sure we could figure it out—"

Paul doesn't seem to want it. I don't want to fight him on it cause it's his choice.

"All they have to question is  my character and it's thrown out, you know that."

All I feel now is regret. False hope probably feels awfully insincere and I can't be the person that pushes so hard.

He deserves understanding, quiet, peace while he's communicating.

"I'm sorry." I mean it, I hope it stops the tears as he wipes them away. He sits up now, I watch him try to collect himself.

After a second, he nods.

"Baby—"

"I don't wanna cry."

I know.

He's biting his lip now, I watch the side of his face until he looks in my direction. His eyes look weak, his cheeks are soaked.

His hands are shaking.

"Can we..." he's wiping his face again, turning around, facing me now. He offers his hands to me, I take the invite to slide a hand on his waist. I wait for rejection but there is none and I'm pulling him into me.

His body melts into my chest, our legs find space between each other.

I'm kissing his forehead, his hair smells like that sea salt shampoo and it's still wet at the roots.

He breathes me in, speaks into my chest, "can we sleep now?"

I nod.

I flick the lamp off, pretend like I can't hear his voice go weak.

Or feel his shoulders shudder, his lips are pressed to my neck when I pull him closer and he twines his arms around my neck, hands in my hair.

He kisses my chest.