He brushes past me, his shoulder bumping against mine as he heads for the door. I wipe my hand along my face. I feel like screaming or throwing something.
I take a different, longer way home. After all, avoidance is my game. I clearly can’t trust myself when he’s around. It’s like I become a version of myself that I don’t recognize. All control goes out the window. I cross through a park, past a deserted playground, then make a quick stop at a convenience store to grab some ground coffee and aGatorade.
“Two for one,” the cashier says, nodding at the drink.
I fumble with my card. “Sorry?”
“They’re on special. TheGatorades. Two for one.”
I sigh. “It’s fine. I only want one.”
“You sure? It’s free.”
I nod, then tap my card against the machine. “Yeah, you take it.”
“Oh… okay.” He frowns at me like it’s the dumbest shit he’s heard all night. “Have a good night.”
“Night,” I mumble back, clutching the bag of coffee and theGatoradeagainst my chest.
In the elevator, my phone buzzes a couple of times. It’s probably Janelle. I sent her a thank-you text earlier after reading the letter from Mia and Mason. Enclosed was a drawing of them and me playing ball in their backyard. Underneath the drawing, it said, ‘We miss you, Uncle Jared.’ I miss them too.
Maybe I shouldn’t have left Hillsboro. Maybe it was a mistake coming here, thinking I could pick up the pieces of my broken life and start over. Judging by how I acted tonight, how I treated Wes, I should probably have stayed in my sister’s guest bedroom. Better for everyone.
Inside my apartment, I dump the coffee and theGatoradeon the kitchen counter, then pull out my phone. Sure enough, there’s a string of messages from Janelle. I open the first one, and it’s a photo of the kids making silly faces. I smile, then open the next one.
Janie:They ask about you all the time.
Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?
Mom asked.
Thanksgiving.It’s still two months away. I wasn’t thinking of going back. Last year, I spent the holiday in the guest bedroom, watching sports documentaries while Janelle and her family went over to Mom and Dad’s place. My fingers shake as I type back.
Me:Maybe
Even after everything, my sister still sees our parents because of Mia and Mason. She wants them to have a relationship with her grandparents. I get that. I’d never ask my sister to cut Mom and Dad out of her life because of me.
Janelle and I had two very different childhoods. She didn’t experience the same pressure I did. It’s not that she’s oblivious to what I went through, but there are so many things I never told her.
Janie:Or we can come to your place.
Ditch the folks.
While I love my sister, there’s no way I’m having Thanksgiving here.
In my bedroom, I place my phone on the nightstand, then strip down to my briefs. I stare at myself in the full-length mirror. My appearance most closely resembles my dad’s side of the family from the Ivory Coast.
My hand roams over my chest and stomach as I try not to think about Wes, but the images from earlier flash through my mind, and how he felt against me. The weight of his hardness in my palm. The heat that emanated from his body. The sounds he made when he came, spilling all over my hand. How his scent, all fresh and clean, wrapped around me. I got hard, too. Harder than I have since I started taking antidepressants. I’d almost forgotten what arousal feels like.
I need the meds to function, to get out of bed, and to keep going, but they’ve killed my libido. Or so I thought, because tonight I felt the lingering want just underneath my skin like a low hum, building and building, until my entire body became alive. I think if Wes had touched me back, I could’ve felt something. If I’d been bold enough to ask him to get me off, too, I think I could’ve come.
Fuck.
Shame courses through me. I didn’t even ask for his consent. I just… I bury my face in my hands and groan against my palms.What the hell was I thinking?
I jump when my phone rings. I quickly answer it, thinking it’s Janelle calling to make those Thanksgiving plans.
“Hey Janie, what’s up?”
