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Almost as if he felt my tension, he resumed his movements, but this time they were slow and methodic. Shuffling carefully through the first aid kit, pulling out what he needed and lining it up in a row, he continued to ignore me to reorganize the things that had fallen out before leaning over my thigh to wash his hands.
I waited, refusing to show my impatience. Refusing to make him think that waiting for anything from him was literally killing me inside.
Fuck him. Fuck my heart. Fuck love.
When his hands were dry, he pulled back, peeling away the wrapper around a large bandage and uncapping the Vaseline the hospital sent home. “They said to keep it from drying out.” His voice was a quiet caress.
Dipping the end of a cotton swab into the jelly, he brought it up to carefully dab it around the sore stitches. It hurt, and I bit the inside of my lip to keep from saying a word.
When he was done, he pushed back my floppy hair and then smoothed the bandage overtop.
He stepped back to gather up the trash, and without thinking, I hopped off the counter. He caught me around the waist, stopping any weight from hitting my sprained ankle before pulling back to finish cleaning.
I started out of the room, limping pathetically, dragging not only my injured foot but all my other pain as well.
His voice was quiet yet sincere, and it stopped me dead in my tracks.
“I do care, Wes. I care more than you will ever know.”
My chin wobbled with the rush of emotion. I wanted to yell and call him a liar. I wanted to sob and ask him to say it again.
We remained turned away from each other, his quiet words not really all that earth-shattering but tethering us with the strength of steel.
I hoped he would say more, anything at all. But he remained quiet, and I was weary of being a martyr.
I hobbled to bed, not once looking back, but the tether between us tugged and stretched, refusing to let go.
14
Max
I slept like shit.If you could even count tossing and turning in frustration sleep.
Ishould nothave kissed him.
I wanted so fucking badly to do it again. I wanted to devour him, swallow him, shove him beneath my bones.
If I ever worried maybe I wasn’t as bi as I assumed, that worry laughed heartily in my face. Truth was most other guys didn’t really do it for me, and yeah, I tried.
Not because I wanted to—because I had to.
When he came out, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Abouthim.
My first thought when he confessed to me and Win about his preference?So there’s a chance.
Not surprise. Not support. Not even disgust…Hope.I spiraled deep into regret and self-loathing. Oh, and lots of denial. While I was busy denying literally everything, I also wondered. Could I actually be attracted to men? Could I be turned on by them? What if I tried and didn’t like it?
One thing was for damn sure: Wes was not an experiment, and he never would be.
But other dudes that I gave not one shit about? They were fair game. I started first with porn. Sure, I got hard. I mean, people were having sex and moaning in front of me. But I wasn’t like horny for it.
One night at some random party, I caught a dude checking me out. So I pulled him into the bathroom and pushed him to his knees in front of me. I wasn’t all that into it… until I thought of Wes. Of twisting my fingers into his loopy curls, watching them bob as he deep-throated my dick.
I came hard that night, and it left me more confused than ever.
I wasn’t confused now. I was miserable as fuck… and it was clear I was making him miserable too. I was caught, ensnared between my heart and mind. Forced to choose between loyalty and love. But how could I when those two things weresotangled they were basically one and the same?
I was a fucking mess, had been since I was born. My own biologics didn’t love me, something that should have been hardwired in our DNA. Instead, they tolerated me, abused me, and made me believe I was unlovable.
