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Arthur, I miss you.Miss your warm presence in my bed, your touch, your full attention.
So every evening when I sling myself up from the rain pipes and into my room, my eyes dart to my bed. Arthur is never there.
Part of me knows that he’s waiting for me to leave my fucking door open, to make a move. But I won’t. Can’t give in now. If it comes out that he and I have been intimate, it might put Arthur’s future in jeopardy. I’ll be seen as the one who defiles golden boy’s reputation and they’ll all hate me.
I’m not sure if that’s the real reason for my silence though. Perhaps I’m just afraid. Always, fucking afraid.
Pathetic.
It’s a Wednesday evening when I climb into my room from my visit to the stables, body wet and freezing from the storm that turned the sand path into a mere muddy puddle that I’ve tried to avoid as best as possible as I raced back to my dorm.
I’ve barely made it inside my room when the sky flashes up with another thunder, casting an ominous light on the howling treetops. My limbs are dripping and stiff from being folded into the stern position inside my cage in the stables. Fuck, I’m desperate for a shower. Taking off my dirty shoes, I leave the rest of my clothes in a pool at my feet, relieved that I took the time earlier to change my uniform for a pair of sweats and a hoodie.
My body is flushed pink and feels like ice, making me hiss at the first contact with the hot, running water, before I slump back into a state of content. Fuck, this feels good. And damn…I tilt my head and let it lean against the wet tiles behind me. It’s as if my exhaustion cracks for the first time, tearing holes in the layer of protection. Because I’m so tired. So, so tired. Of this killer rhythm of waking up early and being out a lot, of asking mymind to focus on so many hours of studying, of my heart for being locked up so tightly.
Tears leak out at the corners of my eyes before they dribble down my wet, puffy face. My tightened chest rages with grief, and nothing—not even my hands as I place them flat against my cheeks—can stop my ribcage from expanding on a desperate shudder. I nearly fold in two when I surrender, allowing for that wail to leave my throat. It’s too much.
I cry, shaking as I sob and mumble strengthening words at the same time.
Come on, you’re stronger than this.
No matter what I say, that raging storm inside me needs a way out. And so I stay there, leaning against the tiles, panting through my cries, and let go, emptying myself in shuddering breaths.
When it finally stops, I am left a quivering mess. It feels…fuck, it feels good. Quietly humming, I fold my hands behind my back and tilt my head until the warm water hits my face, washing sorrow away. I definitely feel lighter.
It isn’t until I’m drying off, that I realize I’m humming “Jingle Bells Rock,” some ancient song they always play this time of the year. Laughter bubbles up in my stomach and finds its way outside my mouth.
Christ, I’m going crazy.
Still, I can’t help but grin stupidly as I get dressed into a fresh pair of boxers, my favorite pair of pyjama pants and a plain shirt. Brushing my teeth with a chortle clutched in my throat isn’t easy, but I still manage. Much to my own… amusement. By the time I’m nearly done in the bathroom, I’m shivering once more, but this time it’s not just because of the cold. Or because of fatigue. I’m feeling fucking light, and I have no clue what caused all my misery to just get poured out, like some unwanted venom.
But it feels fucking great.
I’m brushing my hair when my phone buzzes.
It’s a message. Turning my back stubbornly to where I placed the damn thing by my towel, I resume humming. But that earlier feeling of euphoria is gone. Instead, the skin on my back itches, as if feeling exposed to my own glee. The only people who send me messages are my mother and Arthur, but right now is not their usual time.
The thought of my big stepbrother brings back bittersweet memories.
Fucking pathetic.
I pick up my brush and continue brushing forcefully through my unruly hair. Fucking phone.
It buzzes again.
“Leave me the fuck alone,” I growl.
It buzzes again.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Throwing my brush into the sink, I pick the damn thing up. It shows three new messages. I bite in my bottom lip while my heart starts pounding faster.
They’re images. I suck in breath. It’s him, Arthur. Sprawled out on his bed in nothing more than a pair of tight, black boxers. My dick responds immediately as it fills in my briefs. Fuck… he looks absolutely mouthwatering, his chiseled stomach and firm pecs glimmering in the dim light of the bedside table. That very same bedside table that…
“No fucking way.” My head jumps up, and I catch my own, wild stare for a brief moment, before I turn around to peer through the open door, toward my own bed.
“Arthur,” I gasp. My throat feels paper dry as I stare at him. There he is, on my lonely bed, legs spread. His raven strands are mussed, but his hooded gaze burns with a fury that matches his clipped lips. He must have gotten inside my room when I was under the shower.
“Régis.” The word leaves his mouth on a pissy hum, and it makes me feel like I’ve been a bad kid at school. His eyes darkenwhen he drags them over my body, taking in every centimeter of my flushed skin. When they finally creep up back to my face, his lips tick down, turning into something like a flower. Crooking his finger, he rasps, “Come here.”
