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I slide down the trunk of the tree, the rough bark scratching at my back as my shirt rides up, but I don’t care. The bite of pain clears my head a little.
I’m so damn tired. Tired of fighting myself. Tired of not being enough. Tired of wanting things I can’t have.
I thought I was over that shit with Chad, had moved on. Since I have sex regularly, cuddle and freely touch Paul, I thought I was past it, but tonight proves I’m just as weak as I was when it happened. Paul deserves better than me and my baggage.
I close my eyes again and rest my head on the tree, quickly falling asleep.
* * *
My eyes pop open with vomit shooting out of my mouth. I empty my stomach on the grass under a tree, gasping for breath and trying to remember where I am and how I got here. Why am I sleeping outside? It’s still dark, and I have no idea how long I’ve been out here, but I’m freezing.
Once my stomach stops trying to force its way out of my mouth, I sit back and look around with one eye half opened. My head is throbbing like someone is using it as a bass drum. Fuuuck.
Slowly, I make it to my feet and head toward the dorms. The cold air prickling at my goose bump-covered skin. Did I have a jacket or hoodie? I don’t know.
I stumble my way across campus, the longest fucking walk of my life, and thank whoever is listening that I have my keycard to get into the dorms. The warmth of the dorm building makes me shiver more.
When I get to the door, I pat my pockets and grumble when I don’t find my keys. Fuck. Paul will be pissed if I wake him up. I try the door, hoping to get lucky and almost sag in relief when it opens, but that relief is quickly gone when I see Paul standing in the middle of our room, arms crossed, and angry.
I close the door and lean back against it. The alcohol is still in my system, making my head a little fuzzy still.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Paul’s tone is quiet. It’s so much worse than yelling.
“The party.” I shrug and reach for a hoodie hanging on the back of my desk chair. Not only am I cold but I feel vulnerable, like I need a shield to protect me from my best friend. I hate that feeling. All I want is to be wrapped around him, safe.
Why can’t he just hug me? I don’t think he’s ever looked at me like he is now, in this moment. Like he hates me. He’s been frustrated with me, sure, we’ve argued, but he’s never been this angry at me. It’s soul-crushing.
“Why? I called you and you didn’t answer,” Paul demands, his frustration wrapped around him like a cloud, suffocating me. He strides forward and stands so fucking close I can feel his breath on my face.
“I didn’t hear it,” I snap, too tired and exposed to de-escalate the situation.
I shove him back, but he grabs my hoodie and pulls me flush against him.
“When I call or text, I need you to respond,” he grits out, looking me in the eye. His fierce green eyes vibrate with emotion that I can’t read. The look on his face changes when he looks me over. Did I puke on myself or something? “Why are you putting more clothes on?”
His touch is too much, and I shove him away from me. The panic from earlier overtakes me, and I’m left with the need to scream.
“Don’t touch me!” The words are loud in my head, but I don’t know if I managed to say them out loud. Immediately, the hands that were on me are gone, and I almost sob with relief. I’m vaguely aware of tears streaming down my face, and my body burns. The band around my ribs constricts, and I can’t breathe.
Backing up away from him, the only thing I can focus on is being alone. Alone is safer.
“Go away,” I snap, my body vibrating with the war in my head spinning out of control. “You’re acting like a jealous boyfriend.”
Hurt splashes across his face, and I want to punch myself for it. I’m garbage. I deserve to be alone where I can’t fuck up anyone else. My damage is hurting those around me now.
“Spoiler alert, I basically am your boyfriend.” Paul’s shoulders tighten as he prepares for me to hurt him badly. “Do you not want to do this anymore? Whatever this is?”
It would be so easy to lie to him and tell him yes so he goes away. I just need a fucking minute to get my head together, but he won’t stop.
I stumble back, hitting a solid surface and slide down into a ball on the floor. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I bury my face in my legs and rock back and forth.
You’re okay. Breathe.
“Brendon.”That’s Paul.
Paul won’t hurt you.
His anger has faded, and I know if I look up at him, it’ll be pity in his fucking face. God, I’m such a fucking mess. Who the fuck is going to want to deal with this shit?
