A Little Bit

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Warren

It’s been a few weeks since the speech. Time continues right into November, uncaring that I’m stuck here still obsessing over seeing him there.

I had been doing okay. Pretending he didn’t exist. Pretending he didn’t cause sickness to crawl back into my life after I’ve shut it out for so long.

One look. One smirk in my direction dismantled it.

I really am weak. Just like Grandaddy says.

Even right now, I feel weak. I shouldn’t do it. But there’s an overwhelming urge. Just to see. Feed that sickness for a second and then force it back into hiding. Maybe nothing will happen.

My phone sits next to me on my uncomfortable couch, while the glow of some forgotten documentary illuminates the dark living room. It’s eleven on a Saturday night. He’s probably out, letting his colorful aura warm everyone around him.

I’m going to unblock his number. Only for twenty minutes. Then switch it back. Nothing will happen. I just want… I don’t know what I want. It’ll be like a connection to him. The most I can have.

Going into my phone settings, my thumb hovers over the unblock button.

It’s only for twenty minutes.

I press it and look at the time, internally starting that twenty minute timer.

I focus back on the documentary, but it holds no interest to me. My eyes only want to flick back to the phone.

Time moves excruciatingly slow while the phone stays aggressively blank and silent next to me.

When it’s been nineteen minutes, I grab it and spend the last sixty seconds staring, waiting for the minute to turn over and the torture to stop.

The minute turns, and right as I go to press block again, a call comes in.

Him.

My brow furrows for a moment, but I quickly school my features and scramble to answer.

Right when I accept, the sounds of partying filter through the speaker. The thump of a bass. Girls screeching.

I don’t say anything. Maybe it was a butt dial and I can hang up and go back to the straight and narrow life I’m meant for.

“Sailor,” his masculine voice rumbles at me.

That one word shoots all my defenses down, making my cock instantly thicken in my pants. The sound scratches down my entire body, covering me in red marks that only I can see.

God . I want him. I hate that I want him.

“That’s not my name,” I retort back.

He laughs at that. It’s deep and low, something that probably vibrates his chest when he does it. “Okay. Want me to say your name? So everyone around me can hear who I’m talking to?”

I stay silent, but mentally take notice of how slurred his words come out.

“Thought so,” he sighs.

“What do you need, Eli?”

That sexy laugh slips out of him again. I imagine him running his hand through his dark hair, while he does it. A smile showcasing his teeth. That eyeliner he wears smudged under his eyes, making him look other-worldly. A god. “You know what? I dunno what I need. Something, right? I just called you. I’ve also had some drinks. So, ya know… inhibitions and such. I shouldn’t talk to you. You’re… a complicated bird.”

“A bird? How much have you had to drink? Do you—do you need me to come get you?”

“Shh. A bird. Like you’re in a cage. And you want to be free, right? All birds want to fly. You want to flap your gay bird wings.”

“I think it’s time you stop drinking and go home.”

There’s some shuffling on his end and then the background noise fades. “I—uhh—oh shit.” More shuffling. “I don’t know where I am. One of those old-ass houses. Oh my god they’re all old. Jesus Christ. This town is so old. How do you stand it?”

“I don’t know anything else.”

He groans loudly. “Ugh. Stop talking. You’re so sad.”

“Can you get home on your own?” I ask.

“Nah,” he drawls. “But the guy who lives here says he wants to try sucking my dick, but that I can’t tell anyone. So maybe I’ll stay. Why is everyone closeted here?”

I stand abruptly, my body buzzing with adrenaline. “No,” I blurt.

He hums into the phone. It’s deep and rich like his laugh. “You don’t want me to?”

“I-I… No.”

“Come get me, sailor.”

I scoff at him. “It’s late. I don’t even know where you are. You don’t even know where you are.”

“I know. I told you it’s old. Does that help?”

“No. Not really.”

“Oh! It’s that guy whose dad owns a bunch of hotels. And he won’t shut up about it.”

My eyebrows raise in surprise before slamming back down. “ He wants to suck your dick?” I know him. He’s right. All he talks about are those hotels. I think he’d rather get blown by them than a human.

He laughs quietly, I can practically hear the smirk stretched across his face. “No. I made that up. Now come get me.”

And then the line cuts out.

I’m not going.

I have no reason to. And I’m not anyone’s servant.

But after sitting with a scowl on my face for a few minutes, he wins. I have to go get him. And even though he said that he was lying, I can’t stop imagining someone else on their knees for him. Sucking him down their throat. Making him moan. I just… I don’t like it.

I throw on a baseball hat for some kind of anonymity and head out the door. The place is a few streets over from mine, so it doesn’t take long to get there.

This is what will happen: I’ll go there, find him, and make sure he gets into his bed. That’s it. Nothing else. I would just feel guilty if something happened to him.

When I walk in the door, I’m assaulted with the smell of smoke and sweat. Bodies writhe and grind together against the booming bass that echoes all the way through to my bones. I slink my way through the crowd, muttering “excuse me” to every sweaty person I maneuver around, straining my eyes to see through the smoke, looking for a familiar head of dark hair. One that shouldn’t be so familiar.

I spot him laid out on a settee in one of the many living rooms you find in these older homes. His powerful, tall body is much too big for it, making the majority of his legs hang off the edge.

Head pointed toward the ceiling, he smiles at nothing with his eyes closed and both of his arms stretched out next to him. He looks so peaceful. Something I don’t think I could ever achieve, even with whatever he’s on tonight. I’m forever tightly wound. No one and nothing can unwind me.

Looking around, I make sure no one is paying me any attention and walk over to poke him in the chest. His eyebrows furrow, but he says nothing, so I do it again.

“No thanks,” he slurs at me, still not opening his eyes.

I crouch down next to him, murmuring in his ear, “Eli. Come on. Get up.”

His eyes pop open at the sound of my voice, confusion settling over his features. “You came?”

“Yes,” I answer, staring back at him, taking note of how unfocused his eyes are.

“Hmm,” he murmurs in a surprised tone, before leaning back further to stretch.

His muscles strain against his skin while he twists to stretch different areas. My eyes snap to the skin right above his jeans when his shirt rises up, watching how his stomach hollows out, lifting his pants away from his body and showing the trail of dark hair leading down. I quickly look away, feeling my face heat up.

Jumping up, he starts walking toward the exit, stumbling over his feet and then knocking into a table, toppling a lamp to the floor.

“Oops. Should get that,” he mumbles, before clumsily bending down, trying and failing to right the lamp before it falls back over.

I walk over and grab him by the bicep, pulling us toward the front door and trying desperately not to feel how my body lights up at the innocent contact. He stumbles again, making him let go of my hand and grab onto the wall for support.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, I go to him again. Why does it always seem to be me going to him? What’s wrong with me? And what is it about me or him or us that makes me have to be here right now?

I don’t have the answers, but underneath the mess of thoughts in my mind, this feels inevitable. Like if I ran, I’d never get away. I’d be dragged back. Controlled by a twisted sort of fate that feeds on self-hatred and secrets.

I throw his arm around my neck, instantly feeling most of his weight crash onto me.

He brings his hand up and flicks at the hat on my head. “What’re you wearing a hat for? ‘Snot your usual get up.”

I keep trudging forward, lugging his weight with me through the cesspool of bad decisions around us. “I was trying to not be noticed.”

He breathes a laugh out of his nose, snorting in the process. “Oh, yeah. You’re invisible now,” he sarcastically whispers to me.

Shaking my head and letting a smile fall onto my face, I nudge him with the shoulder currently tucked into his armpit while we squeeze out the door and start walking to his dorm with me awkwardly attempting to carry the many pounds of muscle he has on me.

After a ten minute walk where he incoherently babbles about nonsense while I nod along, we finally make it back there.

My limbs are shaking and exhausted. I’ve always done lighter workouts that keep me somewhat defined but mostly depend on my metabolism, so this level of work is something my body is not used to.

Slightly panting, I tell him, “Okay. Get your key card out. I’ll make sure you get to your room.”

He nods. “Yes, sir,” he mumbles, haphazardly patting his pockets. It’s all uncoordinated and confused, and after watching him for three seconds, it’s pretty obvious that the only way we’re getting in is if I get it for him.

“I’ll just—” I start as I take a few steps closer to him, feeling his fresh air and weed scent muddling my brain. “I’m gonna look for it. I-In your pockets. Is that okay?”

He stares intently at me while nodding, pulling his full bottom lip between his teeth. “You can do whatever you want to me, sailor.”

I cast my eyes to the ground. “I’m just looking for your key card,” I mumble as my hand inches closer to his dark jeans. It doesn’t help that they’re practically painted onto him, showing me every ridge of muscle in his thighs. There’s no way I’ll be able to get out of this without feeling more of him than I should. More than I want to.

Swallowing the saliva in my mouth, I push my hand the rest of the way and let it crawl into his pocket, trying to think of anything besides what I’m doing. I can feel the heat of his skin right through the fabric. It’s like it’s not even there. I get this intense craving to dig my fingernails into him. To watch his face wince and then darken.

Thankfully, the card is in that first pocket, and when my hand connects with the cool plastic, I grab onto it and jerk my hand away like I’ve been burned.

Maybe I have.

“Aw.” He fixes his face into a dramatic pout. “Stay and play.” He grins lewdly at me.

“What’s up with you tonight? Why did you get so drunk or high or whatever is going on with you?”

He throws his head back, letting out a loud laugh that has me flinching and looking around to make sure no one hears him. “I’m not high, sailor. I’m in fucking outer space,” he yells in between laughs before he fans his arms out and begins spinning in a circle.

Even though everything he’s trying to portray is happy, all I feel is a profound sadness wafting off of him. The kind of sadness you can only know if you’ve experienced something similar. And I have. A darkness that harvests on the happiness your soul tries to produce. A parasite in all senses of the word.

I grab him again, quickly swiping the key card and pulling him in behind me. Somehow in all the movement, his hand slips down my arm and latches onto my hand. His touch is rough and calloused, so unlike the sensations I’ve felt from holding a hand before.

“What’s your room number?” I ask while hurrying through the lobby of the dorm, even though it’s pretty late and there’s no one around.

“206.”

I jog up the stairs with him stumbling behind me, our hands still connected so I can lug him along, no longer caring that he can’t really keep up in his state. This needs to be wrapped up. I shouldn’t have even come in the first place. A weird sense of dread and anticipation started brewing in my chest the moment we reached his building.

Making it to the door, I swipe the keycard again and push him toward his bed, depositing him on it. I grab a random glass I find in his kitchenette and fill it with tap water, setting it on his nightstand while he stares at nothing in front of him.

“Okay. You have everything you need. So, sleep on your side and I’m gonna go now.”

“It’s her birthday,” he murmurs quietly, still zoned out, his expression eerily blank.

“Huh?”

His eyes look up at mine, filled with that sadness. It’s pouring out of him now. Thick, dark, and sticky. I feel it. Deep within my bones. A calling to a similar soul.

“Her birthday,” he repeats softly, never looking away from me.

“Whose?”

His eyes abruptly slam closed, hard enough to crinkle the skin around them while his lips pull back in grimace. Shooting his hands out to me, he grabs onto my shirt and pulls me to him. His arms wrap around my middle and he squeezes hard, digging his fingernails into my skin through my shirt.

“Whose, Eli?”

He says nothing, just whimpers into the fabric of my shirt, and after a few moments, I feel his body completely slacken in sleep against me.

I untangle his arms from me and try my best to gently lay his body down, pulling the covers over him and turning to leave.

“Stay,” he faintly mutters.

A million reasons to reject his request run through my head. Each one valid and understandable. But the only thing that comes out of my mouth is, “Okay.”