Sam

by Luke F. Harris

  Holly sighed.

  “She answered the door—the same girl.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “And I ran away.”

  “I see,” Holly answered. “And have you told Neil yet?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “I haven’t found the right time,” he answered, defensively.

  “You do know that the longer you leave it, the harder it’s going to get, don’t you?”

  This time it was he who raised his eyebrows.

  “OK, OK, stupid question.”

  “Do you believe in God?” he asked.

  Holly paused, her cup halfway to her lips. Without taking a sip, she put the cup back on the table and took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Do you?”

  “I’m not sure,” he answered honestly. “I mean, I used to. At least I think I did. I never knew any different. But I don’t know what I believe in any more.”

  “And does it matter?” she asked, draining her cup and running a finger round the inside to scoop up the last of the froth.

  “It matters to my mum,” he replied. “She believes in God completely. It drives my dad crazy, but he’s grown to accept it—anything for an easy life, I guess. And it keeps her nice and submissive, so I guess it’s got its benefits.”

  He breathed in through his nose and shook his head.

  “I sort of envy her in a way, you know?”

  Holly looked slightly confused, so he tried to explain another way.

  “She has no doubts—or none that she will ever admit to. She knows what she believes, and so she’s happy. Even if it means taking a few knocks every now and then. And she doesn’t care what anybody thinks of

  her.”

  “And neither should you!” Holly fired back. “Who cares if you’re gay?”

  An American couple at the next table looked up from their guidebook to the South Island and cast him a wary glance.

  “You don’t get it. My mum doesn’t believe in being—” He lowered his voice before he continued. “She doesn’t believe in being gay. She’ll flip if she finds out. And if I tell Neil, she might very well find out. I can’t take the risk—not at the moment.”

  He stopped talking and stared vacantly into his own empty cup.

  Holly stood up and put on her coat. “Come up to uni with me. I’ve got some books to collect for my assignment that was due last week.” She sighed. “I wish I’d never started this stupid master’s.”

  chapter twelve

  The following Friday, Sam went straight from the office to his parents’ house, where he stayed for most of the evening. When the clock in the hall struck half past ten, he finally got to his feet. If Neil hadn’t gone out for the night already, he would be shortly. With any luck, he would be gone by the time he arrived home.

  “Are you off?” his mother asked. She folded down the corner of her book so that she didn’t lose her place.

  “Yeah, Mum. I think I’ll head back to the flat now,” he replied, stretching. He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for tea.”

  He didn’t like leaving his mother alone when his father was out drinking. It was impossible to predict the mood he would be in when he eventually came home.

  “Just be careful, Sam,” she said, following him out into the hall. “Go straight home and call me as soon as you get there.”

  He put his arms round her and gave her a bear hug. She smelled like Mum. He breathed in deeply, committing her scent to memory.

  He got off the bus at Kent Terrace and made his way home via the backstreets, bypassing the crowded bars on Courtenay Place and the risk of running into Neil or Tom.

  It had been drizzling off and on all afternoon, but the rain was getting stronger now. He squirmed as a large, cold droplet ran down his neck, between his shoulder blades. He pulled his collar up as far as it would go and quickened his pace. The first clap of thunder sounded just as he reached the front door to the flat.

  When he saw that all the lights were turned off, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  The recent damp weather had expanded the wooden doorframe, making it almost impossible to enter the flat quietly. He slid the key into the lock and shoved the door hard with his shoulder. It didn’t budge on the first attempt, but on the second it gave way and he almost fell headfirst into the hall.

  “Fucking door,” he cursed, yanking the key out of the lock and wiping the water from his brow with his forearm.

  He was just about to slam the door shut when he heard a voice call his name.

  “Sam!”

  He turned to see Tom step out of the shadow of a doorway across the street.

  “I’ve been out,” he blurted in reply.

  The corner of Tom’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. “I know.”

  He felt his stomach contract into a tight ball.

  “Come for a drink.” Tom stepped into the light of the nearest streetlamp. “Please. We need to talk.”

  He took a deep breath and tried to think of what to say, and do, next.

  “Won’t your girlfriend mind?” He hadn’t meant to sound so aggressive, and when Tom winced, he regretted what he had said.

  “She’s up the coast with her parents this weekend.”

  Instantly, he felt his hackles rise. Hearing Tom speak of her so freely cut like a knife. He hadn’t realised it was possible to seethe with jealousy.

  “Oh, I see,” he said. This time the tone of his voice was intentional, and he felt no remorse.

  “Please,” Tom repeated. “One drink and then I’ll leave.”

  Without saying a word, he stepped out onto the footpath and yanked the door shut behind him.

  Wherever Tom went, heads turned, and as they walked into the pub, a group of girls sitting at a table near the door looked up. He pretended not to notice and followed Tom into the crowd.

  There was a band playing on the stage at the far end of the bar, making it was almost impossible to hold a conversation.

  “Shall we go outside?” Tom shouted over the music. He passed him a handle of beer and motioned towards the small smoking area outside.

  The garden bar had a small awning, but given the atrocious weather, it was almost entirely deserted.

  They drank in silence for a while. Just when he was beginning to think they might never talk, Tom set his glass down and looked up.

  “I’m sorry about the other night,” Tom said. His Adam’s apple twitched as he swallowed.

  The fresh air and beer had gone a small way to calming Sam’s temper. “Don’t worry about it,” he replied, draining the last of his beer and getting to his feet. “Want another?”

  “Yeah, cheers.”

  Now that the ice had been broken, the conversation flowed more easily.

  “So are you back for good?” Tom asked as soon as he returned. “Cheers, by the way,” he added, raising his glass.

  “Cheers,” Sam replied and they chinked glasses. “I guess so.” He fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes.

  “Want one?” He offered the pack to Tom, who shook his head. He suddenly felt self-conscious and returned the packet to his pocket unopened. “I’ve been back a couple of months now but I’ve only been living in the city a couple of weeks.”

  “Are you living alone?”

  He shook his head. “No, with a guy from work. He’s nice enough.”

  Tom looked as if he wanted to ask something, but he kept his mouth closed.

  “Anyway, enough about me,” Sam said, prompting Tom to speak. “What’s new with you? Still living in the same flat, I see.”

  He didn’t mention that Holly had already filled him in on the details.

  “Yeah,” Tom replied, shifting in his seat. If Tom’s plan had been to kill the mood, he succeeded the instant he mentioned his girlfriend. “You know that Eve lives there now too.”

  He felt the muscles in his face harden. “I saw.”

  Tom must have heard the change in his voice. He looked up and their eyes met. “She’s nice, you know. You�
��d like her.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  If Tom thought he was going to sit here and listen to how great Eve was, he could whistle. He pushed back his chair and stood to leave but Tom reached across the table and gripped his forearm. “Don’t go.”

  He froze. All his senses converged on Tom’s hand.

  “Sorry.” Tom released his grip. “Please stay. Just a bit longer.”

  He sat down. His skin tingled where Tom’s hand had been. “Why are you here?” he asked.

  Tom contemplated the question before taking a deep breath and saying, “I don’t know.”

  The music stopped and the band left the stage.

  “Let’s go inside, eh? It’s emptied out a bit now.”

  Tom looked at his watch. “I should really be going,” he replied, but he made no move to leave.

  “Come back to mine if you want?” The words were out of Sam’s mouth before he realised what he was saying.

  Tom’s eyes widened. He looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

  “For a drink. That’s all.”

  When he opened the door to the flat, he was relieved to find the lights were still turned off. On the walk home from the bar, he had been worried that Neil might have come home early.

  “What do you want to drink? We haven’t got much except beer.”

  “A beer would be great, thanks,” Tom said, his eyes

  roaming round the room. He walked over to the window and looked out. “It’s a pretty awesome spot you’ve got here.”

  He handed Tom a can. “Thanks.”

  Tom cracked the tab and the gas that was trapped inside escaped with a hiss. He took a sip. “Don’t you keep your beers in the fridge?” he said, screwing up his face.

  Sam motioned to the chilly bin sitting on the kitchen bench. “Not yet, we don’t.”

  “Oh—right.” Tom glanced out of the window again. His cheeks were slightly flushed.

  There was a long, awkward silence before they both spoke at once.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “So does—”

  Tom turned and smiled.

  “You go first,” Sam said.

  “Does—what’s your flatmate called, again?”

  “Neil.”

  “Are you and Neil—” Tom began to ask, but Sam shook his head before he could finish the question. “Does Neil know?” Tom asked instead.

  He looked Tom in the eye as he took a swig from his can. “Know what?”

  Tom didn’t answer the question.

  The alcohol had been at work without his realising it, stripping away his inhibitions. Now, for the first time, he realised that the knot in his stomach was gone.

  He took a step closer to Tom.

  “Does—what’s your girlfriend’s name again?” he asked. Eve’s name would be seared in his memory for ever, but he wasn’t about to let Tom know that.

  Tom’s head jerked up. “Eve,” he replied. He sounded wary.

  “Does she know?”

  He saw Tom’s body stiffen. Anger flashed across his face. “Sam, I’m not—”

  With a boldness he never knew he possessed, he stepped forward and silenced Tom with a kiss.

  For a moment, neither of them moved. They stood completely still—two statues joined by the lips.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, breaking away at last.

  This time, it was Tom who took the lead. Tom grabbed his arm and pulled him towards him. Before he knew what was happening, they were kissing again.

  “I—”

  “Don’t speak, eh?” Tom whispered in his ear. He could barely hear him over the pounding of his heart. “Take me to your room,” Tom said.

  Tom’s body pushed against his as they kissed. An unmistakable hardness pressed into his stomach.

  His own boxer shorts were getting wetter by the second. If he didn’t slow things down, it would all be over within seconds. As if sensing his thoughts, Tom leaned back and smiled.

  A mischievous grin on his face, Tom ran a hand along the inside of Sam’s thigh and up the leg of his boxer shorts. Sam groaned and arched his back. Tom leaned down and kissed him again.

  With his hands, Sam traced the contours of Tom’s body. He really was all muscle. He ran his fingers along Tom’s spine and cupped a buttock.

  The next thing he knew, they were both naked, their chests almost touching. Tom thrust his hips against him, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, and he had to bite down on Tom’s shoulder to stop from crying out. Trickles of sweat ran down Tom’s nose and dropped into his eyes, but he blinked them away.

  As he came, his whole body convulsed, pulling Tom over the edge with him.

  Tom slumped forward and rested his forehead on his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of Tom’s breath, quick and shallow, against his neck.

  With one, sharp inhalation of breath, Tom rolled off of him.

  Tom lay on his side, put an arm round his middle, and pulled him close, so that his buttocks were nestled in the curve of Tom’s stomach.

  For a long while they lay in silence. “’Night,” he whispered at last. But Tom didn’t reply; he was already fast asleep.

  Tom was awake when he opened his eyes.

  “’Morning.” Tom rolled onto his side to face him. The curtains were open, and in the morning light, his eyes looked like bottomless pools.

  “’Morning,” he said. He knew he was grinning like an idiot but he couldn’t help himself. He reached out a hand and touched the side of Tom’s face, just to reassure himself that he wasn’t dreaming.

  He traced the line of Tom’s jaw. His skin was coarse, like sandpaper. When his fingers reached Tom’s mouth, Tom snapped his teeth playfully.

  “I should be going,” Tom said, resting his forehead against his.

  “Already?”

  Tom didn’t reply. He threw back the covers, and the sudden inrush of cold air made them both shiver.

  “Cold, eh,” Tom said, jumping out of bed and making a grab for his clothes. His naked body was even more magnificent in the daylight. When Tom turned round, he caught a glimpse of Tom’s cock in all its glory.

  “When will I see you again?” he asked, trying not to stare.

  Tom walked over to the bed and stood beside it. The window was open and the curtains inflated like sails behind him. But just as Tom opened his mouth to speak, the bedroom door opened.

  “Bro, can I borrow—” Neil froze in the doorway, his mouth wide open. His eyes went first to Tom, then to the bed. When Neil’s eyes registered the extra depression in the mattress, they grew large as saucers.

  “Fuck,” Sam cursed. He flew out of the bed towards Neil. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

  Neil mumbled an apology as he was ejected from the room.

  He shut the door in Neil’s face.

  “Don’t go” was the first, and only, thing he could think to say. He took a step towards Tom, but Tom recoiled. “I’ll talk to him,” he said. “Please don’t leave.”

  The panic in his voice was palpable. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, but he was determined not to cry. He took a deep breath. “Can I see you later?”

  Tom opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again without saying a word.

  They stood in silence for a moment. Outside, in the street, there was a shriek of laughter. The sound cut like a knife.

  “I can’t do this,” Tom said at last, avoiding his eye. He took a step towards the door. “I’ve got to go.”

  He couldn’t—wouldn’t—watch Tom leave. He walked over to the window and looked out. Overhead, a seagull squawked. He watched, blurry eyed, as the gull swooped down and plucked something out of the gutter.

  The whole flat shook as the front door slammed. A solitary tear broke free, as if dislodged by the impact, and ran down his cheek.

  “He hasn’t left his room in days. What should I do?”

  He turned his ear towards the crack in the door. Neil was standing at the end of the ha
ll with his back to him. He was holding the telephone in one hand and was playing nervously with the cord with the other.

  As soon as Neil hung up the phone, he shot back into bed and pulled the covers over his head.

  He really needed to pee. If Neil didn’t go out soon, he would have to make a dash for the bathroom and hope he didn’t notice.

  Why can’t they just leave me alone? he thought.

  Talking about things wasn’t always best. There were times when bottling them up and pretending they had never happened was a far better solution.

  It was midday when Holly arrived. She banged several times on his bedroom door. “I know you can hear me, Sam!” she shouted. And then, when he still hadn’t responded, “I’m coming in.”

  Holly walked over to the window and threw open the curtains. The brightness of the sunlight threw his surroundings into stark relief. His room was an absolute mess.

  “You’ve got to snap out of this,” she said.

  He felt the mattress dip as she sat on the edge of the bed. She gave his shoulder a shake, but he groaned and shrugged it off.

  “You know, when my dad left, my mum didn’t get out of bed for a week. At the end of that week her bedroom didn’t smell too good. To tell you the truth, it smells worse in here.”

  “Go away,” he murmured from beneath the covers.

  “There are plenty more fish in the sea, Sam,” she continued, undeterred. “OK, maybe not in Wellington admittedly, but there’s always Sydney. I hear the scene is pretty epic over there. One of the girls at Vic went there last year and she said Oxford Street was amazing.”

  He was fighting a losing battle. He rolled onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows. “What do you want, Holly?”

  “To check you’re OK, of course,” she replied, ruffling his already messed up hair.

  He forced out a smile. “I’m fine. Really. I just want to be on my own right now.”

  Holly stood and walked out of the room. Perhaps she had actually listened? There was a first for everything. But, to his horror, she returned several minutes later, a browbeaten Neil in tow.

  Neil stood just inside the doorway and scuffed at the carpet until Holly ordered him into the room.

  “Go on,” she glared and then nodded in his direction.