by T. J. Klune
I’m dialing even before she stops speaking. “Hey,” Otter says as he picks up the phone. “How was your first class?”
“Some guy hit on me and pressed me up against a wall, and I needed to hear your voice,” I say.
Silence. Then, “You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Did he hurt you?” He’s angry.
“No. No, it wasn’t like that. Why’d you have to tell me people check me out? Now people think I’m irresistible!”
He laughs, but it doesn’t sound like he finds it funny. “I told you. You didn’t believe me.”
“Anna saved me from Isaiah,” I grumble.
“Oh. Is that his name?”
“Yeah.” I chew on my bottom lip.
“Did you want to be saved?” He sounds hesitant.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“That’s not answering the question.”
“I can handle myself. It’s starting to piss me off that all of you think I need your help. I don’t. I can do things on my own.”
“That’s always pissed you off. And you’re still not answering the question, Bear.”
“Fuck you, Otter.” I hang up on him.
And I call him right back. “You know that shit doesn’t fly with me,” he growls as he answers.
“I know,” I say quietly. “Are you going to break up with me?” Christ, I hate how I sound, but I can’t stop it.
He laughs again, and it sounds a bit better. “No. Honey, why would you ever think that?”
He’s never called me that before. We’re not one for endearments, he and I, and my eyes begin to burn. “I don’t know,” I manage to choke out.
He hears it. He hears everything. “How long till you need to get to class?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Good. I’m going to tell you something, okay? And I want you to listen. No talking, no interrupting, just listen. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“One day, a long time ago, I was sixteen years old. It was a normal stupid day. I was sitting on the couch, playing video games, when I heard the doorbell ring. I knew that my brother’s friend was coming over, so I yelled for him, but he didn’t hear me. The doorbell rang again, and I got up and answered it. There was this scrawny little guy waiting on the other side, and he looked like he was terrified, and I didn’t know why. I told him my name and he squeaked a bit, and then Creed came crashing down the stairs, and the little guy was gone with him. It wasn’t till later that night that I saw him again, at the dinner table, and that was when he named me. He didn’t say it to my face, and it actually came from Creed, but he named me nonetheless. I was Otter from then on.”
I know this, I know all of this. But why does it feel so different hearing it from him? Why don’t I want him to stop?
“I watched you grow up,” he says, his voice soft. “I watched everything you knew come crashing down around you. I was a cause of part of that, only because I knew I loved you, even then. I was gone, but you were not forgotten. I came back and found you to be stronger than anyone had any right to be. A bit cold, maybe, but strong. I didn’t think that you could feel for me like I did for you, even if part of me knew you did. It was not something I thought on often, because it made my head hurt, that knowing. And then I would see you with Anna. I hated her, at least partly, for having what I wanted. What I thought was mine. And you hated me for coming back, and don’t try to say you didn’t. I know you, Bear. I know what you think, what’s in your heart.”
He speaks truth. I did hate him, and for however brief it might have been, it had still been there, glassy and sharp, all-consuming. He was my mother, his actions the same, but so much more. I never expected much from her. I had expected everything from him.
“But something happened. I don’t know when. I don’t know if it was that first kiss before I left, or the first time you lay against my chest that…. Something shifted in you, and it brought you to me. I wanted it, I wished and prayed for it, but I never meant for it to happen. I didn’t want to cause more pain than I had already done. I didn’t want to hurt anyone else. But I couldn’t say no to you. I can’t say no to you. I’ve never been able to. That’s why I ran. It’s why I came back. You might not believe all of this, just like you might not believe yourself, but I came back for you. Even though I told myself that wasn’t the case, I knew it. I came back for you, and I promised myself I was never going to let you go again.”
He sighs. “All I want is to grow old with you and know that one day, it’ll just be you and me, and we’ll be able to look back and be proud of what we’ve done with our lives. I want to know that you belong to me and I belong to you. I love you with everything I have, and I can promise you that I’ll never stop. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.
“It won’t be perfect, Bear; nothing ever really is. There will be days when we’re angry with each other, and days where it seems like the world is a fucking messed-up place, but it won’t matter. Because I’ll have you and the Kid, and you’ll both have me. So whatever this is….” He pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath before he plows through the rest. I wish he wouldn’t, because I know what’s coming. “If you feel you need to sleep with someone else, then tell me. I can be there with you when it happens or you can do it on your own. I would wait for you. To… get this out of your system or whatever. And if it does, then we can move on. If it doesn’t… well, if it doesn’t we can deal with it then. But I won’t hold you back, Bear. Not ever.”
“Shut up,” I say hoarsely. “You just stop it.”
“Bear,” he warns. “You can’t just—”
“No, you listen to me! You can’t tell me you want me and then say you’d allow me to fuck around, Otter! It’s not fair. I don’t want to, and it’s bullshit for you to say so! You can’t mean that.”
“If it’s what you need to do to stay with me,” he snarls, “then yes, I mean every fucking word! You’ve been with two people your entire life, Bear. You won’t know unless you see it for yourself.”
“Is that it? That’s your only reason? You sure it’s not because you want to fuck around? Offering a three-way so you can get in on it? Telling me to go fuck someone else so you can do the same?”
He sounds shocked and angry. “Hell no. How could you even think that?”
“Then don’t give me that bullshit!” I shout at him, not caring who’s listening to me. I’m terrified now, more than I’ve been in a while. He couldn’t have meant all that he just said. He couldn’t have, because the idea of anyone other than me touching him drives me up the fucking wall. I want to break things. “It’s like you want me to walk all over you. Tell me what you really want!”
“What I really want?” he says harshly. “You want to know what I really want? I don’t want anyone to put their fucking hands on you ever again. I want to get in my car right now and come to the school and find the fucking guy who thinks he can touch you, that he can even breathe the same air as what’s mine. I want to hurt him, snap his fingers, kick him in the face until he bleeds. I want you to know that you only belong to me and no one else. I don’t want you to fuck around. I don’t want to be there if you do because I’ll end up killing the person that touches your cock. It’s mine, you’re mine. This has made me sick thinking about this, knowing what I would need to do in order to keep you, that I would have to let you go out on your own before you’d be completely happy with me and—”
“That’s what you think of me?” I snap at him. “You think it’s only a matter of time before I fucking cheat on you? Jesus, Otter, you’re making me sound like an asshole, and I haven’t even done anything!”
“But you’ll want to!” he shouts at me. “How the fuck can you know what you want? You’re just a kid!”
“Just a kid? Fuck you, Otter. Where the hell is this coming from? You just told me you loved me and that you didn’t want anyone else to touch me, but now I’m stupid? I’m just a kid? Fuck you! I’ve been through more shit than you’ve ever been. You thin
k it was hard for you in San Diego? Oh poor you, being rich and having a fucking boyfriend and living life how you wanted to. Poor fucking Otter couldn’t stop thinking about some kid back home that he left behind, that he felt guilty over. Don’t call me a kid, Otter, when I’ve seen more than a person should ever have to see, done more than a person should ever have to do. I’ve given up everything for my life to be the way it is. To protect myself. To protect the Kid. You’ve given up nothing.”
He starts to backtrack. I can hear it in his voice. “Bear, I—”
“Is that really all you think of me? I thought we’d done more, that we’d been through more, meant more to each other than this. I know you think I’m young, and I know you think I haven’t seen what else is out there. Maybe one day I’ll want to. I don’t know. But I don’t want to now. Now, all I want is you. I was scared today, and what did I do? I called you. That’s how it’s always been. Whenever everything got to be too much, whenever I feel like everything is crashing down on me, I turn to you. You’re the one who keeps me safe, keeps me sane. At least I thought you did. Now? Now I find out you don’t trust me? That you want me to go fuck around to get it out of my system? Who the hell do you think you are?”
I can’t believe the words that are pouring out of my mouth, the way I’m trying to cut him, trying to make him burn. My heart is thundering in my chest, sweat is dripping down my face, but I can’t stop. I feel like I’m suffocating, like I’m drowning, but I need him to hear me, to stop this terror in my head and heart.
“I don’t think—” he tries again, sounding upset.
“That’s your problem, isn’t it? You don’t think. You just do. You see something you want, and you go for it. David. Jonah. Me. And you’ve got me, Otter. You’ve got me more than you could know and yet you’re pushing me away! Don’t you get that I love you? That I need you? You tell me the same, but right now, I don’t know what to think. What to believe. I’ve given you everything. Can’t you see that? Yes, I’ve thought about it. Yes, I don’t know what it would mean for it to be you and me for the rest of our lives, but goddammit, I want to try, Otter. I want to prove to myself that we can make it. I don’t need anyone else. I know that. I know that. I need you. That’s all I’ve ever needed. Don’t make that harder than it already is.” Only now can I stop and suck in air like I suddenly learned to breathe. I feel feverish and shaky, my hand like a vise grip around my phone. I’m surprised it hasn’t shattered. I feel guilt like hot oil sloshing around in my stomach, almost forcing me to gag and clutch my arms around me.
Jesus. This can’t be it. It can’t end over something so fucking ridiculous.
Ah, but maybe that’s the problem, it replies. Maybe the problem is that you think it’s so ridiculous. You think you’re freaked out? You think you’re scared? How must this be for him? Yes, there’s been a David. A Jonah. Maybe there’s been a Judas and a Pontius Pilate as well; you might never know. But again, once again, you’ve somehow made this about you and only you. That self-righteous anger is so easy to fall back on, isn’t it? What was it you said one time? It’s one of my favorite Bear-isms: it’s so much easier to hate them when they leave. Is that what you want? Because that’s what will happen. Back off. Back away.
But he—
Back off, Bear. You’ve cornered him and nothing will be solved now. Back. Off.
“I love you, Bear,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “But I don’t know if that’ll be enough for you.”
My breath hitches in my chest. “Otter—”
“I gotta go. I’ll see you at home later.”
And then he’s gone.
ISAIAH is waiting for me when our writing class lets out a couple of hours later. I’m done for the day, but for the life of me, I don’t remember a single thing I’m supposed to have learned. I wanted to go home, but somehow was able to figure it was probably best that I didn’t miss class on the first day. Bad impressions, and all that.
But Isaiah is standing there, waiting for me to drag my feet toward the door, my mind a million miles away, wondering just how in the fuck I messed up so bad, trying to think of ways to get Otter to talk to me. I texted him three times during the past ninety minutes, but haven’t gotten a response. He always responds. Which means either his phone is off or he’s ignoring me. Either way, it fucking sucks.
You know what I hate? Having epiphanies after the fact. You know what I’m talking about. When you’ve fought and cut and screamed and bit and walked away to lick your wounds, only to come to a realization that you should’ve come to before all the stupidity that you seem to bask in. I hate hindsight because it’s brutal and glaring, and that feeling of “what I should have done” is so obvious that it feels like acid on my skin.
My epiphany? I don’t need to fuck around with anyone else. Everyone looks. That doesn’t mean everyone has to touch. I don’t need anyone else. The thought of anyone other than Otter makes me sick to my stomach. So fucking what if Isaiah can get a rise out of me? It’s human nature. He’s hot. He affects my dick. He doesn’t affect my heart. Even if I were to give him half a chance, there’s no way he could ever be to me what Otter is. There’s no way he could ever be the man that I’ve loved since I was a kid. I can say that now, however hard it is for me to do so. I can say it now because it’s true. I don’t need anyone like I need Otter. Without him, I’d be lost.
“You okay?” Isaiah asks. “You looked like shit when you walked into class.”
“I’m fine,” I say. And I think I might mean it. “Didn’t have the greatest phone call before I came in, but I’m going to fix it.”
“With Seal?”
I roll my eyes. “Otter, but you knew that already.”
He grins as he follows me as I start to make my way to the parking lot. I’ve got to get home to check on Ty before I have to go to work. I’m tempted to call in sick and drive directly to the studio and make sure Otter never forgets who I am and what he means to me, but I know he needs his space for the moment, to think things through. He’ll be home tonight. I’ll make him listen.
“Yeah, well, it’s ridiculous no matter how it sounds,” Isaiah says. “But, seriously, you okay?”
“Yeah. We fought about stupid—wait, why do you even care?”
He grins at me, and those dimples flash, but they’re muted now in my eyes. He waggles his eyebrows and says, “Thought maybe I could catch you on the rebound. Can’t blame me for trying.”
I can’t stop the bark of laughter that escapes. “No, I guess I can’t. Look, I’m sorry Anna was rude. She’s not normally like that.”
He waves his hand in easy dismissal. “She was just watching out for you, I get that. I can come on a little strong.” He shrugs. “It probably wouldn’t have worked out between us, anyways.”
“How you figure?” I ask, honestly curious.
“I’m not named Beaver or Llama or something totally cool like you two are,” he says as he rolls his eyes. “People named Bear and Otter deserve to be together.”
“Yeah?” I say as I glance at him.
“Oh, Jesus, do you give him those eyes too?” he groans, looking like he’s totally serious. “Christ, but he must jump your bones.”
“Shut up.”
He grabs me by the arm and stops me. “Look, Bear, I don’t have time for bullshit. I never have, and I never will. If you’ve been through what I’ve been through, then you’d know that’s true. If I tell you something, I mean it.”
“Uh, thanks. I guess.” I almost want to ask what he’s been through, but I don’t know why I should care. It’s confusing.
Isaiah pulls a pen out of his pocket and grabs my hand, holding it palm up. He starts to write, bent over in concentration, and I can feel his breath on my palm, the subtle stroke of the pen, and I miss Otter even more. When he raises his head, his face is mere inches from my own “That’s my number, okay? You call me if you just want to talk, or whatever. I promise I can keep my hands to myself. Sometimes, it’s better to talk to a stranger
than those that are closest to you. I know shit can get rough sometimes, so just let me know if you need to vent.”
I nod, and am about to turn away when he says my name, and I look up, and suddenly his mouth is on mine, a short hard kiss that catches me off guard, and before I can do anything, it’s done and over with. “And,” he says with a glint in his eyes, “if it’s ever over between you and Walrus, you can call me for all kinds of reasons. I’m curious to see if this Bear has claws. See ya on Wednesday.”
“Wednesday?” I choke out as he walks away.
“Class, Bear. We’ve got class,” he says over his shoulder.
Fuck me.
It’s not until eight that night, when I get home from work, that I get a terse response to another of my texts to Otter.
Be home late. Don’t wait up.
Ow.
The Kid noticed something was up but allowed me to dismiss his question after Mrs. Paquinn had left, telling him that Otter would be home when he could. He asked quietly if Otter would be there in the morning before he went to his first day of fifth grade. I told him of course he would be. Otter wouldn’t miss it. He was just as excited for the Kid as I was.
The Kid almost looked like he believed me.
After he went to bed, I waited and prowled the house, looking through the windows every few minutes or so, sure that the headlights rolling by would be Otter, that he’d be coming home and that he’d open the door, and his eyes would find mine, and I’d say I was sorry, and he’d say the same, that grin on his face lighting up the gold-green, and I’d make him believe that there was no one else, that there never could be anyone else. That it would be okay because it was just me and him, Bear and Otter, the way it was always supposed to be.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
