Of Stars & Lies

by R. M. Grace

Nimble fingers work the buttons on his chequered hoody, then he lets the material drop to the carpet.

  “It's crazy, I know,” he admits with a grin creeping across his face. “I couldn't get back to sleep, so I dressed and walked.”

  “And your feet led you here?”

  “It seems so.”

  Loveren drops his head onto the pillow and listens to Cade fiddling with his belt buckle. A second later, his jeans fall around his ankles in a heap.

  He suffers a nightmare at least once a week—the same nightmare where his wayward father breaks into his apartment with a demented grin and a sharp knife. Nothing terrifies Cade as much as the murderer he would rave about on those car journeys as though the guy was special.

  Loveren's eyes flicker as he takes in the surprising view of the sensual light dancing over Cade's toned stomach like the shallow water on a beautiful shore. His lips curl into a faint smile before his lids drift closed and open again to see Cade reappear. A smile lightly traces his face as he wishes he could stay awake to enjoy this occurrence, but his eyelashes flutter back against his skin.

  The bed depresses, causing Love's body to relax back into sleep before Cade can pull the cover over himself. Within minutes, he is snoring and oblivious to the warm embrace that slips against his chest.

  Three

  The strong aroma of coffee pulls him from the muddy depths of sleep. He hates sleeping too long because his dreams become vivid and swampy. It's worse when someone wakes him when he's deep within his unconscious because the dreams will then cling to him like sickness for the remainder of the day.

  He was having the same dream where he was following the figure along the endless beach where the ground reflected the sky. As he grips at his temples, his head swims with the orange and purple hues that shone from between the clouds as the two suns hit his eyes. The salt crystals created perfect symmetry so there appeared to be no horizon. The sight was magical, but a morose sense now floats about his head as he remembers it.

  A soft hum drifts to him from behind the door, forcing him to glance in that direction. With a dull ache spreading through his bones, he lifts himself with a struggle and slides out the bed. As he stretches, his limbs crack and creak as though he has been locked within sleep for days instead of hours.

  The cool air attacks every inch of his naked body with the loss of warmth the blanket supplied. His audible yawn causes moisture to form in the corners of his eyes, and his skin pinches from the unwanted exposure. If he could crawl back inside the comfort, he would stay there all day.

  How I love winter!

  Loveren leans over to pull the packet from the side table, then pops Monday's round, white pill from the foil. He sets it on his tongue, then throws the packet onto the pine surface in disgust and swallows with only saliva.

  The time has come to go back to the doctors, so he hopes they can prescribe different medication at his next appointment. The forty grams of Citropram is not helping as much as the pills before, but the side effects are almost the same in one area of his life. They don't keep him completely numb like the zombie he was on the old medication, but what remains is exactly what he cannot cope with.

  His fingers dance upon the waistband of his joggers before he takes a peek inside. A deep sigh crosses his lips as he snaps the elastic back against his pelvis.

  He notices one extreme difference between these pills and the ones before, which is the only reason he is still on this Earth. With the other pills, the only desire he had was to enjoy the simple pleasure of having an orgasm. With him not being able to feel anything else, the compulsion was intensified to the point where that was all he was living for. He could have spent all day with his hand wrapped around his cock and get nowhere near finding sweet release. While taking these pills, on the other hand, he doesn't even feel the urge to try.

  And when I do, it doesn't work.

  Pushing harsh air through his lips, he nudges his limp member to make a point of how let down he is. He runs his fingers upward over the grooves of his abdomen and through the sparse dark hair. With his nipples reacting to the chill and not his touch, he plucks the grey t-shirt from the chair and slips it on.

  The humming becomes louder as he opens the bedroom door and steps into the kitchen where he finds Cade rattling around at the sink with his back to him. Loveren traces his eyes over his shoulders and the tight jeans that hug his firm ass.

  “I made you a coffee—it's on the table.”

  Loveren gives the table a quick glance and, sure enough, his wrestling mug is full and steaming.

  “Cheers. What's the time?”

  “Quarter to seven. I've got plenty of time if you want a fry up.”

  “I can't stomach that crap until at least eight.” Loveren pats his stomach without emotion and heads toward the table.

  The coffee is hot when he brings it to his lips. He takes a sip, letting the heat burn his tongue without care, then drops the 'Dirty Deeds' mug back to the coaster.

  Loveren heads through the modest furnishings in the adjacent room to inspect the damage to the front door. As it happens, there doesn't appear to be any. He pulls the door open and examines the wood, but again, he finds no sign Cade broke in like he claims. With his apartment being on the third floor, there's no way he climbed through a window.

  I must have misheard him.

  As he closes the door, he senses movement from behind and knows Cade has joined him.

  "I thought you said you broke in?”

  “I said that, yeah.”

  “But you didn't?”

  The corner of Cade's mouth twitches, but when he answers, his words are brimming with nerves. “I'm sorry, I took your keys on the bus.”

  “You mean you picked my pocket?” Despite the crime, Loveren cannot help thinking his stealth is impressive.

  “It's just . . . I knew I would have that dream again and I hate being alone there.”

  “Alec stays with you, doesn't he?”

  Alec is the guy he has been seeing for the past year, and the reason Loveren couldn't act on his feeling even if the pills weren't a factor.

  Not that being with him stops Cade coming round here at night though.

  However, he is usually far more tactful, like when he falls to sleep on the sofa, or stays too late to make the trek back to his place.

  “He's gone away for the week, and when he comes back, he'll be working nights again.”

  “Is everything okay between you two?”

  “Yeah, but I feel safer here.” Cade shuffles his feet and grimaces.

  “What's the matter?”

  “Nothing. I scratched my feet on the walk here.”

  Loveren bends to get a closer look at the swollen soles where dark purple bruising gathers. When he lifts one foot, he comes face-to-face with the bloodied cuts and ripped skin.

  “Did you walk bare foot?”

  “Yeah, I guess I did.”

  Loveren shakes his head in a stern manner and tells him to sit on the side table so he can tend to the wounds.

  “I cleaned it when I woke, but I must have reopened them,” he mutters as he props himself where Loveren tells him.

  And likely all over my sheets.

  Loveren disappears into the living room and, when he returns, he extends his hand. “Here, take the spare key so I don't have to hear your lame excuses next time.”

  When Cade laughs, his face lightens from the worry wearing it before. Yet, Loveren doesn't miss the guilt lingering in his eyes for lying.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, as long as you promise me one thing, okay?”

  “What's that?”

  “No more lies, or walking out there without shoes. God knows what you could have picked up on the street, especially at night down those alleys. In fact, you shouldn't be walking alone at that time either.”

  Junkies stuff needles and baggies in the bushes around the alley ways and often in plain sight. And dodging the broken glass behind the flats is like playi
ng a far more dangerous version of 0oh-Aah. Condoms and tampons are also common items he finds within the food wrappers and faeces.

  And here's this idiot walking through it without a care in the world.

  “I'm not a girl. I can handle myself, you know?”

  “Sure you can, that's why you're scared of a nightmare.”

  Cade's narrow eyes search the sarcastic expression staring at him before he grunts.

  “Fine. I promise.” He swallows with difficulty as he leans back to slip the key in his pocket.

  Yet, Loveren knows more than most that promising not to lie is far more difficult than people will have you believe.

  Four

  The television is on, but he isn't listening to the voices, let alone watching the programme. He recorded Smackdown from Friday night, which they haven't had time to watch before now. He wouldn't bother at all if it wasn't for Cade's obsession with it. Sure, he enjoys watching the sweaty men grappling with one another in suggestive positions, but it has lost its charm. He won't admit that to his mate though because if he doesn't keep up-to-date with it, he won't be able to discuss it. Yet, he doesn't have a clue what is going on right now as he blatantly stares at the screen.

  I guess my meds are a good cover to disguise my boredom.

  The sudden rattle of metal in the lock shifts his attention towards the front door, breaking apart his trance. Before he can shift his ass off the sofa, the door swings open to reveal a far more appealing sight than a dusty screen.

  Cade's eyes fall to the patch of vinyl flooring by the door and his cheeks redden. “Sorry, I didn't know if you'd finished work yet. I didn't see you on the bus.”

  Yeah, he will show restraint and not board twenty-one. He made a promise to wean himself off the ridiculous habit this morning. If Cade wanted him, then he would have made a move long before now.

  The truth is, he went to the doctors in the hope someone cancelled, or the receptionist could sneak him in with Dr Mills. He had to go because they don't tell him about cancellations when he rings, meaning the next available appointment is always in a week's time—far too long to wait.

  The receptionist dashed his hopes when she informed him Dr Mills wasn't in until the following day. Other doctors were available, but after years of building trust with the guy, the last thing Loveren wants is to discuss his medication with a stranger.

  “I got the nineteen.”

  When Cade doesn't receive a scolding for using the key, he closes the door and flings his jacket on the hook.

  “How come?”

  He handsome brunette disappears into the kitchen and rummages through the cupboards. Loveren can hear bottles tinging within the fridge, then the door closes. When he returns, he has a beer can in one hand and an unbranded pack of Dorito-style crisps in the other. With a lazy smile, he slouches on the sofa—close enough for their knees to rub together.

  “I can't watch half naked guys rolling around without something to keep my hands busy,” he smirks.

  With a nudge, Cade knocks his shoulder and offers him a snack, which Lovern waves his hand at. The strong cheese scent wafts up from the foiled inside, making Loveren scowl. In his opinion, there's nothing worse than cheese flavoured crisps. The only reason he stocks the foul tasting junk is because Cade loves them.

  I'd rather eat a fifty gram pack of almonds and watch my face swell like I've just gone ten rounds with the Klitschko brothers.

  “You need something to hide your modesty more like. And you pick something with cheese, how appropriate.”

  Cade nudges his bicep with force, but giggles despite the vulgar taunt.

  After a moment, Loveren feels the pressure of Cade's beautiful eyes burrowing into the side of his face.

  “Why do you keep stocking the fridge with beer? It's not like you can drink them with your meds.”

  “I can't, but you drink them.”

  Content with the explanation, Cade smiles to himself. He digs into the bag to pull out a handful of triangle crisps and tries to shovel them all into his mouth in one go.

  Loveren turns back to the television to keep from staring at Cade as he stuffs his mouth to its limits in the least seductive way possible, but it is difficult. Orange particles spill over the tight grey t-shirt hugging his firm chest which Loveren admires with a side-ways glance.

  “Why aren't you writing?”

  “Hmm?”

  He slips his head back enough to see a cheese coated finger point toward the desk that's cluttered with research folders and books. Stories he has written but not yet typed are a jumbled mess hanging out the draw and thrown about. Future projects he planned years in advance are also there from when writing was the be all and end all. Or at least when it seemed that way because his mind would swamp with ideas and characters into the morning hours when he searched for sleep that wouldn't come.

  He cannot recall the last time he sat in the swivel chair to go over any work instead of spinning without purpose. He wants to blame his work at the bookstore, but that is not the problem. The pills may attribute to his lack of enthusiasm; he hasn't had the urge since starting the new batch. Even if he could get in the mood, he doubts he could put the passion into it like he used to.

  “Why don't you write any more? You used to love sitting there, talking a mile a minute when you had a new idea.”

  Love lifts his legs and props them on the coffee table, then scratches at the light stubble along his jaw. He sighs and glances at the TV where he sees The Authority winding up the audience.

  “Why do you keep coming around when you've got a boyfriend to bother?”

  He expects to hear a chuckle for the light teasing. Instead, his mate huffs and goes back to chewing his snacks in silence.

  Before the recording finishes, Cade drops the crisps on the table and rinses his mouth with a swig of beer.

  "Come on, go get your shoes on,” he announces before he clambers to his feet.

  “Why? It's too late to be messing around.”

  Cade presses a button on the remote to bring the time up on the television. “It's not even seven.”

  “But it's already dark,” Love argues as he gestures toward the window.

  “We better hurry then before it gets light,” he jokes with a wink.

  Wherever Cade is planning on taking him, he doesn't want to go. In fact, he'd rather slouch on the couch for the entire night and wonder where his ambition has gone.

  In the gutter with my glistening career.

  Cade is by the door mat slipping his trainers back on while he props himself against the wall. Love wishes he had his energy and the will power to get up and do something spontaneous. Those days disappeared when he swallowed that first pill.

  Perhaps it disappeared before then.

  “Tell me where we're going first.”

  “It's a surprise.”

  “You know I hate surprises,” he reminds him. Yet, the innocence that greets him has him moving, despite his protests.

  “Birthdays and Christmas must be your worst nightmare then. Don't you trust me?”

  “If any of your previous schemes are anything to go by, then no.”

  “That hurts,” he mocks. “Look, if you come with me, then I'll tell you a secret.”

  “What secret?” He hates himself for having his interest peeked.

  What secret could he have after all these years?

  “Jeez, Love. It's a secret, and I'm not telling you unless you come.”

  “I hate keeping secrets worse than surprises,” he grumbles.

  “I said nothing about keeping one, did I?”

  Before Love can reply, Cade bounds out the door. A moment later, he pops his head back around the door and grins.

  “Hurry up. If you make me freeze out there waiting then you'll never know my secret. And, trust me, it's a doozy.”

  'My secret'?

  He didn't phrase it in those words before, and if he hadn't just now, Love would have dropped back on the sofa and stewed over his l
ife. But with his imagination running in overdrive, he brushes his clothes and slips his shoes on. The television remains on—he can hear the audience still booing behind him—as he grabs his jacket and keys.

  Closing the door behind him, he heads down the hallway in anticipation. For the first time in months, something close to excitement rushes through his veins.

  Five

  “Close your eyes.”

  “Cade, I already know where we are.”

  “Just do it, will you? Humour me.”

  Love sighs and does as he is bid.

  Behind the sparse and shedding trees, the pathway leads into the park. With them both growing up in this area, they know the place well; they spent their childhood playing here.

  “I want you to see the place with fresh eyes, like a child on an adventure.”

  “It's a park, Cade. Besides, it's not like I can feel much.”

  “You are so cynical and old.”

  “We're the same age,” Love reminds him.

  “You think age is just a number?”

  “No, but I can't be a big kid like you.”

  “Why not?” Cade's body brushes against his as he wraps his hands across his eyes, causing Love's long eyelashes to flicker against the shield like a butterfly inside a glass bottle.

  “I said close your eyes.” The whisper slips inside his ear in one warm and calming wave. The act is a beautiful contrast to the chill in the air.

  “I guess I haven't been here since.”

  “Since what?”

  Love takes a hollow breath in, then exhales as though the weight of the universe slumps on his shoulders. He swallows the thick build up of saliva and ignores the question.

  Not since my world fell apart.

  “So what's the secret?”

  “Nice try. You've got to get in the park first.”

  Cade pushes his knees into the back of his to force him to walk while he keeps his eyes covered. They stumble together from side to side down the pathway and over the grass.

  When Love's foot drops into a shallow dip, he tries to raise his arms to keep his balance, but Cade nudges them down with his elbows. “I've got you. Trust me.”