The Bones of You

by Laura Stone

  “Look, I changed everything for you, Seth.” Oliver felt out of control, as if his future plans were roaring past, and he couldn’t hold on to any of them unless he faced all of this mess that had been building up ever since the rejection letters had started to come.

  “You know that when I came out and started dating you my dad cut me out. No more music lessons, no more family vacations, God, he wouldn’t even look at me. My GPA was screwed, remember? Yeah, he came around after you left—”

  Seth snorted. They both knew it was because Mr. Andrews didn’t like how “effeminate” he found Seth to be. Nor did he approve of Seth’s working-class background, or rather, Seth’s rough-looking biker dad.

  “I’ve had to add to my extracurricular activities so the colleges I wanted to go to would even bother looking at me. And NYU just doesn’t have the curriculum in music theory and social justice that I need. It’s not my dream school, Seth. This is how it has to be.”

  “Please.” No venom. No anger. Seth was asking Oliver in his beautiful voice, so soft and so filled with need. Oliver wanted to tear his hair out, wanted to kick the furniture over, wanted to find a way to physically change geography, bend it to his will.

  “I—I can’t, Seth. I’m sorry, but I can’t go to a school that doesn’t offer what I need to learn just so we’re close. I have to think about my future, too.”

  Seth clutched at his throat and swallowed convulsively to stop the broken sob he couldn’t hold back. “I was thinking about your future. The one with me in it.”

  Oliver sank to the floor, his back against his bed. “Oh… Seth.” His hands twitched, needing to reach out, to stop this.

  “I can’t stand another year, wait—” Seth laughed bitterly. “Another four years of seeing your life through Facebook updates. I know you don’t want that either. You’ve been pretty clear on your feelings about my friends.”

  “Not friends, Seth. Just the one.”

  Seth shook his head, clearly angered by the turn in topics. He wiped at his face with the palms of his hands and attempted to get his breathing under control. As much as Oliver hated to upset Seth, he couldn’t help himself; they were going to get it all out. Maybe if all of the puzzle pieces were laid out, they could find a way to put their relationship back together.

  Oliver’s head dropped, and he focused on his hands. He couldn’t look at his boyfriend. “You took him to our spot, Seth. You took him to what was going to be our spot, the place you wrote about, and you took a picture in the crowd with your arms around each other.” He held up a hand to silence Seth’s protest. “Even though it wasn’t sexual, I do know that. But we were supposed to stand on a corner with people all around us who didn’t care. We were supposed to have pictures with our arms around each other, cheek to cheek, looking happy. And you’ve been giving all those firsts to someone else.”

  “Because you won’t let me give them to you!”

  Oliver rested his head against his bed and tried to stretch his throat, to push the lump that was choking him out of the way.

  “It’s not about that. It’s… I can’t. I can’t be there. I’m not going to be there with you.” He could barely say those last words, it hurt so much; but he had to say it, had to hear himself say it. No more pretending that it would happen at some far-off point in their future. Oliver felt the hot tears roll down his cheeks.

  Seth covered his face with his arm, taking deep, shaky breaths. “I can’t do this anymore. Oliver, I can’t breathe. Oh, God… I have to go. I can’t be here. I can’t… It feels like I’m dying. I have to go.”

  “Wait. Seth, wait.” Oliver’s voice wavered from the sorrow that choked him. He scrambled to his feet as Seth randomly shoved his things into his bag.

  “Seth.” If he could just touch him, if he could just hold him, this would somehow be okay. It would be better; he knew it. “Don’t do this.”

  Seth took a step backward as Oliver tentatively reached out, his hands clutching at the shoulder strap of his bag. “I’m not doing this. It’s just…God, it’s just happening, Oliver. I can’t stay here, I—” Seth stumbled in the space between Oliver’s body and the wall, moving away.

  Oliver’s chin dropped; tears ran freely down his face as his life crumbled around him. He looked up as Seth walked out the door and to the staircase. Oliver fixated on how Seth’s shirt from last night was jammed in the bag, a sleeve hanging out. That Seth—overly fussy and hyper-vigilant about his things—hadn’t carefully put his clothes into his bag… that little bit of disarray was it. This was really happening.

  Seth flew down the stairs. Oliver remained frozen at the top landing, almost paralyzed by heartache and helpless to do anything about it. Seth paused at the front door, his hand trembling briefly on the heavy pewter door pull. His voice was pained, yet resolute. “I love you, Oliver. I always will.”

  The click as the door shut, closing off those parting words, was a like a blow to the solar plexus. There was no air, and the ache in Oliver’s core radiated like a sonic boom, shattering everything in its wake.

  * * *

  The smell of curry, warm and enticing, pulled him back. Oliver realized he was clutching the front of his shirt and that his eyes were wet. That had been one of the worst days of his life, if not the worst. He had stood at the top of the stairs for a long time, willing Seth to materialize and take it all back. The next few days had been a hazy fog of heartache, a progression from laying in his bed, smelling Seth’s aftershave on his pillowcase, to laying on the floor, unable to control the ache and the self-pity when he realized he would never have that luxury again.

  He switched off the stove, pulled out the food and stared at it. He didn’t feel hungry after all. And he certainly didn’t feel like going to see the person whose heart he broke and who broke his in return.

  Chapter Three

  Oliver hunched over the bar, nursing his beer. He had managed to eat a little of his dinner, knowing that a drink or two with Moira tended to be six or seven, and it would be a bad idea to get drunk on a school night. He laughed a little at himself for that phrasing. Old study habits were hard to break.

  Someone threw an arm around him and gave him a squeeze. “How’s the talent tonight, eh?” He smiled at Moira, her cheeks pink from the cold, as she unwound her many layers. He signaled for a drink for her while she hung up her coat and scarf.

  “Christ, it’s as cold as a welldigger’s arse in January out there.” She climbed up on her bar stool and nudged his shoulder with her own. “Cheers,” she said to the bartender, taking a long drink. She smacked her lips and fixed Oliver with a huge grin. “Right. Now tell me who’s had your knickers in a twist the past two days?”

  Oliver dropped his head to the bar and groaned a little.

  “Oh, Christ.” Moira crossed herself quickly as she muttered, “Forgive me.” She settled more comfortably in her seat and laid her hand on Oliver’s arm, giving him a little shake. “All right, Ollie, are we slagging off or mourning tonight? Give us a hint, would you?”

  Still slumped forward on his arms, Oliver turned his head to face her. “I hadn’t thought of him in years, Moira. Well, that’s not true.” He sat back up and took a long drink from his beer as Moira patted his back, all sympathy.

  “He’s always been in the back of my mind.” Oliver laughed sharply, a hard and bitter sound. “You know Number Twenty-three?”

  Moira looked confused for a moment, then brightened. “Oh, the sweet-faced dandy? The one bordering on twink? Oh, sorry, mate. I never can remember if that’s offensive; you know the company I keep and the mouths on them.”

  Oliver waved her off. “I just realized yesterday that he’s a lot like him. Like Seth.”

  “So we have a name!” She motioned for the bartender to bring Oliver another pint. “And just how is Number Twenty-three like this Seth fellow?”

  Oliver fumbled with his smartphone and pulled up his email. He tapped on the video link in Gus’s message and handed over the phone. It wasn’t e
asy to hear over the din of the crowd, but she’d get the idea well enough. “Wait for the hosts to stop talking. That’s him.”

  Moira held the phone close, her head cocked to pick up the sound over the bar’s noise. Oliver watched her face, not the video. Her eyes widened as Seth began to sing, and after a moment she was smiling, entranced.

  “Yeah, he has a tendency to do that to people,” Oliver said softly, taking a long drink.

  “Hmm?” She could barely tear her eyes away from the performance.

  He toyed with the coaster under his beer as she finished watching the clip. She exhaled loudly and handed him back his phone. “You knew this bloke?”

  “Knew him? Um, intimately. That’s rude; I’m sorry.”

  She cackled. “And here I was wondering if you were a monk.”

  “Well, lately.” He sighed again. “He’s amazing, right?”

  Moira fanned herself. “All that and looks, too? No wonder you look like your mam died. Oh, bollocks. She didn’t, did she?”

  At Oliver’s eye roll, she continued. “So what happened there? I’m going to get it out of you, one way or another. The other way involves me getting you so shitted that you pass out at my flat. And I won’t be held accountable for what I might end up doing to you in such a state.” She winked.

  Oliver didn’t believe that wink, though. “I’m not going to forget that night when you tried to make out with me, you know.”

  She faked a pained sigh with her hand over her heart. “Ah, you can’t blame a girl for thinking I could get you gee-eyed enough that you might forget I have the wrong bits, you handsome bastard.”

  He laughed. It felt good, the first time he’d felt relaxed in a few days. He laid his cheek on his hand, smiling at her. “He’s evidently the latest thing on Broadway.”

  “Oh?”

  “And my friend back home got me tickets and is sort of forcing me to see him.”

  “Forcing you, is he? The bastard.”

  “Okay, so he’s not forcing me,” Oliver said. “I just don’t know if I should go. He… Seth might not want to see me. I’m pretty sure he won’t want to see me, actually. Or know that I was there. Or that I still exist.”

  “And what’s wrong with this boy, thinking such things about you? If he does, he’s clearly a bloody idjit. Not worth your time.” She tried to hide a smile as she polished off her beer, but Oliver caught it.

  “It’s nothing wrong with him, and everything wrong with me.” He took a deep breath and turned to face her. “Do you want the long or the short of it?”

  She eyed their glasses, motioned to the bartender, and said, “We’re not drunk enough yet for the long of it. Sum it up for me so I know how to wail properly when we’re too fluthered to hold back.”

  “Flu…” Oliver shook his head. He wasn’t drunk enough to understand her. “Well, once upon a time there was a young man—”

  “It’s you, isn’t it? Got it in one.” She laughed and took a drink of her new beer.

  “There was a young man,” he said pointedly before laughing. This had been a good idea. He needed someone who didn’t know the whole story to just listen and help him make sense of how he was feeling. “Who went to a very snooty but fair private school and was very much in the closet. When the cutest boy he’d ever seen transferred mid-term after being bullied out of his other school for being gay, that young man decided to ‘mentor’ the new kid to help him ease into prep school life by—”

  “Snogging him senseless!”

  Oliver sat back, a sour expression on his face. “Are you going to let me tell you the story, or are you going to just make one up?”

  “From the sound of it, mine’s going to be more exciting. Also, I thought we said the short of it?”

  Oliver rolled his eyes. “Seth’d been viciously bullied at his high school. His dad—who is the nicest guy but looks like he eats metal for breakfast, I mean seriously, he’s the epitome of a biker—sued and got them to send Seth to my school because it had a zero tolerance policy for harassment. I was assigned to show him around the campus—”

  “Lucky you,” Moira chuckled.

  “Exactly,” Oliver said, grinning. “We got along great from the start. He really was my best friend. And I was young and stupid and too scared of my dad to come out beyond school, not to mention that I didn’t want to mess up our friendship until I just couldn’t help but notice how amazing he was. Talented, yeah. You’ve seen that for yourself. But… he was such an enigmatic person. Really self-possessed. And he didn’t suffer fools.”

  “I like this bloke already! Life’s wasted on the stupid.”

  “True. He’s so funny. And smart. And he never let me get away with being full of myself, and I had a tendency to imagine that I had my shit together back then. Boy, I really didn’t.”

  Oliver took a long drink, remembering how Seth’s face had lit up as Oliver gave the school tour; how relaxed Seth had become when he realized Oliver was also gay; how Seth had opened up about what happened to him; how Seth was the most beautiful boy Oliver had ever seen; how he sounded when singing, his fierce, proud spirit clearing away the fog of fear in Oliver’s brain, allowing him to finally defy his father’s homophobia and give in to his feelings.

  “We fell in love. We did everything together; that was when I knew you could be best friends and in love. That made it better, you know? There was so much trust and… I just knew I could be me with him. That even though I was me, he still wanted me.”

  Moira covered her heart with one hand and grabbed Oliver’s with the other, giving it a squeeze. “You’re about to make this cynical old cow cry in her beer!”

  Oliver laughed, but it was wry, weak. “He was my first. I was his, too. Just… not just with sex, but with everything. My first love, my first true friend, my first honest critic. He always told me the truth, even when it hurt. But he wouldn’t say things to hurt me, I don’t mean like that. He just wanted me to be my best. I was. When I was with him, I was my best.”

  “Christ, lad, you’re breaking my heart.”

  “Tell me about it.” They were quiet for a moment, Oliver nursing his drink and Moira not wasting any time with hers.

  Oliver continued. “He graduated—oh, he was a year ahead of me—and went to New York. The plan had been for me to join him. I wanted to go to Columbia; he went to Juilliard. And I just realized yesterday that the entire reason I took up this particular branch of study was because of him.”

  She hummed and made a “continue” gesture with her hand.

  “I said that he’d been bullied, and God, it was terrible. I knew a little something about it, too.” Oliver unconsciously rubbed at his side, where two of his ribs had been fractured over a decade ago, before he’d gone to Bakerfield. “And I wanted to know why. What makes people think it’s okay to behave this way? To think this way?”

  “Well, my reason’s not as noble as your own,” Moira said. “I just find it fascinating to know how people tick. Plus it does some good in the world, aye?”

  They clinked glasses.

  “So, he was in New York; I didn’t get into Columbia and didn’t want to go to another school in the city where I’d just be a number in a classroom. Instead, I chose to go to a university that was smaller and specialized in this field. It was a five-hour trip to New York, and that was unacceptable to Seth. Well, that’s not fair.” Oliver dropped his gaze to the bar top and nodded to himself. “It was too difficult for him. It was difficult for both of us.”

  Moira, already on her third beer, gestured with it toward Oliver’s face. “So you didn’t want a long-distance relationship, and you were young and foolish, is that the telling of it?”

  “Well, I wanted it. He wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t,” he corrected himself. “He couldn’t.” Oliver downed the last of his beer and thanked the bartender as he immediately set down another. They came here often, and the bartender knew Moira’s habits.

  “So, it ended. Neither of us wanted that, but what could we—
” Oliver exhaled sharply and drew his finger along the old wood of the bar. “I was so glad to see him, though. Just… so proud of him.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked over at Moira, wanting her to understand that he really was. He truly wanted nothing but good things for Seth, even if he couldn’t be a part of it the way they’d dreamed. Even if he still wished he could be a part of Seth’s life. God, how pathetic. One look at Seth Larsen and all those feelings came rushing back, choking him with the force of how much he still cared.

  Oliver ran a hand through his hair, trying to clear his head and get to what mattered. “Seth being successful, finally being seen as the talent that he is? It was so good to see that. For his sake, of course,” he said, fixing Moira with a pointed look.

  “You still love him, don’t you? I can see it plain as the nose on your face.” She gave his side a squeeze and rested her head on his arm; she was too short to reach his shoulder. “Oh, broken hearts… I’d rather a broken ankle, meself.”

  Oliver squeezed back and asked, “Who was he?”

  She sighed, clutched at her heart and said dramatically, “The man I plan on marrying. I haven’t any idea who he is, I just know the bastard’s late in coming, and I’m fair sick of waiting.”

  He laughed as she nudged his shoulder. She smiled. “That’s what I’ve wanted to see.” She offered her glass up in salute. “For Seth and the unknown man who will have my heart one day. I’ve known many, liked but a few, and loved only one. This toast’s for you.” They clinked their glasses and as Oliver took a drink, Moira drained her entire glass.

  She clapped her hands together while her empty was taken away and a new glass filled. “So, let’s start the planning, shall we?”

  “…What?”

  “You’ll be back in the States for over a month; are you daft? That’s plenty of time to remind him that he still loves you, too.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Exactly.” She bumped him with her shoulder, tottering on the bar stool a little bit. Oliver wasn’t sure how many beers she’d had, but she was still upright, which, Moira had once told him, meant that she wasn’t drunk. “You’re not thinking. So! Let me help you out there.”