by Lina Langley
He shakes his head. “Of course he was upset,” he says. “Montgomery is an idiot.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know if he’s an idiot, I just… I didn’t want to make things worse for Montgomery. He was already in there, and I don’t know, I didn’t want to be the person who tried to help and then made things even harder for him. Which I suppose is probably a little selfish.”
“You think you were being selfish,” Cyrus says, biting his lower lip. It’s not a question and I can tell he’s making fun of me.
“Maybe I should have stayed.”
Cyrus shakes his head. “Hell, no. When you’re in the drunk tank, you’re going to deserve it,” he says. “And, just so we’re clear, you weren’t being selfish. Monty was.”
I look at him.
“Seriously,” he says. “He didn’t need to call you and he definitely didn’t need to make you feel guilty about you needing to get out. That was a dick move.”
I shrug my shoulders. “Pretty typical of him, isn’t it?”
“Yup,” Cyrus replies. “That’s definitely the kind of thing Monty would do. You shouldn’t have to put up with him, y’know.”
I nod. “Yeah, but the rent is cheap,” I say.
He laughs, throwing his head back. “You shouldn’t feel shitty about it at all,” he says, after a little while. “You give yourself such a hard time, Alex.”
I know that, and there’s nothing I can say to it, so I close my mouth and zone out as I stare at the road. Cyrus lives very close to the bridge, which is noisy, but always beautiful. We arrive at his house in a few minutes. He parks under a tall tree, which covers his car when it’s very sunny.
I get out of the car and walk toward his house, leaves crunching under me. I’ve always liked it here. I think Cyrus got the house about two years ago, and it feels like it’s a reflection of him. He’s done everything to make this place feel his, nothing like his old apartment. It’s all music and bright loud colors, surrounded by nature, in a simple two-bedroom house.
I smile as we walk to the door. He takes his keys out of his pocket, fumbles with the lock and opens it. It smells like cinnamon and wood as soon as we walk in.
“Okay,” he says. “Sit down. Do you need a drink? I need a drink.”
I want to help him, but he’s right. I’m tired and I want to sit down. I get on the sectional and look at Cyrus’ television set, which is off. Then I close my eyes.
CONTINUE
My eyes flutter open when he sits down next to me. He has a glass of water in his hand. I take it off him and smile. “Thank you,” I say.
“What for?” he asks.
“You know, picking me up from the drunk tank,” I say. “And always being there for me.”
He takes a sip of his own water, then shakes his head. “Of course I’m always there for you,” he says. “You’re my friend and I love you.”
I put my head on his shoulder and close my eyes again, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know how I got here,” I say. “A couple of weeks ago, I was going to be a priest, you know? I knew exactly what I was going to do when I graduated. Now…”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Now I don’t know what the fuck is happening,” I say. “I feel like I’m sinking, and like there’s an ocean of shit above me, and I don’t know how to swim up.”
He holds me close. “You’re going to be okay,” he says. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you will be. Seriously.”
I swallow. “I hope you’re right,” I say. “I feel so lost right now.”
“That’s pretty normal,” he replies. He takes the water off me and puts it on the coffee table in front of us. “Plus, it’s not like you even did anything wrong. You went to get your friend out of the drunk tank and then you got in trouble. Surely you can’t blame yourself for that.”
I shrug and shake my head. “I don’t,” I say. “Not really. I’m just… I keep playing it over in my head, and I don’t understand why Montgomery would call me of all people.”
He laughs. I like the way he laughs, it’s sweet and melodic, his voice low, his entire body moving. “You really don’t know?”
“I mean, he’s so popular,” I say. “He has so many people to call.”
“And yet he chose to call you.”
“He did,” I reply. “But that’s the thing. This is why I don’t get it.”
“You really don’t know?” Cyrus asks me. He’s looking right at me, his eyes wide.
I shake my head. I don’t know what he’s talking about and I don’t like it when he acts this cryptic. It’s as confusing as it is annoying. “What are you talking about?” I say. “He’s always rude to me, always calling me choirboy. He acts like he can’t stand me.”
“Yeah, that’s how he acts,” he says. “And I take it you never went to elementary school?”
I shake my head. “I did, but Montgomery is a grown-ass adult. He doesn’t have to act the way he does. He just does it to get on my nerves.”
“That’s exactly what he’s trying to do,” he says. “And I can’t believe you’re letting him get to you.”
I shake my head again. “Why shouldn’t I let him get to me? When he’s a dick and—”
He holds his hand up to stop me from talking. “You know that he’s in love with you, right?”
I blink. I don’t think what he’s saying makes any sense. I cock my head as I swallow, my cheeks red. I don’t think I appreciate this accusation. “What? Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “He can barely stand the sight of me.”
“Yeah, because it reminds him of what he can’t have,” Cyrus says. He moves away so that he can look right into my eyes. “Even you aren’t this clueless.”
“I’m not clueless,” I say quietly.
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I stand corrected. You clearly are this clueless.”
“Look,” he says. “Monty has friends. He could have called anyone, right? But he didn’t. He decided that he was going to call you. You know, someone who he ‘hates’.”
He makes air quotes around the last word.
“Because he knows he can rely on me,” I say.
“Yeah, maybe,” he replies. “Or maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see you.”
I shake my head and push him away playfully. “Cy, you’re giving me far too much credit here,” I say. “People don’t just fall in love with me.”
He looks at me for a long, long second, then shrugs his shoulders. “Sure,” he says. “If you say so. But that guy? He’s totally in love with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “You’re making stuff up.”
“I am not making stuff up,” he replies. “I’m being serious.”
I shake my head. “Montgomery doesn’t like me like that,” I say. “I’m just his… we’re roommates, okay?”
“Okay,” Cyrus replies. “If you say so.”
He doesn’t say anything else. I shift my weight on the couch. I want to keep asking him about this, but I also want to be done with Montgomery. I’m tired of talking about him and I’m tired of talking about myself. I lick my lips. “Does it matter?”
“Does what matter?”
“If he has feelings for me,” I say. “Does it even matter?”
He furrows his brow, cocking his head slightly. “I think you’re the only person who can decide that.”
I shake my head, waving my hand in front of my face. “Ugh,” I say. “I don’t really want to deal with this. I don’t know if it makes me an awful person, but I don’t have time for my roommate having feelings for me.”
He smirks. “Of course you don’t,” he says. “You’re going to be a priest. Why would you have time for that?”
My eyes widen as my heart starts to race. Am I going to be a priest? Is that what matters? I don’t know what is going in my life anymore. I don’t even know if Montgomery having feelings for me throws a wrench in it at all. “Maybe,” I say.
“Maybe what?”
“The priest thing,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “I don’t know if it’s going to happen.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “Whatever you decide, I’m sure it’s going to be what’s best for you.”
I slump forward, my hands on my knees. “I seriously doubt that,” I say. “I have no idea what I want.”
He cocks his head. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “This is what you’ve always wanted to do, right? Be a priest?”
I lean back on the sofa again and stare at his popcorn ceiling. I twist my body so I’m looking at his face. “I just wanted to help people,” I say. “Like, religion helped me.”
He raises his eyebrows but says nothing. I know my experience is atypical for people like us, but I’m not ashamed of talking about my journey with religion. “For me, it just made me feel like I was less alone,” I say. “And I wanted to do my part to make other people feel like that.”
“I mean, you don’t religion for that.”
“I know,” I say. “But it helped me and that felt important.”
“Right.”
He nods as I shake my head. “But now I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know anything anymore. I thought it was my calling to serve, but now that I have been called, all I feel is this sort of panicky fear.”
He grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Well,” he says. “That’s pretty natural. You’d have to give up a lot.”
“I know,” I say. “But… is that so bad?”
“What do you mean?”
I shrug. “I mean, you’re willing to give everything up for your dreams, right?”
He blinks. He leans back on the sofa and looks up at the ceiling, too. “I don’t know about that,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about whether I should go to California, after the producer invited me. They seem very excited, but…”
“What?”
He starts to chew on his lower lip. It takes him a while to answer. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve been considering about staying on the island. You know, if you decide not to pursue seminary.”
My eyes narrow. “Why would you want to do that?” I ask. “I don’t want to hold you back from your dreams.”
“And I don’t want to hold you back from yours,” he says. “But… I don’t know, have you considered that maybe we were both wrong?”
I shake my head, waving my hand in front of my face. I set my gaze on his face and notice how young he looks, how wide his brown eyes are, how much it looks like he hasn’t grown into his features yet. But the creases in his forehead, his furrowed brow and the bags under his eyes make him look worn and tired, and for a second, it almost seems like he has stepped out of time. “You’re not wrong,” I say, resisting the urge to hug him. “You shouldn’t give up on your dreams. You’ve already gotten so far with the whole music thing, it would be a shame if you gave it up.”
“Maybe—”
“No,” I say. “Definitely. You would never forgive yourself.”
He sighs, sitting up and twisting his body so he’s looking at me. “You’re not listening to me,” he says. “I’m trying to tell you something, Alex.”
“I’m not letting you giving up your dreams just because I’m fumbling.”
He licks his lips again, his gaze cast toward the floor. “It’s not just because you’re fumbling,” he says. “It’s because… it’s because of something I haven’t told you, but I think you already know.”
I shake my head. “Can you stop speaking in riddles?” I ask. “I mean, we’ve established I’m literally the most clueless person in the world, so—”
He doesn’t let me finish. His body is really close to mine, and I can only process the kiss when it happens. My eyes widen when he puts his mouth on mine, and at first, I don’t even consider kissing him back. It feels like it would be extremely stupid to do so, but my body is lighting up with his touch.
He pulls away, his eyes wide. “Alex,” he says. “I’m so sorry, I—”
I know I shouldn’t let him keep going, but after he has kissed me, I don’t think I can stop myself from kissing him again. His lips are soft and warm, his hand in the back of my head. Our mouths are open and we’re kissing sloppily, passionately.
He sighs. “Alex,” he says quietly, his voice a whisper. “Are you sure about this?”
Any other time, I would think about what he’s just said. I would think about our friendship, about how much I’ve got to lose. But right now, even if that comes to my mind for a second, all I can really think about is the way he tastes, like honey and coffee.
I don’t want to answer him. I kiss him again, deeply once more, and he kisses me back, his hand on the back of my head. I like the feeling of him holding me in place, I like how his tongue feels in my mouth, the way my body seems to light up with every touch.
I move away from him, breathless. His eyes are closed and I think he’s trying to control his breathing. He opens his mouth to say something, but I don’t want to let him. If I listen to him, I think he’s going to tell me to stop, and I don’t want to stop.
I want to keep going. I need to keep going, I need to keep kissing him. Suddenly, it’s the only thing that makes sense.
“Don’t,” I hear myself say.
He looks up at me, his dark eyes wide and watery. He nods, not saying anything, then kisses me on the lips again. This time, the kiss isn’t nearly as hungry—it’s soft, slow, almost deliberate. When we’re done, we’re both breathless. His face is only inches away from mine and I could easily kiss him again.
That’s what I want to do, but before I can, his hand is on my face, his thumb tracing my face, then making its way to my lips. I don’t think he means to do this, but it’s right there and I can’t stop myself from kissing it, from kissing him. His entire thumb is in my mouth and we’re staring at each other. His lips are parted, his eyes shining, and he’s not saying a fucking thing. He’s just watching me.
He takes his thumb out of my mouth slowly. He’s going to say something, but I don’t want to let him. I don’t want him to say anything that’s going to stop them. “Cy,” I say, biting my lower lip. My cheeks are red and there’s a part of me that knows maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I think I need to. I think I might implode otherwise.
He waits for me to continue.
“Would it be okay if I—would you mind if I stayed the night?”
“No,” he says quietly. “You can stay. Of course you can stay.”
I’m about to thank him, but before I can, his mouth is on mine again and he’s pushing me back on the sofa. He’s on top of me as he kisses me, our bodies grinding against one another’s. We’re still wearing clothes, so this probably shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but I feel like I could come just from him grinding his body on mine. He moves away from me and smiles. “Do you want to go to bed?”
My breath catches in my throat for a second before I answer. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, I want to go to bed with you.”
He smiles, his brown eyes shining. My heart skips a beat as he gets off me. “C’mon,” he says, his hand extended. “Before I change my mind.”
We walk together toward his bedroom. He pins me against the wall before we go in, kissing me deeply and holding my hands over my head. He moves away from me, smiling. “You can still say no.”
I swallow. “I don’t want to say no,” I reply.
“Good,” he says.
“Do you want to stop?”
He exhales heavily. “No,” he says. “Definitely not.”
I feel for the door handle behind it and open it as Cyrus keeps kissing me. He never stops, moving down from my mouth to my chin, to my neck. He kisses me softly, then quickly, until the door creaks.
Then I walk backward into the bedroom as he keeps kissing me. He never takes his mouth off me, never takes his hands off me. When he gets to the bed, he pushes me back so I’m sitting down. He leans down to kiss me on the mouth, never stopping to even breath.
He moves away from my mouth for a second to whisper in
my ear. “I want to take your clothes off.”
“Do it,” I say, my voice a whisper. He moves away from me for a second so he can start undoing the buttons of my shirt, his fingers grazing my skin every now and then. He kisses down my chest, his breath lighting up my skin with every kiss, every breath, every movement.
He undoes the zipper on my jeans, clumsily, slowly. He’s breathing heavily, but I feel like all I can hear is my own heartbeat.
He takes a break before he takes my jeans off, sliding them off me and revealing how hard I am for him. I could come just from the way that Cyrus looks right now, with his lips half-parted and covered in spit. He swallows as he looks into my eyes. “Did you know I’ve always wanted to do this?”
“You have?” I ask as he starts taking off my black boxers. He nods and then licks his lips when he looks at me, moving his face closer to my dick. It doesn’t take long for him to wrap his mouth around my cock, his eyes closing. His mouth is hot and warm and perfect, and he bobs his head up and down my hardened dick like a pro. My cock is throbbing as he moves his head up and down, his hand on my balls. I’m holding his head down softly with my hand—at least that’s what I think I’m doing—but I feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge and then Cyrus stops and looks right at me, his brown eyes wide and beautiful.
I move his head away from my dick. “Wait.”
“What?”
“I’m going to blow my load in your mouth,” I say. “I want you to feel good, too.”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I already feed good.”
I swallow. “I don’t mean like that,” I say. He stands up and kisses me on the mouth. He tastes like me mixed with coffee and honey. “I mean, I want to fuck you.”
He looks at me, his eyes glimmering and a smile playing on his lips. “You’re a top?”
“Fuck you,” I say.
He swallows, his eyes wide. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I reply, kissing him softly on the mouth, biting his lower lip. “Yes. I mean it.”
I grab him by the waist and press his body close to mine. He takes a heaving breath as I hold him up and then throw him down on the bed, as softly as I can. I’m not wearing anything below the waist, but I’m still wearing my shirt and Cyrus is wearing far too many clothes.
