Page 40 of Oliver

He’s across the room in seconds, gripping my face and kissing me so hard I forget to breathe. But God, it’s everything. It’s all of his passion and fervor and strength poured into one earth shattering kiss. I cry harder as I pull away from him because this isn’t a hello kiss. It’s a goodbye kiss. I press my fingers to his lips as I sob.

“One more time,” he begs. “Please, baby, just one more time. I won’t ask for more than that. I know this isn’t fair to you. I need you, Hunter. I need to be your good boy one more time.”

“Fuck you,” I whisper as tears slide down my cheeks. He pulls me to him and our lips crash together again, heated, frenzied, biting, whimpering as we pull at each other’s clothes before we fall onto my bed, naked, and I slip inside him. One more time. One more time to kiss him, one more time to hold him, to love him, to breathe in the smell of him, to taste him, and worship him.

He clings to me like he never has before and I wrap my arms around him, holding him to me as I bury myself inside him, wishing I could stay forever. When we come, it’s together, his legs wrapped around me and our bodies so entangled I don’t know where he ends and I begin. I kiss him through my tearsand then pull out, lying next to him. He reaches over and wipes my cheeks, but more tears fall.

“Don’t marry her,” I repeat. “I love you, Oli. I fucking love you.”

“No, you?—”

“Don’t do that,” I say, shaking my head, my jaw clenched and my voice stormy. “Don’t you dare tell me that what I feel for you isn’t love. Don’t do that to me, you fucking bastard.”

He starts, but gathers himself quickly. “Hunter…” He says it in a tone that isn’t at all affectionate. He sounds like a fucking teacher scolding me for starting a fight in class.

“No!” I shout, then scramble out of bed. “I can’t do this, Oliver. Not for two more weeks, not for a single fucking day. Fuck you in the light of day but then watch you go to her room at night, knowing you’re on the other side of that door with your cock buried inside her. God, Oli, I want to rip my fucking hair out just thinking about you fucking her.” I’m sobbing as I shout at him. “It was hard enough when I was infatuated with you, but being in love with you and knowing what you two are doing in there every night? I can’t.”

“She’s a good person, Hunter,” he starts, pushing himself up to sit, and I see red.

“Who fucking cares?!” I shout. “She doesn’t even fucking know you!” His eyes widen and his face pales, but I don’t fucking care if I’ve upset him, or made him uncomfortable. He’s done the same to me, and I’m fucking pissed and done with his bullshit. “Does she know you like to be fucked, Oliver? Does she know you like to be told how good you are, that you like to be held down and manhandled? That you would rather be fucked than fuck someone else? Does she know how you melt when you are praised? Because I do! That’s mine! You are fucking mine, Oliver!” My chest heaves as my voice breaks. “And I’m yours. So don’t fucking marry her.”

He slides out of bed and slips his underwear back on before making his way to the door and opening it. “We should shower before your mom gets home,” he says, his voice completely void of emotion, before he shuts the door behind him.

I bury my face in my pillow and scream.

Fuck, why didn’t I think coming home would be this hard? Did I seriously believe that spending two weeks alone with Oliver would change everything? Or anything? That a man who has repressed his sexuality for twenty years would do a one-eighty and admit his feelings for me?

God, I am so fucking naive.

OLIVER

I’m shaking, and my heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe while I let the warm water cascade over me. I barely made it out of there before the tears fell. He can’t bloody love me. He can’t. And he doesn’t love the Oliver I’ve let everyone else see. The Oliver that Amanda loves. Even the Oliver my sister Olivia or my nephew Freddie loves, because I never let them see the real me. I never knew who the real me was until him.

Climbing out of the shower, I dry myself off, my body still trembling. I slip into sweats and a T-shirt, before I notice the folded white piece of paper lying next to the parrot I’d set on the bed. It has my name on it, and I know who it’s from and what it probably says before I even pick it up.

Tears start sliding down my cheeks all over again as I pick it up, almost dropping it again because my hands are shaking so hard. I have to force myself to read when I open it.

Oliver,

I know you believe you are doing the right thing, and maybe you are. Maybe you and Mom can make each other happy. I honestly hope that you can, because you deserve it. You deserve everything you want. Knowing you has been the greatest joy of my life, and I will never regret the time we had. You are beautiful, and worthy, and good, and that’s true no matter what parts of you you decide to share with the rest of the world. I will never forget you, Oli, but I have to go. I have to get over you, and I can’t do that being here.

I hope you find your happiness, Oli, that you discover the limitless joy of being your true self, and letting the world accept you for exactly who you are, because you have hidden for long enough, and the world deserves the real you. You are my first and greatest love, Oliver Jones.

Love, Hunter

My tears are sliding down my cheeks and dripping onto the paper as I read, blurring the ink. I sit on the bed with the note in my hand, reading it again. “Bloody hell,” I sob, and jump when I hear, “Bloody hell,” from next to me.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, you demonic creature,” I grouse, and reach over to turn him off yet again. How that bird keeps getting turned back on I don’t know, and part of me wants to throw him up against the nearest wall, but I can’t, even if he is fucking posessed, because Hunter gave him to me, and it and the flowers that are slowly dying are the only things I have left to remind me of our time together. And even though it’s becoming a painful reminder, I’d rather have that than nothing.

I wipe my tears and try to pull myself together. I can’t be a fucking mess when Amanda gets home. Folding the note up, I slide it inside my pants pocket. On my way down the hall I stop at Hunter’s room, hoping that maybe he changed his mind after leaving the note and hasn’t really gone anywhere. But his roomis empty and his luggage that he’d carried upstairs is gone. He probably didn’t even unpack, just closed everything back up and left.

When I make my way downstairs and the house is empty I feel an ache settling in my chest. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone. Curling up on the sofa, I turn the television on and end up falling asleep.

I wake to fingers running through my hair, and for a moment I think it’s Hunter. That he hasn’t left, that it was all a nightmare and that he’s here to care for me, to kiss me, to tell me I’m beautiful and good, because I miss his praise so much already. There’s a kiss pressed to my forehead and I open my eyes, knowing before I do that it’s not the Price that I want for it so desperately to be. No, it’s the one I’m engaged to, smiling down at me as she continues to stroke her fingers through my hair.

“Hey, sleepy head,” she says, sitting on the coffee table across from me. “You must have been tired from all that driving. Sleep well?”

I nod. “Hunter?” I say, and I’m not sure why.

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