Page 56 of Strange Lad

“Go on,” he whispers. “I know you want to.”

“Are you for real right now?” I say, peeking up at him through my lashes.

“I can handle it.”

I grab him, smushing my face into his right pec, and band my arms around his torso. The blanket stays pinned over myshoulders due to his arm. I would purr if it didn’t hurt my throat so bad. Stuffing my nose in his shirt, I try to get a whiff of his scent, but my nose is too stuffy. I try anyway, which makes him chuckle a little. He scoots us back so he can recline. I feel his head rest on top of mine, and all is right in the world.

We’re cuddling.

Oli is cuddling me.

“Thank you,” I tell him and kiss his chest.

He stiffens for a few seconds before relaxing again. “You’re welcome.”

“Love you,” I mumble and knock the fuck out.

Oli

In The Dark

Half of my brain wants to throw Jorge to the floor, while the other half exhales in relief.

I hate that there’s always some part of me ready to revolt. After my therapy session with Dr. Langley and our having discussed my triggers and why they triggered me, I was able to put my relationship with Jorge into perspective. The biggest thing for me is trust. I’m not ready to blindly do so, though I feel like I’m letting go more every time we are together.

I don’t want to acknowledge his fever-induced profession of love. I doubt he means it in that way. Jorge loves everyone. Whereas it should make me feel special that those words came from his lips and were directed at me, it didn’t. That’s the thing about him that keeps my walls raised high. The logical part of me knows that I am special in some ways. He’s risking his friendship with my brother just to keep ours flourishing and growing. He’s kept our secret.

But how he shows affection and views the people in his life makes me wonder if I’m replaceable. I know for a fact my brother would be here, nursing him back to health if I wasn’t.Jorge’s mom and his sister, Kelly, and everyone else would do it. He’s so loveable. He’s earned reciprocated kindness from everyone. So where does that put me?

It’s a twisted way to think, but I want to be number one. I’ve always wanted that. I want Jorge to treat me like I matter more than anyone else, which is impossible. He won’t ever think that. I watch him sleep on my chest, his olive cheeks darker than normal because he’s burning up. I’m sweaty due to the heat, but I can’t seem to make myself move him. The soup is on a low simmer, so I’m not worried about it boiling over.

What is going to come out of this? Can anything?

Dr. Langley seems to think that I have to decide an outcome. Either we remain friends, and I separate enough to make it healthy, or I push my boundaries and cross over into lover territory. I want more from Jorge. If my willingness to hold him like I am is any proof of it, I know in my heart I would keep him forever.

He said he loves me, but I’ve loved him for twelve years. And before that, I loved him. It was innocent, soft, and careful but always there. I think I’d love him even in another life. I’m not religious or spiritual. The possibility of a life after this one seems silly—farfetched. If there was one, I could see myself falling for him all over again.

When I’d overdosed, hoping that I’d die, my only regret was never getting the chance to show him how much love I had. No one knows that I do. Under my layers of armor and issues, I have a heart too large to contain. It thrashes and begs; it craves to be seen and wanted. Last year, I thought to myself, this is it. I was in the depths of my personal hell. Beyond strung out, angry at the world, lost in a vortex of nothing, and then he texted me.

I remember being scared shitless that something had happened to Phoenix because Jorge had asked if we could talk in person. I pulled myself off the floor of one of my dealer’sapartments, put my shirt on backward, and took off. I was high as shit when we met up, so afraid and cursing my choices. But Phoenix was merely heartbroken. He’d been dumped, and Jorge thought thatIcould make him better.

Jorge was taken aback when I’d shaken my head and said I was the last person Phoenix needed. He seemed to see through the cloud of drugs surrounding me and asked ifIwas okay. We only spent six months together before their American tour started, but I felt alive for the first time in twelve years. I felt brave enough to try again. To really put in the effort. I went back to rehab, only staying long enough to get sober and meet Dr. Langley. Jorge was there every step of the way, even from afar.

He saved me.

He still is.

I blink out of my reverie, my cell phone buzzing in my pocket. Careful not to jostle him too much, I reach to pull it out. I frown when I see an unfamiliar number has texted me. Dragging down the notification bar so I can see the preview of the text, I feel the color drain from my face. It’s Eli.

Like Dejavu, I relive that day when I thought something happened to Phoenix. Heart hammering, I open the text fully to read it.

Hey. It’s Eli. I wanted to talk to you about Phoenix, but I also want to thank you. I know I didn’t meet Dr. Langley because of your recommendation, but I appreciate that you did give it. He’s helping me a lot more than I thought he would.

Can you and I meet up sometime? Addict to addict?

I cringe. Then I start to sweat.

So this is what Phoenix has resorted to? Sending his boyfriend after me because we’re both addicts? I’m tempted to tell Eli to fuck off and tell my brother to grow a pair. But I don’t. I stare at the text for a while, chewing my cheek and debating if it’s worth replying to. The stupid guitar nicknack that Phoenix brought me rustled up old memories I try not to remember.

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