Page 16 of Pages of My Heart
After dinner, Thomas persuades him to go to the pictures. Charlie’s not sure that two men should be seen together on a Saturday night without dates, but he finds it impossible to say no to Thomas’s pleading puppy dog eyes and infectious energy. They arrive just before the lights go down and slip into the front row, as far from the other patrons as possible. Halfway through the film, just when Charlie’s finally convinced himself that no one is paying them any mind, he feels Thomas’s pinky finger brush his on the armrest. Charlie freezes, then slyly looks to his right and then his left, checking that they can’t be seen.
“It’s okay,” Thomas whispers, keeping his eyes locked on the screen. He moves his hand down under the armrest, where the seats meet. “Please, Charlie.”
It’s stupid and risky, but Charlie does it because he wants to make Thomas happy. And he wants it for himself, too. He moves his arm painstakingly slow, his hand finally coming to rest in Thomas’s, their fingers slotting together in the dark. For the rest of the film, Thomas’s thumb strokes delicately over his skin, stealing Charlie’s capacity for thought. It’s the simplest of touches, and yet it keeps him suspended on the edge of arousal.They chance a few glances at each other, and Charlie believes that Thomas is just as lost to lustful thoughts as he is.
Later, back in Thomas’s bedroom, they take turns bringing each other to completion with their mouths, swallowing greedily. Charlie cannot deny that he loves Thomas’s taste on his tongue and how it feels to make him shake with bliss. Then deep in the night, when his body no longer aches every time he moves, they have sex again. Charlie knows the pain will return, but he cannot stop the need burning inside him. He must have Thomas one more time.
They take it slow, and he finds it easier the second time, his body already learning what it likes. Thomas thrusts slow and deep, then, upon changing his position, touches that place inside him. Again. And again. It feels as if the room is tilting, and he tumbles uncontrollably into a euphoric state, warmth spreading out from where they are connected until it reaches the tips of his fingers and toes. If he could choose to live in this moment for all eternity, he would. He whimpers and groans, eyes rolling back as the world falls away. Only he and Thomas remain. Then Thomas chants, “Charlie, Charlie, oh God, oh Charlie,” and his heart is full.
On Sunday morning, they head out to a small diner to have breakfast. Charlie has spent more money this weekend than is wise, what with the pool hall, the pictures, and now breakfast, but he doesn’t care about blowing a five spot. Because this is a onetime deal.
This is a onetime deal, he reminds himself for the hundredth time.
It’s like watching the sand run out in an hourglass with no chance of resetting it. What’s worse, time now seems to be speeding up, accelerating exponentially. Charlie almost feels likehe’s disconnected from his body, watching himself at a distance as time disappears like a shadow into the night.
When they return to the O’Reilly house, Charlie confesses all, knowing this is likely the only chance he’ll ever have to share the truth of his life. Knowing Thomas is the only person who won’t judge him for it. Sitting in the living room, his hands finding Thomas’s, he speaks of his father, Robert, who has beaten him his whole life. Who calls him a sissy, a pansy, a fairy, as if he somehowknows. He tells Thomas that if Robert were ever to discover the truth, the coppers would be pulling Charlie’s beaten corpse from a ditch.
Thomas holds his hand and listens and doesn’t look upon him with pity, but with a kind of knowing. Then Thomas tells Charlie more about his sick mother and his drunk father and how he and his siblings grew up hungry and cold until Bridget saved them. Charlie wants so badly to tell Thomas that he’ll look after him and protect him. But he can’t. Not in this world. Not in this life.
The large grandfather clock in the sitting room sounds twelve times, signaling noon. They don’t want to leave it too late and risk being caught, so with lead limbs and heavy heart, Charlie leaves Thomas to tidy up downstairs and returns to the bedroom to pack up his things and erase any evidence of his ever being there at all. As he shoves his clothes back into his overnight bag and retrieves his toothbrush from the bathroom, he tries to remind himself that what they’ve done is the result of some sort of sickness, or a deficiency that renders them unable to resist temptation. He reminds himself that they should be ashamed of how they’ve acted. He puts all those thoughts on repeat, because otherwise he will never be able to leave, never be able to walk away from this sweet, beautiful, red-haired boy that makes himfeel.
Just before he fastens up his bag, he grabs the shirt Thomas wore to the pictures and buries it among his things.
At quarter after one he is standing in front of Thomas, hand on the front doorknob, ready to go. Thomas has been silent for the last fifteen minutes and Charlie can see him breaking apart, left mute by the pain of their impending separation. Charlie’s rib cage seems to constrict around his heart and the lump in his throat just grows and grows. He wants to kiss Thomas one last time but knows it will shatter his resolve. So instead, he gives him a solemn nod and pulls open the door. Immediately, Thomas’s hand darts out and slams it shut. He grabs Charlie by the shoulders and spins him around, crowding him against the door. Charlie’s eyes connect with Thomas’s for a second before he looks away, staring at the stair banister.
“Please, Charlie . . .” Thomas’s voice is raw, pleading. “You can’t marry her. You just can’t.”
Before Charlie can think of anything to say, Thomas grasps his face and kisses him hard. Too hard. But Charlie pulls at Thomas’s hair, then attacks back, plunging his tongue in as he fights back tears. The kiss is brutal and heartbreaking, and when he wrenches himself away, he has to hurriedly dab at the single tear that has betrayed him. Charlie must be strong for them both. Thomas has a chance at a great life, and Charlie will not be the one to take it from him.
“Thomas, we should be ashamed of what we’ve done,” he says with a bitterness in his mouth that only cruel lies can conjure. “It’s—it’s sick. And it’swrong. And you fuckin’ promised me. This was a onetime deal. I’m gonna marry Ruthie. You need to let me go.”
Thomas’s face looks like the broken fragments of a shattered mirror, and Charlie can see his own jagged emotions reflected in it.
“No, Charlie, we can find a way!” Thomas begs, clinging onto Charlie’s shoulders. “And it’s not wrong! This feels right,youfeel right. How—how can loving someone be wrong?”
This stops Charlie cold. “You—you . . . love me?” he asks, denying it and knowing it to be true all at once.
“Yes! And if that means I’m going to hell, then I don’t fucking care!” Thomas is shouting now, tears streaming down his freckled cheeks.
Charlie’s focus blurs, world tipping sideways. Thomas loves him? What can he possibly do with that? What the fuck can he do? Charlie takes a deep breath and tries to pull himself together.
“There’s no other way, Red. My pops would kill me. He’d kill you too. I don’t regret a single second of being with you. Not a single fuckin’ second. But this is how it’s gotta be. Go and become a teacher. Or a—a damn proper professor. Get yourself a nice family and . . .” Charlie looks down at the floor, drowning in his own disappointment. “And think of me sometimes.”
Without further delay, he swings the door open and hurries down the steps and onto the path. He can barely see where he’s going as his eyes fill with tears.
“Charlie, please don’t! Charlie!” Thomas keeps screaming, his voice breaking with the pain of it. “Please, Charlie!”
Then something inside Charlie breaks, too, and he runs. And runs.
And runs.
Chapter 9
November 1937
Thomas
The moment his last lecture of the day ends, Thomas is rushing to pack up his things, wanting nothing more than to get home to his bedroom and away from everything and everyone. It’s been almost two weeks since Charlie left him heartbroken on his doorstep. Thomas wonders if the wedding is this week or the next—Charlie never told him the date. Charlie could already be married for all he knows.
