Page 2 of Edged By the Apparition
“Tommy-”
The whisper came from close by, and I spun around, my heart thumping in my chest like a crazed mason with a sledgehammer.
The only thing behind me was the empty doorway.
Someone had said my name. Hadn’t they? Honestly, it was more like when you’re falling asleep, a voice whispering as consciousness slipped away. Except I wasn’t falling asleep. I was wide awake, and I wasn’t the type to imagine things.
At least, I thought I wasn’t. I was under a lot of stress, and this was a unique situation. My nerves were strung taut, and I didn’t need much to set me off. A slight breeze coming in through the open door. Maybe that’s all it took.
I brushed off the strange moment and closed the door behind me, letting out the breath I’d been holding. I was here to do a job. I’d stay the night, then spend the next day sorting through my remaining belongings. Jen had tucked everything away in the spare bedroom upstairs.
Once that was done, I could leave. I wouldn’t come back. The house would get sold. This chapter of my life would be closed. Maybe I could even have a normal relationship again.
I ignored the small part of me that screamed in rage and despair at that thought. How could I close the book on Blaise? He was the only one for me. I’d known it since first meeting him. He’d been sitting out on the quad, playing guitar. I’d teased him relentlessly about that—was there anything cornier or more hetero than playing guitar on the lawn outside the student union?
But his voice was beautiful, even if his song choices were questionable. He sang with an ease and a freedom I envied. I was always the buttoned-up one, the one who was worried about appearances and my career. He’d laugh at me now, seeing how I’d abandoned my high-powered marketing job for glorified data entry.
No, he wouldn’t laugh. He’d hug me tight, kiss me on the forehead, and tell me that everything would be all right. That we’d figure it out together.
I blinked away the tears that welled up at the image. I was not here to feel bad about my life. I was here to sell the house and move on.
I stopped by the kitchen to drop off the sandwiches I’d made for the trip, then headed up to the second floor. I was already exhausted, and although it wasn’t fully dark out yet, I was ready for bed.
It’s not that I felt nothing as I walked into our old bedroom. It was more that I’d already had my fill of difficult emotions. I just had to get through the weekend. Popping my clothes into the empty dresser, I tried not to think about Blaise and me buying this bedroom set on a weekend antiquing trip.
We’d joked about how stereotypically gay it was, but we’d ended up with some lovely pieces.
Tossing my gym bag to the side, I sank down onto the bed. I’d forgotten how comfortable the mattress was. It had been one of our few big splurges, but a king-size bed wouldn’t fit into the tiny apartment I lived in now, so…
I took a deep breath in, hearing my therapist’s voice in my head.You don’t have to deal with everything at once. Or feel everything at once. Take a moment, meditate, and then move forward to the next thing.
A wave of exhaustion washed over me. The bedwascozy, and even though this house held hard memories, there were also good ones. Cooking together, laughing, watching bad survival shows.
I slipped off my tennis shoes and swung my legs up onto the coverlet, moving back and resting my head on the pillow. I closed my eyes. I wasn’t ready to go to sleep, but I was weary. Lying in my comfy old bed, my body relaxed for the first time in a long time. I could deal with the memories if it meant I could lose some of the ever-present tension.
I smoothed the coverlet under my hands, the quilted texture soft against my fingers. Blaise had picked it out, of course. It was simple, but that went with the vibe. The Victorian furniture and crown molding were the stars of the space. He loved this room.
So did I. We had a lot of fun sexy-times in this room. The fact that he’d paid any attention to me, with my crisp khakis and my boring haircut, had been a miracle. He was perfection. His features were soft, but his dark eyes held a sparkle of mischief. He hadfunhair, an undercut that was shaved on the sides but long on the top. He could rock that dirty-blonde hairdo a thousand different ways. The day I met him, he hadn’t been wearing a shirt, just a denim jacket, showing off his smooth chest with a hint of a treasure trail.
He’d been hot. So fucking hot, and he only got better with age. By the time we hit our mid-twenties, he still wore that denim jacket, but the chest underneath was more toned, and his tendency to hike shirtless gave him a sun-kissed glow.
My cock twitched in my jeans at the thought—Blaise had broken me of my khaki habit long ago. The physical response was almost foreign to me. I hadn’t had sex since Blaise died, and although I did jerk off on occasion, it was more a biological release than anything else.
Imagining Blaise here, in this bed, was different. Lying next to me in his tight briefs. Winking at me. Running his hands through my chest hair.
I wasn’t pretty and smooth like him, but instead covered in a layer of brown hair. I was shorter and hippier, with a big ass I had to work to squeeze into pants.
But he told me he loved my body. And I loved his—touching, licking, running my tongue down his chest and stopping to lap at his nipples. His nipples weren’t as sensitive as mine, but I still adored the little gasp he’d let out when I tugged at them between my teeth.
Now my cock was harder, harder than it had been in a long time. It was straining against my tight jeans.
I was alone here. Living with a roommate had made me cautious about taking care of myself—I hated the idea of him hearing me—but I didn’t have to worry in this big empty house.
The shadows of dusk filled the bedroom. I unbuttoned my jeans and unzipped my pants, allowing my bulge—still within my boxer briefs—to be free. It was a good dick, or at least that’s what Blaise had always told me. Thicker than most, and a respectable length, he adored playing with it. He preferred to top, but that didn’t mean he ignored my dick. The opposite, in fact.
I slipped my pants and underwear down below my hips, and my cock twitched as it met the cold air. I tugged on it slowly as I imagined those pouty lips closing around the head, moving down the shaft as he hummed. I’d push up into him, but he’d pull off, teasing and chastising me.
Don’t you move. You’re mine to torture, baby.
