Page 78 of Commitment Issues
Okay.
And just like that, I’m feeling guilty as hell.
I thumb in another text.
We’ll go to The Breaker’s Yard tomorrow night. It’s pricey so you can buy the drinks.
A second later my phone pings again, and I can’t help laughing when he replies with a row of two fingered salutes, and a smiley emoji. It’s a date, and I’m going to make sure I keep it.
As quickly as I can, I gather my things together and stuff everything into my rucksack. The prissy librarian’s glaring at me, and I throw her an apologetic smile as I escape into the warm high summer evening.
* * *
A long delay on the Northern line means Elliot’s at the house by the time I arrive. He’s standing by the window of what I think of as his room, the one with books and vinyl, talking on the phone. He sees me and waves before he moves away and I know he’s coming to answer the door. Because if he’s at home, I don’t let myself in. I know it’s odd. I’ve got free access to the key, but I just don’t do it. And he’s never said I should, and so I don’t.
When he opens the door, he looks tired, but his grin tells me he’s happy to see me. He’s glad I’m here and that simple thought turns something to mush deep in my chest.
He all but drags me in, bundling me into his arms. Our mouths find each other’s, our kisses are long and deep. I want my mouth on every inch of him and I’m about to drag him upstairs to the bedroom when he breaks the kiss and nuzzles into my neck.
“That’s nice,” he murmurs.
I ease back and take a long look at him. He looks more than just tired, he looks worn out. The creases at the outer edges of his eyes seem a little deeper, a little more ingrained. He’s tired, so tired, and I know without knowing that what he needs more than anything isn’t sex, it’s for me to be here with him.
“How was your trip?” I ask, but I already know the answer.
“Fractious. Difficult. But I expected it to be. The main thing is, we’ve reached terms and now it’s in the hands of the lawyers.”
I follow him into the kitchen, the place we always head for first, and he hands me a beer from the fridge which I take with a smile and thanks as we chink bottles.
I get on with making the dinner. Shepherds pie, one of his favourites and one of mine too, and we talk not about his fractious business deal but about the Norse and their use of magic mushrooms. Elliot’s fascinated, as I knew he would be, and he asks me lots of questions I’m more than happy to answer, as we open up some more beer. In the corner, Jasper’s in his basket playing with his squeaky chew toy. It feels cosy and domestic and if I let myself, I can almost believe it’s real.
He takes the heaped-up plates out into the garden, and I grab the ketchup he likes with it, from the well-stocked cupboard. The cupboard, fridge and freezer are always well stocked, as I’ve taken over the online grocery order from Perry.
“That’s me done,” he says when he’s finished, pushing away his empty plate. He yawns, catching my eye and giving me an apologetic smile.
“It’s been a long day, a long bloody week,” he says, stifling another yawn as he stretches.
He looks loose and relaxed, now, so much better than when I arrived and the heat in my belly fans out into my groin telling me I can make him a whole lot looser.
“Do you want anything more? Any – dessert?” I say, giving him an exaggerated salacious look that’s pure cheese.
“Tempting though dessert is I’m not sure I could do it justice.” He smiles, and it’s kind of apologetic, and as much as I want to rip his clothes off and get sweaty right here in the garden, I don’t want him to have to apologise to me. Truth is, I’m just happy being with him.
It’s a warm, close evening and the first drops of rain fall from the fat, deep grey clouds that have scudded in and we gather everything up and head indoors.
We hunker down in the room across from the book and vinyl stuffed one. The Roxy, I call it, in deference to a retro-style cinema, because with its enormous, massive, humongous TV up on the wall and its big plushy sofa, it makes me feel like I’m at the pictures, minus the stink of popcorn, slurping of fizzy drinks and constant background chat. Elliot had all but doubled up in laughter when I’d first called it The Roxy but I’ve noticed that he does, too, now.
We set up a film to watch, and loosely cuddle up on the sofa. It’s only a matter of minutes before he slips down my body and rests his head in my lap. He’s only a breath away from my half-mast cock, but it’s not a prelude, much as I’d like it, to him unzipping my jeans and taking me in his mouth. Instead, he sighs as he snuggles down, and I drift my fingers through his hair. It’s not long before I know he’s sleeping, and I switch the TV off, plunging the room into silence.
I gaze down at him, drinking in every inch of his face. There’s a hint of dark smudge under his eyes, reminding me of how he’d looked when we arrived in France. He needs his sleep and it should be restful but instead his forehead puckers as though his dreams are disturbing, and he mutters one or two words I can’t make out. I run my fingers through his hair again, and he settles. There’s not a lot of hair to play with, not because it’s thinning, because it’s not; it’s thick and heavy, but he likes to have it cut short, almost severe. There’s more grey there, I’m sure, but it suits him and I smile as I stroke the steel-coloured strands.
He jerks, his body suddenly tight and tense, but settles almost immediately. I could’ve relieved him of all that tension, he could be sleeping sated and satisfied, and with a smile on his face, but that wasn’t what he wanted and I wasn’t going to push. He mumbles something again, his brow furrowing once more, and without thought I circle my fingers over the creases, as gently as I can, to ease away the worry. And it works, as under my hand he loosens and the tightness in his face begins to melt away. But I don’t remove my hand. I like to touch him, and if this is the only skin on skin I’ll share with him tonight, then I’m happy with it.
As Elliot settles, I think about the placement in Oslo which is dangling in front of me, almost within reach. It’s been the golden prize I’ve been chasing for what feels like forever. I glance down at Elliot, lying still, his breathing steady as he sleeps easier. My heart clenches, because that golden prize is no longer quite so bright. And I know why. It’ll mean the end of this, whatever this is exactly. With me in Oslo for a year and Elliot in London, our arrangement will come to its natural conclusion
He knows I’m likely to be leaving at the end of the summer, but we’ve not really talked about it. There’s no need to, I suppose, when we both know what it means. We’ll pull apart and go our separate ways because there’s nothing to bind us, other than the relationship we agreed from the outset isn’t a relationship.
My heart thumps hard, a fist smashing through bone and muscle and I gasp. My eyes mist and I blink to clear them. I know the deal, we both do. Just like I know what’ll happen when I go in just a few weeks, because that’s how long we have left, just weeks.
