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A/N: this is a one-shot don't shoot me that I wrote as a sort of present for my best friend, Mo. I swear I'm working on something longer; ok? So don't kill me for this. I rather like it, though I'm going to apologize for the fluctuation of my writing. It's so late and I have to get up to work tomorrow and shower...which means I need to get up at seven and ugh. But anyways, enjoy this and yeah.
We’d been friends for years. Our mothers were friends before that, so we’d been forced to entertain each other with our Transformers and Matchbox cars. I remember sitting with you on the floor of your room when we were seven years old; back when your bed was decorated with Superman sheets and your shelves were piled with Legos, cars, fake weapons and those Matchbox cars that sold for a dollar twenty nine. Your favorite game was Cars and sword fights; I preferred building things with the assorted legos. We’d sit there for hours and when my mother would come to collect us, we’d throw a fit. Occasionally we’d succeed in a few more hours of play time which melded into spending the night, however I’d return to my own home in the morning. You were my best friend as a child and I never regretted it for a second.
I remember when your mom died of breast cancer when we were sixteen. You were crushed and angry, taking it out on your dad, the doctors, my parents…you took it out on any and everyone who’d let you. I yelled back and made you realize that I was serious. I wasn’t about to let you hurt me. We were the same size; two small boned boys with shaggy, rocker hair. I wasn’t scared of you. I could never be scared of you. I felt something so much more different at sixteen than I did at seven or fourteen even. You were more than my best friend. You never did get out of that angry stage and that’s when you started on your “fair game” rampage. Anyone who was willing found their lips crushed against yours in a hungry kiss.
You’d rarely go farther than kissing, you told me once. You never could bring yourself to do it and you could never bring yourself to kiss me, even though I was more than willing. I wanted you to kiss me.
We’re nineteen now, sharing an apartment just outside of town. I’m sitting at the kitchen table, pouring over texts that I barely understand for a test tomorrow. The words aren’t making sense and I would do anything, ANYTHING, to just burn the pages and never have to look at mathematical equations again for the rest of my life. But I loved math. I loved science. I loved figuring out how things work. “Skitz?” Your voice intrudes my concentrated efforts and I glance up, seeing you in the door frame of the living room, looking worn out. You’re using an old nickname of mine; derived from the fact I’d occasionally hear a voice or two in my head. I smile, slightly, also feeling worn out and tired. I would give anything right now for one of those Starbucks espressos right now; screw the sweet, rich flavors. Give it to me black; anything to keep me awake.
I cock my head at your appearance and I hear you sigh in such a soft manner, that I barely hear it above the wrestling of my notebook papers riddled with various notes in my heavy script. My eyes, which had drifted back down to my papers, shot back up to your face. “Yes?”
“I need you.” You say the three words, softly and I can see you chewing on your bottom lip, carefully avoiding a small silver ring that decorated it. I shrug and tell you that I have a test I’m studying for. I don’t realize why I say this; I want you to need me. I want to be the one you come to when you’re upset, or angry, or hurt. I think I want to hear you beg, though. “Please, Skitz, I really need you. You’ll pass your test; you always do. Come with me.” I feel my resolve crumpling and finally, I set my papers aside and follow you to your room.
You’ve changed so much in the past twelve years. Gone are the Superman sheets and various toys sitting on shelves. Now, your bed is the displayer of plain white sheets and a blue comforter and your shelves house books, CDs and other little trinkets you’ve collected over the years. I smile slightly in amusement; it was so typical of you. On a desk, your laptop is plugged in, snapped snugly shut. Its silver body is reflecting the faint blue light coming from your cell phone and my eyes come across your iPod. Another typical habit of yours: all your electronics have to be together. “What’s the matter, Anthony?” I use your full name and I can almost see you frown at my questioning tone.
“I’m just…sad.” You say and I hear your mattress squeak and groan as you shift positions. “Come here.” I don’t know what you’re doing, but I get this feeling. I want to. I comply and manage to lie on the mattress beside you. “I was thinking about mom, Skitz. She died too early…I miss her.” You whisper. I want to hug you, or touch you, or something, but I’m so afraid. So very afraid of how you will react. I’ll make out with any one. It’s all fair game from the waist up. Your words echo through my mind again, causing me to freeze.
You touch my side, resting your hand on the slight curve from rib cage to hip. That causes me to freeze up more, causing me to gasp slightly in surprise. I don’t know what you’re doing and I’m starting to get nervous, like a trapped, cornered animal. You, though, continue with your monologue. “It’s like…I dunno, Skitz, it’s so hard to explain. I feel so lonely and so, so mad.” Your hand starts to move, your thumb gently stroking whatever bit of skin it can find.
“I’m sorry.” I say, not knowing what else to say. “I wish there was something I can do; anything.” You’re silent, but the next thing I know, you’re kissing me. Soft, careful, sweet. I can’t help but kiss back because this is what I’ve been waiting for in the past…past five, six years. I’ve always wanted this. You kiss harder and your hand starts to get more possessive. I don’t care. I respond, almost a little too eagerly until I heart some very familiar words. I kiss anyone. Boy, girl, it doesn’t matter. It’s all fair from the waist up. It never means anything, Skitz, you know that. I kiss because it’s one of the few ways I can get it all out. I block those thoughts out though, because with my eyes shut I’m getting sleepy and I’ve got you kissing me. It’s so nice; it feels so right. I can’t help but smile though, feeling your lip ring and your lips attacking mine and even though you probably don’t mean one kiss.
It’s making my fantasies come true.
It’s a lose-lose situation.
I stay though, soaking in the early morning sunlight that’s pouring in through the window, the pressure of your head on my chest and the warmth from the blankets and your body heat. Your clock reads that it’s seven ten; I need to get up because I have that class. As I move to get up, you wake up and stare at me through disorientated, sleep hazed eyes. “Morning.” You say, blinking rapidly to clear your eyes.
“Morning.”
“Why are you in here?” you ask and I want to gag. How dare you. I shrug and explain that you couldn’t sleep well at all and asked me to stay. You accept that answer and roll over, promptly falling back asleep. I find myself missing your body heat already. I stumble to the bathroom, yanking the clothes I’d slept in off my body and stepping into a hot shower that woke me up. You’re still asleep by the time I head off to class and I’m thankful for that: you gave me a bit of a hickey. I shrug, giving a well practiced head toss as I head out of the door, to clear my hair from my eyes. I really do need a hair cut. My dark hair is a pain in the butt to straighten every morning.
I should just shave it all off.
My test passes in a fairly quick manner and I feel that I’ve done a good job on it. I wonder what you’re doing. I decide to head home, just to check up on you. I don’t see you, so I make a sandwich. It’s nothing much, just some toast with some mustard, lettuce and pepper turkey. It’s my favorite and, as I unplug the toaster, I smile when I remember the time our old one exploded on you last semester. The look on your face and your surprised yelp caused me to double over in laughter, even though you were glaring daggers and me and holding your injured hand close to your chest.
Poor you.
The rest of my day is boring, mainly me loafing around and trying to catch up on sleep to make up for last night’s lack there of. I wonder though, when you’re going to get home. We need to talk.
Everything was perfect. Perhaps…too perfect.
Things stayed like this for a few days and I was quickly adapting to the new you. I shouldn’t have adapted that fast, I realized one afternoon. It had been a long day in class and I just wanted to go home and curl up in my favorite chair with a soda or a glass of lemonade. I made it inside the door, when I saw you kissing her with out a second thought.
I kiss anyone; boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. It’s all fair game from the waist up. I was angry. Anyone…fair game…boy or girl… I wanted to throw up, to cry, and to scream. How could you do this? You heard the door shut and you glanced over at me, not even bothering to remove your mouth from hers. How could I fall for you? I felt disgusted. It doesn’t matter…it’s fair game from the waist up.
“Hi, Skitz.” You said, when you finally decided to be polite and remove your mouth from hers. “What are you doing home so early?” I glared, coughed and beckoned you closer. You looked apologetically at the girl and gently took me by the elbow, leading me outside. “I guess we need to talk.”
“You guess?” I asked, giving you a disbelieving look. “You goddamn whore.” I couldn’t think of anything better to say then. I was angry and I could feel what little bit of finger nail I had, bite into my palm. I needed to relax, to calm down. “You don’t just lead me on like that, Anthony. You’re such a…I don’t know.”
“Skitz, breathe. You know I’m not one for commitment.” You said, making the mistake of stepping closer. “I’m sorry. If I’d known…” You were cut off by a dull thud as my fist made connection with your face.
“Fuck you.” I hiss, pretending that my split knuckle wasn’t hurting and my pride wasn’t hurting even more. You looked shocked, furrowing your brow at my sudden aggression. “You don’t fuck around with me. I thought you knew that, Anthony. You, of all people, know not to fuck with my feelings and you did it. And you don’t tell me that I’m just a toy for you to get rid of some of your pent of sexual feelings. Go to hell.” I laugh bitterly, rather enjoying the look on your face as I turn and stalk down the stairs. I can’t handle what you’ll do next.
I want you out of my life
It was your call though. It was so pathetic. Skitz, Dad’s sick. I know I hurt you…but can you please come back? For my Dad’s sake? I’d decided to come, but only for your dad. You sounded so sick, so pathetic, I had to come. Was it to make sure you were ok and not being suicidal? Or was it just because I missed you that much? I didn’t know; I didn’t want to know.
But here I am, trying to decide where to go when, out of all people in town, I see you looking thin, sick and upset. “Anthony!” Your name slips from my lips before I can stop them and you turn, trying to see who called you. You spot me and your tired face lights up. I can’t believe I have an affect on you after what I did.
You come close to me, pulling me into a hug, even though I’m sopping wet. “Skitz,” you breathe. “God, I missed you.” It hasn’t been that long, has it? A few months? A year? I hug you back, partly against my will, but I haven’t seen you in so long and you smell and feel so good. I sigh, contentedly, squeezing my eyes shut. For now, I can forget about how much of a whore you are. You don’t hate me and that’s all I care about. When we finally pull back from the embrace, I see that I did inflict major damage to his nose.
“I broke it, didn’t I?”
“You have a nasty left hook.” I smile and pull you into a hug again, not caring that it was raining and my car was parked a ways a way. You’re happy. I’m happy.
It’s perfect.
“Come home with me, Skitz. You’re going to get sick.” You say, mostly into my hair. I don’t care though because I agree with a nod of my head. At your home, you decide to start a fire. “The heater’s broken.” You say, with a shrug. “I haven’t gotten around to getting it fixed.” That was usually my job, considering I was slightly more responsible than you were. You tell me to go change and throw my things in the dryer. I know I’ll fit into your clothes; we were always the same size.
When I walked back into the living room, seeing you before the fire made me realize that everything was different now. This time, I felt as though you’d actually stay with me. No more kissing when you’re kissing someone else. “Anthony?” You look up and I carefully sit in the couch. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok.” You reply, poking at a flaming log. The lights are out and the fire is casting strange shadows on your face. It’s so romantic if you think about it.
Which I was.
We eventually end up sitting side by side on the couch. You have your arm around my shoulders and I’m resting my head against yours. This is how it was supposed to have been. Instead, you’d been so scared of commitment. I suppose people do change; you’re a good example. “Anthony?”
“Mm…”
“This is how it was supposed to have been, right?”
“Yeah.” You sighed, brushing your fingers against my upper arm. “It was. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. You know what?”
“Hm.” I pause, hearing your reaction.
“I love you.” I say, softly. You don’t say anything, but the way you hold me after I say that let’s me know that you love me, too. However, you don’t utter the words until much later, when we’re curled up in bed. We hadn’t done anything of a naughty nature. Rather, I knew we didn’t want to risk messing everything up, again. So, we lay in bed, quietly, enjoying one another’s company.
It was late and I was ready to drift off to sleep when I once again felt your lips against mine. This time, though, it wasn’t a lusty, needing kiss. Instead, it was a soft, meaningful one. “Remember when you told me you loved me, Skitz?” you ask, breaking the contact of our lips. I mumble a yes, so tired, yet so incredibly happy. I think I’m getting sick though, because a strange pressure has settled on my chest. “Well…I just thought you’d want to know that, I’m really sorry for what I did. It was stupid of me. But I did it because I was scared, y’know? I always said I’d kiss any one, boy or girl, because anyone from the waist up is fair game.” The wretched sentence causes me to make a face, but yo continue. “Well, I was wrong, ok? I kiss you because I love you, Skitz. I really do.”
I fell asleep with a smile on my face because of your confession and, I’ve never been sorry for sticking with you since.
