| AN HOUR LATER... He sat on the couch facing the plain beige door of the hotel suite. His green eyes slightly droopy from one too many glasses of wine. His palms slightly sweaty. The silk Dolce and Gabanna long sleeve pullover clinging to his chest like a second skin. The black leather pants tight in all the right spots. The music was low--some jazz station he figured would ease the mood. The dinner was laid out--a take out masterpiece created for ‘lovers’ the chef said. He laughed at that. A happy laugh that bubbled from inside his heart. He’d never been in love before so it was nice to associate the word with something other than a sticky fuck fest that left him feeling slightly nauseous. There were no candles. He stopped at that. No need for pure sap. No. Chris was not like that. The beige door hadn’t moved thus far. Still he stayed put hoping it would move soon. ***************** An hour later and the wine was gone. An hour later and his heart was breaking a little. An hour later and he decided to go to the window and look--stare out over the city and try to catch a glimpse of Chris coming back from his ‘outing’. Wherever that might have been. Chris left early that afternoon--kissing him on the nose--leaving him alone in the huge hotel bed. “I’ll be back later,” was all the explanation he’d gotten. A single page was the only conversation he’d had with Chris all day. It was simple. “Be back at seven” It was eight. He picked up the phone and ordered more wine before pressing his forehead against the cool glass trying not to focus on every part of his body that tingled with disappointment. ****************** An hour later and he was angry. Pained. Stinging from hurt. Rejection. Frustration. The second bottle of wine was gone and he pushed the dinner tray into the hallway, pausing only to swipe the strawberries from it. His stomach rumbled and he always did like the juicy fruit. Crushed, he sat on the bed with the bowl between his legs, staring at a television screen that batted his reflection back at him with a pathetic glare--a mirrored image of himself shaking it’s head, telling him ‘I told you so, I told you not to fall in love’. He ate the strawberries absently and wondered what he’d done wrong. He told Chris he loved him. Professed his love while they kissed under the stars after a long ride on Chris’ Harley. Screamed how much he loved him while they rolled around naked in the very bed he sat on. Whispered his love in the shower while he soaped Chris’ back. Tried to prove his love by arranging this night. A perfect night to commit him to Chris. ******************* An hour later and he was close to tears. He grabbed the phone and tried Chris’ cell. Voice mail picked up. He tried to page but got no answer. He dialed Justin who laughed and asked him if he checked the arcades. He dialed Joey who mumbled something about sexual predators and hung up. He dialed JC who yawned in his ear then fell asleep. He chewed on his lip and pushed his way into the bathroom. Peeling off his new shirt, he hung it carefully, then stepped out of his pants. The pain wrapped around him so violently he felt weak. Love was something he convinced himself he could do without--a useless emotion that belonged in angsty love songs and country bars--something poets used to express pain--a ploy for candy manufactures to sell their product. Love was not for him. He wasn’t born under the love star. He was born under the reality star. Only Chris was different. Chris was patient and slow. He was funny and gentle. Chris was his heart. ********************** An hour later and he was curled in bed alone--an extra large bed that felt cold. Eleven and no sign. They had an early interview and were supposed to be resting up. He snorted and tried to close his eyes. He was lonely and there was nothing there. He learned that love hurt--more than he wanted it to. The darkness taunted him--played tricks on his mind. Fear edged it’s way in and suddenly he worried Chris was hurt somewhere. He dialed Justin who laughed again. Joey who sighed again. JC who snored again. Panic raced and he knew it was love. Climbing out of the bed, he dressed quickly and tried to focus on where he would go. Where he should look. His heart raced and pounded with thoughts of Chris hurt--love stung like that. Nothing meant more than finding him. The anger flitted away and he ran for the door. Swinging it open he saw soft brown eyes looking at the cart in shock. “Chris!” he cried, ready to collapse. “Was that for me?” Chris asked quietly. The anger crawled back in and steely green eyes banged into Chris. “It was,” he said coolly. “Seven remember?” He wondered when he turned into his mother--a nag--like he cared. No, he wasn’t going to care. Caring hurt and he didn’t like hurt. He turned on his heel and walked back in, refusing the anguish and letting the pettiness come out. He decided he wasn’t in love anymore. “Lance, God, I’m sorry, I was out and I didn’t know.” But he wasn’t listening. He peeled his clothes off and crawled back into bed--feeling like a jealous wife--not a good emotion. He pressed his cheek into the pillow and tried to concentrate on sleep, on how tired he is and not on the ache that rocks his heart. The mattress depressed a little and he smelled Chris--that exotic scent of fresh air and musky cologne that’s so unique--that scent that curls up his nose when he hugs Chris or curls against him at night. “Lance, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize...” “Doesn’t matter,” he pouted, hating himself more and more as the moments ticked by--hating the mere fact he was this upset. He wasn’t going to be in love with Chris anymore. “Please just let me explain, Lance.” A hand landed on his leg--Chris’ hand--a hand he knew well. The same hand that rested on his back when they came off stage. The hand that settled on his thigh while they watch television--the hand that caressed him to orgasm night after night. So when he shrugged it away, he didn’t appreciate how much it would upset him. And when Chris recoiled, he shivered. The bed lifted and he knew Chris was leaving--he expected to hear the door open then close. He expected Chris to go and not look back because that’s what he himself would do. Not loving and all. Seconds later, he watched as Chris slid around the bed and knelt down beside him. “They have this shop I heard about. Rare antiques and stuff. I went online to find it and anyway, they had the pen John Glenn used when he went into space. Well one of them anyway. You can write upside down with it and stuff. I thought you could take it up with you.” He gasped and choked because it wasn’t what he expected--at all. And when Chris plucked the long silver box from behind his back and placed it down on the bed, he wanted to die. He wanted to say he was sorry and swallow the ache that’s been lodged in his throat. His fingers snaked out from under the pillow and ran along the box’s edge. He blinked up into kind dark eyes and fell... Right back into love with Chris. [ back ] |