Because I'd Rather You'd Come With Me
Go If You Want To
I used to like to consider it similar to a situation that would take place in a prison or a boarding school, think of it as a place where people could sweep it under the rug quietly; people were kinder towards it if they thought of it as an only option. I didn’t mind lying to myself if it helped me sleep at night because God knows I needed that sleep.
His eyes were now glued to the television, he didn’t mind if it was only infomercials at this hour in the morning. His t-shirt was hanging a little above his bellybutton, giving a wonderful view at the patch of hair that trailed down to a spot that was all too familiar to me now.
“Could you be possibly any creepier?”
His voice rang in my ears loudly and clearly, yet it took me a few seconds longer than it should’ve for me to register that he’d spoken to me. My eyes shifted a little, moving uneasily from his face over to the television in the middle of the room. Sometimes it was hard not to stare, I wasn’t used to being the only person in the room with him; it made it much harder to hide my adoration.
“Shut up.”
My voice didn’t seem to linger like his, although they did sometimes sound similar. Both of us had the same accent, the same teasing dialect. I always found that he could hide his better, always making himself sound more proper in front of the camera. He didn’t respond anymore, he just continued to pretend to watch the television, much the same as me. I had a feeling that both of us were just trying not to think of what would eventually happen, what always ended up happening.
The first time is the easiest to remember, being what felt like the millionth time sharing a room yet the first time we’d ever spoken so seriously. We were drunk, cold with the night air lingering at our bodies; we didn’t know how we’d explain our hangovers to the coach the next morning, or how we’d get Sidney off of our backs. We just wanted to celebrate and we just wanted to get rid of the tension, even though we’d never discussed it with each other. We just looked at each other like there wasn’t anyone else, because there wouldn’t be when we got back.
I could still taste the alcohol on his breath, even though he’d been chewing gum after we’d left a deserted bar. His hair was wet with sweat from walking up all of the stairs in the hotel, which both of us had done desperately to sweat the alcohol out of our systems.
“It makes sense, Max.”
And of course it didn’t, but it didn’t matter much to either of us then. We both undressed, laid in our separate beds and laughed at the most random things on tv as we flicked through the channels. Now that I thought about it, they weren’t so funny. I can’t recall who moved where, but we were suddenly sharing the same bed and toppling over each other. My pace of breathing quickened every time his lips would make contact with any part of my body, and I was almost sure that his did the same. It felt like the entire thing was short, over almost before it again, but it wasn’t that short when we’d looked at the clock to realize we’d occupied ourselves for a little over two hours. I was exhausted the most, picking myself up after I’d collapsed on top of Kris to walk over to my own bed.
“What are you thinking about?”
I smiled to myself, knowing fully well what I’d been thinking of. For a second, I almost thought of telling him the truth. “Uh, well, remember that first time I fucked your brains out?” But instead, I lied. I muttered something under my breath about the game we’d played earlier that night.
“Oh.” Oh. That’s all he could say. Fucking oh.
For a second, I nearly think that he’s not going to ever shut off the television, glance over and motion for me to join him, rip off all of my clothes, let me clumsily do whatever I want before letting me hold him until he falls asleep.
“You’re too fucking quiet tonight, Max.” I looked up, completely dazed by the thoughts flustering about in my mind.
“Sorry.”
As usual, he appears to be gliding- yes, fucking gliding- towards my bed in the darkness. His weight presses down on my bed, and I seem to be rolling into what feels like the middle. His hips kind of dig into my flesh like how I’d imagine bone-shaped razorblades would, but it doesn’t bother me. His hair is long now, hanging low at my cheeks when his face is far closer than it should be.
Every thrust seems as though it’s already been pre-planned in my head. It’s familiar in the best ways, and I keep getting these waves of ecstasy rushing through my entire body. For a second, I think it’s not possible that I’m actually doing this again, but then I think about the possibility of never doing it again and it pushes me back into the moment more than ever. I possibly try too hard, but Kris never complains; he mostly just moans and groans and yells beneath me. We’re not too sure how we worked out these positions, but we never question them or change them.
Then it’s over, I feel pathetically weak as I collapse onto his firm body, watching his eyes close as I try desperately to catch them open. Sometimes I feel like it would kill him to give me a little reassurance. It’s his turn to roll out of the bed now, letting me catch his silhouette against the window. He’s attractive. For a man.
“I don’t think we can do this anymore.”
It hits me, then. I instantly miss the feeling of using Kris as a last resort, I instantly despise knowing that I’m not using him at all anymore.
My heart literally feels as though it’s combusting inside my rib cage, possibly tearing apart my lungs and the rest of my organs as it blows to pieces. It’s sudden, and I can’t explain it much because it feels as though my mind’s gone numb. I quickly tried to repress every feeling, gathering my nerve up to haul a sheet over myself and avoid his corner of the room with my eyes.
The fact that ‘I don’t care’ has completely gone out the window blows my mind, and I’m lost for words. I feel worse than Malkin when he’s sitting in the dressing room trying to talk about the simplest things. I’ve got no decent words left to use, my vocabulary’s run dry.
“Right.”
I knew he wouldn’t feel satisfied with my answer, so I swallowed dryly before continuing my speech of denial.
“It’s just fucking anyway, so why keep doing it?”
It’s his turn to remain silent, and I like to tell myself it’s because he’s laying there in the dark regretting every word he’s said in the last sixty seconds. I can hear my own heart beat in my chest, and it’s killing me; I can’t stand not knowing what word to speak next.
“Yeah, it’s just hormones.”
“Just hormones.” I repeated.
His eyes were now glued to the television, he didn’t mind if it was only infomercials at this hour in the morning. His t-shirt was hanging a little above his bellybutton, giving a wonderful view at the patch of hair that trailed down to a spot that was all too familiar to me now.
“Could you be possibly any creepier?”
His voice rang in my ears loudly and clearly, yet it took me a few seconds longer than it should’ve for me to register that he’d spoken to me. My eyes shifted a little, moving uneasily from his face over to the television in the middle of the room. Sometimes it was hard not to stare, I wasn’t used to being the only person in the room with him; it made it much harder to hide my adoration.
“Shut up.”
My voice didn’t seem to linger like his, although they did sometimes sound similar. Both of us had the same accent, the same teasing dialect. I always found that he could hide his better, always making himself sound more proper in front of the camera. He didn’t respond anymore, he just continued to pretend to watch the television, much the same as me. I had a feeling that both of us were just trying not to think of what would eventually happen, what always ended up happening.
The first time is the easiest to remember, being what felt like the millionth time sharing a room yet the first time we’d ever spoken so seriously. We were drunk, cold with the night air lingering at our bodies; we didn’t know how we’d explain our hangovers to the coach the next morning, or how we’d get Sidney off of our backs. We just wanted to celebrate and we just wanted to get rid of the tension, even though we’d never discussed it with each other. We just looked at each other like there wasn’t anyone else, because there wouldn’t be when we got back.
I could still taste the alcohol on his breath, even though he’d been chewing gum after we’d left a deserted bar. His hair was wet with sweat from walking up all of the stairs in the hotel, which both of us had done desperately to sweat the alcohol out of our systems.
“It makes sense, Max.”
And of course it didn’t, but it didn’t matter much to either of us then. We both undressed, laid in our separate beds and laughed at the most random things on tv as we flicked through the channels. Now that I thought about it, they weren’t so funny. I can’t recall who moved where, but we were suddenly sharing the same bed and toppling over each other. My pace of breathing quickened every time his lips would make contact with any part of my body, and I was almost sure that his did the same. It felt like the entire thing was short, over almost before it again, but it wasn’t that short when we’d looked at the clock to realize we’d occupied ourselves for a little over two hours. I was exhausted the most, picking myself up after I’d collapsed on top of Kris to walk over to my own bed.
“What are you thinking about?”
I smiled to myself, knowing fully well what I’d been thinking of. For a second, I almost thought of telling him the truth. “Uh, well, remember that first time I fucked your brains out?” But instead, I lied. I muttered something under my breath about the game we’d played earlier that night.
“Oh.” Oh. That’s all he could say. Fucking oh.
For a second, I nearly think that he’s not going to ever shut off the television, glance over and motion for me to join him, rip off all of my clothes, let me clumsily do whatever I want before letting me hold him until he falls asleep.
“You’re too fucking quiet tonight, Max.” I looked up, completely dazed by the thoughts flustering about in my mind.
“Sorry.”
As usual, he appears to be gliding- yes, fucking gliding- towards my bed in the darkness. His weight presses down on my bed, and I seem to be rolling into what feels like the middle. His hips kind of dig into my flesh like how I’d imagine bone-shaped razorblades would, but it doesn’t bother me. His hair is long now, hanging low at my cheeks when his face is far closer than it should be.
Every thrust seems as though it’s already been pre-planned in my head. It’s familiar in the best ways, and I keep getting these waves of ecstasy rushing through my entire body. For a second, I think it’s not possible that I’m actually doing this again, but then I think about the possibility of never doing it again and it pushes me back into the moment more than ever. I possibly try too hard, but Kris never complains; he mostly just moans and groans and yells beneath me. We’re not too sure how we worked out these positions, but we never question them or change them.
Then it’s over, I feel pathetically weak as I collapse onto his firm body, watching his eyes close as I try desperately to catch them open. Sometimes I feel like it would kill him to give me a little reassurance. It’s his turn to roll out of the bed now, letting me catch his silhouette against the window. He’s attractive. For a man.
“I don’t think we can do this anymore.”
It hits me, then. I instantly miss the feeling of using Kris as a last resort, I instantly despise knowing that I’m not using him at all anymore.
My heart literally feels as though it’s combusting inside my rib cage, possibly tearing apart my lungs and the rest of my organs as it blows to pieces. It’s sudden, and I can’t explain it much because it feels as though my mind’s gone numb. I quickly tried to repress every feeling, gathering my nerve up to haul a sheet over myself and avoid his corner of the room with my eyes.
The fact that ‘I don’t care’ has completely gone out the window blows my mind, and I’m lost for words. I feel worse than Malkin when he’s sitting in the dressing room trying to talk about the simplest things. I’ve got no decent words left to use, my vocabulary’s run dry.
“Right.”
I knew he wouldn’t feel satisfied with my answer, so I swallowed dryly before continuing my speech of denial.
“It’s just fucking anyway, so why keep doing it?”
It’s his turn to remain silent, and I like to tell myself it’s because he’s laying there in the dark regretting every word he’s said in the last sixty seconds. I can hear my own heart beat in my chest, and it’s killing me; I can’t stand not knowing what word to speak next.
“Yeah, it’s just hormones.”
“Just hormones.” I repeated.