Homecoming

I wake up sticky and reminiscent.

Yeah, reminisce, that’s the first thing I do when I sit up on my elbows, sticky with dried Nate on me in a morning-after-getting-laid glow. But really, the sticky part is kind of disgusting.

The second thing I do is regret. But this doesn’t last long because the third and final of this list is realizing that Nate’s no longer next to me. I frown and pull myself up, half thinking ‘I am the man’ and the other fraction thinking, ‘What in the fuck did I just fuck up?’

Post-stand and stretch, I take in my surrounds and can see the morning after homecoming playing like a movie in front of me. It’s all shocking and gross and I think I can still smell some of the puke, but it’s probably just in my head.

What snaps me out of this um…nostalgia, you could say, is sound of the bathroom faucet water running. I turn slowly to the door and am nervous. I’m nervous because last night didn’t go as not-fully planned, so I don’t know what to expect next. But one thing I am expecting is Nate to open the door to the bathroom.

The biggest shock to me is Alex walking out. It mindfucks me just a bit.

He opens the door and we’re face-to-face like that Saturday Nate and I were; only we’re not naked.

“Good morning,” Alex starts cheerily before I think he notices my confused-angry face and hesitantly continues, “…Connor.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” So I’m over the whole bitch at Alex point in my life, seriously, I am. Really. But this is the kind of shit that will send me back to those days, and believe me- he doesn’t want me to have to act like that again because this time around I might just have to sock him with all this rational newfound anger. Rational, because he is not just my best friends boyfriend anymore. He can officially be dubbed the enemy because he is not the boyfriend of the boy that I am in. That I am in. That I am in…um…that I like. As more than a best friend. Yeah.

“I was seeing Nate, obviously,” he glances past me and around the room, but Nate’s not in the room. I want to say he looks nervous in my presence, but to be honest, he doesn’t.
I just glare because I don’t know what else to say.

“Pleasant dreams?” He smirks, but I keep glaring, hiding my confusion before he signals to the borrowed pants with his eyes. And I notice I’m standing in front of him with a full-on boner. There’s this smug look on his face as he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, as if he’s won the battle as I try not to flush.

“Where’s Nate?” I change subject though clenched teeth. The nerve of some people. The nerve of this kid, it’s appalling.

He shrugs a bit, “I think he went to make really late breakfast or something. When I got here he had just woken up but asked if I was hungry.”

For a second there, I’m above all this. In my morning after calm, I’m cool, completely and totally cool excluding that angry part of me I’ve always got saved up for The Enemy. Because part of me knows he knows that I won, because he told me this. Except they are still dating, so this can’t be over. But this, when I start to notice he thinks he’s better than me, this is when the immaturity kicks in.

I turn, not even trying to hide the hard-on. I sit on the edge of the bed and look back. Maybe I’ve even making it more obvious, though it’s starting to get painful.

“Good,” I start, “I like when they make breakfast after sex.” Yeah, whatever, I know this isn’t the best thing to say. Firstly because Nate’s my best friend and I really don’t believe in that statement. Second because The Enemy pretty much turns into an animal.

He pounces at me. Like seriously, narrows his eyes, puts one foot back and fucking dives onto the bed with crazy skill, pinning me. What does he think he is? A goddamn tiger?

“Get the fuck off me, loser!” I squirm in his furious grasp. I’m not the best fighter honestly. It’s never really been a need for me to fight anyone. No one has a problem with me; I don’t have a problem with them.

“Don’t! Fucking! Say! That! He’s your best friend you asshole!”

His statement makes me feel as if he’s defending me and Nate’s friendship more than Nate’s…honor or whatever. It’s a bit scary, that maniac glint in his eye. He’s be straddling me if only one of his knees wasn’t painfully pressed into my chest. I still can’t help but notice how his shin’s still making contact with my boner, only it’s really not arousing at all. He doesn’t even mention the I-had-sex-with-your-boyfriend part.

“I am aware! Tell me something that I don’t know, like I did for you!” I yell.

“You want something that you don’t fucking know? I know who your blackmailer is,” his voice drops low, damn near a growl. I stop trying to fight my way out of his grip momentarily, I get slack-jawed.

In my shock, his grip noticeably loosens. I work my way out of stun and into anger quickly, as always and take this off-guard moment to pull one of my wrists out of his hand and punch him as hard as I can from my position in the face. I’m not even aiming for a particular body part, just face.

He’s jolted back and lets go of my other hand in his newfound shock, I use this to turn the tables like I see on TV and put him in the same position I was. He doesn’t try even to get out and face-to-face like this, I notice the bruise forming along his jaw line. He’s not even wincing.
The door opens, “Guys!” Nate’s dad’s voice doesn’t break this death stare. It’s almost like a competition. It’s childish but I like this better than getting hit back. I also don’t move when Dad comes in because I don’t want Alex to be free and then get in a sucker punch. I’m pulled off by waist by Dad as he presses his other hand not-so-securely into Alex’s chest, representing the command ‘stay’. “Nate!” is called as I finally blink.

“You don’t deserve him,” he spits with venom though I don’t respond because hello, parents in the room- chill. There’s no denying that it makes me feel like shit for a moment, though.
Out my peripheral vision, I can see Nate’s dad staring at me with a confused look and just then I remember he knows nothing about any of this. “What’s going on?” He says, skeptically, letting Alex up, but not letting me go. Smart move.

Alex opens his mouth to start, but then I think he realizes that this is practically my dad, he can’t just say something to hurt me.

“They’re just childish,” everyone turns at the sound of Nate in the doorway. Who, may I just take the time to mention, looks unbelievable with rarely worn glasses, sex hair, no shirt, and very loose, very low pajama bottoms, as he (near seductively) glares.

His glare doesn’t really look angry though. It’s more frustrated, more disappointed, than anything. It makes me feel bad. His dad nods in this I understand that you’re keeping something from me because I’m a parent way.

“Connor, we should talk,” though this sounds like a suggestion to most, I know that it means to get to his office. Now.

Nate moves aside so we can get through and he makes contact with me as I follow the oldest man out the room. I can’t read the expression, but he keeps it until I’m out of the room. I hear him starting, “What the hell was that?” as the door is closed behind me.
When Nate and I were kids, our fathers were friends because we were. Now, I kind of think Nate’s dad hates my Dad because of how he left my mom. One time I vaguely had this discussion with Nate, he said his dad was put off- probably because he didn’t have the choice to divorce his wife, because she died. And he says my mom reminds him of her, but most nice women do.

But anyways, after my mom and dad divorced and my dad moved away, Nate’s dad took it upon himself to step in my dad’s place. Whenever anything at all was wrong, we’d have these man-to-man talks in his office, whenever he wasn’t working. I didn’t get into much trouble as a kid but I really appreciated him taking the time to do that because my dad was such a douche. I relearned about the fucking birds and bees in this office.
But now, right now, it’s just a little annoying.

I walk through the double doors of his home office still shirtless and sit down across from his huge, leather, spinning chair. I grab the rubber band ball that Nate and I made over the years in the time we spent having manly talks in this office. I wish I had some rubber bands. But I just settle on tossing it up and down which I’ve learned is a good way to avoid eye contact. And though I try not to, because it’ll only make me angrier, I think about that fucker and how he knows whose embarrassing me, and ruining my reputation and personality and life.

“So what’s going on, really,” I hear the chair creak before he starts to speak.

“You sons boyfriend is a colossal-“

He cuts me off before I curse, “Language,” but I catch a slight smirk.

“He cannot control his temper, obviously, father.”

“Because that’s why you’re unharmed and he’s purpling at the jaw.”

I stop throwing up the ball to channel freshman year me as I smile, “He started it.”

“Classic. But really, Connor, you seem very tense, these days- Almost hostile.”

“I am.”

“So who is it that you don’t deserve?”

I drop the ball and watch it roll out of my reach, “No one.”

“Alex said him.”

“Alex,” I pause, “is stupid.”

“I don’t think I’m getting to you as much as I used to when you were younger.”
I shrug before feeling guilty. I open my mouth to say something, to confess to something, but then I close it.

“You know what. I’m not even going to get too involved in this, though I know you need someone to talk to. I’ve known you since you were eight years old, much longer than Alex and I know that when you don’t act like how you’ve been acting lately, honestly, you deserve anyone. And they deserve you because you’re a nice person, Connor- a genuinely nice person. So nice, that,” he pauses, “Really, I almost understand this sudden out lash of anger now.”

My eyebrows furrow. If these were the talks we had when I was younger, I really must not have been listening because that did not help at all.