Not the Other Way Around
Chapter 1
It wasn't an unfamiliar situation. I stood caught in the middle, frozen between the 2 of them. Theirs was a tempestous relationship and I was never much help. His back was firmly turned to her, his own mother, and she turned her pleas for acceptance to me.
I was remaining mostly silent, the character I was playing at the time didn't like being in the midle of conflict. My duty, as always, was to take his side, but I could see her point. Having staged an "intervention" after the discovery of rubbers in my room barely a month before, she couldn't leave us alone in the house.
I don't say this, I know the truth. He'll go off in a sulk, I'll acompany him, and we'll fuck in the woods just out of the village.
Not an unfamiliar situation.
As she leaves in frustration I turn to see him crouched on the floor, packing his backpack. He pauses and downs most of the hge 60p bottle of cherryade we bought the day before, to supply a cheap and ineffective sugar high.
I feel myself fast forward 20 years into yet another not unfamiliar situation. My 35-year-old self looks down and sees Sam crouching on the floor, shoulders shrugged defensively as hecollects what he feels he needed, perhaps pausing to take a swig of what's closest.
It'll be the same then as it is now. I'm hopelessly trapped between wanting to comfort him, him shutting me out, and wishing that just maybe how I I felt and how upset I was, was just that little bit more important enough that maybe for once I didn't have to make the first move.
And I cave again, 'cause in the end, I know he loves me, right? And I've said I love you too so many times that it must be true. So I bend down and hug him out of his defensive curl and he turns to kiss me, and tell me he's sorry but he just "can't deal with them [his family] at the moment" but that he's just so glad I'll always be there to "understand" what he's going through with them. I go along with it, kiss him back, hug him and tell him it'll all be ok, I'll make it all better. He asks where we'll go since we can't stay at the house and I tell him we'll just keep walking.
In the end all you can do it just keep walking.
I was remaining mostly silent, the character I was playing at the time didn't like being in the midle of conflict. My duty, as always, was to take his side, but I could see her point. Having staged an "intervention" after the discovery of rubbers in my room barely a month before, she couldn't leave us alone in the house.
I don't say this, I know the truth. He'll go off in a sulk, I'll acompany him, and we'll fuck in the woods just out of the village.
Not an unfamiliar situation.
As she leaves in frustration I turn to see him crouched on the floor, packing his backpack. He pauses and downs most of the hge 60p bottle of cherryade we bought the day before, to supply a cheap and ineffective sugar high.
I feel myself fast forward 20 years into yet another not unfamiliar situation. My 35-year-old self looks down and sees Sam crouching on the floor, shoulders shrugged defensively as hecollects what he feels he needed, perhaps pausing to take a swig of what's closest.
It'll be the same then as it is now. I'm hopelessly trapped between wanting to comfort him, him shutting me out, and wishing that just maybe how I I felt and how upset I was, was just that little bit more important enough that maybe for once I didn't have to make the first move.
And I cave again, 'cause in the end, I know he loves me, right? And I've said I love you too so many times that it must be true. So I bend down and hug him out of his defensive curl and he turns to kiss me, and tell me he's sorry but he just "can't deal with them [his family] at the moment" but that he's just so glad I'll always be there to "understand" what he's going through with them. I go along with it, kiss him back, hug him and tell him it'll all be ok, I'll make it all better. He asks where we'll go since we can't stay at the house and I tell him we'll just keep walking.
In the end all you can do it just keep walking.