Maybe You Don't Understand

I've always been distant, ever since I lost my brother. He was my hero, and he seemed to make my life easier, to help me when I was down. But here I am, walking in the ice cold rain alone, like I enjoy doing. The cold rain makes me feel awake, it makes me realize how numb I'm feeling. My converse clad feet step in puddle after puddle, I can barely feel my toes as I walk in this winter rain in nothing but a sheer tee shirt and a pair of skinny jeans.

This day is never easy for me, it's my brother's birthday. I had found one way to cope, his name is Jack. He was there for me when my world came crashing down, he became a drug that I couldn't get off of, a drug that I quickly got addicted to. I couldn't help but worry that he didn't feel the same way about me, so when I realized what I was doing --meshing our lips together-- I hauled out of there, I swear I didn't even blink before I was out the door.

I'm not even sure if I fell for Jack for all the right reasons. Yeah, he's adorable. Yeah, he makes me laugh, brightens up my mood... He does everything I could ask for, but I just don't know if I should rely on him so much. He's my best friend, and I'm happy with him being that. But did I fall in love with him because he was there to take my pain away, like some rebound, or because he truly is my missing piece?

I shiver, as the clouds continue to engulf what was left of the sun, causing me to regret not grabbing my jacket before leaving his house. I couldn't go home, for all I know, Jack could be waiting there, ready to beat me up because he's realized I'm gay. He could be there to laugh at me for the same reason; I doubt that he'd be there to support me, to tell me that he loves me too.

I looked up at the gray sky, knowing that it matched my emotions quiet exactly. I wanted to cry, but couldn't find the courage to do so, I imagined that the rain drops were my tears. I run a hand roughly through my hair as I replay what went down, moment by moment.


"Love isn't like that," I remarked, turning away from the television to look at my friend.

Jack refused to unglue his eyes from the television, waiting for the oncoming scene. "What do you mean?"

"You don't eat someone's face, like that. You kiss them passionately, softly, with meaning. That's like pure hunger, in a sense that you need food, not want." I sighed, "And they just met, you can't fall for someone so quickly."

"It's a movie Alex, don't dig so deeply into it."

"That's gross," I scrunched up my face as the man on the television chewed the girl's lip.

"How is kissing supposed to be then?" he asked me, clearly annoyed that I wasn't letting him watch the movie, he must of figured the only way I would let him was if he humored me first.

"I told you already," I mused, trying to keep from smirking at the anger that filled his expression.

Maybe it was the fact that we were talking about kissing, or because we were watching a couple on television strip down, but I wanted nothing more then his lips on mine, more then ever. I leaned forward, completely unaware of my actions, pressing my lips softly against his, remaining there for a moment.

I can clearly remember how stiff his body went under mine, that was probably the only reason I pulled away from him and ran off. Maybe if he kissed me back, or wrapped his arms around me, I would have stayed and we could have talked about it. But no, I had to chicken out.

When I finally gave up on walking in the cold rain, I headed home, just to avoid getting sick. I walked into the house, nodding at Rian who was on the couch and going up to my room. I tossed my soggy shirt on the floor and opened my door, I was in the process of removing my pants when I noticed Jack sitting on my bed. I stopped, my zipper, belt, and button undone; he had a clear view of my see-through-because-of-the-rain white underwear, but luckily he couldn't see much because of the position of my jeans.

He stood up, keeping as quiet as me, pressing his body up against mine, pressing me up against my dresser as he attached our lips. I didn't argue, I took it in like any addict would; I let his hands roam my body, secretly waiting for him to expose me.

See, what I failed to mention, was that we had kissed several times. It was just on the cheek and playfully on the lips to mess with other people, but never when we were talking about love, never so tenderly. But when I kissed him during the movie, I freaked because I felt like he had the idea I was in love with him, and if he didn't, me running away did.

I don't know --as his hands are now tugging at my jeans, (thankfully, I might add)-- if he's doing this to explore his own desire, or because he wants me. I don't know if he's doing this to see how far I'll let him go, or just to make fun of me for it later. But right now, I don't care, his hands just felt so good against my skin, I couldn't protest.

I followed his lead as he backed up, pulling me along with him on our trail to my bed, my wet clothes at the foot of my dresser. He crawled onto the bed, tossing his own clothes onto the floor, grabbing my hand and ushering it against his skin, all the way down...

~x~

It's been a month.

Neither one of us can speak a word to each other, let alone talk about what happened. We often find ourselves behind tour buses when no one is around, our lips attached, our hands exploring -- but why can't we have a conversation? Why did this all bubble down to want?

A druggie's downfall, the let down, the crash; whatever you wanted to call it. Maybe that was what this was? I'm sitting here on the edge of a stage, watching him ride his small bike around the area where the crowd would be standing if it were daytime. I want to have him again, I want to feel our skin against each others, but I can't look like the weak one.

I notice how he looks toward me now and then, like he wants me to have all of my attention on him. So I shrug it off, and make sure my eyes remain on him, I'd do anything to keep this man happy, hoping that he'll make me happy in return.

It wasn't long before I found myself walking to our bus, secretly wanting Jack to be following me. As I rounded the corner, his bike cut me off, coming from the other end of the buses. The smile on is face almost made me melt right there, but it was his hand on mine that did the trick, it made me shiver.

With my back pressed against the silver bus, he ran his hands under my shirt. I arched around the metal behind me, but I knew I had to stop this, I needed to tell him what was on my mind. I couldn't let this continue, I couldn't go on pulling my hair out wondering what this fling was.

"No," I said, pushing his hands away from my belt.

"What?" Jack's eyes were wide with confusion.

"I don't want to go on like this," I whispered, "what is this even? Is this love, is this lust?" I spoke my mind freely, not really caring where it would lead.

"I want you."

"You're not answering my question."

He looked up at the sound of someone exiting a bus, "I thought this is what you wanted? I thought you liked me."

"I do Jack. I want a relationship, not no-attachment flings. We don't even talk anymore!"

He just stared at me for a moment before cupping his hand over my cheek, "I think we could do this."

"Do what?"

He pressed his lips against mine and I pushed him off.

"No," I told him.

"What will people say," Jack asked, "when they find out that we're not straight?"

"I don't care."

He looked down, "Then let's give this a shot."

Jack didn't seem very convincing, but I really didn't care at that time, I just liked the words that I was hearing come out of his mouth -- I liked the sound of his voice, directed at me -- to be honest. I believed him, I trusted him, I thought we could make something of ourselves.

And I was right.