Clearly

I sat up quickly, my hands grabbing onto the soft fabric on both sides of my body as I fought to regain my breathing, trying to control my emotions. Shock—that was all that was coursing through my veins at the speed of light. When had I fallen asleep? Why does this not feel like a couch? What was the lightening bolt of foreign feeling that pulled me out of my stupor?

My eyes scanned the darkness surrounding me repeatedly, slowly regaining my sight and the ability to make out distant shapes in the room surrounding me. Pierce’s room. My eyes caught sight of Pierce’s set of couches, about fifteen to twenty feet in front of where I currently am… but that was where I last remember being.

Instinctively, I looked down at my body, the pieces slowly coming together as I noticed a rather large shirt adorning my body, hanging off one of my shoulders, exposing one of my collarbones—just the way he liked it. My eyes trailed the soft fabric of the long-sleeved t-shirt that slid past my fingertips and engulfed my entire torso and arms easily, vaguely recognizing it from one of the evening’s I spent with him on a colder night. It hugged his body beautifully, emphasizing his muscular back and arms, while leaving the planes of his stomach to the imagination—an open invitation.

I bit my lip, uncurling my hands from the blanket adorning his bed as I calmed down, not wanting to bark at the man whose hands were currently playing with the hem of my oversized t-shirt, biting his lip and looking anywhere but at me, though he seemed genuinely serene.

“What did you do?” I asked, bringing my hand up to my forehead and shaking it furiously until the end of the sleeve fell past my wrist so that my actual hand would rest against my forehead, not one covered in his scent.

“I woke up and you were asleep really uncomfortably on the couch with one leg thrown over the top and you were half falling off and you were shivering. I didn’t want your back to hurt or for you to get sick,” he said simply, slightly raspy as if there was a frog caught in his throat. Nevertheless, it took all my willpower not to shiver delightedly at his newfound tone, holding nothing but genuine compassion mixed with a slight daze.

Awkward silence enveloped us as Pierce slowly sat up, sitting next to me but keeping a tiny bit of space between our bodies, our lower halves concealed by his blanket. I felt meek, wearing an almost similar t-shirt to the one adorning his body, the only difference being the color, as I realized that he outshined me physically in every possible way, just like I did so long ago.

“You look good,” he said fondly, his eyes tracing over my body, making me self-consciously pull the collar of the shirt over my shoulder and the sleeves of the t-shirt down. I inwardly groaned, realizing that that made the large collar dip so low that one of my nipples was exposed. I settled on allowing it to droop off my shoulder once more as I fidgeted nervously, making a big enough fool of myself.

It took me a moment before I realized that it was the polite thing to do to respond, so I allowed my eyes to rake over his head, not wanting to risk glancing lower and making myself feel even weaker mentally and physically. “You look… clean,”I decided, noticing his no longer disheveled hair and the acrid scent of alcohol lacking on his tongue.

“I showered when I woke up,” he grumbled, “and took some aspirin,” he continued on, holding his head at the reminder of his hangover. “And I brushed my teeth… seven times…”

I let out a dry laugh at his omission, knowing that him drinking wasn’t a good idea, but I was momentarily distracted by the large clock placed on the wall above his television.

“It’s three in the afternoon?” I asked dumbfounded.

“You never even used to sleep past noon,” Pierce said matter-of-factly, “so I assumed you needed your sleep. Why haven’t you been sleeping?” And there’s the concerned man that always puts others before himself.

“It’s not that hard to guess,” I muttered bitterly, taking note of the closed, heavy curtains that were keeping the room dark. Before he had a chance to respond, I continued speaking, not wanting to upset him. “Do you remember any of last night?”

“Bits and pieces,” he responded quickly.

“What bits and pieces?” I finally asked, looking him in the eye for the first time today, realizing that I finally have enough willpower not to allow those hazel wonders to pull me in and trap me forever.

“Hunter,” he said, his adam’s apple bobbing a bit afterwards, as if his tongue become heavy. “And the scrapbook,” he continued on around a smile, glancing at his nightstand where it lay open, “and you said you still loved me.”

I froze, noticing his hand creeping towards mine, and in a fit of panic I jumped out of bed, not knowing how to respond since I am still so unsure as to why those words left my lips at all last night. These past few months, I’ve put myself through emotional agony and pain to get over him and my resolve crumbled when I saw him at a moment of weakness, when he just let me walk out of his life at my moment of weakness.

“Yeah, um, we need to talk,” I said nervously, crossing the front of the bed and speed-walking to the door of Pierce’s bedroom, prying it open and letting some light in, knowing it would make him pause for a second as his eyes adjusted.

“We can do that,” he said, a hint of devastation in his tone, barely audible to anyone’s ears but my own. “Everyone is out of the house, some weird charity event or something that I got excused from.”

“’Kay,” I said awkwardly, descending his staircase and deciding on settling in his television room. There was plenty of room on the several couches and two of the walls were covered in windows, giving me a nice, distracting glimpse of the beautiful landscape that is the Gordon Estate. I tucked one of my legs underneath my other ankle as I bent it at the knee and curled into a ball against one of the edges on the couch, turning the television on as I watched Pierce’s father and his sickening smile deliver some bogus speech about how this charity was so close to his heart, when, as always, it was all about the publicity. He would probably support cannibalism if that’s what a great majority of Americans deemed accepted and worthy.

The couch sunk as Pierce settled himself on the middle cushion, giving me my space, but not as much as I silently hoped he would. His arms slung around the back of the couch as his legs spread out in the way that screamed, “I am alpha male—fear my wrath if you disturb me from my comfort.”

“Did Hunter ever hit you?” I asked blatantly, turning towards him, watching his hands. His hands always shook if he was really emotional about something, he taps his fingers against something if he’s nervous, and he entwines them if he’s lying or trying to dance around something. Just like a set of eyes, they allow one to easily read him.

“Why would you ask me that?” He questioned, his voice quivering.

“You don’t remember much of our conversation from last night,” I reminded him before repeating, “did Hunter ever hit you?”

“Not until last night,” he said earnestly. “He’d throw fits and stuff, but he never struck me.”

“And you, of course, would let him have his way before he got riled up enough to strike you because you don’t like confrontation.”

He remained silent, a small smile set on his lips, proving that he is aware of how well I know him. “That’s so typical of you. You have the ability to be one of the scariest people ever and you’re, like, King Pacifist.” He leaned back, eying me skeptically as he chuckled lightly, making me smile too.

“Are you okay?” I asked again, crawling over to him gently as I lifted up his shirt, suddenly concerned that his usual heroics could be covering up true pain.

“I’m fine,” he promised me, his hands removing my hands from the hem of his shirt. “He barely left a mark, not that strong.”

My eyebrows knit together at his refusal to allow me a small request. I had become so used to being granted any wish that I wanted by him that his refusal caught me off guard, and as his fingers slowly tangled with my own, I realized he was hiding something.

“I want to see,” I insisted, my face reddening as I grabbed the bottom of his shirt, yanking it up gently before staring wide-eyed at the series of marks adorning his normally porcelain skin, easily picking out the one left by a drunken punch near the bottom of the right side of his ribcage. He was telling the truth—barely left a mark. Without thinking about it, I found myself crawling into his lap, straddling his crossed legs as my hands hesitantly traced his marred body. This was absolutely horrific.

“You said he forced you into things?” I finally asked, not removing my eyes from his torso as my bottom lip trembled.

He looked away, making my breath catch as I gently tugged the top of his pants down, exposing more of his milky thigh where bruises left by a heavy grip were clearly visible.

“D-did you have… sex with him?” I finally asked, my bottom lip jutting out.

“No,” he breathed around dry, forced laugh, “but that didn’t stop him from trying.”

Horror-struck, my hands continued to roam, though a small, selfish part of me was glad that something about Pierce still remained true.

“What did you do?” I finally asked, knowing that I was potentially crossing a boundary, but all of his firsts were supposed to belong to me, not someone else. I got my answer when Pierce simply looked away, choosing not to say anything as his fingers began to tremble against my hip. “Were you ready?” I finally asked, leaning against his body so that my head was over his heart. He was emanating an unusual amount of heat.

“No.”

“Then why did you do it?” I grumbled.

“You can only put things off for so long, Dalton, when two parties aren’t in agreement.” He explained, as if that answered everything.

I sat back, making eye contact with those beautiful hazel eyes. “You’re so wise, yet you refuse your own advice. Did you want to be with him?”

“No,” he answered without even thinking about it, confirming my suspicions all along.

“You can only put things off for so long, Pierce, when two parties aren’t in agreement,” I repeated his words of wisdom from moments before. “You can’t ruin yourself just because you think it would make your father happy.”

He looked at me, frowning, a few tears brimming in his eyes, but I know that as a sober individual, he wouldn’t allow them to spill over. “I feel really violated,” he admitted, his arms holding me close to him.

“You have to promise me that whatever happens in your future, you’ll never let anyone hurt you. You date someone because you love them, not because your Dad wants you to. Do what makes you happy.”

“I was dating you,” he argued, “because you made me happy and the route of all our problems was that despite you making me happy, my Dad wasn’t happy.”

“That was only a problem because you valued his opinion a lot, even if you won’t admit it,” I said simply, having gone through this conversation numerous times within my mind.

“It’s not easy, Dalton!” He finally exploded, sitting up angrily, but gently placing me next to him—still his caring self. “He’s never been in my life. I love my mom, I love my sister, but I can’t even respect him and I just… want a Dad. I wanted someone to take me into the backyard and play catch with me and pat me on the back when I received my high school diploma and when I will graduate college and here I am, twenty-one fucking years old, and I’m sure he can’t even name five of my important achievements. No, instead I have to be gay, and I don’t want to follow the family business, and I just have to constantly disobey him even though I don’t want to,” he said red-faced. “And to make it all worse instead of dating someone in the lime-light I choose this gorgeous, intelligent, amazingly artistic, kind, and wonderful boy whose nineteen—practically a child in his eyes—with no wealthy upbringing and no certainty of his future because I think he’s perfect. But he’s not perfect in Daddy’s eyes,” he spat, “because he doesn’t view the world through dollar signs like him.”

“And Hunter,” I said feebly, adding onto his final statement, trying to process everything that just left Pierce’s lips since I finally gained confirmation of what he thinks of me, as well as learning why he is the way he is. Not to mention the fact that that was the most I’ve ever heard Pierce talk at once.

“And Hunter!” He continued, throwing his hands up in the air as he looked at me. “I can never do anything right in his eyes, Dalton. And I can’t leave yet because he’d cut me off. I’m not ready to enter the world and brave it all by myself because of the way my Mom’s babied me. You have no idea how much I envy you and… and… and respect you for being able to do it at such a younger age than I will be able to.”

I paused, speechless for once before I slowly leaned forward, giving Pierce a kiss on his forehead. “I think you need a night away from here.”

He looked at me, his usual mask of neutrality slowly slipping back into place.

“Hey… look at me,” I finally muttered, moving my hand under his chin. “I still love you,” I assured him, “you just suck because you’re a nut.” I finished off lamely, smiling as he finally cracked a smile before stealing a gentle kiss from me, making me savor it since it’s been far too long.

“Does this mean…” he asked hopefully.

“No,” I said, “no, not yet. I still have a few things I need to talk to you about, but I’m not ready to say good-bye yet,” I found myself saying, thinking about my move and the fact that I realized that this spectacular man needs me as much as I need him—something I used to never have the ability to comprehend. I just want one last night with him before I move away and everything is over.

He looked at me, clearly processing what he was going to say next before an obnoxious ringing cut us off, a phone somewhere off in the distance reading off the number of the caller automatically. I recognized it instantly, my eyes shooting towards the television, realizing that there was a commercial on it and Pierce’s father was nowhere in sight.

“You should probably get that,” I said numbly, looking at him as he nodded his head, silently pleading with me to leave the room, so I did just that.

I found myself scurrying towards the kitchen, craving something hot—like tea—to satisfy my thirst and my aching throat, but I almost yelped as I made contact with another body the second I opened the door.

“Dalton?” Mel asked shocked, wrapping me in an embrace so tight that I lacked the ability to move my own arms to wrap them around her.

“Hey, Mel,” I said, somehow brightly. I truly did miss the woman and the calming, motherly atmosphere she brings everywhere with her. “Pierce told me that you all were at some charity thing,” I said as I pulled away, looking around the kitchen and pouring whatever was in the pitcher on the island into a clean glass. Ah, iced tea, that’ll have to do.

“I woke up with the worst headache ever,” Mel said, moving her head slightly from side to side, “so I decided to stay home.”

“That’s funny,” I said suspiciously, “because Pierce woke up with a bad headache too.”

“I know he was drunk,” she said, rolling her eyes as she jutted her hip against a chair, leaning on it. "He's of age, can't do anything about it."

“And a concerned mother wouldn’t, you know, fabricate a headache in what can arguably be one of California’s nicer days since we’re not sweating bullets because she’s worried about her only son and eldest child,” I said out loud, eyeing her as I took a sip of my iced tea.

She looked at me in shock before cracking a smile, “I’ve missed having you around. You always were one to point out the obvious without being scared, Dalton,” she said simply, confirming my suspicions. “I didn’t really like Hunter, seemed like a skeezeball.”

I laughed at her terminology before nodding my head. “I didn’t like him either, but I can assure you that he’s out of the picture,” I promised her, knowing Pierce learned his lesson. I chose not to mention any details, there are some things that mother’s, even those as kind as Mel, shouldn’t know.

“My husband liked him,” she said frowning slightly.

“And that was enough for Pierce to say yes. They have too many problems,” I finally admitted.

Her eyebrows tilted downwards as she put her glass down, making me clutch mine tighter instinctively as she fixed me with a very serious gaze and crossed her arms. “My son completely fell apart when you left. He had nowhere to turn.”

“I left because that skeezeball was ruining my relationship with your son and was ruining my self-worth. I started become an envious brat that would sink into depressions over the silliest things that never used to bother me and I realized that if I wanted to be even a bit of the Dalton I was before Hunter forced his way into our lives, I had to leave,” I explained to her, staring at a bubble that was spinning in circles around the edge of my glass of tea.

“He loved you, Dalton, still does,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I know that, ma’am,” I found myself saying respectively, not feeling as if it were the proper thing to do to use her first name during a serious conversation. “And I can assure you that I’ll never stop loving him, but that doesn’t mend the past.”

“Love’s a scary thing, Dalton,” she said knowingly. “People wonder why I stay with my husband, but he’s special. He’s different when it’s just us, real, no clouded judgment. It’s hard to let go of things, right?” She asked, making me nod my head knowingly. “It makes you do stupid things.”

“Yeah,” I said blandly, thinking of Pierce.

“But it’s all worth it in the end,” she finished off.

“Without a doubt,” I consented, sipping at my drink.

“Which is why you can’t allow things to be over because of a simple mistake. Things never work out perfectly the first time,” she counseled me.

“Mel,” I finally muttered, looking at her head on. “I don’t think I’m mentally prepared enough to get back together with your son,” knowing that was what she was hinting at.

She remained quiet.

“I wouldn’t be here today if he wasn’t in the condition he was in last night. I couldn’t leave him like that alone,” I admitted, “but I’m moving tomorrow, Mel. I can’t be near this city and all the bad memories it brings back. I’m still trying to find the old Dalton.”

“That’s funny,” she said blandly, “because I feel like he’s standing right in front of me.”

A small tear slid down my check as a soft whisper passed my lips, “Really?”

“Really,” she confirmed, making my stomach knot since it’s simply been too long. “But he’s missing some of his fire.”

“I want it back so bad,” I admitted, looking at her. “I’ve been trying for so long.”

“Maybe you need to stop trying and just let things happen.”

“But what does that mean?” I asked, exasperated.

“Instead of fighting feelings or trying to force your mind to feel a certain way, let the chips fall where they may.”

“I’m not what’s best for him, Mel, not at all.”

“If you’ll take the time to step back and actually worry about his feelings, risking your own for what you believe is his happiness, than you obviously are.”

“Mel!” I practically screamed, rounding on her as she tried to exit the kitchen. “You don’t get it! When we broke up, he broke my heart. I just, lost everything. I didn’t want to do the one thing I loved anymore. I had no more passion, nothing, I was just an empty shell, like a zombie. I can’t take that risk again, I’m just finally starting to fix everything, after months,” I told her, feeling extremely vulnerable.

“Are you truly willing to lie to yourself for the rest of your life?” She asked me angrily, rounding on me this time, leaving me speechless. “Is it really that big of a risk? Happiness or being stuck in the same rut for the rest of your life? Is he not worth the risk?” She asked angrily, leaving the room in a somewhat dignified manner that still clearly shone that she no longer wanted to be disturbed.

Another tear slid down my face, trailing the angular features of my cheekbones and slipping off my chin into my glass of tea.

Happiness.. what a foreign concept, what a risk…