Keeping You a Secret

I remembered my key this time, pulling it out of my coat pocket as I arrived at the hotel room. The door clicked open, and I let it bump gently against the wall. I shriveled up my nose as the smell of fresh coffee hit me head-on. It was only five in the afternoon and Spencer was already in bed. I walked past his bed, looking down at his body that was tangled within the sheets. His face was buried into one of the many pillows that scattered the full-sized bed. His coffee mug sat steaming on the night stand, obviously freshly brewed.

I could hear Spencer sniffle as I dropped my coat on the dresser and sat at the edge of his bed. He sensed the shift in weight and pulled his head up from the pillow. He sighed agitatedly and let his head drop back down with a thump.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?” I cooed, my hand running lightly over his frame. He didn’t answer. He turned in the other direction, avoiding my touch. I tried to do touch him again, but he just rolled off the bed, catching himself before he fell.

“Don’t touch me, Derek,” Spencer hissed at me. His eyes were red, and his cheeks were completely tear-stained. I didn’t have to be a genius to tell that he had been crying.

I grabbed his wrist before he sank back down into the billowy mattress. “Talk to me, baby,” I said, letting a finger run along his cheek. He grabbed my hand and willed it back to rest on my lap. He shook his head and pried my fingers off of him.

I would not take no as an answer.

This time I grabbed his shoulders, pegging him against the wall. He writhed under my strength, small grunts of frustration escaping his plump, pouty lips. I wouldn’t let him move away.

“Spencer, talk to me,” I urged.

He mumbled something along the words of “let me go”, but that was the last thing I wanted to do. I gave him a stern look, prompting him to actually talk to me. “Derek! I already told you,” he said, giving up his efforts to free himself.

“I get that you’re tired, but you know I can’t let people know,” I pleaded with him. I let my grip go soft, and he slipped out from underneath me.

“That’s the thing! I just can’t keep this a secret any longer. It’s been two years. Two years of a “secret” affair.” He had said the last two words mockingly.

I smirked, knowing we had had this conversation twenty times over, and every time it settled out. Spencer scowled at the smirk on my face.

“I’m not joking now,” he said, his expression giving away his sincerity. He looked almost girly with his arm crossed over his chest and his hip cocked to the left.

I stepped closer to him, but he walked away from me, heading towards the bathroom. The door slammed shut rather roughly. I heard the sound of running water from the other side. I knocked on the door, still trying to get him to talk to me.

“Leave me alone!” Spencer’s voice was muffled by the water but I could still hear the sincerity in them.

I shook my head. For the first time, I felt that sting of hurt. I went over and sat on the bed, my legs stretching out on the mattress. I picked up the television remote, flipping mindlessly through each channel. I wasn’t really interested in what was on the television. Twenty minutes passed, and the sound of water finally stopped.

The door slipped open, and Spencer stepped out. A white, fluffy towel rested dauntingly low on his hips. The purple marks were still scattered across his neck and probably wouldn’t be going away for a while. I raised my eyebrows suggestively as he glanced in my direction.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, rummaging through his small luggage for a fresh set of pajamas.

I raised my hands in feigned innocence. He rolled his eyes and went back to the bathroom to change.

I laughed, and I could hear him sigh frustratedly from the bathroom, which just made me laugh even harder. He was so adorable when he was pissed off. I sat there in silence, able to hear the slight noises that emitted from the bathroom. He stepped out a few seconds later in a pair of red flannel pants and an old faded t-shirt. Once again, his sweater had inhabited his shoulders. He was always cold.

Spencer padded over, letting the towel drop to hang over the edge of the chair across from his bed. He slumped down onto the bed, completely disregarding that I was in the room. He opened up his laptop and began to work diligently on whatever he had opened up.

I sat there, silently observing him. He was too caught up in whatever he was doing to notice I had gotten up to sit on the edge of his bed again. I slapped the laptop shut, and he looked at me, his face a mix of shock and anger; he hated when I did things like that.

“What do you want?” he demanded, obviously annoyed.

“I want you to talk to me,” I said for what felt like the millionth time.

“Well, that’s not going to happen.” Spencer gave me a fake grin before opening his laptop again, and promptly getting back to work. I closed it again, and this time he got really upset. Being persistent was just getting him to talk to me, if only for a second longer.

“What the hell?” he practically yelled. He caught me by surprise; Spencer rarely ever cursed.

“Talk to me!” I insisted, desperation filling my voice.

Spencer fell quiet again. He placed his closed laptop next to him and brought his knees up to his chest. I let one hand lay softly on his right knee. He didn’t move from my touch this time. He sucked in a breath before actually starting to talk.

“I’ve said this a million times, I’m tired. I’ve tried to make this work for two years,” he said emphatically. “It’s wearing me down. I can’t live this life of secrecy, unlike you. I want to be open, come out of the “closet” as you may say. This isn’t working out, and I’m at my last thread. If we can’t fix this now, then I just don’t want to be with you anymore.”

Spencer sighed, breathing again after his long speech.

I let my hand drop from his knee and pulled it back towards my body. I stood up from the bed, and grabbed my coat. I didn’t want to look him in the eyes. He had said the words I had been dreading the most. I needed time to think.

For once, I had nothing to say.