Hide the Truth From My Eyes

I put my arm around his shoulder. He stood up slowly, his legs shaking, and I brought him back to the sofa. We sat in the same positions.
A good half an hour passed and Jamie was cuddled up to my side, one of Lee's tees in his hands, apparently asleep. He was such a kid.
Ian had stopped drinking for five minutes. No one said anything.
There was nothing to say.

The silence was getting pretty awkward, when I felt Ian's hand press onto my thigh.
I turned my head. He slipped off the couch and crawled between my legs, facing me, knelt down on the floor.
What was he doing?!
His hand reached for my flies and he ripped it open. His fingers slipped into my pants and yanked them off forcefully.
I was totally petrified. Even more when I saw that I was getting a fucking semi. Over Ian.
His head plunged between my thighs and his hands started to caress my skin as his teeth locked onto my boxers to pull them down.

I was pant less.
His curly head dived between my legs and his lips wrapped around me.
He sucked me off and god was he good. Not as much as Mike. Think about Mike. You're cheating on Mike, Stuart. You're cheating on your boyfriend.
Shut up voice in my head. This felt so good.
But no...

"Ian, no! No, stop, stoooop..."

I pushed him away.

"G-get away from me!" I stuttered.

Ian whimpered.

"Sh-Sean why did you do t-that?" he muttered drunkenly.

"What?!"

"Sh-Sean let me sort that out..." he tried to creep between my legs again but I shoved him and pulled up boxers and pants. "Why wontcha lemme suck eet?"

He looked completely confused by the fact I didn't let him give me a blowjob, but then again he was calling me Sean.

"Ian, I'm not Sean, it's me, Stuart..."

"Y-yes you're Sean..."

"No Ian, Sean is in the hospital!"

"N-no he's not!"

His face was scrunched up in denial. His hands grabbed my calves and he attacked my crotch again. Damn that cum hungry bitch. I slapped him off and definitely pulled my pants up, zipped and secure.

"Calm the fuck down!"

He seemed hurt in his feelings, but could I even care. The man was drunk off his ass!

I stood up from the couch, looking at him that was knelt down, a boner in his pants, as he let out a whorish whimper. I shook Jamie to wake him up and shuffled upstairs. I fell on mine and Mike's bed and buried my face in my hands.

What a fucking idiot.

--

Wednesday morning. I hated them anyways.

I lay on the bed, not thinking about anything. Three weeks, no news, I couldn't see his face, how he was doing, nothing. I knew Jamie spent all his alone time crying. He tried to hide it but he never has been very sneaky.

Jamie was the one that took it the worst. Or at least the one that showed it the most. We only saw Ian briefly in the evening, passing through the door with his portfolio under the arm, shuffling through the main room to the office. He came out late at night to pick up some food. He buried himself into his work. If he carried on like this, maybe he would get a supra promotion. Or die of stress.

Me?

I felt empty. Like my heart had been ripped away and put with Mike.
I stood up, grabbed my clothes and put on my briefs. I grabbed a pair of socks in the wardrobe and walked to the bathroom.

I looked like proper shit. There were bags under my eyes, a generous amount of stubble, my hair was messy and tern. I looked closer and jolted. Near the root, some hair was turning white. My heart missed a beat. Just a final confirmation of the effect Mike's state had on me.
How do they say? "Mourir d'amour"?

I'm not dying of love. I'm not dying first. I'm just getting...sick. A little ill. And second it's not of love, it's of worrying.
I passed my hand through my hair. I looked at it. Quite lot of hair had been stuck between my fingers for just a combing back in place.
Great, they were turning white, and I was losing them.
I took a look at my wrinkles. They were deeper.
Twenty six years old, falling apart, fucking great.

I arrived at work a little before the time I was usually in, and sat at my table. My eyes glanced at the photograph, before fixing back on the papers. I was halfway through the paper for taxing when Irma, went to say me the boss wanted to see me.
Irma was red haired, 25 years old, pretty for a woman. She had tried to hit on me before I put the pic on my desk.

"Mr Harrington wants to see you, Stuart."

I stood up, thanked her and paced towards the office of my boss. I knocked, he asked me to come in and to take a sit.

"Richardson, what's up?"

"What?!"

"I've noticed you work way slower than normally. And as I wanted to promote you..."

"Me?! A promotion?"

He already had promoted me one time! Was I that good or what? I was just a secretary!

"Yes. I want you to be my secretary."

His secretary? Wow.

"But tell me what's happening. I can't promote you if you don't work right..."

"W-well... My partner..."

"Mr Lewis? Lovely boy he is."

I smirked.

"Thank you. He really is... But... Well, you've heard the news about the epidemic... Well he's been hospitalized and I haven't got any news for three weeks."

I looked at my lap. I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder. I rose my head. The boss was looking at me, in compassion.

"I understand. This has to be very hard uh?"

I nodded.

"Yes it is. I mean every minute now he could... Well." I stopped, feeling a lump grow inside my throat.

"I'm sure he's going to get through it. He's a healthy young man, no?"

But he's so small. He's so thin. He's so marvellous.

"He's going to be fine. I'm sure." he gave me a friendly tap on the shoulder. "I'll give you your promotion. But please try to not slow down."

I stirred in my seat.

"Thank you very much Mr Harrington..."

A month ago I would be kissing his feet.
Now, though.