Metanoia

He was calling me; calling my name while I pounded some other boy into the sheets. The boy’s moans and groans were unharmonious. They came at the wrong time, and so did he.

“Out the window,” I warned. The other boy just grabbed his clothes and left without saying a word to me. That left me free to go back down to Rory. He was crying again.

“Jace, please tell me a story.” He looked up at me with those huge puppy dog eyes of his. I never figured out how his eyes looked bigger without his glasses. It was opposite of everything I knew.

“I don’t know any stories,” I said flatly.

“Then sing me to sleep?” he pleaded. He bit his lip and I could tell that he was really trying hard not to cry.

“What do you want me to sing to you?” I asked, lowering myself onto the floor next to him. He shrugged and sniffled.

“The Smiths; I like the Smiths.”

I only knew one song by the Smiths. If Rory ever caught on, he never let me know. I started to sing softly and he laid his head on my shoulder. When I finished, he sighed and closed his eyes.

“Sing it again, Jace.” His arms wrapped themselves around mine, and he just clung to me like that, like a little starfish or something.

“I don’t repeat myself,” I growled. He wasn’t fazed at all. In fact, he was almost asleep.

“Then sing something else, please. When you sing to me it makes my nightmares disappear,” he murmured.

I started to sing my favorite song, something that he called my future hippie music. But as long as it made him fall asleep, it was alright. By the time I had finished that one, he was already sound asleep. I reclaimed my arm from him and he slumped against me.

It hit me just then how bad he really looked, and that I couldn’t even remember if I’d taken him to bed the past three days.

I picked him up and carried him to my bed. It would be alright if he slept with me for tonight.