Secondhand

Austin immediately walked out of the room, leaving me blushing and flustered. I hadn't expected that at all. I tried to push myself off of the counter to follow him. It hurt so bad, trying to move at all. I yelped a little and slid back to my original spot. I had no choice but to call for Austin. It should be simple to just hop down, but the counter was oddly high and I hurt everywhere.

“Austin!”

“What do you want?” he growled from the other room.

“I-I'm stuck up here.”

“It's, like, four feet off the ground.”

“Everything hurts. Please come rescue me,” I practically whined.

“You sure need help a lot,” he said as he reentered the bathroom.

“Oh yeah. It was totally my fault some guys decided to jump me while I was walking home.”

“I'm glad you can own up to these things,” he said, lifting me off of the counter.

I expected him to just set me down, but he didn't. He carried me bridal style into the living room and set me on the couch before taking a seat next to me. Top Gear was on TV and he immediately fixated on that. Honestly, it seemed like he was looking anywhere but at me. Once he had finally relaxed a little and turned his full attention to the screen, I studied him.

His eyes crinkled at the side. His eyelashes were incredibly long. He had a permanent little dimple. Freckles dotted and lined his tanned skin. His eyes were the most beautiful brown; the kind that were so very easy to get lost in. The tattoos that covered his arm, hand, and chest were beautiful and unlike any I had ever seen. For the second time since I had first met him at the bar, he noticed me staring.

“Am I really that interesting to you?”

“What?”

“You seem to like to stare at me a lot. I mean, really, I'm not all that attractive of a guy.”

He had to be joking. I just scoffed and ignored him.

“What? What's the noise?”

“Nothing.”

“That's not true.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Seriously. First the bar, now this.”

“What do you mean, 'now this?'”

“You keeping showing up and acting like you care.”

“Is it a bad thing?”

“Yes. I'm not the type of guy you should care about.”

I was impossibly confused.

“What do you mean? Why do you think that?”

“I don't think that. I know that. I'm so not worth it, Alan.”

He had not looked at me since he caught me staring. Again, he looked anywhere that wasn't at me.

“Look at me, Austin.”

He did as I said.

“Why don't you fuck off? Quit caring about someone like me. You should just leave.”

That hurt a little bit. Or a lot.

“No.”

“No? Last time I checked, this is Shayley and I's apartment.”

“I'm not leaving you.”

“Everyone else does.”

“So that's why.”

“What?”

“That's why you won't get close to anyone.”

“This is none of your business.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I'm not arguing about this with you. It's not though. I don't even know you.”

“Okay. My name is Alan Anthony Ashby. I'm 26. My parents disowned me for being gay at 17. I lived here with my best friend, Juliette, for three years before I got my current place. It's werid. But I really love cats. The last guy I dated, Brady, broke my heart before I was going to propose to him four months ago. Now, you should consider yourself lucky or special or something, because no one knows this. When Brady left me, I was so suicidal.” His eyes widened at my statement. “I've self harmed for almost five months now.”

To my complete surprise, he pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. I whimpered slightly in pain, but regardless of how bad it hurt, the feeling of his arms around me was like nothing else. The tingling I had felt when he kissed my arm had now spread all over to every place that his body touched mined.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you,” he said. He loosened his grip drastically, but kept me in his arms.

“Now you do know me. I may have just met you and you may be an asshole, but that doesn't mean I don't, can't, or won't care about you. You are worth it and I don't want too hear you say that you're not again.”

I tightened my grip around him briefly and he sighed.

“I really don't like you.”

“I don't like you much either.”

“I'm glad we have each other, then.”

We both laughed a little and he let me go. Instantly, I wanted to be back in his embrace. He may put out this 'I'm tough, I don't like you, I'm such a badass, so don't mess with me' vibe, but I know he's really not. I can tell he's weak inside and has walls built so sturdily that he's even convinced himself that he doesn't have emotions. In all honesty, I want to be the one to help him realize that his walls aren't needed. Maybe I can't look after myself, but I want to look after him.

“So you know about me, but I don't know much about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything you want to tell me.”

“Uh well, my name is Austin Robert Carlile. I'm 28. My dad is accepting now of me being gay, but he wasn't for a long time. He's all I've got as far as family. My mom, uhm, my mom passed away when I was 17 of Marfan's disease. It effects your heart and just about everything else, too. I have it. I didn't know until she died, but they found out and now half of my heart is fake. I'm a freak, I know. I was married, but she cheated on me and I guess that's how I realized I was gay. Uh, I'm in a band, but we aren't very good.”

I hugged him in a manner similar to his when I told him everything about myself.

“You're not a freak.”

“Are you kidding? Yes. I am. I mean, put up your left arm.”

I did what he said and he lifted his right arm next to it.

“Do you think it's normal? My arm is like half a foot longer than yours. They both are.”

I took a risk with my next sentence.

“They're warm and they're safe. You're alive. Not a freak. That's what matters.”

“That's all a lie.”

“No, it isn't.”

“Whatever,” he said, before moving away from me and turning his attention back to Top Gear.

I propped myself up on my knees and slid closer to him, trying to recapture his attention.

“Austin.”

He ignored me. I kept moving so that we were next to each other and our knees touched.

“Austin.”

Yet again, he acted as if I didn't even exist. I resorted to the last idea I had. I was half hoping I wouldn't have to do this and half praying that I would. I moved to straddle him and planted myself in his lap.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Getting your attention. Now, don't talk and just listen.”

He sighed and leaned back so that his head rested on the couch cushion and he was staring up at the ceiling. Oh, no. He wasn't zoning out on me. I pushed my hand under his head, tangling my fingers in his cropped brown hair and tugged a little so that he was looking at me. He struggled to suppress a tiny moan when I yanked on his hair. I smirked.

“I found someone's kink, didn't I? Anyways, you are not a freak. There is nothing wrong with you, at all. I don't care what you think, what you've been told or what misconceptions you have made about yourself. Behind the walls you've put up, you're a good person.” He rolled his eyes and tried to turn his head. I pulled on his hair again and again he stifled a moan.

“You don't know how incorrect you are about me. You also don't know what this hair pulling is doing to me,” he admitted.

“No, you don't know how wrong you are about yourself, Austin. I swear that you're so much more than you think or give yourself credit for. You need to drop this act, though. I can tell that you're a better person than you let on. Try being your real self. I think so many people would like that Austin so much more because this fake Austin is a dick. And I know exactly what I'm doing. The not-so-concealed moans are making it fairly obvious. So, would you try it? Try dropping this whole 'tough guy' act? Please?” I smiled a little and gave his hair a light tug once more, just because his moans were kind of beautiful.

He actually bucked his hips up into mine slightly. I raised an eyebrow.

“Fine. I guess I could try.”

“Good. It starts now and we'll see how Shayley reacts to the real Austin when he gets back.”

“I seriously don't like you, Ashby.”

“Your words are telling me one thing but the moans tell me another,” I replied with a sly smile before moving off of his lap and retaking my seat on the couch.