Self Destruction
1989
By the time Trent got off the phone Chris was already curled up in bed. He was in the fetal position, pressed against the wall facing the poster, liner note and magazine clipping covered sheetrock. The brunette let out a tortured, raspy sigh...he had really done it this time. He shed his tea shirt and slid under the covers on his side, one hand trying to pull the smaller figure closer to him, without avail.
"Come on buddy." He coerced.
Nothing
"You know that was just the label." He lied.
Nothing
"Chris, it's been a long day; I'd like to hold you." Those words felt strange as the rolled off of his tongue...the truth was beginning to sound more and more bizarre.
And still nothing.
He breathed deeply, trying to not be frustrated. And reached behind him, flicking off the lamp.
"Don't." The disgruntled figure against the wall shifted under the red, plaid comforter.
"Why?'
"I don't know…just don't." The voice was muffled now, as it's source was pressed against the mattress. "Just not right now."
"Chris, we've been over this." His voice softened as he felt every bit of aggravation drain from him "I'm here. Alright?"
Trent felt the shift as his friend shrunk closer to the wall. Again, he tried to close the gap between them, this time by scooting himself closer. He felt the dip in the mattress and stopped, wrapping an arm around the same pale form that he had done this with, countless times before.
"Shh." Trent found a hand, smaller than his, and traced his calloused fingers up and down the back of it. He followed the tiny wrist, to the thin arm and finally to the firm, muscular bicep of his drummer. "I'm here." He assured again. "I'm here."
He felt Chris relax into his touch and soon they were facing each other. Chris's soft eyes stared into his, hesitantly. That was one of the things Trent adored about him. Trent hated to admit that he loved this, comforting Chris had become second nature to him over the years and he enjoyed the private time they got together. But, he also hated to admit that, now that the band was starting to take off, the meager assemblage of groupies had caught his eye. Chris knew, he could sense, something was up. Trent was on the phone constantly, kept coming home later and later and some nights didn't bother to come home at all. But they both knew that tonight it didn't make a difference...as they drifted off to sleep, holding each other...they were there, together and that's all that mattered.
"Do you remember the first time we fucked?" The voice had caught Trent off guard and yanked him from his just waken dream world.
"Yeah," he replied "of course." The tone in Chris's voice comforted him, making his own warmer, more sure.
"You were so drunk; I bet you didn't even know what you were getting yourself into." Trent laughed when he thought about that night at Andy's apartment. He knew Chris was in, he knew before he'd even played a single note. Chris was special, right for him...perfect, really.
"Oh, I knew." Trent laughed, absentmindedly running his fingers over the tattoo on his lover's chest.
The younger of the two let out a jaw cracking yawn before smiling widely, the way Trent liked so much. He turned on his back and stared intently up at the cracked ceiling of their cluttered bedroom. Trent knew he was thinking very seriously about something but that didn't stop him from leaning over to peck his lips lightly before clamoring from their bed. He was almost in the kitchen before he heard Chris padding toward him. The old analogue clock displayed 9:40 and out of their small, grimy kitchen window he could see Cleveland, already bustling. He turned to see Chris in nothing but pajama pants; stretching as far as he could for a box of corn flakes, his fingers barely grazed the bottom of the box. He laughed to himself quietly, before place his hands on the drummer’s slim waist.
"Why don't we go out?" Trent half whispered into his ear.
It was a bad idea, it just was, but Trent wasn’t going to admit that. At least not until one of his backstage girls had become a diner booth girl. He could see the hurt in Chris’s eyes as he tried to shrug off the willowy blonde running her hands over his perpetually slouched shoulders. It wasn’t until she’d left and Trent had had the chance to toss a twenty on the table and usher his visibly crushed best friend out the front door that he apologized.
“I don’t want to hear it, Trent.” The spiteful tears were already forming in the corners of his eyes.
“Come on, man, she’s into us…that’s a good thing.” The singer retorted.
“She’s into you,” he crossed his arms over his chest “and you’ve obviously been in her.” He turned on his heel to leave.
“Come on, man” Trent took a few steps after him. “Chris?” He picked up his pace, still whole beats behind his lover, who showed no signs of slowing. He started a slow jog, now just steps behind, easily within ear shot. “Babe?” It came out louder than he had expected, but it seemed to do the trick; as Chris spun around.
“What?” he asked through the hot tears, now freely flowing down his flushed cheeks.
Trent’s only response was the chaste kiss he pressed against his ‘babe’s’ mouth.
Chris shoved the other man back instinctively before his eyes widened in shock, Trent had never done that before, not in public. They stood there, for a moment, on the dreary Cleveland sidewalk; staring into one another’s eyes, before Trent spoke up.
“I love you, Chris.” he stated, almost too calmly, taking a step closer “I think I always have and I don’t want to lose you.”
Chris was still too shocked for words, only looking, mouth still just slightly agape. Trent draped an arm around him and continued.
“I’m sorry about her…” he admitted “about them, all of them.” He looked ashamed, stumbling over his words. He glanced down at Chris as he slowly began to shuffle forward. “If I were a quarter of the person you are then it never would’ve happened. But it’s been something. Ya know? With the tour and the record coming out and everything. It’s exciting…not fulfilling.”
“You love me?” Chris asked, finally responding.
“Yeah.” Trent laughed to himself, pressing a kiss to Chris’s temple “I love you, and I kinda have since you were in high school.”
This time it was Chris who stretched just a little and kissed his lover, deeply before leaning in to whisper “I kinda know.”
"Come on buddy." He coerced.
Nothing
"You know that was just the label." He lied.
Nothing
"Chris, it's been a long day; I'd like to hold you." Those words felt strange as the rolled off of his tongue...the truth was beginning to sound more and more bizarre.
And still nothing.
He breathed deeply, trying to not be frustrated. And reached behind him, flicking off the lamp.
"Don't." The disgruntled figure against the wall shifted under the red, plaid comforter.
"Why?'
"I don't know…just don't." The voice was muffled now, as it's source was pressed against the mattress. "Just not right now."
"Chris, we've been over this." His voice softened as he felt every bit of aggravation drain from him "I'm here. Alright?"
Trent felt the shift as his friend shrunk closer to the wall. Again, he tried to close the gap between them, this time by scooting himself closer. He felt the dip in the mattress and stopped, wrapping an arm around the same pale form that he had done this with, countless times before.
"Shh." Trent found a hand, smaller than his, and traced his calloused fingers up and down the back of it. He followed the tiny wrist, to the thin arm and finally to the firm, muscular bicep of his drummer. "I'm here." He assured again. "I'm here."
He felt Chris relax into his touch and soon they were facing each other. Chris's soft eyes stared into his, hesitantly. That was one of the things Trent adored about him. Trent hated to admit that he loved this, comforting Chris had become second nature to him over the years and he enjoyed the private time they got together. But, he also hated to admit that, now that the band was starting to take off, the meager assemblage of groupies had caught his eye. Chris knew, he could sense, something was up. Trent was on the phone constantly, kept coming home later and later and some nights didn't bother to come home at all. But they both knew that tonight it didn't make a difference...as they drifted off to sleep, holding each other...they were there, together and that's all that mattered.
"Do you remember the first time we fucked?" The voice had caught Trent off guard and yanked him from his just waken dream world.
"Yeah," he replied "of course." The tone in Chris's voice comforted him, making his own warmer, more sure.
"You were so drunk; I bet you didn't even know what you were getting yourself into." Trent laughed when he thought about that night at Andy's apartment. He knew Chris was in, he knew before he'd even played a single note. Chris was special, right for him...perfect, really.
"Oh, I knew." Trent laughed, absentmindedly running his fingers over the tattoo on his lover's chest.
The younger of the two let out a jaw cracking yawn before smiling widely, the way Trent liked so much. He turned on his back and stared intently up at the cracked ceiling of their cluttered bedroom. Trent knew he was thinking very seriously about something but that didn't stop him from leaning over to peck his lips lightly before clamoring from their bed. He was almost in the kitchen before he heard Chris padding toward him. The old analogue clock displayed 9:40 and out of their small, grimy kitchen window he could see Cleveland, already bustling. He turned to see Chris in nothing but pajama pants; stretching as far as he could for a box of corn flakes, his fingers barely grazed the bottom of the box. He laughed to himself quietly, before place his hands on the drummer’s slim waist.
"Why don't we go out?" Trent half whispered into his ear.
It was a bad idea, it just was, but Trent wasn’t going to admit that. At least not until one of his backstage girls had become a diner booth girl. He could see the hurt in Chris’s eyes as he tried to shrug off the willowy blonde running her hands over his perpetually slouched shoulders. It wasn’t until she’d left and Trent had had the chance to toss a twenty on the table and usher his visibly crushed best friend out the front door that he apologized.
“I don’t want to hear it, Trent.” The spiteful tears were already forming in the corners of his eyes.
“Come on, man, she’s into us…that’s a good thing.” The singer retorted.
“She’s into you,” he crossed his arms over his chest “and you’ve obviously been in her.” He turned on his heel to leave.
“Come on, man” Trent took a few steps after him. “Chris?” He picked up his pace, still whole beats behind his lover, who showed no signs of slowing. He started a slow jog, now just steps behind, easily within ear shot. “Babe?” It came out louder than he had expected, but it seemed to do the trick; as Chris spun around.
“What?” he asked through the hot tears, now freely flowing down his flushed cheeks.
Trent’s only response was the chaste kiss he pressed against his ‘babe’s’ mouth.
Chris shoved the other man back instinctively before his eyes widened in shock, Trent had never done that before, not in public. They stood there, for a moment, on the dreary Cleveland sidewalk; staring into one another’s eyes, before Trent spoke up.
“I love you, Chris.” he stated, almost too calmly, taking a step closer “I think I always have and I don’t want to lose you.”
Chris was still too shocked for words, only looking, mouth still just slightly agape. Trent draped an arm around him and continued.
“I’m sorry about her…” he admitted “about them, all of them.” He looked ashamed, stumbling over his words. He glanced down at Chris as he slowly began to shuffle forward. “If I were a quarter of the person you are then it never would’ve happened. But it’s been something. Ya know? With the tour and the record coming out and everything. It’s exciting…not fulfilling.”
“You love me?” Chris asked, finally responding.
“Yeah.” Trent laughed to himself, pressing a kiss to Chris’s temple “I love you, and I kinda have since you were in high school.”
This time it was Chris who stretched just a little and kissed his lover, deeply before leaning in to whisper “I kinda know.”