Vegas Boys

My eyes fluttered open, and I was staring at crisp white walls that were definitely not mine. For a moment, I had no idea where I was, and my heart sped up a little in panic--but then I heard Brendon mumble something in his sleep behind me, and I realized that the warm arms around me were his.

With a rush of confused emotions, I suddenly remembered the night before.

It was hard to believe--so much so that I actually raised up a little and craned my neck to make sure that all our clothes were still lying on the floor in a pile as they had been the night before. And the cool sheets and Brendon's smooth skin rubbed against my own skin uninterrupted--it had taken me that long to realize that I didn't have any clothes on.

Carefully, I shifted in Brendon's grasp so that I was lying on my back. His face was close enough to mine that I felt his hot breath against my cheek, and a few stray pieces of his long bangs fell against my forehead. I reached up and touched his face, sliding thumb and forefinger over closed eyes, nose, cheekbones, soft lips....

He murmured my name and heaved a sigh in his sleep, and my heart swelled so much that I thought it might burst out of my ribcage at any second.

I just lay there watching him sleep for a long time. I was trying to consider the night before in between thoughts of him--of how beautiful, how sweet, how utterly perfect he was-- but I still wasn't sure how I felt about it.

I didn't regret it. Brendon was the only person I had ever met who made me feel the way he did. He was certainly something special, and if I had to lose my virginity to someone, of course he would be my first choice.

No...the internal debate that was raging inside of me didn't have much to do with the sex. It was something far more complicated and far less tangible: every time I looked at Brendon, part of me screamed I love you, and the other part cried out in agony, because all it knew was to fear love. Part of me was in love with him, and part of me was terrified.

I was still reflecting on this twenty minutes later, when Brendon shifted and rubbed his face in his sleep. His dark eyes flickered open, and they reflected the same confusion I'm sure was in mine when I first woke up, too--but then he saw me lying there beside him, and he smiled, and the warmth spread to his eyes.

"Mmmm," groaned Brendon, stretching. He was shirtless; his lean muscles flexed magnificiently, and I couldn't help but stare. He wrapped his arms around me again and pulled me in close, burying his face in my neck and mumbling, "Good morning, beautiful."

I kissed the exposed skin of his shoulder, a thrill running through me. "Good morning, handsome," I replied.

He smiled into me and rubbed my arm, and stroked my hair, and gripped my bare waist--he couldn't keep his hands off of me.

"How'd you sleep?" I asked, pushing some of his dark hair out of his face.

"Better than I've ever slept in my whole life." He paused and looked up at me, grinning, as he explained matter-of-factly, "There was an angel in my bed."

I giggled, blushing.

Brendon shifted closer and caught my lips in his. He kissed me softly for a while, and it was nothing like last night had been--there was no desperation, no frantic, shaking movements. He was sweet and gentle and I smiled into the kiss. As he pulled away, he smiled back.

"Brendon?" I mumbled sleepily a few minutes later. We were both lying on our sides, facing each other with our foreheads touching lightly.

His eyes were closed, but the corners of his lips were turned upwards in contentment. "Hmm?"

I hesitated, suddenly nervous. How could I admit it to him when I had only just now been able to admit it to myself? "There's...there's something I need to tell you."

Brendon's smile faded and his eyes snapped open again--at first I thought it was because he sensed my anxiety, but I glimpsed something cold and foreign, and every bit as unsure as my trembling voice, in his eyes.

"Yeah..." His voice cracked on the single syllable and his cleared his throat, carefully avoiding my gaze. "I need to tell you something, too, actually. I should have said it last night, but..."

His face flushed pale pink as he trailed off, but I was suddenly apprehensive, and I barely noticed.

"What?" I asked.

He regarded me with unease. "...You go first," he said finally.

"No," I said, trying to sound as casual as possible. My stomach was tying itself in knots, and there was no way I could open up and be vulnerable to him when he had that dark, wounded look in his eyes. "You first."

"You started first," he pointed out childishly.

"Brendon." I shot him a patronizing glare.

He sighed in defeat, shifting so that he was propped up on one elbow in bed, and promptly began to fidget with a stray thread on the comforter. "I just...I just wanted to say that...I'm sorry. About last night."

"Brendon." My voice was still chastizing, but it was softer than before, and heavily colored with my affection for him, and how unbelievably sweet he was. "I told you, I wanted to. It was just as much my decision as it was yours, and I really don't regret--"

"No, no, not that," he said quickly. "That was...that was wonderful." As he stared down at the mattress with purpose, his face turned redder than I had ever seen it before, and I probably would have made fun of him if I hadn't been blushing furiously as well. "I meant--I meant the thing with your mom," he clarified, embarrassed.

"Oh." Brendon's previous mention of the night before had made me smile, but it completely evaporated just at the thought of my mother. "Well...it's not like it's your fault. There's nothing to be sorry for. You didn't do anything wrong."

But he was shaking his head, biting his lip with this mournful look on his face that made me wish he'd just go back to kissing me again. "I shouldn't have asked you to stay," he muttered guiltily.

He was so considerate--why did he care about me so much? I wasn't used to this kind of thoughtfulness.

"It's okay, Bren," I half-laughed, relieved that his bad news was really just an unneccessary apology. "It was still my choice. I'm the one who decided to stay."

He was quiet for a while. My relief started to ebb away and tension built inside of me again as I noticed that his expression was only darkening. Finally he said, quietly, somberly, "You should have gone with her, Kels."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just stared for a moment. "Brendon--it wasn't because--I only decided to stay here because I wanted to," I struggled to explain. I couldn't understand why he was taking issue with this. Couldn't he just be happy that we were still here together, like I was?

Brendon sat bolt upright in bed and started shaking his head again--but it was firmer, more fervent, almost frantic this time. "No, Kelsey. I shouldn't have asked you. I should have let you go." He paused long enough to lick his lips and draw in a long, shaking breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was full of self-loathing: "I was just being selfish--so selfish--"

"Brendon, what are you talking about?" I demanded.

He ignored me and went on mournfully, as if pleading with me, "I'm so goddamn selfish... You don't deserve me, you deserve so much better...so much better--"

"Brendon," I interrupted him sternly, "stop it."

He had buried his face in the palms of his hands and was still shaking his head, rocking back and forth slightly. The delicate outline of his backbone stuck out sharply through his pale skin, and he looked so fragile and alone. I sat up, too, and rubbed his bare back comfortingly, kissing his shoulder lightly.

"I don't know what's going on with you, but you need to stop it right now. I didn't want to go back to New York with my mom--that's why I'm still here. I'm still here because I want to be here, with you--"

"I'm not going to be here!" he bellowed suddenly. I jumped and drew back away from him as he dropped his hands and jerked around to face me, his handsome face blotchy and red and screwed up with more emotion than I had ever seen in him before. His eyes were glassy; he was fighting back tears. "I won't be here, Kelsey!"

He held my gaze for a long, painful moment, and then he turned away again. He wiped his eyes and sniffed loudly, taking a deep breath and composing himself, and I felt my blood run cold in my veins as his desperate words sunk in.

"Brendon..." My voice was distant, detached, too calm. "What do you mean?"

Brendon turned to look at me again, and had managed to pull himself together; he was as poised as ever as he said, "I'm leaving, Kels."