The Art of Trying (Part 3)
“Stephen…”
“Hurhmm.”
“Stephen, wake up.”
Ste stirred slightly. He was half submerged in unconsciousness; that snug feeling of warmth enveloping him as he took note of the duvet wrapped over his body. The plumped pillows, thick cover, cosy mattress that wasn’t his. And then as his heavy eyes peeled open, the sudden feeling of embarrassment hit him as he realised how close to Brendan he was now laying. When had that happened? His face was almost close enough to be buried in Brendans’ neck and Brendan was looking down at him with watchful eyes. Ste shuffled away quickly.
“Sorry..” he mumbled, face reddening.
Brendan didn’t even acknowledge it. Just spoke plainly; “Stephen I think you should go.” Before climbing out of bed himself.
Ste felt his stomach churning in humiliation. Jesus, he’d fucked up. He was so weak.
“Yeah, right, okay.” He mumbled
“’s Christmas Day.” Brendan continued casually. “The kids will be wakin’ up soon, won’t they? Wantin’ their presents.”
“Oh right yeah.” Ste had almost forgotten. “What time is it?”
“5.30” Brendan breathed, “You better hurry.”
The living room was still tainted with the heavy silence from last night, and that figure was still lying on the sofa. For some reason Ste felt the urge to be even more quiet than necessary as he crept past the mysterious sleeping man.
At the door he turned to Brendan with a whispered, “Thanks… for havin’ me.”
Brendan nodded curtly, and then shut the door in one quick - almost dismissive - motion.
Outside in the cold, Ste had to shake off that strange feeling of rejection. The hateful feeling of inadequacy. Brendan had done him a favour that’s all, and now it was Christmas Day, of course Ste would be in the way if he stayed any longer. Still… some small part of him wished he could have.
What bothered him most was that feeling staying in the pit of his stomach for the whole day, even as he played with his kids and joked with Amy………
He hated himself for it, but that small sick part of him wished that he were back in that bed.
* * * *
December 27th:
“Oy! Stephen!”
Ste glanced up from stacking bottles behind the bar, his face already fixed into a large grin as Brendan strode towards him from the front doors.
“Yeah? What’s up?”
“You and me, poker tonight, what do you say?”
If it was possible, Ste’s grin stretched even bigger. “Yeah! Definitely! Lemme just give Amy a call though, yeah?”
“No need, already sorted!”
“Oh…” Ste chuckled, almost shyly “Right.”
“Be ready at eight, I’ll pick you up from yours.” Brendan breezed, already on his way back out the club. Not without adding a semi-aggressive “What are you looking at?!” to a incredulous Rhys on his way out.
Rhys turned to Ste, his expression one of pure disgust that he be treated with such disdain, and with such contrast to his fellow barman. It was all Ste could do to stop the smug comments come pouring out.
In fact, that smug feeling of content superiority didn’t leave Ste for the rest of the day. Even when he went back to Amy’s and sat through her and Dodger shamelessly flirting, nothing could ruin his good mood. His insides jittered with energy and excitement, pre-empting that adrenaline rush that he got from cheating with Brendan, and stealing money from under the blokes noses. He showered, dressed smart, put on his best aftershave, had a drink to get himself started. Nothing could bring him down tonight.
Nothing…… until he opened the door to Brendan.
Only then did his stomach drop.
“Oh my God…” he gasped in horror, “What happened to you?!”
“Don’t worry about it.” Brendan sighed. “You ready to go?!”
“What happened to your face?!”
Ste tried to reach out and touch it: the dark murky bruise that lined Brendan’s right eye… the sickly fresh gash that travelled from his eyebrow to his cheekbone, seeping with dried up blood and entangled with yellow bruising.
Brendan pushed his hand away.
“I said don’t worry about it.” He barked shortly.
“Who did that to ya?!”
“Stephen.” Brendan breathed seriously. He locked his eyes onto Ste with intense power and control that he still practiced when the circumstances required it. “I said - drop it.”
Ste swallowed, instantly silenced.
“Well…” he muttered weakly. “Well are you alright? We don’t have to go out, you know, we could stay here…”
“I’m a big boy, Stephen, lest you forget. Now are we gettin’ out of here or what?!”
“Yeah. Yeah. Sorry…”
“S’alright, lets just go.”
The poker game wasn’t like Ste had experienced with Brendan before. This time it was in a proper loud bar; no silence for any serious concentration… and Brendan wasn’t expecting Ste to cheat for him after all. No, in fact, it was much better. Ste was going to PLAY.
Brendan ‘loaned’ him £50 to play with, saying if he won any more than that they could split it half and half, and if Ste lost the £50 he’d be out of the game; he wasn’t getting any more. And Ste found himself sat around with Brendan and some other blokes Brendan knew from God-knows-where. They were the dodgy types… loud, self-confident, judgemental and arrogant… NEVER the type Ste usually found himself associating with, and yet he felt strong and confident at Brendan’s side like this. He was Brendan’s mate, after all.
Still, having said that, Ste was out of the game pretty quickly; his confidence getting the better of him, and lost the £50 almost in a shot. Brendan gave him a look that was half-amused, half-disdainful, pulled out some more notes and muttered, “Go get in a round then. Make yerself useful.”
Ste walked over to the bar feeling on top of the world. In fact, he’d never felt so much like someone. He felt…powerful. When people looked at him, he didn’t feel self-conscious but instead he felt GOOD. Like he could do anything.
“Alright?” He breezed casually to some random bloke that was looking at him across the bar. He turned to the barman, “I’ll ‘ave six pints please ma…”
“Ste?”
Ste blinked, interrupted. He turned back to the staring bloke… who now had a grin on his face… a look of recognition that made Ste’s confidence shrivel back inside slightly.
“Urr… yeah?”
“Ste Hay.”
Ste frowned. “Who’s askin’?”
“Don’t ye remember me?!” The bloke spoke with a strong scouse accent. He had a strong physique, an air of charisma and self-assurance. “Toby. From the bar. You’re Noah’s lad, aren’t you?”
“Oh.” Ste remembered him now. One of Noah’s mates; the party-animals who drank beer from chugs and chanted football songs in the pub. Ste had always felt slightly out of the loop with them, although he tried to enjoy it. “Oh right, yeah, how are you?”
“On your own, are ya?” Toby moved closer.
“Er, no. Jus’ with some mates.”
“Yeah? No Noah?”
“No, we broke up.”
“Ah, that’s too bad, that’s too bad.” Though Toby didn’t sound surprised OR disturbed by the news. He continued his haughty breeziness as he asked, “Mind if I join ya?”
“Oh…no, sorry, not a good idea. Kind of an exclusive thing so…”
“Oooooh! Laa-di-daa!” Toby mocked him in a posh accent. “I get it! No rif-raf. Don’t spare my feelings, please!”
Ste smiled shortly, turning deliberately away to get the barman’s attention.
“Alright, I tell you what then,” Toby continued loudly in Ste’s ear, “Gimme a call when all the exclusiveness gets too boring for ya. Alright? Join the rif-raf for some real fun.”
Toby passed Ste his phone, and for a moment Ste wandered what the hell he was expected to do with it. It took him a second to process that he was meant to put his number in, and began to type it hesitantly.
“Sweet.” Toby commented offhandedly. “Catch ye later then?”
“Yeah.” Ste muttered, unsure. “Maybe I’ll ju…”
“Stephen.”
It was hard to determine why Ste’s heart sunk with guilt as Brendan slid up beside him at the bar. But he suddenly felt very red, caught out, trapped. He shoved the phone back towards Toby like it was hot iron.
“What’s taking so long?” Brendan turned to see Toby, looking him up and down. “Oh.” He sneered. “I see.”
“S’not what it looks like.” Ste mumbled sheepishly. “Jus’… a mate of Noah’s that’s all.”
“Alright there, ‘mate of Noah’s’?” Brendan held his hand out and shook Toby’s. “Fancy joining us?”
“Err…no!” Ste protested weakly.
“Don’t mind if I do, ta!” Toby gave Ste a confident wink, like they were somehow in this together.
It was like a harsh knock back to reality as Ste took note of just how LITTLE power he really did have… as he was forced to shove over at the table to make room for “Stephen’s new mate, Toby”.
And Ste was forced to listen as Brendan - for some unknown reason - pretended to laugh at Toby’s jokes, and pretended to find him interesting, and pretended to be his mate by letting him play and buying in rounds. Brendan was being the nicest guy in the world, and it made no sense why. He was such a closed-off bastard to everybody back home… and he’d only just met this guy… and Toby was the type that Brendan generally found annoying. Ste clenched his fists tight underneath he table, feeling increasingly uncomfortable and irritated by the whole situation. He downed more and more drinks, letting alcohol numb his frustration, becoming more and more limp and drowsy under the influence. Until eventually…
“Right.” Brendan stood up and addressed the blokes at the table. “We should be gettin’ off fellas. Leave Toby and Stephen here to get further acquainted.”
“What?” Ste jumped up. “No…I’m comin’ back with you lot.”
“Don’t be daft Stephen, the night’s still young!” Brendan slapped his back matily. Ste HATED it. What was he PLAYING at?!
“Well I don’t care, I’m ready to go home.” Ste stated stubbornly. “I’m… dead bored.”
Brendan turned to Toby with fake sympathy.
“Ahhh, sorry mate.” He sung with over-dramatic compassion, “Looks like it’s not your night!”
Toby shrugged. “S’alright, mate. Give me a call, Ste, yeah?”
“No.” Ste muttered. He knew he was being sulky and immature but he didn’t care. Brendan was being odd. He was trying to act like he didn’t care, well THAT was more immature than any amount of sulking Ste could do………… wasn’t it? Unless… unless Brendan really didn’t care anymore……… and if not… why should that bother Ste?
Ste sighed and slumped moodily into the passenger seat of Brendan’s car. He was dead confused, messed up, drunk, put out, and he wanted to go home. He didn’t talk to Brendan the whole way back, and Brendan wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence, so the whole journey was cold and stiff.
Until Ste had to confess something…
“Brendan?”
“Wha’?”
“Um…” Ste swallowed, embarrassed. “You don’t have to drop me home… just the bus stop or somethin’ is fine.”
Brendan frowned. “And why would I do that?”
“Because…… because…”
“Speak up Stephen.”
“I don’t live with Amy anymore.” Ste admitted quietly. “I live in a B’n’B up town.”
Brendan didn’t blink or move or react. The car continued moving quietly forward, absorbed in the darkness of the night and wrapping them in a quiet sanctuary.
“How long you been there?” Brendan asked after a while.
“Dunno. Few months.”
“And why didn’t you say?”
Ste shrugged. “Didn’t think it mattered.”
Nothing. Silence again. And after the sour mood Ste had been in five minutes ago, that silence ought to be awkward and tense. But somehow it wasn’t. Ste allowed himself to sink back and relax as the car rolled soothingly forward. He felt content and unpressurised in the air of Brendan’s presence.
“Hey hold on…” he muttered after a while, “Jus’ drop me here, you’re goin’ too far!”
“I’m not taking you to a B’n’B Stephen, don’t be ridiculous.”
Ste groaned inwardly. He was too drowsy to be playing games. “Well where then?!”
“You can stay at mine, alright? And then you can sort yourself somewhere proper to live.”
“I dunno…”
“Just do as I say, Stephen.” Brendan sighed, almost irritably. “Alright?”
And so, as always, he did as he was told. For the second time in the space of a week, Ste found himself climbing fully clothed into Brendans bed, letting the warm sensation overcome him as he drowned himself in the bed sheets, and as Brendan carefully moved in beside him.
Again, silence. Neither spoke a word, and Ste felt sure after a while that Brendan must be asleep… and yet Ste couldn’t push away that nagging feeling that his drunken mind obsessed over. He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, trying to shut his brain off… he shuffled so much it was certain Brendan was getting annoyed at him if he was awake, though he still said nothing.
Eventually Ste gave up; propped himself onto his elbows and looked down at Brendan with a sullen ultimatum.
“Why did you want me to go home with that Toby bloke?!”
For a minute he felt sure he was speaking to a sleeping body. Until he heard Brendan sigh slowly. Brendan turned over and sat up, looking Ste derisively in the eye.
“Cos that’s what mates do for each other, innit?”
Ste felt a flinch of annoyance that he couldn’t quite understand. “And is this what mates do n’all?” he nodded down to the bedcovers. “It’s not, is it?”
“We…I’m just tryin’ to help out, it was YOU who asked to sleep here the other day, wasn’t it?!” Brendan snapped, “What do you want from me Stephen?!”
Ste’s mind whirred. It tripped and fuzzed under the influence of alcohol, and all those thoughts and grievances he’d had over the past few months blurred together surreally. He tried so hard to think about what it was he wanted from Brendan… why he had problems with things he ought not to have problems with… why they were here and why they were even still bothering to get past this mind-fuck. And he just landed at the same sorrowful conclusion that he always did:
“I don’t know.” He muttered weakly.
He glanced upwards to meet Brendan’s eyes and found that right now they were almost scornful. The bloke could do no right, and Ste suddenly felt guilty… apologetic. But before he could say anything, Brendan was turning back over to sleep with a grunt, “Night Stephen.”
And Ste was instinctively grabbing him, and hearing himself cry “No wait!!”
And then suddenly their lips were pushed together… and Ste’s stomach was fireing up with energy… and his tongue was pushing needily into Brendan’s mouth… and Brendan’s hand was gripped tightly to the back of Ste’s neck… and his heart relaxed with the sense of great long-lasting tension being lifted. Brendan’s tongue pushed against his… soft but rough at the same time… kissing with a gentle protectiveness that he always used with Stephen but at the same time being daring and lustful and hungry. And Ste felt his body pushing against Brendan’s… wanting to be closer… always closer… and heard himself groan impatiently… his hands gripping hard to the material of Brendan’s jumper… and just waiting for permission to rip it off… before…
Brendan pulled away.
And Ste’s mind pulsed, distorted, confused…. He felt dizzy… desperate…
“You’re drunk Stephen.” He heard somewhere in the distance. “Go to sleep.”
It was like water slipping through his fingertips. And his mouth still felt wet from Brendan’s lips, and huge scorching frustration overtook him, and he fucking HATED himself for being like this… and he HATED Brendan for exploiting it. And he HATED Brendan for rejecting him, and he HATED Brendan for being so fucking amazing to him, even though he knew Brendan was just a worthless coward. And he HATED Brendan for not being able to commit, for making everything so hard, for being so afraid, for being so hateful, for hitting him all those times and for making everything this complicated, when it should be so easy. Because he HATED Brendan for loving him, and he HATED Brendan for making Ste love him back. He HATED that love and he wanted it to end. Now.
“Fuck you.” He croaked mournfully, and he was scrambling for the covers and heading for the door…
“Stephen, no!” Brendan barked. And Brendan was climbing from the bed too; his voice fierce and desperate and… afraid?
And Ste was heading for the stairs, and he could hear Brendan call:
“Wait! Don’t go down there! STEPHEN!”
And he sounded so angry suddenly that it made Ste’s stomach jitter with nerves… and he HAD to get out of there because he had fucked it now, and Brendan was furious… and Ste didn’t know what he’d done wrong… and all he wanted to do was leave… it was too much… too much…
And as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he realised it was about to become a lot worse.
“Hurhmm.”
“Stephen, wake up.”
Ste stirred slightly. He was half submerged in unconsciousness; that snug feeling of warmth enveloping him as he took note of the duvet wrapped over his body. The plumped pillows, thick cover, cosy mattress that wasn’t his. And then as his heavy eyes peeled open, the sudden feeling of embarrassment hit him as he realised how close to Brendan he was now laying. When had that happened? His face was almost close enough to be buried in Brendans’ neck and Brendan was looking down at him with watchful eyes. Ste shuffled away quickly.
“Sorry..” he mumbled, face reddening.
Brendan didn’t even acknowledge it. Just spoke plainly; “Stephen I think you should go.” Before climbing out of bed himself.
Ste felt his stomach churning in humiliation. Jesus, he’d fucked up. He was so weak.
“Yeah, right, okay.” He mumbled
“’s Christmas Day.” Brendan continued casually. “The kids will be wakin’ up soon, won’t they? Wantin’ their presents.”
“Oh right yeah.” Ste had almost forgotten. “What time is it?”
“5.30” Brendan breathed, “You better hurry.”
The living room was still tainted with the heavy silence from last night, and that figure was still lying on the sofa. For some reason Ste felt the urge to be even more quiet than necessary as he crept past the mysterious sleeping man.
At the door he turned to Brendan with a whispered, “Thanks… for havin’ me.”
Brendan nodded curtly, and then shut the door in one quick - almost dismissive - motion.
Outside in the cold, Ste had to shake off that strange feeling of rejection. The hateful feeling of inadequacy. Brendan had done him a favour that’s all, and now it was Christmas Day, of course Ste would be in the way if he stayed any longer. Still… some small part of him wished he could have.
What bothered him most was that feeling staying in the pit of his stomach for the whole day, even as he played with his kids and joked with Amy………
He hated himself for it, but that small sick part of him wished that he were back in that bed.
* * * *
December 27th:
“Oy! Stephen!”
Ste glanced up from stacking bottles behind the bar, his face already fixed into a large grin as Brendan strode towards him from the front doors.
“Yeah? What’s up?”
“You and me, poker tonight, what do you say?”
If it was possible, Ste’s grin stretched even bigger. “Yeah! Definitely! Lemme just give Amy a call though, yeah?”
“No need, already sorted!”
“Oh…” Ste chuckled, almost shyly “Right.”
“Be ready at eight, I’ll pick you up from yours.” Brendan breezed, already on his way back out the club. Not without adding a semi-aggressive “What are you looking at?!” to a incredulous Rhys on his way out.
Rhys turned to Ste, his expression one of pure disgust that he be treated with such disdain, and with such contrast to his fellow barman. It was all Ste could do to stop the smug comments come pouring out.
In fact, that smug feeling of content superiority didn’t leave Ste for the rest of the day. Even when he went back to Amy’s and sat through her and Dodger shamelessly flirting, nothing could ruin his good mood. His insides jittered with energy and excitement, pre-empting that adrenaline rush that he got from cheating with Brendan, and stealing money from under the blokes noses. He showered, dressed smart, put on his best aftershave, had a drink to get himself started. Nothing could bring him down tonight.
Nothing…… until he opened the door to Brendan.
Only then did his stomach drop.
“Oh my God…” he gasped in horror, “What happened to you?!”
“Don’t worry about it.” Brendan sighed. “You ready to go?!”
“What happened to your face?!”
Ste tried to reach out and touch it: the dark murky bruise that lined Brendan’s right eye… the sickly fresh gash that travelled from his eyebrow to his cheekbone, seeping with dried up blood and entangled with yellow bruising.
Brendan pushed his hand away.
“I said don’t worry about it.” He barked shortly.
“Who did that to ya?!”
“Stephen.” Brendan breathed seriously. He locked his eyes onto Ste with intense power and control that he still practiced when the circumstances required it. “I said - drop it.”
Ste swallowed, instantly silenced.
“Well…” he muttered weakly. “Well are you alright? We don’t have to go out, you know, we could stay here…”
“I’m a big boy, Stephen, lest you forget. Now are we gettin’ out of here or what?!”
“Yeah. Yeah. Sorry…”
“S’alright, lets just go.”
The poker game wasn’t like Ste had experienced with Brendan before. This time it was in a proper loud bar; no silence for any serious concentration… and Brendan wasn’t expecting Ste to cheat for him after all. No, in fact, it was much better. Ste was going to PLAY.
Brendan ‘loaned’ him £50 to play with, saying if he won any more than that they could split it half and half, and if Ste lost the £50 he’d be out of the game; he wasn’t getting any more. And Ste found himself sat around with Brendan and some other blokes Brendan knew from God-knows-where. They were the dodgy types… loud, self-confident, judgemental and arrogant… NEVER the type Ste usually found himself associating with, and yet he felt strong and confident at Brendan’s side like this. He was Brendan’s mate, after all.
Still, having said that, Ste was out of the game pretty quickly; his confidence getting the better of him, and lost the £50 almost in a shot. Brendan gave him a look that was half-amused, half-disdainful, pulled out some more notes and muttered, “Go get in a round then. Make yerself useful.”
Ste walked over to the bar feeling on top of the world. In fact, he’d never felt so much like someone. He felt…powerful. When people looked at him, he didn’t feel self-conscious but instead he felt GOOD. Like he could do anything.
“Alright?” He breezed casually to some random bloke that was looking at him across the bar. He turned to the barman, “I’ll ‘ave six pints please ma…”
“Ste?”
Ste blinked, interrupted. He turned back to the staring bloke… who now had a grin on his face… a look of recognition that made Ste’s confidence shrivel back inside slightly.
“Urr… yeah?”
“Ste Hay.”
Ste frowned. “Who’s askin’?”
“Don’t ye remember me?!” The bloke spoke with a strong scouse accent. He had a strong physique, an air of charisma and self-assurance. “Toby. From the bar. You’re Noah’s lad, aren’t you?”
“Oh.” Ste remembered him now. One of Noah’s mates; the party-animals who drank beer from chugs and chanted football songs in the pub. Ste had always felt slightly out of the loop with them, although he tried to enjoy it. “Oh right, yeah, how are you?”
“On your own, are ya?” Toby moved closer.
“Er, no. Jus’ with some mates.”
“Yeah? No Noah?”
“No, we broke up.”
“Ah, that’s too bad, that’s too bad.” Though Toby didn’t sound surprised OR disturbed by the news. He continued his haughty breeziness as he asked, “Mind if I join ya?”
“Oh…no, sorry, not a good idea. Kind of an exclusive thing so…”
“Oooooh! Laa-di-daa!” Toby mocked him in a posh accent. “I get it! No rif-raf. Don’t spare my feelings, please!”
Ste smiled shortly, turning deliberately away to get the barman’s attention.
“Alright, I tell you what then,” Toby continued loudly in Ste’s ear, “Gimme a call when all the exclusiveness gets too boring for ya. Alright? Join the rif-raf for some real fun.”
Toby passed Ste his phone, and for a moment Ste wandered what the hell he was expected to do with it. It took him a second to process that he was meant to put his number in, and began to type it hesitantly.
“Sweet.” Toby commented offhandedly. “Catch ye later then?”
“Yeah.” Ste muttered, unsure. “Maybe I’ll ju…”
“Stephen.”
It was hard to determine why Ste’s heart sunk with guilt as Brendan slid up beside him at the bar. But he suddenly felt very red, caught out, trapped. He shoved the phone back towards Toby like it was hot iron.
“What’s taking so long?” Brendan turned to see Toby, looking him up and down. “Oh.” He sneered. “I see.”
“S’not what it looks like.” Ste mumbled sheepishly. “Jus’… a mate of Noah’s that’s all.”
“Alright there, ‘mate of Noah’s’?” Brendan held his hand out and shook Toby’s. “Fancy joining us?”
“Err…no!” Ste protested weakly.
“Don’t mind if I do, ta!” Toby gave Ste a confident wink, like they were somehow in this together.
It was like a harsh knock back to reality as Ste took note of just how LITTLE power he really did have… as he was forced to shove over at the table to make room for “Stephen’s new mate, Toby”.
And Ste was forced to listen as Brendan - for some unknown reason - pretended to laugh at Toby’s jokes, and pretended to find him interesting, and pretended to be his mate by letting him play and buying in rounds. Brendan was being the nicest guy in the world, and it made no sense why. He was such a closed-off bastard to everybody back home… and he’d only just met this guy… and Toby was the type that Brendan generally found annoying. Ste clenched his fists tight underneath he table, feeling increasingly uncomfortable and irritated by the whole situation. He downed more and more drinks, letting alcohol numb his frustration, becoming more and more limp and drowsy under the influence. Until eventually…
“Right.” Brendan stood up and addressed the blokes at the table. “We should be gettin’ off fellas. Leave Toby and Stephen here to get further acquainted.”
“What?” Ste jumped up. “No…I’m comin’ back with you lot.”
“Don’t be daft Stephen, the night’s still young!” Brendan slapped his back matily. Ste HATED it. What was he PLAYING at?!
“Well I don’t care, I’m ready to go home.” Ste stated stubbornly. “I’m… dead bored.”
Brendan turned to Toby with fake sympathy.
“Ahhh, sorry mate.” He sung with over-dramatic compassion, “Looks like it’s not your night!”
Toby shrugged. “S’alright, mate. Give me a call, Ste, yeah?”
“No.” Ste muttered. He knew he was being sulky and immature but he didn’t care. Brendan was being odd. He was trying to act like he didn’t care, well THAT was more immature than any amount of sulking Ste could do………… wasn’t it? Unless… unless Brendan really didn’t care anymore……… and if not… why should that bother Ste?
Ste sighed and slumped moodily into the passenger seat of Brendan’s car. He was dead confused, messed up, drunk, put out, and he wanted to go home. He didn’t talk to Brendan the whole way back, and Brendan wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence, so the whole journey was cold and stiff.
Until Ste had to confess something…
“Brendan?”
“Wha’?”
“Um…” Ste swallowed, embarrassed. “You don’t have to drop me home… just the bus stop or somethin’ is fine.”
Brendan frowned. “And why would I do that?”
“Because…… because…”
“Speak up Stephen.”
“I don’t live with Amy anymore.” Ste admitted quietly. “I live in a B’n’B up town.”
Brendan didn’t blink or move or react. The car continued moving quietly forward, absorbed in the darkness of the night and wrapping them in a quiet sanctuary.
“How long you been there?” Brendan asked after a while.
“Dunno. Few months.”
“And why didn’t you say?”
Ste shrugged. “Didn’t think it mattered.”
Nothing. Silence again. And after the sour mood Ste had been in five minutes ago, that silence ought to be awkward and tense. But somehow it wasn’t. Ste allowed himself to sink back and relax as the car rolled soothingly forward. He felt content and unpressurised in the air of Brendan’s presence.
“Hey hold on…” he muttered after a while, “Jus’ drop me here, you’re goin’ too far!”
“I’m not taking you to a B’n’B Stephen, don’t be ridiculous.”
Ste groaned inwardly. He was too drowsy to be playing games. “Well where then?!”
“You can stay at mine, alright? And then you can sort yourself somewhere proper to live.”
“I dunno…”
“Just do as I say, Stephen.” Brendan sighed, almost irritably. “Alright?”
And so, as always, he did as he was told. For the second time in the space of a week, Ste found himself climbing fully clothed into Brendans bed, letting the warm sensation overcome him as he drowned himself in the bed sheets, and as Brendan carefully moved in beside him.
Again, silence. Neither spoke a word, and Ste felt sure after a while that Brendan must be asleep… and yet Ste couldn’t push away that nagging feeling that his drunken mind obsessed over. He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, trying to shut his brain off… he shuffled so much it was certain Brendan was getting annoyed at him if he was awake, though he still said nothing.
Eventually Ste gave up; propped himself onto his elbows and looked down at Brendan with a sullen ultimatum.
“Why did you want me to go home with that Toby bloke?!”
For a minute he felt sure he was speaking to a sleeping body. Until he heard Brendan sigh slowly. Brendan turned over and sat up, looking Ste derisively in the eye.
“Cos that’s what mates do for each other, innit?”
Ste felt a flinch of annoyance that he couldn’t quite understand. “And is this what mates do n’all?” he nodded down to the bedcovers. “It’s not, is it?”
“We…I’m just tryin’ to help out, it was YOU who asked to sleep here the other day, wasn’t it?!” Brendan snapped, “What do you want from me Stephen?!”
Ste’s mind whirred. It tripped and fuzzed under the influence of alcohol, and all those thoughts and grievances he’d had over the past few months blurred together surreally. He tried so hard to think about what it was he wanted from Brendan… why he had problems with things he ought not to have problems with… why they were here and why they were even still bothering to get past this mind-fuck. And he just landed at the same sorrowful conclusion that he always did:
“I don’t know.” He muttered weakly.
He glanced upwards to meet Brendan’s eyes and found that right now they were almost scornful. The bloke could do no right, and Ste suddenly felt guilty… apologetic. But before he could say anything, Brendan was turning back over to sleep with a grunt, “Night Stephen.”
And Ste was instinctively grabbing him, and hearing himself cry “No wait!!”
And then suddenly their lips were pushed together… and Ste’s stomach was fireing up with energy… and his tongue was pushing needily into Brendan’s mouth… and Brendan’s hand was gripped tightly to the back of Ste’s neck… and his heart relaxed with the sense of great long-lasting tension being lifted. Brendan’s tongue pushed against his… soft but rough at the same time… kissing with a gentle protectiveness that he always used with Stephen but at the same time being daring and lustful and hungry. And Ste felt his body pushing against Brendan’s… wanting to be closer… always closer… and heard himself groan impatiently… his hands gripping hard to the material of Brendan’s jumper… and just waiting for permission to rip it off… before…
Brendan pulled away.
And Ste’s mind pulsed, distorted, confused…. He felt dizzy… desperate…
“You’re drunk Stephen.” He heard somewhere in the distance. “Go to sleep.”
It was like water slipping through his fingertips. And his mouth still felt wet from Brendan’s lips, and huge scorching frustration overtook him, and he fucking HATED himself for being like this… and he HATED Brendan for exploiting it. And he HATED Brendan for rejecting him, and he HATED Brendan for being so fucking amazing to him, even though he knew Brendan was just a worthless coward. And he HATED Brendan for not being able to commit, for making everything so hard, for being so afraid, for being so hateful, for hitting him all those times and for making everything this complicated, when it should be so easy. Because he HATED Brendan for loving him, and he HATED Brendan for making Ste love him back. He HATED that love and he wanted it to end. Now.
“Fuck you.” He croaked mournfully, and he was scrambling for the covers and heading for the door…
“Stephen, no!” Brendan barked. And Brendan was climbing from the bed too; his voice fierce and desperate and… afraid?
And Ste was heading for the stairs, and he could hear Brendan call:
“Wait! Don’t go down there! STEPHEN!”
And he sounded so angry suddenly that it made Ste’s stomach jitter with nerves… and he HAD to get out of there because he had fucked it now, and Brendan was furious… and Ste didn’t know what he’d done wrong… and all he wanted to do was leave… it was too much… too much…
And as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he realised it was about to become a lot worse.