Ten Years After/Part 9
He blinks at me in that sleepy way he used to have, only it's not a
come-on now, it's exhaustion. "You should get some rest. We can talk
later."
He raises his hand to his eyebrow, to stroke it restlessly, but his
fingers tremble. I know what we've done to each other, and I ask myself,
how can none of that matter? But there is an ache deep inside of me that
has nothing to do with sex, and I can't think about the past.
He needs me, and maybe, I think, maybe that's better than love.
For now.
"The bedroom is in there--"
His eyes open wide, and again, I'm struck by how blue they really are. His
hair is an indeterminate shade of brown, it's scraggly around the edges
like he hasn't cut it in months, and I think, he looks unfinished.
Probably the lack of make-up.
I think I was wrong. It's not that he's not beautiful anymore. It's that
he looks...real. And there *is* beauty in that. He just doesn't know it.
He's staring at me, like I'm fucking God or something, and I want to kiss
him, so much that I take a half-step closer without realizing.
"Y-you're not going to leave, are you?" he asks. Man, I *have* been thrown
off-kilter. Here I thought he wanted me, and he's just plain scared that
I'll take off.
"No, Bri," I say, and the raspiness of my voice gets on my last nerve. "I
won't leave you."
"Do you need any help getting undressed?"
He shakes his head. "I didn't bring anything to wear--"
His shyness would be irresistible if it wasn't pathological. "It's okay.
I've got an old T-shirt and shorts you can put on. Nothing fancy, but--"
"That's all right," he says, a bit too quickly. So. Not the only one
affected by being this close. That's a fucking relief.
*****
I throw the clothes in his general direction and head into the bathroom. I
refuse to look at my reflection. I'm not sure what I'd see there.
I hear a muffled noise and I bolt back into the bedroom. He's still
dressed. But he's lying on his side clutching the bundle of clothes to his
chest. Like it's me. I don't know where that last thought comes from, but
I banish it. Fast.
I stand over him and unzip his pants. He freezes, and I think, he's
nervous, that's all. But when I start to tug his pants down his legs, he
begins to fight me, and that's not nerves, that's...something else.
"Brian! Brian! It's me, it's Curt!"
He looks up at me with wet eyes the color of light, and I have the
sensation of falling. It makes me dizzy, and I would have landed on him,
but he puts out a shaky hand. "C-Curt?"
"Yeah."
Now is not the time for me to go asking stupid questions. I want to, but I
can't push him. Not now.
His whole body relaxes, and I have to hold myself back from taking him
into my arms. "Curt..." he says again, his eyelids fluttering shut.
I finish taking off his pants and start dressing him in the clothing I
gave him. He's like a rag doll, lifelike, compliant, but not really there.
He curls into a fetal position, and I figure he's pretty much forgotten
about me being there. But when I straighten up, he grabs my hand. "Don't
go."
"I, uh, don't think it's such a good idea for us to sleep in the same
bed."
His blue eyes snap open and his gaze seems completely guileless. "You said
you wouldn't jump me."
"I won't," I vow, and I mean it.
"I don't want to be alone," he whispers.
I manage to nod, but inside I wonder how it's possible to have a heart
attack and still be standing. I pull off my own clothes, but it's damned
difficult. He's watching me, so closely, it's like he's touching me. I
pick up his pants off the floor and rummage in the pockets. Empty.
"What are you looking for?" he asks with a frown.
"The pills."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Oh. Hand them over."
"I need them," he says sulkily.
I snap my fingers a couple of times, and his head jerks up. "Legalized
dope. Give 'em to me."
"I wouldn't..." Ah, now he gets it. Does he think I don't understand how
hard it is to live in this world?
"You've got me now." That startles both of us, and I think, Jeez, when the
hell did I volunteer to take on fixing him *and* me?
He reaches into the drawer of my nighttable and pulls out a small vial. "I
wasn't hiding them, Curt, and I try not to use more than I need."
I palm the vial and put it in the pocket of my T-shirt. There's no way he
can get it without me knowing, and believe me, I want to know if he takes
anything else.
"I'm not accusing you of taking the easy way out, Bri," I say softly.
*Now*. I think it, and I swear, he knows what I'm thinking.
"Go to sleep," I sigh.
He's fighting sleep, I can see it in his face, but he refuses to close his
eyes again until I lie down beside him. He's facing away from me, and I
allow myself one unguarded look at him. But as soon as he feels my weight
next to him, Brian turns around and nestles under my chin.
Damn, that's not fair.
I promised I wouldn't touch him. But his hair is tickling my face, his
cheek is flush against my chest, and his hands slide under my ribcage like
they belong there.
He's asleep. Without pills.
I, on the other hand, am wide awake, and I know I'll stay that way for a
while.
Someone has to watch over him.
I want it to be me.
*****