“We won’t be able to write letters to each other,” F murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll miss it. Talking to you.”
He groans.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. It’s not you. I’m just annoyed that my mum…you know.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why is she so…protective?” Protective is a nice way to put it. I couldn’t imagine my parents going through my phone.
He takes so long to reply that I think he won’t. Finally, he says, “My sister got herself into a lot of trouble. I think my mum secretly blames herself for not being more vigilant, so now she’s obsessive about making sure I’m not doing anything…wrong.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” I say. I’m an only child myself.
“I haven’t spoken to her in ages. She ran away from home. Well, I say ran away, but my mum also kicked her out.”
“Shit,” I whisper. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. “That’s another reason my mum checks my phone — to make sure I’m not secretly communicating with my sister. Which I’m not. But my mum acts like if she doesn’t monitor everything I do, I’m going to ruin my life. Like it’s only a matter of time.” He exhales.“Sorry. I didn’t mean to unload that all on you. Just forget I said that.”
“No,” I say, reaching out for his hand. “I’m glad you told me. I understand things better now.”
His hand is stiff, but a second later, his fingers curl around mine.
We still have a few weeks until the end of term. And three weeks of holidays isn’t that long. It’s probably for the best, anyway. I can’t get greedy. I can’t get used to F because this thing between us will end eventually.
I remind myself of my plan. Glide through year 12 with no drama, graduate, then move to Melbourne, where I’ll finally be free. Free to be an artist, free to like whatever I like, free to be gay without worrying about what other people think of me.
9
Jude: End of Term
I’m increasingly aware of the approaching winter holidays, but I’m trying to ignore it. They’ll suck, not only because it means I won’t be able to talk to R. I’ll be either studying or working or otherwise stuck in the house with Mum. Her job means she gets school holidays, too.
Since I want to be out of the house as much as possible, I’m considering getting another job, since my current casual position at the shoe shop doesn’t have any more shifts available. The upside will be more money I can save for next year. The downside is that I doubt any businesses will hire me for only three weeks.
On Monday, after R enters the storeroom and jams the chair under the door, I open my eyes and pull him to the floor. I’m determined to make the most of the rest of term with him.
He relaxes between my legs, his back to my chest. I bury my nose in his hair and take a deep breath. He smells as nice as always. For a moment, the scent of his shampoo makes me pause, and I wonder if I’ve smelled it somewhere else. Not here. In a classroom, perhaps?
“How are you?” he whispers.
“Making small talk again?” I smirk.
“Yeah, it’s called being polite. Ever heard of it?” he replies.
I laugh. “I’m good. Better now that you’re here.” I kiss the side of his face, but when he starts to kiss me back, I pull away. “How are you?” I ask, voice purposely conversational.
He groans. “You’re right. Small talk is overrated.” He turns around and exerts his strength as he gently but firmly pushes me down so I’m flat against the floor. “Hey,” he says, the low rumble in his voice making my whole body tingle. “Do you remember what we talked about last time?”
“Slipped my mind. Jog my memory?”
I’m teasing him because of course I remember. I spent the whole weekend getting myself off in the shower over it.
R kisses the underside of my jaw, careful not to leave marks. A while back, he told me someone saw one of his hickeys, so we’ve been cautious about that ever since. “I told you,” he begins, voice vibrating against my skin. “I want to suck your cock. I want to suck it until you come in my mouth.”
I inhale sharply.
