But as I walk, my legs nearly give out and my head spins in this weird way, like I’ve been poisoned rather than drunk. Strange.
Muttering under my breath, I throw out,
"Did you add something extra to that drink? Why was it so bitter?"
Salt shrugs. "You’re just drunk, that’s all."
As soon as we’re inside, I collapse onto the bed, irritated and aware of how pointless all this drinking was. I don’t know what it was supposed to accomplish. It definitely didn’t heal anything between us. I gave in because he pushed for it, and part of me feels like I owe him more flexibility after how our conversation went, but it was a mistake. Lesson learned.
I close my eyes, trying to drift into a light doze, when suddenly I feel Salt move closer. I immediately realize what’s happening when I register that he’s completely naked.
"Hold me, Eliano."
"What?"
His body presses against mine, writhing slightly, clinging to me. It feels good, I won’t deny that. He smells of candy, not of alcohol, which is a huge relief.
"I don’t know if this is a good idea. What if I throw up on you?" I mumble.
"You won’t. Please, do this for me. Hold me." I feel his hips pressing against mine. He’s hard.
"How… deeply am I supposed to hold you?" I mutter, then let out a stupid little giggle.
"As deep as possible," he whispers, and against my will I feel a wave of arousal forcing its way through the alcoholic haze in my head.
"Salt, I don’t know if everything’s going to work the way it should."
"It will. It already is. I can feel it," Salt murmurs, his hand brushing against my groin.
Without hesitation, Salt strips me and climbs on top of me. My eyes almost close on their own, but I feel him roll a condom onto my surprisingly hard cock, and then he slowly starts to sink down onto me.
This time it’s different from before. Now he’s lying on my chest, simply lowering his hips toward my cock and taking me that way.
It’s a strange sensation, and I don’t fully understand why he’s doing this when he knows it can’t be much of an exciting experience with me this drunk.
Still, in the end, I go along with it and let him do what he wants.
Soon I feel him start to move slowly on top of me, unhurried, almost gentle.
I hear him mumbling things that sound like, "Oh, Eliano, I wish it were different," or "Hold me, I want to remember this."
I want to ask him why he would want to remember today of all days.
A terrible thought starts growing inside me. I try to push it away, to ask if he lied when he said he wouldn’t run, and if, in fact, he plans to run, right now, today. But the words struggle to come out.
With great effort, I lift my arms and hold him, and suddenly I feel unexpected wetness on the cheek he’s pressed against.
Are those his tears?
A wave of fear tries to shake me, but I’m beyond saving now, free falling into unconsciousness, pretty sure he added something extra to this beer, not just vodka.
"Salt," I manage to whisper, "please don’t do this. Whatever you’re planning, don’t do it," I slur, barely forming the sentences, but I need to get it out. Desperately.
He doesn’t respond. I feel myself slipping even deeper into darkness. I cling to him, my fingers tightening on his shoulders.
"I… like you. A lot. And I want your love, Salt. Don’t you understand? That’s what I want for us. I want to give you love too. I’m sorry I disappointed you. I’ll figure something out. I promise…"
And then I drift away.
