His lips on mine. My hands on him.
And currently he was downstairs in my bed.
My forehead fell heavily onto the mirrored glass. I let it. And again. Thud after thud as I tried to calm the whirring of panic in my brain.
Oliver. Oliver. Oliver.
I couldn’t do this, whatever it was. I just couldn’t. I needed to go downstairs and grab my phone. I needed to ring my boys and get some normality back into my life. Eat another of Mrs Patel’s nice meals and wash the plate up afterwards. Like a normal human being.
I could hear him moving around downstairs, the movement of a chair. Padded footsteps on the wooden floor.
It brought back everything I didn’t want to remember. When my life had been so wildly different to what it was now. The before to the after.
I hated the before almost as much as I hated the after. I hated it so, so much. The realisation made me pause. Because that was the honest truth. Things had not been good. Before…or after. And now here I was. In the now. Right now.
“Peter!” he shouted up the stairs. “You okay?”
“All good.” My voice managed to hold. I swallowed. And again. Threw the toothbrush I had in my hand into the sink. Picked up the old one to chuck in the bin.
Then I stood there with it in my hand, wondering what the hell I was doing.
AnOh, Mary!sat ready on my tongue.
I just couldn’t say it. Didn’t want to. I couldn’t make myself.
You’re an idiot, Peter, she said back in my head.And you know it.
Now I had to somehow make my feet carry me back downstairs. Or I could jump out the window. Hide in the closet until morning…
That last bit made me smile and at least try to meet my reflection in the mirror. Just for a second.
I looked exactly what I was. Old. Confused. Drained. Tired. My chest moving up and down. The grey chest hair scattered across my pale skin. My stomach rounded yet firm.
I was so goddamn tired.
I was tired of the way my heart was beating inside my chest. Of how the fear radiating inside my body was crippling me. Why was I so scared? It was just…Oliver. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, wearing my shirt. Or was it Cal’s? I honestly didn’t know.
I didn’t know very much at all, but he was letting me pass and then put the palm of his hand onto my back, pushing me in the right direction. Like I was too frazzled to find the way into my own bed. And I still had a toothbrush in my hand.
“Want me to take that?” he asked gently.
“Oh,” I said.
“You’re such a granddad. I’m surprised you don’t have a pair of filthy slippers by the side of your bed.”
“I’m not that old.”
“No, you’re not,” he said gently. “Just fifteen years between us. Not that…”
“Perverted. I’m old enough to…”
“No. No, you’re not.”
Here I was, sat on the edge of my bed. The covers pulled back, like this was normal.
Him crawling into the bed on the other side.
“Don’t you fucking dare say it. It’s nothing like that. Age? It’s important when you’re younger, I get that. It’s always been important to me. I’ve always looked for men my age. It makes sense. But then, when you find someone, and I mean this. When you find someone who gets you. Like you get me?”
