Age 18
It’s been over two years since the night my dad died. You would think by now my body would know the difference between a smashed vase and brutal fists– butno.My skin is covered in a film of cold sweat, and my heart constricts in my chest, even three hours later. The darkness takes away my sight, heightening my other senses. The feel of the soft cotton sheets irritates and chafes. The sound of the pipes settling and the house resting feels like a threat of chaos and pain. The lingering taste of birthday cake takes on a copper tang, reminiscent of the blood that pooled in my cheek. And that’s when things shift. I’m pulled back into that room. Back to the last time I saw my dad. Only, I’m not in my body, I’m somewhere nearby. Watching things unfold in a torturous loop. The shouting. The begging. Then, the silence. The stillness. A mist descends across my vision, always at the same point, the one where I passed out.
But this version of me is awake.
I hear light and hesitant footsteps, then voices. Voices so familiar yet frustratingly unrecognisable through thehaze. Something’s not right, my heart is hammering in my chest, and my body is rigid with fear.
It’s ok, you wake up, and Jules comes, he saves you.I tell myself over and over, but the eerie sense of unease is dragging me down; I’m helpless to stop it.
“Zan?” Jules' voice echoes around the room, pulling me back to the present, cold sweat beading on my forehead. I can’t answer him, not right now. My voice would betray me; it would invite a host of questions I’m not equipped to answer.
I remember making the call, I remember the punishment that followed, but that’s all. The space between the final explosion of pain and waking up to the familiar tone of my best friend’s voice is gone. I can’t rely on what my panicked brain shows me in moments like this. All I know for certain is my mind recognised his presence and responded by bringing me back, like reality was only worth bearing when Jules was there.
I shift on my side to face the wall, pulling the duvet over my head, trying to block out the memories. All I succeed in, however, is trapping them in there with me. The air is hot and sticky, and my breaths are coming fast. I want to scream, to rid myself of all the negative thoughts clinging to me like a second skin, but I won’t– Ican’t.Jules is here, and I won’t let him see me this way. I swore to myself I wouldn’t let it happen again.
Things between us felt different that night, as if a slight shift in the air had completely changed the trajectory of our relationship. I went from theprotectorto theprotected, knowing I could always count on Jules to show up. Up until now, I had managed to successfully push it to the darkestrecesses of my mind, but my body won’t let me forget what it so desperately wants– the only thing that seems to calm the storm raging inside.
He doesn’t push me for an answer, even though he knows I’m awake. I can tell he’s uneasy with the silence by the sound of his breathing alone. The little huffs and puffs he expels indicate his need to say something, but he stops himself and lets the words float away with the air.
So, I climb down the ladder. Telling myself with each wrung– ‘this is for him.’
I repeat it again when I pull back the cover and slip in beside him–‘for him.’
I remind myself again when my head lowers to rest gently against his chest.
But when his fingers reach up and comb through my hair, my mind quiets. There are no memories, and there is no pain, just the niggling doubt–‘for who?’
“Better?” he asks, gently coaxing me back. I don’t want to speak, I don’t want to take Jules back to that night. So instead, I reach for his hand, the one that’s curled around my shoulders, and hold onto what I havenow.
When the morning rolls around, I’m hit with the worst emotional hangover; the unwelcome feelings from last night’s trauma linger like a fog in the back of my mind. The sound of a farawaythumpingbeats against my ear in a steady rhythm, as my head bobs up and down slowly. The side of my face is slick with sweat and pressed against something hard, but warm–Jules.
Ifight the sleep trying to drag me back into the comfort I’d awoken from, and peel my face from his chest. My body aches from head to toe, but I can’t help but be grateful for the pain– I finally got a full night’s sleep. Rolling onto my back, I stretch my legs out, pushing them until they can’t reach any further, when the peak of my stretch is interrupted by a tight, tugging feeling in my groin. I glance down the flat lines of my body to see something standing tall and proud beneath the blanket–Oh fuck, no, no, no.
I yank on the blanket, piling it into my crotch, and bring my knees up to hide my painfully embarrassing morning wood. Jules stirs and shifts beside me, moaning under his breath–
“Zander, stop hogging the blanket…” He reaches out with his eyes still closed, making grabby hands dangerously close to thesituation.
“Giiiiiive,” he whines, nestling himself into my side like a little heat thief.
“Jules, I– I need to get up… I need to piss.”
He just buries his face deeper into my chest, and my dick twitches in approval.What the fuck?
I turn slightly, pressing my hands to his shoulders, rolling him back, but not before accidentally stabbing him in the thigh,fuck.
Jules’ face screws up as he bats his hand between us, trying to find the offending item.
“What’s digging into my leg?!” His hand grows frantic, but I can’t move without giving away that the ‘problem’is actuallyattached to my body. My heart is hammering in my chest at the prospect of being punched in the dick at eight AM.
“Jules…please,just– just go back to sleep,” I plead, my voice desperate. I’ve got to move, I weigh up the only two options I have–serious damage to my manhood, or irreversible damage to my friendship.
I’ll do it fast. I’ll spin around, jump out of bed, and run to the bathroom; he’ll never know.
But of course, he does. The moment my body leaves his side, and I’m standing beside the bed, his eyes ping open at the loss. See, most people would need a few seconds to blink away the sleep in their eyes and just enjoy the haze of a good night’s sleep. But not Jules,of course not fucking Jules.He’s bright-eyed and alert immediately, staring at my erection pointing toward him accusingly. I just stand there, waiting for the embarrassment to swallow me whole. He’s been staring for a few seconds now, whilst my treacherous body froze over, refusing to move– there’s absolutely no hope we can pretend he didn’t see it. A tingling sensation sparks low in my stomach, sending pulsating aches straight down my length.Move, Zander.
“Why is–” Jules starts, and I groan.Of course, he wants to talk about it.
“Can we not?”
