Requited

Chapter 2

I'm out, without Andy, again. He's off doing God knows what. I saw that blonde asshole loitering around the disabled toilets in the library again. It makes me feel sick. It makes me feel twitchy and sick.

I can't stand that guy.

I came out to get away from that. I came out, even though I've largely stopped hooking up with girls. I seem to have lost my appetite for it a bit. Not completely, but a bit.

Tonight's different. There's a storm brewing. A hurricane. A tiny, blonde tornado is blowing a gale. She's all over the room. Twisting and dancing, working the room. Bouncing off the walls, leaving a trail of destruction in her path. There isn't a male pair of eyes that aren't on her. There are probably several pairs of female eyes on her, too. She's easily the best-looking woman in the whole place. Easily. She's the best-looking woman I've seen in this whole town. The whole state. Hell, she might be the best-looking woman I've seen in my life.

Despite everything else that's going on. I look. She sees me looking, or she feels me looking. Either way, she saunters over. The sea of people part for her. She seems to expect it. She walks like a woman who knows herself. She knows who she is. She knows what she wants.

Tonight, for whatever reason, that seems to be me.

"I've seen you around." She says, not bothering with something as mundane as, "Hello."

"Is that right?" I smile. I feel a trickle of desire seep through me. I feel my body react to her. Warming and thickening. Stiffening. Bracing for impact.

She doesn't mince words. Like I said, she knows what she wants. She invites me back to her room, without any pre-amble.

"Uh, j-just so you know," I stammer, "I'm not looking for anything serious. I'm kinda hung up on someone else."

I always do this. I do it, even if it means striking out. I don't sleep with a woman, unless I've made sure they understand that it's casual. I like sex. I like casual sex. I just can't do it, if I feel like I could hurt someone by doing it.

One eyebrow shoots up in disdain, "Hmm," she says, "I've heard all about that little line of yours." She shakes her head dismissively at me. "That doesn't work for me. I'm not going to fuck a guy, who's thinking about fucking some other girl. Frankly, I'd rather just fuck myself."

My mouth drops open in shock. Despite myself and despite her, I can't believe she just said that.

"Can I watch?" I say, before I can stop myself.

She laughs and shakes her head at me. She's already gone. She's already left. She doesn't look back. She's already blazing a trail through someone else's night.

I ask around. Her name is Ashleigh. Ashleigh McKinnon.

*

I spent last night at Holly's. She and I used to hook up on a semi-regular basis. We were friends with benefits. At some point, we just became friends. These days, I go over there when I feel like I need a bit of space from Andy. Sometimes, our room feels a little too small for both of us. Sometimes, I feel like I can't really breathe because he's there. Sometimes, I feel like that even when he's not there. I feel like that, just from looking at the painting above his bed. The colours seem more intense now, somehow. Sometimes, when I look at it, it feels like its swirling. Churning. It seems sensual now. Like something that writhes and thrashes when no-one's looking. I look at the brush strokes in the thick layers of paint. I think of the hands that put them there. Sometimes, when he's not there, I run my fingers over the cold, smooth paint. I touch it, the way I imagine he touched it, when he painted it.

Last night was one of those nights, I needed to get away. I feel much better this morning. My head is clear. Holly is great. She's like a breath of fresh air. I'm glad I got away. I unlock the door and swing it open. I'm stunned for a second but manage to close the door quickly. I lock it, too.

Andy's entire body physically recoils in shock. He literally jumps. He levitates for a second, then he slams his laptop shut and covers his dick with both hands.

"Holy shit!" He gasps. His jeans are down around his ankles. He's sitting on his bed. He has no shirt on. His chest is heaving. Maybe it's from the shock of me interrupting him. Maybe it's from what he was doing.

"Fuck." He whispers. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"It's no problem, Andy," I say, "everyone does it."

"Look." He says, looking everywhere except for directly at me. "I'm dying of shame. Could you just get the fuck out of here for a second?"

"Nah, it's not a big deal. You've caught me lots of times."

"Well, it's a big deal to me." He says quietly.

I sigh. There's no way I'm leaving him like this. I couldn't, even if I wanted to. I'm so hard from the sight of him like this, I doubt I could put one foot in front of the other.

"Tell you what," I say, "if you're going to make a huge deal out of this, why don't we just both jerk off. Let's just get it out of the way, so neither of us is uncomfortable about it?"

He takes a while to answer. Like he's unsure what to say. At last, he says, "O-okay."

Okay? Seriously?

I sit down next to him, as quickly as I can, unbuckling my belt and unzipping my fly before he can change his mind.

"What are we watching?" I ask, opening his laptop.

He lurches forward, trying to wrestle it out of my hands. I'm too quick though.

"Hmm," I say, "'bottom struggling to take it', huh?"

He goes as red as can be. Redder than I've ever seen him. Bright, bright red.

"Nice." I say, trying to calm him down.

The fact that he searches for things like this, makes me feel twisted and sick with desire. I want to know what else he searches for. I want to know what he wants. I want to know what he likes. That's what I want. I want to know what he likes. I want to know everything in the world that he likes, and I want to give it to him. My dick is pulsing and demanding immediate attention.

"Uh, um, West, this is, uh, gay porn."

I laugh a little then.

What the hell does he think I think he watches? Straight porn?

"No shit, sherlock. It's fine, I'll just focus on the ass. Afterall, an ass is an ass."

His face is still bright red. I press play quickly. I know if I don't, he's going to come to his senses. I'm so turned on, if I don't do this now, I know I'm going to do something even more stupid. The video starts playing. He was already a few minutes in. One guy is bent over. He's on his hands and knees. The other one is behind him. He has three fingers in his ass. Deep in his ass. The guy on his knees does seem to be struggling to take it. His face is grimacing slightly and he's making terrible, beautiful sounds. Sounds just like that fucking Chad made, when Andy was inside him.

I close my eyes quickly, trying to block that thought from my mind. I reach forward and turn the laptop slightly. I do it, so Andy can see the screen better, but the second I do, I notice that I can see his reflection in the screen now. I see it clearly. Clear as a bell. It's like looking at him in a mirror.

He has his hand on his dick, he's stroking slowly. Timidly. He seems nervous. I get hold of my own dick and stroke it like I mean it. I want to show him that this is okay. I don't take my eyes off the screen. I don't take my eyes off Andy. I see his body. His chest and his arms. His big, beautiful hand, wrapped around his big, beautiful cock. I see the way he's breathing. It's hard and uneven. His chest looks so good, I think about leaning over. Just leaning my head down. If I did, I could lick him. That's how close he is. I could run my tongue over his chest. I could flick his nipple, if I just leant down a little. My dick is leaking. It's leaking and throbbing. Aching. Aching for more.

I adjust my legs, a little. I spread them open the tiniest bit. I do it, so I can touch him. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it. I press my knee against his. I don't know if he feels it. He starts coming right as I move. He cries out when he comes. A long, low cry. He tries to stifle it, but I hear it. The sound is so beautiful, it makes me come too. My hips buck with the force of it. I shoot a load of epic proportions. A heroic amount. A superhuman amount. It just keeps spraying and spraying. Pulsing. Spilling all over my lap.

Seconds after I come, it hits me. The utter humiliation. Red hot mortification. I feel like a fool. I thought he'd do something. I thought he'd touch me. I thought he would. I thought, surely, surely, surely to God, he'd touch me if I took my dick out with him. I feel like a creep.

Why can't you just get it into your head? He's not into you.

I get up and wipe myself down with a towel. I toss his towel over to him. He's sitting there, looking a little shell-shocked.

"Is it weird that we just did that?" He asks, sounding bewildered.

"Of course it's weird," I say, feigning a level of confidence that's the exact opposite of what I feel, "but it doesn't have to be. It doesn't have to be weird, unless we make it weird."

Of course, it's fucking weird, Andy. Of course, it's weird. It's weird as fuck. It's the weirdest thing I've ever done. What makes it even more weird is that I obviously came onto you. I obviously tried to touch you, and I don't think you even noticed.

What the hell could be weirder than that?

After Andy leaves for his lecture, I go to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I look in the mirror, for a long time. I look at my face. It's not a bad face. I've always thought I lucked out a little in the looks department, if I'm being completely honest. I'm not vain, or anything like that. It's just that girls seem to like me. I've always done okay, with girls. I've always found it easy, getting girls. I feel pretty confident flirting or coming onto women. I wonder if there's something about me, that makes me unattractive to men. I've never been hit on by a guy. Never. Not once. I wonder if there's something about me that's inherently unappealing to men.

I wish to fuck, I knew what it was.

I wish I could ask Andy about it. Obviously, he's the last guy on Earth I could ask. The very last one.

*

I'm in the quad outside the library, when I run into Ashleigh again. Or should I say, she runs into me. She spots me and comes stalking over.

"Hey Baxter," she says, speaking loudly and clearly. Loudly enough for people around us to hear, "how's it hanging."

When she says that, she looks down at my dick. She does it on purpose. Thoughtful and calculated. Very, very deliberate.

I must look a little shocked or abashed, as she comes a little closer. She speaks a little quieter.

This time she says, "I've heard all about the snake in your pants. I've heard it's a big snake. A python. A serpent."

She's smiling when she says it. Her eyes are smiling like crazy. She has big, blue eyes. She has eyes like an angel, though, she's very clearly no angel. She's as far from an angel, as anyone can possibly get. She speaks so sweetly, if you were a few feet away, you'd think she was talking about hosting a charity event or something like that.

I stand there, gobsmacked. Opening and closing my mouth. Trying to recover from the shock.

She smiles up at me beatifically, "That's not all I've heard." She's whispering into my ear now. I can feel her soft breath on my neck, "I've heard you know

exactly

what you're doing with it."

With that, she's gone.

Order is restored. People are milling around me in the quad again. The leaves on the trees are glossy and new. Bright green. People are walking along, with their bags over their shoulders and library books tucked under their arms. Walking around, as if nothing just happened. I look up at the sky. I'm stunned to see that it's cloudless. I feel as though there should be clouds on the horizon at least.

Dark clouds.

Storm clouds.

*

On the surface, things between Andy and I are fine. They're perfect. That's because, I'm in the process of discovering, I'm one hell of an actor. I'm acting as though everything's fine. I'm acting my ass off. It seems to be working.

Lucky me. If I don't make it in finance, I'll have acting to fall back on.

We talk shit and laugh together, just like we always do. It's just when he's not there, I lie curled up on my bed with my quilt over me. I lie there, unsure if I'm feeling really hot or really cold. I feel sick from the pain. My whole body aches. I ache, as if I have a fever. I feel sick and empty inside. I feel horny too. I'm horny for him all the time. I feel sick and empty and achy and horny, all the time. Every second, this is how I feel. I can't understand why he doesn't want me. I know that's stupid. I know it is. I feel like a spoilt brat, thinking like that. He doesn't have to want me. He doesn't owe me anything. No-one does.

I don't know why I can't get that through my thick skull.

*

"Come on," I say, "come out with me. Just come out for a while."

"Who are you going out with?" He asks.

"The Bro's," I admit, "but come on, come anyway. You'll have fun, you'll see." I know I'm pathetic. I can see it. I can feel it. I just can't stop it.

He looks thoughtful for a moment, "Ah, okay, okay, you win. I'll come, but just for one drink."

I start laughing from happiness. "Oh, Andy, you're the best. I love you, bro."

He looks up in utter disdain. He shakes his head at me emphatically. He raises his hand, pointing his finger up to his head, to the embroidered lettering on the cap I gave him.

It says, "Ugh."

Despite everything, I laugh at that. It feels like the first time in a while that I've laughed like that. How ironic that the same person who makes me so sad, also makes me so happy.

*

"Hey fags." Says Alex Meeking.

Alex lives a few doors down. He's an honest to God asshole. Honest to God, he is. Usually, I can find something to like about everyone I meet. I've known Alex for almost a year and I've yet to find something I find even vaguely tolerable about him. The second he speaks, my whole-body tenses. I feel an almost uncontrollable urge to shield Andy. To protect Andy. I always feel like this. Even if someone so much as looks at him the wrong way, I want to guard and defend him. With my words and my body. I'm wildly protective of him. I want to remove anything even vaguely destructive from his path. Forcibly, if need be. I don't mean to feel like this, I just do.

"Hey Alex." I say evenly.

I feel Andy stiffen beside me. He loathes Alex. With good reason. The guy is a shit and homophobe to boot. Loudly and proudly homophobic.

"Let it go," I say to Andy, "He's not worth your time."

"That's how rumours get started, West. You can't just let it go."

When he says that, I let myself imagine for a second, that he feels protective of me, too. That he wants to keep me safe, too. That the thought of something bad happening to me, hurts him, too. That's the thing about Andy, I do feel safe when I'm with him. When I'm with him, I feel like nothing can touch me.

"I don't care about rumours."

"That's because you don't know the damage rumours like this can do to your life."

"Just let it go, Andy, I don't mind."

After that, I go to the library and Andy goes to the art room. He's getting started on a piece for his final exam.

*

I'm on my way back from the library when I see it. It's late. Much later than I normally stay at the library. I ran into some people I know, and we landed up going to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. So, it's late by the time I get back to our dorm. It's darker and quieter than usual. Lots of people are knuckling down. Getting stuck in. It's nearly the end of the year. The thought of exams is becoming an unpleasant reality.

As I walk down the hall, I get that heightened feeling. It's familiar now. That little sense of anticipation. I think Andy will be home. He should be. He said he wasn't going to the art room for long. I hope he's home. I've started to feel a little stressed before I even open the door. I hate it when he's not home when he should be. I hate it because I know what it means. I know what he's doing, if he's not working and he's not home with me.

I'm halfway down the hall, probably eight or ten rooms away from ours, when I hear the quick click of a lock turning and a door opening. It's Andy.

Andy?

Not only is it Andy, it's Andy coming out of Alex Meeking's room.

Holy shit. Was Andy with Alex?

My heart starts pounding instantly. For a second, I don't want to believe it. Maybe, he just went to Alex's room to tell him to fuck off and keep his homophobic bullshit to himself. That's what I want to believe, but I don't. I can't. I can't convince myself of that for a second. Not for one single second.

I see it.

I see the way Andy's walking. I know that walk. I've seen him walk like that lots of times. Whenever we're out and he's disappeared for a while, when he gets back, he walks like that. I see him walking like that, whenever he comes back after going out, after his phone has been buzzing incessantly. I see him walking like that, when he comes out of the disabled toilets in the library.

I know that walk.

It's a slow, leisurely gait. He presses one hand deep in his pocket. He swings his other arm casually as he moves. He walks ever so slightly buck kneed. It's very slight. If you didn't watch him very closely, you'd miss it. You have to look hard, but if you know him like I do, you can't miss it. You can't help seeing that little swagger, when he walks like that.

I

know

that walk.

I stand there, silently. I'm shaking. Nauseous. Sickened. It's the first time in my life, something has made me feel sick to my stomach. My chest aches. I don't move. I wait until Andy disappears into our room. I stand there in the hallway. Just waiting.

I consider going into Alex's room and demanding to know what the fuck he just did with Andy. I consider demanding to know how the fuck he got Andy to do it with him. I don't though. Not because it isn't my place. Not because it would be rude. I don't, because I know that if I go into that room and see Alex's smug, freshly fucked face, I am going to lose my mind. I know, seeing that would be very bad for Alex. I know, seeing that, would put my future in jeopardy. I think about my mom, I think about how she raised me, and I know, there's no way I should go anywhere near Alex's room.

So, I don't move. I wait until I can feel my legs again, then I go to the bathroom and lock myself into a stall. I sit there, waiting until I'm sure Andy must be asleep. I sit there until it's very, very late. I sit there until I can't cry anymore. Until my eyes stop burning. Until it's almost morning.

*

The next few days are a blur. A terrible, cloudy haze. Sometimes I feel so intensely confused, I think there must be something serious wrong with me. Other times, I almost feel normal. One thing is for sure, I have to accept reality. Failure to do so, is making me sick. I have to accept the reality of the situation. Andy is my best friend. He's my best friend, who happens to be gay. Those are simple facts. Here are some more facts: I'm Andy's friend. I'm his best friend. I happen to be bi, but that's neither here nor there. Know why? Because he's not interested. The fact that I'm me and I'm bi, makes no difference either way. None at all. It makes no difference whatsoever, because Andy is interested in guys like Alex Meeking. The total opposite of me. There's nothing I can do about that. I have to accept it and I have to move on with my life. That's all there is to it.