The False House

"Please say something," I say, no louder than a whisper. Anything more than that would have sent me toward a breakdown.

This is not how I imagined telling him. It wasn't supposed to happen when we

both

least expected it and I had no game plan worked out in my head. I threw myself into this wildly, like a bull in a china shop. And I was destroying everything in my reach—the utterly stunned look on his face told me so.

"I . . ." he rasps, clearing his throat. I hold his gaze, which seems bold of me but is really only an act; truth is, I am horrified. It's been hours, it seems, since he's done anything more than open and close his mouth as he looks for words. I have never been so nervous in my life—my chest physically hurts from the thunder-like thudding going on inside it. "I don't even know what to say, Roman."

"Say you love me," I beg.

Jesse sighs like he's been holding in his breath this entire time and shakes his head. "This makes no sense. You aren't into men, you have a—"

"Don't say it."

Another long stretch of silence. "Please, explain this to me, man."

"Jesse, I don't know." Aaaaand here come the tears. Scratch that—the sobs. "I was perfectly content before we met. Then as soon as I laid my eyes on you something ch-changed. I was attracted to you. One thing led to another and now I am fucking in l-love with you." I hide my ashamed face in my hands and listen to the painful echoing of silence. The sounds of me choking on my tears don't even drown it out.

"Roman . . . I love you as a friend. And I know I could love you as so much more—I could make you so happy. But—we are on different paths in life. I'm struggling to get sober and you don't have any desire to do that. And that's fine—don't think I'm trying to change you, or judge you. But at the end of the day, we will be bad for each other because of it. I . . . I'm sorry . . ."

Maybe it shouldn't have, but his answer made me happy. My head shoots up, and I look him in his glassy eyes. "If I get sober—if I kick this fucking bullshit addiction—are you telling me—"

"Yes."

I start crying again, but this time I am not ashamed one fucking bit because I am too busy laughing. "Jesus, Jesse. These months have been the worst."

"I wish you would have come to me, Roman. You don't have to go through things alone."

I stutter and look for words. Now that it was over and done with, I wish I would have done this sooner. What did I expect his reaction to be? That he would delete me from his life? Ridicule me? Hate me? I should have known better than that. "You're right, I'm sorry. So . . . I mean. What now?"

Goodness, the answers I yearn for.

Now we live happily ever after

. "Now, we go about our day and go about our lives until the time is right." He gets up and brings his empty mug into the kitchen, leaving a very disappointed Roman behind.

"That's it?" I muster. Patiently, I watch him clean his dishes. Waiting. Waiting for an answer.

"What did you think was going to happen? I told you what needs to be done. I refuse to settle for less."

A frown sits on my face, but I tell him I understand. It's an understatement to say I am upset. Sure, he is giving me a chance. But his attitude would suggest that he wouldn't care much if we dated or not. No, I don't expect him to be giddy like a school girl. But am I mad for wanting

something

! To make matters worse, we really do just go about our lives. He doesn't act literally any different toward me. Not standoffish, not coy. Nothing. A few hours later, after we goof off and I pretend things are fine, he goes to work and that is it.

This isn't how it should be either. All of this—it is all

wrong

. Too out of it to talk to Troy, I head to my room. The first thing I see is a bottle of pills. Temptation is slowly consuming me, taking me down to a dark place. With haste I grab the tube and empty its contents into the toilet. The pills lie at the bottom of the bowl so sadly, and for a moment's hesitation I feel regret. All it takes is the image of Jesse to give me the strength to flush them away forever.

It gave me hope. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard.

Troy peers into the bathroom. "Want to play some Nintendo, homes?" God, he is so white.

I shake my head. "I think I'm going to go back to bed."

"It's only 5:40!" he screeches, making me wince.

"I didn't sleep last night, prick."

He chuckles before bidding me goodnight. I drag my sluggish body to my bed and collapse. The energy it requires for me to strip my jeans off is unreal and kind-of pathetic. But once they are gone and my freshly-exposed flesh hits the thick, cool blanket, euphoria sinks in and I have never felt so comfortable in my life. Under the blankets I go, curling into fetal position and holding myself. My mind races, from Jesse to the pills in the toilet bowl then back to Jesse again. What do I feel? I don't know. I can't differentiate between sadness and ecstasy—it's all too much for one day.

I try to sleep but cannot. I hear Jesse come home, chattering with Troy like gossip queens. They joke and laugh and play video games. It feels like hours that I listen to them, ears perking up when I recognized his voice. I let it soothe me until I finally fall asleep, only to dream of it—I never want it to go away. Jesse has a radiant, infectious laugh. Just like the rest of him, it is achingly genuine and could light up an entire city. But he was just too modest to care, although the confidence his laugh gives off would convince us all otherwise.

I haven't been asleep long when I hear the brushing of my carpet. I open my eyes just enough to see the clock beside me: 1:58. I slept harder than I thought. Ignoring the sound, I let my heavy lids fall back into their proper places. But then the empty half of my bed sinks in. I'm mostly asleep and react slowly; before I have the chance to turn over, a warm set of arms clutch me gently, and the body they are attached to scoots into mine until we are one. My heart starts to slam against my chest and my breathing goes shallow. My body tenses up and my mouth goes dry. My ears get hot and my belly does flips. Despite all of this—despite the inexpressible joy my lonely heart feels—I say not a word, for I am too tired. Too content, out of the simple knowledge that finally, this is right.

Those rugged fingers brush my bed hair away from my neck and ear. Soft lips peck at my newly exposed skin. "You know," he mumbles soothingly, hot breath tickling my lobe, "you consumed my every thought today."

I don't want to move nor speak, fearing that anything at all would shatter this otherwise perfect moment. But for the first time in many, many years I actually feel loved. Warm and fuzzy inside. "I think you are perfect, J. I want to give you everything." I wonder if he even understands me; my voice is muffled by the pillow and by my sleep.

"Please, just get sober." He peppers a few more gentle kisses, then lowers his head onto my pillow. I get a final squeeze, and I lace my fingers into his and fall back asleep. Feeling no need to dream.

. . . .

I woke up this morning to an empty bed. For a moment I wonder if last night really happened, but when I notice the sheets disheveled beside me, I cannot help but smile. Jesse crawling into my bed was everything I needed; it was all the reassurance I yearned for to let me know this is what he wants—that

I

am what he wants. Yesterday somehow is a blur to me even though I remember every sight, sound, and smell. I reckon I'm more surprised at the fact that I had the balls to tell him the truth.

I have never been remotely close to being in love before, and especially so with a man. It was destroying me inside, and is now just as easily making me the happiest I have ever been. Isn't love funny that way? I can only hope that is gives me the strength to do the impossible task of getting sober. Sad to say, but I have never tried before. I've been addicted to Oxycodone for years now, and spend most of my time high on them. Still, even though it isn't ideal, I'm pretty stoked about the prospect of sobriety. I honestly cannot remember what my life was like before Oxy.

But I don't have a choice, because they are flushed down the drain, aren't they.

Ridding my mind of the thought of Oxy, I climb out of bed and walk into the living room. "Where is Jesse?"

Troy, still wildly smashing buttons, looks at me for not even a second and then back at the TV. "Work."

A massive lightbulb goes off in my head.

I need a job

. Not a minute is wasted before I throw some decent clothes on and bolt out the door. The smile on my face refuses to falter—I am finally growing up.

I go to several places: retail stores, restaurants (although I avoid the one Jesse works at), and I even went to the library. There was a lot of resentment toward Outback; if I saw Ryan I would smash his bones into dust. Luckily, he wasn't there, and the manager was super laid back and cool. When I get to the complex where we live, I am ecstatic to see Jesse's truck parked in its same ol' spot.

I shove my way into the apartment with a massive grin on my face, slamming the door on my way in. The boys look at me utterly perplexed. Not much attention is given to Troy. "I went apply for jobs for the first time, Jesse." So excited, it comes out as a squeak. I'm almost embarrassed at how masculine that made me not look.

A stunning smile makes itself known. He looks so touched, and so proud. Those soft eyes say so much right now. "I am so proud of you, Roman." Although he said it in a normal voice, his tone was warm and genuine. In my peripheral I see Troy's face change, and he does some spastic dance in his seat.

"What?" I ask.

"

You

two? It's so obvious!"

Jesse opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to the punch. He needed to see that I can grow. "No, Troy. Not yet. Not until I get sober."

Piece of cake. Been sober all day.

Jesse looks back at me, obviously impressed. Troy gives us a thumbs up and heads into his bedroom, an overly-dramatic wink letting us know he was giving us privacy. But for what? Did he not hear what I said?

Jesse gets up from the floor where he had been lying down on his side, propped up by his right arm while they played Xbox. He sits at the bar and smiles at me. I sit and smile at

him

. Suddenly, he is serious again. "Don't do this just for me. Do this for yourself. You deserve so much more, Roman—with or without me."

But I just keep on smiling. "This is why I love you."

The rest of the evening is great—we all eat and play some Nintendo. Then in an attempt to be responsible like them, I go to bed fairly early. I have no intention of asking Jesse to join me, and lack the expectation that he will do so on his own. Even I can admit that I am smart enough to know what last night was. No, not a trial run. But it was a way for him to let us both know what was possible for us. It was a way for him to validate how he felt. I don't know, however, who he was trying to validate it for. Nor did I care. It was perfect, and gave me everything I needed to push forward.

To my surprise, sleep comes fairly easily. And I sleep for quite some time, until I am shot from my bed. I race to the bathroom, not giving a fuck if I am loud or not. There is not a moment to spare after I lift the lid of the toilet. Clutching it with all my strength, vomit pours out of my mouth like an endless waterfall. Jesse and Troy rush to my aid and pat my back. I know Jesse understands the situation when he quietly tells Troy we need some space. "Feel better, man." And with that he is gone.

Nothing is to be seen through the watery film developing on my eyes. Instead, I just rest my head against the rim of the toilet, only arising when I have to vomit some more. A reassuring hand squeezes my shoulder. "When was your last hit?"

"Yesterday when I woke up."

He gives a sigh and straightens up. "I'm surprised you lasted this long. I'll put a garbage bin by your bed and sleep on your futon tonight. Come on." He lifts me up, even though my limp body tries refusing. "Up we go, let's go." He carries me to my bed, taking with him the garbage can from the bathroom. It's a blur when he lives the room, and a blur when he comes back. I feel his weight next to me on my bed, and a knuckle under my chin. With the touch of an angel, he takes a warm, wet cloth and cleans my mouth. "On your side, don't sleep on your back. Did you do any research about this?"

Turning on my side lazily, I nod. He smacks his lips. "You have hell to pay, Roman. The garbage is right here. Try to sleep." I can't see, so I listen to the sounds of him getting comfortable across the room. My eyes are closed but there is no peace. Eventually I hear his soft, steady breathing and feel envious of his sleep. Hours and hours go by where I sweat and shiver. Hair is matted against my neck and face, my mouth tastes like puke, and I am freezing cold. Yet none of that compares to the muscle aches.

Oh God, the muscle aches. I wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy. Gradually, I began to feel again, and those feelings were heightened tenfold. Before this, I guess I hadn't realized how numb my body actually was. Deep growls escape my body until I am sobbing and begging to be killed. Within seconds Jesse is by my side with a Tylenol and several bottles of water.

"I need it," I beg desperately. "I need Oxy." He gives me three Tylenol and holds my head up so I can take them. When he tries to feed me water I shove it away, frustrated. "I'm not thirsty. I don't need water. I fucking need to get high! Just one fix. Please, Jess—"

"Roman, you are sweating and vomiting. Do you want to dehydrate yourself? Drink it."

I take it happily, but am too impatient for the Tylenol to kick in. The pains grow so crippling that I am hollering, trying to muffle it out with my pillow. Jesse is flustered, I can see that by his movements and owl-like eyes. "Give me the password to your phone," he pants. I can't stop hollering long enough to. "Come on, Roman, please!"

"3693."

"I'm calling your mom," he says with finality.

"No!" I scream at the top of my lungs. At this point my voice is hoarse, but I keep repeating it until my throat burns from vomit and screaming. "I don't fucking want her! No!" I hear him in the living room talking to her, frantic, but can't make out what they are saying. Maybe it's because I am screaming.

Seconds later he is back by my side, squeezing me because I am shaking so hard that my head hurts. It is freezing. But he takes my blanket anyway. "You can't cover up. You are sweating so much." It's hard to say but I think he is crying.

Soon I hear sirens, then all is a blur.

. . . .

Consider the drug counseling a parole—a parole I broke. After I was rushed to the hospital to receive emergency detox, all my pain was over pretty quickly. But, it was still made mandatory that I go into a rehab for 90 days to make sure all would be well when I went home. It actually wasn't that bad, considering. The people there were really nice and, unlike Murphy, the instructors seemed to love their jobs. Still, maybe things would have been worse had Jesse not been there, constantly in my thoughts. I called him every chance I got, and on visitation days he always showed up. Mom tried to, but I told them I didn't want her there. Troy also stopped by a few times, to my pleasant surprise! I was finding a great friend in him, as well.

Finally, today is the day I got out. When Jesse would visit, we got to sit outside in the grass next to large oak trees. There would be flirting, mostly with the looks we gave one another. But it was never enough for me. And today he was picking me up; I fully intended to discuss what this—this sober lifestyle—meant for us.

I guess it doesn't surprise me how nervous I am as I sit outside and wait for that Chevy Silverado to pull up. No, it isn't like I haven't seen him at all in three months or anything like that. But being out of rehab meant great, great things for us—oh my goodness. There he is. I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming in excitement. But it isn't enough to hold back my massive smile as he leans across the passenger seat to open the door. Careful not to be so obvious, I try to maintain my cool. With my heart racing, though, the best I could do was a fast-paced walk.

Hopping in, I stare at him. We are both smiling, but he is the first to break contact by turning ahead and driving home. "Glad to have you back," he says sincerely. "How are you feeling?"

I shrug. "Pretty great." What a bunch of bullshit. Without those pills I am deathly depressed. Being in this truck is the happiest I have been in three fucking months, yet still the saddest I have been in years. Once again, I didn't realize how much those drugs erased. How much I would now have to confront and handle like an adult. I shake those thoughts away. "What about you? You clean?"

Jesse looks at me then back at the road, nodding rather enthusiastically in the process. "The tapering worked. Which is good because I could never afford rehab. Your moms also paid all the rent while you were gone. We didn't pay a dime. Said it was a way of thanking us for getting you sober. She's also going to pay it for the next six months."

I roll my eyes. "Of course she shows such gratitude with money."

"Hey," he frowns. "She offered to pay for my first year of college but I refused. She understood that I wanted to work for the money myself, so she decided on this instead. It's pretty nice of her if—"

"Are you on her side?" I glared at him.

Those sparkling eyes glance over at me and he flashes a smile to tell me I am foolish. "No. I'm just grateful, is all."

The rest of the car ride was pretty silent. No, I wasn't upset, and neither was he. More like I was just content and tired and ready to be home. Back to my normal life with Troy and Jesse. Sure, there's a lot of work I need to do as part of recovery. It isn't just rehab, then I go home and life is perfect. I'm not dumb enough to think that—but today I just want to enjoy my first day back. That's all.

We park next to my truck, which had probably sat in that same spot the entire time I was gone. Man, it was good to be back! The familiarity of everything is so welcoming to me. When we walk into the apartment Troy isn't there. "Where's the fuckface?"

"I don't know," he says, in a tone I cannot decipher. How odd.

"Well," I walk to the couch to put my bags down and he goes into the kitchen for something to drink. "Do you work today?"

"I . . . took the week off. I didn't want you to be alone very much."

"Troy will be here. What, you think I can't be alone? The addict will relapse the second he isn't being supervised?" I snap.

Once again, Jesse just smiles that knowing smile and walks toward me. "Someone is awful crabby. Oh come on, I'm joking. You know Troy has school. It's not like I think you

need

to be supervised." His playful demeanor trickles away, and he looks genuinely hurt by my remarks. "I just thought you wouldn't

want

to be alone . . . I know I wouldn't. I can imagine you need someone to lean on to avoid those temptations. You know, now that you have all this freedom."

I let my ass fall onto the couch and with a smack of the lips I apologize. "You're right. I'm just on edge today, I don't know why."

Jesse sits beside me and faces my direction. I smell his sweet scent and salivate. The glass from the coffee table clinks as he sets his drink down. He is sitting so close that not looking at him would be weird. "I've missed you."

I swallow but nothing is there. "Really?" I croak.

His right hand finds itself around the side of my neck—which is now scalding hot—and he ever so softly thumbs my cheek. The other hand holds a weak grasp on my jeans and I can just feel his hand touching my thigh. My eyes close and he leans in, brushing his nose against mine. Teasing me, making it so hard not to fucking beg. How I have waited for this—

needed

this. To taste him is my wildest dream. Our lips haven't even met and already I am so happy that if I died right now I'd feel I lived a full life.