I stare at you for a second and then look away. I’m not having fun anymore. I’m not amused. This isn’t fun. I’m so…tired. I’m so fucking exhausted. I’ve got a huge dose of cocaine or whatever the hell it is in my system and I am so tired. I shouldn’t sleep, I know that. But gosh, what harm could it do, really…I’m so tired…
“Kris, no!” You grip my face, shaking me slightly. “No, you have to stay awake!”
“I don’t wanna,” I mumble, shutting my eyes and you shake my face again. It takes so much effort to open them again and look at you. “I’m tired.”
“Keep talking to me, Kris. Tell me why you left my flat.” You say and I sigh in irritation. So persistent.
“You don’t like me,” I sigh. “You only like the way I look.”
“Wh-” You start to say and I half-hardheartedly shake my head.
“Only like my stupid boobs and my stupid hips and my stupid pussy,” I whine. “You don’t know me at all and you only wanna fuck me and I would be fine with that but you’re not honest about it. You call me beautiful and-”
“But you are beautiful,” You murmur quietly.
“SHUT UP!” I shout at you, rage filling my system. It gives me clarity. “I’m not beautiful, I am not sweet, and I am not your fucking girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever you want to call me. You are a fucking idiot for coming here! I’m fine on my own!”
You just stare at me for a second, seeming to process my words. I feel my heart racing and my anger just seems to escalate.
“You are a fucking monster, you know that,” I say through gritted teeth. “Taking advantage of a student like that. You know how many rules you broke today? Did you even think about your career, about your job, about your reputation? You fucked a student, Chris! Hell, you fucking kissed me while I was under the influence! You forced your way into my dorm! You think all this won’t come crashing down on you?”
Suddenly I’m crying. No, it’s not crying; it’s these harsh aching gasps and I’m glad I’m up against the wall because I probably would have fallen over.
“You’re weak, Chris! You’re selfish and stupid and you took advantage! I don’t need you here!” I move to sit up but I just lurch forward, and you grip my shoulders and steady me. I bow my head forward, crying.
You’re right - if anyone found out about us, it could ruin my career.
You’re right - I’d kissed you while you were under the influence.
You’re right - I’d technically broken into your dorm.
But you’re wrong, too. You’re wrong about how I think of you. Completely wrong. And you’d be wrong if you think I care about what will happen to me because of what we’ve done together. I’d give up more than just my good name if it meant I could help you, even if only by a fraction of a bit. I try to remind myself that you’re not yourself, and that you probably don’t mean what you say. But then again, you might. Perhaps you really think that I only see the beauty in you because of your body. But that’s illogical… I’d kissed you well before I’d known. So I try and make myself believe that you don’t really mean it.
I make it so that you can rest your head against my shoulder. You’re sobbing and it’s breaking my heart. I have one hand on your arm and another between your shoulders, against your back, resting very lightly because I’m afraid you don’t really want it there. But you probably do. I’m not sure…
A long while passes of just you crying. It’s like there’s no other sound in the world. Everything around us seems frozen in time. It’s only the fissures and cracks in you cracking a little further apart, and me holding you as lightly as I can, not being able to do anything to stop it happening and it’s breaking me, too.
After what could have been minutes, or an hour, or a tiny eternity, your sobs start to calm until you’re down to just sniffles. I start to fear you’re falling asleep again, so I whisper so quietly, I’m afraid you won’t hear (but of course you will - your ear’s right by my lips), “You’re beautiful because of everything you are. Everything. Don’t you think for a minute that I’d only have thought that because of what you allowed me to see. You know that is as far from the truth as anything. Please, Kris… Please, trust me. Trust me.” You don’t say anything, and my fear of you falling asleep jolts up a notch. “Tell me what to do about your hands,” I say a little louder now, “Kris, I need you to tell me what to do.”
“I’m…pretty sure it’s cocaine,” I murmur to you. Your eyes widen slightly. “Like, eighty, no…yeah, I’m about ninety-five percent sure it’s cocaine…”
“How could you only be-”
“He had a little baggy with the stuff,” I hold up my hands apart to demonstrate the size of the bag. “I don’t know, Chris. It was loud in the club. I’m pretty sure he said cocaine.”
You shake your head, muttering something I can’t hear. Then you gently take hold of my wrist, holding my hand up.
“How did this happen? Did you punch your mirror?” You ask, your voice still sharp and demanding answers.
“Don’t be…stupid,” I sigh and then you’ve got a hand on my cheek and I realize my head keeps falling to my shoulder. That’s obnoxious. “I didn’t punch the mirror. I threw some books at it and it broke. I just punched the broken pieces.”
You look closely at my hands, seeing the jagged shards stuck in the skin.
“God, you can be so dumb sometimes,” I mutter at you. “I’m nowhere near strong enough to break a mirror with my fists. And you’re supposed to be a teacher.”
You can’t stop looking at my hands, trying to dab the blood away but scared to touch the glass at the same time. I try to roll my eyes but I don’t know if I manage it.
“I can fix it, you know.” I say, trying to reassure you but with the way my words are slurred, I’m not sure how well it’s working. “I know how. Trust me, I’ve had to fix myself up from worse.”
“Really?” You ask, your voice thick with frustration. “Do I even wanna know?”
“Probably not, but you want me to keep talking so I don’t fall asleep,” I say with a sigh. “Did I ever tell you the story of how I lost my virginity?”
It’s a bit funny, really, to watch your body go absolutely rigid with tension. I smile at your reaction.
“It’s a good story,” I say.
“Kris, I don’t-”
“There were seven guys,” I say and you whip your head up to look at me. “Seven of them. And they paid me.” I laugh a little. You look positively furious. “And they all mounted me like I was a bitch in heat. In the back of their van. I was bleeding even worse than I was here.”
I look away from you, down at my hands.
“Well, not in the same place, obviously,” I say with a laugh. “But I guess that’s what I get for not using lube, though. Or going right in without foreplay. Did you know that is really important? I didn’t. But what did I know? I was just a virgin.”
I tilt my head, looking at my hands and then back up at you, where you’re still looking at me with this angry expression.
First, I feel like I’m about to explode with anger. I want to shout at you. I want to kick down the door and make noise and be furious and loud. How could such a young, wonderful person be burdened with so much that they would allow themselves to be put in such danger? How could the world be so cruel to torment you to this point?
I take a very long, deep breath. I still have your wrist in my gasp. You remind me of a broken doll.
I can feel my anger starting to recede, and in its place I feel enormous sadness. I want to take you away from your pain. I want to remove you from this place and heal all your wounds - literally and metaphorically. I want to help you out of whatever darkness that haunts you.
I take another, shorter breath, and continue to clean your face with the towel. “Why did you leave my flat?” I ask very quietly and gently. Part of me is afraid of what you’ll say.
I can feel my blood still running down my face. I can see the blood pooling around my hands on the floor. I vaguely think about how I’ll need stitches. I should probably get up, probably start cleaning myself up. But I can’t move. I’m just lying there, bleeding. It’s not fatal, of course, I think to myself. I mean, if I just stay here for a few weeks, the infection will probably kill me. But for now, I’m fine. I can’t even feel the wounds in my hands. I’m fine.
Someone starts knocking on the door. Their voice sounds far away. I should probably get up, probably answer. No one ever comes to my dorm. It’s probably important. I try to find the will to care. But the only thing I find interesting right now is the way my blood feels cool yet hot on my face. The knocking is louder, the voice is louder too. It sounds familiar. I don’t know very many people. Not many people.
When I hear you yell my name, recognize that it’s you, I realize I should start moving. I weigh the pros and cons of getting up and either going down the fire escape, away from you, or answering the door. I find no answer.
“Kris, I have a key! If you don’t answer within the next ten seconds, I’m coming in!” I hear you say.
I slowly try to raise my head off the floor and for some reason, the sound of a lightbulb popping out comes to mind. Blowing a fuse or whatever happens to a lightbulb when it burns out. Then my head is back on the floor. The only movement I make is further curling myself into a fetal position.
I hear the door open, hear you cry out and then I’m flipped on my back, staring up at you. You keep coming in and out of focus, like a bad camera is on you or something. I try to say, ‘Long time no see’ but with the way my lips feel numb, I’m not sure it comes out that way.
“Don’t call an ambulance,” I know that comes out right. “I’m fine, really.”
I’m breathing so hard, it sounds like I’m panting. “No!! You’re not alright, look at you!! You’re bleeding! Oh, fuck… Shit!!”
I turn on my heel, slam the door closed, and turn on a light. I hear you make a noise of protest.
I gently put a hand to your hair. My pressure is so light, it’s more like just hovering. I look you up and down.
I look at your shattered mirror, at the blood and broken glass on the carpet, and at your bleeding hands. How could I not call an ambulance!?
As if you were reading my mind, you make another noise and shake your head slightly. I look back up at your face. There’s blood there, too, and I realize your nose is bleeding, too.
Extremely gently, I sneak my hand beneath your lower back. I use the other to support your shoulders and help you up into a sort of seated-position. I can tell you’re trying to help, but you’re still as heavy as if you were knocked out.
I hook one arm beneath the crook of your legs and adjust you so that you’re seated upright against the wall. Your head’s loping to one side, and your eyes are partially lidded. I don’t know anything about this sort of situation… I know very limited first aid - just what’s required of a teacher to know, and I can feel my palms sweat just thinking of trying to recall the information.
“Kris,” I say, taking your bloodied cheek in one hand, “I want you to stay awake, alright? I want you to stay awake. You need to stay awake.”
“Hrrmph!” you grumble, sounding annoyed.
I figure that’s better than nothing, so I say, “Don’t move,” and rush into your bathroom. I grab the first towel I can find and wet it with cold water. I figure I might as well clean you up before I do anything else - but what the fuck do I know? I have no idea what I’m doing.
I rush back to you and see that you’ve slipped a little ways to the right, your head leaning against your shoulder. I bend down, trying to be careful of the bits of glass in the rug, and right you again. I put the towel to your face and you don’t react other than your eyes growing a little less lidded. It’s like you’re trying to focus on me.
I clean your face of blood in silence, and I take up your hand to wash it, too. Then I realize - “… Kris! Did you punch the mirror!?”
I realize just how much attention you need. I can feel the teacher in me finally starting to snap me back to my senses.
“Kris, what did you do? What did you take?!”
I realize I’m shouting, but I can’t stop. I’m furious and scared…
“So beautiful,” You murmur, almost as an afterthought, as you kiss my jaw and then my shoulder. My blinking is slow, my breathing deep. I glance down, watching my chest rise and fall and I don’t even feel disgusted at the sight of it. How magnificent. I turn towards you slightly, raising my hand to run the back of my knuckles down your cheek and neck. This moment is special. It’s special and I feel warm and cozy and I am swimming in the looks you’re giving me and there is no reason I would ever ever ever ever want to give up this moment here with you. Please God, just freeze me in this moment. I would be content to repeat it for eternity. I would never grow bored. I sigh deeply and look over your shoulder, at the clock on the nightstand. It’s nearly 3:30 in the afternoon. God, I can’t believe I’ve spent nearly the whole day in bed. But then my eyes zero in on the date and I can seriously feel my stomach drop. “Oh my God,” I whisper. “What is it?” You ask with concern, catching sight of my expression. You sit up slightly, cradling my face with your hand. “I just..I forgot to call my parents,” I whisper. “I was supposed to do it last night but…I guess I got a little preoccupied.” Your smile is very faint. “Hm, I guess.” You say, leaning down and kissing my forehead. I actually meant that I went to a party and got high, but I’ll allow you to think it had something to do with you. I can’t help but panic, though. They must be really worried that I didn’t call. I only do it once a month to check in and it’s usually a stressful ordeal (due to the fact that they didn’t accept me at all when I came out) but I know they love me and they’re probably really worried. “I’m going to call them now, if that’s okay,” I mumble, sitting up. I feel your fingers run across my back tattoo softly. “Of course,” You say. “You call them, and I will start a pot of coffee,” I feel your hand on the small of my back, your lips on my shoulder. “And then I will take a shower. If you’d like, you can join me if you’re off the phone by then.” “Okay,” I say quietly, turning towards you and giving you another kiss. “Let me just grab my phone.” I move out of the bed, crossing to the bathroom. I grab my pile of clothes, turning to bring them back into the bedroom. You’re standing at the dresser, pulling on a pair of shorts and the sight of you is so amazing that I can’t resist the impulse to touch you again. I toss my clothes on the bed, crossing to you and wrapping my arms around your shoulders, pressing myself against your back. The feel of my naked skin against yours is intoxicating. I kiss a line across your shoulders and then slide my hands down your back. You turn to face me, taking my face in your hands and kissing me again. Part of me wants to throw myself back into the bed with you, but I know my parents are probably really worried about me, and if I don’t call them now, then you’ll distract me for the rest of the day. Plus, once I get this out of the way, then I have all day and night to have you just for me. You seem to be mirroring my thoughts, because you release the kiss and slight your hands down to cup my bottom. “I know they’re your parents and all,” You say, touching your nose to mine. “But try to hurry up, okay?” “’Kay.” I whisper and you let go of me, walking out of the bedroom toward the kitchen. I grab my phone out of my pants pocket and then sink to the floor, my back against the side of the bed next to the window. I dial my parents number and then stare out the window as I hear the ringing. “Hello?” I recognize my dad’s voice. “Hey, Dad, it’s me.” I say and there’s a brief moment before I hear a rustling. “Hello?” My mom asks and my heart sinks. My Dad passed the phone to her without saying a word. It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut. “Hey, mom.” I say quietly. “Oh, your voice sounds different,” My mom says, her voice deflating. “Is it those hormone treatments?” “Yeah, they have something to do with it.” I murmur. “How are you?” “Fine. Busy. How’s school?” She asks. She sounds like she’s put off to be talking to me. I try to keep my voice even. “It’s okay,” I say. “A little stressful but you know…as fine as it can be.” “Good, good.” My mom says in a distracted voice. I wait for her to ask why I didn’t call yesterday like we usually do. I always call on the 8th of the month. Always. I’m waiting for her to ask why. “Is there anything you needed?” If my dad ignoring me was a punch to the stomach, then this was a kick to the face. I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder and I jump slightly, turning and looking up at you. You’re holding a cup of coffee. “Do you take any cream or sugar?” You ask quietly. “Who is that?” I hear my mother ask over the phone. “Is that a boy?” I quickly gesture you away from me, turning to face the window again. Shit, shit shit… “No, mom,” I say, shutting my eyes and squeezing the bridge of my nose. “That sounded like a boy. It was, wasn’t it. You’re at a boy’s house aren’t you?” She asks, her voice sharp and accusing. “Is he your boyfriend?” I immediately reject the idea. I like you, but I’m not going to be tied to you in any way, especially as your boyfriend. “No, he’s not my boyfriend!” I say with a groan. I hear my mom snort derisively. “I thought so. Can’t get a boyfriend. Not when you’re on those hormones,” She says and I feel like a lump has been lodged in my throat. “That’s not very nice…” I say softly. “I can get a boyfriend if I wanted to, mom.” “Well, not a long-term one,” She says. “Hard pressed to find one, anyway. Can’t really date a gay guy, cause you’re not a real guy. Not to hurt your feelings, but you might wanna quit while you’re ahead with this one. Once he finds out who you really are, he’s not gonna wanna stay.” I just sit there, staring blankly ahead with the phone pressed to my ear. “Was there a reason you called?” My mom asks after a minute. “Nope.” I say. “Bye.” I hang up, staring ahead out the window. There’s a fire escape with little drops of dew on it. I hate my mother. I’m so furious. I’m so angry. But she’s right, isn’t she? I mean, you had sex with me, but it wasn’t really with me. Wasn’t…you called me beautiful. You touched me and called me beautiful. Oh, God. I feel sick. It’s only my body you’re attracted to, isn’t it? My breasts and slim waist and wide hips. It was better if I irritated you and still had my clothes on, because at least I knew you still thought of me as a guy. But now that you’ve seen me, now that you’ve been inside me, you view me differently, I know it. Probably see me as a pretty young lady. Probably just…I can’t stay here any longer. I feel like I’m crashing and burning. I turn slightly, looking over my shoulder. I see your outline through the foggy glass of the shower. Muscle, rough skin, all male. Everything that I’m not. I’m…broken. Imperfect. A stupid child that let someone smarter and better take advantage of them. I am disgusting and stupid and stupid and and… I’m crying now. Not quite sobbing, but getting close. I don’t know how long you’ll be in the shower, distracted. How much longer before you’ll turn and bring me in and fuck my pretty little female body. I shudder, wrapping my arms around my chest. I never want anyone to touch me again. I stand, quickly grabbing my clothes and yanking them on, occasionally glancing over at the bathroom where the shower is still running. I am thankful that you can’t hear my gentle sobbing over the water. I grab my shoes, slipping them on. I don’t have a jacket. I contemplate grabbing one of yours hanging by the front door, but that means I’d have to give it back at some point and I never want to see you again. Never want to feel your hands on me, your tender looks and sweet embraces. Never want to hear you call me beautiful ever again. I feel like I’m suffocating. My sobs are quickly turning to shuddering wheezing gasps. I stagger to the door, trying my best to quietly open it. Once it is, I just stare for a moment, sobbing and listening to see if you can hear me. You can’t. I wonder what you will say once you are out of the shower, once you see I’m not here. I wonder if your feelings will be hurt. But then I think of the way you kissed my shoulder and call me beautiful and I let out an especially hard sob. I walk out, shutting the door quietly behind me. I feel like I’ve got a fog over my head. I just run back to my own dorm building, and before I know it, I’m back in my own room, bent over my desk and snorting a line of cocaine. It makes me feel saner, somehow. I can feel myself floating out of my body and now it doesn’t hurt so badly. I don’t feel the ache between my legs, evidence of your size and stamina, don’t remember the way your kisses felt or your taste in my mouth. I don’t feel any of it. I feel like I’m floating. I feel free. But for some reason, I am also suffocating. I’m just thinking about you getting out of the shower, looking for me and I’m not there. I’m not there! I grab my books off the dresser, turning and throwing them with all my strength. They collide with the mirror, breaking it and I cross to the mirror, smashing my hands in the glass. I’m screaming, punching away at it, punching my hands to ribbons. There’s blood everywhere, but I can’t stop smashing. Blood…there’s blood running down my mouth. I’m bleeding from my nose and hands. I just see the color red. I collapse to my side, staring at the little bits of mirror lodged in the skin of my hand and sob. I’m broken forever, aren’t I?
When I call your name once; twice; three times and you don’t reply, I realize how empty the flat feels without you here. I’d gone into the living room searching for you, so I sit on the edge of my couch. I put my head in my hands and think. What did I do? What did I say? Maybe it’d been something your parents had said, but… I couldn’t deny that I felt this was my doing. Otherwise, why wouldn’t you have stayed? We could have talked about it. I look down at the couch, where we’d first kissed. I look over at the shelf, still lying on the ground, surrounded by CD cases. I rise to my feet and, still in my towel, pick up the shelf and put it back in its rightful position. I think of how angry and emotional you were when you’d knocked it down. I bend down to collect the CDs and find myself realizing just how fragile a creature you are. Intense, passionate… but fragile. It hits me then that wherever you are now, you could be doing something like knocking a shelf down. Perhaps not - you were partially high when you’d done it… but what if you were doing something dangerous, something drastic, because you’re angry or upset. I let the CDs drop back down to the floor and I rush into my bedroom. I dress faster than I ever have before.
Once I’m at the door of your dorm building, I can’t get my teachers’ card key out fast enough. The door clicks open and I rush in. Some students shoot me looks, but I hardly notice.
I take the stairway up to the first floor. Thank god the dorm buildings are by year - you’re a first year. First floor.
I rush down the hall, searching for your name on the plates by each door. Finally, I find your name.
“Kris?” I knock quickly on your door, two times. “Kris, are you in there?”
I check the name plate again. No roommate. Fuck!
“Kris!” I knock louder, “Kris, please, it’s me.” I look up and down the hall quickly, looking for students, before saying, “Please, I want to talk to you. I want to know what happened.”
What if you weren’t there? What if you’d gone somewhere else? I’d have no idea where you were… You could be anywhere. The thought makes my skin go cold.
“Then do it faster,” I mumble, my hands on your shoulders and kissing at the corner of your mouth. “I want you, right now.”
I can feel you smile against my lips and you finish kicking off your pants and I tangle my legs in yours, moving a hand down to grip at your hipbone. God, you’re so…just so much. You’re muscle and skin and warmth and it is driving me crazier than I’ve felt before. I feel so small wrapped up in your arms. You look at me, straight through me, with those fuckin’ baby blues of yours and I feel like I’m melting. I’m overwhelmed: I want to kiss you and bite you and stare at you and I can’t do all three at once and I don’t even know where to begin now that we’re both naked. Oh my god, we’re both naked. To think that I came here something like 12 hours ago to talk about my grade and now we’re both naked in your bed. Normally, I wouldn’t dare do something like this, not in this sort of sense anyway, but you’re like the sunrise after a night of dark and I’d be stupid to feel bad about this. The kind of happiness that enfolds in the pit of my stomach makes me grin and kind of laugh out loud.
“What?” You ask, grinning down at me. I shake my head, kissing you long and deep.
“Nothing,” I murmur. “Just…you.”
I laugh again as our lips meet. I love the way you feel against me. Your skin is so smooth… Your sweet-spicy smell makes my mouth water. A wave of desire washes over me and I turn us both over so that I’m on top of you, but keeping myself hoisted up a little by my arms so that I don’t crush you… You feel so delicate, like a beautiful little bird.
I raise myself up enough so that I can look into your eyes. Your hair is tousled and your eyes are dark, but they catch the sun coming through the window. I’m thrilled by the sight of you. I realize my breathing is heavy and I try to quiet it.
I lean down again and just hover my lips over yours. Our noses brush together. I kiss the corners of your mouth, then the tip of your nose, and then your cheeks. Your hands travel up my arms and grab tight to the back of my neck.
I rake my fingers down your chest, relishing the way you shudder beneath me. I groan into your mouth as your squeeze around me grows painfully tight, but I live for that kind of pain. There’s bad pain, the kind of pain one feels when they take a hit too fast or maybe the kind they feel when someone pushes your head into a carseat cushion as you’re mounted from behind. But this…this is a very good pain. Normally, the thought of being cared for by someone like you makes me feel hollow and pained. But to actually feel it? I feel whole and secure.
I want to feel you, feel closer to you. I want to feel your mouth and hands all over me. I grind my hips into your pelvis, wanting you to grow frustrated enough to yank my clothes off of me. Take me, use me, for I am all yours to use and I want to give you all that I have. I wish I could tell you all of this, but I’m hoping the little noises I make into your kisses convey enough.
Everything about this moment is a miracle.
I circle my hands over your hips and down your jeans, and I use that to slide them off you, underwear and all. I grip your thigh tightly and you moan into my mouth again. I love it when you do that.
I run my hands back up your thighs and squeeze your bottom. You respond enthusiastically, moving to quickly undo the buttons of my pants. I chuckle and help you, and I laugh more when you try and tug them off.
“I can do that,” I say quietly as I slip them off.
The relief is pouring through my entire body, running through my veins and heating me up. I’m practically singing with it.
I kiss you back with fervor, once more reaching up and tangling my hands in your hair. I feel like I’m falling into you; your acceptance, your caring, your kindness. There’s nothing that could drag me away from you now. Nothing that could break this spell you have over me. Not a thing that could make me reconsider the movements I make against you or the feeling of your hands on my bare skin. Even now you’re gentle.
I run my hands back down your chest, gripping the edge of your shirt and pulling up. “Off,” I murmur against your lips. I want to, need to, be closer to you. I’ve never wanted to be close to anyone, but you slipped past that. You snuck up on me somehow, and now I need you just as bad as I need X, just as bad as I need cigarettes. I need the warmth of your skin against mine, the feel of you all over me, in a very desperate kind of way.
My skin is tingling and my heart’s hammering like a bird’s. I quickly unbutton my shirt and let you help me slide it off my shoulders. I lightly touch the sides of your arms as you take in the sight of me. The way you’re looking at me, I might as well be made of gold. You run your hands down my chest and stomach until I can’t take it anymore - I have to take you by the waist again and pull you in close. We kiss deeply and you lie on top of me once more.
I run my hands up and down your lower back, loving how smooth your skin is and the degrees of the arch in your spine. I rejoice as I finally feel your skin against mine. Oh, it’s driving me crazy. There are bright and colorful stars dancing behind my eyelids. I wrap my arms around you and pull you in as close as I can without making you uncomfortable. I want you hold you forever against me. I want to kiss you like this forever.