Maybe it's because I regard him with full gravitas, or maybe it's because I don't fight back anymore when he tells me to go, or do something or feel something else or listen better, maybe it's because he feels sorry for the fact that I do that so easily. Submit. Acquiesce. I don't know. Maybe he's finally admitting he's lonely. Maybe things are changing for the worse. Maybe for the better. Maybe it was just a fuck it moment (after a fuck her moment.)
Maybes are dumb. They mean nothing. This meant an awful lot but at the same time I can't put any meaning into it simply because he won't allow it, explain it or apologize for it.
What time is it, Bridge? August has his eyes closed. The bed drifts so slightly in its' lazy swing it's hardly moving.
Time for me to go, I guess. We do this dance every time. Usually he's a lot harsher, telling me to get out or go home without warning. That's when I know I've found a comfortable place under his skin. Comfortable for me, I mean. Not for him. He'll play Jake until he can't do it any more and then he closes the door in my face.
You can stay. Go home in the morning.
I didn't think I heard him right but I was listening hard. He put his arms out and I found a good place smashed hard right up against him, breathing against the hollow of his throat and when I woke up it was already the weekend and he wasn't Jake. He's never Jake after the first little while but I've known that forever.
