He wakes me with a kiss. It's dry. My cheek burns from his lips and he says he has to go.
Can't, I say sleepily. I locked the door.
August laughs softly. That's going to keep me in?
It's symbolic. You should stay so you don't wreck it.
The night or your symbolism?
Both.
He stares into my eyes without expression (or at least one that I can read) for an eternity and then my heart sings when he crawls back into bed, settling on my right, covers up over his shoulders, arms around me, spooning my back against his chest while Lochlan has my hands held in his, elbows up between us in dreams. I'm asleep in seconds and then when I wake up again, it's still dark out but he's gone.
It's a new record, I only called him Jake once yesterday. I didn't say I didn't picture him as Jake though, just as fucked as ever, literally and figuratively while he tries to pretend we're good, everything's good and nothing is hideously unhealthy or wrong in any way. When pressed we'll throw out the 'consenting adults' excuse and back it up with a hard stare. When doubtful we make arrangements, promises to do better, be better, work towards changing everything. He tries to be more proactive in forcing me to see him for who he is and I steadfastly undermine his efforts with my hideous mind. He doesn't fault me for it, knowing full well I love and respect him for who he is and how much he means to me but then I close my eyes and the little hypocrite steps forth and sets it all ablaze. It's such a spectacle I can't even minimize the damage or tell you it's fine.
It's just something I'm working to change, albeit not hard enough.
And at the end of the day, he allows for it, which makes it even more difficult. When he puts pressure on me to change I will but only for him and then Jake barges in and overrides it all and August lets me get away with everything. We're not stupid. It's a dangerous game, playing with hearts and fire and history all at the same time. We're burn victims, heartbroken and revisionist and horrible and perfect all at once. It's intoxicating, debilitating and easy to shove under the rug as I slide forward mere inches and I am tightly against Lochlan, who recognizes in his sleep that we're alone again, turning onto his back, clutching me against his chest and side with his right arm.
Ten more minutes so we can have time alone, he mumbles and I nod into nowhere.
Can't, I say sleepily. I locked the door.
August laughs softly. That's going to keep me in?
It's symbolic. You should stay so you don't wreck it.
The night or your symbolism?
Both.
He stares into my eyes without expression (or at least one that I can read) for an eternity and then my heart sings when he crawls back into bed, settling on my right, covers up over his shoulders, arms around me, spooning my back against his chest while Lochlan has my hands held in his, elbows up between us in dreams. I'm asleep in seconds and then when I wake up again, it's still dark out but he's gone.
It's a new record, I only called him Jake once yesterday. I didn't say I didn't picture him as Jake though, just as fucked as ever, literally and figuratively while he tries to pretend we're good, everything's good and nothing is hideously unhealthy or wrong in any way. When pressed we'll throw out the 'consenting adults' excuse and back it up with a hard stare. When doubtful we make arrangements, promises to do better, be better, work towards changing everything. He tries to be more proactive in forcing me to see him for who he is and I steadfastly undermine his efforts with my hideous mind. He doesn't fault me for it, knowing full well I love and respect him for who he is and how much he means to me but then I close my eyes and the little hypocrite steps forth and sets it all ablaze. It's such a spectacle I can't even minimize the damage or tell you it's fine.
It's just something I'm working to change, albeit not hard enough.
And at the end of the day, he allows for it, which makes it even more difficult. When he puts pressure on me to change I will but only for him and then Jake barges in and overrides it all and August lets me get away with everything. We're not stupid. It's a dangerous game, playing with hearts and fire and history all at the same time. We're burn victims, heartbroken and revisionist and horrible and perfect all at once. It's intoxicating, debilitating and easy to shove under the rug as I slide forward mere inches and I am tightly against Lochlan, who recognizes in his sleep that we're alone again, turning onto his back, clutching me against his chest and side with his right arm.
Ten more minutes so we can have time alone, he mumbles and I nod into nowhere.