Chapter Thirty-Seven Consenting to Damnation

The walk to his place seemed longer than usual, and I lagged behind the entire time. I didn’t want people to see us together and get bad ideas, especially if Sam or Travis were around. I worried for a few moments as we approached the liquor store if they would be loitering outside, but when all I saw was the generic homeless man in the corner, I knew I was safe (as I could be in that situation, anyway). The two were probably still at home sleeping off the constant drunken state they had been in for the duration of the cottage stay. I didn’t see or talk to them much while I was there, but when I had, I was positive that most of their constant recollection was blurred by inebriation, except for that brief hour drive the way there. I didn’t even know if Sam drove back intoxicated or not; I had gotten a ride back with Jasmine. Though sitting in such closed quarters with her fully clothed and alone again had been awkward, my thoughts starting to swarm and bubble inside my guilty conscience, it was better than driving drunk and crashing. However, crashing and perhaps not waking up again for a good while, until all of this blew over at least, seemed like a damn good idea at that moment.

I felt like I was walking towards my death sentence. The trees that we passed began to twist and turn, their long branches forming bars of the prison cells that I was now passing on my walk of shame. I kept my head down as I plodded along, seeing the cracks and the dirt underneath my feet, and kicking the pebbles that collected around. I could hear the wind whipping through the metaphorical bars encasing me as we got closer and closer to Gerard’s house. I knew that would be where I was executed, the paint fumes that always invaded my nose when I stepped inside acting as the perfect gas chamber. I had once gotten used to the smell of the paint and art that clung to the walls, clothing, and Gerard’s hair, but now just thinking about the smell made me choke. It was going to consume me, along with many other substances, and I had no idea I had been breathing in my own death for so long. Gerard and I were doomed from the beginning; I should have known what suffocation would smell like.

Just because we were doomed though, didn’t mean what we hadn’t been good. It was good; so good. And I had fucked it up within a few short days that seemed to drag on like my life sentence. I was being my own judge, jury, and executioner. Gerard was just going to read the ballot on what our future held. I had no power anymore, and I doubted if I ever did. I wanted to be, and maybe I always had been, blind, deaf, and mute.

Despite the smile I had placed across my face as we began our journey, the heavy feeling in my chest still remained. He looked back at me sometimes, proudly displaying another one of his grins, but I kept my eyes on his shoes. Suddenly, the objects that were once out of the vision now fascinated me. I had never noticed how worn his shoes were on the bottom. It was strange; most of Gerard’s clothing was clean, crisp, and new. And if it wasn’t new, then it was in pretty damn good shape. Even his art shirt, which had been around for God knows how many years now, still had the crease marks from the way he was supposed to iron it years ago. Gerard (or maybe Vivian) took good care of his clothing; it was apart of his image. But his shoes; they were something completely different.

He wore dress shoes most of the time, shiny black footware that carried an aroma akin to burnt shoe polish. They reminded me of the shoes my father wore to church when my mother had forced us all to go as one family unit. He kicked away his boredom on the backs of the pews, the smell infiltrating my nostrils as the black coloring blurred with the oak. He hated those shoes, and eventually had to discontinue their use because his ankles started to swell too much from the injuries he had retained from his old mechanic jobs. The shoes had been cast aside in the closet like many other things, buried by my many years and cycles of Nikes and sports clothing.

Gerard’s shoes were never hidden in the closet, much like the man himself. He wore them a lot of the time when he was dressed, even around his apartment. Perhaps that was why the shoes themselves, though nice and fancy, looked like something a hobo would wear. The sole and heel was worn away, the black material fading and disintegrating into a gray mesh. As he walked with a slight skip in his step, I could see the bottom of the shoe remain on the ground, displaying a nasty hole. It was only on the left foot, but I noticed as he turned the corner to cross the street to his place, that the right shoe had the very same matching tear, but on the tip of the toe. I had never noticed his shoes before (probably because anytime I had ever been with him before I had been too busy looking at other areas), and now that I had, I took time to ponder them, instead of my upcoming fate. They didn’t suit him and the attire, the image he put forward. They made him look poor and unkempt.

But then again, Gerard wasn’t rich. Maybe his shoes did fit him. He had been a lot of places in his life, gone through a lot; his shoes reflected that. They too had walked the many miles he had and though those miles had been rough the past couple of adventures and some days, Gerard was falling apart, he wasn’t yet broken. And probably never would be. The shoes would be good for another ten years – seven, at least.

I looked up suddenly when my focal point stopped moving. Gerard was standing in front of his apartment building, holding the door open for me. I paused initially, startled by the sudden stop of his worn out soles. Even when I realized he was just holding the door for me, it took me awhile to regain my senses. I looked at him, and he smiled back, but again, something was different. The corners of his mouth seemed like they had been tacked up at odd angles; like he was forcing a smile.

Did Gerard know what was going on? I asked myself in my head, thoughts pooling and collecting making me drown. I knew it was impossible that he knew. He just couldn’t know. He was a very smart man, but he was no psychic. He could read my mind on some days, but today was different; distinct. My thought patterns weren’t following their normal order – they were fucking thinking about his shoes, of all things. No one would have told him the news, other than me, and there was no way he could read this from my body language. But that look – it made me stop and think. He was just as uncomfortable as I was. He could tell I was upset, and thus in turn his stomach was twisting into knots that he refused to show on the outside. The stance we held was even more stiff and awkward than our first day together at his apartment. I was in much of the same chaotic mess, wondering what just the hell I was doing in a forty-year-old’s place, but Gerard was crumbling this time, or at least cracking a little right there with me.

“You coming?” his thick voice shot me out of my thoughts. His weak smile was raised a little more, displaying his tiny, nicotine-stained teeth. He took in a deep breath, drawing his arm down in front of his chest, and displaying it into the door, gallantly guiding me inside. He was being over-dramatic again, probably to disguise the thick tension in the air.

And for some odd reason, I couldn’t help but start laughing. It wasn’t even that funny. He was just acting dumb to get my attention. But the laughter still perked in my belly, echoing up and into my throat, raspy breaths and choked volume spewing forth. I laughed like it was the funniest joke in the world, and even when all he did was smile unsurely, I kept laughing until I finally let my feet go forward.

I realized how fake I sounded once I heard the echo in the hallway. The laugh was only tangible in the sense that it made noise; took up space in the air. The emotions behind it were lacking, and it was an act in disguise I was using all my own. Gerard went with it, even if he was onto me by that point. He let out a deep nostalgic sigh when he had walked into the dark hallway after me. He looked around the dimly lit place for awhile, as if remembering the first day we had there as well. His gaze ended with me, where he smiled again, raised his eyebrows as he slid his hand on the small of my back and pushed me gently forward.

“Go on,” he eased, motioning with his head towards the stairs. It took my feet a little while to work again, but I started to lead up the stairs.

As we walked, Gerard was the one to lag behind. Though he had made physical contact to get me going, we weren’t about to embrace just yet. I felt odd walking with him behind me, but it wasn’t the lack of touch I missed. It was something else - something I couldn’t put my finger on just yet. And it was something that was still there even as we got to Gerard’s apartment.

“No key?” he asked when I just stared at the deep green door, my hand barely tracing over the brass knob.

“Uhh, no…” I stuttered, taking my hand off the knob and clutching at my jeans pocket. I couldn’t believe it when I didn’t hear the familiar jangle of the key ring that I always had with me. I had even been planning on coming to Gerard’s today, though I had backed down at first. Why didn’t I have the keys?

“I must have left it at home.”

Gerard pursed his lips, his smile falling into disappointment. “It’s okay,” he sighed, nudging me out of the way and sticking his own object in the jagged hole. He glanced up at me once he turned the knob, sliding the heavy entrance open, allowing me to lead once more.

“Go on,” he insisted again, his brow furrowing to my slow reaction time.

“Oh, right.” My voice was lapsed and distant, my mind not at all where it should have been. I had no idea why I had such a fucking hard time paying attention, going forward in a place I used to belong in.

That was the issue, though, I began to realize, stepping inside the small apartment and looking around. I didn’t belong here anymore, or at least I didn’t feel the same as I had only days before. The last time Gerard and I had been together, I could walk around his house all I wanted to, go into his fridge, use his bathroom, and play my guitar or paint without asking permission, or feeling awkward. Fuck, I could even walk around naked and I was fine with it. Now I was fully clothed and just standing in his fucking living room and it felt so weird. I didn’t belong, but there was more to it. Gerard wanted me there, I could tell that from the way he kept insisting I lead, and holding doors open for me. But unlike the others times I had been there, I didn’t want to be. For the first time since I had known Gerard, even before we started our relationship had commenced, I didn’t want to be in his house. Not home. I didn’t want to be in his apartment anymore.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked once we were inside. He started to walk over to the kitchen, leaving me as I stood bunching my hands together in front of me. I had been looking out the big bay window at the balcony. The sunlight poured through where thinly veiled drapes no longer touched glass, the door to go outside slightly ajar. I felt this sudden urge come over me, to run for that door go out on the balcony and throw myself off the edge like Gerard had done with the paint can that fateful day. Maybe if I did that, somehow, this would all be reversed.

“What do you have?”

“Wine,” he stated, a slight jeer in his voice, as if the answer should have been obvious, and the only answer. He gave me another option, but said it with more of a high pretentious tone. “Or water.”

At least I knew he had some parts of his charismatic self back.

“Wine.” I had a feeling alcohol would make what was going to happen a lot better. Or worse. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he assured me, with a hand wave so dramatic I could see it from the slight barrier of kitchen walls.

He came out a few moments later, holding two tall glasses filled with dark burgundy liquid to the brim. I did a double take when I saw the items at first; it had been so long since we had drank out of glasses; we usually just took a bottle of the stuff with us to bed that I nearly forgot what it looked like. I forgot the distinct hue of purple as it filled up the transparent glasses, and I forgot the strong aroma it gave off when there was a wide abundance of it out in the open. I also forgot how formal this was, and essentially, how uncomfortable. The glass felt awkward in my hand, and I worried about spilling and making a mess.

When he placed the cup in my hand, I was startled, but I managed to not let it smash to the floor in a thousand pieces. He clutched his own liquid with his free hand, so now two palms were placed over the glass, completely concealing the dark liquid underneath. He brought it to his face, under his nose and inhaled deeply, casting me a slight gaze from under one of his half closed eyelids. He smiled as he took a deep chug, savoring the liquid inside his cheeks before he swallowed it whole. I watched in fascination; he had not drank wine like that since our first meeting. He had not paid that much attention to the texture and aroma in such a long time. In recent weeks, we had just been drinking the wine to quench our thirsts. We spent time appreciating every last detail on each other. All of a sudden, I felt as if we had taken a gigantic step backwards through time.

I clutched my glass until I thought my knuckles would fall off.

“Drink up,” Gerard ordered playfully. He clinked his own now half empty glass against my own, his smile losing its elasticity by each up coming second. “Don’t tell me the taste has stopped growing on you.”

He was saddened with his last declaration, his smile fully dropping. He knew what I was thinking, that everything had gone back to day one; that we had gone back through time. And he was no longer asking me about the wine. He was asking me about himself. Had he stopped growing on me?

“No,” I insisted right away, my voice finally sounding human again. I saw him smile a little at my immediate response while I placed the glass to my lips. I chugged all that I could, not bothering to savor or taste. It burned my throat as it went down, and the bitter tang was too much to be taken all at once. I had to put my hand on my chest to keep my lungs under control while I coughed a little.

“Just a little rough?” Gerard teased, trying not to be serious.

Looking at his eyes, I felt the guilt start to layer on. He thought my distance was due to my attraction and affinity for him dissipating and maybe even completely fading away, when in fact in was the fucking opposite. I liked him too much to tell him my secret, tell him that I hurt him. My feelings for him had never changed. I may have gotten a tad mad at him the time I was gone, but fuck, it only made me like him more. Despite the fact that his lessons seemed useless in some situations, I still wanted to learn. And fuck, I needed to let him know. I had to stop being so scared. If Gerard ended up teaching me nothing, then at least I needed to show him that I still cared.

“No,” I replied to his previous statement. My features drew serious as I took in a deep sigh. I put down my half emptied glass on the end table by his orange couch and looked at him. He swirled the contents of his cup around a little bit, the deep colour tainting the pristine glass for only a brief second before he placed his glass down next to mine. His body had moved closer to me, leaning down slightly to place his beverage away, but as he drew his body back up, I extended an arm and locked it around his waist.

I felt his body stiffen and then ease into my touch, allowing me to pull him closer. I locked my lips with his as soon as his face was eyelevel with my own. I pressed against him softly at first, then furiously the next moment. I needed to show him that I still cared, that I still wanted to be here, and it wasn’t like the first day anymore. I knew my feelings for him, and I was showing him. Gerard was my soulmate; we had discussed that and promised that. I was his dove and no one else’s. Jasmine couldn’t change that. It had show him all of these things, and most of all, prove to myself that I was gay. I was gay with Gerard and I was happy.

He slipped his own hands onto my waist, pushing our hips together. Neither of us were hard yet, but we still moaned and sighed at the contact into the other’s mouth. The kiss had been dry and hard at first, made out of sheer desperation. Gerard made the wet break into passion, tracing his tongue along the outside of my lip before I greedily allowed him to enter. I slid my tongue alongside mouth too, the wet suction sounds we were making cheering me on and keeping me going. I moved my hands slowly up his back, grasping the fabric from his jacket in my hands and tugging on it before my palms rested on the tips of his shoulders. My arms were twisted and twined under his biceps, my fingers traipsing along his hairline. I began to move my hips into his, pushing my tongue against the side of his mouth and pulling on his hair.

I had fucking forgotten how good all of this felt. With Jasmine, I had had fun; I could admit that. It felt good, I got hard, and I came. I did it a few more times with her, and I had even jacked off to the memories. But then with Gerard, it was so much more than just feeling good physically. I knew that we held a connection before when we were together. There was just something about us that worked. We knew each other and we got along. The moments before the kiss and had awkward and trying, not only for my guilt but for some other mysterious aura that had come between us. But by branching the innocuous space between us, we managed to branch everything else. I felt connected to him again, and I could only hope he felt the same with me.

He was the one to break the kiss first, but only moving quickly to kiss each one of my cheeks, his hands coming up to my face from my waist to steady me as he ventured all around. He kissed my forehead next, placing small chaste kisses on the flushed flesh before he dipped down to my neck, sucking a little harder. His pointy tongue flicked out against a vein, and he trailed it along my jaw line until he got to my ear, sucking on the lobe. He breathed against my ear, sending chills up and down my spine. I held onto him tight, my grip falling down to his mid-torso, clutching at the fabric.

“I missed you,” he whispered close to me, then pulling away to look at my face. The words sent more chills up and down my spine than the actual act itself. I knew what Gerard was saying when he said he missed me. He missed me the actual person, the actions he was doing to my body. He missed me, Frank, and it didn’t matter if we were kissing or not. He missed me and that’s when I realized how much I missed him too.

Jasmine may have felt good, but no one, absolutely no one, would ever fucking replace Gerard.

He looked down at me as he said his words, his eyes wide and open. The olive colour seemed to consume the immaculate white they were set behind, a little glossier than normal. He had another weak smile on his face, but it wasn’t because it was too hard to find happiness. This smile was brimming with bliss, so much so that it couldn’t all fit, so it lay in a weak comparison.

“I missed you, too,” I finally breathed, ages after he declared it and I made my own realization. I smiled back at him with the same weak jawed grin, wide and open eyes, and I wondered if he was just as amazed with my face as I was with his. I doubted it, but soon my thoughts were cast aside as he pulled me closer into a hug, both of our heads becoming buried in the other’s hot neck.

I let him squeeze the life out of me, and I attempted to do the same. I shut my eyes so fucking tight because I just couldn’t open them. I needed to close off everything, the world that was around us especially, and just enjoy the moment. It was honestly the closest I had ever felt to Gerard. And I realized that his lesson of being alone had finally worked. We were both alone for those few short days and now we could appreciate each other more than ever before.

The embrace that had started off innocent and pure, began to develop many other meanings and motions and we began to commence our previous activity. I felt Gerard’s mouth begin to make circular motions on my neck again, his tongue massaging the fair skin. I rubbed my arms up and down his back before redrawing them to the front to sneak inside his dove jacket. His body was so inexplicably warm; I burrowed myself around him as he broke away to remove his jacket and started to run his hands along the hemline of my shirt to remove it with his. Our hips began to rub together as we kissed again, the friction becoming deadly for both of us. I was getting hard again, and could feel Gerard’s brimming erection on my inner thigh through his tight black pants. I was surprised he was hard so fast, but I realized that he had probably not done anything – alone or together – since we had been separated. The thought made me kiss him harder and faster, a sudden urgency coming into the action. I wanted him to fuck me just then – the raw animal urge for fucking. I could tell we cared about each other, and we had made art many, many times before, but I just wanted sex right then. I wanted to prove to myself that I could still get hard and enjoy something from a man just as much as I had – hopefully more – from a woman. I wanted Gerard to fuck me.

Thoughts of Jasmine came to my mind for a brief second of how I fucked someone else that wasn’t Gerard, but I pushed them away. This was my time with him now. He was hard fairly soon and that was a rare thing for him. He had saved up for me and fuck, I was going to let him have a good time. This wasn’t the time to crush him.

I moved my hands from Gerard’s back to in between our two hot bodies and started to fiddle with his belt buckle. He backed up a little bit, surprised a bit by my straightforwardness, but then letting my hands do what they needed to do. My fingers were moving too fast at first to completely grasp the tightly done up button, and it took a few tries before I slowly slid the zipper down, and Gerard’s light moan entered my ear. I looked up and saw that his mouth was agape and his eyes closed, rolled back in his head. I felt myself beam on the inside, proud that I was doing something good, something right for once. Gerard’s naked body came forth immediately from his pants as I rolled them down off his hips. I took his cock in my fist, pumping it until the whole thing was fully erect. I was just about to take him inside my mouth when I felt my shoulders and hair being tugged on, Gerard dragging me up to meet him eye level again.

He smiled at me, kissing me seductively before his hands found my own belt buckle and he started to proceed with the very same actions I had performed on him. I felt my heart beat faster as his eyes beheld my cock, thinking that somehow he could tell I had been with a woman, but when he merely removed my boxers and pants, my worries were put at ease. I still watched carefully, no matter how hard I was turned on and how difficult it was to pay attention when I was completely naked in front of the man I had been missing for so long. When I saw Gerard begin to prepare for a blowjob, I let him for awhile, feeling his tongue slide over my slit as his hand grasped my hip bone. I took the other hand he placed on my inner thigh in my own, guiding and moving his down lower, right to my ass. He had been sucking on me for awhile, but now he halted for a minute. He looked up at me from his position on the ground, asking me as question nonverbally.

Though most other acts we could blend into easily, when the actual form of sex came along, consent was always made sure. It could be the seventh time we had had sex that day – it didn’t matter; before any kind of preparation was done for the act, we asked each other if we really wanted to. I used to always think that it was done out of consideration for me. I was the younger one after all, the one who had never had sex and didn’t even know he was into guys; it was obvious that I needed more guidance. I also thought the consent was such a huge aspect because our relationship was so wrong, but not only that, downright illegal. I was still under eighteen and this was statuary rape. My consent technically meant nothing here because, as far as the law was concerned, I was still a child, but at least my saying yes to Gerard made the act a little easier on both of our consciences. Even when the roles were reversed, and it was Gerard being put in the fairly awkward position of his legs bent and me hovering above him, I always asked. I had once done so to mimic the actions he had done to me so I didn’t fuck up, but now I saw the value and importance in them, no matter who you were, and what position you were in.

“Sex is a personal thing,” Gerard had always dictated. He must have said that same line to me a dozen times that first weekend we were together. The clear memory that came into my focus was after we had had sex on that Saturday afternoon. We were on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. I had been watching the way the smoke clung to the dry wall, how it looked like clouds from years and years of over consumption in that very room when his voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned on my side to look at him, his face still giving off a golden glow from the act we had just consented to.

“When you have sex with someone, it has to mean something,” he started again, turning over like me, so we were now face to face on the dirty mattress, bunched up sheet in between us. “You give yourself to them, but in order for it to still be a gift, it still has to be special. It still has to have meaning, and you have to be aware of that fact.”

He paused for a moment, looking me up and down and finally linking his hand with my own. Our relationship had still been so new then, so sensitive, and just budding, that his touch sent fireworks into my bloodstream.

“When I ask you if you want to, I may not even use words. A look is significant enough, especially if you both understand in that look that you are making the best thing ever created.”

Back during that first weekend, even though I had barely known him for more than a month or more, his words had washed over me, still too in awe from every other sensation I was feeling. I had learned quickly though, quick enough to realize and appreciate every single gift he gave me, and that I gave to him. I may have forgotten to ask him a few times during the beginning when my mental abilities in that area were still slowly developing, but now we both had it down to a science. No words could be used, and our eyes did all the talking this time as we removed all of our clothing and got into position. He laid me down on the couch, his shirt flung off his broad shoulders before he lowered himself on top of me, his fingers navigating where they needed too, and where I had directed them. The preparation sometimes took long, and was even longer then from the lack of activity in the past few days. We sped up time, bringing us back to normal and back to what we had been missing in mere mixtures by kissing, tongues diving, and exploring. Pretty soon Gerard was entering me again, and pumping in and out.

“Are you okay?” he asked during that first initial gasp of penetration.

With the morals on consent set in place, there were ones for pain too. We always made sure the other wasn’t feeling too much of it. It was just as important as the prior, maybe even more so. Pain could change someone’s mind out of consenting, and could change the view of the person doing the action. Even if we needed some pain in our lives, there was a balance to reach. I always knew that no matter how many times I told Gerard I wanted to have sex with him, the moment I said no, he was out of me. I had not tested this rule, but I could tell in the way he kissed me slowly when I said I was just fine. It hurt a little more when he entered this time, but I almost felt like I needed that pain. It made me realize this was real all over again, and I felt as if I deserved it. I was going to hurt Gerard after this was all over; I might as well feel something physical in the moment.

I pulled him closer to my body, and gave myself fully into the action and the man I had missed so fucking much. We were both so raw, needy, and desperate, but we managed to balance ourselves off with a consensual understanding for our actions. We had missed each other. We had been alone and now we appreciated each other. This was our way of showing it.

When it was over, we stayed on the couch for a few moments, catching our breaths before we moved. We grabbed one of the many blankets Gerard had started to keep around his apartment in random places, dragging it to the floor in front of the couch and kicking the coffee table out of the way so we could lay down together. Gerard did most of the moving and shifting, while I lay down on the sofa, my body adjusting itself back to normal. My neck was a little stiff from it being pressed into the arm of the couch, and my ass was tender, but I was fine. I looked down and touched myself at one point, and there had been no blood. I wasn’t entirely sure what I would have done if there had been blood. It probably would have made me feel guiltier than anything else. I didn’t want Gerard to feel like a foreign invasion to my body; something that didn’t belong and something that hurt me. He was a part of me by that point, and that shouldn’t bleed.

When I made my way to the floor with him, he wrapped a strong bare arm around me and pulled me closer to his clammy body. I let myself be led, the feeling of complete and utter doom churning within me once more.

The act was over. I had to tell him soon.

The old blanket, a quilt Gerard’s grandmother had made, him was tucked up to our waist, the cool fabric a nice barrier between the tension that now started to take over the room again. Gerard had gotten his pants when he got the blankets, and now slipped out his cigarettes from the tight back pocket. With one hand he managed to flick out a stick, put it in his mouth and light it, while the other one was still draped around my bare side. I knew I was going to hurt him soon, and though I wanted to distance myself to protect him (or me), I found myself still clinging onto his side for dear life. I could feel the folds of his skin, its sticky nature, and the way it spread out thickly under my arm. I traced my nervous fingers over the flesh on his side, while he started to smoke, breathing in deeply before blowing it out through his mouth and nose. I tried to take a deep breath in as well, to maybe calm my nerves, but it didn’t work. The apprehension was there; it was slightly better, because Gerard knew that I still wanted him, but the bomb still had to be dropped. I just didn’t know how to fire the gun.

“How was she?” Gerard suddenly asked, taking another drag off the cigarette. He sucked his cheeks closely to his face, staring straight ahead. I let my mouth fall open, and looked up at him. He didn’t look angry, sad, or disappointed. I didn’t know how to describe it. He just was.

“What?” I gasped. I didn’t think I had heard him right. I couldn’t have heard him right. Did he just suggest that I cheated on someone? And use the word ‘she’? If he somehow miraculously knew that I cheated, wouldn’t he have guessed a ‘he’?

“How was she?” he asked again, enunciating the words a little more clearly. He blew out some more smoke before finally looked down at me, connecting our eyes in more than one way. He knew. “What was her name?”

“How do you even know?” I asked, my voice dipping at the end because I couldn’t even believe what was going on. I saw the understanding in his eyes. He knew I had cheated, and with a girl too. But how the fuck did he just know these things?

He chuckled a bit, finally reaching the end of his cigarettes. He butted it out on a stray part of the pack it came from, then looked down at me with a smirk. “You’re too predictable.”

I crushed my eyes closed, affected by something else other than the mountains of guilt I had climbed, leaving my feet bloody. Just like before when he had spoken those words, they stung. They stung so much, probably because he had known everything all along, but not said a single word. He had suffered, or at least I had, in silence. Knowing silence, that I must have been deaf and dumb to.

And then more silence washed over us. Gerard breathed in and out deeply, almost as if he was still sucking on his cancer stick. Again, he didn’t seem mad or angry or sad, he was just there. I couldn’t read him, and I realized that I could never, ever read him. The discussion seemed to be over in his mind, but I was certainly not done. I never would be.

“I wish I wasn’t,” I boldly stated, replying to his comment from before. His head tilted over to me, looking and listening but still not affect. Yet. “I wish I was unpredictable like you.”

It was then I saw his countenance change into something I could recognize. Not fathom in the situation, but decipher at least. He was surprised.

“I’m not unpredictable,” Gerard stated clearly, nodding his head and pursing his lips. “I’m probably the most predictable person ever.”

“What? How the fuck can you say that?”

I don’t know why, but I felt myself getting angry. I recalled my whole thoughts on the manner, in the park as we walked. How could Gerard not be unpredictable? He smashed his paintings when no one was around for the hell of it. He made me smash beer the next day, and he had thrown blue paint on a bunch of school children just because. He took me out to dinner and then we ran to the park, jacking off in the middle of the night. We had done so many things I would have never thought of doing. He was fucking full of surprises; surprising I was still finding out.

“I’m predictable,” he contradicted my thoughts again. He had his hands folded across his bare chest, but took one hand out from under his arm and began to motion with it. “Boring, mundane, and just expecting. Just there, and always there.” He shot me a glance from the corner of his eyes. “I’m probably more predictable than you are.”

“ How?”

“I’m predictable,” he stated again, staring his lecture. He sighed, shifting his weight and turning towards me, giving me his full attention. “I barely leave my house. I sit in here all day and paint. I paint or read or talk to my dove. When and if I do leave, I only go so far. I go to the park or to the paint store. I buy wine. I sometimes go to Vivian’s, but she usually has to be the one to come and get me out of my little shell I have created. I don’t talk to people, usually…” he trailed off, his hands motions dropping down along with his eyes to meet mine. And then he smiled the biggest I had ever seen in a long time.

“You, Frank,” he breathed, putting his hand on my bare arm that had now been taken away from his body. “ You make me unpredictable. You came into my life and changed everything up. You made me want to throw paint off my balcony. You made me want to teach someone something. You made me change my lifestyle completely to accommodate the energy and style of a young adult.”

He paused again, and I was so glad he had. It actually let his words sink in, the one falling deep down inside of me being ‘adult’. No one had ever called me that before. I had been called a young man, even a man itself before, but never an adult. It seemed to garner this prestige I didn’t know I had. It didn’t make me feel so young anymore, but then again, it didn’t make me feel old. I didn’t know how it made me feel just yet. I was almost an adult by the legal standards, but in Gerard’s mind I was already one. A young adult, but still, I was getting there. It amazed me and thrilled me at the same time, so much so that I almost didn’t hear Gerard conclude his statements.

“You made me get up and get out and start actually doing things again. It was you, Frank, who made me unpredictable.” He gave me another smile, radiating with unselfish pride. “You have to give yourself more credit than that. Being predictable isn’t so bad.”

He nodded his head once again, the sentiment still present in his voice, but his cocky nature coming back. He returned his body to its back, staring up at the ceiling again, and folding his arms behind his head. I eventually did the same as well, only much slower, his words still repeating in my mind over and over again.

I had changed him? I made him unpredictable? Wasn’t he always like that before I had come around? I asked myself question after question still running around in my mind. I recalled the stories Gerard had told me, of his life and lovers. I thought of him going to New York for art school, not knowing what the fuck he was doing. He had had barley enough money and had to sleep in parks the first few weeks. That didn’t sound very predictable. I thought of his stories of Raymond, Vivian, and especially Alexi, the fuckable Russian that really had no purpose but sex. That didn’t sound very predictable. I thought Gerard had always been surprising and unexpected his entire life, up until now included, and as I retraced what form of the life he told me, I had been right. I didn’t know where he got his ideas of himself being unsurprising, but I certainly didn’t see them.

I looked over at him beside me, him meeting me in a playful stare. He was probably just trying to be nice to me, I told myself, trying to make some sense of the situation. I knew he wasn’t lying per se, he never did that, but he may have been over exaggerating a little. I could accept that though; all art was one big exaggeration and metaphor on life. I was used to just being art with him; I couldn’t handle anything deeper, especially when I knew I was moments away from hurting him.

“Fine,” I stated into the air. I folded my arms over my chest, giving into Gerard and his deductive reasoning. “I guess you’re right. It’s okay being predictable.”

I could feel his smile beam and exude from right beside him, even if I didn’t see it. “I’m always right,” he replied playfully, nodding his head sharply to prove his point more. I laughed at his over dramatics again, then felt that silence clench around us after it was over.

I heard him take another deep breath before he glanced over at me, his eyes wide and questioning. “You never did tell me her name.”

My breath still caught in my throat with the mention of this, but it was different. My chest tightened but it also sucked close to my skin, letting me know that it was okay. It was going to hurt, for both of us, I realized, but I had to do it. Gerard already knew, for some fucking reason he just knew that I had cheated. I didn’t understand why, but I figured he would tell me later, if I was supposed to know at all. I looked over at him from my stance straight ahead and I just saw his green eyes, nothing but. He was just talking to me; not lecturing, not yelling. It was as if we were going to have a normal conversation about the girl I had slept with - I needed to give in. Gerard and I always had good conversations to begin with, even when we were mad.

“Jasmine,” I breathed out, using up all of my strength at that moment for the two syllable word.

“Ohh,” Gerard uttered a pleasing sound. “That’s a beautiful name.” He glanced over at me and smiled, taking my hand and letting me know that things were okay. “Was she as beautiful as her name?” he inquired, squeezing my hand more.

I thought this was going to be hard for him, but he was coaxing me through it all, not saying a word as I spilled the whole story in front of him. I told him about the cottage, how Sam and Travis had tricked me, taking me away and then shooting me down. I told him I was losing faith in the lessons he taught me because they didn’t seem to apply. He was trying to teach me how to be myself, but he did nothing to teach me how to defend that self when other shot it down. I confessed that I had been mad at him, more so because I wanted to learn from him, I wanted to keep up with what I had been doing, but was growing frustrated because I couldn’t hold onto them. And really, I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to fly. When I said those exact words, I felt a part inside of me cringe. I couldn’t believe I had wanted that, and what hurt even more was that I still did. I didn’t want to fly, and I knew it wouldn’t be happened anytime soon with the amount of fucking up I had done.

Though I felt Gerard’s grip loosen a little as I confessed that line and his head fell, he didn’t cut me off. He let me keep going. I told him about Jasmine and the trampoline, how I could still retain my youth while growing up. I told him everything, every last detail up until that night where it all fell apart. I over-compensated with minutiae and pointless descriptions beforehand, telling him the exact color of the sunset I had seen as Jasmine bounced up and down in front of me, so that when we did reach the defining moment of the sex, I could brush past that part quickly. I didn’t want to boast or brag that I had fucked someone else in my time away from him. My concise, albeit nervous voice, disappeared as I mumbled that Jasmine and I had had sex, and this, of all things, caused Gerard to tighten his grip on my arm and actually speak. He touched my cheek, turning my face towards him.

“Tell me,” he said, stroking his thumb against my embarrassed flesh. “Speak up, Frank. What you have to say is important.”

“Why?” I croaked. This was hard, too hard. I didn’t know how he could just let it go. I had told him enough by then. Too much; more than I thought I would ever tell him.

“Because I want to know everything about you,” he stated sincerely. He moved his face in front of my own, trying to match up our eyes again. I had been evading them, not wanting to come into contact with the very person and very feeling I was trying to avoid. Gerard always won, and when we finally did lock, his gentle force connecting us again, I saw the feeling in his green eyes. It was the everything we had created the night we had first been together. He wanted to know that everything, because I had experienced it with someone else. I had to tell him.

So, I did.

I let the words spill from my mouth about Jasmine and I in that dark basement cellar. I admitted my embarrassment of not getting the condom on properly, my nervousness of it being my first time and not knowing what to do. Gerard even laughed a few times when I had gotten the anatomy of the two genders mixed up, thinking I needed something when I didn’t, and expecting something that was never there to begin with.

“How can you be so calm about this?” I asked him after the story was over, and my confession done. He was still semi-smiling from my naïve thinking that a woman had a prostate, but now his face drew more serious. It wasn’t a grave serious nature that I was afraid of, but a calm placid all-knowing look.

“I don’t know,” he expressed earnestly and with a touch of a breathy laugh. He waved his hand in the air and shrugged his shoulder, continuing his tangent of thought. “You’re a teenager. It’s to be expected, I suppose. You have a ton of hormones coursing through you, and this girl presented herself. She sounds nice, charming, and very pretty. Like the Botticelli’s Venus,” Gerard suddenly expressed, relating his thoughts to a painting I had yet to have him explain to me. He took his gaze away from me and branched it out along with one of his hands, as if to paint this mysterious piece before my eyes.

It didn’t work.

I felt my blood surge a little, my frustration meeting at a head inside my body. He was referring to me as a teenager again; I was no longer the adult he spoke of only moments earlier. Just as quickly as he had given me my status, he had taken it away so easily, so calmly. I didn’t want to be a teenager. Teenagers were loud, drunk, and fucked up. I didn’t want to be associated with that; I already had been and Gerard had saved me from that life. Was he not telling me to go back there? Had I already bestowed that fate on myself by sleeping with Jasmine? I wanted to be associated with adults, with Gerard - even though I fucking wished he would stop relating everything to art.

“Who wouldn’t be tempted by such beauty?” Gerard concluded, drawing his face back to mine with a cheery smile.

“I guess,” was all I could say, my eyes casting downward. I found a freckle on my arm and began to trace it, trying to flick it off as my mind wandered into dangerous territory.

“Didn’t I cheat, though?” I blurted out the thought that had been preoccupying my thoughts. I knew it could get me finally condemned from that purgatory I had secluded myself inside, but I didn’t care. I needed to know. Maybe if I knew that answer, Gerard’s reaction would make ten times more sense.

It didn’t. I should have been suspecting this by now. This was Gerard I was talking to. Nothing made sense with him, at least, not at first.

“There is no such thing as cheating,” he informed me, his voice becoming strong again, like when he was teaching me art. He began to talk, to fill in blanks to questions I had in my mind, but I couldn’t help but feel more like his student all over again, rather than the person he had just given himself to. “You cannot cheat on someone because they are not a game. A relationship is not a game; it is a union of two people. Just because you may stray away from that union every once in awhile for another person, does not mean you’ve broken it, and it especially does not mean that you have cheated.”

He paused for a second, waiting to see if I had questions. I just laid there with him, pulling the quilt up closer to me. I was listening but too tired to ask questions. There was no point.

“Being faithful, however, is something completely different,” he began again, motioning with his hands that were now both no longer touching my body. “You can be faithful to the person you’re dating, while still being with other people. If you promise yourself to them, give yourself to them, then that’s all you need. You can’t cheat on being faithful. You can’t break it. Not even if you never see the other person in seven days, seven months, seven years. It’s still there. Always will be, to some extent.”

Gerard looked down on me, trying to get a response. His words were affecting me, making me almost want to believe him. I wanted to believe that what I had done wasn’t as bad as I had built it up in my head, but it was hard. His words made sense - fuck, they made so much sense. I could see where he was coming from.

Even when I was with Jasmine, I had been thinking of Gerard. I had just found someone else to go through the motions and some feelings with. Gerard was always on my mind and inside me some form of another. I had realized that as soon as I got right back here where I was. It was just hard believing something that the society I lived in told me was wrong over and over again. In soap operas, if you cheated there was drama. In books, TV, and movies it was the same thing. Hell, it was even a fucking commandment. Gerard and I were not married, and never could be, but the principle was still there. Cheating existed in this society and I had fucking cheated.

But then again, our relationship did not exist in society. They would tear it apart. We were breaking the rules here, why not break them there? I began to feel my muscles loosen, and some of my stress melt away. I would always have that guilt, at least for a few days after; I knew that much. But if Gerard wanted to tell me that everything was okay, if he wanted to hold my hand while I told him every last detail of Jasmine and how fucking beautiful she looked, then he was going to do that. And he wasn’t jealous. I could tell from his touches, his words, and the way he was carrying himself. He wasn’t jealous, conniving, or angry. He wanted to know everything about me, and I told him. We were faithful to each other, even if a third party had gotten involved.

There was a warm sensation inside my body, stirring and lifting itself up through my stomach, hands and finally up to my face, spreading a smile across my lips. I looked over at Gerard, and we didn’t have to say a word. We knew it was okay and that we were faithful. I looked at him, and wondered just how the fuck I could have ended up with such an understanding person. I didn’t know how he knew the right stuff to do, or the right things to say, but God, he did. It was like he had been in my place before, or was there right now.

That thought, though seemingly innocent at first, stopped me dead in my tracks. It opened up another avenue of concern I could send myself running scared down.

“Gerard…” My voice hitched in my throat. “Have you cheated on me, too?”

I had no idea why I was so scared; it wasn’t like I was just going to go through the exact same thing that he had if the answer had been yes. If he had cheated – or whatever we were calling it now – on me too, things were still so different; I wasn’t as strong as he was. I knew that. I could see that. I wasn’t sure if I could just let an infidelity roll off my back and act like it was nothing the way he did. I knew we were faithful but there was something about him and his body. They couldn’t be on anyone else or anywhere else but me. I knew I was being a hypocrite, but fuck, I didn’t care.

“No,” he breathed out slowly, placing a hand at the side of my face and stroking my hair. I felt my whole body ease under his touch. This touch that I now knew for sure was only on me, and for me. “I’m too old. I don’t need another person in my life right now. You’re all I need.”

Any good feelings he has given me, were now vanquished with those words. I knew they were supposed to be a compliment in a way, but I felt the guilt layer itself more. It crushed the previous coat with its thick qualities, manifesting itself into one giant ball. I hated the way my emotions were fluxing, the way I was feeling so strongly on both ends of the spectrum. I had an inkling it wasn’t over yet, too.

“I didn’t need to either –” I started, grabbing his wrist as well, trying to cling onto something solid, but he cut me off, before I could finish my guilt filled thought.

“Yes, you did,” he corrected me, shifting closer and finally wrapping another hand around my waist. I didn’t realize how much I had missed it, and moreover how much I needed it.

“What do you mean?”

“You need experiences in your life,” he started yet another one of his speeches. He was going on a lot that day. I wondered what eventual lesson I would get out of all of this, if any. “You need to use these experiences, with everyone and everything, to move forward. You can’t just always be with me. You needed to get out and explore, see new horizons. I have to admit,” he said, drawing his eyes away from me in a humble gesture before returning. “I was somewhat glad you didn’t show up that one day. It gave you a chance to go outside and live your life, gather theses experiences and hone them together. I didn’t want you to be gone so long, but it worked out. I think you could have gotten one of the best ones to date. You need these experiences, both good and bad, to draw upon creative forces. You need them to paint. Each one of my pictures is a painting about…”

For the first time since I had met the artist, I tuned out his conversation. He went on and on about art constantly, comparing things and giving it double meanings. But fuck, they were too confusing. They didn’t always apply. I wanted something concrete I could handle, not abstract forms that may as well have been clouds plucked from the sky. And again, for the first time ever, I spat my thoughts at the artist, demanding some kind of fucking order to a chaos I used to love.

“Stop comparing everything to art, Gerard Just right now. Stop. Please. Art doesn’t always apply to everything. You can’t always use that analogy.”

“You’re right,” he gave in quickly; too quickly. By the time I had let my body relax a bit, he had started off on another far away and distant parallel.

“These experiences, well, they can be like pages in a book.” He was grasping at straws now, plucking his words from the air with his other hand and pulling them to his mouth. “Each experienced gets written in your memory, making you keep it all along. You can reread your own stories, draw upon them again. There is a chapter for each specific…”

“Stop it,” I shot out again with a little less force. My words were still sharp and struck, but there was not as much volume. My fists were clenched and I had been biting my tongue to keep from screaming. I was sick of this. I was done. I wanted answers and he gave me bullshit I had to interpret for myself.

“Just tell me what I need to know, Gerard. Just tell me the answers. Don’t bother with anything else.”

“But I need to teach you -”

“No, you don’t.”

“I want to prepare you for the world…” his voice dipped off, showing his desperation.

“The world doesn’t always accept your lessons,” I started, finally able to grasp at my own concepts and vocalizing them. “Some of them don’t apply, or they get shot down by others. There are some that I do have and use, but there are so many you’ve missed, Gerard, so many that I could have used on the outside world when I was there, but I wasn’t able to.” I paused and looked at him, seeing his eyes drop a little bit.

“I’m not done teaching you,” he interjected quietly, his eyes staying planted on his hands balled up in front of him.

“Fine,” I gave in. I didn’t want to be mean to him, but fuck, he had confused me, and been blunt with me before. I was going to do the same to him. It would be the only way he really knew what I was thinking. “But I need to know more than just how to paint,” I started again, my voice prevailing and drawing his eyes to meet mine again. I got a flutter of nervousness in my stomach, realizing that I was the one who was instructing him now. I had to do this well, and get what I wanted across right. “I need to know how to deal with my horrible friends when they insult me and call me gay. I need to know what to do with this constant guilt I feel all the time, either hurting you, my mother, or someone else. I need to know what I want to do with my life, other than hanging around in your apartment all the time…” I took a deep breath, something inside me coming to the surface.

“I need to know what to do with my feelings for a girl, when all along I thought I was gay, and want to be gay, just so I can be with you. ”

It was only when I was sitting in that apartment, after the hurt of Gerard had been dissipated and the words fell from my mouth, that I realized I would have to deal with Jasmine. I would have to tell her I didn’t want to have sex anymore because I was promised to someone else. I didn’t want to cheat, even if Gerard said it was okay. Before I tried to ignore any and all kinds of feelings for this girl, because I thought they all had been wrong. Though I wanted to continue to ignore the sexual urges inside of me, Gerard had told me it was okay to feel the others. And I began to realize that I cared for Jasmine, and I wanted to see her again, even if it was just as a friend. I had feelings for her. I didn’t want her to get hurt. She had protected me from the sting of Sam and Travis’ insults and my own harsh mind. I wanted to keep protecting her, and that thought scared me, because my means of protection involved hugging, touching, and other forbidden tasks in my mind.

Gerard took a deep breath when I was done, nodding his head to his own thoughts, and pursing his lips. He didn’t reach over to touch me when I had pulled away in my actions, but I could still tell he was there. He was thinking, trying to figure out how he could make this all better. I knew it was unfair to drop that burden on him, but if he was taking it, I was letting him.

“You’re not gay.”

After painstaking moments of silence, this was all he had to offer.

“What?”

“You’re not gay,” he repeated. He raised his face to my own, and saw my frustrated expression. He couldn’t be serious. I stared at him for a few moments longer, wanting something different, or at least something more.

I got nothing.

“What the fuck do you mean, Gerard?” I asked vehemently, sick and tired of this constant confusing banter. “How can I not be gay? I fucked you. You fucked me. We’re men. And I fucking liked it.” I had repeated the words a dozen times in my head before, but they did not hold as much fucking impacted as I thought they did once they hit the stagnant air. I felt not only my voice breaking, but my body too.

“Frank, there are exceptions to everything in life,” he said in a calming tone. He reached his arm forward, but I jerked away. He sighed, and accepted my rage, deciding he would maybe give me a little more information. It could be beneficial, he realized.

“Remember when you first came here, and I showed you my dove?” he asked, and I nodded with a locked jaw. “You thought she was a pigeon, just because her feathers were brown. Not all doves are white, though, remember? There are exceptions to everything.”

I just looked at him. “Stop with the analogies.”

He sighed again, shifting his weight to turn over and look at me directly. “I’m gay, Frank,” he stated the obvious, clearly not helping matters at first. “But Vivian and I were together in art school. I had never felt an attraction to a woman before, but her, fuck, she swept me off my feet.” Gerard paused, and smiled to himself, looking off to the corner of his eye, perhaps where that specific memory was kept. His dialect changed there for a moment, not becoming so clear and concise, teacher-like. He had sworn for emotional appeal, and his breathing became deeper. He loved Vivian so much, and reflecting on the memory almost hurt him, even though she was still alive and with him.

“Do you see?” Gerard’s voice cut into my brief daydream. I was still scowling, so he saw my answer very clear. He continued, “Vivian was my exception, Frank. We all have our determined preferences. I know mine lies with men, despite how physically unattractive they can be in certain lights, I can manage to find beauty in some regards.” He paused for a second, his voice going lower as well as his eyes, moving down my naked chest. He starting to trail his fingers down from my shoulders to my arms, and finally along the arc of my hips and pelvis, touching ever so softly. I let him, despite my anger, watching him closely.

“The way their hips curve…” he began to talk, a hushed tone thickened on by sensuality as he explored my body and began to explain everything he liked about men. “Men’s bodies are so much freer; nothing gets in their way, nothing holds them back. As much as I love the distinct mounds of the female body, I do find that breasts just get in the way. I like the smooth plane of a man’s chest, the way he goes on and on forever, endlessly exploring and leading to the best part, no matter how ugly. Everything is much more clean and uncomplicated; their arms are there told hold, their legs strong for stability. The body is a work of art, and it has a purpose. It’s resilient. Women are gorgeous, their curvy and righteous, but men have their own curves. It’s the simple, and on some, next to nonexistent, jutting out of their hips. It’s something to grip onto, to fit into clothing, and to admire from afar and up close. I love women, and all their beauty, but men are never-ending. They have so much more to touch and see without interruption - just simplicity. And sometimes, it’s nice to stare, and not think.”

He removed his hand from me suddenly, letting me cringe under the loss and reminding me of the confusion and anger I felt. If it was so nice to not interpret the male body, why was interpreting things all he seemed to be doing with me? I opened my eyes and looked at him, still waiting for an explanation.

“You’re straight, Frank,” he compiled, starting up again. “You like woman, normally. I’m just you’re exception. We all have them, good or bad.”

I opened my mouth a few times, trying to find the right words. I could still feel his fingers tracing over me again and again, explaining every detail and ridge. I loved it when he did that, but it confused me more.

“How do you know that Jasmine isn’t my exception?” I asked, challenging the thought. “Maybe I am gay, but she swept me off my feet. Like Vivian did for you.”

Gerard smiled again, sliding his hand closer to me. “No.”

“God, Gerard,” I barked, after he had failed to come up with anything else but silence and his hand on my waist. “I need answers.”

He sighed, not wanting to explain, but doing it anyway. “You’re not gay,” he told me. “Just think for a minute. Do women in general turn you on? Or do men?”

“You turn me on,” I answered honestly, avoiding anything else that came to my head.

Gerard chuckled a bit, the heavy atmosphere lifted between us for a second. “Thank you, but do all men turn you on?”

I paused at the question, not really answering or wanting to think about it. I didn’t want to consider other men just yet. It had taken me long enough to get used to the idea of being with Gerard. Now that I was with him and loving it, I didn’t want to screw it up anymore than I already had. Gerard was persistent, however.

“Picture Sam and Travis naked,” he suddenly cut into my thoughts.

“Ahhh!” I immediately exclaimed. I had done as he asked, the order just filtering through my brain and not computing until Sam’s small unclothed body danced before my eyes. I wanted to throw up.

“There you go, Frank,” Gerard stated, after muffling some of his laughter. I peaked out one eye from behind the hands I had flung over my face in an attempt to make the horrible images stop. I glanced at him skeptically, waiting for him to finish. “I’m sorry about that; I know it can be traumatic. But now, picture Jasmine or Vivian naked.”

I slowly relaxed and removed my hands from my face. The image wasn’t so scary, just the connotations behind it.

“Exactly,” Gerard concurred, reading my expression. “You like women, Frank. Not men.”

“I could be bisexual or something, you know,” I tried to challenge, my voice not coming off as clear and concise as Gerard. It just sounded like even I didn’t believe what I was saying. And in a way, it was true.

Gerard shook his head, agreeing with my internal thoughts. “You’re not gay, Frank,” he repeated for what seemed to be the millionth time.

It didn’t matter how many times he said it or I said it in my mind, the words still stung. I had no idea why they stung. In theory, I should have been happy I wasn’t gay. I wouldn’t be made fun of; I didn’t have to feel susceptible to all those jokes. I was a perfectly