Seamus Ch. 07

Nate crawled onto his hands and knees and slowly made his way to his feet. He made no attempt to cross the floor toward me. "Seamus- Please- I'm a stupid fuckhead- I'm just so fucked up right now- I promise it'll never fucking happen again- I don't even know why I did it and I- I won't do it again-"

"How could you do that to Jill?" I snapped.

"I adore Jill! God, please don't tell her," he whined. "I- really-"

"I'm not going to tell her," I replied. "But listen to me, if you really think that you're gay, you should break up with her, 'cos if you hurt her, I will fucking kill you!"

"I couldn't hurt Jill... and I'm not gay. I didn't- enjoy- what we just did- I just- had to- check-"

I raised my eyebrows at that comment. I was damned angry with Nate for everything he had just done, but I suppose I could almost understand why he did it. "So what, I'm just some fucking science experiment to you?"

Nate frowned and closed his eyes. I could see deep, stomach breaths dilating and tightening his chest through his dark t-shirt. "No, of course not, Seam-"

"Don't call me that!" I snapped. "I hate it when you don't say my proper name! It reminds me of all those fucking jokes the kids at school used to make up, you know about 'a-seam-ed' ('ashamed') and 'seam-ful' ('shameful')-"

"It's a fucking nick-name, Seamus, you never told me you didn't like it," Nathan said. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry about everything! I didn't mean to use you by making a pass at you like that. I just don't ever think before I do anything. You know that, you know how I am. It really doesn't excuse anything, I know. I'm just sorry for fucking your life up. Every single stupid thing I've done, I'm sorry! I shouldn't be your friend!"

His final words really struck me. "You haven't fucked my life up! It was just a stupid, misguided kiss. You're still my friend, Nate. I should be angry, and I am, but not angry enough to accuse you of something like fucking my life up, okay?"

"Okay," he said, dully. He looked dead miserable. "I hope this means we're not going to be all weird around each other now, 'cos I promise I'm not going to jump you or anything like that."

"No, it's fine." I gave a half smile. Maybe it was time to change the subject. I can be a bit avoidant like that. "Coach rang this morning to tell me that I'm allowed to come to practise and play the next game. It looks like all that shit with Liam will blow over."

"That's good," Nate replied. I think he was trying not to cry some more. "You know what we should do?"

"What?" I asked.

"Have a party. I bet I could bribe Greg with some kegs and a few bottles of vodka or whiskey into letting us use his room. He usually doesn't care as long as he gets free booze and he doesn't lose his security deposit from somebody trashing the place. I mean, your room's so small, his is a fucking third floor mansion."

"If you want." I was a little blasé about the entire affair, since I believed it was an excuse to drink; to Nate and most of my friends, every night was party night. That may be why I preferred to spend time with Neill and Jill. Though they drank quite heavily, they managed to keep up more interesting conversation than where the next beer was coming from and who gave the best head. I left Nate to arrange the party as I wasn't all that interested. I think he thought it was a way of making it up to me.

*

Neill returned from the shower, looking so hot that I wanted to drag all his office clothing off and fuck him silly, but of course I couldn't as he was already running late. Let me tell you something, he hated those clothes, hated his three-to-four-days-per-week nine-a.m.-til-five stint at that accounting firm. I don't exactly know what he did there, but it was something to do with typing and client databases and filing. He'd worked there for six months and his fingertips were already calloused. His eyesight had also deteriorated so much that he had to get glasses. I hardly ever saw him wearing them, since they annoyed the shit out of him.

I told Neill exactly what happened between me and Nate. He seemed happy enough on the surface with my explanation, though I caught some sort of anger or sadness flushing across his face before he hid those emotions. I let him borrow my car to go to work, since Liam had put his out of use.

*

The party was in full boom when we arrived. You could hear the bass and the catcalls from two floors down. I'm sure Greg or Nathan must have bribed some of the Hall staff into not fining them for noise pollution - in other words, they had paid the fines in advance. It's what they usually did. They didn't have to contend with Liam as their R.A.

Packed into Greg's large 'studio apartment room' were around fifty people. I'm not kidding when I say that. They had spilled out through the gigantic lounge with its two couches, widescreen television and huge sound system (paid for by Greg, not the Hall. I think he'd put the supplied furniture in storage since it wasn't up to his high standards. I'm certain that that was against Hall rules, but money can lubricate anything), out into the kitchen and dining area, the adjoining study and the large third floor balcony that was wide enough for a table and chairs. There was absolutely nowhere private, apart from Greg's bedroom, which looked to be both locked and barricaded.

I was terribly tempted to turn around and drag Neill back to our room. His appearance was driving me to distraction. I could see his virile package swelling out the coarse fabric of his jeans, leaving me in no doubt that his cock hung loose down his left trouser leg. His white shirt was made from a silky, synthetic fabric that skimmed perfectly over his muscled shoulders and chest without clinging too much. An open, mustard coloured jacket covered his back to the pockets of his jeans. While it was well-tailored to his form, being about thirty years old and thus secondhand, it smelt like an old man. Still it was very Neill – he always did look out-of-place in the trackpants and rugby jerseys I wore. His tanned skin was dark against his blonde hair and vivid blue eyes. A warm, knee-weakening smile that could light a room decorated the muscles his handsome face. All in all, the sight was breath-taking.

Neill knew I was nervous about seeing Nate and explaining to Jill exactly why I had gotten into a fight with Liam, but wouldn't let me get out of going to the party. Our gentle arguing was one of the reasons that we were late, that and the fact that we just had to have sex. Of course, Nate, Jill and a couple of other people had texted us to get our arses up stairs so it was a quickie. I didn't doubt that there'd be more later.

We strolled slowly inside, pushing our way through the people and getting a pile of 'howzits' and a few 'congrats' about being back on the team. I think most of those there had no idea why there was a party, just heard the music and turned up for free beer (the bill for which Greg and Nate would undoubtedly share with me later). I was glad of that; I hate to be the centre of attention.

"Hey, Greg!" I said. Greg was trying to persuade a blonde and her brunette friend to stop jumping on his couch. He had covered all his plush furniture with the painter's tarpaulins he kept hidden in his wardrobe for such occasions (he learned early that the scent of vomit lingers long after the chunks are gone). Greg was a tall, lanky guy with a Beatles' haircut. He was what they call a 'ginger' or more explicitly, 'a Daywalker', as his hair was a fiery, sun-streaked copper colour and his skin was pale yet unfreckled. He got some shit about his hair, but he gave as good as he got, and it really was part of his identity.

Greg gave me a harassed smile. Just as he was about to reply, a scream came from the kitchen, loud enough to penetrate through the heavy bass of the stereo. "Fuck!" he swore, and that was that. He went to investigate what was going on.

Now that I was closer, I recognised the blonde girl jumping on the couch. She had wavy peroxide treated hair, heavily smudged eye make-up, and a pale lilac smile drawn on with lipstick. Her top was low and glitzy, while her skirt was one of those short, pink pleated numbers. Killer gold heels, pointed at the toe and undoubtedly stabbing into Greg's furniture, shackled her feet. "Becky!" I said, with a grin I most definitely didn't feel. This was the girl that had draped herself all over me a few nights earlier. I'm not being cruel when I call her the Hall bike, trust me, everyone, including some of the girls, had had a ride. She was a walking STD.

Becky ignored me, launching herself from the couch so that her legs and arms were wrapped around Neill. I wanted to kill her. "Neill!" she trilled. "I never got a chance to congratulate your pool victory the other night!" Her stained lips were already buried in his neck.

I was pleased to see Neill push her off. "Thanks Becks, but I distinctly remember that you did give me a congratulatory kiss, so I guess we're even." He started to weave his way through the crowds, and before I could catch up with him, Becky had grabbed his wrist and wrestled him to an area where couples were dancing. The nameless brunette joined them, grinding herself against his firm buttocks, cradled in the well-worn denim of some retro flared jeans. He gave me one of those 'help me' looks and I thought I'd have to go and save him.

"Seamus!" a voice called as I set off on my Neill-rescuing mission.

I wheeled about to find Jill. Her dark hair was tied up in a high pony-tail, drawing attention to her perfectly formed cheekbones and kohl-lined blue eyes. A black singlet showed off the curves of her milky skinned breasts, while her skirt was one of those long, bohemian things. "Hey," I said.

"Hi," she replied. "I dropped in yesterday, but you were drugged out of your little skull and Nurse Neill wouldn't let me wake you up. He really cares about you, you know."

"I know." I glanced back at Neill, who now seemed to be in his element, his hands rippling up and down Becky's body. The 'help me' look was replaced by one of his lascivious smirks. He actually poked his tongue out at me. I inwardly fumed.

Jill followed my line of sight. "He's a big boy, he can look after himself," she hissed in my ear. "Come on, let's go get you a beer."

I reluctantly followed Jill into the kitchen, where Greg was helping an Asian girl to pick up the remains of a vodka bottle. Another girl had a nasty cut on her hand. Her boyfriend was going to take her to find the floor first aid kit. Jill grabbed a couple of beer bottles from the fridge and guided me through the dining area, where somebody had set up some kegs on the linoleum. The guys there were challenging each other to drink yard glasses; long, trumpet-shaped glasses with a bulbous bottom that held about two litres of beer. I saw one guy get completely drenched when the beer flowed out quicker than he could swallow. Nate was in that crowd and tried to pull Jill and I into it as well. He didn't seem too miffed when Jill said we'd go out on the balcony for a bit and come back later. By that stage, it looked and smelled like he had a few drinks under his belt.

Outside, we dragged a couple of chairs into a dark corner and stared out onto the night-lit campus. There were a few stoners and cigarette smokers in small groupings leaning against the railing. Their speech was nothing but quiet murmurs and a few laughs, a complete contrast to the raucous revelling inside. I noticed several couples making out, but didn't look too hard.

"If you don't mind my saying, you look like shit," Jill said matter-of-factly. She was right, of course. The pink-rimmed graze along the left side of my face had dried to the extent that it was tight and beginning to crack. Varying shades of bruising dappled the opposite cheekbone and the bony ridge above my eye, which was adorned by the taut, black butterflies of four sutures. I would have looked like shit whatever I wore, but Neill insisted I 'dress for the occasion', if only to make him happy. So I found myself in jeans and a pale green polo shirt.

"You don't say." I flicked the twist-top off my beer and took a long swig from the bottle.

"Nate and I heard you arguing with Neill last night," Jill told me. She didn't try to explain why Nate had been in her room. "I'm really glad that you were able to talk him out of going after Liam. I don't want to see him get himself in trouble. I'm glad that he cares about you enough to listen."

I got the impression that Jill knew something about our relationship, but I shrugged that off. Jill was always one to get to the crux of the matter without thought for fickle things like feelings. Not that she was malicious, just plainly spoken and down-to-earth. "I suppose so," I said, softly. "Though he's got every right to be angry with Liam."

It was too dark for me to ascertain what expression was on Jill's face. She spoke carefully, though her voice was a pitch sharper and sounded dangerous. If she were a dog, I would expect her hackles to be up. "What on earth do you mean by that?"

"What d'you think I mean?" I challenged.

Jill didn't say anything for a moment. It wasn't like her to hide things. "I know that Liam has managed to give you and Neill as much stick as he can this year and certainly that dirty trick he pulled to get Neill's car towed was a low blow. Whatever happened at your rugby practise should have brought to your attention that Liam is a sick fuck and he will use whatever he can to make other people's lives miserable. You and Neill need to keep out of his way because whatever you do in retaliation, he'll find something a hundred times worse to do in return. He won't think twice about it."

"What do you know that I don't? You keep on hinting at some deep, dark secret about Liam. Come on, out with it! Stop feeding me up on half-truths and little hints and tell the full truth, Jill."

"Stop being paranoid, Seamus," Jill replied. She took a deep swig of her beer and placed a firm hand on my knee. "There isn't a big secret, I've just been watching Liam lately and I know that trouble is brewing, alright?"

We chatted for a while longer, probably about an hour. Jill wanted to set me up with some girl she knew, but I talked her out of it. In the end, we wandered back inside and were immediately accosted by Nathan. He had never been one to hold his liquor particularly well. It had been embarrassing when I was at high school. Still, that didn't stop him binge drinking on numerous occasions until he either vomited or passed out. His blue t-shirt was soaked with so much beer that I could smell him from six feet away. The stained wet fabric clung to his chiselled chest. Somewhere along the way he'd chucked his pants and was now only in a pair of baggy Spongebob Squarepants boxer shorts. His feet were bare and ready to stand in spilled beer, spat out chewing gum, broken glass and whatever other disgusting things that had been dropped to the floor. When I glanced at his eyes, I saw that his lids were lowered more than usual and that they had that bleary 'out-of-it' look. "Where have you two beens?" he slurred.

Jill frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. I don't think she realised that action caused her breasts to bulge invitingly upwards. "I told you we were going outside for a drink."

"You should... have been back agesh ago," Nate said. He almost absentmindedly stroked a hand through her hair, or at least I'm sure that's what he intended to do. His hand was a little heavy and knocked a handful of silken locks across her porcelain-pale face.

She immediately backed off a bit. "I think you've had a bit much, Nathan. Where the hell are your pants?"

He shook his head, as if trying to shake the alcohol out of his mind. "Um, Kev took them. I losht a bet..." He swayed a little and groped at her breasts to steady himself. "I love your titsh, Jill, they're sho... perky."

"This is not a turn on," Jill snapped. She slapped his hands down. "You're out of it, I think you should sit down and stop slobbering on me."

Nate grabbed her a little more possessively this time, dragging her curvy frame against his. He lapped his drooling, pink tongue over Jill's flinching face. "Now that's shlobbering," he lisped. "Mmmm... you taste... like- like flowersh..."

"Don't Nathan!" Jill gasped, jamming her elbows into his chest. She easily broke his grasp and started to walk away.

"Oh come on, Jill, you loves it when I licks you- espec- espeshh- your cunt tastes so good... like flowersh!" His voice was loud and quite a few people had stopped dancing and were staring at them. And laughing

Jill turned with the ease of a ballerina. Of course, ballerinas never scream, "That was my face you just drooled all over, arsehole! Fuck you!"

He made an attempt to shamble after her, but I caught his arm before he could go very far. It almost knocked him off balance. "Let her go," I told him, firmly. "You're just gonna fuck up some more if you try to talk to her while you're this boozed."

"You!" Nathan accused, stabbing a finger at my face.

"Yeah, me. Seamus. Let's get you sitting down so you can sober up." Those were the same words I had continually told him through most of high school. He had seemed to calm down when he hit university, but lately he had shown up to rugby practise hung-over. I knew he drank heavily, yet I hadn't really paid much attention to him lately. That night was a bit of a wake-up call for everybody involved. "Someone get him some water!"

"You!" He repeated. "What the... were you doing to my- my Jill!"

"We were talking on the balcony," I said.

Nate's bloodshot eyes seem to flare, his eyelids flapping upwards. "No, you fucking weren't!"

"Yes, we were." I gazed steadily at him. It was impossible to argue with him when he was like that. I tried to placate him. "Drink this down, it'll-"

"No!" His large fist knocked the paper cup from my hand, sending water spilling on the carpet. "No! You're fucking poishoning me!"

"I'm not."

Before I knew it, he was on his feet, suddenly moving faster than I thought possible for someone that drunk. His arms floundered but they still packed a hard punch, knocking the air from my stomach. "YOU'RE GAY! YOU'RE A FUCKING FAGGOT QUEER!" For the second time in as many days I caught a fist with my face. "WHY THE FUCK YOU DOING TO JILLS? YOU SHED YOU WOULDN' CHEAT ON NEILL! WHAT YOU WANTSH WIV MY GIRL, FAG!"

I pushed him back, easily knocking him to the ground. I saw bewildered faces all around, staring at and mocking me, or so it seemed at the time. Someone had shut the music off. "I'M NOT GAY! YOU ARE DRUNK OUT OF YOUR BRAIN, NATE! JILL AND I WERE TALKING ON THE DECK! WE TOLD YOU WE WERE GOING TO BE OUT THERE! DON'T YOU DARE ACCUSE ME OF SHIT LIKE THAT! I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND!"

There was a loud burp, followed by that disgusting chunky cough that you hear when somebody loses their guts. I heard somebody, I think it was Greg, yell, "Not on the carpet! Someone get him outside!"

A few people tittered as the crowd parted to allow a couple of guys to drag Nate's now limp, groaning body out onto the balcony. I glanced around for Neill, but I couldn't see him. It's all a bit of a blur to me. "You too," Greg snapped. "Outside, you're bleeding on the carpet!" I found someone pushing me outside as well. My mouth was filled with the salty, sweetness of blood. Another split lip. 'Great,' I thought.

"Is it true?" a male voice asked, loudly.

"Of course, it's not true," Greg shouted. "Nate's just a drunk, crazy prick! Everyone knows that!" I owed him for standing up for my 'straightness' so quickly. It really was just as I thought. Nobody would really believe that I was gay, would they? And did it even matter? No. What mattered was that I had confided in someone I thought I could trust and they had not only broken that trust, but also our friendship.