Bent Backwards Ch. 09

Ch 9 Some Things Can't Be Contained

I raise my hand to knock on his door. My throat is bone dry and my belly is doing wild flip-flops. I step back a little as I hear footsteps approaching and the door swinging open. It's Ben.

"Oh, hey Ethan, how've you been? Haven't seen you for a while."

"Er, yeah, I'm good thanks." I stammer, trying to peer past him to see if Oliver's home.

"You looking for Ollie?"

"Yeah." I say, trying my best to sound nonchalant. Not at all sure that I'm successful.

"Ah, sorry, bud, he's out."

I must look disappointed, because Ben adds, "Give him a call, he was running some errands, I don't think he went far."

Fuck. I think desperately, I can't call him, I've tried.

"Sure," I say, turning to leave, "thanks."

My heart sinks as I head down his driveway. Now what? I consider finding a spot on the sidewalk, out of Ben's line of sight and just waiting there all day, until Oliver comes home.

That's what I'll do. I don't have a choice. I have to see him.

"Ethan," Ben calls after me, "you might want to try The Dive, Oliver said he might swing by there."

I give him a wave and a massive, idiotic grin spreads across my face. A grin, so broad, I couldn't wipe it off, even if I wanted to.

I head straight to The Dive, it's only a few blocks away. I walk faster and faster, my steps growing longer, until I'm running. He's there. I can feel it. I'm running as fast as I can. I'm running full pace, the cold February wind, whipping my face.

I realise my mistake as soon as I get to the bar. My heart is pounding and I'm panting. Chest heaving. I'm a complete mess. I stand outside the door for a minute or more, frantically trying to slow down my breathing, but I can't wait, so I push open the door and scan the room quickly. I see him immediately.

There he is.

There. He. Is.

He's wearing jeans and a grey sweater and is sitting, hunched over the bar, with his back to me. I'm not sure if he saw me, or not, but I notice his back and his neck tensing a little, as he looks down at his beer.

My heart constricts so tightly at the sight of him, that if I didn't know he was the cause, I'd almost certainly be thinking I need urgent medical attention.

I take a seat next to him. I raise my hand to the bartender, "I'll have what he's having."

I take a long, careful sip of my beer. I try to calm down, to center myself. I need to think clearly. That's something I've never been able to do when I'm near him, but now, I need to make sure I can find the right words. I have to.

"I, er, went by the house, B-Ben said you might be here." I stutter, sounding rather pathetic.

I look over at him. He's still eyeing his beer intently. His jaw is clenched tightly. Even so, he's so beautiful, it hurts me just looking at him. My head swims.

Say something. I think, but I come up with nothing. Seconds turn into minutes.

Oh, God, this is going poorly.

Do something. I think desperately. Do anything.

"So," he says, his voice sounding tight, "how's Liza? She doing oka..."

His voice trails off, as I spread my legs, pressing my knee firmly against his. The instant our bodies make contact, that same, inevitable charge rips through me. It's unreal. It hits me in the chest and quickly makes its way down my body. It burns me. Hard. He tenses visibly, raising his beer to his lips and draining it quickly.

He feels it too.

He gets up to leave and I follow suit, peeling off a few notes, paying his tab and mine. We leave the bar and head to the train. He takes a seat opposite me, even though there's a seat free, next to me. My heart is thundering in my chest. Beating wildly. He's not looking at me. He's purposefully avoiding eye contact.

Just look at me, Baby.

Please.

I'm so nervous, I feel a little nauseous. He's sitting wide legged, arms crossed, looking ahead. I'm not sure if he looks angry, or distant, or both, but he doesn't look like himself. Still, I can't take my eyes off him. Off his face, his neck, his chest.

Please, I think, just give me a sign, please, just give me one smile.

One good thing about him not looking at me, is that I'm free to look all I like. Seeing him again, cements something for me; none of this was in my mind. This is real. It's so real that the sight of him has rendered me speechless. Just sitting here, a few feet away, has me so hard, my dick hurts, as it strains against my jeans. It's so intense, I feel unwell.

I'm sick with desire.

We get to my place and he walks behind me up the stairs, I can feel him watching me, it's making me self-conscious. My hand is shaking so much, it takes two or three attempts for me to get the key into the keyhole.

"Oliver." I say, turning to him, as we get inside. He cuts me off though. His hands are on me. They are on me hard, pulling, pinching. Our mouths are on each other too. Kissing and biting. Both of us are breathless, gasping, mouths wide open. When our eyes meet, neither of us looks away. I'm filled with such intense longing, my eyes sting.

I've missed him so much.

"Oliver." I say again. I want to say that I'm sorry. I want to say something, anything, but I can't find the words. His body is so close, it's making it impossible to think. Instead, I lean in, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him towards me, inhaling deeply.

"Unng." I moan, arching back, as his scent hits me. It floods my senses, drowning out reason. Invading every part of my body.

I can't live without him.

He's pulling my jacket off, his too. He tugs at my shirt, his jaw is slack. He looks wild. I've never seen him like this. I'm trying to help him, to unbutton quickly, but I'm not going fast enough. He grabs my shirt in both hands and rips it open. Buttons go flying. I gasp in shock, but I don't stop, I tear off my shirt, as he pulls off his sweater and then his hands are back on me. Unbuckling my belt, pulling my fly down roughly. My head is spinning. Then, I'm spinning, as he grabs my arm and turns me around quickly.

I brace myself with my hands on the wall, as he unceremoniously yanks down my pants. The cool air hits my ass, but it's not cold for long. His warm hands are on me, kneading and squeezing. He lets out a low growl, so low, it sounds like it comes from his belly, or maybe, even a little bit lower.

He pauses for a second. I know what he needs,"Back pocket." I say.

He finds the condom and lube and uses them both quickly, slicking me up and then himself. He presses a finger inside me, and then a bit more. He doesn't take long. I'm glad, as I know I can't wait. Right now, waiting would kill me.

I bend my knees, spreading my legs as wide as I can, tilting my ass out. He spreads my cheeks with his hands and guides himself in.

I cry out from the quick shock.

Oh, God, he's big.

He slows for a second, pressing his cheek against the back of my head. I lean back into him, I want him so much, I crave any touch he can give me. I crave him completely. He doesn't stop for long though, almost immediately, as soon as he's in, he starts pounding. Pounding and pounding.

My God, it's intense.

I'm struggling to keep standing, my legs are shaking so much. I claw at the wall, trying to find something to grip. It hurts, but at the same time, the pleasure ripping through me, threatens to undo me. It isn't long, before I can't stand anymore. My legs give way, my knees caving in. He doesn't stop thrusting as he follows me down to the floor.

I'm on my hands and knees now, legs tangled in my jeans. He fucks me wildly, with mindless abandon, holding my hips, pulling me back to meet him as he slams his body into me. I take it and take it, until I can't take anymore. I reach forward and stroke myself quickly. The pleasure that hits me is so intense that when it lands, it blinds me. It feels never ending. I cry out, over and over.

He keeps fucking, not slowing, until his orgasm finally finds him. His body stiffens and arches back. He thrusts forward with each wave, until he's so deep, I see the moon and the stars.

When he finally pulls out, I drag myself to the wall, leaning back against it, as I reel from the shock of what just happened.

He sits down with a thud, leaning against the opposite wall, looking around numbly, as we both catch our breath. All too soon, he stands up, quickly doing up his fly and finding his sweater and dragging it on.

"I shouldn't have come here." He says, as he pulls his jacket on. "I've gotta get going."

What? No!

I jump to my feet, but I'm badly knotted in denim. I struggle to get my pants on, my boxers are bunched up and I can't seem to close my fly.

"Ollie, wait." I say, struggling with my zipper.

He looks at me in fury. "I need to get out of here."

"Oliver, wait." I say, blocking his way to the door, holding my arms open.

He freezes, his face hardening, nostrils flaring.

"Please, Ollie," I say, I can hear the desperation in my voice, "Please, just tell me what I can do to make you stay."

He looks at me incredulously. He almost looks like he might laugh, but he doesn't. He drags his hand across his forehead, pushing his hair back furiously.

When he speaks, his voice is low. Dangerously low. "You know exactly what I want." He hisses. "I want to know what this thing is," his mouth is tight and he's waving his hand wildly between us, "and, I want to know how the fuck it makes you feel."

He spits the last words out with terrible force. I swallow hard and start, "I don't know..."

He takes a deep breath in, trying to calm himself down. He looks tired.

"I, I don't know," I try again.

God, help me.

I can't find the words.

"I don't know what it's called," I add quickly, taking a big breath. Once the words start, they pour out of me, "I don't know what it's called when you walk into a bar and meet a guy, and your entire life gets turned on its ass."

I'm glad that I'm speaking, that's something at least. I only hope, I'm making sense. Never-the-less, I continue, "Everything you've ever wanted, everything you've ever known, turned up-side down in a second."

He's looking at me with an intensity that has mass. It's unnerving me more than I can say, "I-I don't know what it's called when you've always been straight, you've never questioned it once, but that guy at the bar?"

Can I do it? Can I say it?

"T-turns out," I stammer, "that guy is your soulmate."

His expression hasn't changed. I keep going quickly. The fear and emotion I'm feeling is threatening to overwhelm me. I can feel it rising deep inside me. It's rising fast.

"And how do I feel?" My voice is loud and booming, but I can feel it cracking. "How do I fucking feel?"

I look at him, thinking of the last words he said to me, when he walked out. "You know how I feel," I say, softer now, "You told me months ago."

Fear quivers inside me, but I'm bolstered by a single voice, strong voice.

Go for broke, it says, leave nothing unsaid.

Common Sense, The Dreamer and even My Dick, are speaking in unison. For the first time in my life, they're speaking as one.

The wave from before rises even more, it's so big and so strong, that I'm shaking, overflowing, hot tears escaping, as the words are snatched from my throat.

"I love you."

The sound has scarcely left my mouth, when he's on me, his chest and his face, his arms wrapping around me, crushing me against him. I can hear his heart pounding. Mine's pounding too.

I wind my fingers tightly in his sweater, desperately pulling him closer, as I sob, "I love you, so much."

I can't breathe, but I also can't stop the garbled words tumbling from my lips, "I'm sorry... I want you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you... I only want you. I'm sorry I let you go."

My chest is convulsing, tears are pouring freely down my face, as I look up at him at long last, and speak the truth, "I can't live without you."

His lips are on mine, barely touching, they're moving against me, "I love you, too." He says, into my mouth. I swallow his words. I kiss each one. I breathe them in.

This kiss is different. This is like a first kiss. Not just my first kiss, or his. This is like the first kiss that ever happened. It's slow and tentative. It's so gentle, we're hardly touching. His hands are on my neck, on my back, grazing me lightly. Mine are under his sweater, stroking his chest, tracing his jawline, combing his hair. This kiss has no beginning, and I know in my soul, I don't want it to have an ending.

We're in the bedroom, when I come up for air. I'm on my back, the weight of his body is on me. Holding me down. We are both naked. His body feels hot. Mine does too. Our touch is still ghosting and light. Light as a feather.

I see him reach for a condom, and I reach out to stop him, "No."

"Are you sure?"

I nod. I am sure. I want him and me, with nothing coming between us. Just us.

He enters me smoothly. I'm slippery and a little loose from before. There's no shock, or sting. Just pleasure. The feeling of him inside me, his skin against mine, is bliss. Just bliss. His body is pressed against mine. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer and closer. I want all of him inside me. I want to inhale him. He holds himself up a little, his fingers laced in mine. He's heavy and solid. Grounding me. Making me his, as our bodies roll together.

I've always hated the phrase 'making love'. I find it cringey. It's not for me. So, I won't use it now, but I can only say, that right now, Oliver and I are making something. Something strong. Something beautiful. Something so sweet, I want to cry.

My eyes are on his, and his are on mine. His eyes are soft. Warm blue. The warmest blue, I've ever seen. I'm lost in his eyes. They're telling me his secrets and I don't mind at all, if mine are doing exactly the same thing.

This thing that we're making is growing, gaining power. It's quickening. The room is vibrating. Both of us are moaning and shaking. It strikes us at the precisely same second. It's lightning. Electric. We both jolt and shudder from the stunning power of the strike.

He stays inside me, kissing me softly, until he softens. As soon as he pulls out, I miss him. I miss him already. He's still here though. Lying right beside me, his head on my shoulder, his arm round my waist.

Neither of us move for a long time. We don't speak either. We don't need to. I can't bear to leave him, but I know I must. It has to be done, and now is the time.

"I have to go and see Liza."

He blinks and nods against my chest.

*

As soon Liza opens the door, I can see that she knows that something is wrong. I can see that she knows what's coming. She steps aside, letting me in, but something about her demeanor holds me at arm's length. I don't hug or kiss her, I can tell, she doesn't want me to.

We take a seat on the sofa. She doesn't make small talk. That's not her style. She waits for me to speak. When I do, I speak quickly. I know without a shadow of a doubt that this is the right thing, but it's still not an easy thing to do. I tell her I can't give her the life that she wants, the life she deserves.

She doesn't look away. She purses her lips slowly, before nodding a little.

"Well," she says at last, "thank you for not wasting more of my time."

I get up to leave, turning and starting to walk to the door, when she calls out, "Ethan, just tell me one thing." I turn to face her. "Is it Oliver?"

I don't skip a beat. I've lied to her so many times, but this time I can't. I can't lie about him. Never again. Not to her, not to him, and not to myself.

"Yes." I say quickly.

Her jaw clenches slightly and she presses her mouth shut for a moment.

"Since when?" She asks, after a long pause.

I don't want to hurt her, but I owe her the truth. After everything I've done to her, I owe her that much, at least.

"Something happened the first time he came over." Her eyebrows shoot up a little.

"How long have you known?" I ask her.

She sighs deeply. "I'm not sure I did now, until just now. Not consciously at least." Her voice trails off a little, before she adds, "There was something about the way you used to say his name. Like, you had to move your tongue very carefully to form the word. For the last few months, you haven't said his name at all. Not even once."

I nod wordlessly, acknowledging her instincts.

"Do you love him?"

My eyes burn and I take a few shallow breaths.

"Very much." I say with a quivering voice. "I'm so sorry Liza. You don't deserve this. I've been a mess. I've been the worst kind of asshole. I've been so confused. I haven't known who I am."

"And now," she says, accusing slightly, "do you know who you are now?"

I blink hard, tears overflowing, spilling down my cheeks, as I nod.

"So, who are you, Ethan?"

I gasp from the pain, knowing I'm hurting her, and knowing I can't lie. My throat burns and my breath is coming in great, uneven gulps. When I'm finally able to speak, I sob.

"I'm Oliver's man."

She leans back in the sofa, resting her head for a while, before looking straight at me.

"I can already tell that I'm going to be angry," she says, "Furious, probably. I can already feel it coming, but right now, I want you to know that I love you, Ethan."

She pauses, giving me time to absorb what she's saying, making my chest ache, "Maybe, I love you more than I thought, because I want you to be happy. I want you to be happy, even if that means not being with me."

Tears aren't just flowing down my face now. I'm sobbing, truly, ugly-crying.

"I'm so sorry Liza. Please believe me when I say, this wasn't your fault. You did nothing wrong. You are a wonderful person. One of the best that I know. One of the best people, I'll ever know. Any man would be lucky to have you."

She cocks her head a little, looking up at me, smiling thinly as she says, "I know."

I smile through my tears. There she is. That's Liza. That's the metal she's made of.

She stands and walks to the door, holding it open, giving me my invitation to leave. I reach for her, wanting to hug her, wanting to beg for her forgiveness, but she stops me. She levels me with nothing more than the look in her eyes.

She straightens herself, pulling her shoulders back ever so slightly, her head high, as she holds her hand out to me. I nod, and I try to match the way she's looking at me.

This is good-bye.

I put my hand out and shake hers. Her grip is firm. Solid. As our hands touch, I know, Liza's all woman, but she's a better man than I'll ever be.

*

I wipe my eyes on the back of my sleeve, as I leave her place, walking faster as I get to the sidewalk. Relief washes over me. I took every wrong turn getting here, but at last, I've done the right thing. This time, I know, I've done the right thing. I've done the right thing for Liza, for Oliver and for me. I can't imagine a time, I'll ever feel anything but deep regret about the way that I betrayed Liza, but I also know, she deserves better. She doesn't deserve a lifetime with me. She deserves to be loved fully. She deserves to be loved, the way that I've only ever loved Oliver.

As I walk to the station, I feel broken, cracked open and sore, but I feel lighter. I feel as though a heavy, invisible cloak has slipped from my shoulders. A cloak that was weighing me down. A cloak that was densely woven in guilt and in shame.

There's only one thing on my mind now -- I want to go home.