Rising Sap Ch. 06

My eyes roll, my body betraying me, always melting so quickly into Scotty's touch. With just the most playful grope, he can render me defenseless, bend me to his will. It both thrills and terrifies me. Am I really this weak?

Scotty leans in and kisses my neck, and I completely give in. Grabbing his hair, I pull him back just enough to plant my lips on his. He knows exactly the type of kisses I want right now: lewd, wet, sloppy, and tongue-filled. He matches my passion, gripping my cock eagerly over the fabric of my underwear. I in turn reach down and grab his ass. I squeeze one cheek through his jeans, eliciting those delicious moans of his. God, I fucking love you, Scotty. I love the way you tease me, the way you're grinding against my thigh, the way your innocent face is a complete ruse. I love the passion you stir up in me, the sort of passion I wanted to have towards a career, a family, a lifestyle. All of that was being reserved for you.

Then, a small, apologetic voice: "Um, excuse me."

We both jump, separating, my heart going from 100 to 1,000 within a split second. We got caught. I was careless, and we got caught.

I'm relieved to see it's just two women I don't recognize trying to get into their car. We're blocking the passenger side. "Sorry," I mutter, pulling Scotty's hand out of my pants and stepping aside. God, I'm so fucking embarrassed. What are they thinking? Probably something along the lines of "Why is this perv kissing this boy? Is the blond even legal?"

But it's fine -- at least, that's what I tell myself. They'll get into their car and drive away, probably giggling about it or otherwise expressing disgust. The point is, they'll move on. We'll all move on.

But... "Scott?" the other woman says over the top of her vehicle as her friend gets into the passenger side. "Is that you?"

When I look over, I squint a bit, trying to discern her in this dim lighting. I figured I would have recognized a blow-out like that, but her plain features don't bring anything to memory. Scotty, however, gasps a little. "Um... Hi, Ariella," he says.

Ariella? Why does that name sound familiar?

"So good to see you, hun!" she says before her face shifts. She looks like she's not sure what to make of the situation but wants to be polite anyway. "What are you doing?"

"We're just heading out," Scotty says, clearly trying to compose himself. "I have a couple of finals tomorrow."

"Oh, how exciting," she says, smiling widely -- and then, again, that I'm-confused-but-want-to-be-polite face takes over. "And you're... okay?" she asks. I notice her eyes flicker towards me when she asks that.

"Yes, absolutely," Scotty says, nodding. He's normally cool and collected, but even I think he's overselling it right now.

She forces a smile, and for several excruciating seconds, there's an awkward silence. Part of me just wants God to strike me down, right here, right now. Finally, though, this Ariella woman clears her throat and nods. "Well, I'll..." She pauses and then simply says "Have a good night, darling" before stepping into her car.

"You, too," Scotty says, giving her a half-assed wave. We stand there and watch as she backs out of the parking space and then zooms off into the night. "Fuck," Scotty whispers.

"Who was that?" I ask, unable to shake this foreboding feeling.

Scotty peers up at me apologetically. "One of mom's friends."

Fuck. Fucking shit. "Do you-- Do you think she'll say anything?" I ask, feeling impossibly antsy all of a sudden.

"I don't know," Scotty says, but he looks panicked, which only stresses me out more. I'm the one who panics, not him. Fuck, what were we thinking? We know so many people here. Part of me resents Scotty for taking advantage of me like he did -- but is that fair of me to feel?

I remain on edge for the rest of the night. Neither of us really speak as we drive back home, save for Scotty trying to assure himself with phrases like "It's fine" and "We'll be okay." Both of us can feel it, though: that looming sense of the inevitable. It makes me want to drive faster, get home quicker, as if my house will provide the necessary refuge.

Then, just when we're close, Scotty's phone rings. Both of us look at each other before he even turns his phone over to check who's calling -- but we know. It's his dad. Scotty ignores it at first, sending his father to his voicemail, thinking he can wait this out a bit longer. Unfortunately, Eric keeps calling and calling.

Bracing himself, Scotty sighs and answers the fourth call. "Dad--"

"What the *fuck*--?!" is all I hear. Eric is roaring, lion-esque, enraged. All I can hear is his tone, his volume, and his fury rather than the actual words. I feel like I'm going to be sick.

"Dad, I--" Scotty says, continually trying to cut in.

"Is it true?!" I hear Eric ask.

"Dad, just let me explai--"

"I don't want--" Eric starts to say, but I can't hear the rest, especially now that my heart is thudding in my ears and drowning almost everything else out. I just hear Scotty throw in some words like "But Dad!" and "It's not a big deal" and "Stop yelling at me," always sounding on the verge of tears. I might actually have to pull over. I'm so close to throwing up.

Eventually, the call ends with a defeated "Okay" from Scotty. He hangs up, looking deflated. "Fuck," he whispers, sniffling and wiping his eyes. I can't bring myself to ask what Eric said specifically. Scotty just gives me a glimpse of the obvious. "He's not happy," he says.

I don't know what to say at this point. It's over. The jig is up. We were caught, and now my relationship with Eric is over. My hands are twitching.

Scotty starts rationalizing. "We'll just... camp out at home for winter break," he says. "It'll be okay. It'll blow over. He just needs time. And we can come up with some excuse. Tell him I came onto you or something. That's keep you in the clear, right?"

Part of me appreciates that he'd take the fall like that, but does he not know his own father? Things don't "blow over" with Eric. He nurtures grudges like his own offspring. No, this won't blow over.

"We're fucked," I murmur. "*I'm* fucked."

"You're not," Scotty says.

"He's never going to speak to me again."

"You don't know that," he says, almost sounding pleading.

"Yes I do," I inform him, gripping the steering wheel tightly. We're almost home. I feel a good cry coming on, but I want to wait until I'm in bed. At least give me that.

Scotty puts his hand on my thigh and says, "Well, I'll still be here."

And, I crack. It's not a firm break just yet. The dam isn't completely compromised. But God, the tears start flowing, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to keep any sobs at bay. Goddamn it, Scotty. Godfuckingdamn it.

"Uncle Ant?" he asks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him peering at me, but I don't turn my head. I can't look at him right now. My mind is reeling. This is too much. It's too painful. I was stupid in thinking that I could keep this up without setting boundaries. I was stupid for letting my adoration for this boy cloud my better judgement. Maybe I was stupid for not telling him how I really feel sooner. All this time, and we've just been playing house. I've been dishonest with him, with Eric and Yasmine, and with myself, and only now am I realizing how deeply it has affected me. Only now has that odd sense of loneliness swelled so massively it feels like it's pushing my organs to the side. Only now am I reconciling with the fact that I'm probably not as good of a guy as I've been telling myself that I am. I feel like a scumbag, a creep. Even though I haven't actively preyed on Scotty, part of me knows I should have stopped it -- but I simply did not want to. I somehow convinced myself that I could just be with Scotty without him knowing, but how is that fair, to either of us? It has to stop.

"I can't do this anymore, Scotty," I say -- and I notice the words just come out of me before I'm even cognizant of them.

"Do what?"

"This," I repeat before adding clarification. "Us. Pretending."

I stay completely focused on the road, but I can feel Scotty eyeing me. "Pretending?"

I inhale and exhale shakily, feeling something bubbling up inside of me. Somehow, right now, my body is deciding that this is it. This is the time to confess.

"I'm in love with you," I say -- and as soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel... relieved. I had expected increased nerves, dread, even nausea, but not this. The release of that weight feels so cathartic that I actually start crying. I feel the tears streaming even more profusely. I have to wipe my eyes so I can still see the road.

I don't know what Scotty's face is telling me, but I hear him gasp. "W-what?"

"I'm in love with you, Scotty," I say again -- and even though my voice is wavering, it feels easier the second time. No more hiding. No more pretending. There's no point to that anymore. "I have been for a long time."

At first, the silence is so heavy that I find it a little difficult to breathe. Then, Scotty tries to respond but keeps coming up short. "I-- I..."

What would be the right thing for *me* to say? That I can't expect him to feel the same way? That he's so young and shouldn't waste his time on me? That I just needed to get this off my chest now that the jig is up?

Seems Scotty can't find the right words either. "I don't know what to say," he says in a small voice.

"That's okay," I say, almost preferring this. How would I have reacted if he flat-out rejected me, or if he looked disgusted, or if he fought his damndest to let me down easy? For now, rather selfishly, I just want to leave it at that. I just needed to get it out there now that things are... what? Fucked up? Messy? Difficult? Unfixable? No word sounds right.

However, we spend the rest of the car ride in suffocating silence. When we finally do get home, Scotty quickly exits the car with his giant panda bear, and so I hang back and take my time, grateful for a moment alone -- until I realize that Scotty's locked out. I have the keys. Sighing heavily, I make my own little walk of shame towards him so I can let us both inside. Toeing around each other, we both shuffle to our respective rooms and shut our doors. I turn on the stereo in my bedroom and play random music just so Scotty can't hear me crying.

~ ~ ~

The rest of the week goes by with little to no contact between us. Scotty stays out of the house for the most part, and after his finals, he heads home to visit his parents (probably at the behest of his father). All I get is atext.

I float through my days with a piercing ache in my chest, unsure what to do. All I can think about is Scotty. Scotty's sweet voice. Scotty's adorable ears. Scotty's radiant smile. The way he fits so perfectly into my arms. The way he challenges me. The way he makes me calm and crazy at the same time. Not having him around anymore feels like I've lost a piece of myself, a piece I hadn't realized was essential for me to function. I shuffle from room to room aimlessly. Art brings me no joy. Nature brings me no comfort. I can't focus. I barely eat. I miss him.

The only bit of solace I've had is from Yasmine's call. I haven't faced Eric yet, but Yasmine reached out to let me know that there are no hard feelings on her end. She actually regretted answering her friend's phone call while Eric was in the vicinity, but it's not her fault. She couldn't have known. Still, as kind as she was, she advised me to keep my space. Eric "isn't in a good place," she said, mentioning that Eric has been using the word "betrayal" quite often. I felt a little soothed by her going out of her way to tell me she was okay, but the confusion and regrets still weigh heavily on my mind.

What should I have done differently? Should I have never told Scotty and simply bore this secret? Should I have established boundaries from the get-go and never given into temptation? Should I have been firmer in my stance to not live with Scotty? Have I really just been pretending that I haven't been selfish this entire time, as if I've purely been acting in Scotty's best interest? I suppose I needed to tell myself that. If I really loved him, I wouldn't have let things get to this point, right?

But what would have been the best course of action? With everything in limbo, and I've never felt so scared. I often think back to that moment in the car, where Scotty placed his hand so tenderly on my thigh and assured me he'd be here for me. Have I lost him forever? The questions keep coming, and the answers don't seem within reach.

Late Saturday morning, I pull myself out of bed, unkempt and unshowered, a reflection of how I feel inside. I shuffle into the kitchen, desperately parched. I haven't been taking much care of myself the past week. What's the use? In all my years of growing up gay in a conservative town, of having unfulfilling flings, of lovers being far and few between, I have never felt so unloveable. What's the point anymore?

I grab myself a glass of water, almost dizzy from dehydration. I hold myself up in front of the sink as I chug it down, panting in between sips. Then, my eye catches something on the counter: a display. There's a Tupperware of something, with a card situated on top.

Suddenly, I remember that it's my birthday.

Hesitantly, I take the card, feeling an odd pang in my chest. Scotty always gets me the corniest birthday cards, but only because he knows I particularly enjoy them. There's something charming about the silliness that always makes me laugh. For the first time in days, I feel myself smiling because of a comic of an old man in his casket with a cone-shaped party hat on. The caption says, "I forgot... Is it your birthday or your funeral?"

When I open the card, it reads, "Get it? Because you're old." I can't help but laugh at the stupid card. Something about it almost makes me tear up -- especially when I see Scotty's handwritten piece. Underneath the printed caption, he wrote "Happy birthday, old man" with a little heart next to it.

Clipped to the card is a coupon of some sort. Upon investigation, I realize it's for a professional Swedish massage -- two, in fact. They're both scheduled for today and have received "the couple's massage" discount. Scotty did mention on his birthday that he was getting me a massage, but what's this "couple's massage" thing about?

Unsure what to make of that, I glance down at the Tupperware and see that it's full of Scotty's cupcakes, the same ones he makes for me every birthday. He knows I'm a sucker for them. Carefully, I open the container and am immediately hit with the mouth-watering scent of chocolate.

When did he make these? Is he here? Did he come home to me? I glance out into the driveway, and sure enough, there's his car.

My heart starts to race. Carrying the card in one hand and the cupcakes in the other, I head back down the hallway to check Scotty's room. I knock lightly on the ajar door before poking my head inside. He's not in bed, but it looks slept-in.

"Scotty?" I call out quietly. No answer.

I shuffle back towards the kitchen when I notice something else: two knees poking over the back of the couch. I suddenly feel nervous to see him. Is he upset, anxious, excited, fearful? He must be fine if he got me this card and made me cupcakes, but that could just be for the sake of tradition.

When I get to the couch, Scotty, who is lying on his back on the couch and has earbuds in, finally notices me. His eyes go wide in surprise before he pulls his headphones out and sits up. Scotty looks his normal, beautiful self, albeit clearly nervous. He's in his sleep clothes, rocking cozy pajama pants and a sweater to keep himself warm. It's one of my old sweaters, in fact.

I guess he was on the couch this whole time, listening to music. He pockets the earbuds, looking me up and down -- and now I feel embarrassed. I haven't looked in a mirror in days. Do I look crazy? Disgusting? All I'm wearing are drawstring pants, so suddenly, I feel ashamed of my body in ways I've never felt before.

"You're here," I say, pointing out the obvious.

"Yeah," he says, laughing slightly.

"When did you get here?" I ask.

"Last night," he says. "Had to get away from Dad. He was being crazy this whole week, so I just told him I was gonna stay with a friend."

I gulp. "But you came here."

He looks down, playing with the hem of his sweater, not responding to my statement. Instead, when he looks up, he gestures towards the items in my hand. "You got the cupcakes."

"Yeah, thank you," I say, earnest and appreciative. Then, I hold up the card with the gift certificate attached to it. "And this?"

"Yeah, I got that weeks ago," he says. "I figured you could use a massage, but I wanted one, too, so..."

I open the card again and read the coupon. "'Couple's massage'?"

He winces. "Yeah, it... sounded more playful before," he says, looking embarrassed.

Something about his nerves makes me feel less nervous. I don't know why, either. "You already paid for this?" I ask.

"Yes," he says.

"Must have been expensive," I comment. Massages aren't exactly cheap.

He just shrugs. "A little." Then, he meets my gaze. "You should still go, at least. You deserve it."

I glance down at the coupons. The appointment is just in a few hours. I can't exactly say no, so I clear my throat. "If I go, you should still come."

"Are you sure?" he asks.

I know that face. He's worried about overstepping, now. "I'm sure," I say with a nod. It would be a waste to not get his money's worth.

He gives me a tiny little smile. "Okay."

I stare at him for a moment before clearing my throat. "I'm... I'll go shower and get ready," I say. When Scotty nods and confirms that he'll do the same, I start to turn, eager to feel renewed.

"I'm sorry," he says, stopping me in my tracks.

I look back at him. "Sorry for what?"

"Getting in between you and Dad," he says, "and... just... I'm sorry."

He looks sincerely upset, almost like he can't bear looking at me. I don't know what to say, so when I don't respond, he just tells me he'll get dressed too before stepping around the couch, heading down the hallway, and shutting his door.

~ ~ ~

The car ride is terribly awkward at first. Scotty drives us in his car, and even with the radio on, I feel this silence taking shape between us. What is there to do or say?

Scotty speaks up first. "How are you... How are you doing?"

How am I doing? What a loaded question. "I'm okay," I murmur. "You?"

Scotty just smiles patiently. "I'll be honest if you be honest." I feel my eyebrows raise, and he glances at me, urging me with a look. "How are you really?"

"I'm..." I swallow thickly. I hadn't anticipated having this conversation today, but here we are. Guess I should be honest. "I'm not doing so hot."

"I'm sorry," Scotty says after a moment.

"You already apologized," I remind him.

"But it's my fault, right?"

I shake my head. "It's *my* fault."

"But I shouldn't have left like that," he says, sounding sincerely apologetic. "I should have stayed, and we should have talked it out, but I... And I kept wanting to reach out to check in on you but I just didn't kn--... I didn't know what to say."

My mouth feels dry and sticky all of a sudden. "I don't expect you to know what to do."

"I kind of wish you did," he says. "You're so soft sometimes." He must sense the way I'm taken aback by his tone because he quickly explains. "I don't mean that in a bad way. I love that about you," he says -- and he even reaches over as if he wants to grab my thigh reassuringly, but he stops himself, letting his hand return to the wheel. "But sometimes I wish you weren't so easy on me. You could've... I don't know... slapped some sense into me or something. Grabbed me and made me listen. Got aggressive."