Rory and Sebastian Ch. 07

'We'll be late for dinner,' I said, tonelessly. 'I'll drive. I don't feel like drinking.'

*

The whole way over in the car and in the restaurant, Rory kept up a virtuoso performance that everything was fine. He was on spectacular form. He charmed the waitress with just the right amount of friendly interaction. He discussed, at length, a book I'd read on the Spanish Inquisition and different theories about Spanish history. Something which I knew he didn't have a huge amount of interest in. He skirted on to talk briefly about the recession and then the performance of the school soccer team. He discussed his father's plans to buy a holiday home in the Midlands. Or maybe southern Ireland. They hadn't decided yet. Ireland would be prettier, maybe; Midlands, much more convenient. He had no set preference. He told me why Claudia and Caroline both regretted picking Geography at the start of the semester. Term, whatever. And he cleverly avoided asking too many questions or inserting too many propositions into his conversations. If he'd done that and I'd failed to respond properly because of my mood, then it would have drawn attention to the fact that something was wrong. He deployed anecdote after anecdote that was clever, funny or insightful. Only up close I could see the slight tension around his mouth and in his eyes. He knew it wasn't working. He could feel it. And in the ride home in the car, he finally admitted it – silently.

It was a ten minute ride back to his house and his voice was annoying me. I was running it all over in my head and I was pissed because I knew he must have told Robbie about it before me; then emotionally blackmailed or bullied Robbie, who was more of a psychopath than I was, not to go anywhere near Joshua or tell me about it. They were close enough that if Rory pulled out the best friend card, Robbie would feel honor-bound to accept the request. I was pissed that he was also refusing to acknowledge, in any way, what Joshua had said to him. As we drove, Rory made a few uninteresting and cursory observations about the bad weather and when we got to his house, he unclicked his seatbelt and turned to look at me. I leant in and pecked him on the lips. I'd never kissed him goodbye like that before. I was still at that stage where I couldn't get enough of him. Don't know if I ever totally left that stage, but whatever. Anyway! That night, after the peck, he nodded and opened his mouth, sadly, to say something. Then he thought better of it and stepped out of the car. I smacked the steering wheel and drove home. That night, I texted him and asked him to come over tomorrow. Even through my psychosis, I knew that I was going to do what I'd wanted Rory to do in the first place; talk to my boyfriend first. But no matter what Rory said or did, once I'd paid him that courtesy, I was going to Joshua. That was a promise.

*

That afternoon, which is how I started this story-memory, Rory had evidently decided that his strategy was to be calm. No matter what I said or did, he was going to stay calm. Preternaturally and unflappably calm. And he managed it; I mean, he was practically serene. So elegantly graceful, with a kind of melancholy body language that gave off the unmistakable impression that he was unhappy for my sake, rather than his own. That this was somehow my tragedy, my humiliation, my heartache, rather than his.

Maybe it was.

After he'd left, after he'd walked out into the rain, I went to my garage and worked out for an hour. I pushed myself, hard. Trying to forget what this would have done to Rory. But the thought of it didn't leave for too long; it came back, blaringly, in the shower afterwards. I dried myself off, pulled on my boxers, light blue jeans, a white vest and grey zip-up hoody. I looked at myself in the mirror and then down at my phone. There was a text. A bullshit text from my friend Daniel about a clip of something hilarious on YouTube. Fuck this - I'm talking to him.

'Mom, I'm going over to Rory's.'

'Alright, sweetheart,' she called from the kitchen, 'drive safely!'

I went out into the rain and drove over to the Mastertons'. It was a November night's darkness. And an English November night's rain. I made some small talk with Rory's mom when I arrived, before walking up to his room, where Rory was working on his homework. Rory's dad would have called Rory down to meet me in their study or something; but his mom was cool. She let me go upstairs. I liked his mom.

I opened Rory's door without knocking. He was sitting at the desk where I'd seen the Facebook messages the night before. He was wearing a navy blue t-shirt and patterned pajama bottoms. He turned from his books when I came in and looked momentarily surprised. 'Hey,' he said. There was an incipient question in that 'hey' - what's the purpose for this visit, are you still mad, have you come to break up with me?

I simply jerked my head towards me. Rory knew what it meant from experience and he got up, walking over to me. I took him in my arms and pressed him close to me. Holding him tight and burying my face on his shoulder. I felt my chin wobble and then the angry tears pour out of my eyes, down my face and onto his shoulder. I felt him feel them, when his arms around me shuddered with temporary shock and uncertainty; then they tightened, hard. He loved me.

'Oh, Sebastian, don't,' he pleaded, quietly. 'Please don't.'

The only sound I made was a guttural, childish sob. I don't think I'd realized how much this had gotten to me until right then. It physically hurt and I was squeezing him so hard, I'm sure I was hurting him. 'This is what I was afraid of,' he explained into my chest. He pulled his head off it and looked at me, running his hands through my hair. 'Sebastian, please. Sebastian.'

I lifted my head from his shoulder and placed it against his cheek. 'I'm so sorry,' I whispered. He nuzzled his cheek into mine and smiled.

'It's okay,' he said, lovingly. 'It's okay. Look at me. Look. I'm fine.'

'You're not, though. And you shouldn't be. This is my fault. You should have told me and I should have known he'd do something like this.'

'Sebastian – I didn't tell you because I was embarrassed...'

'You shouldn't be!'

'I know, I know. But, please listen. I don't want you going into school and beating the shit out of him.' I looked away; the thought had definitely crossed my mind. 'Sebastian, I love you and I love how much you're prepared to do for me and how much you care. But, realistically, how much longer can I expect you to find me interesting if all I ever do is cry to you about how fat I am?'

'Rory: shut up. Do you realize how shit it makes me feel when you say that? That I'll dump you the second I find you boring? Do you think that little of me? I'm not fucking afraid of crying in front of you, don't you EVER feel the same about me, okay?'

A few residual tears were batted down my face when I blinked. I went over to the seat next to the coffee table and pulled him down onto my lap, so that he was sitting on my knee. It was a little awkward, because he was tall, but I liked having him this close to me.

'You have to trust me,' I lectured him. 'You have to come to me with things like this. You have let me be a part of this. Because Joshua Peterly came to you because of me, so I had a right to know. And it's you, Rory. It's to do with you, so I have a right to know about that too. And if that makes me sound possessive, then that's fine: I am, Rory.' I kissed his neck and he smiled, shyly. 'Got it?'

He nodded. 'Just don't kill him.'

'Fine. But I'm fucking talking to him, though,' I declared. 'And don't ever do something like this again, okay?'

*

I found Joshua before registration the next morning. He was standing at his locker with Natalie or Suzanne. Whichever one of them it was. I couldn't tell the difference and I really didn't give a fuck. She squealed slightly, as I slammed Josh up against the lockers. I slammed him again, to emphasize the coming point. 'I used to feel sorry for you,' I said, low and dangerously. 'I used to think I was the world's biggest dickhead for how I'd treated you. But now, I don't feel bad at all. I wish I'd treated you worse. Come near Rory again, contact him again, talk to him, look at him, photograph him, make fun of him or upset in any way and I promise, you'll be picking up your teeth with your broken fingers. This is not a threat, you little shit; it's a fucking guarantee. I love him. I wake up and I think of him. I go to sleep and I think of him. And no, I haven't fucked him yet. But waiting to have sex with him is worth more than every moment I ever spent inside you. And there is nothing in my life I regret more than ever having heard your name, you nasty, vicious, spiteful, evil, vindictive little prick. The idea that I slept with you makes me fucking nauseous. I would do anything for Rory. Fucking test me.' I let go of him and turned to Natalie. I think. 'I never liked your friend and I still fucking don't. And if you had anything to do with those texts and pictures, you should be fucking ashamed of yourself.'

*

Rory turned to me as we walked out of school that afternoon. 'Word on the street is that you threatened to kill him.'

'What do you mean by word on the street?' I asked with a smirk.

'Claudia,' Rory answered swiftly. I laughed.

'I don't know if I necessarily threatened death...'

'At least not explicitly?' Rory guessed.

'Right. Which you didn't prohibit. But severe bodily harm was explicitly threatened, so I guess maybe potential death was implicit? I dunno. I'm no wordsmith.'

'Well, that's lie,' Rory smiled. 'Thank you. That's really nice of you. Psychotic, of course, but nice, nonetheless.'

I took his hand; fuck who saw. 'And you were worried about it! So are we going to come to me next time there's a problem, rather than make me feel shit about myself because I couldn't help? This is what people do when they're in love, Rory.'

'I know.'

There was a pause. It was freezing today.

I was feeling buoyant. 'I mean, I reckon, this earns me at least a sloppy blow-job. Am I right?'

'I don't really like giving blow-jobs,' he demurred.

'Now who's lying?' I teased. 'Pick you up for a drive later?'

He glanced at me and a flirtatious look came into his eyes. He smiled. 'Sure.'

'See you at eight, then,' I grinned. 'I'll be finishing in your mouth,' I whispered.

'Don't you always?'

'I love you, Rory.' I shrugged my shoulders and laughed. 'What? I really fucking do.'