Date: Sat, 17 Jul 2004 18:40:57 -0400
From: rick lemmon <blue_steele82@hotmail.com>
Subject: matt, part 2

     Right, so, sorry this is way short, but next one will
be longer. Oh ya, and James, I furthermore apologize if this
part is too angsty for you. And on top of that, the usual
clauses about this is complete fiction and don't read this
if you shouldn't. If you enjoy this, please feel free to e-
mail me at blue_steele82@hotmail.com.  Thanks.
Oh, ps - someone e-mailed me and I fucked up and erased it,
so if that person is you and you don't get a response,
sorry.
_____________________________
          "I'm kind of tired," I say.  "Do you want to sleep
here?"  I hope he says yes.
     He just nods his consent and follows me to my bedroom.
I begin to pull back my sheets, and he says "actually, I'm
just gonna go out for a smoke.  I'll come back in a few
minutes."
     I fall asleep almost immediately, alone.
          I wake up in his arms, however.  It just
feels right, having been held by him all night. This is
what's been missing in my life.  Even though I know it's
inevitable that shit's going to be doing some massive fan
hitting soon between us one way or another, things just seem
uncomplicated right now.  Like if we were to stay in this
bed in this spot forever, everything would be fine.
           I lay awake just being held by him for
almost half an hour.  I'm debating trying to unfold myself
from him and slipping out to make him some breakfast in bed,
but I just feel so good pressed up against him.
     He is beginning to stir.  He hugs me closer to himself
and a soft, happy moaning sound escapes from his lips.  He
begins to nuzzle his face into the nape of my neck.  Oh my
God, I'm in heaven.
     "Morning," I say sleepily, and I begin to rub his arm.
He doesn't say anything.  Instead, he withdraws his arms
from me and gets out of bed.
     "Uhh. where's the bathroom?" he asks quietly.  He makes
his way out of my room after I point him in the right
direction.  I slip out too, finally able to slink into the
kitchen and begin breakfast.  I'm not really a very good
cook, but I make the world's best fucking bacon and some
damn fine scrambled eggs, so cooking breakfast is something
that I can do pretty well.  I've got the bacon sizzling when
he finally comes into the kitchen, fully clothed.
     "Hey," I say, and I look at him and smile.
He looks moderately troubled, and his face is slightly
downcast.  He looks at my briefly, and for a moment he looks
happy, but it looks forced.  Oh fuck, he's not happy about
last night.  I'm so fucking stupid.  Of course he wouldn't
be.
     "Do you like eggs?" I ask him, hesitantly. It's more
than just me asking if he likes unfertilized poultry
offspring.  I'm asking him if he'll stay.  If he's not
freaking out too much.  If we can eat breakfast and deal
with things together.
     He scratches his head and looks down at the floor,
obviously very nervous and uncomfortable.
     "Umm. actually, I think I should probably
just go home.  I can't really believe that I
spent the night.  My parents might actually kill me."  I
know that's a lie.  He told me last night they don't care.
And he was so earnest last night in everything he said and
did.    He can't even say it at full volume - he's mumbling
almost inaudibly.  I know that's a lie.
     "Umm. okay," I spew out.  I walk him to the door and he
speedily drives away without so much as a proper good-bye.
     I go back inside and finish making breakfast for one.
It's still pretty early not even 12:00 yet.  I had less than
five hours of sleep and yet I feel wide awake.  Wide awake
and miserable.  I bring my food into the TV room and just
begin to mindlessly watch cartoons.
     Fucking bright, buzzing half-animals.  I
fucking hate them.  Their happiness seems fake, forced, and
exploitive to me.  I eat in silence and wallow.

     ______________________________


          I haven't heard from him since Saturday.
It's stupid really.  I don't actually know what I was
expecting to happen here.  We obviously couldn't have been
boyfriends or anything.  And I knew that to begin with.  For
him it was quite clearly just a hook-up, like he would with
any random girl at a party, except that it was with me and
not some chick.  I thought about calling him, but I shot
that one down when I realized I didn't have his phone
number, and even if I did, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want
to hear from me.
     I'd expected at the very latest I'd see him at school
on Monday, but it's already Wednesday and I haven't so much
as seen him walking down the hall.  I don't have any classes
with him this year, but I normally see him around.  I wonder
if he's actively avoiding me.  I wonder if he's skipping
school just so he won't have to see me.
     Each day I don't see or hear from him I feel worse
about myself.  Fuck, I'm such a whiny little bitch.  I need
to get over this shit.
     I walk through school in daze.  My friends notice I'm
in a shitty mood, but they don't bother to try and find out
what's wrong - they know me well enough to be aware that it
wouldn't help.
     To make things worse I fucking need to bus home today
because my mom's back in town and the car is no longer mine.
I hate the bus, and waiting at the stop - in the rain, no
less - I feel miserable and dejected.  I'm standing on the
curb, trying to amuse myself by keeping my balance like I'm
ten again, and a car comes by. It comes by and fucking
splashes me.  Serves me right for standing right beside a
puddle.  My day officially could not be any worse.
     Oh wait - yes it can.  I look up, and I see the car was
none other than the one I got a ride home in on Saturday.  I
almost can't take it anymore.  I almost cry.  I haven't
broken down and cried since my dog Rufus died when I was
eleven.
     And then I hear a car pull up and brake behind me.  I
look up, and it's him.  It's Roman in the car that just
fucking drove by and soaked me.  I don't know what to
expect.  He reaches over and opens the door and tells me to
get in.
     I get in his car and put on my seatbelt
without so much as looking at him.  He pulls away from the
curb and begins to drive.
          I will not be the first to speak.  I will
make him aware of what an asshole he is.  I will make him
look at me - depressed and soaking and see what he's done to
me.  I will make him apologize.
     But he doesn't say anything.  Instead he just puts on
some music and keeps driving.  And not toward my house.
     A few minutes later, we pull into the driveway of a
fucking mansion.  This gorgeous, old grey house with vines
climbing up the sides. This can't be his house.  He parks
and gets out. I refuse to move.  He can't just not say
anything and just bring me to his house.  It's not fair.
          He comes around and opens my door for me.
I still refuse to move, and he reaches across me and undoes
my seatbelt.  His hand brushes against my arm and it sends
shivers down my spine.
     "Come on," he says, "no one's home."  I still feel like
shit, but I follow him inside, up the stairs and into his
bedroom.
     "You probably want to get out of those clothes," he
says, and he throws me a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.
I peel of my wet clothes and put on the dry ones, and I
still have no idea what I'm doing here.  He scoops up my wet
clothes and walks out of his room.  I follow him - he's
putting them in the drier.
And then we go back to his room.  I
                sit
next to him on his bed, and he
begins to rub my leg.  I can't deal
with this shit anymore.
"Why am I here?" I finally ask him.
     "Because I wanted to see you,"
he says, and he strokes my cheek.
I'm almost taken in.  But he's had
all week to see me.  And then he
kisses me, and I'm done for.  I
don't want to forget all my anger
toward him, but he's making it so
hard not to.  He's touching me
tenderly and lovingly, and making
all the moves.
     He takes my shirt off; he takes
off my pants.  I wonder why he even
bothered to give me dry clothes.  He
jacks me off, and brings me softly
to orgasm, and looks straight into
my eyes the entire time.
     Afterward, we just lie in each
other's arms for a while.  Then I
get my clothes out of the drier, get
dressed, and he drives me home.
Once again, we don't talk in the
car.  I can't tell if it's a
comfortable silence or not.  The Man
In Me by Bob Dylan comes on the
radio, and it kind of captures the
mood perfectly.  Fuck, I wish I knew
what was going on between us.

____________________________
So that's about it, for now. but
more to come soon.