Date: Sun, 13 Jan 2008 20:16:21 -0800 (PST)
From: Lusty <lustyville@yahoo.com>
Subject: Starving For Love - Part 10. Tip of the Tongue

     Tom crawled up next to me in the bed and kissed me on my
cheek then he put his arm around me and I rested my head on his
chest. The lack of space forced us to be extra close to each
other and I calmed down by smelling Tom's scent and feeling his
body. My hand started innocently enough on his chest and wandered
down his body until it felt his dick in his jeans. I rubbed up
and down the length and it kept getting bigger but I didn't
really notice because I wasn't paying attention to what my hand
was doing to him. It was one of those odd moments where I was
aware of the situation but not able to do anything about it
because my mind was busy wondering why my brother came to see me.

     The thumping in Tom's chest increased and my mind began
sifting though random thoughts about my brother. Charlie and I
had never been close. We were too different. If we weren't
brothers, we wouldn't have ever spoken to each other because
there wouldn't have been a circumstance that required us to
interact. He seemed like a nice person but truthfully I didn't
know what type of person he was because I could only go on what I
heard and what I observed. I had lived in the same house with him
for 17 years and I knew virtually nothing about him.

     I heard Tom gasp and then he grabbed my hand and pulled it
away. The feel of his skin touching mine brought me back from my
trance. "What are you trying to do?" he whispered.

     "Huh?"

     "You were touching somewhere you shouldn't have been
touching."

     I laughed lightly, "Sorry."

     "If we weren't here I wouldn't stop you but anyone could
walk in and," he lowered his voice even more, "you don't do that
type of thing in hospitals, remember?"

     "I wasn't thinking about it when I was doing it."

     "What do you mean you weren't thinking about it? There was
definitely thought behind your hand movements."

     "I was doing it subconsciously, like I knew I was doing it
but I couldn't stop myself."

     "So it was your subconscious that was all over me because
you wouldn't consciously do that?"

     I gave his neck a little lick and then I whispered in his
ear, "Oh I'd do it when I was conscious too."

     He gently pushed me away. "Could you please not touch me at
all for the next few minutes?"

     "Why?"

     "I'm about to explode." I blew on his neck and he pushed me
farther away. "I'm serious. Stop it." He got off the bed and
grabbed the chair. Then he pulled the chair as far away from me
as possible. The chair hit the wall pretty hard and then he sat
in it and wiggled around a little. He stopped wiggling and looked
at me and our eyes met. "Shit, I gotta go to the bathroom." He
jumped up and ran.

     I wondered what Matt and his new foster parents thought
about the blur that ran by them and in to the bathroom. I would
have paid money to have the curtain pulled back so I could see it
all unfold. Tom returned about six minutes later. His cheeks were
rosy and he didn't look at me when he came back; instead, he sat
in the chair and looked at the floor. "Sorry," he said.

     I couldn't stifle my laughter, "What did you do?"

     "I had to finish what you started." He still didn't look at
me. "Do you think they heard me?" I thought it was hilarious and
I laughed so hard it hurt. "Stop laughing. You did it to me."

     Tom finally gave up on telling me to stop laughing and he
sat there with his head hung low until I stopped. I patted the
bed next to me and said, "Come back and lay down."

     "Why? So you can fondle me again?" he asked loudly.

     I froze for a second then I said, "Ssh."

     "Why? Are you afraid someone might hear me?"

     "Ssh. Be quiet."

     "No, I want the entire room to know that you tried to make
me cream my pants."

     "Tom I'm sorry. Okay? Stop it."

     "Stop what?"

     "Tom, please!" I was begging him to shut up because I could
only imagine what Matt's foster parents thought about us.

     Tom stood up and walked to the curtain. "Maybe I want them
to hear. Hell, maybe I want them to see us." He pulled the
curtain back and I swear I had a mini heart attack and then I saw
no one was over there. I hadn't heard them leave.

     It was Tom's turn to have a good laugh. He sat on Matt's
bed. "They were leaving the room when I came out the bathroom."
He smiled at me, "Oh God, that was fun."

     "Were you trying to kill me? I hope you know I almost
dropped dead."

     "Oh come on, it was funny."

     "No it wasn't."

     Matt walked back in the room alone and Tom got off Matt's
bed and sat back down in the chair.

     Matthew lied on his bed and asked, "What's going on?"

     "He just tried to kill me," I said.

     Matt looked at Tom, "You should wait until he's out of the
hospital before you try to kill him again." He grinned and
crossed his legs then he asked in a fake accent, "What were you
guys doing while Mr. and Mrs. Washington were here?"

     "Trying to eavesdrop," Tom replied.

     "Hear anything good?"

     "Not really. They sound like nice people though."

     "They always sound like nice people in the beginning. Give
them a month with me and we'll see if they really are."

     "What are you going to do to them?" I asked.

     "Nothing, but I've learned that my charm wears off fairly
quickly."

     "Why am I not surprised?" I knew the words came out kind of
snotty so I punctuated the question with a smug smile.

     "At least I have charm, Mr. Gloom and Doom. Why don't you
just shoot yourself already and get it over with?"

     I felt my face moving and despite my best efforts, I
couldn't keep the smile in place. His comment shouldn't have hurt
but it did. I looked at Matthew and saw that asshole had stolen
my smug smile.

     Tom came across as threatening as he told Matthew, "Don't
talk to him like that."

     Matthew stared at Tom for a moment and then Matthew's smile
became less smug and more genuine, "I wish I had a friend like
you." There was a brief uncomfortable silence before Matthew
changed the subject, "I hope this home lasts until I'm 18."

     "You only have a few months, I'm sure it will," Tom said.

     "Then I get my freedom. Yippee!" The expression on Matt's
face was not one of a happy person.

     Tom tried to comfort him by saying, "Maybe it won't be so
bad."

     Matt sighed heavily. "Yeah, maybe."

     My focus on the progress of the conversation was inhibited
because my mind was busy echoing Matthew's comments. I kept
hearing, `Mr. Gloom and Doom just shoot yourself.' Eventually I
zoned out completely and a few minutes later I rejoined the
conversation and said, "I'm not Mr. Doom and Gloom."

     Tom and Matthew both looked at me like I was crazy and then
Matthew said, "Well of course not silly, you're Mr. Gloom and
Doom, get it right."

     He stood up suddenly and walked over to me and grabbed at
something above my head. I didn't see anything so I asked, "What
are you doing?"

     "I'm taking the cloud from over your head." He paused. "No
more gloom. No more doom. Not today."

     I thought he was insane but I wondered if I should thank him
and then it occurred to me that I should. "Thank you, I guess."

     "Don't thank me yet all I can do is push the cloud to the
side, but it'll be back. I can't make it go away." His hand came
to rest on my head. `He's my kind of crazy,' I thought. He must
have caught the look on my face because he winked at me. "Don't
fall in love with me," he warned as he backed away and sat on his
bed.

     I quickly professed, "I love Tom."

     "You love him in a sexual way."

     "It's more than that."

     Matthew zeroed in on Tom. "You love him because he's cute
and sweet and gentle and"

     Tom started blushing. I interrupted, "Are you trying to hit
on him?"

     "Am I gay?" Matt asked.

     "I don't know."

     "Well what do you think?"

     "I wouldn't be surprised if you were."

     Matthew pointed at me and looked at Tom, "Did you hear that
Tom? Your boyfriend wants me to be gay."

     "I didn't say that," I protested.

     "But that's what you meant."

     "Are you always like this?"

     "Like what?"

     "Like" I tried to think of an appropriate word to describe
him, but all I could up with was, "well, like you?"

     "What kind of question is that? Of course I'm always like
me. Even when I'm pretending to be someone else, I'm still me.
Are you always you?"

     "No, sometimes I pretend to be a transgendered girl," I
teased.

     Matt began laughing and I realized he had the kind of laugh
that sounded like pure joy. I laughed with him and soon Tom
joined in with us. The laughter seemed to fill the room with warm
thoughts and good memories and for the briefest of moments I
found myself being honestly happy without analyzing my happiness
or awaiting the sadness I knew would soon return.

     Matthew was odd, but the odder he became, the more I liked
him. Having someone who I deemed crazier than I was somehow
distracted me from thoughts of cutting or burning and took away
the feeling of constant dread that I usually had all day. When
Matthew excused himself to go to the bathroom, the dark cloud
that hovered over me returned and unleashed a torrential
downpour. I felt that sick strained feeling I sometimes got in
the back of my throat when my body wanted to cry but I was
fighting hard to hold back the tears.

     Tom grabbed me, "Are you okay?"

     "I just feel so sad all of a sudden."

     "Don't be sad. Maybe we can get you moved to a new room."

     "Why?"

     "Because of Matthew. Don't you want a different roommate?"

     "No not really."

     "You think it's good for you to be in a room with him?"

     "He's not as bad as I originally thought."

     "He is bad. He's bad for you. It's not appropriate for the
two of you to be in the same room."

     "What are we going to do, put our defective minds together
and kill each other?"

     "Well"

     "Well he's crazy and I'm crazy so we shouldn't be in the
same room because there's no way we could be anything other than
destructive."

     "Where is this coming from? I thought you would want a
different roommate. You act like Matthew irritates you."

     "He did at first, but by the third hour he started to become
kind of amusing."

     "He needs more help than"

     "Than what? Than I do?"

     "No than he's willing to admit. He has a lot of problems."

     Matthew came out of the bathroom, "Yeah I do," he agreed and
then he lied on his bed and looked at us.

     Tom immediately apologized, "I'm sorry."

     "It's okay. I don't know what you said about me but it must
have been bad if you feel the need to apologize."

     "I just said that I don't think you and Sam should share a
room because you both seem to have a lot of your own issues and
I'm not sure how well you two can work through those issues
together."

     Matt eyed me for a second, "You're probably right. He'll
depress me."

     "You're no box of sunshine either," I told him.

     "So you don't want to live with me?"

     "It doesn't matter. I don't plan on being here that long."

     Matthew and Tom were quiet and I knew they thought I was
going to be there for a while. I turned on the television and
flipped through the stations. Neither of them said anything and I
felt uncomfortable and angry at the same time. I needed one of
them to say something but they both stared blankly at the
television and ignored me. I thought about screaming at the top
of my lungs and I could have, but I didn't. I sat there and
watched the news as I tried to figure out what was upsetting me.
In all fairness, maybe Matthew and Tom were quiet because they
didn't realize I wanted a response.

     "Sam." I looked in Matthew's direction and saw Charlie
standing in the doorway. "Hey Sam," he said as he walked closer.
It was strange seeing him and hearing his voice and knowing he
was talking to me. We rarely spoke directly to each other and I
felt a sense of awkwardness and confusion. I wondered why he was
standing in my hospital room speaking to me.

     "Hi Charlie."

     Charlie was the kind of guy you couldn't help but notice. He
was 6'3" tall with short blonde hair and shimmering blue eyes. He
was built like a quarterback, but it wasn't his looks that got
him noticed, it was his attitude. He walked in to a room like he
owned it and he was being kind enough to let other people be in
it and be in his presence. It wasn't arrogance on his part. At
least I never thought it was arrogance. I always thought it was
just his aura. People naturally gravitated to him.

     He stood next to me and stared at me and all I could think
about was how much I hated his blue eyes because they looked so
much like my own. I looked away first. Tom stood up, "Hey Matt,
didn't you want to show me something?"

     Matthew rolled his eyes, "I can show you later."

     "No, show me now."

     "Things are just getting interesting. I'll show you later."

     There was silence and not regular silence but rather a
silence that said everyone had something to say but no one was
saying anything. A lady walked in with my dinner tray. She sat
the tray down and I had a good look at the food. All of my fears
about calorie intake were eased because the food had that bland
look that told me the only way it could be healthier was if
vitamins were infused in it.

     Tom turned to Charlie and said, "I'm going to help Matthew,
can you make sure Sam eats something?"

     "Sure."

     "And don't let him get away with nibbling on his food
either."

     "Okay."

     "Thanks." Tom walked over to Matthew's side of the room and
pulled the curtain to divide the room. I heard him whispering
something to Matthew.

     Charlie pulled the chair over and sat next to the bed. He
watched me as I took a tiny bite of my baked chicken. He watched
me sit my fork down. He watched me as I took a sip of my water.
He watched me sample the jell-o. He watched me sit my spoon down.
He just sat there watching me and making me feel like I was under
a microscope. I kept quiet for as long as I could which turned
out to be about three minutes.

     I finally asked him flat out, "Why are you here?"

     "I wanted to see how you were."

     I might not have talked to him much but I could tell when he
was feeding me a load of shit. If he came to see how I was then
that would mean he cared about me and we both knew that was not
true so I wanted to know what the hell he was doing in my
hospital room, watching me and lying about caring about me.

     "You never cared before. Did Mom send you?"

     "No, I'm here on my own. I wanted to see how my little
brother was doing."

     "Why?"

     "Mom said you were sick and they didn't know exactly what
was wrong with you." His gaze fell to my plate. "Your food is
getting cold."

     I muttered, "Like you care." He took a small notepad out of
his pocket and started writing. "What are you writing?"

     "I was just making a few observations."

     "Why?"

     "It's nothing. Something for a class, that's all."

     "What class?"

     "Psychology."

     "Psychology? What for psychology?"

     "I'm working on a research paper. It's nothing." He put the
pen and the notepad back in his pocket.

     "Nothing like what?"

     "Don't worry about it. It's nothing."

     "You weren't writing down nothing."

     He took his notepad back out and wrote something else down
then he closed the notepad and said, "I'm writing a paper about
your depression."

     He said it and I heard it loud and clear. He was only there
because I was the subject of his research paper. He needed to
write a paper on depression and I practically had the market
cornered. The small appetite I did have was gone. "What do you
want to know?"

     "Are you serious? It's that easy?"

     "Yeah what do you want to know?"

     "Well, how do you feel?"

     "I feel fine I guess. My head hurts a little but that's"

     "I don't mean physically. I mean how do you feel mentally?"

     That was a good question. It was the type of question I was
accustomed to hearing from Dr. Conley but it sounded like a
foreign language coming from Charlie's mouth. I initially wanted
to lie to him and tell him I was feeling great mentally and I had
never felt better but then it occurred to me that he might never
ask me about my feelings again. His paper was giving me the
perfect opportunity to tell him how I felt and have a candid
discussion with him that scrubbed under the surface of our usual
`hello' and `goodbye' conversations. He wanted to talk so I was
going to talk.

     "Honestly, I mostly feel like shit. Sometimes I go for long
stretches where I feel okay, but it's just okay, never good or
great or wonderful. There's always something the makes me unhappy
or reminds me that I should be miserable and that something is
always in my thoughts."

     "Isn't therapy supposed to help with that?"

     "It does help, some. It would probably help more if I vented
more and shared more of my personal thoughts and insecurities and
other things." The other things I had in mind were my coping
mechanisms but I couldn't say that to him. I glanced over at him
and saw that he was looking at me but his notepad was still
closed. "Shouldn't you be taking notes?"

     "You want me to write this down?"

     "Yeah, it's for your paper, right?"

     He opened his notepad. "Do you feel like you don't belong in
the family?"

     "Ouch."

     He started waving his hands, "I'm not trying to hurt your
feelings or say you don't belong, I'm asking how you feel about
the rest of us?"

     "I feel that the rest of you are perfect and I wish I could
have a fraction of your perfection. I look at you guys and I
wonder what happened with me. I mean you're all so normal and I
don't think I've ever been normal."

     "Is it because of something we've done?"

     "Yes, no, maybe, not really. You've done things but I'm not
sure if any of them were done intentionally to hurt me. It just
kind of worked out that way." I was having trouble with what I
was saying because I was admitting things to Charlie that I
hadn't fully admitted to myself. I think the shock of having an
actual conversation with him gave me a bad case of diarrhea of
the mouth.

     "Could you name some of the things we've done that have
bothered you?"

     I tried to gain control again and go in to shut down mode,
"No."

     He made a note then asked, "Do you blame us for your
anorexia?"

     I told myself not to answer, but I did. "How can I? Mom
fixed dinner every night." I smiled but he didn't. "The last part
was a joke." He gave me a courtesy smile and then he scribbled
something else on the notepad. "So what are you writing down?"

     He ignored my question and responded with one of his own,
"Do you think we love you?" I thought about it and I wasn't sure.
They said they loved me but they didn't act like they loved me.
They spent most of their time ignoring me. Charlie rephrased the
question, "You know we love you, don't you?"

     "I um,"

     He reached out and touched my arm. "You don't have to lie to
me."

     His touch swiped the lie off the tip of my tongue and I
answered truthfully, "I know that you guys say you do, but I
don't know that you do."

     I could tell I had offended him. "How would you know when
you don't give us a chance? You pushed us out of your life a long
time ago and you continue to make it clear that you don't want us
to be a part of your life. The only person you care about is
Tom."

     "That's because I'm a stranger in my own house."

     "You set the boundaries, we just respect them."

     "Why are you here?" I asked. The conversation was taking a
turn in a direction that I didn't like.

     "The paper, remember? Because that's the only reason I would
come visit my brother in the hospital. I couldn't possibly be
here because I love you or because I wanted to talk to you and
find out what's going on with you. I wouldn't dare cross that
line and actually risk you thinking I cared about you. Do you
really want to know why I'm here?"

     My shut down sirens were blaring inside my head. "Not
anymore. Just go home and we can go back to the way things should
be. Just pretend I didn't say anything to you. It was my
stupidity trying to tell you how I feel. You don't give a damn
about me! You never have! You let your friends pick on me when
you were in high school and you never said anything to them, so
don't come in here and act like you care." I was pulling out
cards I didn't even know were in the deck.

     "I didn't let them pick on you. Why do you think they never
did it in front of me? Did you really think they were scared of
Tom? My friends ate punks like Tom for breakfast."

     "Whatever, just go away. Leave me alone and go write your
paper."

     He threw the notepad on the bed and yelled, "THIS ISN'T
ABOUT THE PAPER! This was never about the goddamn paper! How
fucked up are we that I have to do a fucking paper on you just so
you'll actually talk to me? Do you realize that you said more to
me today than you have said to me in our whole lives? Our whole
fucking lives! I'm not the problem, you are. I've tried to talk
to you more times than I can count and one day I finally wised up
and stopped wasting my time and yet here I am again. I'm here!
I've always fucking been here!"

     "No you haven't. You've never been there, ever, EVER! You
hate me just like the rest of them."

     "What?" He sat down in the chair and looked at me like I had
sucker punched him. He sat there and I waited for his response.
His voice was calmer when he spoke again. "Do you really think we
hate you?" I didn't answer because my shut down was complete. "Do
you really think that?" he asked again. I remained quiet. "Answer
me! Do you think we hate you?"

     "Yeah he does," Tom said. Tom walked over and sat on the
edge of the bed. Charlie looked at him like he was going to say
something but Tom stopped him, "I know I don't belong here, but
you're pushing him too hard. I know him better than you do and
I'm not saying that to rub it in, I'm saying that because it's
the way things are. You don't understand what it took for him to
talk to you the way he did and open up and tell you how he feels.
He took a huge step forward today and you don't even realize it.
I'm glad to hear you love him but maybe you should come back
tomorrow and talk about this."

     "You're telling me when I can talk to my own brother?"

     "It's not like that. I'm telling you this isn't good for him
right now and I'm asking you, if you care about him, please don't
push him." Tom put his hand on my leg. "He had another attack
this morning and we don't know why he's having them but I'm
willing to bet that getting in to an argument is not going to
help."

     "He's my brother and you know he's in the hospital because
he's had attacks, but all I know is that his best friend took him
to the emergency room because something was wrong with him. Don't
you think that's screwed up?"

     "Yeah, I do, but nothing is going to change in the next few
minutes so go home and come back tomorrow. I guarantee he'll be
here."

     "Is that what you want, Sam?"

     I stared at the patterns on the blanket and shook my head.
Charlie left without saying another word. As soon as he was gone
Tom moved up the bed and put his arm around me. "Are you okay?"

     I didn't speak. I curled up against him and buried my face
in his armpit and then I was startled by the sound of clapping.
Matt walked around the curtain. "I give the family drama a B+.
The dialogue was a bit iffy but the content was heartfelt and I
found it rather emotional."

     "Not now," Tom told him.

     "I'll be back later then." Matthew retreated to his side of
the room.

     I stayed in Tom's arms and thought about how great he was.
Tom knew what I needed and when I needed it. He knew I couldn't
take much more and he came and made Charlie go away. Charlie
didn't understand my relationship with Tom because if he did he
would understand why Tom and I were so close. Having Tom in my
life was a necessity, not a choice.

     Tom reached under his leg and pulled out Charlie's notepad.
He flipped through a few pages and then handed it to me. "You
should read what he wrote."


Copyright Lustyville 2008
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