Date: Sat, 1 Feb 2014 21:54:30 +0700
From: Robert Glass <robxglass@gmail.com>
Subject: Marc and Luke chapter 4

All right reserved. Any unauthorized use is prohibited. This is a
fiction. Any resemblance to people and/or events is coincidental. If
reading this deemed illegal to you, I implore you to stop. If it offends
you, please do not read on.

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CHAPTER 4: Sin Every Single Day


I don't see him until four days later.  That night I thought that he wanted
to sleep it off. The morning after, I found my keys on my coffee table; my
keys that he had. I was infuriated. He broke it off without talking it
over? Unacceptable! No, I didn't have time for him and his selfish
ways. I'm tired of him not accepting my feelings for him. His insecurities
got old really fast. He warned me, I should have listened.  He was indeed a
no good piece of shit. I have a research to work on, I'm busy, and he
deserves none of my time.

Funny, I couldn't get him out of my head.

Fuck that. I'm going to return his keys. I marched over to his studio
apartment. I'm going to slip the key under his door. Once I done that I can
go out, relish in the glory of this Saturday, and enjoy the single life, or
find a guy who was not as infuriating as Luke. I deserve better than
him. The only problem is I don't get to slip that key under his door.

When I reach his apartment door I can hear that something isn't right. I
can hear wheezing and sharp inhales and mumbles and sometimes snorts. Yeah,
I stay there too long. Is he crying though? Should I check? My thoughts say
that I shouldn't, my heart urges otherwise. I peek through the crack below
his door; it's dark. I press my ears on the door only to find that it's
definitely a muffled cry. In an instant I become nervous; so nervous that I
can't even put the keys inside the hole. I fucking drop it. Then silence.
The noise stops. Again, I hastily try and I meet a success. I barge in and
turn on the light.

"Luke?" he's wiping his face, not crying anymore. "Luke, are you okay?" He
ventures an answer but his mouth fails him.

I closed the door and rush towards him. I try to hug him but he shoved me
away and bawled. On the floor, no less. He doesn't even try to cover it
anymore. My heart breaks. I pick him up off the floor, move him to his bed,
and hug him as tightly as I can. He tries to shove me away again to no
avail. He may outweigh me but it's all fat, not muscle. I overpower him by
a mile.

"Shh... it's okay, Luke. I'm here. I'm sorry for everything. Just calm
down."

"No!" He yells between his trials to take a proper breath. "It's not
okay..."

I stroke his hair, his damp, fragrant hair. He just took a shower, I
guess. I pat his back tenderly. "Tell me what's wrong, Luke. Please."

"I'm wrong... I'm always wrong." Whoa, I didn't see it coming! His
insecurities go really deep, it seems.

He cries for a good fifteen minutes and my shirt has turned into a tear and
snot. Not that I mind; I would give anything for him. If he needs my shirt
to wipe his face, then it's his. Oh my God, Luke, just tell me what burdens
you!

So... yeah. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes ago I was ready to leave him
forever, now I want to be his man.

After that fifteen minutes, his cry subsides though his doubt doesn't. I
can feel his micro-movements filled with lethal hesitations; like he
doesn't know if he should get off my embrace or wait until I fall asleep. I
have to assure him that I will not mind him doing whatever he chooses to
do. I stroke his hair gently again, I rub his shoulder with my thumb.

"Luke?" I take a risk.

"Your love confession was indeed premature." Blunt, as always.

"Let's not think about that." I have this dire need to refute that
statement but I have a more urgent thing to establish: his emotional
stability.

He sits up and thank God he changes the subject! I don't want him to spiral
down into a sobbing mess again, not after he calmed down. It's miserable
seeing him try to make small talk, covering the melancholy outburst with a
veil of I-am-fine. I entertain him, however; I lead the small talk. He's
shifting farther and farther away from me on the bed as we, no, I
talk. Each attempt is small but I can easily notice it. I continue speaking
until he gives me a slight smile. In that slight smile, I see a blinding
gloom.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he cuts me off in the middle of my
bullshit. "I don't know what came over me."

I crawl to him. Everything that he does since he stopped crying is to build
a fortress between him and me. I have to undo it. I need to see him
truly. I need to know why he cried. I know that our fight was a factor, but
it can't possibly be just it. He has too many secrets; secrets that keep us
from going further, secrets that convinced him to break up with me in the
first place for no good reason.

"Luke, what happened?" I take his hand.

"I cried, obviously." He laughs.

"Luke, tell me something. Anything. Just this once, please, let's change
the way we talk to each other.  Don't shut me out again."

He looks at me with resentment and fear, as though I'm a predator. Then he
looks away. I can't stand it; I don't like the way he looked at me. He
sighs, like he always does. I feel an ache inside, like I always do.  "But
we never change, do we?"

I cupped his face. I need him to look me in the eyes. I need him to see how
much I long for him. I need him to stop riddling me. I'm not at all ready
to see the look he gave back. It changed. The desperation and terror is
tangible and it pierces my stomach. He's not about to cry, he's about to
run away or jump out of the window.

"Marc, I..." He trails off again. I'm prepared for him to close the door
once again. I'm ready for my turn to cry. I love him so much but he denies
me of the privilege. It's easy for him to do that, almost natural. I can't
face it again. My anticipation is carved onto my face. His mouth moves
again and I stay still, preparing myself for the harsh last blow. "I love
you. I love you and I hate it."

"What?" That's the most intelligent thing I could say, believe it or not.

"I love you and I hate it so much. That means I have to give myself to
you. That means I have to give you the right to see me completely. I have
to let you open me up and see my insides. You are the man with scalpel. You
are going to open me up, Marc. I'm scared. It's going to hurt so much. I
can't handle pain anymore, Marc. I can't."

What? Thank God I didn't say it out loud. I can't possibly the idiot with
the single syllable, unclear, query-driven word. Following his surgery
metaphor, he should not worry about me hurting him right?  I'm the surgeon
in his case; I'm the one that would do no harm to him. I'm the one who
would fix him.  Why is he so afraid of me hurting him? Well fuck that, he
said he loves me! "I love you too, Luke."

"Please, please. Don't say that."

"But I do."

"I know. I know you do. I just don't want to hear it. I don't want it to be
real."

"Why?" Another single syllable, unclear, query-driven word.

"Because I can't handle the pain." His voice is a silent, shaky
scream. This guy has to stop skipping through the mental map and go right
to the conclusion. I'm incapable of keeping up with his hypersonic mind.

I embrace him instead, tightly. He returns it with a more intense vigor. I
love him and he loves me. Isn't it enough?

He doesn't want to elaborate, it seems. He also doesn't want to let me go
for the night. I gladly stay. He wants the security of my arms. I want to
feel flattered but he isn't trying to stroke my ego; he really needs it. I
wrap him into sleep. The first time since we met that he falls asleep
before me. The night must have been so exhausting for him.



I hear him call me from his bed the next morning. I quickly spit the suds
of toothpaste off my mouth.  He's still as lost as I found him last
night. In the light of morning, I can see how messed up he looks. His eyes
are red and swollen, but the bag is dark and plentiful. He's shaking. Why
the hell doesn't he cover himself with a blanket? It doesn't matter. It
would be my pleasure to deliver him warmth.

"I want to show you something today." Again he doesn't elaborate.  At this
rate, I can only let him lead me wherever he wants.

Breakfast, light talk, lunch, light talk, and off we go. He brings me to
the Soho area in Melbourne and stops at one building. It's a four stories
building, pretty standard. He tells me that he used to intern in an office
in that building. The final destination of this adventure is not that
office, it's the rooftop. He leaned against the low wall which he calls
parapet. I stay halfway between that wall and the door. I'm still drinking
the situation in.

"This is a strange date," I say, trying to lighten the somber mood he's
been having all day.

"If I had to jump, I'd jump here. It's not too high, I know, but if I dive
head first, it would probably be quick and painless. This is the best place
I could find, simply because I have an access."

"Luke?" What the fuck is he trying to say? He can't just drop an atomic
bomb like that. He has to warn me otherwise I will be alarmed. Now I AM
alarmed.

"Does that freak you out?" He's dead serious. I do not like it at all. Not
a single part of it.

"Luke, what are..."

"Just answer me, Marcus. Does that freak you out?"

"Yes, of course it does!"

He crosses his arms. The defiance is weak, so did the level of protection
such a gesture can give him.  "You can leave, then."

"For fu... Luke. Slow down a bit. I don't get what you're saying. Why are
you kicking me out?" This guy.  He's exhausting.

"I used to want to jump off of this building, head first into the
ground. That's me, Marc. That's what went on in my mind. It is settled. You
don't actually like me, let alone love me. You said I'm physically not your
type. Now that you know what's going on in my head, you also don't find it
attractive. You don't like me!

"Let's end this. Please. Please, before this end up in a clusterfuck of a
mess and I actually jump."

I stride forward, he's unfazed. I grasp his arms, he's unmoved. "Don't you
dare think about jumping! I don't allow you to. Yes, it freaked me out; not
because I think you're a freak but because I don't want to imagine you
actually jumping. I told you I love you. I do. I still do despite that
crazy-assed speech you gave me. I don't want you to jump. I want you to
stay with me. Alive."

The crossed arms become clutches on his jacket. He scrunches and tugs it so
hard that I'm worried he'll rip it off of him. "Why? Why don't you just
make it easy for me and leave me alone? I'm a mess, Marc.  You have to
admit that you're already sick of me by now. I... I'm a whiny loser,
Marc. Why on earth do you love me? Why did you have to come over when I
cried? Why did you stay with me? Why did you agree to come here with me and
then say all those things to me?" His voice is filled with breaks and
trembles. I thought I'm the scientist; apparently he's the one who needs to
know everything; even things that I have yet to give any thought.

I take his hands as gently as I can seeing that they're really threatening
his attire. Now that I got it out of the way, I can attend to explaining
him why I love him. There are hundreds of questions that I can ask him, but
those can wait. I have to save him from his misery. "I love you. I love you
because you understand me. I love you because you listen to me instead of
judging me. I love you because you made me powerless. I love you that even
when I got sick of you, I still want to be with you. Nothing you do will
drive me away. You can't hurt me, Luke, and I promise you I will not hurt
you. So please stop thinking about jumping."

He's breathing hard, trying to hold his entire emotion within and not
letting his tears get the best of him.  "I stopped thinking about jumping a
while ago, Marc."

"Good." Quickly I hug him, relieved.

He lets go shortly to sit down leaning on the wall. I sit by his side with
my arm around his trembling waist. He sighs, closes his eyes, and bangs his
head against the wall. He is calculating his words. "You don't know what
you get yourself into," he says between shudders, those not of crying. Even
if he's going to cry again I will be ready for it.

This is Luke. I'd do anything for him.

"I knew long ago you that love me and I began to love you a while later. I
don't want it to be that way. I want us to fall apart before we become a
couple. You promise me happiness and in my life happiness goes away
quickly. I don't want to get allured into it and have a taste, only to have
it taken away from me. A boyfriend would just make me give in, cut me open
then leave me to die. I need someone to fix me, not one that would poke
around my insides. I need a surgeon, Marc, not a man with scalpel." Ah, now
I get it.

"Why can't I be your surgeon, Luke? I can fix you, whatever your problem
is."

"A surgeon can't date his patient."

"Life isn't a hospital." I smile.

He chuckles amid his nervous breakdown. "I'm starting to hate this
metaphor." Me too, Luke.

And I quote, "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved
at all." Whoa! I didn't know I'm the poetic kind.

"Says a masochist." He dismisses the notion with a cold voice. "I don't
want pain anymore. I'm at the edge of my limit."

"I will never cause you pain. You will never lose my love," I vow. Maybe
I'm a romantic son of a bitch after all. I know he's having a hard time
trusting my words. I don't know what he has gone through but I know it
damaged him. I don't want to see him hurting like that. I want him to heal
and I'm going to see it through.


___

Yeah, Luke is a mess. Why the hell is Marc fighting for him? Sighs.

By the way, this story isn't nearly as popular as The Virgin Joseph. Why?
:( Anyway if you want to read The Virgin Joseph, you can find it under
Beginnings category. My email is robxglass@gmail.com and my tumblr is
xglass.tumblr.com. Write me and visit my blog.

Cheers!