Date: Wed, 26 Feb 2014 18:01:34 +0700
From: Robert Glass <robxglass@gmail.com>
Subject: Marc and Luke chapter 9

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 9: You've Ruined Me


I'm pretty much numb these days. I'm at the end of my wit trying to figure
Luke out. We didn't meet for three days after I popped that question. I
really wanted to meet him but we just couldn't. I kept myself busy with my
research for most of my days even with the school being on holiday, but
that's not the reason. He couldn't get himself to meet me. He answered when
I call him, but I never get to talk to him.  I can hear the panic in his
voice. I felt bad for him so I didn't bring it up. He, on the other hand,
begged me to be mad at him, to berate him with anger, not to be nice and
warm. He pleaded and pleaded, saying that he deserved my fury. He doesn't
deserve it.

When I finally got to see him, he was shaking worse than I've seen him
before. The tears he's holding back must be massive. He asked me why I
wasn't mad. What kind of question is that? I was just not mad.  I
wasn't. Then he practically begged me to be angry, to yell at him and
stuff. That's just crazy.

I didn't reach the boiling point that night. He didn't get to cry. We
returned to our separate places having resolved nothing at all.

I never see the path his mind takes. It defies my gut and logic. It's so
hard to figure out and it's taxing.  I'm tired of my microbiology research,
trying to find patterns in random occurrences. He's harder than
microbiology. He occupies my mind more than my research does. And I'm
tired. He never tells me anything and I'm left in the dark. There is one
pattern that I know to be true about him: I have to let him calm down and
he will figure out a way to explain to me.

But I'm tired. I'm tired with my research, looking for patterns in random
occurrences. And I'm tired of figuring him out. I'm starting to fail both
my research and him. I'm pretty much numb these days.

I make the mistake of focusing on my work. I forgot about our seventh
session.

He makes the mistake of not making effort. He didn't call to remind me
about it.



He knocks even when he has my keys. I'm dead tired but I open the door to
let him in anyway. He's more apologetic than I am. I know I fucked up for
forgetting about our session. This therapy is essential for his healing and
I neglected it. Both of us have a lot of explaining to do; he hasn't told
me why exactly he bolted that night and I have to explain to him about my
absence.

"I'm sorry." It was his first words.

"No, I'm sorry," I offer.

"NO, I'm sorry," he insists.

"Stop apologizing, Luke."

His breathing is getting rapid. He's weary and feeling guilty. "I have to,
Marc. I fuck up in every turn and you have to be angry. Even now I'm going
to fuck up because I still can't tell you why I left that night."

He's getting frantic and I have to calm him down. I reach for his now
leaner than before shoulders and take a firm grasp. "It's okay. It's okay."

"It's not okay!" His voice rises. It renders me startled. "I fail you every
time. I ask so much of you and you always give. You ask so little of me and
I can't give you anything at all. I fail you too much."

Guilt. Pure unadulterated guilt. I hug him.

He pushes me away. He's making a scene at the front door to my place!
"Don't hug me! Be fucking angry at me. Please!"

Okay, Luke. He's confusing and I'm tired. I have yet to apologize for what
I did and he gives me no chance to do so. He does this instead. I'm
tired. I don't have energy for this.

"Why do you want me to hate you so much? Since we first met you seem to be
so determined to not be together with me. I told you so many times before
that I'm staying but you just want me to leave you. I asked you to live
with me yet you ran away. I'm so sick of this, Luke. I know you're
depressed and shit, but you make it seem like it's contagious.

"I have a research to complete, that's why I forgot to come today. I want
to ask for your forgiveness but you don't let me. Between my research and
taking care of your shitty little problem, I'd rather focus on my work. At
least it gives me something back. You gave me nothing. NOTHING AT ALL! You
just present yourself like this evil person that ruins lives. You know
what? You are, Luke. You take my time, you take my money, you take my heart
and you take it all for granted. You want me to be mad at you? This is me
being mad at you. I can't see you for a while, Luke. Not like this. Figure
your shit out without me for a while and come back when you can talk to me
like a normal person."

It's harsh but I don't fucking care. It's what he wants to hear
anyway. I've had enough of it. He's not worth it, not when he's acting like
this little piece of shit.

He drops his head but calmed down. He calms down? What the fuck? So he's
happy that I said all that to him? His self-pity is irritating me. Not
working for me, Luke, not this time. I've seen it so many times and I'm not
falling for that anymore.

"Thank you," he says.

'Thank you'? It's all that he can say after hearing what I had to
say. Enough! "Just fuck off,"

"Okay," his voice is still soft. "I'm sorry for everything. Thanks. Good
bye."

I don't say goodbye back. He needs a door slamming on his face.



I'm not letting guilt to get to me. It's his demon to battle, not mine. I
gave him enough already, it's his turn. He's right, he's failed. I'm not
going to sit around and let him have it easy. It's supposed to be a two way
street and it definitely hasn't felt like it.

He only makes me angrier by not giving me a call whatsoever. I don't hear
from him at all. I wait by my phone for a day to see if he's going to make
the first move for once. Nothing happened. I should have known.

I thought I would miss his voice. I didn't. Not hearing his voice is
actually a relief. I can't imagine going back to putting so much effort and
expectation on him only to find me empty-handed. It's better not to have
that lingering feeling anymore. Now I know that he never has the intention
to share his life with me. How foolish I was to be convinced by his
charming smile, thinking that he was committed to me.

He never was committed to me. He's been using me all the time, hasn't he?
He has lured me with sweet words and promises. He never really loved me. He
had the privilege to be the first man I gave my heart to. He was using me
to cure his stupid depression.

That's a bold assumption to make!

All the evidence leads to that, however. He knows how I feel for him and
he's using that. He never gives away anything deep and profound about his
depression, he only lets me scratch the surface.  He convinced me that he's
the good guy for not wanting to burden me with this information, and with
the fact that he can't pay for medication and therapy. I'm starting to
realize that it was his genius ploy to pressure me into giving him
everything he wanted. He fucking makes me pay for a fucking therapy that I
don't even fucking need.

When he said he was mentally ill, I thought that it's just his
depression. I never thought that he's also a psycho.

Fuck! I need a drink.

Vodka, tequila, whisky, rum, or even something as humble as beer; I take it
all. I need to relax a bit. He's too much pressure. I deserve my release. I
crave to feel easy and loose for a moment. My fatigue has to flee
immediately. I long for the buzz and the intoxication. It has to take over
my desire to control my body, mind and heart for once. I can't handle shit
anymore. Something has to push me of the cliff and let me fall to the ocean
of bliss. I want to be free.

Hangover is a cunt. Yeah, you get that eternal tremor in your brain and you
can't get through the day.  That pain doesn't match the overwhelming agony
of regret. I don't regret getting shitfaced. I regret everything else. I'm
now feeling mellow. I miss Luke. I feel guilty for accusing him of the
horrible things I thought of.

I didn't drunk-dial him or drunk-text him. He didn't give me a call or a
text either. I feel sad and angry and lonely. I'm angry to myself and to
him.

I sleep it off. I need a clear mind to process this.

I wait until the next day. My sadness is gone, my anger starts to boil up
again and my loneliness stays.  Luke hasn't called. Is he even trying? The
next day he doesn't call. The day after is the same. So is the next and so
on.

I want to call him and I should call him. Why would I, though? I've tried
too hard and he hasn't tried at all. Again, I can't be the only one who's
trying hard to save this relationship. I need him, just this once, to call
me first and tell me his shit. I don't even want to come to our session. I
want to see if he really wants it. If he does, he will come, right?

Where is Luke? He hasn't called.

Am I that worthless? Am I not worth fighting for? Why hasn't he fought for
me? Why hasn't he shown that he wants me as much as I need him? Fuck, I'm
not even sure if I want him anymore. It's like unrequited love,
sometimes. Maybe it is. Maybe I was right. Maybe he never really loved me.

I mean, seriously. Another session without me and he doesn't even call. For
Christ's sake, Luke, what the fucking fuck are you doing? He must have
moved on! He must be seeing me as a tool instead of a person. This therapy
is the most important thing that happens in his life and he doesn't mind
not having me around. That's the sign that he's moved on; no, that's the
sign that he's using me. He just want that therapy all for himself. I'm
supposed to be his boyfriend, for fuck's sake. I'm the one who paid for
that stupid fucking therapy. Doesn't he have any fucking respect? That
little cunt-faced faggot. He doesn't even have the guts or decency to let
me know about it. He just lets it slip and slide into oblivion. I'm done.

I'm going to be the bigger man here. I'll give him that ninth session and
I'll cut off the funding, right after he's done it. Depression my ass. I
don't know if I even believe that he has depression. Fuck that. It's better
if he has depression. He'll still have it after I stop his therapy and
he'll be down that spiral again.  May he will keep on being that pathetic
little piece of shit his whole life. May he never find another guy to use
and ruin ever again. May he reconsider suicide and actually do it.

Fuck that crazy bitch. I need something sane.

It's over!



What do you know, it's the day before our ninth session and Luke is finally
there, at my bedroom door, looking me straight in the eyes. He's a little
flustered and I think it's pretty clear why.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think you have a company," Luke says. His face is
showing surprise. Obviously.

I'm in a... compromising position, to say the least. You see, my dick is in
someone's ass hole and my right hand is gripping this guy's throat. I don't
remember this guy's name. I'm not even sure he mentioned it to me because
it didn't matter; I was going to call him 'boy' anyway. This guy's muscular
and hairy, just the perfect kind of body. His pits are lush with dark hair
and it's open for everyone to see; he has no choice anyway since I tied his
hands to my headboard. His dick is large, much larger than mine, even;
which is perfect since it's thrilling for me to strip him off his assumed
dominance. The mountains of his ass are firm and muscular like the rest of
his body, and the valley of it is ripe, tasty and hairy like the rest of
his body. His legs on my shoulder are not chicken legs; this boy of mine
understands the importance of balanced work out. His head is covered with
luscious dark hair. That gorgeous hair continues southward to the beard
that begs to be creamed with my ball juice. That beard perfectly frames a
face that I would gladly suffocate with my ass.

The only thing that's not perfect about this guy is that he's not
Luke. Luke is watching me fucking this guy.

"My God, my world now turns upside down," he mutters rapidly under his
breath. He's massaging his forehead and looks away. His breath ragged, his
body twitches.

"Luke..." My voice is the embodiment of terror. My now limp dick is the
most blatant evidence.

"I wanted to say... I wanted you to come to our next session. I was ready
to change, Marc. I want to tell you things before I tell her. I really,
really wanted to explain to you why I did what I did. I didn't know that
you... don't want to hear it anymore." He smiles. That smile translates to
a million harpoons raining on my chest.

"Luke, I..."

"It's okay, really." He cuts me off, again with that smile. "I'm sorry I
didn't call first. I should've called first. Oh, I'm also sorry for... you
know... staying here a little too long... I mean, the view is just... It's
two guys having sex and I'm gay so go figure..."

"Luke, please..."

"I'm sorry Marc it took me so long to come here. But I guess it's clear
now... it's finished. And thank you, really. Thank you for clearing things
up for me, I'm certainly incapable of doing it on time."

"Luke..." I can only say his name again and again, nothing more.

"I, um... I'm sorry for barging in. You two enjoy your night. Pretend this
didn't happen." He smiles one last time. "Goodbye."

I'm frozen. This guy whose asshole letting go of my now flaccid dick is as
confused and surprised as I am.  I'm sensing that he wants to say something
but he can't. I don't know. I don't know what I'm thinking anymore.

"I'll help you out of the ropes. You better leave." I'm not calm. "That was
my boyf..."

I can't even finish that sentence. The truth has changed.



___
This is bad. This is really, really bad. How will they survive this?

Email: robxglass@gmail.com
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Other story: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/beginnings/the-virgin-joseph/