Stevie Woods:author of gay romantic fiction

April 25, 2013

Waiting For Words – a Meandering Thoughts free read!

Filed under: writing — Stevie Woods @ 12:11 pm
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MeanderingThoughtsHere’s another Meandering Thoughts piece, written – just because:)

WAITING FOR WORDS

I leaned back in my chair, comfortable of body but not of mind. Why was I waiting? What did I expect? Forgiveness? I laughed, the sound harsh. I didn’t deserve forgiveness and I knew it. I’d let anger rule me. I was a fool and now I would get my just desserts.  Just? There was nothing just about it. Actions come with consequences. Words, such tiny things, yet there was nothing more powerful. Why didn’t he use them? Lord, why didn’t I?

Falling in love shouldn’t come with a Danger, Will Robinson warning. Not that I’d any experience of love. Until recently my experience consisted of quickies, buddy-fucks and a few short term relationships, but love? Way outside my experience. Then I’d met Adam. Literally bumped into him on the way out of – or was that into? – the bar, depends on your point of view. Anyhow we’d collided and Adam put out his hands to stop me tumbling, and I grabbed onto his arms. We stared at each other, he smiled, shrugged and by way of an apology offered to buy me a drink. I’d been leaving but accepted his offer with alacrity.

We had sex in the washroom, that’s all it was that first time. Sex, yet even then I somehow knew it was somehow different. We clicked like we were meant to be, you know? Something special, once in a lifetime. The next time, and the time after that, the sex was laced with feelings until we both acknowledged we cared for each. Three wonderful months later we declared our moved in together.

Now, six months later, here I am wondering if he would even come and talk to me. Yell at me. Anything! I’d been a stupid bastard and I knew it. Looking back I wondered how I’d ever been such a fool.

Just by chance I’d seen him at lunchtime walking along the street. I hurried to catch up to him; we never managed to see each other during the working day, so it’d seemed like serendipity. Then I noticed he wasn’t alone. A man walked by his side. I saw how they laughed together so very easily, how they touched each other casually, how arms draped around shoulders as they leaned close to speak to each other, eyes meeting as they smiled. Jealousy spiked through me, a feeling I had never had before and I hated the way it made me feel. Hated that he could make me feel that way. I stopped still on the pavement and watched as they walked on, too hurt to do more than watch with pain in my heart.

That evening when he came home I was already spoiling for a fight. I didn’t question him, I attacked him. Only with words to be sure, but words can be sharper than a knife. He stared at me, eyes hard and bright. He never said a word, didn’t defend himself, just turned on his heel and slammed the bedroom door behind him. I took that as an admission of guilt; that there was no excuse he could even give me.

Still angry I stormed out and went to the nearest bar and drank like a fish. I caught this guy eying me and all I saw was a chance for revenge. Fuck it! Fuck him! I let the guy take me into the bathroom and he sucked off and then I gave him a hand job; a bit rough, but he loved it. I never even knew his name.

I stumbled through the front door, drunk and utterly careless. I found him waiting for me, looking distressed. He walked toward me, talking, something about thanking God that I was home safe; he’d been so worried. He’d been too upset to answer my accusation and then too angry, but now—he stopped, eyes going wide as he stared at me. His face flushed with shock, with anger, I wasn’t sure. He backed away a step or two. His voice little more than a whisper, he told me he could smell the sex on me.

He dropped into the chair behind him, his chin dropped to his chest as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. Still in that low, lost voice, he told me the man I’d seen him with was called Paul, an old friend, a childhood friend he’d agreed to meet for lunch. Paul had finally proposed to the girl he’d loved for years and Paul wanted Adam to be his best man. He’d told Paul about me and they’d been happily congratulating each other on finding the person they could spend the rest of their life with.

He looked at me then, the hurt in his eyes washing over me, covering me with agony. He turned and walked away, the quiet closing of the bedroom door a boom of thunder in my mind.

I collapsed into the chair he’d just vacated, dropped my head in my hands, swamped with too much guilt to cry. And waited for words I didn’t know would ever come.

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