Until It Wasn't

by J. Grandison

  Chapter 8. Shawn

  Gleaming with sweat, panting from our mind-blowing oral experience, Braden lays next to me resting his head on my chest. He ignites something inside me that I have never really felt. But when he said he wanted me to fuck him, I couldn’t. I want it to be right. I want it to mean forever. I want to be able to tell the world I am his, and he is mine.

  I am informing my “clients” this week that I am out of the business. I want there to be no secrets. I plan to tell my family who I am but not until I’m ready to leave this shithole town.

  I can see in Braden’s eyes this innocence. His tight, little ass is virgin ground, untouched. I will not take his virginity with secrets in my heart.

  “Braden? You’re not pissed because I wouldn’t give you what you asked for?” I asked rubbing my fingers lightly up and down his back.

  “Not pissed. Confused, I guess,” he replies, lifting his head and looking up at me with a question in his eyes. I don’t know what to say.

  “Soon, Braden, soon. Have you ever…ummm...?” I am stumbling trying to think of a way to ask if he’s a virgin without making him feel embarrassed. I know the answer, but I need him to say it.

  “A virgin? I guess you could say that. I have given a few blowjobs and gotten a few, but I have never gone all the way. I want you to be my first.”

  He said it; that’s what I needed him to say.

  “I will be. But I want it to be right, I want it to be special. Not in this dorm room. Braden, I know we can’t just go out and flaunt it to everyone, but this thing we have, I want it to be exclusive. I want you to have no qualms about me, about this, about us,” I say taking my thumb and running it across his swollen pink lips. The blue in his eyes darkens as they become hooded, letting me know he’s turned on. I take that as my answer that he is mine; I am his.

  *****

  Waking up feeling like there’s nothing in the world that can bring me down, I reach for my phone and see I have a good morning text from him. Him who makes my heart beat a little faster, him who makes my thoughts fuzzy, him. But then another pops up, and it’s from Clyde.

  Meet tonight? At the Marriot? Around nine?

  The high I was just feeling vanished. Shit!

  No meet at the bar down the road, Ducketts. We need to talk.

  I hit send, and within seconds, a simple “ok” was received. I need to do this, I must be lie-free for Braden.

  Coach Austin agreed to let me attend practice if I made it to every one of my tutoring sessions, which will not be a problem because it’s an excuse to spend time with Braden. So now, I’m sitting here listening to my man describe The Spanish Inquisition.

  “Shawn, do you understand what I am explaining?” he asks as I look over at him.

  “Yes, I think I got it. Hey, I won’t be able to make it tonight, I have work at the store, plus my teen anti-sex class.” I see disappointment in his eyes, but he gives me a small smile nodding his head. Fuck I hate lying, but it’s almost over. Well, at least this lie.

  After the session is over, I head to the field to throw a few pitches. Not that I need practice, it just helps keep my arm in good condition. After a quick shower and a long speech from Coach about how our grades can make us or break us, he asked us what our back-up plans were. “It only takes one devastating injury to ruin a career.”

  Up until last year, I had no back-up plan. Baseball has been all I’ve ever wanted to do. But last year, my dad asked the same question.

  I knew my uncle’s hardware business like the back of my hand. I’ve been working there since I was twelve. I started out just helping stock shelves, doing clean up, and some gopher work. So, I decided I wanted to open a hardware store of my own, be a business owner. So, I figured a business major was the ticket! Unfortunately, my father wants me to follow in his footsteps, take over the reins when he’s ready to pass them on. I’m thinking a gay pastor in the south is frowned upon.

  *****

  After stocking the store shelves and my teen group meeting, I text Braden just to let him know I’m thinking of him. With a deep sigh, I begin my journey towards a new life. A life where secrets will be in the past, a life with someone who loves me for me and not my career or my status in the world.

  I wanted to meet Clyde in a public setting. Somewhere I thought he wouldn’t make a scene.

  When James and Bill called, I let them know I was done. It wasn’t a big deal for them. They would just troll craigslist or some other website to find a replacement. Clyde, well, he deserves a face-to-face. He was my very first client. Special to me because he didn’t always want sex, he sometimes only needed someone to vent to, someone to listen. I provided that for him. Even a few times for free.

  Pulling into the bar, I see his Volkswagen Jetta parked in the shadows. I hear the ding of my phone alerting me I have a text message. Entering my code in, I unlock the phone to see the message is from Braden.

  Thinking of you, too. Hoping to see you tomorrow and not just for your tutoring.

  He said he wasn’t upset because I turned down the chance to take his tight little hole, but I saw the questioning in his eyes. Questioning him, me, us.

  Clyde doesn’t take the news that our arrangement is ending very well. He doesn’t make a scene but pleads with me to not stop seeing him. He fucking offers me an extra grand. I decline. With a hug, I walk away, but he follows me outside still begging, standing in front of my car door, blocking me from opening it. Then out of nowhere, he grabs me and plants a fucking kiss on my mouth. I push him away looking around to see if anyone is near. I could have sworn I saw a flash of light and someone with blonde hair duck around the back of the bar. I hope it’s my paranoia getting the better of me.

  “Clyde, move, I said it’s over. You will find someone to fill my spot,” I encourage.

  He drops his head and walks away defeated. I feel like shit for a moment then remember why I am doing it…him.

  Chapter 9. Braden

  I’m in my happy place. Well, my old happy place since Shawn isn’t here. I’m painting, and of course, it’s a portrait of the man who has all my attention—Shawn.

  When I’m not drawing him, I’m thinking about him. He is my muse, my safe place, and a man that has made me so incredibly joyful that I can no longer imagine my life without him in it. Just a single thought of him makes tiny butterflies take flight in my stomach. He makes my heart race with a simple look and my cock hard with a gentle kiss. He is my trifecta of overwhelming emotions.

  He doesn’t know it yet, but I am head over heels, unequivocally in love with him. I almost told him last night, but the timing didn’t seem right.

  Hopefully, soon, I will be able to express myself to him openly without fearing any rebuke. Not that I think he will, but the dread is still there and very real. I hope he feels the same way I do. Sometimes, I can see it in his eyes and then it's like a shield raises up. I think it has something to do with why he isn’t ready to take my virginity.

  I hope he gets it straightened out quickly or can, at least, talk about it. He is still a mystery to me, and I think that’s why I have not yet professed my love to him. I need to know he’s on the same page as I am before I can play my cards.

  I miss him tonight. Having him here last night and the night before was like waking from a dream you never want to end. An innocent touch from him is beyond a dream, it’s more like paradise.

  I smile as I remember every touch, every taste of him. He makes me feel like the hottest man alive. I believe I could conquer worlds with just one of his smiles. I know I’m a sap, but truly, it’s how I feel. I never want it to end because the finality could destroy me so completely I may never come back.

  My phone buzzes from the shelves. I smile because I’m sure it’s Shawn. He has texted me periodically throughout the day just to let me know he is thinking of me. I just sent him one before I started painting.

  Wiping my hands on my apron, I dab my brush in the cup of water. I can’t stand letting it dry even
slightly. I go through too many brushes as it is.

  Grabbing my phone, I see it’s a picture message from an unavailable number. My eyebrows bunch together as I try to think of who could have gotten my number that I don’t know.

  I open the message.

  The phone falls from my hands as the picture becomes clear to me. I don’t even care that I hear a resounding crack as the front glass shatters. What I just saw destroys me. I feel my heart break into tiny pieces. The picture was none other than the object of my affections kissing another man, and the date is clearly stamped on the top right-hand corner. It was taken only moments ago. He said he had things to do. I can see that he obviously had someone to do and that someone is certainly not me. I stumble forward blinded by tears, right into the painting of him. It’s almost poetic as I watch the water spill on the canvas making it bleed as though it represents my heart at this very moment.

  I can’t breathe as I stumble over to my bed. I put my head between my legs as I try to catch my breath. All it does is make me dizzy. I cry, tears streaming down my face as I remember the things he’s said to me, the things we’ve done together.

  I won’t be able to make it tonight; I have work at the store plus my teen anti-sex class, he told me. Yeah, teen anti-sex class. I see how that works, but then I remember other things he’s said to me, too.

  I know we can’t just go out and flaunt it to everyone, but this thing we have, I want it to be exclusive. I want you to have no qualms about me, about this, about us. I thought he was being sincere. I had never had words mean so much to me as those had, and now they are meaningless. They are dry ashes upon his tongue. He probably tells them to every guy he dates.

  Then why didn’t he just fuck me last night? A tiny voice says in my head. Why didn’t he just fuck me and chuck me if that’s what he’s does? I didn’t need pretty words for him to score. I was already a sure bet. It just doesn’t make any sense. I suppose it doesn’t have to.

  I lay down across my bed. I don’t have the energy to even remove my clothes. I pull my pillow over my head and lose it. I cry for all the hope and dreams now in remnants at my feet. I cry for the love that with care could have been the most beautiful thing in the world. Most of all, I cry because I was never enough for him when I would have given him all of me. I was not good enough.

  *****

  The next morning, I wake with a start as my alarm clock goes off near my head. I’m glad I have the backup since my phone is shattered. I will need to replace it, though I’m in no hurry to do so. It’s not like I want to talk to him. I do not. He would just give me pretty words in the hopes that I will turn my back on his infidelities. I will never be that person. I need honesty and the ability to trust him. Right now, I wouldn’t believe a word out of his mouth.

  I stand up and notice the mess from last night. The painting is laying on the floor, and the water has warped the side of Shawn’s face. The paint is spattered all over, and my phone sets in shards of glass beside it. All these things I just can’t comprehend right now. There is no way.

  I look down at myself in the clothes I had on yesterday. I even fell asleep with my apron on. I pull it over my head before tossing it aside. Looking in the mirror over my dresser, I see myself in my wrinkled clothing with dark circles surrounding my eyes. I cried all night long and would sleep intermittently then awake with emptiness like there was a great chasm in my chest and cry some more. It was a never-ending cycle. I don’t think I have another tear to shed after last night.

  Stepping out of my room, I move as though I’m walking to the guillotine for all the sadness on my shoulders. I make it to the bathroom just as another student comes out. The room is foggy from their shower, so I wipe my hand across the mirror as I turn the cold tap water on. I look like hell, but for some reason, I just do not give a shit.

  Splashing chilled water over my face, I let it drip down into the collar of my shirt. At least, I’m awake now. I can’t say much about my appearance, though. It looks like I slept in a war zone, but it’ll have to do. I have no energy left in me to make myself presentable.

  I hurry back to my room on legs that do not seem to want to carry me and grab my school bag, trying to gather what is salvageable of my art supplies. I whimper when I look down at the wrecked painting. It’s just like my hopes and dreams, nothing but garbage now.

  I kick it into the corner where it falls over, and I can no longer see Shawn’s eyes staring out at me. I still hear his echoed words in my mind and remember the look that I thought was love. I growl and shake my head. I need him out of my brain, but I have no idea how to do it.

  I leave my dorm before I stomp on the painting for good measure. It won’t help me feel better, nothing can. I may as well save my flagging strength to make it to my first class.

  It’s not until I’m almost to the classroom that I realize I will be seeing Shawn today for History study. I groan as I walk through the front door. I’ll have to check if there is someone else available to tutor him. There is no way I can sit and pretend that everything is fine, and no way in hell am I going to let him see me as destroyed as I am. I do have some pride left.

  My earliest class is terribly boring. I already have the entire syllabus memorized, and I find my mind constantly drifting in Shawn’s direction. I can’t seem to make myself stop even though I desperately want to. It rips me apart that I meant so little to him. I was so easily cast aside for that older man in the picture. That picture that made me sick just looking at it. They seemed to be locked in a very passionate embrace. Is what they have more meaningful than what he had with me? Obviously, it is, or he wouldn’t have been with that guy last night. He would have been with me.

  I’m nearly to the World Cultures building when I hear Shawn calling my name. My shoulders slump, and I yank the hood from my jacket over my head. I do not want to do this, not now, not ever. He doesn’t want us to be out in public anyway, so he should understand why I don’t answer him.

  I put one foot in front of the other, but as I get closer to my destination, I veer off. I can’t do it. I can’t see Shawn’s face right now. He calls my name one more time as I move as fast as possible away from him and the memories of what we once had.

  Chapter 10. Shawn

  My heart is shattered, and my every thought is of the last night Braden and I were together, trying to remember if I missed a look or said something that could have set this behavior in motion. He told me were good; he even texted me that he wanted to see me the next day. Then he ran from me, avoiding me. He has stopped all communication. Going so far as to not show up for tutoring, claiming he doesn’t have the time. Even missing classes, especially his art class—the only class he truly loves.

  The days are all beginning to blur one into the other. I just want Braden to tell me to my face what it is I have done. My pitching is not up to par during practice, and my fucking batting is even shittier. My uncle sent me home both days I worked this week because I fucked up stock and invoices. Now, I am sitting at the dinner table with the parish board listening to them discuss what repairs the church needs.

  My grandfather asks me about my games because honestly, he is the only one who encourages my love of the sport. I tell him about the test and me having a tutor.

  He pulls me close so no one hears. “Son, I can go talk to that coach if need be. You’ll be playing in your next game.”

  “Papaw, that won’t be necessary. I already get a lot of flak from most people due to being the Mayor’s son and you being…you. I will pass the next test and kick ass…I mean tail, like I always do,” I say as I clasp his shoulder. He laughs straight from his belly. He goes back to the table with the others.

  “Deacon Busch, Reverend Dominque, or anyone at the table want something else to drink?” Mrs. Pettigrew asks as she stands from her seat as my mom begins gathering up the empty glasses. “Sister Dominque, you just set yourself back down. I can handle getting these gentlemen some refreshments. With the help of Shawn that is,” she says a
s she puts the empty glasses from the table on a tray.

  After getting her drink list memorized, Charlie’s mother heads through the kitchen door with me following behind with the tray. She puts the empty, dirty glasses in the dishwasher as she begins speaking.

  “So, Shawn, how is school coming along?” she asks as she fills the now empty tray with fresh glasses.

  “It’s fine, Mrs. Pettigrew, thanks for asking,” I respond as I grab the pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge.

  “Well, that’s good, dear. Were you aware that our annual cancer charity ball is next weekend?” she asks as she puts iced tea in some of the glasses and bourbon in the others.

  “Why, yes, I am ma’am. My mother mentioned she ordered a new dress for it. This is what, year five?” I ask as I begin to pick up the tray.

  “Why, yes, Shawn I believe you are correct. Hard to believe it’s been that long. This year we’re doing an auction of some sort. I don’t know the particulars, Mr. Pettigrew handles these things. I was wondering if you planned on attending?” She stands in the way of me and the door.

  “I suppose it never crossed my mind. I’m so busy with classes and baseball,” I answer, setting the heavy tray back on the counter.

  “Well, then, I guess it’s settled. You will be accompanying your parents.” Before I could decline, she was headed out the door.

  *****

  My mom is dragging me from shop to shop looking for the perfect tuxedo since Mrs. Bigmouth Pettigrew announced I agreed to go to the ball with my parents. I tried to tell Mom I never agreed, but she explained to me that it would be uncouth of me to not show up. I hate black-tie shit and sitting around a bunch of fake people with their fake smiles. I get through it on Sundays because I don’t have to hear them talk. But now, I’ll have to speak to these…these…people. After the shoes and the penguin suit are bought, I finally get some thinking time. I still attempt to call Braden at least five times a day, and I get the same message: Voice mailbox is full. I text, I get nothing.