Bleeding Like Me

by Riley Parks

  Not ready to face her, he waited until sometime in the late afternoon after he heard the front door open and close, to emerge from his room. He was supposed to meet up with Luke in a few hours to target shoot at the warehouse, but that wasn’t fucking happening. Instead he decided to get wasted on some Jack Daniel’s and play video games.

  The text messages from Evan started flooding in around dinnertime.

  Evan (6:36pm): Hey u good?

  Evan (6:45pm): ???

  Evan (7:02pm): Feel like ur ignoring me

  Evan (7:05pm): R U?

  Jackson (7:07pm): Fuck off

  Evan (7:10pm): Yeah?

  Jackson (7:11pm): Yup

  Evan (7:12pm): So ur gonna push me away now?

  Jackson (7:12pm): Yup

  Evan (7:14pm): Not surprising. Exactly what a pussy would do.

  Jackson (7:15pm): Fuck u. Come over here and I’ll show u what a pussy I am.

  Evan (7:16pm): Already did last night bitch. Remember when u were my good boy?

  Jackson threw his phone across the room and rubbed his forehead, wishing he could erase every memory and moment with that asshole that was stuck in his mind. He figured his only chance at doing so was to drink more. He cringed as he took another swig, tilting his head against the overstuffed pillows of the couch, and closed his eyes.

  He should have never allowed himself to go there—to let Evan into his house, into his body. He hated how badly he wanted him, wanted whatever the fuck they had. Jackson chugged the liquor, so aggravated when he reached the bottom of the bottle that he thoughtlessly spiked it against the wall, watching as the glass shattered from the force. He’d broken too many things that day.

  He attempted to climb to his feet but gave up as soon as he stumbled, dropping onto his hands and knees, and crawled across the floor to his phone. “Of course,” he grumbled, looking down at the cracked screen and the messages beyond it.

  Evan (7:31pm): So that’s it? It’s done?

  Evan (7:32pm): Guess there wasn’t much there anyway

  Evan (8:27pm): Fuck u and fuck me for giving a shit

  Jackson (9:14pm): I gve a shtt 2

  Evan (9:20pm): Ur drunk

  Jackson (9:20pm): so

  Evan (9:21pm): Anything ur drunk ass says doesn’t count

  Jackson (9:22pm): Ohyeh?

  He lay down on his stomach, letting his cheek rest against the carpet as he squinted, trying to focus on the blurring screen. Evan’s statement felt like freedom, an opportunity he was going to take with all of his inhibitions lying among the shards of glass in the corner of the room.

  Jackson (9:24pm): Fcking crazy abut u

  Evan (9:25pm): Stop ur gonna regret this when u look back at ur messages tomorrow

  Jackson (9:26pm): U said it dont cunt

  Evan (9:27pm): Did u just call me a cunt?

  Jackson (9:27pm): count

  Evan (9:28pm): Yeah well it does now

  Jackson (9:28pm): U cant do tht

  Evan (9:29pm): Can do whatever I want

  Jackson (9:29pm): 2 me

  Evan (9:30pm): Not true. You won’t let me eat ur ass out.

  Jackson (9:31pm): Cum here nd do it then

  Evan (9:32pm): Don’t tempt me. You’re too drunk and you told me to fuck off earlier. Not gonna be someone’s regret.

  Jackson grimaced, hating that he’d made Evan feel that way and hating even more that he did regret wanting him. Shit was easier when he didn’t have to talk to the guys he fucked, when he didn’t kiss them, wake up wrapped around them, or want them the way he craved Evan.

  Jackson (9:34pm): want itwant u

  Evan (9:35pm): Ur gonna sober up and wish I wasn’t there. Did u talk to ur sister?

  Sometime after the last drop of alcohol had been consumed, he’d forgotten all about the awkward run-in hours earlier. Now, just like that, all the shame came back, crashing over him like a wave and making him feel like he was drowning.

  Jackson (9:38pm): Don’t worry abut it

  Evan (9:38pm): So it went ok?

  Evan (10:01pm): Ur done talking to me now?

  He wanted to say yes, desperate to lick his wounds and forget about the events of the day. He wanted to end the conversation that he knew was going to mortify him as much, if not more, than his run-in with Amy had earlier. He wanted to be done talking, but he knew he couldn’t be.

  Jackson (10:02pm): NO not sure wht tosay

  Evan (10:04pm): Been thinking about u all day. Wanna C U.

  Jackson (10:05pm): Cme here

  Evan (10:05pm): What about ur sister?

  Jackson (10:06pm): Dont worry abutit

  Evan (10:06pm): Okay

  Without giving it another thought, he sent a text to Amy. Somewhere deep in his skull, his sober mind was screaming for him not to do it, to attempt to save some sort of face, but his sober mind was flooded with Jack Daniels, not at all able to win the battle it was too drunk to fight.

  Jackson (10:07pm): Don’t cme hme 2nit

  Amy (10:10pm): I was planning on staying at Isaiah’s anyway. Are we going to talk about this or pretend it never happened?

  Jackson (10:11pm): Dnt know wht ur talkin abut

  Amy (10:18pm): Got it. It never happened. But if it had… I wouldn’t care. I hope you know that. I love you and I always will. Don’t give a shit who you love.

  Jackson (10:20pm): not abut luv

  Amy (10:25pm): Well then, I don’t give a fuck who you fuck. Is that better?

  He stared down at his phone at his sister’s succinct reaction. For him, his preferences were world crushing and painful, the secret that had always torn him up from the inside. To Amy, it was “I don’t give a fuck who you fuck” and “don’t give a shit who you love.” The only person he had ever loved didn’t give a fuck or a shit. As reluctant as he was to look her in the eyes again, the fact that she was so accepting made the prospect less intimidating.

  Thing was, he didn’t want her to see him differently.

  He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, attempting to muster the energy to sit up. Once he did, he groaned at how fucking disgusting the room was. He figured he could make himself look somewhat less disgusting if he at least cleaned up the broken bottle. His submerged reasoning skills allowed him to pick up the pieces of glass without care and he ended up giving himself a good-size gash in his palm.

  While he was wiping blood onto his white wife-beater, he heard a knock at the door. He forced himself to his feet and stumbled to it, opening it slowly to see Evan standing there with his hands in his pockets. As soon as the redhead saw him, his eyes went wide. “What the fuck happened to you?” He grabbed him by the wrist and examined the cut on his hand.

  “Broke a glass,” Jack slurred, yanking his arm away. “Ain’t a big deal.”

  “Looks pretty deep to me,” Evan disagreed with a click of his tongue. He closed the door behind him and frowned. “Do you have anything to clean it up?”

  “In the bathroom,” Jackson sighed, realizing that Evan wasn’t going to drop it. Jackson staggered toward the bathroom, not protesting when he felt steady hands on his waist, supporting him. He swung open the medicine cabinet and leaned against the wall as Evan looked through it.

  “Here.” He pulled out hydrogen peroxide, cotton balls, gauze, and tape. “Think you can probably do without stitches if I pack it enough.”

  “You a doctor, too? That the next bomb you’re going to drop on me?”

  “What other bomb did I drop on you?” Evan asked with a laugh, turning on the faucet and letting the water warm up a bit before he took Jackson’s hand and held his underneath it for support. Jackson refused to flinch even though it hurt like a muthafucker.

  Evan wadded up some toilet paper and dabbed the area dry before wetting a cotton ball with the chemical.

  “That you’re a KKz,” Jackson stated. “Fucking hate it.”

  “But you’re bleeding red,” Evan teased, much to Jackson’s dismay. “I’m just kidding, man.”


  “It ain’t a joke though. This shit’s a big deal. We’re never going to be able to be together, you know that? I mean,” he cleared his throat, “if that’s what you were hoping for, it ain’t ever going to happen.”

  Evan nodded as he cleaned the wound. “I’m here though, so it’s kinda happening, right?”

  “You know what I mean,” Jack stated, watching as Evan laid a bunch of gauze on his hand and then wrapped it with tape.

  “Why don’t we worry about that shit another time?” he suggested, dipping down to press a soft kiss against Jackson’s lips. “You taste like Jack Daniels.”

  “Am I supposed to say something really fucking gay like ‘you taste like heaven’?” Jackson smiled when Evan broke out into raucous laughter.

  “I mean, I hope not,” he said as he caught his breath. He slowly peeled Jackson’s tank top off him and tossed it onto the floor. “Where’s the rest of the glass?”

  “In the living room,” Jackson replied, annoyed that he was still embarrassed even when the alcohol was supposed to assure him that he wouldn’t be.

  “Let’s get you into bed and then I’ll go and clean it up,” Evan suggested, looping his arm around Jackson’s waist and guiding him to his bedroom.

  “I can walk,” he groused, earning a chuckle from the redhead.

  “No you fucking can’t,” he disagreed, pulling back the comforter so Jackson could climb into bed then draped it over him. Evan made his way into the living room to clean up the broken bottle.

  Jackson heard cleaning-up noises and glass hitting the trash bin before Evan came back to the bedroom. Pulling off his t-shirt and then shorts, he climbed under the covers behind Jackson and Evan wrapped his arms tightly around Jack’s chest.

  “Think I’m crazy about you, too,” he admitted quietly, his nose nudging the nape of Jackson’s neck.

  “You said that shit didn’t count,” Jackson replied sleepily. “Said it wouldn’t count.”

  “Well, I changed the rules,” Evan stated.

  “Can’t change the rules,” Jackson argued, grinning when Evan held him tighter, knowing full well that that the bastard could and did.

  19

  Jackson woke up feeling like shit. His head was pounding, his stomach was churning and his hand was throbbing, but none of it seemed to matter much with Evan’s body cocooning him. As he rested his hand on top of the redhead’s and allowed their fingers to intertwine, he admonished himself for being so gay. He couldn’t help it. Evan made him really fucking gay. Before Evan, Jackson thought his attraction to men was only physical. But with Evan, Jack realized it was emotional too. He’d never experienced anything like it and found himself wondering if Tamara had felt that way about him. He couldn’t imagine how badly it would suck to have that level of desire go completely unrequited.

  He grinned when Evan instinctively pulled him in closer, their bodies growing more accustomed to each other; their minds becoming more accepting of what was going on between them. The easy way out would have been to deny it, pretend like whatever it was didn’t mean shit and go back to their separate lives. Neither of them had ever had it easy, exceedingly used to the discomfort of taking the more difficult path.

  It hadn’t always been worth it.

  Bad decisions had led to relentless struggles and strife, but this was different. Regardless of how messy they were on paper and how intent their pride seemed to be to get in the way, in the flesh everything was simple. They’d spent two nights together, skin to skin, laying a foundation for a relationship that they both could feel comfortable in.

  As good as it felt to get lost in the moment, Jackson was pragmatic enough to know that whatever happened within the confines of his apartment was a fantasy…a dream that would keep them blindly grasping for it as it predictably moved farther out of their reach with each graze of their fingertips.

  It wasn’t practical to think it could be anything more than what it was. Still, he couldn’t help but feel close to Evan. There was so much they didn’t know about each other, but what they didn’t know paled in comparison to what they did. Sharing their deepest secret had tethered and liberated them. They were tied together by their most intimate feelings and set free by their release. With each other they were not a façade of themselves, as they had always been around family and friends. They understood what no one else ever could.

  What they never let them.

  “How’s your hand?” the sleepy voice behind him asked as warm lips brushed against Jackson’s shoulder.

  “Better than my fucking head,” he muttered back, grinning when he felt the kiss on his temple and then another on his jawline. “Drank too much.”

  “No shit. You polish off that whole bottle of Jack yourself?”

  He scoffed, “I’d be dead.” Clicking his tongue, he tried to remember how much he had drank. “Probably half.”

  Evan hummed and nestled his face into the crook of Jackson’s neck. “So did you like it?”

  “Like what? The Jack?”

  “No,” he replied. Jackson could hear the grin on his face and wondered why it was there. “When I ate your ass.”

  “Fuck you,” he laughed, shaking his head. “That didn’t fucking happen.”

  “You sure about that?” Evan questioned, turning his lover’s shoulder so he was flat on his back and hovering over him with a mischievous glint in his chocolate eyes.

  “Positive, motherfucker. Never black out, remember everything,” Jackson replied, reaching up to push one unruly clump of hair off Evan’s forehead and tsking when it fell back down again.

  “Everything?” he questioned, ginger eyebrows raised.

  “Mmmhmm,” Jackson confirmed, rubbing Evan’s thigh before letting his hand travel back to his ass. “Getting me fucking hard.”

  “So, you remember when you told me you were crazy about me then?” Evan pushed, ignoring Jackson’s admission, his persistence causing Jack to let out an aggravated sigh.

  “I do.”

  “And you meant it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?” Evan studied Jackson’s face as if he was waiting for a change in energy, a laugh or a jeer.

  “Fuck. I don’t know. Why’d you say it back?”

  “Because that’s how I fucking feel.”

  “Right,” Jackson stated, narrowing his eyes, trying to understand what was so difficult to comprehend. “Me too.”

  “So you’re crazy about me?”

  “Yes and right now you’re driving me nuts, man. How about instead of asking stupid fucking questions, you put that pretty mouth to better use, hmm?” He grinned when Evan licked his lips and began to crawl down Jackson’s body. “That’s right,” he praised as the redhead took Jack’s hard cock into his wet and wanton mouth. “Suck it good.”

  X

  Evan had left shortly before Amy got home. As much as Jackson hadn’t wanted him to go, he knew that he definitely didn’t want him running into his sister again. As supportive as Amy had been in their text messages, he knew that it was one thing to say it and another thing to show it. He was still coming to terms with his feelings for Evan; he didn’t need to deal with wondering about anyone else’s acceptance. He and his siblings were taught to despise fags, that it was unnatural and disgusting for men to be with other men. In turn, he’d spent a good amount of his life hating himself and was sure that if Amy and Luke ever found out what he really was, they’d hate him, too.

  “How are you?” his sister asked, sitting down next to him on the couch where he was playing video games.

  “Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” He was sure that he was coming off defensive, but he figured it was better than being a pussy. He wasn’t about to become some pansy-ass around her just because she knew he fucked dudes.

  “Just a normal question, Jack,” Amy replied evenly, giving him a soft smile.

  He nodded, eyes fixed on the television screen in front of him. “Yeah, well, I’m fine.”

  “Good.”

 
They sat there in silence for a while. Jackson knew he should man up and broach the subject but was unsure how to do it.

  “So I left Isaiah’s yesterday morning because I got the worst period cramps ever. I’m talking ripping pain. I made an excuse to leave because I wasn’t about to stay and blow up his toilet.”

  “Fucking nasty.” Jackson laughed, shaking his head. “Why the fuck are you telling me that?”

  “Because as surprised as I was to see, you know, him here, that wasn’t why I ran away. It wasn’t like that.”

  “All right.”

  “Like I told you last night, I don’t care. I’m not like you, Luke, and Dad. I’ve never cared what other people did in their bedrooms.”

  Jackson rolled his lips in and pursed them tightly, thinking for a moment before he spoke. “I don’t know if I’m…like that though.” He paused. “I mean, I like what I like and that don’t make me a bitch, but I never, you know, felt a certain way about a guy. Never thought I was a faggot or whatever.”

  “And now? Do you feel a certain way about Evan?”

  Amid the mayhem of the last couple of days, Jackson had forgotten that Amy had called Evan by his name when she saw him in their kitchen. “How the fuck do you know his name anyway?”

  “I met him and his friend, Micah, at The Drexel the night before last night. They bought us shots and kinda fucked around for a while. Tammy was hitting on him pretty hardcore, though. They did a few lines together and I guess she thought they were going to go get it on or something afterwards, but he peaced out.”