Page 50 of Antidote

Oh, fuck it.

I open the door wider to let him through, and as soon as I lock the door, he’s on me. He slams me against the wall, pressing his body against mine, and slams his lips against mine. It doesn’t feel like Ollie’s soft lips, and my chest doesn’t tighten. My heart doesn’t speed up. My hands don’t shake. But I do feel my dick stir, and that scares me more than being into Oliver.

Pushing him away, I take a deep breath. But he just smirks at me and gets something out of his back pocket— a packet of lube. Fuck, I’m not having sex with him in here. He has to know that. Right?

“I’m not fucking you,” I grunt, and he just chuckles.

“You’re hard,” he whispers, bringing his hand toward me and palming my cock over my jeans. He rubs and I groan, and then he’s undoing my fly and pulling the zipper down. I lower my jeans and boxers under my ass, and he does the same. “Just let me take care of you.”

I nod, giving him permission.

He squirts lube all over his hand and steps closer, and when his hand wraps around my length, I cringe. It’s cold and uncomfortable for a moment, but maybe that’s just because I’m confused. I’m in the bathroom of a bar fucking around with a guy, and even though it feels wrong because he’s not Ollie, my body is clearly enjoying it. Fuck. Am I gay? Is this really happening?

I grunt when he begins jerking our lengths together, and he moans. His sounds don’t make me fluttery inside, and that’s a good sign. Maybe I can be objective after this is over. He doesn’t flick his wrist the right way, doesn’t swipe his thumb over the head of my dick on the upstroke. However, he does have a tight grip on me, and I begin to fuck up into his hand to at least get an orgasm out of it.

“Name?” he asks me.

I debate on not telling him for a few seconds. But whatever, I’m in this deep anyway. “Hunter.”

“Hunter,” he repeats with a grin. “Fuck my hand harder, Hunter.”

I nod, my hips rising faster and harder into his fist. The door slams every time my back meets it, but I don’t care. Hopefully, no one comes this way.

My spine tingles as his hand speeds up, and I moan long and low, biting my lip to keep my sounds in. His mouth is wide open, his head thrown back in pleasure. Only it reminds me of Ollie when he’s in the grips of ecstasy, so I close my eyes in order not to see it.

But as my breath catches in my throat and I begin to come all over this stranger’s hand, I imagine it’s Ollie here with me in this bar, making me feel good in a seedy bathroom. I would give just about anything for that reality, and suddenly, I don’t want to be here anymore. The hot stranger is oblivious as he comes into his hand too, my release triggering his, and when I open my eyes, he’s grinning.

My chest heaves and so does his, and he walks away to clean up. I just tuck myself back in and give him a lazy grin. I wait for him to be presentable and go to unlock the door, then look over my shoulder at him.

“Thanks, man,” I say and then leave him behind.

Guilt slams into me at full force all over again. It feels like I’m betraying Oliver, but why? He just fucked Dylan. I can do this if I want to. It didn’t mean anything—just research. What I found out doesn’t put my mind at ease, though. Because I kind of liked it.

Was it all a fluke?

It’s been a week of avoiding Oliver.

A week of confusion because of my little hookup. I don’t know what it means for me—or maybe I do, but I don’t want to admit it. Because admitting it would mean I’d have to come out to everyone in my life. What if my team doesn’t accept me? What if I lose my chance at playing professionally? What if my dad doesn’t love me anymore? I don’t know if risking all of that is worth it, especially when the one person I crave is someone I don’t want to want.

That’s why I’ve decided it’s time for him to get the fuck out of the apartment. I can’t have him there anymore, tempting me, taunting me. It’s one thing for him to leave his cum dripping from the shower wall, but it’s another thing entirely to be on the receiving end of his kisses. That seriously cannot happen again—over my dead fucking body. I won’t betray my mom anymore, I refuse.

Which is why he has to leave, because as long as he’s there, I don’t know how much self-control I’ll actually have. I could feel it slipping even before the kiss, when I laid on the couch with him and cuddled him to sleep. I just watched him the entire time—how his lips parted with his deep breaths, his eyelashes fluttering periodically, and a frown on his face. Even in his sleep, he’s fucking unhappy. And I can relate.

I can still feel his lips on mine, how they molded so perfectly as he took my bottom lip into his mouth. His tongue probing my lips, thrusting into me and exploring, tangling and warring with mine. And the way he grabbed my ass and rubbed me against his dick? It still makes me so damn hot all over, it’s enough to make me break out into a sweat.

Rubbing my erection over my jeans, I take a deep breath. I can’t be thinking about this shit right now. I need to focus. My hand meets my cheek—hard—as I attempt to snap out of it. I just want him out of my head already. I need to hate him more than anything else. There can’t be anything making my feelings hazy at this point—no, he needs to get out of my life while I’m still willing to let him go. I can only be so strong.

I need to see his dull blue eyes again, cold and devoid of life, because when they’re clear, they show too much. Too much emotion…too much of who he really is. The pieces that make him up—and I’ve always loved those stupid pieces. The only time I’ve ever been able to stay away from him is when I know he’s under the influence. I know it’s sick of me to want that for him, but I shouldn’t care anymore. I don’t.

I know he scored. Someone told me about how he went to the dealer’s house. One of my teammates was there buying weed and saw Oliver. I’m obviously expecting the worst, knowing that as soon as I step into the apartment he’ll probably be high in his room. Will I be able to deal with that?

Taking a deep breath, I get out of the car. My footsteps are light, yet they still crunch on the asphalt. I have to be able to deal with it, but I’ll stay as far away from him as possible. Maybe this is what I need to survive his proximity. For him to be indifferent, too worried about getting high to worry about me.

The apartment is silent when I enter, but I know he’s here. I can feel his presence. It’s comforting, and it makes me sick that it makes me feel that way. That it doesn’t repulse me as much as I want it to.

I open his door quietly, just to see him sitting on the bed, palm up, three pills in his hand. He startles, then closes his fist immediately, as if I didn’t see anything.

“Oliver,” I say softly. He winces the same way he always does when I call him that, and I smile. It brings me joy when I cause him pain, even if it’s short-lived. “What are you doing?”

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