Page 23 of Choke Up

CHAPTER 8

GABE

What the fuck am I doing?

No, really. What the actual fuck am I doing?

There is no part of this that makes any sense.

I've been living in a different world since the graduation party in June. I think that night broke me. If I'd taken any hits to the head recently, I could blame that. And while I have an impressive family history of mental illness I could resort to blaming, I'm not willing to explore that yet. Right now, I need to come to terms that I only have myself to blame for the position I've gotten myself into.

My weakness for Ellis is certainly to blame. I never overtly considered my gravitation toward him to be anything more than brotherly or protective. It's only hindsight that’s allowed me to see how things changed over the years. He was like an annoying younger sibling to me in the early years, to the point that I sometimes resented that he was Elliot's true brother. And then I saw some pretty boy try to kiss him our sophomore year in high school. I know now that my protectiveness took a turn for possessive after that, and I wonder if I subconsciously knew my feelings for him might be evolving to something inappropriate because I pushed back. I knew he had a thing for me, and I used it against him. I used it to create distance between us, letting him be hurt by the jokes and taunts he endured growing up in a backward small town in South Carolina.

In reality, watching him endure the torment of being a gay art nerd in our environment of toxic masculinity and performative religious bullshit only endeared me to him more. Everyone, including his own twin brother, underestimates Ellis. They assume that because he's smaller and softer than his brother, that he's weak or incapable. And yeah, he might be physically weaker, but that kid has more inner strength and willpower than anyone I've ever met. He's smart and observant. Too observant. He makes me feel like he can see through me, which is why I either turn away or redirect by teasing him.

It wasn't until I was standing in a dark room, determined to soothe the ache of rejection that I allowed to happen, that I even considered myself attracted to Ellis on a sexual level. I'd warred with myself over being able to kiss a guy, especially one that had been like a brother to me for most of my life, but I wanted Ellis to have a moment. One that gave him confidence to move on from the high school bullshit and look toward his future.

Or at least that’s what I told myself.

But the moment his small, soft body curved into mine, the soft, slow peck on the lips that I intended became so much more. Every nerve ending in my body was on fire before the first brush of my tongue against his. When I picked him up to grind him against my thigh until the sound of him coming undone and the feel of his nails digging into the back of my neck had me coming in my own shorts. Even before things went way too far, I wanted more, so much more that it made me dizzy with realization and apprehension over what I'd done.

I spent the rest of the summer trying to prove to myself that I'm not gay. I think I buried my dick in every tall brunette that looked at me twice, never once seeing the woman beneath me or on her knees for me. My ill-advised encounter with Ellis made it impossible to see anyone but him. His bright blue eyes were the ones looking up at me, watering as I forced my cock as far back into their throat as it would go. His hair was what I gripped as I thrusted. His nails were digging into my skin the way they did that night as I made him come. His gasps were what I heard and imagined when I finally reached my climax; thoughts of him the only thing that could get me there.

I thought I'd mostly moved past it, that I'd be able to head into my first semester of college without obsessing over the one person on earth I couldn’t have. Then fucking Elliot had to go and encourage him to download that fucking hookup app. I couldn't let it happen. Ellis is mine, even if neither of us understands what's happening between us. Even if he doesn't know who he's telling all his secrets to. Even if it's not my name on his lips as I swallow his cum.

Except that, for a moment, I almost thought I heard it. I could have sworn he was going to say my name. It was wishful thinking, an errant syllable in an unintelligible cry, but it made me wild. I want it to be my name so badly. It was all I could do not to brand my name across his ass and take him so hard he'd be too broken to ever consider letting another man touch him. It took more willpower than I was aware I possessed not to split him in half.

And now I'm hiding in a corner, questioning everything. About what I'm doing, who I'm doing it with, why I'm doing it—who I even am.

Because I'm not gay. I don't know how to be gay. I don't know how to touch a man, or what to do with a dick. I've never wanted to before. So far, everything has been a mixture of instinct, touching him the way my body wants, and holding myself back so I don't hurt him or go too far. But the more I get, the more I want. Staying away from him for six excruciating weeks after my first real taste has been harder than every workout I’ve forced myself through to blow off steam. I run my tongue over my lips, remembering the taste of his skin and sweat and cum, and I know I won't be able to wait that long again before I can touch him.

Ellis is smart. If he's not walking away from this, putting all the pieces together after all the hints Elliot unknowingly gave him, it'll be a miracle. My only saving grace is that I don't think he really wants to know.

The room grows dark before I realize how long I've been sitting here. My phone is flashing with notifications that I missed since I turned off my sound earlier. It's been over an hour of imagining every scenario of how this could go wrong. Waning between the decision to back all the way off, and the knowledge that getting hit by a MAC truck couldn't veer me from the path I'm on. I could sit here all night and never come to terms with everything.

What I'm doing is too fucked up. I'm aware, but I'm not going to stop. I can't.

I don't want to.

There are a few texts from Elliot.

Elliot: You okay, man?

Elliot: Where are you?

He sends me a "what the fuck" GIF, an eye roll emoji, and an angry waiting GIF.

Elliot: Dude. Should I be worried?

That's the last message from him, sent just over ten minutes ago. I hurry to message him back.

Gabe: I'm good. Sorry. Got held up.

The message is read, but he doesn't respond. Which is a good thing. I don't know what to say if he asks me what held me up. I need to think of something though, because zoning out and having an existential crisis after almost getting caught humping your brother until I hosed him down with cum, probably isn't my best course of action. He'd never forgive me, and that's not even considering that I'm doing all of this while keeping Ellis in the dark about my identity. Even though Ellis had a crush on me in high school, I doubt it's a line he'd ever cross. He loves his brother too much to hurt him, same as I do.

I have a few more messages from friends and teammates, and a ton of social media tags about the scrimmage today and prospects for the upcoming season. I ignore all of those, though, because I have a message from Ellis on the Howler app.

ELLISH: Well, that was exciting.

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