Page 17 of Bad at Love

Gabriel

“No, no, no! This can’t happen,” I say, barreling down the stairs and to the kitchen to wash my hands. Because the soap in the bathroom upstairs isn’t enough. I need the one from the kitchen too.

“I said I was sorry!” Storm calls after me.

“Sorry doesn’t fix what I just saw. Nothing will ever fix that!” I turn the water as hot as it will go, pumping soap into my hand before scrubbing them. I didn’t touch him or anything he touched, but I just need to wash my hands.

“Oh, come on, Gabe. All men jerk off.”

I whip my head toward him, glaring. “I don’t!”

He grins. “Bullshit.”

“No.” I shake my head, turning back to the sink and using my nails to scrape my skin. “I do not do that. It makes too much of a mess.”

“Your dick never gets hard?”

“No!” I shout, squirting more soap into my hand to wash them again. They’re shaking and red, but I need to be clean. Clean, clean, clean. I have to be clean. Clean of the germs and clean of the lie.

Because my dick does get hard. Not often. Mostly when I wake up in the morning, or if there is an indecent scene in a movie. Just the body’s natural reaction. Nothing more. Except for a few moments ago. I was so hard when I turned away from Storm, and nothing about that makes sense. Why would my dick get hard because of him? It shouldn’t. Maybe it was fear. That happens sometimes. Men get hard when they’re scared. I wasn’t scared in the sense of my life being in danger, but all that mess, those germs…

It’s disgusting, Gabriel. Don’t ever let me catch you touching that thing again!

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my mother’s voice to get out of my head as I scrub my hands one last time. When I’m done, I shut off the water, but stay where I am.

Breathe, Gabriel,I tell myself.Just breathe.

“Are you okay?” Storm asks from behind me. He sounds like he actually cares. All sense of joking and cocky frat boy attitude is gone.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

What I found him doing was… dirty. It was dirty and he shouldn’t be doing it. Yet, I know this is something a lot of people do, and I should have considered this when asking a male to live with me. At first, I didn’t want a male roommate, but then Marta pointed out that asking a female to live with me may seem strange. After she explained why, I agreed. I’m not a predator,I’m not a creep. I don’t want to watch people in the shower. But they don’t know that about me. So, a male it was. Males are gross. I grew up with three brothers, all of which were gross. We were all scolded over it, but it seems I’m the only one who ever took the warnings seriously. Letting out a long and slow breath, I turn to face Storm.

“If you’re going to dothatin this house, please make sure the door is closed.”

“Well, I was going to, but I didn’t want you walking in.”

“Why would I have done that?”

“Because you didn’t know where I was. You didn’t tell me that was my room, and I was in your house with no direction. I assumed you’d come looking. Thought I’d hear you if you got home.”

That makes zero sense. But being around people enough, I give a basic response to appease him because it’s easier than arguing. “I understand, but don’t let it happen again.”

He holds his hands up. “Swear I’ll keep the door closed from now on. You’ll never catch me doing that again.”

I nod, feeling bugs crawling on my skin as I look at his hands that had his… fluids on them just moments ago. Bugs that I can’t see but know are there. I need a shower.

Pleasure rushes through my body, every nerve on fire in a way I’ve never felt before. This feeling is… amazing. I open my eyes, looking down to find myself naked. Completely naked in my bed.

Oh no. Why am I naked, lying on my sheets? They’re dirty and it isn’t the day to wash them. I can’t wash them out of turn, but—oh, god, that feels good.

My hips move of their own accord, like I’m not in control. Up and down, back and forth. The more I do it, the better it feels. Desire builds, this urge for me to keep going is too much to ignore. It all feels too good to stop. But it’s bad. It’s wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this.

I can’t stop though, moving harder and faster until the pleasure builds so much it bursts. My eyes squeeze shut, and I groan deeply, nearly sobbing at the relief that courses through my veins.

When I open my eyes again, my face is buried in my pillow. It takes a few seconds for me to realize what happened. Pushing myself up on my hands, I look down at my pajama pants, noting the dark wet spot near my crotch.

No, not again…

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