Page 7 of Drag Me Up

Gray bedspread.

Cream curtains and pillows.

Bookshelves filled with business textbooks.

There is not a single sparkle or piece of glitter anywhere. There is no color, no flair. This can’t be Eric’s room!

I walk over to the desk to prove to myself that this room must be just another guest room now. I glance at the papers on the desk and choke back a sob. I can see an acceptance letter to the University of Pittsburgh School of Business addressed to Mr. Eric Mendleton.

My breath won’t come.

Can a person actually asphyxiate from guilt?

I race into his ensuite bathroom to splash some water on my face. This has to be a dream. My vibrant little man was extinguished by his family. If only I had been there for him…

The sound of tires on the gravel outside tells me I’ve taken too long to “get ice” and I need to get back down to the party. The last thing I want is for my selfishness to get my mother or one of the other staff in trouble.

Dropping the card I prepared into the trash can in the kitchen, I head back outside to finish getting the party ready. If I can get out of here without having to face the embodiment of my crushing guilt, I will. I know I’m a fucking coward, but I need to remember the boy in the tablecloth ballgown not the man he’s been forced to become.

I never did see him at the party. I ran away. I faked an illness and hid on my mother’s couch while I booked my ticket back to Boston. I decided to stay away completely. My heart couldn’t handle the thought of running into Eric Mendleton, the business tycoon.

“Let’s go make it official, neighbor!” Jackson calls to me from outside. “Hurry up, Teach!”

Swallowing my guilt for the zillionth time, I force a smile to go check out my new home and prepare for the next chapter of my life.

6

ERIC

Waking up sore after a night out on the town is not that unusual for me. Whatisout of the ordinary is the fact that my face, sides, and arms are sore and it hurts to swallow.

He’s gagging for it…

I barely make it to the toilet before the contents of my stomach come rushing up my throat. Leaning back against the vanity cupboard, I try to remember what the fuck I was thinking last night.

I know better than this. It’s too close to the anniversary for me to be trying to do oral with a random guy. Hell, most of the time I take it off the table as soon as I introduce myself since I know it will likely trigger a fight or flight response. Most guys are good with handies or skipping to the main event, so it isn’t much of an issue usually.

So why the fuck did I swallow a cock last night? And why the fuck am I hurting so much?

Pushing myself off the floor I flush the toilet and move to the sink to splash some water in my mouth to rinse. Glancing at the mirror, I do a double take. My face looks like it became quite cozy with either pavement or a brick wall. And judging by the bruising on my neck, I don’t think I intentionally swallowed anything last night.

Lifting up my t-shirt, I can see a few bruises forming on my chest and torso that are suspiciously in the shape of boot prints.

I wasn’t fucked last night. I was fucked up.

Going back to the bed, I notice a scrap of paper under my phone on the table. Picking it up, I am surprised to see that someone helped me. Since I can’t remember much of last night, I’m more than a bit thankful for the kindness of a random stranger.

Izzy,

I am not sure if you even gave me your real name since the wallet in your pants says your name is Eric, but whatever. I’m sorry I was such a coward and hid when those guys started in on you. You are really nice and fearless and everything I wish I could be. Please don’t die even though you say you don’t care if you do. The world needs you. Your courage saved many others from those monsters and brought closure for others.

Be well and forget me please. Your light shines too brightly for those who need to hide in the shadows.

Sid

Well this answers absolutely nothing for me aside from realizing that I got my ass kicked by some homophobic dickwads either before, during, or after getting some from this Sid guy. I’m not sure how me getting beaten to a pulp saved anyone, but the headache that is building now that I’m fully awake makes me want to curl up in a dark room somewhere.

Digging into my backpack, I pull out my pill container for the day and choke down my morning meds dry. I’ll grab some coffee on the way home to take care of the hangover, but I know the headache I’m sporting is not from alcohol. If my head is poundinglike this, it means I’m at least an hour behind schedule on taking my medication for my brain fuckups... I mean my bipolar disorder. I can miss a single dose, but if it gets to be longer than twenty four hours between doses, my head lets me know.

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