Page 49 of When Ben Loved Tim
Sadly, I think I know what their answer would be. I stare a second longer before I turn and leave the room. I don’t want to be here. Ever again. I’m not as cautious on my way to the front door. Not until I reach the entryway and I hear Bryce’s booming voice.
“You get drunker if you chug upside-down,” he’s saying.
“Yeah, yeah,” Darryl replies, jostling him so he’ll keep walking. “Just show us in the backyard instead.”
They’ll soon be between me and the front door. I might be able to make it, but it would be like diving in front of a semi-truck. I also don’t want them to force me deeper into the house toward the den, so I turn and take the only other avenue available to me. I go up the stairs, certain that at any second one of them will call out and demand to know what I’m doing there. I make it to the top, and when I glance back, I see Stacy in the entryway talking to a red-headed cheerleader. Great.
I go to Tim’s bedroom and try the door, but it’s locked. I figure people are messing around in there, so I try his parents’ room next, more willing to hang with Jesus than the assholes downstairs. That door is locked too. I press my ear against it and don’t hear anything. Nobody responds when I knock. Tim must have taken precautions and locked the bedroom doors upstairs. I used to do the same with my room to keep my sister out when I wasn’t at home. Such internal locks are super basic and ridiculously easy to pick. All anyone needs is a flathead screwdriver, but what I always do is hide something above the door on the frame. I return to Tim’s bedroom and feel around up there, and sure enough, I’m rewarded by a flat metal key. I pop the lock, return the key to its hiding place, and let myself inside.
Being surrounded by Tim again—to feel so close to him, and yet so distant—is heartbreaking. He’s somewhere beneath my feet. Less than a minute’s walk would take me to him, but he might as well be a million miles away. I notice a ball cap. Tim probably has a hoodie in his closet. I could put on both, keep my head low, and make it out the front door. But I don’t want to leave. Not before saying goodbye, in my own way, so I lock the door behind me. Then I walk around his room, touching his things with a lump in my throat. I open his underwear drawer and grab one of the sketchbooks, flipping through the pages randomly, but it hurts to see the beauty he’s capable of. We could have been amazing together.
The bed is made. A plush rabbit nestles up against the fluffed pillows, its fur worn thin from too much love. Tim must have had it since he was a child. I sit on the edge of the mattress, which brings me closer to his scent, and the temptation is irresistible. I kick off my shoes, grab the plush rabbit, and curl up with it in my arms. I know I need to leave. Tim will probably invite Krista to his room before the night is through. I can’t be here, but it’s so hard to let go. He was the closest I ever got to making my dream come true.
My chin trembles as I fight against tears, but a few break loose anyway. They soak into his pillow as I mourn everything that will never be. With my eyes closed, I try to imagine an entire life for us: going to college, beginning our careers, saving up for a house, getting married, adopting children and raising them together… I would have liked to grow old with him.
I feel groggy from the wine and washed out from feeling so much. I’ve always considered myself a fighter, but not tonight. I’m tired. And I ache for him, even now. I drift off without meaning to, my dreams haunted by visions of Tim. Sunlight sets his silver eyes aflame. His lips press against mine, over and over again. Eventually, in a husky voice that makes my skin tingle, he says, “Sorry, Benjamin.” I feel his arms wrap around me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I take solace in these fantasies. Too much, as it turns out, because when I open bleary eyes, daylight is warming a square of the mattress where my hand rests. I must be half-awake, because the remnants of the dream haven’t faded completely. I can still feel him holding me from behind and hear his slow breathing, each exhalation accompanied by the scent of stale beer. Which seems a littletoodetailed. I shift and feel his arm tighten around me possessively. My eyes shoot open. This isn’t a dream! I fell asleep in his room, and now…
My heart flutters in excitement. I remain perfectly still, not wanting to wake him. He must have stumbled into his room last night while drunk and crawled into bed with me. I’ve wanted him to hold me like this for so long. My body reacts. I’m used to morning wood, but this is more likepetrifiedwood. And I don’t think I’m alone, because something hard is pressing against my butt. As exciting as that is, I like the feel of his hand even better. Where his arm wraps around my torso, the tips of his fingers are trapped between the mattress and me. I wish I’d taken off my clothes before getting into bed, so our bare skin was touching. Of course I hadn’t intended to fall asleep. I was trying to leave him.
When I think back on the evening, it’s the cold shower I need, and a timely reminder that nothing has changed. I give myself a little more time regardless, wanting to take this memory with me when I go. His chest swells against my back each time he inhales, making me sigh before I finally gather up my convictions and place my hand over his to move it away. I listen to him gasp and murmur words of confusion as I sit up. I don’t look over my shoulder, certain that it would make me weak.
“Hey,” Tim breathes. “Good morning.”
I feel his touch on my back before I stand, his fingers sliding off. The stuffed rabbit drops to the floor. I pick it up and finally glance in his direction. Like me, Tim fell asleep on top of the covers. Although he stripped down to his underwear. He’s got a great big boner that I’ll be fantasizing about for the rest of my lonely existence. I just hope his future wife appreciates it as much as I would have. Tim smiles and reaches for me. I place the plush rabbit in his hands.
“Captain Bunbun!” Tim exclaims. “Did you sleep good?”
His eyes flick to mine. I’m not sure which of us he’s talking to, but I don’t plan on responding either way. Instead I notice a trail of discarded clothes that leads from the bed to the door. I begin picking it all up so Tim can get dressed, mostly so my willpower doesn’t crumble.
“Here ya go,” I say, setting the wad of clothes on the mattress.
Then I turn my back to him and stare at the painting on the wall, my sorrow increasing, because there’s something special about it. He has real talent, but it’ll probably remain locked behind a door with everything he truly cares about—a stuffed rabbit, for instance—so he doesn’t have to suffer the mockery of others.
“Are you okay?” Tim asks.
I can hear shuffling fabric behind me.
“When did you get here?” he tries. “I don’t remember seeing you at the party.”
I continue to stare at the painting, a tsunami of color splashing against a solid gray wall. Maybe I can do this. If I steel myself, and try to be more patient, I can help him finally break through the barrier.
“Did anyone else see you?” Tim asks casually.
Or maybe it’s hopeless. I shake my head, turning to face him at last. He’s dressed in yesterday’s clothes. Even wrinkled and rumpled, half-awake and confused, I’m tempted to fall to my knees and beg him to open his heart to me. One last try. I turn around and consider the painting again. “I really like this,” I say.
“You do?” Tim asks, walking over to join me.
“Yeah. I’ve got a thing for rainbows.” I look him in the eye. “Who’s the artist?”
Tim shrugs, his brow furrowing up briefly. “What’s your favorite color?” he asks.
“Orange,” I tell him, not seeing what that has to do with anything.
“That’s unusual,” he replies.
“Yeah, well, I’m not like other boys.”
