Page 7 of Nights Without Night
I’d rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the flare of annoyance.
“Don’t worry, I can give you your first kiss, ‘cause I’m such a good friend,” he’d offered haughtily.
“Keep it,” I’d snorted, even though my heart had started racing.
“You’d let Brandon kiss you, but not me?” Isadoro’s voice said. I blinked at the ceiling. I suddenly felt the alcohol, the room spinning. Or was that just the blood in my veins? I closed my eyes. I could hear the summer bugs sing outside, and then the sound of the camp bed creak as he got up. I felt the dip of my bed and then him, over me, straddling me without touching me, just the warmth of his legs at my sides.
I’d opened my eyes slowly. His face had tried to be mischievous, but his eyes were serious. There wasn’t a single thought in my head. Everything was rushing through me. I couldn’t speak, my mouth dry, and when I licked my lips his eyes followed the movement. I had never felt anything like the jolt that went through me then.
As if it were happening to someone else, I watched him lean down toward me and then—a press of lips. The world became a trembling series of new experiences. The feel of his lips, dry and wet at once. The foreign feeling of them moving against me, and me trying to move against them. The brush of his breath. The moment when he settled on my stomach.
Isadoro had been right. The spin-the-bottle kiss couldn’t compare.
My hand, magnetized by the press of our bodies, was somehow guided to the back of Isadoro’s neck. At the moment of contact, a small noise escaped Isadoro and suddenly, his tongue was in my mouth. It was wet and uncoordinated, and even then I hadn’t been sure it was just my inexperience at play.
He had pulled back to let us breathe, and I had felt the warmth of his panting against my mouth. I couldn’t open my eyes. When he leaned down again, the kiss had been better. Smoother. I’d disappeared into it until I felt myself get hard, out of control in the way your body is not yet all yours when you’re fifteen.
Suddenly, it had been too much. I’d pushed him away. Isadoro had looked at me with startled, dark eyes, and rolled off me, chest heaving. I’d sat back and raised my knees, a barrier between us. We’d listened to each other breathe heavily until he cleared his throat. I’d peeked at him through my fringe.
“There. Now you’ve had your first kiss,” he’d said. I hadn’t pointed out the waver in his voice.
We had gotten ready for bed in the darkness. I could feel his presence as I lay down in the quiet and the summer heat.
That hadn’t been the beginning of my feelings for him, but it had been the final nail in the coffin.
In the morning, it was as if nothing had happened. Isadoro had continued his conquering ways, but never with another boy. I came out as gay a year later. No one had been much surprised.
It isn’t that Isadoro’s current lack of partners is unusual for his situation, despite his teenage history. It’s just that casual hook-ups had been common during leave, and so their current absence is noticeable. Now, though, he’s not back for leave—he’s back for good, and maybe that changes things. A selfish, jealous part of me is glad, the one that wants to keep him for myself. Sometimes, it feels like I have too little of him. That I’d take anything he’s willing to give.
But, as they say—be careful what you wish for.
**********
The bar we’re at isn’t too loud, and I manage to talk to Dexter, a friend of Ezra’s he just introduced, without trouble. A girl is flirting with Isadoro beside me, and I manage to mostly ignore it. The sight of her hand brushing his bicep, the clear sound of her laugh, the way his head is tilted toward her, smile crooked and striking; it’s all familiar territory. Despite the noticeable lack of dating in his life, that status couldn't last forever.
It isn’t until I see them disappear toward the toilets, hands clasped together to navigate the crowd, that I feel the first real twinge. I ignore that too, like I’ve done so many other things, such as the seared memory of the time I had walked into my apartment to find Isadoro fucking someone over my couch. She hadn’t seen me, head tilted down, but Isadoro had. He’d kept thrusting, eyes locked on mine. Without my will, I had catalogued everything: the grip of his hands, the curve of his biceps, the flush on his face, the wildness in his eyes. When I’d snapped out of it, anger cauterized the arousal. I’d stepped out again, hands shaking, and hadn’t gone back until the early morning.
He’d been up. I’d shut the door carefully behind me and just stood there for a moment, looking at him.
“Sorry, man, I-”
“Don’t do that again,” I’d cut in. He’d opened his mouth, but it had stayed empty of sound until it closed again. He’d shut his eyes, head shaking.
“Alright. Sorry.”
It had been a strange incident I couldn’t figure out.
As I talk to Dexter, I expect Isadoro to be gone for a while, but it’s only a couple of minutes before he’s back out again, the girl disappearing to the other end of the bar. He looks shaken. There’s a crack in his façade and the dim light shining through is sickly. It casts the same shadows I saw in his eyes that terrified night I found him on the couch. My heart immediately starts pounding.
“What-” I try to ask as he reaches us, but he cuts me off.
“Nothing. I’m gonna get a drink,” he says, moving off even though there’s a bartender near us. I watch him, concern heightening. I turn back to Dexter.
“Imma-” I point toward Isadoro. Dexter nods, and I turn to follow Isadoro’s retreating back. He barely glances at me when I reach him.
“Let’s go home,” I say, unable to put it less bluntly. His broad shoulders hunch into themselves.
“I don’t want to fucking talk about it,” he says, and the swearword startles me. I shake it off.
