Page 84 of The Legend Next Door
“I do.”
“And what about me? Do you think I’ll survive if Ben doesn’t love me back?”
The unspoken thing is close, but its claws are retracted. It’s big, but for once, it’s not scary. It’s gentle, and its voice is that of an old friend. A friend that’s family. “He’ll love you back, Jeremiah.”
“How do you know?”
I’m about to start rattling off a long list of reasons he might not, but Marcus cuts me off, “You know how I know?” He doesn’t give me time to answer. He simply pulls me tightly against his side. “Because Ben knows you, and there’s no way anyone could know you and not love you.”
I feel better, though mildly bruised, by the time Marcus leaves. It’s the closest we’ve ever come to talking about the thing we don’t talk about, and I feel guilty and relieved and sad and grateful and so much better now that I’ve told him about Ben.
I make my chamomile tea and stare off into the middle distance in the kitchen as I drink it. I consider calling Ness, but I don’t because “Black” by Pearl Jam is playing in the background, and we all know it’s not music. It’s poetry. It’s a poem about sex. About how sex feels. How it sounds. How it makes you move. On the inside and the outside too.
Ben plays this kind of music at his house, so it’s impossible to listen to the song and not think about him. All the parts of my brain I thought were still sated from the sex we had earlier are lighting up.
When the song ends, I get ready for bed. Sleep doesn’t seem likely, as the events of the day are still swirling, but I strip down to my briefs nonetheless, tossing my clothes into the laundry basket in the corner of my room.
My phone pings. It’s Ben.
How many times do I have to tell you I can see into your house?
Draw your curtains.
The rush of excitement I feel seeing his name on my screen is downright embarrassing. I reply immediately, without taking the time to read my reply back or decide if it’s stupid or not.
Are you spying on me?
Before I have time to add, “'Cause if you want to see me naked, that can be arranged,” he sends another message.
A little bit
A little bit?
A lot, okay?
I watch you a lot. I can’t stop. I’ve tried.
Oh fuck, I love this conversation.
I love it.
It might be the best conversation I’ve ever had.
I can see what you’re doing too.
It’s obviously untrue, but I’m so happy right now I don’t want this chat to end. I don’t care if I have to resort to bullshit to keep it going.
No, you can’t
Yes, I can
Fine. What am I doing?
He walked right into that one, didn’t he?
You’re watching me undress with your hand in your pants, you perv.
No, I’m not.
