Obsession

Going Home

There are the following triggering themes included in this story: mentions of suicide; sexual descriptions and implied sexual acts; homosexual relationships; infidelity; drama and angst; murder/mystery-themed; profanity; and descriptions of stalking/undiagnosed mental illnesses.

James awoke with a startle. The first thing he sensed was the clackity clack sounds of the train tracks as the powerful machine rolled onward. He looked out the window and observed it was nighttime out, and the scenery flew by in a darkly muted blur. Wiping away at his hair line and forehead of the sweat, James stopped to contemplate the one part of his dream he was able to remember and did his best to commit it to memory before it slipped away to his subconscious like the remainder of his dream.

With a satisfied groan, James stretched out his body, taking care to go easy on his neck, as he had apparently fallen asleep with his neck at an odd angle, judging by the painful kink that plagued the muscles there. The uncomfortable pains, however, could not smite the erotic remnants of his dream. He blushed a pretty shade of coral and scarlet on his cheeks as he recounted what happened. It wasn't even all that exciting, but the feelings it evoked within bloomed intensely in his belly and groin. Being caressed intimately, like in his dream, was something that never failed to arouse James - among other things.

Other, more kinky, things.

Coming home from University between terms was always chaotic, and James never knew what to expect. Beyond the new guy his mom, Marcy, decided to bring home, anything was possible. James recalls the last time he came home. He walked into the side door directly into the kitchen only to find his mom and a man he had never seen, before, desecrating the counter top. Loudly. And recounting THAT incident was enough to calm the pulsing erection that resulted from the erotic dream. He wondered, too, if there would be another new guy, or if the same one from that rather traumatizing event would be at the house.

With a disappointing shake of his head, James came to the assumption that there would probably be a new guy. His mom was never good about sticking with one person, ever since his dad died in the middle of his senior year in high school. The string of flings, one-night stands, and failed attempts at relationships made James wonder if this was her way of coping with the loss of her husband.

Who knows? She likes them a bit younger than herself, maybe this new one will be closer to his age, and they can bond over Call of Duty or something...

It certainly would be nice if James had someone other than his sex-crazed mother who tended to overshare at the dinner table, and his depressed brother who struggles to cope with life. He loves his brother dearly, but he desperately needed a change in pace and scenery.

Maybe, James muses, this is HIS way of coping with the loss of his father, desperately latching on to a perceived father figure in a vain attempt to fill that void, that emptiness, that infected his heart upon the death of his father. He came to the realization, about six months after burying his father, that the hurt never goes away, and he will never move on, not really. He was just learning how to deal with the it. And it was that moment that he knew, deep down, that he would eventually learn how to function, again, and that he would be okay.

Unfortunately, Jason wasn't quite there, yet, but James had faith that eventually, his brother would learn, just like he did. And then they could truly move forward.

*******

Navigating through the train station upon the end of the train ride was a menial task that James performed on auto pilot. He tuned out the throngs of bodies that filtered their way past him and the constant din of their chitter chatter, only barely registering the sound. At this point, James was mentally preparing himself and was obliviously numb. He then haled a taxi and continued on to the remaining ten miles of his journey back to his childhood home.

Halfway through the taxi ride, James sighed, the level of his anxiety rising significantly as he watched the greens and blues of the scenery fly by, like in the train ride, in a blur. All of the unknown variables of this visit was making him anxious, bordering on unbearable. Aside from the never-ending drama that is his mother's sex life (of which he, as her son, knew a great deal too much, he begrudgingly acknowledged mentally), his brother was another story altogether.

Jason was hit the hardest when their father was found. The last time James had spoken to Jason, he was going through the stages of grief, and he was firmly on the denial stage. He refused to acknowledge that there was enough things wrong with their father that the man succumbed to his suicidal ideations. Jason, instead, clung to the idea that their father was murdered, and for a brief period of time, was obsessed with finding, "the killer," despite the official ruling from the coroner was suicide. Jason tried to push for an autopsy, but nobody with the authority to order one was convinced that it was necessary. When their father was buried with no further investigation, Jason began on a downward spiraling path of self-destruction, losing his job and his place to live. Their mom had to take him back in at home.

James didn't want to argue with Jason, nor did he enjoy seeing him like that. He wished he could help, but sometimes a person needs to do things, go through things, in life their own way, and to come to their own truths and conclusions alone. Arriving at his childhood home, James paid the taxi and took considerably more time than intended taking in the surroundings. The large front yard with the two trees flanking the aging Victorian home was a nostalgic sight that reminded him of his childhood. It wasn't a bad childhood, but his father was absent more often than he was present, tending to and maintaining his business. And James understood, now, the importance of putting in the work with a business. But growing up, he wished for more time with the man.

Ascending the stairs up to the great wrap around porch, James chose to go to the front door, shuddering in traumatized disgust at the recollection of the last time he came home and not wanting to make the same mistake of just walking in. He lifted a hand and was about to knock, and hesitated. He took a deep and calming breath, mentally willing his heart to calm the fuck down, and proceeded to knock at the front door.

And when the door opened, James gasped, widening his eyes, at the man before him. Tall and leanly defined muscles, blonde hair, chiseled jaw and chin, piercing emerald eyes framed by thin glasses. And the man only stared back with what could only be described as shock. What did he have to be shocked about?

"John, who's at the door?" James faintly heard his mother say from behind the door.

The gorgeous man before him continued to simply stare, only now he simply looked mesmerized. And James couldn't help but feel shy and mesmerized, as well. He was aware that his mother had appeared next to the man, but she faded away from his vision, as well as everything else around but the man. James' breath hitched in his throat when the man extended his hand for a greeting shake, and their skin touched. James whimpered at that.

How embarrassing!

"Aww this is perfect!" Marcy's voice cut through the haze in which James floated, and he was suddenly thrust back into the real world.

"What?" James murmured, still holding eye contact with the man, whom he still had yet to learn just who he was.

"You finally get to meet John! John, this is my oldest son, James! I completely forgot he was coming home for a little while. He's between terms at school," Marcy chattered on to John.

John.

Who exactly is John to her?

"Come in, Jamie, dear!" Marcy exclaimed, gesturing with her arms for him to enter the home.

"This is John, my boyfriend!" Marcy continued excitedly.

Ah, damnit! That is most definitely a no-go! Never mom's sloppy seconds!

"Nice to meet you, sir," John stated politely.

The man, as James has come to learn is named John, looked down as he smiled and chuckled, an obviously embarrassed.

What a cute shit that is!

What?

"You make me sound so old," John shyly said, still looking down, "Just John is okay."

John slowly looked back up and locked eyes with James, again, before looking away to the side a little, careful to not stare too long in one spot.

Holy fuck, I'm in so much trouble, James thought.