Running Parallel

Part 3 - Connor

What have I done?

Carefully, I lift Luke's arm off of me and set it next to him. He's sound asleep, breathing deep and even, absolutely dead to the world. I wish I could say the same.

Sliding out from under him, I winch, pausing to sit on the edge. Pleasant little aftershocks zip along my spine down to my fingers and toes. I bite my lip, glancing back at Luke.

What did we do?

He thought I was Caleb . . .

"You don't know how badly I've wanted to do this," he'd whispered, right before he'd kissed me.

I'd stayed up for hours playing Minecraft, kept awake by the noise of Caleb's guests. Not even my headphones could block it all out. I'm supposed to cover the day stocker's shift in the morning, so I eventually had to try to get some sleep. I'd woken up to a pitch-dark room, sure I'd heard something. Then something touched my foot, and my heart nearly burst from my chest, only calming when Luke's voice whispered from somewhere near the foot of the bed, "It's just me."

I've known Luke for years, ever since he was a smartass little seven-year-old who Caleb befriended the first week of second grade. Although he made me trip over my tongue and get uncomfortably aware of my own body, I wasn't afraid of Luke.

Maybe I should have been. I should have known he wasn't interested in me, whether he was in my room or not.

"I want your mouth." What a pile of crap. It was my brother he wanted.

Holding my breath, I ease from the bed, careful not to wake him. My skin burns, something squirmy in my stomach. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.

Now that I know he was thinking of Caleb the whole time we . . . I don't want to be here. I don't want him to wake up and look at me and . . . He'll laugh. Or curse me out. Maybe he'll blame me.

Maybe I am to blame. He was drunk. I smelled it on his breath. I knew he'd come from downstairs. I should have kicked him out the second he climbed up on the bed. Or the second I recognized his voice whispering to me in the dark from the foot of the bed. "It's just me," he'd said, the words making my body flip from cold to warm.

It'd been nice.

Until . . .

"I love you, Caleb."

"I love you, Caleb."

"Caleb."

I feel my way to my dresser, easing the door open to dip my hand inside. Grabbing the first shirt I touch, I silently close it and open the next, taking a pair of sweatpants as well. Breathing as quietly as possible, my chest tight, I pull on my clothes, ignoring the tenderness in my ass and the mild ache in my lower back and thighs. From the bed, Luke makes a soft snoring sound.

Barefoot, I sneak from the room. Out in the hall, the lights are still on, music still pounding away downstairs. I glance at the stairway, biting my lip. I don't want to go down there.

I turn and pad to the bathroom instead, locking the door behind me. Flicking the light on, I avoid the mirror and head for the linen cabinet. Stiffly, I clean up with a washcloth, afraid the shower will wake Luke. It doesn't help, either, thinking of all those people downstairs while I'm in here, naked in the shower, vulnerable and exposed. This will have to do.

As 'clean' as I can get under the circumstances, I toss the cloth into the hamper and sit on the edge of the tub, hanging my head, my elbows on my knees. Absently, I pick at my fingers, digging my thumbnail into the back of my ring fingers.