My New Obsession [BxB]

Chapter Twenty-Four- There's A Corpse In This Bed [Part Three]

 But a drink here or there didn’t really matter, did it? What was the shame in having a beer with your dinner, some whiskey with lunch and maybe a few shots of vodka for breakfast? If it got you through the day, could it be so bad?

 My hands landed on an object I hadn’t seen in years. The folder was covered in cut out pictures of various bands: Nirvana: The Clash: Led Zeppelin… Due to the fact that we couldn’t afford to cover it in plastic, a young me had decided to cover it in clear tape- this had earned me a pinch on the back of my hand for “wasting materials”, but I hadn’t cared. It was important that the folder looked special.

 “What’s that?”

 I glanced up to see George standing in the doorway, watching me. He offered a half hearted smile and I returned it as equally unenthusiastic; happiness was false.

 “Come here, I’ll show you.”

 He walked forward and sat close beside me and I could hear his spine click in protest as he moved against the wooden post of the bed. He had lost weight, it was clear to me now, and my thoughts became scattered into disarray as I simply observed him for a while, drinking in his appearance for the first time in weeks. He was still beautiful, always beautiful.

 My mind snapped back into play and I flipped open the front cover of the folder.

 “It’s a scrapbook of things, ideas and memories. I started making it for my dad years ago…” My fingers lingered over various special photos and random materials I had collected over the years. There were shells from beaches, worn out stubs from fairground tickets, blades of grass from perfect settings on perfect days. All the best times that he couldn’t be there with me, I kept things for him.

 George lifted the folder from my hands and rested it in his own lap, flipping through the unfinished pages with a hunger for knowledge of my past. My heart sank for a moment as I felt like he didn’t even know me, and I didn’t really know him either. Depression had warped my universe, unravelling my life and separating me from my love.

 “You would have had so much fun together,” George spoke quietly. “and he would have adored you.”

 Why did I feel the urge to cry? Tears welled in my eyes and threatened to spill over and it all just felt so stupid. You never miss what you never had- so why did I want it all so badly? My mum was magical in my eyes but nothing would ever fill the gaping hole left by my father in his passing. I had nothing from him but material things while other kids got memories. I imagined him taking me to football games, helping me learn to play guitar, talking about girls, talking about boys- talking about George.

 I looked at this perfect thing beside me, so aesthetically wonderful and still sweet, smart, strong. The courage to ask my mum about my dad’s view on sexualities had always evaded me for fear that the answer might taint the heroic image of him in my mind; sure, my dad was known for his caring, lovely nature and all that, but you never really know a person- especially one you’ve never met. But still I liked to think that my father would have been proud to know of George as my boyfriend.

 “George… where’s your dad?” I asked him. The question had been burning into my brain for far too long now.

 He slowly closed the folder and didn’t look at me.

 “I, uh, don’t know. I haven’t actually spoken to him or seen him since that day he saw us.”

 I paused before reaching over and gently taking hold of his hands. “Why?”

 “He said that what we were doing was disgusting and wrong. He believes that I’m sick in some way, that you’ve diseased me and I need a cure.” His voice broke and I went to wipe away the first tear but he pulled back.