Staying Grounded [BXB]

Taking A Stand

SEBASTIAN:

"What now, Craig?"

Breathless and shaken and working so damn hard not to show it, I'd held his stare. I saw his panic. I felt his torment as my question charged the air between us.

He kissed me again, harder. Body heavy against mine, hands fisting my shirt, his tongue invaded like a challenge. Desperate. Heated. Brutal. My tongue fought back. And again, he was the first to retreat.

I had no snarky comment to cover me this time. I had no words at all, watching him collapse down onto the grassy verge and drop his head into his hands. I gave him a few silent moments to collect himself, and then I helped him back to his feet. He let me; he didn't storm away.

Returning to the stables carpark, Roxy's key was pressed into my palm. "I can't go home. Not yet," he said, his voice a rasped whisper. A nod was as much as I managed before he climbed into the passenger side and shut himself in.

That's when I spotted Brianna — Cherry Blossom reigned to a halt beneath her — witnessing the whole scene from the paddock gates. Caught out, she made an approach, and I stepped away from the car to meet her.

This afternoon was the first I've seen or spoken to Brianna since our breakup, and honestly, the chat we'd had in the hay barn came as something of a relief. A release. Because, for all that she'd been upset, I wasn't the reason this time. She told me she still cared about me and missed me, but not in a way that suggested she regretted our breakup. I admitted the same. And although her careful words didn't confess as much, her eyes seemed to spark brightest when she talked about the visit of her older brother's friend, Eric, from Swansea, and dimmed most when she spoke of his recent return home. Guess there's something that could be said about the insinuated overlap not bothering me. I kind of just felt easier about our chances of remaining friends.

"Be careful, Sebastian." She looked concerned as she pulled Cherry Blossom in beside me, darting a pointed glance at Roxy.

I hadn't even thought to deny her implication. "You too, Bree."

Now, Craig and I are in the Farmhouse's kitchen, sat across from each other at the table, and the tension is thick.

He's gazing into his coffee like every answer he's seeking might be there. His lips still look sore, and it's absurdly distracting the way he keeps sweeping his tongue across them. I can still feel their crushing press, still taste the minty freshness of him.

With Judy at work and Ashleigh at her dad's, we have the house to ourselves, and that is pretty damn fortunate. If anyone was to walk in on us here, I've no idea how he might react. And truthfully, I'm not all that sure how I would either.

Clearing my throat, his eyes snap up to me. "We don't have to talk about it, Craig, okay?""I know." He blinks away again. "And we're not. Doesn't stop me thinking about it, though, does it?"

The back door is wide open, and through it, I can see Dobby outside, pelting around the farmyard as though he'd been locked up for several days rather than a couple of hours. He's never done well with being left alone, confined, ever anxious for the how or when or whether anyone will return to free him. The first three years of his life were spent tethered in some lowlife's tiny backyard before I rescued him.

However, it'll take much more than just unbolting a lock to give Craig any sense of escape. "We weren't seen," I try again. "Only the two of us need ever know, and if you want to pretend like nothing happened, we can."

"Is that what you want? To forget?"

No, and I won't. My pulse is still hammering from his touch. But this isn't about me. "There's no reason it has to be... a thing. You don't have to let it matter."

A frown pinches his brow as he continues to scrutinise his coffee, and I wish I had the first clue what it is that he's thinking. The kiss — both kisses — should never have happened. I shouldn't have kissed him back, and there's likely nothing I can say that could settle his demons. Yet even so, shitty and stupid as it might make me, I'm failing to summon any regret.

Drinking my own coffee, I wait him out, careful to keep my watch discreet. Until my mug's empty, and I can't take the silence anymore. "Listen, Craig, I—"

"How does it work?" He interrupts, finally, finally lifting his head.

"—What?"

His gaze holds mine. "The, uh, bi thing. Being bi. Like, what does that mean exactly?"

Oh. Okay. "You're asking if I have a preference?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"I don't really know if I'm honest. I've more experience with girls, but of all my partners, it was the guy that I..." I break off as he jolts upright, knocking an elbow off the table hard enough to spill some of his drink. "Craig?"

"The guy? As in singular? As in...?"

"Derek, yes."

"He's the only one?"

My brow quirks. "I've fooled around with probably as many boys as I have girls, but I'm not this rampant manwhore you apparently think me to be."

"That's not how I meant it." He slumps back down, deflating. "I don't know why I even asked. Just forget it."

"I don't mind answering your questions, Craig. Genuinely, it's fine."

But I've already been shut out again. I push up to my feet with a heavy sigh and collect my mug, crossing to the sink. Ever alert to my movements, Dobby has raced inside and barreled into my legs before I've barely made it halfway there. "Alright, bud, whoa!" He almost trips me. "You're not missing anything. Promise." I deposit my mug on the bench, bend to ruffle his scruffy head, and then I close the backdoor.

"I'm going to head up and take a quick shower, okay?" I glance back at Craig. "You're more than welcome to stay," please stay, "finish your coffee," your untouched, cold coffee. "I won't be long. If you do decide to go, though, could you please make sure Dobby's kept in?"

A nod is all the acknowledgement I'm given.

Dobby trails me along the hall to the bottom of the stairs. Too nervous of the climb to follow me further, once he's reassured I'm not about to disappear out on him, he turns on his heel and pads back to the kitchen. I pause, listening for any sounds of Craig leaving, but I hear nothing.

My room is practically the whole of the third floor — the attic. It's a large yet somewhat awkward space, with the ceiling sloping steeply on one side and rafter beams bridging barely clear of my head. Aside from the view, the privacy of being fourteen steep steps apart from the rest of the house is decidedly its most redeeming feature.

I have to duck my head a little to pass through the doorway into my shower room, a former storage cupboard that Uncle Kye and his plumber friend, Dave, converted for me years ago. 

Stripping off, I turn the water temperature all the way down and step in under a bracing cold spray. My teeth clench tight against its sting as I steady myself with flattened palms on the tile and drop my head forward.

This is Craig's opening — an easy out, should he choose to take it. I'm all too sure that if he's gone when I head back downstairs, he'll be staying gone. But the decision is one I had to leave him the space to make on his own.

Honestly, I'm in no real rush to discover which way he'll swing, and it must be a good five minutes at least that I stand in the icy deluge, flesh pimpling before I make any attempt to even reach for the soap. Turning the heat up just a notch above bearable, I then put in a thorough effort to scrub my body free of the day's sweat and stress.

Once I eventually give in and shut off the water, tousling a towel over my hair, a soft noise on the other side of the washroom's thin wall pulls me up short.

My breath catches as I wait for something more. But when no other sound from my bedroom reaches my straining ears, I hastily wrap the towel around my waist and move out.

"I'm gay. And I don't want to forget I kissed you."

I almost choke on my heart as it lodges in my throat.

Craig shuts the bedroom door and presses his back against it, the full force of his attention locked on me while I gape. "I want to take a stand."