Writer's Note- Dated January 2nd 4:57am est 2019 (don't ask why I'm awake). *Just skip the note to head down to the story if you want. *
Rankings:
Something crazy happened yesterday and my rankings in a few areas shot up.
This is very crazy to me because these first few categories have thousands and thousands of stories in them. Lgbt has over 30k stories, gay has over 46k, boyxboy has over 49.8k and so on and so forth. And I go to check out the rankings and I see that goshdarn red rose right up there amongst stories that have way more votes and reads so that's crazy.
In less than 24 hours I've gotten over 500 new reads and quite a few additions to reading lists. This is a lot for me and I wanted to thank you guys (you original dedicated readers) for the continued reads and votes and comments and for support! (But please keep reading, and voting and commenting, tho. Like, don't stop...)
6052+ reads?!
I'm screaming. Somehow we really got here huh? I think I'll hold off on the demographic update because stats are still changing but I will say we've gone global again, with people from every continent!
Also, please remember to vote, and leave a comment bc not only does that help with ranking but I get a kick out of comments/votes.
Also. Yes. Another Yuna song. I used Crush before in an earlier chapter but here we are.
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The first few seconds after I picked up the phone there was silence. Just background noise of talking, laughter, and movement. I'm sure my end of the line was noisy too with the way I was breathing into the phone. Sol lapped at her water bowl, before quirking her head at me and settling herself on my feet, her belly warm on my toes.
"Hi." And suddenly I couldn't breathe, hearing Mike's voice that was a little funny over the phone, a little too far away.
I didn't say anything, hoping he would talk again. Hearing his voice wasn't like wearing his sweater, wasn't like any of the things I'd been using to keep him close to me any way I could.
"I miss you, Derrick." I heard Mike sigh. "And you don't- You don't have to say anything." His voice lowered slightly, "I miss the way you laugh, like it's some kind of secret you don't want people to know. I love what it does to your face, the way it makes you look happy. I miss cooking for you. It isn't the same when there's no one to try what I make. I miss when you accidentally ruined my designer shirts with paint because you forget to wash your hands. I miss seeing your art. I miss running my fingers through your hair, and the way you close your eyes because you pretend not to like it." His voice got rough, almost husky. "And fuck, I miss the way you feel against me. I miss your lips against mine, waking up next to you. Sometimes, I wish you'd tattooed me. At least then I'd always have a reminder of you. That at one point I'd been yours."
And then there was silence and I was hearing his breaths on the phone. I swallowed. "I...Miss you, too, Mike." I barely heard myself over the sound of blood roaring in my ears.
I heard the soft intake of breath signalling he was about to reply. Then, I hung up.
I was sweating through my shirt, panicking. How could he just say all that to me? And, how could I just sit there and listen to it? I put my phone on the kitchen table, staring at it and wondering if he'd call back. "Fuck!" I yelled, slamming the table with the flat of my hand. Sol made a surprised noise scrabbling away from my feet and running to the corner of the kitchen.
I stood up, and crouched down to where she was. "Shit. I'm sorry, Sol. I just-I lost it for a sec." I reached out slowly, scratching that sweet spot behind her ears. Her eyes slanted closed and her body relaxed as she purred contentedly. "You like me right, Sol? I give you food and water, and if you lie on my lap, that's enough? There don't need to be any dumb emotions in the way. I don't have to miss you since you're right here. I don't have to miss the way you smile at me like I light up your day. I don't have to miss the way my heart feels full to bursting when you kiss me. I don't have to miss your wonderful cooking, or your wonderful smile, or the way you talk to me in Spanish when you think I'm still sleeping. Or the way you're always talking about something, the way silence feels different when you're not there to fill it."
I picked up my cat and she gave me a confused meow. "I don't have to worry about any of that." I hugged Sol to my chest, pushing my fingers and my head into her soft fur, trying not to cry too loudly.
#
The Quarrel ended up being a really enchanting venue. High ceilings, great lighting and quirky, dark and sleek architecture. Lots of empty bare walls and spaces to position my art. My pieces were spread between five connected rooms and each room had a theme. The idea was that there would be a passage between pre accident me and post accident me. The effect was strange because I did notice a certain difference in the way my art changed. My new style was both harder and softer, harsher colours but softer themes.
I was exhibiting about thirty pieces altogether, everything from landscapes, to portraits, to stills, to impressionist renderings. It was a mishmash of different things but I found myself at the art gallery the day of the opening helping the workings arrange everything in its proper order and where the light or lacktherof would hit every piece best.
"Okay. You're going to do great! You just have to walk in there, talk to a few people. Keep the whole 'I can't be bothered air' going, they'll lap it up." Darren was giving me a pep talk from the dressing room before I went out to address the gallery goers.
I frowned as Darren fixed my bow tie. He'd had Tommy look through my wardrobe and select the most appropriate thing for the art gallery opening. For my art gallery opening. I mean sure, it was just one night. But it would be my night.
I'd ended up wearing dress pants, expensive looking shoes, and a vest over a dress shirt. The pants and vest were a deep luxurious blue whereas the shirt was a pale blue. Darren said a suit was too formal for my image, whatever that was. Apparently, I was supposed to be aloof but not too distant in order to increase the allure for my art.
I had been surprised that so many people I knew were willing to attend. Everyone at the tattoo shop, Darren, Tommy, Roe and even her mom. Ky mentioned that he was bringing his partners along with his children just to ensure the event wasn't too much for my delicate sensibilities. Okay, he didn't say that but he may as well have. Luciana had told me she was coming, too. Even Kevin had emailed me asking for details on the event.
The beginning of the art showcase passed by in a rush. I gave a brief opening speech focusing on the faces of the people I knew so I wouldn't freak out, addressing Darren and Chrissa more than anyone. There were so many people there, from my supporters, to art critics, to a few celebrities who had seen my tattoo work and it was overwhelming. The stench of wealth was so thick that I realized I was in an entirely different world. One with berkin bags, Rolex watches and people walking around with bichon frises in their purses.
And people kept touching me. Air kisses, pats on the back, squeezing my arm. 'Congrats.' 'Beautiful work.' 'I love it, do you do commissions?'
Eventually, I'd had to find an unobtrusive corner to sit down. Darren had been guiding me through the throng of people, telling me whether or not it was worth it to humour conversations. The art gallery had benches interspersed throughout the open space and I sat down heavily on one, drinking some water. My arm brushed the person beside me and I got an electric shock that radiated through my body. It startled me so badly I dropped my water bottle. Luckily, it had been closed and the person next to me bent down to pick it up, large fingers gripping the bottle.
I knew those fingers. My lips trembled as my eyes absorbed what I was seeing. His hands were darker now, along with the rest of him. The Cuban sun had darkened his skin a few shades, giving him a healthy glow, eyes a more piercing grey. Even his hair was a bit bleached from the sun, the paler strands styled attractively atop his head.
I gasped softly, completely and utterly overcome by a feeling of shock. Tiredness forgotten, I shot up walking towards an exit I couldn't find. My skin felt like it was on fire, and everything was too much. My mind was a mess, like my brain had been in a fog for the past two months until this moment.
I found a room that was empty; it looked like a large storage room. It had a few extra chairs and I sat down heavily into one. Mike followed me in shortly, closing the door behind him.
He looked at me for a long moment, eyes travelling up my body like he was in pain when his eyes latched onto mine.
I clasped my hands together, pressing my fingers hard into my skin. "I thought you were in Cuba."
He leaned against the door, crossing his arms casually over his chest. "I was."
"You look...Good." I confessed, wishing for a crazy moment I could see how far his tan extended. He was wearing an almost white dress shirt that complimented his skin beautifully along with accentuating the breadth of his shoulders. His fitted dark blue dress pants completed the look and it occurred to me we were matching, just like our first date.
I saw the few seconds where he relished my compliment, lips parting slightly as a faint blush rose on his cheeks and he inhaled. He walked over to me, taking a chair and sitting across from me. "You look sick, Derrick."
My heart got stuck in my throat and I wanted to tell him everything;the fevers, the tiredness, the way I couldn't gain weight, all of it. But I swallowed down my emotions. "Why are you here?" I trailed a hand through my short strands and Mike watched my fingers what seemed like longingly.
"You're-" he blinked slowly, directing the intensity of his gaze to my eyes. "Your art's incredible." He finished on an exhale. "I wanted to be here for the showcase. To support you." His next words were shy and quiet. "As a friend."
That took the words right out of me. "I ...What? I have a phone, Mike. You could have called, texted-" I stopped myself, remembering the way I'd hung up on him a few short days ago.
"You cut your hair." He changed the subject gently, like I was a frightened deer.
"I hate when you talk to me like that." I said in a sharp voice.
Mike looked taken aback. "Like what?"
"Like I'm made of glass. Just- Just don't."
Mike's brows drew together and his mouth flattened into a hard line. "I can go."
"No." I bit my lip, running my hands through my short almost curls. "I don't understand why I'm talking to you like this. This isn't how I imagined things at all."
Mike let out a shaky laugh, "Me neither. And I'll be honest Derrick...At first I was angry." He paused, regaining composure. "I was so angry. I didn't understand why you ended things and I didn't feel like I had any right to ask you. And after I came back from Cuba I started seeing my therapist again, she's helped me realize a few things. Maybe, sometimes I get-" he started speaking in a rush, as though he thought this was his last opportunity to get everything out. "There's a part of me that wants to take care of you. I want to make sure you've eaten, your kitchen is stocked, drive you to your appointments, do household stuff, pay for our meals. I just- liked doing those things. But, I'm realizing it could come across as controlling, maybe manipulative because after your accident I didn't exactly help you to gain independence. I'm sorry. You tried to tell me but I didn't listen." Mike's apology threw me for such a loop I didn't know what to say.
He gripped his thighs, running his palms over his pants quickly. Something in me melted when I saw he was wearing the cuff links I'd bought him for Christmas. "I've been coping." He whispered, lowering his lashes and then looking at me.
I stared at him hard, loving what his tan had done to his skin and following the shape of his mouth as he talked. Fuck, I wanted him. But then I listened to what he was saying and I cleared my throat, "I guess I've been coping, too." If I could call it that.
I stood up and so did Mike. I turned to leave the room and Mike grabbed my arm, slipping his hand around my wrist. I backed up against the wall and Mike was there every step up of the way crowding against me. The energy in the room flirted between a fight and something worse, something like lust. I closed my eyes feeling shuddering breaths roll through me and I wondered how a single person could do this to me.
Mike pushed a thigh between my legs, pinning me to the wall. He bent slightly, lips ghosting over my ear. "Tell me not to kiss you." His forearms were up against the wall surrounding my head. God, I could feel him everywhere. A small part of my brain thought this was better than the whiffs I took of Mike's ziplocked sweater back at my apartment. This was real. Nothing like a memory.
I wet my lips to reply but I couldn't take it anymore. I swept my hands over the plains of his face, tracing out his features. Except for his lips. I cupped his face, locking eyes for a charged beat before I kissed him. Something wonderful blossomed in my chest as my lips met hungrily against his in a sweet, slow kiss. I opened my mouth against his and he met me there, too. The feel of his tongue sliding against mine made me groan. Only Mike could kiss me like this; slow enough to start a slow building fire igniting within my body.
He was the first one to break away, a hopeful glint in his eyes. "You wouldn't kiss me like that unless..."
And then I realized what I was doing. I was at my art showcase, making out with my ex in a storage room instead of greasing elbows and networking with potential clients. "This was a mistake. I didn't-"The way Mike's face fell I felt awful after saying it. But I forged on, "I don't want you to think-"
"That this means something?" He snapped, turning away from me, crossing and uncrossing his arms. "Of course it means something to me, Derrick. Everything with you always means something. And I don't want to live my life without you in it."
"I can't handle this right now." I swept my hands across my jaw. "I just want to go home to Sol and relax."
Mike's body went still as stone. "Sol? You...Met someone else." His words came out like he'd been gutted, small and dazed.
I laughed because I found that idea ridiculous but he flinched like I'd struck him. "You don't understand." I tried to say but there was a knock on the door. "Sol is just my cat."
Mike didn't look like he believed me. He was about to say something but the knocking only got more insistent. I got up opening it to see Ky standing there. He looked harried and it stunned me to see some kind of emotion on his face. He looked surprised to see Mike there, eyes widening just barely in surprise. "Sorry to interrupt." He said, not sounding sorry at all. "Derrick, a word?"
I looked at Mike and he looked completely crushed that I was about to leave the room.
"Sorry." I mumbled feeling lower than trash and headed out the door.
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Writer's Note-
What do you think Ky wants to say?
Should D&M get back together?
I feel like this chapter felt emotional to me, did it come across that way, or was it too heavy, or did everything just feel too drawn out?