12. “A winged messenger of heaven”

12

"A winged messenger of heaven"

Then

College was different from what I had expected. I was different, and that surprised me. Without the weight of the expectations of people who'd known me all my life, I felt free, and I hadn't expected that. I hadn't even really realized I hadn't felt free in Alabaster.

I didn't go out nearly as much as I thought I would, and I enjoyed the actual course work a hell of a lot more than I had expected. There was a weird peace to having my mind properly challenged that I'd never experienced before. I never even knew it was missing. I loved the library. I loved being somewhere with an active queer community. Even though the closest I came to participating was lurking on the periphery, it felt good to know there were others like me out there.

Romeo and I messaged incessantly. Barely a thought crossed either of our minds without us making sure the other knew about it.

Jude. Urgent. Do you think I should have another doughnut?

No.

It has sprinkles.

Still no.

Why not???

You already had two.

That was like four hours ago.

It was today, and that's how you know you don't need another one.

Two doughnuts per day? That's it? Is that what you're trying to say?

You're a sadist, Tiger.

Never knew that about you.

There are lots of things you don't know about me.

Yeah, right. Name one.

Off the top of my head, I could think of two, and they were both big ones—I'm gay, and I'm in love with you.

I didn't tell him either of those things. I didn't even consider it. It's not that I thought he'd judge me for being gay. I knew he wouldn't. Sal and Mike raised him right, and I knew he wasn't homophobic.

In sophomore year, this asshole, Seth Bower, used the F-slur against Romeo while I was out of school at an orthodontist appointment. The second I heard about it, I had a short, loud word with Seth that ended with my fist in his face and left the whole school, all the teachers, and several parents in no doubt whatsoever what would happen if anyone tried that shit on Romeo again.

"Are you okay?" I'd asked him as we walked home from school.

"Yeah, I am. You didn't need to do that, you know. I can take care of myself."

"I know that."

"And I don't think being gay is a bad thing. I'm upset that he thinks it's an insult. It's fucked up and pathetic. I don't appreciate him using that word. And, and, I guess I'm a little upset because it didn't feel good to be told I'm something I'm not, and now I'm conflicted about it because I don't think it's a bad thing in the first place. "

"I get it, Romeo. It's not about whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. It's about wanting to be seen for who you are."

I did get it. I got it in a very big way. I lived with the strangeness of people assuming I was straight almost daily. I won't lie and say I didn't like the cover of it, the safety it offered, but I hated that I wasn't being true to myself. I told myself I wasn't ready to come out all through high school, and by the time I got to college, I still almost completely believed that.

The truth was a little murkier.

Looking back now, I can see I was ready, but I was afraid that if I told Romeo, he'd know. He'd know that practicing kissing and hand jobs with him wasn't just practicing kissing and hand jobs to me. He'd know that letting me suck his dick lit up parts of my soul I had no idea even existed. Basically, I knew that if I told him I was gay, it wouldn't take him long to work out the other big secret I was keeping from him.

I knew Romeo loved me. It's not that I didn't. I never had any doubt about that. He told me often. He ended long phone calls with a casual, "Love you, Tiger," and he told me I was the best person he knew almost every time he had an altercation or awkward encounter with anyone else—which happened pretty damn often in Romeo's world. I knew I was important to him and that he needed me. Looking back now, I can see how much I bought into being needed by Romeo. A huge amount of my self-worth was tied to it.

He called me most nights during the first year. Sometimes, the calls were short, and I knew he was just checking in. Checking a box we both needed ticked to get a good night's sleep. Sometimes, I'd answer and be greeted by nothing but a soft sigh. On those nights, I'd turn off my light and switch to video, propping my phone on my pillow, and he'd do the same. I'd see the dim outline of him, curled on his side, face a little too close to the screen.

Sometimes, he'd whisper, "It's heavy," and even though I was hundreds of miles away, I'd feel my ribs cracking under the endless expanse of his grief. Scar tissue that spelled the words Romeo, Romeo, Romeo would sting as if the wound was brand new and had been freshly carved into my flesh.

On those nights, I affirmed every oath I'd ever made to him, and for good measure, I'd make them all over again. "I won't let anything bad happen to you, Romeo. Not again. Not ever."

We'd both fall asleep without hanging up.

On other nights, when life was lighter, the calls would be short or ridiculous .

"Imagine if your parents had named you Mashed Potato, Jude."

"Why the fuck would they do that?"

"That's not the point. The point is, imagine the impact it would have had on your life. Imagine how it would've changed who you are as a person."

"Why would they name me Mashed Potato?" I wailed. "It's not even a great type of potato."

" I'm making a point here, Jude, but fine , what kind of potato do you want to be?"

"I mean, Roast Potato has a better ring to it. Even Baked Potato would be better, I think."

"Nah, there's no way you're Roast or Baked. No way at all. You're Mashed Potato. Or may be Sweet Potato, and that's my final offer."

It was fucking silly, but it made me laugh my ass off. "But I'm not orange, Romeo, and you know damn well I'm not all that sweet."

"Well, you're not crispy either, and do you think I'd forget about the time you got into Lexi's self-tan? Because I assure you, my friend, I haven't, and I won't for as long as I live."

The self-tan thing was a bad decision, I admit it. A very, very bad decision. After the initial attempt turned out streaky, I added more product to even things out. I ended up so orange that my teeth looked fluorescent.

"Okay," I said when my eyes stopped watering, "Sweet Potato it is. What's your potato name?"

His mouth twisted with indignation. "Who says I'm a potato?"

"If I'm a potato, you're a potato." I had him there. Even he couldn't argue with that logic.

"I guess I'd be French Fry," he said after giving the matter serious thought.

"Absolutely not."

"Of course I'm French Fry! I'm long and skinny. What else would I be?"

"Baby Potato."

"Don't you fucking dare, Tiger. I'm serious. Don't you start. I know what you're like. You give someone a random nickname and stick with it forever."

"Um, excuse me? You're literally the one who's called me Tiger since the day you met me. That's eleven years, Baby Potato."

A soft rumble of laughter pealed out of him and the outline of him on the screen was so beautiful and so sexy that I checked to make sure only my face was on screen and then let my hand wander down my belly and under the waistband of my pajamas .

I didn't stroke exactly. Not completely. I just held my dick in my hand and squeezed it every time he spoke. We talked more about potatoes. Romeo made another argument for French Fry, and after I shut that shit down for good, he said, "Okay, okay, I'm going. Night, Jude. Love you."

I was about to hang up when he popped back into view. He had the same sweet, almost-innocent-but-not-quite look on his face that he always had when he said it.

"Show me?"

I quickly dragged my hand out of my pants and flipped the screen, aiming my camera at the window. It was opened a crack, like always.

It was getting late. Romeo was tired. His voice was smoother and even quieter than usual. "Aren't the mosquitoes eating you alive?"

"Yeah, they fucking are." I laughed.

"It's 'cause you have sweet blood, Sweet Potato," he said before hanging up.

My hand found its way back into my pants and my mind flicked through reams of memories of Romeo, and I plucked out one of my favorites.

It happened a couple of months before when I was home for Spring Break. Vacations in Alabaster had been different since we started college. Romeo had made new friends, and they were around a lot. The dynamic was different from what it had been like when we were in school. These were friends he'd chosen on his own, not friends he'd inherited from me.

I didn't mind it. I didn't. I wanted him to have friends. I just noticed, that's all. And it was just that with his new friends around so much, the two of us hadn't been alone for a while and nothing had happened in the basement for a really long time. A really long time. Such a long time that I'd started to think it might never happen again.

The night in question was a Saturday. We'd been out, hanging out at the lookout on the outskirts of town with Romeo's new friends. I'd been attacked by mosquitoes, and by the time we got to my place, I was scratching like a man possessed.

"Stop scratching," said Romeo.

"I can't! I've been violently assaulted by blood-sucking parasites." I was wearing jeans and a tank, so most of the bites were on my arms. My wrists, in particular, had been mauled. The itch was unreal.

" Stop ," said Romeo again.

" Can't!"

I started up again, frenzied, and Romeo stepped toward me with purpose. He grabbed my wrist from me and held it firmly in his hand. Various signals rushed from my brain to my dick. Several of them got scrambled so badly that my legs went lame.

Romeo moved closer. Somehow, I ended up backed against the hallway wall, though I didn't think I was there when the interaction began. The plaster was smooth and cool behind me. An inferno raged in front of me.

Romeo looked down at my wrist, turning it this way and that as he inspected the damage. "You'll break the skin," he said softly.

My palm was open, fingers relaxed and splayed out. He stood close to me. So goddamn close. It was just the two of us, and for me, at least, electricity filled the space between us. He was looking down, long lashes spilling shadows onto his cheeks, making him look angelic. Almost, not quite. He looked like a seraph made for seduction. An angel created for the sole purpose of making me fall.

He was still looking at my wrist and wasn't happy with what he saw. I could tell because he hummed softly and tutted unhappily. He started running one of his fingers over the bites. His touch was firm but gentle. He didn't use his nail. Just his fingertip. He worked his way up my forearm to my elbow and then back down again. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. When he was done, I was swaying, soothed and burning in a totally different way .

His fingers were still curled around my wrist, not quite tightly enough to pinch, but close. He let my arm drop down to my side, but he didn't let go. When I tried to move, his face changed. His eyes sparked and he gritted his teeth as a smile I hadn't seen before spread across his face. It started at the corners of his mouth, curling his lips and gradually working its way up to his eyes. It was an unexpected, hard smile. There was something unusual about it. It was stronger than normal. Possessive, maybe? Maybe even a little domineering. He tightened his grip on my wrist and his lips began moving lazily around his new smile as he spoke.

"Don't hurt yourself," he said. In my love- and lust-addled recollection of the event, his eyes added a steely "'cause you're mine " to the end of the sentence.