“You’re not that mysterious,” I tell him seriously.
“Please,” he scoffs. “I’m an enigma that you’re still trying to figure out.”
I roll my eyes. “There’s not much there to figure out.”
He grins again. “That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day.” He slides back up to the bed and pulls me with him. We resume the position we were in: me on his chest, his hands playing gently with my hair. I am nodding off when he speaks.
“I didn’t tell Anna everything,” he says softly. “There’s some parts I left out because I didn’t want to scare her about anything. She was really broken up after you guys fought, so I tried to keep anything that involved you out of what I told her about what happened in San Diego.”
“What do you mean ‘involved me’?” I ask. “I was never in San Diego.”
I can feel him shake his head. “I’ll get to it. But you’ve got to let me tell this my way, okay? Just wait until the end, and then you can say whatever you want to. I promise.” I nod and feel him take a deep breath and start to speak.
This story has been kind of built up. I don’t know if you’re going to be disappointed or what when it’s over because when I say it out loud, it sounds like I’m losing my mind. But I will promise you one thing: I will leave nothing out, and everything I tell you is the truth.
IT’S three years ago, and we’re standing in my apartment, and Otter feels my lips press against him, and for a moment, he allows himself to feel shocked and pleased and moved. Then reality sets in as I pull away and a voice rings out in his head, screaming, “What are you doing to him? He’s just a kid, and he’s drunk! What the hell are you doing!” He sees me collapse on the couch mumbling words he can’t understand, but he’s too frozen to move. He’s still angry at me for yelling at him just a few moments ago when I was pushing him to leave. And he’s horrified with himself for allowing himself to be kissed like this. He knows he’s wanted it to happen, but he also knows that I’m straight, and he thinks it’s his fault that I am the way I am. He hears me stop talking and start snoring, and he’s able to finally move. His mind is telling him to stay away from me, but his heart can’t bear leaving without at least saying good-bye. Because, you see, he’s already made up his mind; he’s going to go home and get a couple hours of sleep and start packing, and by this time tomorrow he’ll be in California on his way to someplace new. But before he goes, he has to see me one last time. He puts his arms underneath me and lifts me like I’m a child. He’s surprised about how easy it is to pick me up, how perfectly I fit into his arms. His heart breaks a little then, and he knows that he’s going to be damned in my eyes for leaving, but he sees no other choice.
I move a bit in his arms and bury myself into his chest. He carries me quietly to my room, where Ty is asleep. He lays me gently on my bed and raises the covers to my chin. He sits on the bed for a moment, brushing the hair from my face, touching my cheek. He thinks he’s never seen anyone more handsome than me at that moment. He finds it’s getting harder and harder to leave, and he wants nothing more than to just lay down with me and deal with the consequences in the morning. But he can’t because he has to protect me from him. He finally stands and walks over to Ty and thinks, You take care of Papa Bear, okay? You take care of him, and he’ll take care of you. You’re in better hands than you could ever hope to be. He kisses the Kid gently on the forehead and blinks back the sudden tears. He needs to hold it together, at least until he gets into the car.
He comes back to me and watches me sleep for just a moment longer before he kneels beside the bed and does something he hasn’t done in a very long time: he prays.
Please, God. Please make sure You take care of these two. You see, God, I’m not going to be able to right now. I want to, but I can’t. I have to leave them, and I know it’s not going to be easy for any of us, but if You could just please keep a close eye on Bear and Ty, I’d appreciate it more than You’ll ever know.
He feels slightly foolish at speaking to God like this, knowing that even if there’s a God, he doesn’t take personal requests. He doesn’t know what else to do. He leans over me and whispers into my ear, “I’m sorry. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me one day.” He wants to say more, so much more, but he doesn’t because he thinks it won’t matter. His lips brush my forehead. He gets up and doesn’t look back, knowing that if he does, any control he has will be gone.
On the ride back, he sobs uncontrollably. Eventually, he makes it home.
He wakes sometime later. It’s still dark outside. He packs up what he can and shoves it quickly and quietly into his car. He only takes what he needs to survive for now, knowing if he needs more, he can either buy it or send for his old things. By the time he’s finished, it’s light out, and people are waking in the house. Creed comes down the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and freezes as he sees Otter loading the car.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Creed asks him suspiciously. “Whose clothes are you wearing?”
Otter tries to act nonchalant, but outside he’s sweating and inside he is storming. “What’s it look like I’m doing?” he says. “I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?” Creed almost shouts. “Where are you going?”
“I took that job in San Diego, Creed. And keep your voice down.” He doesn’t look at Creed because he won’t be able to take the recrimination in his eyes.
“You told me you turned that down,” Creed says accusingly. “Why the fuck would you be going if you turned it down?” And that’s what Otter did tell Creed, because that is what he had done. You see, when Otter had found out that my mom had run out on us, he turned down the job the next day without question. He thought his place was by my side and that I needed him then more than ever. But since he knew he was just confusing me more, he felt it was better to put as much distance between us as possible. He’ll call the studio on his way to see if the job is still available. If not, he’ll just get another one. He’s smart. He has a degree. He’ll make it. Somehow.
“It’s better this way,” he tells Creed.
“How is it better?” Creed shouts, losing control. “How can you look at the Kid and promise him you’ll stay here if you turn around and pull this shit! He’s never going to trust anyone again, and it will be all your fucking fault!”
Otter doesn’t say anything, only because he is scared that Creed is right. It still doesn’t deter him, though. He thinks it’s better for the Kid and I. Actually, he’s only thinking of me, and this shames him more. He wants nothing more than to be able to be honest with someone. He wants to tell them how he feels. But it cannot be Creed. He imagines how that conversation would go, telling his brother of all the things he wishes he could do for me, with me, to me. He doesn’t think that conversation would go over very well at all.
As if knowing what’s going through his head, Creed barks, “What about Bear? You’re ready to walk out on him just like his mom did? What kind of fucking bastard are you, Otter? Just who the hell do you think you are?”
“It’s better this way,” is the only thing he can say.
The ruckus brings down their parents, and it starts all over again. By the end, his dad has hard lines on his face and his mother is crying and Creed won’t even look at him. He thinks that this is how he’ll remember his family, and he doesn’t know why, but it cements his decision even further. He stands in front of them awkwardly, waiting for someone to say something more, but it becomes apparent there’s nothing left for any of them. He says good-bye to his mom and dad, who grudgingly let him go. When he gets to Creed, he almost recoils at the hatred he sees in his eyes. He hugs him roughly and whispers in his ear, “You have to watch out for them, okay? You have to because I can’t.” He thinks that’s the end of it until Creed reels back from him and spits on his shoes and turns and walks away. He stares stupidly at the congealed saliva. He doesn’t say another word to anyone and turns and leaves.
He’s almost out of Seafare when nausea overtakes him. He pulls over quickly to the side of the road and heaves and heaves and heaves until there’s nothing left. While he’s vacating the contents of his stomach, he can only think of me, wondering if I am awake yet or if Creed has called me. He doesn’t know that Creed is too pissed off to be able to say anything, and that I won’t be awakened for another half hour. He wipes the spittle hanging from his lips and gets back into his car and drives away.
The trip takes two days, and he goes through various stages of anger, remorse, denial. But mostly he replays the kiss over and over in his head. In a motel in Redding, California, he jerks off at the thought of our lips touching. He jerks off at what will never be. Before he comes, he whispers, “Bear,” and then the orgasm starts at his toes and rips through his body. He cries out and closes his eyes, and all he can see is me. It’s like I’m haunting him and no exorcism will cleanse him of me.
He arrives in San Diego and stays at the house of a friend he knew from college. He contacts the studio, and he’s in luck: the position is still available. They seem surprised to hear from him and a
re even more surprised when he says he is in town. They offer him the job and tell him to come in the next day to fill out the paperwork. His friends want to go out and have a welcome celebration, but he begs off, saying he needs to start looking for an apartment. They nod and offer suggestions, and later, when it’s just him by himself and it’s dark and he’s stretched out on the couch trying to sleep, he picks up his phone and pulls up my number and tries to call me. He stares at his phone for what feels like hours, but he cannot work up the nerve. He doesn’t know what he would even say if I answered. He sighs and turns his phone off.