Mid-Afternoon Sun on Texas Sky (24/?)
Title: Mid-Afternoon Sun on Texas Sky
Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
This is a sequel to the previously ‘neverending story’, Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky. It finally ended.
Summary: Jensen and Jared go back to Texas for Christmas. Their relationship deepens and they take the next step… pr0n!
Spoilers: none to speak of
-------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Four: Party
Rating: heavy PG-13 to R, adult themes and angst
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Word Count: 2,844
Chapter Twenty-Four: Party
Dinner goes surprisingly well. Mom has a big table set up as a buffet in the living room, the same way she does every New Years Eve, because setting a table for twenty or more is too much of a hassle. There’s a ham and a turkey, along with a plate of cold cuts, such as bologna, turkey breast, salami, roast beef… there’s also a plate of cheeses, a tray of rolls and a tray of sliced rye bread. There’s a bowl of Aunt Carol’s potato salad, one of Uncle Louie’s deep-fried parmesan zucchini strips, and one of Uncle Patrick’s hot dogs and baked beans.
There are pies and cakes and finger foods (pigs in blankets and mini bagel pizzas, mini quiches and chicken wings) and chips and cookies galore. There’s also a bowl of spiked punch for the adults, two containers of regular punch for the kids, and my dad opens up the bar so people can mix drinks.
Aunt Carol and her husband John are here, with their two kids, Salma and Krissy, Uncle Patrick and Aunt Kay came with their three kids, Jimmy, Lenny and Scarlett. Uncle Louie’s wife died and he never remarried. His kids are here though they’re fully grown-Danielle, who’s twenty, and her boyfriend Billy-Joe, and the younger Peter who just graduated high school last year.
My dad’s brother Phil is here, along with his third wife Wilma, who brought some macaroni salad that nobody likes, and their three year old child, Samantha, who is already a handful and disliked by Salma, Lenny and Scarlett. His other brother Harry is here as well, with his ex-wife (who he is still friendly with and still having sex with) Diane. Their kids are at a neighbors, for which I’m thankful, and Diane brought homemade chocolate cheesecake bars, for which I’m also thankful.
Mom’s friends Ellen and Ophelia are here as well as Dad’s ranch hands (Jose and Brian), and his ranching buddies and neighbors (Curtis and his wife Sally, Zeke, Nathan and fiancée Marilyn, Eduardo, Juan, and Roberto and his wife Salina).
My brother has a few friends I’ve never met before, he says their names are Oscar (and his girlfriend Fiona), Dino and Will. A few of my old friends from high school (Victor, Quentin and Teddy) came by as well to see how I’m doing-the big movie star, they joke with me.
I’ll never remember half these people’s names, and it’s a safe bet to say I probably won’t be seeing any of them again until… well, tomorrow, because half of them are probably staying the night and watching football with dad on the big screen TV, and eating leftovers and other new finger foods, and my mom’s ham. Beyond that, I know for sure I won’t be seeing them at least until next year’s New Year’s bash, and perhaps not even then.
Cousins Sam and Mary come by to say hello and drop off a plate of their mom’s (My mom’s sister Sherrilyn) ham and sweet potato casserole on their way to another New Year’s party. Neighbors Pietro and wife Rinay also stop by to visit on their way out, and drop off their kids, Alex and Irina since the party they’re going to is adults only. It’s no problem, since Alex gets on famously with Jimmy and Lenny, and Irina gets on pretty well with Salma and Scarlett. The kids disappear to the basement to play on the X-box and with the dolls and train sets my parents keep for occasions such as these.
Jared seems nervous and out-of-place, though he makes idle conversation with everyone, and everyone seems to like him. I catch his eyes from across the room as I’m eating some of Aunt Carol’s homemade fig pudding, while he’s engrossed in some conversation with Uncle Louie, who seems to be enjoying the conversation far more than Jared is. There’s a silent ‘help me’ plea in them, and I know what he really wants is to just get out of here. There are too many people, too many smells and too many voices. The drinks are flowing like water, people are getting too drunk too fast, and mom’s already collecting keys from people who are undoubtedly staying the night. I don’t want to know where they’re all going to sleep.
Jared disappears onto the front porch after extricating himself from the conversation with Uncle Louie, takes a glass of punch with him, sipping it slowly. He’s already downed four of the glasses of punch, and I’m fingering my phone, debating calling Doc McKayne about whether or not I should let him take the Zoloft tonight. I’ve limited my alcohol to one glass of red wine, since I know I’ve recently taken the Xanax and shouldn’t drink too much anyway.
Twenty minutes later, when Jared hasn’t come back, and they’re entering the minute countdown to New Years on the television, I follow him outside, see him standing on the far end of the front porch, staring off into the dark and midnight distance. The glass of punch is empty, and his frame rocks slowly from side-to-side, wavering, not quite shaking, but not standing still either. A gentle swaying motion that he’s not aware of.
“Jare…” I whisper as I walk up behind him, not wanting to shock him with my presence.
He turns, smiles at me over his shoulder. “Hey.” He pushes off the railing, sits down on the bench running under the living room window and leans his head back against the glass. He eyes the bench next to him, looks back up at me and I sit next to him. He fingers the empty glass in his hands. “Just uh… needed some space, y’know?”
I nod. “Fresh air.”
He nods this time, continues to play with the glass, watches as he turns it upside down and right side up again in long fingers. “Just… thinking.”
“Hopefully only about good things.” I reply quietly, resting my forearms on my legs.
He shrugs. “…that night…” He turns again to stare into the distance, towards the blackened and shadowed horizon. “…everything… how I’ve… met you… and how things… are different now…”
There’s a silence, and out of the corner of my eye, I see confetti on the TV, hear the cheers of my family, the swirling of noisemakers and celebration. I take Jared’s chin gently in my hand, turn his face to mine, and kiss him on the mouth, silencing anything he might have been about to say.
His lips are soft, slightly chapped but soft nonetheless beneath mine, and when my tongue slides into his mouth, I can taste vodka, harsh and heavy under the fruity tones of punch. His response is tentative, but he does relax, lean into my touch, and allow me to kiss him. I pull away enough to suck his lower lip into my mouth, nip it between my teeth, a little harder than either of us expected as I pull away entirely. Jared whimpers on a sharpened intake of breath, his lip turns darkish pink, and I smear my thumb across it-there’s no blood, but a pale indention of where my teeth dug into tender flesh remains in his darkened and swollen lower lip.
“Happy New Year…” I breathe, thumb still pressing at the edge of his mouth.
His eyes are shadowed, lids heavy, and his mouth is set in a pout. “Happy New Year…” He whispers in return, barely audibly and his lips barely moving. It’s a warm breath against my thumb, a whisper I can feel more than hear.
His fingers come up to brush against the newly scabbed cut on my temple. “How’s that doing?”
“Its’ fine.” I draw away from him. It still burns a little bit, hurts when he touches it, but it’s better than it was, and I’m not suffering any ill effects.
Jared seems well on his way towards completely drunk if he’s not there already. I want to tell him how stupid he’s been, drinking so much, but at the same time… I don’t want to yell at him… I don’t want him to feel like I’m angry with him, when what I really am is upset, sad… because he’s just finding more ways to hurt himself, to pull away from people who want to help him.
He stands up, considers the empty cup he’s holding. “…gonna get more punch…” He slurs.
I take his wrist. “No, Jare…” I look down at the wooden planks of the desk rather than up at him. “No…” I say softly. “You’ve… you’ve had enough, Jare…”
He stares at me, looks as if he’s about to argue, but decides against it at the last minute, turns away from the door and pulls his hand from mine. He puts the glass on the railing ledge, and walks down the steps. I watch as he walks, across the driveway, past the stables that aren’t far from the house. He uses his inhaler once, twice as he passes the stables, tucks it inside the front pocket of his hoodie (one of Sam’s from the show… Jared took it for his own since he liked it so much), and continues walking until I can’t see him in the darkness anymore.
I follow him.
“Jared?” I call, when I can’t see him anymore, can’t see his shadow, can’t see his shape in the darkness, can no longer tell where he is, or even if he is... My voice trembles in the darkness. There are no stars… no moon… the cloud cover from the day has carried over to the night, and there’s nothing but black Texas silence around me. “Jare?” I try again.
The gentle hitching of breath, followed by the soft rasp of wheezing that Jared poorly attempted to hide gives away his location-a few feet (or more) to the left… down one of the small hills… it’s no easy task getting to him in the darkness, navigating the difference between dirt and grass, stepping over wooden rails and to the open range beyond the fence. I nearly trip over Jared, not seeing him until the last minute, until it’s almost too late, sitting down, leaning against one of the fence posts. I hear him, fingernails clacking against plastic, teeth chattering and clicking against plastic, against metal.
I drop to my knees, fumble blindly until my fingers brush against the soft cotton of his shirt, fist around it, hold on. “Jare?”
I hear him using the inhaler, sucking in deep breaths that are labored and painful to my ears. I cover his hand with mine as he’s taking the inhaler from his mouth. “You’re using that an awful lot, Jare… maybe you should see a doctor…” I whisper.
He’s crying. Something I didn’t realize before, but realize now, as he takes in another breath that breaks/hitches/stutters/cracks. I can feel the warm wet on his cheeks with my other hand, the one that’s not curled around his long fingers and the plastic/metal inhaler, clutching, holding tight. “Jare?” I breathe the question in the form of his name. “Jare?”
His shoulders rise and fall, and he’s already leaning back, away from me, pressing his spine into the wooden post of the old fence. He tears his hand from mine, shoves his inhaler into the pocket of his hoodie, and turns his face away, my hand falls to his neck. “I can’t do this anymore.”
I almost think I imagined it, he’s so quiet before and after he says it. But then he shakes his head, and it’s just a shadow, a movement of black on black that lets me know he’s moving. “I can’t…” He whispers.
“Jare?”
“I’m sorry, Jen…” He draws his knees up to his chest, effectively creating a barrier between himself and me. “I just can’t do this anymore… everything I do… everything I say… it’s like a knife inside of me, those memories coming back… everywhere I look it’s something else… and the pain is there and it’s not going away, it’s not… it’s not…”
“You have to give it time, Jare…”
“I can’t… I don’t have any more time to give it… I can’t, Jen! I give it time… and I wait… and time and time and more time… and it just hurts… more and more, and the more time I give it, the worse it hurts, just… I can’t… it feels like it’ll never be over, it’s always something, digging… and I can’t…” His hands are clawing now at his chest, like he’s trying to tear something out. “I can’t… it’s right… there…” He pounds his chest and he’s sobbing uncontrollably and I can’t do a damn thing to help him. All I can do is watch him break down in front of me.
I find his shoulders with my hands, my chest pressing to his knees and shins, grip them tightly. I don’t shake him, I just squeeze, move my fingers in the material of his hoodie and squeeze more, gently, not too tight. They shake and tremble beneath my hands, his entire body is quivering, tiny little movements that unnerve me. I have nothing to say except his name, I don’t know what I could say. So I don’t say anything at all.
“I can’t, Jen…” he cries. “It’s too much… and it hurts. God, Jen it hurts… my bones… my body… it’s like I can still feel it all… just everything aches… and I can’t breathe… and I’m scared… God I’m scared… I can’t see, it’s dark… and it hurts...”
And I know he’s right there again, the way his body tenses, twitches, trembles uncontrollably under my hands. He’s reliving part of that night, he’s afraid, so afraid… and I can’t help him.
“I’m a faggot… I’ll never be a man, never be a real cowboy… I’m a failure… a shame to Texas… to my school and my family… What would my father say? My brother? I’m a loser…”
I touch my fingers to his lips. “Please, Jare… no more…” I whisper, nearly in tars myself, listening to this. I wish there was something I could say, something I could do. I just squeeze his shoulders tighter.
“It just hurts…” He whispers finally. He’s still shaking, but not so badly as he was before, it’s like he’s back with me, not lying on the grass of an estate, bleeding and… “Alone…” He whispers.
“Never alone.” I reply, swallowing harshly. “Never, Jare… never again…”
His body unfolds, opens up slowly, his legs falling from his chest, and he lets me wrap him in my arms, slide one hand into his hair and he breathes into the crook of my shoulder, where it meets my neck. He falls into me when I pull him close, kisses the bone there when I whisper to him again that he’s not alone.
His tears slow, his breath evens out, but he still shakes in my arms. “I just… Every time I think that I’ve brought it all back… that I’ve remembered all there is to remember… that I’ve gone through it all… once… twice… it comes again, and it still hurts as much as it did the first time...” He whispers, hot, wet breath against the dry skin of my neck. “And I can’t… I can’t, Jen… it hurts… too much.”
My palm curves around his skull, pressed gently into long curls, and I tilt my head to kiss his hair. “Shhh…” I whisper. My other hand slides up and down his back, rubbing and dragging against cotton. “You can, Jare… you can…”
“I can’t…” He whispers. “…not strong enough…” His fingers play idly at the collar of my jacket, trail against my skin and pinch the material.
“You are, Jare… So strong… and you can… you already have, in so many ways. You’ve faced it… You’ve let it come back… and you’re trying, Jare...”
He shakes his head against my shoulder and neck.
“You are strong, Jared.” I say softly yet firmly.
He doesn’t have anything to say to that, and I feel his face burrow closer into my neck, feel his lips press to my pulse, feel his fingertips press almost painfully into my collarbone. I let go his head, and wrap both arms around him, hold him until he stops trembling.
Together we make our way back through the night, back to the house, which is now dark and quiet, the remnants of the party being garbage bags near the front door, and the gentle snoring of several guests who are laid out on the couch, sprawled in my dad’s reclining chair. The kids are in sleeping bags on the floor.
Jared and I tiptoe upstairs, collapse into bed without bothering to change, and find our way into each other’s arms, legs twining together, socked feet pushing and nudging until we’re comfortable, chests pressed flush against each other’s, and we’re breathing each other’s air. We fall asleep like that, within minutes, comfortable and warm, and exhausted.
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Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
This is a sequel to the previously ‘neverending story’, Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky. It finally ended.
Summary: Jensen and Jared go back to Texas for Christmas. Their relationship deepens and they take the next step… pr0n!
Spoilers: none to speak of
-------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Four: Party
Rating: heavy PG-13 to R, adult themes and angst
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Word Count: 2,844
Chapter Twenty-Four: Party
Dinner goes surprisingly well. Mom has a big table set up as a buffet in the living room, the same way she does every New Years Eve, because setting a table for twenty or more is too much of a hassle. There’s a ham and a turkey, along with a plate of cold cuts, such as bologna, turkey breast, salami, roast beef… there’s also a plate of cheeses, a tray of rolls and a tray of sliced rye bread. There’s a bowl of Aunt Carol’s potato salad, one of Uncle Louie’s deep-fried parmesan zucchini strips, and one of Uncle Patrick’s hot dogs and baked beans.
There are pies and cakes and finger foods (pigs in blankets and mini bagel pizzas, mini quiches and chicken wings) and chips and cookies galore. There’s also a bowl of spiked punch for the adults, two containers of regular punch for the kids, and my dad opens up the bar so people can mix drinks.
Aunt Carol and her husband John are here, with their two kids, Salma and Krissy, Uncle Patrick and Aunt Kay came with their three kids, Jimmy, Lenny and Scarlett. Uncle Louie’s wife died and he never remarried. His kids are here though they’re fully grown-Danielle, who’s twenty, and her boyfriend Billy-Joe, and the younger Peter who just graduated high school last year.
My dad’s brother Phil is here, along with his third wife Wilma, who brought some macaroni salad that nobody likes, and their three year old child, Samantha, who is already a handful and disliked by Salma, Lenny and Scarlett. His other brother Harry is here as well, with his ex-wife (who he is still friendly with and still having sex with) Diane. Their kids are at a neighbors, for which I’m thankful, and Diane brought homemade chocolate cheesecake bars, for which I’m also thankful.
Mom’s friends Ellen and Ophelia are here as well as Dad’s ranch hands (Jose and Brian), and his ranching buddies and neighbors (Curtis and his wife Sally, Zeke, Nathan and fiancée Marilyn, Eduardo, Juan, and Roberto and his wife Salina).
My brother has a few friends I’ve never met before, he says their names are Oscar (and his girlfriend Fiona), Dino and Will. A few of my old friends from high school (Victor, Quentin and Teddy) came by as well to see how I’m doing-the big movie star, they joke with me.
I’ll never remember half these people’s names, and it’s a safe bet to say I probably won’t be seeing any of them again until… well, tomorrow, because half of them are probably staying the night and watching football with dad on the big screen TV, and eating leftovers and other new finger foods, and my mom’s ham. Beyond that, I know for sure I won’t be seeing them at least until next year’s New Year’s bash, and perhaps not even then.
Cousins Sam and Mary come by to say hello and drop off a plate of their mom’s (My mom’s sister Sherrilyn) ham and sweet potato casserole on their way to another New Year’s party. Neighbors Pietro and wife Rinay also stop by to visit on their way out, and drop off their kids, Alex and Irina since the party they’re going to is adults only. It’s no problem, since Alex gets on famously with Jimmy and Lenny, and Irina gets on pretty well with Salma and Scarlett. The kids disappear to the basement to play on the X-box and with the dolls and train sets my parents keep for occasions such as these.
Jared seems nervous and out-of-place, though he makes idle conversation with everyone, and everyone seems to like him. I catch his eyes from across the room as I’m eating some of Aunt Carol’s homemade fig pudding, while he’s engrossed in some conversation with Uncle Louie, who seems to be enjoying the conversation far more than Jared is. There’s a silent ‘help me’ plea in them, and I know what he really wants is to just get out of here. There are too many people, too many smells and too many voices. The drinks are flowing like water, people are getting too drunk too fast, and mom’s already collecting keys from people who are undoubtedly staying the night. I don’t want to know where they’re all going to sleep.
Jared disappears onto the front porch after extricating himself from the conversation with Uncle Louie, takes a glass of punch with him, sipping it slowly. He’s already downed four of the glasses of punch, and I’m fingering my phone, debating calling Doc McKayne about whether or not I should let him take the Zoloft tonight. I’ve limited my alcohol to one glass of red wine, since I know I’ve recently taken the Xanax and shouldn’t drink too much anyway.
Twenty minutes later, when Jared hasn’t come back, and they’re entering the minute countdown to New Years on the television, I follow him outside, see him standing on the far end of the front porch, staring off into the dark and midnight distance. The glass of punch is empty, and his frame rocks slowly from side-to-side, wavering, not quite shaking, but not standing still either. A gentle swaying motion that he’s not aware of.
“Jare…” I whisper as I walk up behind him, not wanting to shock him with my presence.
He turns, smiles at me over his shoulder. “Hey.” He pushes off the railing, sits down on the bench running under the living room window and leans his head back against the glass. He eyes the bench next to him, looks back up at me and I sit next to him. He fingers the empty glass in his hands. “Just uh… needed some space, y’know?”
I nod. “Fresh air.”
He nods this time, continues to play with the glass, watches as he turns it upside down and right side up again in long fingers. “Just… thinking.”
“Hopefully only about good things.” I reply quietly, resting my forearms on my legs.
He shrugs. “…that night…” He turns again to stare into the distance, towards the blackened and shadowed horizon. “…everything… how I’ve… met you… and how things… are different now…”
There’s a silence, and out of the corner of my eye, I see confetti on the TV, hear the cheers of my family, the swirling of noisemakers and celebration. I take Jared’s chin gently in my hand, turn his face to mine, and kiss him on the mouth, silencing anything he might have been about to say.
His lips are soft, slightly chapped but soft nonetheless beneath mine, and when my tongue slides into his mouth, I can taste vodka, harsh and heavy under the fruity tones of punch. His response is tentative, but he does relax, lean into my touch, and allow me to kiss him. I pull away enough to suck his lower lip into my mouth, nip it between my teeth, a little harder than either of us expected as I pull away entirely. Jared whimpers on a sharpened intake of breath, his lip turns darkish pink, and I smear my thumb across it-there’s no blood, but a pale indention of where my teeth dug into tender flesh remains in his darkened and swollen lower lip.
“Happy New Year…” I breathe, thumb still pressing at the edge of his mouth.
His eyes are shadowed, lids heavy, and his mouth is set in a pout. “Happy New Year…” He whispers in return, barely audibly and his lips barely moving. It’s a warm breath against my thumb, a whisper I can feel more than hear.
His fingers come up to brush against the newly scabbed cut on my temple. “How’s that doing?”
“Its’ fine.” I draw away from him. It still burns a little bit, hurts when he touches it, but it’s better than it was, and I’m not suffering any ill effects.
Jared seems well on his way towards completely drunk if he’s not there already. I want to tell him how stupid he’s been, drinking so much, but at the same time… I don’t want to yell at him… I don’t want him to feel like I’m angry with him, when what I really am is upset, sad… because he’s just finding more ways to hurt himself, to pull away from people who want to help him.
He stands up, considers the empty cup he’s holding. “…gonna get more punch…” He slurs.
I take his wrist. “No, Jare…” I look down at the wooden planks of the desk rather than up at him. “No…” I say softly. “You’ve… you’ve had enough, Jare…”
He stares at me, looks as if he’s about to argue, but decides against it at the last minute, turns away from the door and pulls his hand from mine. He puts the glass on the railing ledge, and walks down the steps. I watch as he walks, across the driveway, past the stables that aren’t far from the house. He uses his inhaler once, twice as he passes the stables, tucks it inside the front pocket of his hoodie (one of Sam’s from the show… Jared took it for his own since he liked it so much), and continues walking until I can’t see him in the darkness anymore.
I follow him.
“Jared?” I call, when I can’t see him anymore, can’t see his shadow, can’t see his shape in the darkness, can no longer tell where he is, or even if he is... My voice trembles in the darkness. There are no stars… no moon… the cloud cover from the day has carried over to the night, and there’s nothing but black Texas silence around me. “Jare?” I try again.
The gentle hitching of breath, followed by the soft rasp of wheezing that Jared poorly attempted to hide gives away his location-a few feet (or more) to the left… down one of the small hills… it’s no easy task getting to him in the darkness, navigating the difference between dirt and grass, stepping over wooden rails and to the open range beyond the fence. I nearly trip over Jared, not seeing him until the last minute, until it’s almost too late, sitting down, leaning against one of the fence posts. I hear him, fingernails clacking against plastic, teeth chattering and clicking against plastic, against metal.
I drop to my knees, fumble blindly until my fingers brush against the soft cotton of his shirt, fist around it, hold on. “Jare?”
I hear him using the inhaler, sucking in deep breaths that are labored and painful to my ears. I cover his hand with mine as he’s taking the inhaler from his mouth. “You’re using that an awful lot, Jare… maybe you should see a doctor…” I whisper.
He’s crying. Something I didn’t realize before, but realize now, as he takes in another breath that breaks/hitches/stutters/cracks. I can feel the warm wet on his cheeks with my other hand, the one that’s not curled around his long fingers and the plastic/metal inhaler, clutching, holding tight. “Jare?” I breathe the question in the form of his name. “Jare?”
His shoulders rise and fall, and he’s already leaning back, away from me, pressing his spine into the wooden post of the old fence. He tears his hand from mine, shoves his inhaler into the pocket of his hoodie, and turns his face away, my hand falls to his neck. “I can’t do this anymore.”
I almost think I imagined it, he’s so quiet before and after he says it. But then he shakes his head, and it’s just a shadow, a movement of black on black that lets me know he’s moving. “I can’t…” He whispers.
“Jare?”
“I’m sorry, Jen…” He draws his knees up to his chest, effectively creating a barrier between himself and me. “I just can’t do this anymore… everything I do… everything I say… it’s like a knife inside of me, those memories coming back… everywhere I look it’s something else… and the pain is there and it’s not going away, it’s not… it’s not…”
“You have to give it time, Jare…”
“I can’t… I don’t have any more time to give it… I can’t, Jen! I give it time… and I wait… and time and time and more time… and it just hurts… more and more, and the more time I give it, the worse it hurts, just… I can’t… it feels like it’ll never be over, it’s always something, digging… and I can’t…” His hands are clawing now at his chest, like he’s trying to tear something out. “I can’t… it’s right… there…” He pounds his chest and he’s sobbing uncontrollably and I can’t do a damn thing to help him. All I can do is watch him break down in front of me.
I find his shoulders with my hands, my chest pressing to his knees and shins, grip them tightly. I don’t shake him, I just squeeze, move my fingers in the material of his hoodie and squeeze more, gently, not too tight. They shake and tremble beneath my hands, his entire body is quivering, tiny little movements that unnerve me. I have nothing to say except his name, I don’t know what I could say. So I don’t say anything at all.
“I can’t, Jen…” he cries. “It’s too much… and it hurts. God, Jen it hurts… my bones… my body… it’s like I can still feel it all… just everything aches… and I can’t breathe… and I’m scared… God I’m scared… I can’t see, it’s dark… and it hurts...”
And I know he’s right there again, the way his body tenses, twitches, trembles uncontrollably under my hands. He’s reliving part of that night, he’s afraid, so afraid… and I can’t help him.
“I’m a faggot… I’ll never be a man, never be a real cowboy… I’m a failure… a shame to Texas… to my school and my family… What would my father say? My brother? I’m a loser…”
I touch my fingers to his lips. “Please, Jare… no more…” I whisper, nearly in tars myself, listening to this. I wish there was something I could say, something I could do. I just squeeze his shoulders tighter.
“It just hurts…” He whispers finally. He’s still shaking, but not so badly as he was before, it’s like he’s back with me, not lying on the grass of an estate, bleeding and… “Alone…” He whispers.
“Never alone.” I reply, swallowing harshly. “Never, Jare… never again…”
His body unfolds, opens up slowly, his legs falling from his chest, and he lets me wrap him in my arms, slide one hand into his hair and he breathes into the crook of my shoulder, where it meets my neck. He falls into me when I pull him close, kisses the bone there when I whisper to him again that he’s not alone.
His tears slow, his breath evens out, but he still shakes in my arms. “I just… Every time I think that I’ve brought it all back… that I’ve remembered all there is to remember… that I’ve gone through it all… once… twice… it comes again, and it still hurts as much as it did the first time...” He whispers, hot, wet breath against the dry skin of my neck. “And I can’t… I can’t, Jen… it hurts… too much.”
My palm curves around his skull, pressed gently into long curls, and I tilt my head to kiss his hair. “Shhh…” I whisper. My other hand slides up and down his back, rubbing and dragging against cotton. “You can, Jare… you can…”
“I can’t…” He whispers. “…not strong enough…” His fingers play idly at the collar of my jacket, trail against my skin and pinch the material.
“You are, Jare… So strong… and you can… you already have, in so many ways. You’ve faced it… You’ve let it come back… and you’re trying, Jare...”
He shakes his head against my shoulder and neck.
“You are strong, Jared.” I say softly yet firmly.
He doesn’t have anything to say to that, and I feel his face burrow closer into my neck, feel his lips press to my pulse, feel his fingertips press almost painfully into my collarbone. I let go his head, and wrap both arms around him, hold him until he stops trembling.
Together we make our way back through the night, back to the house, which is now dark and quiet, the remnants of the party being garbage bags near the front door, and the gentle snoring of several guests who are laid out on the couch, sprawled in my dad’s reclining chair. The kids are in sleeping bags on the floor.
Jared and I tiptoe upstairs, collapse into bed without bothering to change, and find our way into each other’s arms, legs twining together, socked feet pushing and nudging until we’re comfortable, chests pressed flush against each other’s, and we’re breathing each other’s air. We fall asleep like that, within minutes, comfortable and warm, and exhausted.
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