Page 44 of Hamartia

I rethink the words.Clearer, Raphael. More concise.

“I mean, I might not know what this is, but I do know that I want to see you again. Let me see you again.” Then, not feeling pathetic at all, I add, “Please.”

My cheeks are hot, my heart thumping hard, and I’m not quite prepared for what I’ll do if he says no. Except, I have that feeling again. That echo of certainty that he won’t. That this isn’t over yet.

His smile is small and slow, but it lights up the entire fucking hallway. “Yes, okay.”

I’m kissing him the next instant. Pushing him back into the door as my lips and tongue devour him. He grabs hold of me, clutching at my arms and holding on. I slip my hands under his shirt to find the warm soft skin of his stomach and hips before wrapping my arms around him to pull him against me. I want to climb inside him. He’s not small, but he feels small in my arms. Like something I need to keep safe, need to protect. I’ve never felt that before. Hemewlsinto my mouth, breathy and high, and then he’s rutting gently, thighs open and a hardening cock pulsing against my own.

When he pulls away from my mouth he drops his head back against the door, panting, his full lips kissed red as he looks up at me.

“This is crazy, no?” he asks, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Is it?”

When he answers by licking the taste of me from his mouth, I lean in and kiss him again. When I palm his cock through his pajamas he groans, using what feels like all of his strength to shift me back.

“We cannot…not now.” His eyes tell a different story; and it’s about how much he wishes we could.

He stands up off the door and brushes a hand through his hair, cheeks flushed. “I can text you the code to the apartment. I will be home around eleven again. If that’s too late—.”

“I’ll be here,” I tell him.

Imanage to sneak back to the hotel and shower before collapsing on the bed and drifting off for a few hours. It’s four p.m. when I wake up and check my phone—I missed another call from Cam at two p.m. Another voicemail that I delete without listening to.

I need to talk to her, I know I do, but I’ve no idea what to say, what lies I should tell. I don’t want to break up over the phone or have a conversation that sounds like I’m breaking up with her over the phone, so I reason it’s best to say nothing.

It’s over. I feel that in my heart and in my gut. And lying to her about it isn’t who I am. We’ve always been honest with each other, and she deserves better than that now, but this just isn’t a talk I want to have when she’s not in front of me. The right thing to do would be to stop seeing Jae until I do, but that makes me feel ill. Feels like panic and loss and no, definitely not the right thing to do. My head is fucked up and backwards but not seeing him feels, resolutely, wrong in ways I can’t begin to fathom.

After showering and writing in my journal a bit, the room starts to feel like a prison. Like I can almost see bars on the windows. Seven hours. What the fuck am I supposed to do for seven fucking hours? I miss him and I’ve no idea why. An ache crawling under my skin, making it buzz and tighten. I need to get out of here.

I pull on some clothes: a hoodie, my leather jacket and sling on a pair of sunglasses and a ball cap. I’m at the door when my cell phone rings. I contemplate ignoring it, certain it’s Camille. Maybe I’ll leave it behind. But I’m a fucking Gen-Z’er; I’m not wired to leave home without it. When I pull it out of the back pocket of my jeans to look at the call ID, I sigh with relief.

“Hi mom,” I answer, moving back to sit on the bed.

“Hey baby, you okay?” Her panicked voice bleeds down the line.

“Yeah? Are you?

“Camille called me.”

“She did?”

Fuck.I can count on one hand the number of conversations my mom and Camille have had. They don’t dislike each other; they just have absolutely nothing in common.

“She was worried. Said she’s been trying to get you but you’re not answering your phone.”

“I’m okay.” I think.

“You don’t sound okay. What’s going on, baby?”

I let out a breath, a tangible release at the notion that my mom knows me that well.

“Honestly? I’m not sure I know…”

“What does that mean?” She sounds edgy, her voice pitching higher. “You’re scaring me.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, mom. I’m okay, really, I just…fuck I don’t know.”