Ends of the Earth

Flipping the brochure shut, his gaze drifted to the pile of books. With a sigh, he moved them over one by one. The last was an ancient atlas that likely still featured the USSR and colonial names like “Bombay” instead of Mumbai. He ran his fingers over the pages and put it aside.

Ben stared at the sketchbook. He’d forgotten he had it, and then it had been too late to return it to Jason. It was battered and ripping at the edges, some pages torn out completely. He’d flattened it under the books to try and smooth away the creases and make it whole again.

He opened it to the middle and gently pulled out the loose drawing of him and Maggie on the Road to the Sun. The remnants of wrinkles and crumpling lined the page, but in the pale gleam through the window, he could see the image of himself and Maggie clearly.

A fat tear plopped on to the paper, and he swore under his breath. It was absurd to miss two people he’d only just met. Absolutely ridiculous. Jason was too young for him. It would probably never work out. They barely knew each other.

“I’ll meet someone else. I only feel this way because of the intense experience we shared. This isn’t real.” His flat voice seemed loud in the stillness. Utterly unconvinced, he closed the sketchbook and stacked the books back on top.

If it wasn’t real, how did it hurt so damn much?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Go to sleep. You’re tired. Sleep.

Shifting on the lumpy futon, Jason exhaled loudly in the stillness. Even with the curtains drawn, the streetlights were too bright, the odd car engine piercing. The occasional rumble of the elevator, something he never noticed during the day, was thunderous.

Why aren’t you sleeping?!

Opening his eyes, Jason sighed. He usually fell into bed at night and was reluctant to drag himself out in the mornings. What was his problem? It must have been because he wasn’t working his usual shifts on his feet for hours at a time at the factory, sorting fresh cookies on a conveyor belt, the air permanently sweet.

Yes, when he went back to work in a few days, everything would finally be normal. It had to be. Sure, some things had changed, like the fact that he was gay, but he supposed that wasn’t so much a change as a revelation.

He wondered if it was strange that he’d accepted it so completely, but he had. There was no shame or discomfort when he rolled the words around in his head: I’m gay. He’d considered whether he was bi, but he really didn’t think so.

I’m gay.

There was no panic, only…rightness, a deep relief to have solved a problem he hadn’t even realized he’d had. He’d taken charge of it and there was no sense in denying the truth. Maybe his parents wouldn’t like it, but that was their problem.

A fresh wave of anxiety washed over him, his neck tensing. He still had to deal with his parents and couldn’t keep avoiding their calls.

Coming home hadn’t magically hit a big red reset button. When he closed his eyes, he saw miles of green and Maggie disappearing right in front of him, gone, gone, gone. He still had to deal with what had happened to her.

How was he going to leave her at the Y on Monday for day camp? There was no way he could go to work and pretend everything was perfectly fine. She’d always been safe there, but what if something happened? Some psycho could sneak in and grab her and—

“Stop it,” he muttered to himself. What-ifs led to a spiral of panic, and then he’d really never get to sleep.

As a white glow appeared, he turned his head, automatically reaching for his silenced cell phone on the coffee table, heart in his throat. He’d blocked a dozen media numbers, and was considering changing his number if they kept calling, although this was awfully late, so maybe…

Focusing on the screen, he came back down to earth. It was only one of his monthly reminders, this one to pay the utility bill in the morning. He tossed the phone back down, and after a few moments, it went dark.

Stupid. Go to sleep and stop it.

Why would Ben be contacting him? He’d told Jason to keep him posted, but there hadn’t been anything new to say, so Jason had typed out and erased a dozen messages and sent none of them.

Kicking at the sheet, the fan not enough in the dog days of summer, he tried to get comfortable on his stomach. He was shirtless, his pajama bottoms only light cotton, but he was hot all over.

It was more than the humidity and lack of air conditioning.

When he closed his eyes and tried to drift away, he was grateful not to see the forest. But instead, his traitorous mind replayed images and sensations of sex with Ben—wet friction and baritone moans, tensed muscles and the burning stretch as Jason was exposed. Desire that had lain dormant and ignored for so many years was awakened, a low hum he could ignore during the day with welcome distractions.