Wood’s eyes were still glossy as if he’d just shot-up with meth. When Trent gazed into them, he knew Wood wasn’t looking back, and it was ripping at pieces of his chest. Trent scooped a small amount of broth on the spoon and put it to Wood’s barely parted lips and waited. When Wood didn’t move, Trent eased the spoon inside and poured the lukewarm broth in Wood’s mouth, only to watch in devastation as it dribbled back out.
“Ugggh. Wood. Come on!” Trent scooped some more and uselessly tried again. “One damn spoon, man.”
Trent stopped when he realized his hands were shaking. He set the bowl down, surveying the mess he’d made trying to get Wood to eat. He had broth saturating his beard, mixing with the dirt still present from last night. Trent scooted away until his back was against the side of the bed. He dropped his head forward and gripped two handfuls of his hair. What am I doing? What am I doing? Trent pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and stared at the home screen. His finger hovered over Bishop’s contact picture for a long time before he eventually tossed the phone across the room. Trent struggled to his feet, staring down at the big lump of man he’d somehow grown crazy about.
Trent woke each day looking forward to their morning fight over the bathroom, or who ate the last of the cereal. His one-hour lunch break with Summer was full of him detailing to her all the infuriating shit Wood had done to him the night before. Like staring at him as if he wanted to lick him all over while Trent ate his dinner or brushing his hard body against him when they were both in the kitchen as if Wood didn’t have plenty enough space to maneuver. He threw wadded-up pieces of paper at his face while he watched television, then had the audacity to call Trent immature. He smiled when he remembered Wood going on and on about the uselessness of video games and how it rots the brain cells. Trent asked him if he’d read that in an Encyclopedia Britannica.
Just weeks ago he’d hated when clock-out time came because he knew he was going home to a dark empty trailer. Now, after a long day of work, he was one of the first guys that burned rubber out of the parking lot. Because he knew he was going to turn his key and come into a brightly lit house with the heat already pumping and someone waiting to greet him with a smile. Albeit a sarcastic, mischievous one, but Wood was there nonetheless. And for some reason he found Trent’s temper amusing… delicious was actually the word he used. He’d been so busy trying to win at the so-called game, he hadn’t realized neither of them were truly playing.
Trent huffed and shook the nerves out of his hands. He knew deep down—maybe always had—that he wanted to try to do this with Wood, he did. Wanted to see if his feelings were real, if what he’d been craving for so long was the last piece of the puzzle. Trent rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt as determination set in. The difference between him and Wood was he was one relentless motherfucker and the word coward was not in his vocabulary. “Man up, T. If you want someone as great as Wood, then it looks like he’s gonna make you work for it.”
He covered the remaining soup with plastic wrap and put it in the refrigerator. After he scoffed down the last of the chicken breast and steamed rice he’d made last night, he popped two of his muscle relaxers and chased them with water. He filled another cup and went back to Wood’s room. He crinkled his nose at the stench the moment he stepped over the threshold. Trent could smell the sweat and filth mixed with traces of whiskey seeping from Wood’s pores.
Maybe that was why Wood couldn’t eat or drink—he still smelled like sick. Trent needed to get him cleaned up, and he was positive that would make Wood feel alive again. Thinking he had a good plan, Trent googled how to give a sponge bath because there was no way he’d be able to drag Wood into the bathroom and up over into the tub.
Trent cranked the heat up in the bedroom, then gathered the necessary supplies the WikiHow website recommended. He filled two of his largest bowls with warm water and grabbed the last stack of clean towels. On his hands and knees, Trent slowly began to peel away the layers of blankets, revealing Wood’s warm, damp flesh. He swallowed thickly as he tried to keep himself from thinking thoughts he shouldn’t at a time like this. Instead he kept Wood’s lower half covered and shoved a couple of towels under his head so he could wash his hair.