Above Water ✔️

28 - don't let me get me

In the morning, I'll be really embarrassed by how whiny I am. But I did just get fucked into oblivion by Dallas, so I think I had an excuse.

He cooed and coddled regardless. We checked the hallway to make sure the coast was clear of any nosy people and I bolted to the bathroom, butt ass naked. I forgot my towel, which sucked, but I was sure there would be a spare under the sink.

I started the shower and hopped in before it warmed up. My body was on fire. I could feel his hands all over me, just the silhouette of them. The sex was spectacular, absolutely mind blowing. I would be reeling for a week. Assuming he didn't want to it again. But I can't be the only one who felt it.

There was something there. Something I didn't notice the first time we hooked up. It was so much deeper than lust and I was afraid to find out what it really meant. We just had an intense connection that was veering a little too close to feelings that are out of bounds for a summer fling. Dallas wasn't thinking straight. I was his first gay experience and he was feeling attached to the idea of it, not to me. I couldn't allow this to get any deeper.

I'd have to lay it on the table.

I just couldn't imagine looking at his handsome fucking face and telling him the truth. This was purely physical. It would end in a month and a half, or however long we had. Calling me baby in bed was cute and all but we had to draw the line.

"Boo."

I jumped a foot in the fucking air. Dallas peeked his head around the corner and for some reason, I covered my junk. "Don't fucking do that, you maniac," I cried, grasping my chest theatrically. "Can I help you?"

"I also need a shower," he said and got in with me? "Why are you covering up? I've already seen literally every square inch of you."

I pouted. "Not my armpits."

He grinned mischievously and grabbed my wrists, raising them up above my head. I couldn't even try to fight it. "Okay, now I've seen every square inch of you," Dallas said, leaning down and kissing me. I kissed back, but was frustrated because he was blocking the water from hitting me.

"Dallas, I'm cold," I whined again. "Move."

"You're so bossy," he mumbled as we somehow traded spaces with what little room we had. He leaned against the shower wall and stared at me as I scrubbed at my chest with some body soap. "I just want to say that you are possibly the sexiest man alive."

I looked up at him, unsure of if he was kidding. He reached up and pushed the sopping mess that was my hair back away from my eyes. Fuck, he literally had hearts for eyes.

This was a mistake.

Dallas insisted on washing my hair, which was nice in basic regards, but felt too couple-y. What do I do? He seemed to be sex drunk. We made out when the soap was out of my hair, hot from the steam. I excused myself and left to leave him to shower alone. When I stepped out, I saw that he brought my towel from the bedroom.

I glanced at the shower curtain and could hear him humming Rich Girl amongst the pouring water. It would be so easy to just give into whatever was happening here.

The panic was settling and I really wanted to call my mom. I thought about rushing to the bedroom to ring her before he got out of the shower. But I was too afraid he would come back and overhear my doubts. Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe he was just a cuddler and didn't think of this as anything more than physical, either. Fuck. Was I the one catching inconceivable feelings?

I felt like my chest was caving in. I wrapped my waist in the towel and ran to the bedroom. I pulled on the first pair of boxers I saw, the ones from earlier, and started pacing.

Just be honest with him, pussy.

I couldn't! I could not look into those eyes and potentially break his heart. Even if he didn't like me like that and just liked me for my ass and mouth, it wasn't worth the risk. I hated confrontation and serious conversations.

The bottle of wine was still on the floor, half empty and calling my name. I grabbed it by the neck and brought it to my lips. It was bitter and bubbly and made me sick. But I needed it. Alcohol was notorious for helping me not think about things that needed to be thought about. That was why it was my soulmate.

I chugged and chugged until the bottle was empty, which only made me feel guilty. Fuck. Emotions were scary and I hated them. I heard the water turn off on the other side of the wall.

What if I moved the beds back in thirty seconds before he made his way back? That would be enough to show how I felt without actually having to say it.

I was being ridiculous.

God forbid I let someone in. I would rather scrape my eyeballs against shards of glass, or vice versa? I was drunk. Journal therapy was long overdue, but I couldn't do that with Dallas's nosy ass looking over my shoulder.

What if . . . I pretended to be asleep? Then I could avoid any of the touchy feely pillow talk I was sure Dallas was going to try to do. Perfect idea. I put the empty bottle down on the nightstand and climbed under the covers, pulling them over my shoulders and facing away from the door.

His footsteps were coming towards the room and I clenched my eyes shut. The alcohol hit hard and the blacks of my eyes were on rotation, spinning around and around until I thought I might be sick. I couldn't risk blowing my cover, so I just tried to ease up and relax.

"Thomas?" Dallas said softly. I could hear him drying his hair with the towel and then changing into some underwear. I didn't respond. "You can't possibly be asleep."

I laid there, wallowing in how much of a coward I was because I couldn't face myself. Dallas would hate me if he knew what was running through my head. I should just come clean and tell him about my concerns. He would understand. Right?

There was the sound of glass on wood. The wine bottle. He must have picked it up and examined the empty contents. I pictured him frowning at it, then at me, then at himself, for sleeping with such a degenerate loser.

Okay, brain, clam down. I mean, calm down.

The bed shifted and then he was touching me. I steadied my breathing, keeping my eyes shut. He sighed, brushing my wet hair out of my face, and tucked the blanket further on me.

Cowardly little bitch.

Dallas whispered softly in my ear, "Goodnight, Thomas," and kissed my temple. My cheeks flushed and I prayed he couldn't see it. He got back up, pulled some clothes on, and left the room.

I resisted the urge to turn around and call his name. I just couldn't do it. My brain was running haywire, it was a bad time altogether. He didn't need to see the depths of my anxieties and nervosities and mental illness. Dallas was a good fucking guy and I was going to ruin everything.

It was just in my nature. I am my father's son, after all. I learned everything I know from my dad who left when things didn't fit his standards anymore and my mom who drank to cope with her depression. But, Meek, you can break generational habits! Yes, you can also have a good night after having sex with the hottest man in Florida, too, but you don't see me doing that right, either.

Where was the OFF button for my brain?

I stared at the wall tirelessly until I did eventually fall asleep flat on my back. I was stirred awake by a warm presence on my chest and an arm slung over my stomach. Dallas came to bed and cuddled me. Because he was fucking normal. And liked me. After having sex with me.

And I was still a coward.