Why the Straight One? | Book 1 | bxb

Excerpt 9

It had been almost three weeks since I started therapy. I'm not going to pretend that my life was changed already, but things were starting to look brighter. I came away from each session feeling like part of the weight I was carrying had been lifted.

I hadn't been ready to talk to Elliot, but now I didn't look forward to the talk with as much dread as before. I told Alex my plan, and he thought it would be good for me to talk to him. When we were both ready. Right now, Elliot didn't seem to want to talk to anyone, least of all to me.

My session had ended a few hours ago, and now I was sitting up against the headboard of our bed, Alex leaning against my chest, half laying, half sitting between my legs. He was watching some kind of soap opera on tv, and had been talking almost the whole time. Well, closer to ranting, really. Mostly about how stupid each person in the soap opera was, and how he would never act like any of them.

It was actually really adorable to see him get that worked up about something totally unrealistic, but I have to admit, I was spacing out most of the time. In my only half awake state, I was finding it much easier to focus on Alex then it was the tv, or even what Alex was saying.

I had my head tilted slightly forward to see his face, sometimes touching the top of his head with my chin. His hair was so soft I was tempted to run my hair through it. He probably wouldn't have cared, but I didn't want to distract him or cut him off while he was talking. He was perfect like this. Completely himself and at ease around me.

"Are you even listening to me?" He tilted his head back dramatically, blinking rapidly at me to get my attention.

"No." I laughed at the shock and disapproval that filled his eyes.

"Then you don't deserve my company." He turned off the tv, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, careful not to hurt himself, despite his flair for drama.

"Baby, don't leave me." I whined, but he continued to walk away, flipping his imaginary hair.

"You should have at least pretended to be interested. I guess you never know what you had 'till it's gone." He mused, moving to stand in front of full length mirror by our closet.

I thought he was just looking in it to admire himself, but he was suddenly quite, and Alex looking at his face in the mirror was never quite. I leaned forward to get a better view of him, and saw that he had taken off his shirt and was staring at the scar on his abdomen.

My eyes wandered from the scribbled tattoo on his shoulder blade to the dimples right above the waist band of his sweats, but I quickly pulled my eyes up to his face. Something wasn't quite right there.

"What is it, Alex?"

He tilted his head back slightly at the sound of my voice, but didn't look my way. He continued to stare, bringing his hands up to touch around the scar.

"I've never felt so ugly in all my life." His voice was breathy, hardly above a whisper.

"Stupid, isn't it?" He laughed uncertainly. "To be this worked up just because I lost a little weight and have this scar that really isn't that big."

At first I couldn't tell if he was serious, but as he continued to talk there was no doubt about it. I slid out of our bed, walking up behind him while he talked, and wrapped my arms around his bare waist, covering his hands with mine.

"I don't know. I think it's kind of hot. Makes you look tougher, or like you've been through a lot of shit in your life." I said, trying to lighten the mood, but that didn't seem to work.

"Thomas, stop." He whined, thinking I wasn't taking him seriously. "This isn't funny. Tell me I'm just being stupid."

"You aren't."