Sleeping with the Enemy Read online

  Sleeping with the Enemy

  A Valentine’s Day Story

  Seth King

  Copyright © 2018 by Seth King

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  A Valentine’s Day story by Seth King

  “I hate your guts. Now drop your jeans.”

  Wade and Thomas were best friends – until they became virtual strangers.

  Both of them know what happened on the night that drove them apart. Neither of them ever confronted it, or even talked about it.

  They do have wet dreams about it, though.

  Four years later, these foes find themselves stuck in the same deserted hotel during a mountain blizzard after the rest of their group escapes – on Valentine’s Day, no less.

  That old spark is still there. So is the new animosity between them. Soon Wade jokes to himself that only one of two things will happen now: an epic session of “hate sex,” or a double murder.

  It’s all up to them now.

  for the love of my life.

  sorry for writing about you.

  …again.

  “Gamble everything for love, if you are a true human being. If not, leave this gathering. Half-heartedness doesn’t reach into majesty.”

  -Rumi

  ~

  “Is it better to speak or die?”

  -Andre Aciman

  Introduction

  “Are you sure you want this?”

  As my childhood best friend and occasional biggest enemy stands between my legs and slides on a condom, I laugh to myself and pretend I’m a character in some romantic comedy, peeling petals off a flower. It is Valentine’s Day, after all. I am allowed a few fantasies.

  I love him, I love him not.

  I love him, I love him not.

  But that wouldn’t be entirely accurate. To be accurate, I would have to continue:

  I hate him, I hate him not.

  I want to kiss him, I want to kiss him not.

  I want to fuck him, I want to fuck him not.

  I want to kill him, I want to kill him not…

  When I saw Thomas this morning, we had not had a real conversation in four years – precisely because of what is happening right now. Our relationship was always like love dipped in acid, a rose lit aflame, forever living in that ambiguous place between hatred and attraction and lust and violence. When we are apart, I don’t feel like myself. When we are together, I am consumed with hatred for him. And now, true to form, we are possibly about to have sex after getting into two fist fights.

  I can still say no, though. And if I’m smart, I will. Patterns like this never end unless you pull the trigger yourself. And he deserves the bullet.

  “Wade,” he asks. “I want to be sure. Yes or no?”

  Everything in me wants to say yes. Everything except my brain, that is. Because if we cross this line, we will never be able to go back.

  I arch my back and take a breath.

  Sunday, February 14

  1

  The first snowflakes of the “blizzard of the decade” are just starting to fall as I realize my worst nightmare has come true: I’m about to have to spend the night in a hotel room with Thomas McPherson. For Valentine’s Day, no less.

  I groan and then peer into the bus one last time. What my ski team coach said is true: there is no more room. An insect couldn’t fit in here. There are three guys in every row, and the space in the back is packed so high with luggage, I can’t even see any light from the rear windows. I volunteered to pack my stuff last, more out of formality than anything. Now there are two people who didn’t make the cut. And there won’t be another bus until tomorrow. I didn’t actually think my politeness would get me stuck here as the worst snowstorm in years heads for Beech Mountain, the town where my school’s ski team just competed in trials for the Nationals next year.

  Actually, being here isn’t what I care about. If I were alone, I’d buy some beer at the nearest store and settle in bed until the storm clears and the sun returns and the first buses start coming. (The ski resort pays to have the main road cleared every day, sunshine or blizzard, so I know I’ll be able to get out to the highway tomorrow morning.) My horror stems from the fact that the only other guy to volunteer to stay behind is the person I hate most in the world.

  Well, that’s a little harsh. I guess I do love him, too, as much as I hate to admit it. Of course I do. On some level, however deep, I’m sure there is love somewhere. Who wouldn’t love their childhood best friend? He is the costar of all my most important memories. But I also hate him, and that can’t be denied. Anyone would hate him, after everything that happened. My feelings for him are wrapped in red, violent and intense and burning. Love/hate, I guess. Hate/love. Whatever is halfway between love and hate, that’s where we are. Suicidal brothers. That thing where you want to hug someone and punch them in the face in the same breath, and maybe kiss them on the lips, too – that’s it. And due to this swampy, explosive mixture of feelings, we have not had a real conversation in four years.

  See you tonight! my twin sister Lo texts me. Can’t wait to have someone to drink wine and watch trashy movies with, so I can feel better about being single on Valentine’s Day and my inevitable fate of one day dying alone in a pile of cats and empty wine bottles!!!!

  Change of plans, I respond. Stuck here for a blizzard. Looks like you may have to get that pile of cats ready.

  I return my phone to my pocket. Finally I take a breath, turn, and face him. Suddenly time melts and warps, and in my head, I go back. Back to the day that cracked open my life.

  Back to the day when we were still best friends.

  Back to the day that started with me sucking his dick.

  For some reason he smiles at me, and I don’t know whether my heart flutters or sinks. Then he clears his throat. “Happy Valentine’s Day, old friend.”

  June 2014

  “Well, I don’t know – do you want to maybe just mess around?”

  The question shocked me when it came out of my mouth, but not really. Not in the place where deeper things lurk. Thomas and I are both eighteen, both horny, and – apparently – both sexually adventurous. I always knew this electricity danced between us, but up until now we’ve never been daring enough to do anything about it.

  But my defenses are all the way down. Two weeks ago I buried my grandmother. I am broken, and I have no more fight in me. Beyond that, earlier in the afternoon we stole my dad’s wine from the fridge and got buzzed together. He just asked me about being hard, which I often am around him, and I looked down and noticed that, indeed, I was. I’m feeling so needy, and everything in me aches with sex. Why not finally just go for it?

  I reach down and slowly take myself out of my shorts. And soon we’re both looking down at my tip as it leaks all over the edge of my briefs. Now that my hormones are really getting out of control, I take a breath.

  “You know what? I dare you, I dare you that we can’t make each other cum.”

  “Come on,” Thomas scoffs. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…well, of course we would cum. I don’t know exactly how guy-on-guy sex works, but I’m sure you’ll feel pleasured no matter who’s doing it. Friction is friction, dumbass.”

  “Try it, then,” I breathe.

  “You really want to?”

  “I triple-dog-dare you.”

  His eyes gr
ow. When we were boys, this was the one dare neither of us were allowed to back out of – we’d stolen it from A Christmas Story, but eventually it became a sort of inside joke with us. If one of us said it, nobody was allowed to say no.

  “Get ready, then,” he says, sitting taller and reaching over.

  “Really? You’re gonna do it?”

  “You triple dogged. I have to.”

  “Wait, then – let me start.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Eric Foreman said he’s fooled around with a guy before, and he told me a few details – so I’ll try out the stuff he mentioned.”

  “Okay, then…”

  And thus begins the most erotic day of my life.

  2

  I turn away as the memories inevitably start rushing back. I mean, how could they not? That day changed my life. We were so young, so horny, so experimental, so…sexual. At that stage, in that phase of life, any form of release is good enough. The decision came so easily – it felt so natural to push the envelope, to eventually take him into my mouth as we made direct eye contact…

  But then it all changed. That’s the end result. Thomas has hated me for years. Even before the hookup, we were still at each other’s throats half the time, actually. He is arrogant, aloof and – to use a technical term – a real fucking douchebag. And it’s not just me who thinks that. He just keeps to himself all the time, never asking to see how anyone else is doing, never reaching out of the little bubble he lives inside. Just being around him can put me into a bad mood.

  Sure, we had years of history before he cut me out, but none of that matters anymore. Over the years, our hatred for each other became legendary in our social group. Everyone knows not to involve both of us in the same conversation at the same time. People sit at tables in ways so we’ll be able to sit as far from each other as possible. On the ski team, which we both joined in freshman year, we don’t interact, and everyone knows to just leave the subject alone. I remember once, we both got sent to detention because our science intern assigned us to be together in a group project, and we flat-out refused. But sometimes…

  I can’t lie, sometimes I’ll sit there ten feet away from my oldest friend in the world and get a little sad. A little…lost. His mom, Debbie, was on the prenatal swim team (essentially Jazzercise in the water) with my mom at the YMCA while they were both pregnant with us, meaning we literally gestated together. We had a joint first birthday party. I created his nickname, Tata, which he preferred because he said Tommy was “too common.” We walked the halls of every grade together.

  And now just being around him makes me feel tense and claustrophobic and panicky, like I’m on a train that’s swaying and jittering and threatening to jump the rails at any possible second. They say opposites attract, and we initially clicked because we couldn’t have been more different – I’m a social butterfly, he’s introverted. I’m free-spirited, he’s stubborn and introspective. I’m even blonde and light-eyed, where he’s all dark tones and exotic features.

  Oh, well. Shit happens as you grow up. At least I won’t have to stay with him. We’ve got a whole hotel to split between us, a hotel that is quickly emptying out due to this storm.

  Coach comes up to me and pats me on the back as he texts his wife. “Thanks for agreeing to stay behind, champ. You’ll be fine – this resort has a generator, and a new bus will be around tomorrow. Just get ready to move your stuff.”

  “Um – pardon me?”

  He barely misses a beat. “Oh, yeah. We’re not paying for multiple units when we only have two people staying. You’re bunking with McPherson.”

  The rest of the world stop moving. “…Are you serious?”

  “Huh? What’s the problem? The units have two bedrooms.”

  “And one shared bathroom…”

  He pats me again, totally ignorant of the real reason behind the horror on my face. “Oh, buck up, princess. Just call us if any emergencies happen, got it? Otherwise, see you late on Tuesday, for the meeting.”

  And with that, Coach smiles and hops into the bus, which glugs-glug-glugs its way out of the resort’s gate just as the winds really start to pick up.

  I look over at Thomas again. And once again, it happens. That little jump that can sometimes run over me when I’m around him, that lurch, electrifies me. And in a precursor to what this nightmare Valentine’s Day is probably about to be, he grimaces and looks away.

  Fuck, this is going to be a long day. And the worst thing? I already have a boner.

  And despite my best attempts, it’s already seeping…

  ~

  And so we settle into the cabin-like hotel room, its two halves separated by a long central hallway. On one side are the kitchen and living areas. On the other side are two bedrooms – which share a bathroom. And the doors into that bathroom are frosted glass. They gave us the fanciest room in the complex, though, and I can’t lie – it’s beautiful. I’d be happy to be here under any other circumstance. But I’m not.

  My mom texts me, saying she got a voicemail from Coach, and commiserating about what a boring stay I’m in for. She reminds me to put hand warmers in my gloves if I go outside, which is useless advice considering that my ass won’t be leaving the couch until the mercury reads at least twenty degrees higher than the horrifying number it displays right now. So we’re stuck, and I just showed my dick to my arch-enemy. Great. Two wins in one day! What next? Oh, a fucking blizzard – that’s what’s next.

  Then my sister Lo calls. Her real name is Lauren, but since there were four Laurens in her fifth grade class, her teacher made her pick a nickname – and it stuck. Ever since I lost Thomas she has been my best friend, and she is the only person in the world who knows I am not one hundred percent heterosexual. I know that’s bad, but my world is…not a friendly one to the LGBT community. I know society has made a lot of changes, and I applaud that, but those changes haven’t reached the places where I operate – golf courses and country clubs and dark cigar bars. In these places, you’re likely to overhear things that sound straight out of the 1950s, about race and gender and sexuality and the rest of it. So obviously I’ve never been too “out there” about the things I’ve felt – and the things I’ve done with Thomas.

  I don’t know how to make gay friends, so recently I tried to get a window into the gay world by scanning the “gay fiction” bestseller list – but I was confused to find that none of the books actually had anything to do with the gay community. I expected to find informative, illuminating stories about what it’s like to be young and gay in today’s world, but all the books in the “gay section” were just erotic stories between football stars and hockey phenoms; macho-tastic sex tales between hetero-normative characters that did not resemble actual gay men in any way.

  I’m no expert, but I’ve seen enough Queer Eye reruns to know that whatever “gay culture” is, it doesn’t involve a baseball player named Kane falling for a weightlifter named Jax against a hetero-esque backdrop that in no way, shape, or form represents anything realistic. Gay men just live differently – they go to brunch and go out to clubs and go shopping and, sure, maybe play sports, too. But these books offered me no useful information. In fact they just added to my general sense of confusion.

  All I know is that lately I’m living a life I don’t recognize, from behind a glass wall that separates me from almost everyone in my life, and I don’t know how long I can live like this anymore.

  “Dude, that sucks,” Lo whines, and I can tell she’s eating as we talk. “Really fucking sucks. Valentine’s Day in a blizzard. But at least you’re not here, I guess. Everywhere I look couples are doing their little Valentine’s bullshit. I just went out for groceries and wanted to kill myself. I’m hiding in bed with Hulu for the rest of the day.”

  “What happened with Matt, that guy from the concert?”

  “Um, Matt was a male, and news flash: they are all garbage monsters.”

  “True. Very true. Oh, and I didn’t mention the worst part.�
�

  “What? Matt is already Facebook official with someone else?”

  “No, weirdo. Not everything revolves around you.”

  “Just most things.”

  “Whatever. But anyway, I’m…I’m staying with Thomas. I’m stuck in this room with him until tomorrow.”

  She digests this for a second. I don’t feel weird about this, because like I said, she’s the only person I’ve ever confided in. You can’t hide things from a twin. That weird, kinetic thing people talk about – it really does happen. I was only ever closer with Thomas. But over the years, whenever I’d catch myself staring longingly at a guy in math class, or whenever I’d mention Thomas’ name a little too much in a conversation for things to be platonic – Lo always knew what the deal really was.

  “Oh my God,” she says. “This really is weird. Do you think…”

  “What?”

  “Do you think it’s going to happen again?”

  “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean,” she scoffs. “You two are so weird together – I could cut the sexual tension with my fingernails, but you don’t even speak.”

  “Well…you know what happened. It kind of freaked both of us out. Forever. I’m a lot more okay with it now, but…I don’t know. He’s not.”

  “I have a prediction to make.”

  “Yes, Miss Cleo?”

  “Before tonight is over, you two are either going to break down and have a romantic Valentine’s Day together, or Mom is going to get a call tomorrow that someone was murdered at that resort.”

  “Shut up,” I say, and then try to change the subject. But the chill that runs down my back tells me she is probably much more correct than I want to admit.