Sleeping with the Enemy Read online

  I spend some time settling back in, barely an hour after I thought I was packing and leaving. I can hear him knocking around across the bathroom, being louder than he needs to be. But what is he thinking? Is he annoyed as I am?

  No matter what I do, I keep feeling the energy drawing me back. Anywhere I go in the unit, he appears. I’ll mumble an apology and walk away, but it keeps happening. Like electrodes, we keep bouncing away from each other and then getting sucked back in again. It’s funny – even when he’s one room away, I can still feel his presence. I can just sense his energy, in the weirdest way. I hear him cough, then wonder whether he’s okay. But oh, well – I don’t care anyway. I really don’t.

  But my mind is racing with questions. Does he remember our hookup as clearly as I have for all these years? Was it as hot for him as it was for me?

  In any case, I keep getting images of that old Julia Roberts movie my mom used to watch, where Julia’s character would creep through her own house, evading her abusive spouse and plotting her escape from him. Obviously Thomas and I won’t kill each other (I think), but I still have that creepy-crawly feeling reminding me that tonight I will be, quite literally, sleeping with the enemy…

  As I lounge on my bed, watching it snow outside, I hear something and freeze. I look over and see Thomas. He’s in the bathroom, stepping out of his clothes. I didn’t realize the door was open. Neither did he, apparently. And he’s…well, he’s exposed.

  For a moment I just stare, like a total creeper. Damn, he looks good. Time did nothing but make him look better. And I’d forgotten how beautiful the view was. I shouldn’t be looking, but I can’t help myself. His ass is plump and round, and his stomach is flat and muscled. He has less body hair than I do, but his dick…well, it’s just as I remembered.

  And by that, I mean perfect.

  Beyond perfect. Downright edible.

  But then I come back to myself. Before I can get caught, I clear my throat. “Um, hello – do you mind?”

  He looks over, then jumps out of sight. “Shit! I didn’t know, um, sorry.” Then he laughs under his breath.

  “Uh, what’s funny?”

  “Oh, it’s just that usually I can tell when you’re near, just from the general air of disgust you give off.”

  “Well who wouldn’t be disgusted?”

  “Touché.” He laughs again. “The first time you talk to me in four years,” he murmurs, “and all I had to do was show my cock again.”

  My blood stops moving in my veins. I can’t believe he said that. “Well, let’s keep the count at two, shall we?”

  “Whatever you say, boss.”

  He saunters off, and I feel my head tilt and eyebrows lift. And that’s when it hits me. He was standing in the middle of the bathroom, in full view of me, when he dropped his pants. Meaning…

  That little cock reveal couldn’t have possibly been accidental.

  Happy Valentine’s Day, indeed…

  June 2014

  “Fuck, that feels good.”

  As Thomas moans and writhes, my lips explore his dick and his balls and the insides of his legs. I don’t know what I’m doing but it feels…right, and good, and true.

  And really fucking sexy.

  “Wait,” he says. “You’re…a little rough. Can I give you a lesson?”

  “Oh. And how would you know how to suck dick?”

  “Don’t you watch porn?” he asks.

  “Not that much. My room is right next to Lo’s. She can hear if I breathe too loudly.”

  “Okay, whatever,” he says, guiding my face closer to his dick. “I’ve seen them all, and I’ll help you.”

  “Okay?”

  “First of all, never use your teeth. It hurts. Just use your lips. Make an O with your mouth. Yeah, like that. And while you suck, use one of your hands to jack me at the same time – it heightens the whole thing. Most guys have to jack themselves to cum, anyway. Yeah, like that, except spit on it, so it’s not dry. Yes, yes…”

  I continue, guided by him. But things progress more quickly than anticipated. Before I know it, he’s shaking all over, his dick contracts in my throat, and soon a warm liquid is being pumped into my mouth.

  I swallow it, not knowing what else to do, and sit up.

  “Damn,” he says with a breathless, confused look.

  “Damn is right, dude. Do it to me now.”

  “What?”

  “It clearly felt good. I want to feel now. Do it to me. Can you? It’s only fair.”

  “Um, okay….”

  He looks hesitant, though. And since I know he responds best to challenges, I change my tune.

  “Hey, I’m not a beggar,” I say. “By all means, you don’t have to...”

  His eyes harden. “Excuse me, then – give me that dick now.”

  3

  It’s snowing even harder when I get up and walk into the living room, jittery with nerves. Some newscasters are calling for a foot of snow, others are saying a layer of sleet could mix in and dash the totals. Either way, we’re in for a mess.

  I study Thomas in the dim light as he watches TV. Fuck, this dude is handsome. I can admit that again. It’s just another reason to hate him, actually. He has bright golden skin from his mixed-race mother, and bone structure that could cut glass.

  But I turn away. Since I’m going to be here all day, I start making myself at home. I look around and realize how dark it is in here. Thomas always closed the blinds and preferred things to look like a cave, whereas I like everything bright and airy. So I walk over and yank open all the curtains and open all the blinds, then I start organizing the kitchen, which he already trashed while making coffee.

  That’s another difference between us – his bedroom always looks like the aftermath of a hurricane, while mine is kept almost obsessively clean. If I can’t control the rest of my life, or even what I feel inside, I will control my surroundings.

  I hear him huff and puff about something. “Do you mind?” he asks, walking over and shutting the curtains on the biggest picture window. Then he puts the coffee beans back on the counter. “I might need this soon.”

  “Or you might not,” I say, putting the bag back in the cupboard. Then I go and open the curtains again. “And yes, I do mind, as I prefer not to live like I am a vampire avoiding the sun.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” he says as he closes them again. “You’re so pasty and pale this trip, I was going to ask if you’ve taken up knitting.”

  “…Why would you notice my looks, anyway?”

  He freezes. But soon he gets this frustrated look.

  “Okay, speaking of that,” he says after a second. “This will get old, quickly. Can we just be together for a day without killing each other?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean,” he sighs. “I don’t have the energy to sit around and hate you. Especially not on Valentine’s Day. We used to get along so well – when we weren’t at each other’s throats, that is. Can we…I don’t know, can we make a truce, or something?”

  I’m confused. “You’re asking me that? When have you ever put in any effort?”

  “Why would it be my place to try, when you treat me like a refried turd?”

  “Like you were ever much better…”

  He sighs, then sits at the rustic dinner table. I notice that the muscles in his long legs are tense and, well…muscly, if that’s a word.

  Suddenly a big, pink Valentine’s commercial comes on the TV over the fireplace, drowning out the conversation. To a background of bright, poppy music, the commercial portrays couple after couple in their loving little holiday embraces.

  “Ugh. Funny,” he says, mostly to himself. “The most romantic day of the year, and I’m spending it with…well, you.”

  “Why is that funny?”

  He smirks off at nothing. “No reason.” Then he changes the channel without asking.

  “Hey,” I say. “I’ve been waiting for a rerun of my favorite show.”

>   “Cool,” he says arrogantly as he plops down on the couch. “I’ve been waiting for what I’m watching now. You can wait.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Why should I give you the remote? You’re a huge asshole to me.”

  “No I’m not. I don’t even talk to you.”

  “Exactly.

  “Whatever. Just fuck yourself.”

  His smile twists into a sneer. “Why would I, when you can do it for me?”

  A jolt runs over me. I ignore it. “God. Do you ever shut up?”

  “Not for you. I just like to annoy you, I suppose. Reminds me of the old days.”

  I look away with all the fury I can. “Well stop the memory lane visits, please, because it’s not cute at all.”

  “You seemed to think it was once.”

  I jump a little. I didn’t know we were talking about that.

  “Speaking of that. Do you know what today is?” he asks. I cut him dead with a glare straight from hell.

  “How could you ask that? Of course I do.”

  “Oh…sorry.”

  And he reverts back to ignoring me. But I don’t want to watch this, so I walk over and grab the remote again. Before I can change it, though, he grabs it back.

  “Asshole,” I say. “Give me that.”

  “I will if you take it from me. You’ve never beaten me in a fight before. Not once.”

  “And I’m not going to start now. Fighting is for children.”

  “Well I’d assume you’d be into it, then.”

  Something snaps in me. Finally I lunge at him. We’ve fought a million times over the years, but this time it feels different. Visceral. Years and years of frustration and hatred and confusion explode out of me, and I grab his head and push it back against the couch cushion. He tries to land a punch in my stomach, but I swerve to the side. We both fall backwards then, and soon we are on the floor, a mass of tangled limbs, punching and grunting and kicking.

  “Fucker,” he says, kicking over the coffee table.

  “Shitface,” I respond, kicking him in the side. He reaches around to get me in a chokehold, but his bicep grazes my crotch. Then we both gasp at the same time.

  Because I am suddenly hard. Very hard.

  Both of us stop moving. A primal, intense moment passes between us. His eyes, so hazel, meet mine. There’s a question there, but also an answer. It’s all I need. We’ve done this before. We could do it again.

  “Oh,” he says. “Oh.”

  I scoot away, holding my jaw that he kneed in the melee. An awkward moment comes. But what does it mean? What’s happening?

  “You’ve gotten better at wrestling,” he finally says, rubbing his arm.

  “You haven’t.”

  “Hmmph,” he laughs. “Ugh. Let’s cool it for a second.”

  “Are you saying that because you didn’t win?”

  “I’m saying that because I don’t want to destroy this room and get stuck with a thousand-dollar hotel fee. Why are we even watching TV, anyway? Let’s get ready for the storm. I got stuck in a cabin in Asheville once, and it was fucking miserable. Come on, let’s make ourselves useful.”

  The tension in the air feels diffused, if only for now. He turns to the kitchen, which is awfully messy already. Now that his attention is away from me, my spirits fall. As volatile as we are together, it still makes me sad to hate him like this. It’s such a waste. I can tell he feels it, too. The fight seemed to soften something between us.

  “God, there must be five trash bags in here,” he says. “Care to help me take all this out before it gets too cold to go outside? The dumpster is right in the back of the parking lot, if you didn’t notice.”

  I grunt my agreement. As long as it gives us something to do, besides argue and fight and simmer in this weird sexual tension, or whatever it is…

  We lug up the surprisingly heavy bags, then head out into the storm. It’s weird how quickly things can change: the temperature has risen a bit, probably since the air is so wet, but the wind whips at my coat and the snow is starting to fly horizontally into our faces. We barely make it to the dumpster, which is near a ravine that leads probably forty feet straight down to a half-frozen stream below, lined with icy, jagged boulders. I glance down and wince at the distance. Anyone unlucky enough to take that fall would end up as soup in that water.

  Thomas bows up his strength and throws his bags over the fence into the dumpster bins, and I do the same. Then we turn back for the path to the condo, and everything changes.

  Trying to stay alongside Thomas, I get way too close to the edge of the precipice, and I feel myself go unsteady. And the next few seconds pass in a silvery, surreal blur.

  I bend down to put some weight behind my sturdy foot, but in the windy conditions I guess I’m even closer to the edge than I knew. The back of my left ankle slips, and suddenly I get that holy-shit-I’m-falling feeling that makes your stomach plummet and your whole body go numb. My feet let loose some gravel, and I hear it clatter down the canyon wall, falling so far, the sounds disappear.

  I can barely process what happens next: I spring up, my arms flying wildly, and then feel Thomas’ strong arms reach out and grab me. I fall forward into him, and then I freeze against him as my heart pounds and my chest heaves.

  And then it’s over. I almost fell down a ravine into an icy stream, but he saved me.

  My biggest enemy just saved my life.

  4

  Time stands still. A near-death experience, or whatever that was, has a sobering, clarifying effect on me. I feel knocked into my own body – I can feel every heartbeat inside me, I can see everything in front of me. It’s like someone turned on the windshield wipers, and I am looking out of my own eyes for the first time in the world. After years of fog, years of indecision, years of outright denial…

  Suddenly I am filled with regret for every time over the half decade Thomas and I walked away from each other, avoided one another in a hallway, saw each other’s faces at a table and sat ten seats away. All that time, I was looking at him as the human representation of something I hated, feared and misunderstood – my sexual confusion. But all along he was a living, breathing person – a person I was shutting out of my life for no good reason. He wasn’t an idea, a concept – he was just Thomas. He was my best friend. And we wasted so much time.

  I look into his eyes. He looks into mine. And suddenly I don’t hate him quite so much anymore. In fact, he…just feels like Thomas to me. That’s all. He isn’t the enemy, the adversary, like he was for all these years, ever since our lips last touched each other’s body parts. He is just Thomas. And soon I wonder: why did I ever think he was anything else to begin with?

  The beautiful moments start to filter in, before the hatred, before the burning waves that swallowed us up and spit us out. For most of my life we were closer than brothers – we were twins. I would wake up in bed beside him every weekend, after which we’d watch cartoons and make burnt pancakes. We’d spend days building haphazard tree forts, and then fight for hours about who was the king of the fort and got to stand on the top level.

  And that’s when I realize something I knew all along, right underneath the surface of my subconscious: we never hated each other at all. I know that was obvious, but still, my near-fall is making me stare in the face all the things I used to look away from. We just hated what we felt for each other, and what it would mean for our lives. For our friendship. For our past. And for our future…

  But what is he thinking right now? What is happening behind those eyes? And will he ever tell me, anyway?

  All I know is that before that bus comes tomorrow, I intend to find out.

  5

  We head back separately. Neither of us can face what happened yet. To escape the stifling awkwardness of the condo, I get dressed and head to the gym while I still can, over in the main building that houses the indoor pool.

  Once on the treadmill I take out my phone and start scrolling through social media, but all I see are po
sts from annoying couples, showing off the gifts they got each other. So I toss it aside again and get back to running. Ugh. During my childhood, Valentine’s Day meant dropping homemade Looney Toons cards into shoeboxes, eating heart-shaped candy with rude sayings written on one side, and class projects where we made cheesy gifts for our mothers. Today, it is a nightmare. The entire adult experience is just a race to settle down with your one true love, because that’s what success really means in this world. Money and accomplishments are great, but society never fails to remind you that without a relationship, none of that matters.

  And Valentine’s Day is the single biggest reminder that I am – well, single. I have terrible personal luck on this day, too. One Valentine’s Day I got dumped by the girl I was dating – she said she knew it was douchey to do it on the Love Holiday, but she thought it would be unfair to delay the breakup at the same time. Another year, this girl gave Valentines to every single boy in my class except me. Seriously, everyone! (Thomas felt bad, though, so he gave me his. He was always thoughtful like that.)

  Still, I can’t deny there’s something about the snow, and the winter, that just makes you want to be in love with someone. There’s a reason people are wild in the summertime, and then they retreat into relationships as soon as September ends. There’s nothing like curling up in bed with someone as it snows outside and a fire crackles in the fireplace.

  And here I am, in that situation – except on steroids. We have a fancy condo, a snowstorm raging outside, and a fireplace in every room. In any normal situation I’d probably already be having sex. Obviously, this is not normal, though. That’s why I fled to the gym.

  And speaking of Thomas: he shows up just as I’m finishing my second mile, acting all weird and distracted.

  “Uh, do you mind?”

  “What do you mean?” he asks. “Lifting weights is what I always do to let off steam. You know that.”

  “Fine, fine,” I say.