Chapter Fifty-Three Letting Go: Part One Learning 2 page

I thought I was the only one suffering because of this future event, but I began to notice the small nuances of pain in the older man. I saw the way Gerard’s eyes flickered, the way he cringed without me touching his bruises. He was hurting too, but he was doing a lot better job of hiding it.

Just like Gerard moments earlier, I stopped inside of him, just letting the feeling resonate through me. I was ready to come faster than usual because of my prior excitement, but I didn’t want it to be over. I never wanted it to be over. I tried to stay stationary inside Gerard, merely kissing him slow and then fast, my tongue whipping in and out of his mouth in a clumsy fashion. Each and every time though, I became so into my actions, I never noticed as my hips began to rock again. It was something I couldn’t control; there was an urge inside of me wanting to get off, and it didn’t understand the situation around everything. I loved the man under me, and my body only wanted to experience him as soon as possible. I wished I had control over my body, and I fucking cursed it for its actions, as much as it felt good. My hips began to move faster and faster, my teeth gnashing into Gerard, breath coming out in hard choked gasps through my nose. I could hear it slice through the air, and eventually, all of the feeling sliced through me as well. I felt the burning base in my balls and then the eventual climax into Gerard. I crushed my eyes closed and let out weird high pitched noises at the back of my throat. I kept riding out my orgasm, feeling Gerard’s hands on my back, rocking with me for encouragement until I was completely done. My head collapsed onto his chest as softly as I could put it down and I just breathed.

And then, I realized it was over. Done, as simple as that. Just like Gerard had said about Paris. I had come and there was nothing left to it. I could feel Gerard’s heat around me, and I knew I would have to pull out soon. But God, I never wanted to. The after effects of orgasm rushed my brain and bloodstream making me feel boneless, like I could fly through the air. I never thought something could feel so good and hurt so much at the same time. I struggled to preserve the memory in my mind, but it had all happened so fast. I couldn’t even remember what I had been doing as I came. Was I kissing Gerard? Rubbing his neck? Just thrusting and nothing else? God, I didn’t know. I couldn’t remember. And it was over, there was no going back. This was probably the last time we were going to have sex.

I felt empty inside, completely pushed into Gerard, so much so I could feel myself slipping out, slipping away from him. I hated the feeling, and my chest would no longer break anymore. It had already split in two. There was nothing left for me to feel, nothing left for me to do. Except cry.

So I did.

I had no idea what was going on at first. I just felt shudders take over my system, making it harder and harder for me to breathe. I was used to shuddering though. I had been doing it a lot in the past few days, so much so that I wasn’t even trying to fight it. I just let it happen, waiting until I could breathe normally and stop shaking so I could move again. But there was something added to this now familiar sensation, something I did not recognize. My eyes had been closed tightly, but I felt something try to break free from inside. I thought my eyeballs wanted to jump out of my head and run around the room, but when I opened them, all I was met with was blurry vision and a salty discharge I didn’t recognize. I touched my face, wondering what the fuck was going on. I was still shuddering, my breath completely gone, but I was not crying yet. I was just leaking tears, streaming down my face in pure frustration. That soon changed as I fully comprehended what my body was doing. I tried to fight my emotions, but I only succeeded in snapping in two.

I started to breath again, but they were accompanied by wild moans and deep rooted sobs that I had never experienced before. Now I was crying, but not only that, I was bawling like a baby. My breath was coming out in quick short gasps and I couldn’t even form words to ask what the fuck was going on. My chest was rising and falling like there was no tomorrow, and as I watched it, I thought something inside was going to burst. Or maybe it already had, and that was why the tears were spilling forth. My mouth was open and I felt some fall in, pooling at the side. In a vain attempt I tried to close my jaw, and only tasted the salty remnants of what I was doing.

God, I didn’t understand crying and I didn’t know why I was doing it. I had not cried in forever. I couldn’t even remember clearly in that moment what had caused me to cry, probably so many years ago. And even then when I had cried then, most likely it had been a lot of moping and a few meager tears. On Gerard’s bed, I was gasping, moaning, and yelling, trying to make sense of things. But nothing did. I couldn’t even comprehend why humans were supposed to cry when we were sad. It was such a stupid concept. I didn’t get the whole mechanics of it all. Why the fuck was salt water coming out of my eyes? How was this supposed to make me feel better when I was at my wits end? Babies cried when they wanted food or were sick. It brought them the attention they needed. It made me feel like a baby, but I didn’t want this attention. I just felt like a fucking idiot and an infant – the exact thing Gerard said he never wanted to have – and I didn’t want to feel like either in front of him. I wanted our last night together to be something good and pure, and I was crying like there was no tomorrow. I was ruining it, and that thought, along with my failed attempts to try and stop, only made me cry harder.

Out of all the shit I had been through in the past few weeks I couldn’t believe it was having sex with Gerard that had finally broken me. I did not cry when I cheated on him and I realized what a horrible mistake I had done. I did not cry when he told me I was just an experience. Or when I was pulled over by the cops, questioned mercifully and doubted and ridiculed by everyone else. I did not cry when I got my rape kit done even if it was the most embarrassing thing I had done in my life. I didn’t cry when my own father hit me, trying to disown me from the family. I did not even fucking cry when I found out that Gerard had been beaten up. No, it took seeing him in flesh, blood and bruised, and having sex with him to finally cause me to break.

But I had been breaking for so long, clinging onto anything that would keep me afloat, that maybe this was fucking inevitable. I should have seen this coming, just like Gerard’s departure from my life.

Regardless of this being necessary or not, I was still doing it, crying and shuddering into Gerard’s chest. I had pulled out of him from my spastic and violent movements, but instead of moving away, which is what I should have done so he didn’t see me in this raw and infantile state, I stayed on top of him. I was curled up into a ball, my face pressed into his chest, using his bruised flesh as a tissue. I knew I was hurting him more because I could hear his sharp breathing and feel his chest rising and falling, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get up and run, I couldn’t fucking do anything. I had reverted back to a baby, and was trying desperately to be saved and given what I needed as I laid in a pile of flesh and sex on top of him.

My sobs and wails were so loud I barely heard anything for the first five minutes of tears spilling forth from my eyes. I felt everything straight down in the center of my being and I realized how fucking much all of this really hurt. Before it had been feelings and desperation inside of me, but now everything was manifesting itself into the physical. Crying hurt. Breathing hurt. Opening my eyes hurt because I was constantly being blinded by water my vile body thought was necessary. Within the first five minutes, I was spilling and spitting up all of the bad things that happened. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, my teeth hitting Gerard’s flesh, and saliva pooling out. I felt like a baby even more for drooling like I was, but I couldn’t fucking move. I couldn’t help it, and as I felt Gerard’s hands up and down my back, he understood. He kept rubbing and touching me, but I couldn’t hear anything he was saying. It sounded like he was making noise, but that could have been me. I felt his hands in my hair, tangling in the sweaty locks and trying to pull my face up to meet his own. I went because there wasn’t much else I could do. He only managed to turn me over, so I was on my back once again. I balled my fists and tried to cover my face.

In that split second of vision before my hands went over my face, I saw something I didn’t comprehend, even more than the physical act of my own tears itself.

Gerard was crying too.

All along, I had thought my sobs were just really loud, seeming to echo in my mind long after, but part of that had been him. The salty discharge was pouring from his eyes as well. He wasn’t nearly as bad as me, but I could see his chest rising and falling spastically in the same manner as my own. It made me stop, just for a second, to watch the phenomenon in front of me. Gerard, the elusive artist who I had always looked up to, who I had fucked and been fucked by, loved and done all these wonderful things with, was crying. I had never seen him cry, let alone him get much of a glossed over appeal. Not even when he talked about Raymond, his dead ex-lover, did he cry. He didn’t when he talked about his brother’s abuse story or his grandmother’s death. Just like I couldn’t fathom a being such as Gerard bleeding, his tears didn’t make much sense either. It was a sign of weakness, something which I knew I had but never seemed attainable on him. He was always so strong and put together; this act didn’t fit with his persona.

I found my hands wandering up to his face to touch his flushed cheeks where the wetness had started to accumulate, giving him a small shine. I needed to see if it was real. When I felt that wetness, it only made me cry more. Just like I had broken, so had Gerard. There had been so many things that could make us cry, so many things that had fucked with our emotions in the past few months, but it was here and now, on his bed in his black bedroom where we finally let the tears spill from our eyes. I didn’t get it, but I threw myself onto him again, my hands around his neck and burying myself into his chest. He let me, stroking my air again, trying to get me to calm down.

“Shhh,” he croaked through a broken breath. He was the more daring one out of the two of us to speak, and really the only one that could find his voice at that moment in time.

“Frank, it’s okay. Shhhh. It’ll be okay. Please, Frank. Frank.”

He stroked my hair harder and faster as I continued to bury my face. My eyes were still flowing with the damned salty droplets into his neck. I let out a cry at first, disputing his words. Everything was not going to be okay. He was leaving me. For once, that fact was pure and simple.

“Frank, I’m sorry.” Gerard kept talking, apologizing, and making me feel even worse. I could hear his distinct sobs coming through against my own. He cried differently than myself. I was messy and cathartic, everything coming out in a jumbled mess, whereas he was clear and distinct. His sobs and shudders seemed to follow a pattern and a rhythm. Though we differed, it was very apparent that we were both gravely upset. He held me tighter, and though it helped me a little, it was essentially useless. I still didn’t understand anything, especially why he was crying too and trying to comfort me at the same time.

“Why – are – you – crying?” I asked, my words chopped and spliced before my very eyes. I pried myself away from his body, laying down on his sheets and looking up at his face. He tried to hide himself, lowering his lips to my body in a feeble attempt to kiss me, but he trembled too much. He took one of several deep breaths, trying to calm himself enough to actually explain something that was more than just a generic sympathy plea.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Frank,” he started. He gripped my arms, moving his hands over my body as fast as the running rapids that were falling from his eyes. I felt my heart surge along inside my sobs. He had not wanted to hurt me, but he was still able to do so.

“I never wanted to hurt you, ever. I wanted to avoid it all costs. I love you too much for that.” He kept repeating the plea over and over again, but I didn’t know who he was trying to convince more. Myself or him. “I didn’t want to hurt you. That’s why I’m crying. I hate knowing that I hurt you and that I can never take it back.”

His words flowed out of his mouth in a shaky fashion, like an earthquake had hit his voice box. He took a deep breath in through his nose, nostrils getting sucked into the side as he looked down at me. He gave me a weak smile, and began to stroke the tears as they fell onto my cheeks. I had calmed down a bit, the eye of the storm passing, but every once in awhile I would heave an uncomfortable breath. Gerard looked down at me, his nubby fingers brushing over my face and muffled a sob.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he confessed, his voice so quiet and weak I didn’t think it was coming from him anymore. “Seeing you cry made me realize how much I’m going to miss you.”

Gerard lowered his lips over my own before any kind of reply could be formed. He tried to kiss me, to kiss away all the pain we both felt, but all we could taste was salty flesh and quivering lips. I still kept him pressed into me, his words going over my mind. Did he just realize now he was going to miss me? Did he not think about this when he bought the ticket? Did he not think about this at all? Fuck, I knew Gerard was impulsive, but I never thought he could forget something like this. Someone like me…

“Gerard,” I choked out. His face was in my neck again, and we were clinging onto each other for dear life. A life that we knew was going to end, but going to make the best of thinking it was still around.

“Yes?” Gerard responded, propping himself up on my body, touching my hair and face and trying to get the sadness cleared away from both our countenances. He wanted to talk right then, I could tell, if to only make himself stop crying. It was a lot harder for tears to break through if you kept your mouth moving.

“What is it?” he asked again after I didn’t say anything. “Ask me or tell me anything, Frank. I’ll do anything. Just talk, stop crying…”

Hearing his strong words, I took it as a chance to proceed. God knows I had a fucking enough to say and enough things to ask of him. I was being a selfish child, wanting to take and take and take, but he was the one who made me cry like a child; he would have to deal with one.

“Just stay here. Don’t go. Please, Gerard. Please.”

“That’s the one thing I can’t do,” he informed me, giving me a weak smile He tried to pull me into a hug, but this time, I pushed his shoulders away, making him keep glossy eye contact with me.

“Why?” My voice sounded as if I was underwater. Maybe I really was drowning. “Don’t tell me you just have to. Not everything is simple. Tell me the real reason you’re fucking leaving me.”

“You’re right,” he started quietly, sighing like that was his only way to breathe. “Nothing is simple. I realized that after your dad threw his first punch.”

“God,” I said out loud, my breath being knocked away from me. I didn’t need to think about my dad beating him up. The gash I could still see on the side of his face was enough.
“Nothing is simple. I told your dad that you were an amazing kid, and he didn’t think that was so amazing. He didn’t take that as a simple compliment.” He took a labored breath then, looking down at me and actually smiling. “You are pretty amazing, though.”

I felt my stomach lurch to his words, hearing my father say the same thing only the night before. I hated those words. I didn’t feel so fucking amazing.

“As your father hit me, all I could think of was how amazing you were. You had changed so much from what you used to be around your friends. You learned art, played your guitar, and found your passion. And you had done that all on your own. You were in the art gallery, achieving your dream. Then I remembered my own dream. I remember that I had conceived the notion of Paris inside of my head at around your age. I wanted to go there, and I didn’t think anything would stop me. Nothing did stop me, at first. I was fucking determined. I couldn’t just go in one fell swoop. I needed to accomplish little things first. I went to New York and started becoming very serious about art, as if I wasn’t enough already. I went to school and I started to learn French. I even packed my bags at one point in time, though I had yet to buy the ticket. Then…”

Gerard’s pace slowed, his eyes casting downward. He never actually looked at me as he spoke, only small glances before too-long blinks. He looked to the side, off in his head, conjuring up the images he wanted to paint through words. I was glad he wasn’t looking at me. I didn’t want to cry anymore; I could still feel the sting of salt.

“Then shit happened. My grandmother died. Other people died. My brother got married, which, in a way, was a death of sorts. Death was everywhere. It took art away from me for years. I couldn’t go to Paris and live because I felt like I was dead.”

He stopped completely this time, his grip on me loose. I gathered up my strength and squeezed him, making him nod his head as he pressed forward, painfully. “I always promised myself I would go, eventually, in time when death had not become so prevalent. Instead of death becoming the threat, age did. I started to get old. Everyone else around me started to get old and other concerns came into my mind. I began to forget about everything I used to want. I began to forget what I used to dream about every night.”
He paused for a second, one of his hands going to his chin. He looked down at me for a second with a weak smile, chuckling through the pain.

“Why do you think I started to speak so much French when you got here? It was my only way I still felt close to my dream. With you around, always asking about it, I started to remember, bit by bit what I had always wanted.”

He looked away from me, grazing his teeth over his lip. I reached a hand out to him, pulling his stare back towards me. I didn’t want him to look away for once. I needed a quick answer and I wasn’t sure if I could ask the question.

“I thought I was what you wanted?”

Gerard laughed a little, but it wasn’t at me. It was with me, though my lungs weren’t moving the same way as his. I saw another layer of gloss added to his eyes as he grabbed the hand that I had placed on his cheek, taking my fingers in his own and bringing each one up to his lips, swollen from the excess crying. He kissed each one of my fingers delicately, gently, and I almost forgot for a moment.

“I do want you, Frank. I’ve never wanted anyone more,” he confessed earnestly, his voice cracking. “But its partly because of my want for you, I remembered my first dream.”

I heaved a shuddered breath, not knowing what else to do.

“When your father was hurting me, the possibility of death came back into my mind. For once, it was my own death that preoccupied my thoughts and not the death of others. And the only clear thoughts that resonated within my head were images of you and The Eiffel Tower.”

Gerard looked down at me, taking my hand and kissing it again, my fingers curling and trying to get away from him because it hurt too much.

“I’ve seen every inch of you,” he informed me, kissing my knuckles instead. “I’ve explored every region and valley and landmark of you. I love you.” His breath fell out from under him with the statement and I was pretty sure I wasn’t breathing anymore either. I wanted to say it back – because I felt it so much inside – but he went on. “I haven’t seen Paris though. I have yet to explore its valley, regions, and curves. And I want to. I realized that last night in the hospital. I was still alive, barely injured even, but I was mentally scarred enough to realize how much I needed to leave. I needed to go and see what I have been missing.”

His tone became a lot more uplifting, the morose quality only there because it had to be. It was still a departure, but he was finding happiness in his actions, he was still finding happiness as he kissed each one of my knuckles, a smile spreading across his face, trying to relate to me, make me understand.

“You’ve got your dream, Frank. You’ve got your freedom. It’s about time I take my own.”

He smiled, the widest and proudest he had in a while. His tiny teeth were bared, dark from the nicotine and years of abuse. The tears were a distant memory to his own eyes, but I was quite the contrast.

“Don’t tell me this shit about freedom. When you leave, you’re taking away mine.”

My words hurt, both me and him, but it was so fucking true. He had been the only good thing in my life, coming to me when I needed him the most. He had been teaching me about freedom, whether it was in art, love, or sex since the day I stepped into his apartment. I needed him to feel free. I may have had my dream, my own art show, and his dove, but that didn’t feel like it was enough. My dream needed to involve him in some way. I was an artist. I could make a living at that now, I had proof of it. But I wasn’t so sure I could just live without him by my side. He made actual living seem so appealing. I didn’t know if I could do that on my own. That was not freedom in my mind; his leaving was just another way I could fall from the nest, not flying, only falling.

“No,” Gerard disagreed, his hands going back to my face, touching my hair that had already been brushed out of the way too many times. He placed his forehead against my own, our lips meeting briefly as he chanted ‘no’ over and over again. That seemed to be the only explanation he was capable of, until his words broke free in a small whisper, almost so quiet even he couldn’t hear.

“It’s my leaving you that will finally give you your freedom.”
“What?”

“Don’t you see? Don’t you understand what happened at the art gallery? With Sam and Travis? With your parents? With everything?”

“No…”

Gerard sighed, pulling my limp body towards him in a hug. He squeezed me, my head over his sweaty shoulder, my confusion rolling off the tip of my tongue. “Gerard. What?”
He brought me forward, his eyes proud. “You’re ready, Frank.”

“I’m not,” I argued, almost starting to cry again. There was no way in fucking hell I was ready. I had just spent the last fifteen minutes fucking crying like a baby on his bed. That was not anything to be proud of, or to take into consideration when I was supposed to be let into the world. I couldn’t go around crying all the time, and I certainly felt like that was all I would be doing if Gerard left me then and there.

“I’m not really. I’m really not.”

“You are,” he insisted, squeezing my shoulders strong. His grip was too strong, like that of the reality at the moment. He took a deep invigorating sigh, explaining to me everything he had kept inside his head and from me for so long. I wanted to crawl in, past the black locks and thick skull and nestle inside his brain. Maybe then, I could have seen this coming.

“Frank, when I saw you in the gallery,” he started, the airy and hopeful quality that he used talking about Paris returning to his voice. “I was so proud of you. You were there, giving it your all. You had your ideas spread all over the wall, your passion still with you. You were with your real friends, and discounted the others. You were wearing my jacket –“

“Yes. Your jacket, Gerard. I needed you. I still do.”

I ran my hands up his back, what little of my nails digging into his soft flesh. I became aware of how fucking hot our bodies were together, so much moisture from tears and sweat accumulating between us.

Yet, I was still shivering.

“No, you don’t, Frank,” he argued, making my heart sink once again. “I gave you that jacket. It’s yours now. Like my dove. And like the gift of freedom I’m going to give.”

“I don’t want it,” I spat out, shaking my head. “I don’t. I want you, Gerard. And just you.”

I clung onto him tighter again, and though he let me, I could tell he was in more than physical pain. He didn’t say anything back to me, just pursed his lips and let the silence ride out through both of us. I could feel myself breaking again with the lack of words said between us, and I felt wetness on my cheeks in no time. I tried to hide it, capturing the sobs in my throat, but I made too much noise. Soon Gerard was wiping my tears with his hand, kissing the trail they were leaving. His tongue was too hot on my body.

“God,” I uttered, my hot breath hitting his cheek. “I shouldn’t be crying.”

“Why not?” Gerard questioned me, for the first time leaving our Paris conversation behind. It wouldn’t be for long though.

“Because…” I argued, not wanting to say the cliché merit of my point. “Boys don’t cry.”

As stupid as it sounded though, it was true. Boys didn’t cry. It was something we weren’t supposed to do, and if we did, then we better not do it in front of anyone else. But I was crying, and crying a lot – in front of someone. I was breaking all the rules, and I wanted to follow them as closely as I could. It was the only way I felt safe in an unpredictable environment. I suddenly missed the predictability I once had.

The Dove Keeper
Chapter 53ii

“You’re right,” Gerard agreed, adding to my guilt momentarily. “Boys don’t cry. But men do.”

He looked down at me, and brushed away some of my tears, tracing his index finger along slowly. He made me shudder and shiver. I let out another sob, knowing it was somehow okay to do so. He brought my head to his shoulder and I gave it my all, hoping that I could finally clear out everything I had buried inside of me.

“You’re a man, Frank,” he stated when my head was back down on the pillow, done for the moment. “Not a boy anymore. You don’t even have to be eighteen just yet to know you’re a man. Some boys reach eighteen and they’re still boys, not having grown up at all. You’re different though. You’ve never followed the rules. You’ve been able to grow into a man before your time.” He nodded, trying to restore some confidence in me that only melted away. “That’s how I know you’re ready. It’s okay for me to leave you now.”

Apparently, I wasn’t done crying just yet. A few meager tears spilled from my eyes, the conversation redirected back on the issue I hated. The small tears spoke volumes that my voce tried to resonate.

“You can’t leave me…” God, I sounded so fucking pathetic. “I still have so much to learn.”

“But I’m out of lessons. You’ve taken all you can from me and that’s a lot. I’m done now.”
“I’m not.”

“I know,” was all he said, taking a long pause to draw everything out. “But you can teach yourself the rest. You already have been.”

I thought back to preparing for my show, all of the things I learned in half a fucking day by myself. I had already begun to teach myself the lessons without Gerard’s help. I had even found my camera without his help. The thoughts started to come wild and rabid as I realized just how many things I had realized about myself without Gerard present. There were too many, and I felt choked all over again. I shook my head, trying to shake the knowledge away, but that was the thing about knowledge. It wasn’t just random facts I had memorized, long gone after a week. It was knowledge. It was in there for a long time to come. A long time where Gerard wouldn’t be with me.

“You’re the only good thing in my life,” I let the pathetic phrase fall from my lips feebly. Even if I could teach myself on my own, that didn’t mean I still didn’t need Gerard. I needed him more than ever now; I thought my crying had been a good enough indication.

“No, not at all,” he said immediately, taking my face in his hands and making direct eye contact with me. He seemed sad and perturbed by my remark, and his lip trembled as he talked. “That may have been true when you first came here, when all you used to do was stand outside the liquor store and harass people for booze, but it’s not true now. Not in the least.”

He stared down at me, trying to get me to comprehend, but I didn’t. I needed more explanation, I needed more guidance. Fuck, I just needed him.

“You have so many things in your life now. You have Jasmine as a friend, and what an amazing friend she is. She loves you and will support you in anything you do. She knew about us, Frank, and she didn’t tell a single soul. She acted normally around me and flirted right back.” He chuckled and despite the ache inside my chest, I did too. “I have not met any teenager like that before, except for you.”

When the focus was placed back on me, I didn’t want to look him in the eyes anymore. His grip was strong on my face, and he continued, though I never wanted him to.

“And then there’s Vivian. She loves you too. She has faith in your abilities and fuck, Frank. You have so many of them now. You can paint, play guitar, and take pictures. You’ve found your passion. You know it and you feel it. You’re going to be successful, Frank. I know it.”

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 674