Secrets 6

When I was close enough to him, Patrick grabbed me roughly by the waist, smashing me up against his hard warm body. Our hard dicks rubbed up against each other; Patrick tilted my head up and kissed me softly at first and then harder, and then harder. I wrapped both arms around his strong neck and held on tight. As our tongues discovered and rediscovered each others’ mouths, I began to get that strange feeling again, that something wasn’t right about this whole situation - and that something wasn’t right about Patrick. 

I didn’t want to believe anything bad about him, and I didn’t want to believe that there was a reason for me to have to doubt him about anything. Patrick was my best friend - and pretty much my only friend now.

Patrick stopped kissing me. The head of his dick was pushing up against my pubes. He looked at me, with the most sincere look in his eyes. “Everything is fine,” he told me, with such strong confidence. “You don’t need to worry about anything. Everything is gonna be fine tomorrow.” Patrick kissed me again, much harder and deeper than the last time. The whole time I was thinking: It already is tomorrow, and I don’t feel better.

* * *
After Patrick came in me, I couldn’t go to sleep. His whole body was covered in sweat, and he breathed heavily in my ear; I could hear his heart beating in the darkness. He stayed on top of me, catching his breath, waiting for his body to stop its orgasmic spasms. Patrick kissed the side of my face, then my ear. And then he whispered, “Are you better now?”

I wanted to say no, but I whispered back, “Yeah.”

Patrick rolled off of me, onto the other side of his bed. His sweat was all over my body now, mixed with my own, and my asscrack was still moist from his saliva and dick juices. It was almost five o’ clock in the morning by that point. The sun would be coming up in two hours. Nothing still made sense to me. Danny’s face kept popping into my head every other minute. He killed himself and the way I was trying to get over it was by fucking. It didn’t help one bit. I still felt horrible - probably even more so now than before. It wasn’t a dream. Patrick wouldn’t be able to convince me of that. 

A sudden epiphany came to me: Patrick had done something with the body. During the time that I was blacked out, Patrick had done something with Danny’s body and brought me to his house, hoping I had forgotten what happened, and trying to convince me that I had been here with him the whole time. It was just a thought, but I believed that was what happened. There was still a lot of questions that needed to be answered. The more I thought about it, the more I didn’t feel safe being alone in Patrick’s house, in his bed. I wanted to back in my home. “...Patrick, can you take me home?”

“Why?” Patrick asked coldly. 

I couldn’t think of a good excuse, so I just said, “Because I want to.”

I thought Patrick was going to try and tell me a reason why I should stay, but he told me very clearly, very simply: “No.” There was a cold moment of silence between us. “It’s five o’ clock in the fuckin’ mornin’, Sean. I’m not takin’ you back there again.” He said two words that he probably shouldn’t have said if he thought about it, ‘back’ and ‘again’. 

“Go to sleep,” Patrick told me in a very strict tone, as though he were my father or something. I really didn’t feel like being in the same bed with him anymore. I climbed out of the bed. “Where are you goin’ now?” he asked.

“To the room down the hall,” I said, angry. I walked toward his bedroom door. Patrick hopped out of the bed. He looked like a tall shadow in the darkness with no features. I started to get a little panicked. 

“What for?” Patrick questioned. “Just get back in the bed, Sean.”

“I’d rather sleep by myself tonight,” My voice kinda revealed some of the nervousness I felt. I wish it hadn’t. 

“Fine,” Patrick said, pissed. “Go on. Get out.” I watched his dark shape get back into the bed. Quietly I left the room. I went down the hallway to the guest room down the hall. When I opened the door to the bedroom and turned on the light switch, a lot of old memories came back to me.

Before Patrick’s father had died, the guest bedroom had been sort of a game room, with a couple of reclining chairs, a large television, a stereo, games and stuff like that. Patrick, his dad and I used to spend so much time in that room hanging out and having fun when me and Patrick were around thirteen and fourteen. Even when Patrick wasn’t there and it was just me and his dad...no. I couldn’t think about that, I couldn’t ever think about that...when Patrick’s dad died, Patrick’s mother converted the room into a guest room. It looked boring and plain in comparison: just a small bed and a desk in the corner. 

There was a photograph in a large frame on the desk. I went over to it and picked it up. It was a family portrait of Patrick, his father and mother, and his twelve-year-old brother, James. I stared at the photo for a couple of minutes, looking at the striking similarities between Patrick and his dad. They both had those tall, dark good looks. Patrick’s dad could’ve passed off as his older brother. The longer I stared at the photo, the guiltier I felt. 

I turned the photo on its face so that I wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. In my mind I thought: Patrick never told me how his father died. Not really. He told me his was killed...but not by whom or why. His whole family was silent on the subject. I was about to go turn off the light and go to bed when I heard the telephone ringing down the hall in Patrick’s bedroom.

It stopped ringing after the third ring. I heard Patrick’s voice, very muffled and indistinct. Who was he talking to at five o’ clock in the morning? Turning off the light in the room, I quietly crept back out of the room and down the hall, back toward Patrick’s room. The closer I came, the clearer Patrick’s voice became. I couldn’t hear everything he said but some parts: 

“No...it got fucked up...he’s here right now...I know, I know...I took care of him...don’t worry about it...” I stopped right where I stood. “I don’t know why he fuckin’ did that. I know...I know... He fucked everything up. Now I have to clean everything up. He knows I had somethin’ to do with it...fuck, Kevin, I don’t what the fuck I’m gonna do...I’ll see you later today...yeah, I’ll take care of it...whatever we have to do, we gotta do. He was supposed to be the first one to go. But I think we should just move on to her. Yeah...yeah...I know...no, I’m not worried...yeah we’ll fix this shit...I love you.” And then Patrick hung up the phone.

I didn’t believe what I just heard. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t hear it because I did. I heard those words come out of Patrick’s mouth. It didn’t seem real. I...I... that couldn’t have been real. None of this could be real. Who the hell was Kevin? Whoever the hell he was, Patrick told him that he loved him. ‘He knows I had somethin’ to do with it...” That phrase kept repeating itself in my head over and over again. 

‘He knows I had somethin’ to do with it...He was supposed to be the first to go...” The words kept repeating over and over. Patrick was talking about me. It felt like my heart wasn’t beating anymore. Everything around me was dead silent and still. Patrick was talking about me. “He was supposed to be the first one to go.” That meant I was supposed to be the first...I didn’t want to think it, because if I did then it would’ve been real. As long as I didn’t think it...he didn’t mean it. I don’t know who he was talking to on that phone, but it wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about what happened. It wasn’t...no...

I backed away from the door as quickly as I could - but it was too late. Patrick opened his bedroom door and stepped into the hallway. He looked taller and more menacing in the dark hallway. I suddenly felt very frightened and helpless at the same time. He didn’t say anything, he just stood there, looking at me, not moving, not saying anything, just staring. I didn’t know what to say. He already knew I had heard him on the phone. I couldn’t predict what Patrick was going to do next. I thought he would come rushing and attack me. I thought he would demand “What did you just hear?” or I thought he would try - and I was very surprised - and confused - when he turned around and went back into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

To be continued...