Of Being Yours by Martin Anna

Author:Martin, Anna [Martin, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2012-09-01T22:00:00+00:00

IN A drawer in the dresser in our hallway, there was still a piece of paper with a young twink’s name and number written on it. I knew I could have fucked him. There was always a chance that the slick slide of my cock in a sweet ass would be a distraction. I hoped so. But it was unlikely.

And if it turned out that trying to soothe my soul with my dick constituted cheating, I’d only feel worse.

I went out to a gay bar midweek. There were a few ways I could have played it: drink myself stupid and eventually do something I would later regret; just dance, drink, and pour out my sorrows to the bartender; sit in a corner and mope. I chose a combination of drinking and dancing.

It was a hard drum and bass night, the music mechanical, electro, repetitive, and mind-numbing. I wore jeans that were old and frayed, removed my shirt almost the moment I was through the door. I guessed I was probably giving off some kind of vibe—an angry, fuck you all vibe—which unfortunately seemed to attract a certain type of man, one who wanted to see how far he could push me and how I’d react.

I didn’t mind their hands on my body. It reminded me that I was still desirable, still wanted, still alive. My nonreaction to their advances soon drove away the admirers, and I was left to dance in peace.

A part of me wondered what I looked like to those who watched with coveting eyes. I was sure vulnerability clung to my skin and surrounded me with an aura; it would take so little to overpower me. I was fragile without Will.

When I tired of the music and the booze and I still felt it, still felt it all, despite my attempts of drowning my feelings with alcohol, I went home.

Alone.

The worst part was not knowing if he would ever come back.

In the evenings, as part of one of my contingency plans, I catalogued the house. It was a depressing task that made me realize how few possessions I had, other than clothes, that meant anything to me. Will had owned his house for several years before I moved in with him, and it was fully decorated and furnished even before I added my few possessions to the mix.

Still. That made it easier to mentally separate my own things from things that I considered his, or ours.

I hadn’t quite set a time frame in my head, but if the burning pain in my chest didn’t start to ease, I was seriously considering disappearing myself. I could rent a car and drive down to my parents’ place…. It would maybe take a week, allowing for stops to sleep, but I’d always found the monotony of driving to be a great way to think. And the trip across the country would be almost therapeutic—to spend some time in my own head with no interruptions.

If he didn’t come back to me, I had an escape plan.

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