Best Friends Forever Pt. 03

Despite it being past my normal bedtime, I'm not in the mood to sleep. Actually, I'm nowhere near it after taking an afternoon nap. Wishful thoughts of Brian walking in my room, begging to fuck me linger in my head while I lounge on my bed. More curious than bored, I sit up and dig my phone from my purse. Then, I collapse over on my back, studying the picture he sent me.

"I can't believe that he took a picture of me looking under my skirt while I was asleep," I ponder, staring out my bedroom door.

Even with my dick visible in the picture, it's still worthy to post on my profile. As my thoughts begin to drift to other, less important things, I lay my phone on the nightstand. Then, I toss and turn on the bed for awhile. Suddenly it chimes with a text.

"Hey, are you awake," Jason's text reads.

"It's after midnight," I text, rolling over on my back, crossing my feet.

"Why else would I still be awake," I mumble to myself, glancing out my bedroom door, hoping Brian will open his door.

"I need those design layouts before Monday."

"The deadline isn't until Thursday," I remind, sitting up on the edge of the bed, exhaling.

"The client wants to see what we have so far."

"I'll run them up to the office in the morning," I promise, combing my fingers through my hair.

"Text me when you're heading this way."

I could've told Jason that it would be Monday or Tuesday - Hell, even as late as Wednesday afternoon before I could get the stuff to him and it would've been just as good. There's no real urgency; he knows that. Besides, I have a good idea why he wants me to bring them by sooner than the deadline.

"Damn, I suck his dick one time," I mumble, opening my diary to scribble down some of my thoughts, "and it fucks up his other head."

"Saturday, November 28, 2008: Brian, there are no words to describe how happy I am to have you staying here. I know you're going through difficult times with Sara. I care about you in ways I can't explain - ways that go well beyond friendship. If it weren't for my diary, I'd go crazy. I may not be your girlfriend, but that doesn't mean I love you any less."

Suddenly, a sound of glass shattering echoes throughout the house, derailing my thoughts. Minutes later, Brian turns off the lights in his room and opens the door. Then, he stumbles to the kitchen in the dark. Curious, I slip off the bed, sneak through the house, and turn on the kitchen light.

"Something wrong, Brian," I ask, catching him at the refrigerator in his boxers.

"I cut my hand," he explains, shielding his eyes from the bright, fluorescent light.

"Are you okay," I ask, approaching him when I notice blood dripping on the kitchen floor.

"It's just a cut," he explains, squinting his eyes to look at me.

"How the Hell did you do that," I ask, lifting his hand for a better look.

"I punched a picture frame and broke it," he explains, tearing off some paper towels to cover his wound.

"That looks bad," I mention, raising my head to look at him.

"I'll be okay," he assures, circling the kitchen island, applying pressure to the wound. "Love hurts - just not like this."

"Hang on - I'll be back," I say, gesturing my hand as I leave the kitchen.

"Don't trouble yourself," he says, sitting down in a barstool.

"It's no trouble," I holler, disappearing into my bedroom before turning on the bathroom light.

The cut on Brian's hand looks bad. It's worse than he's making it out to be; however, it's not as bad as I think it is either. Still, my words are sincere. It gives him an opportunity to open up about what's bothering him and me a chance to be sentimental and show him that I care.

"What's up with the pink pajamas," he hollers.

"Uhh... Nothing," I answer, rummaging through the bathroom cabinets for something to treat his cut.

"I'm going to have a nervous breakdown before I turn twenty-five," he groans.

"Don't say that," I console, returning with an arm full of first aid supplies. "You're just letting Sara mess with your head."

"I know," he says, tapping his index finger on the island, "but - I love her."

"She probably just needs some space," I add, dumping everything on the island.

"That's what she said," he mentions, looking over at me.

"Come here so I can clean your cut," I motion, turning on the faucet.

"I think the bleeding has stopped," he says, making his way to the sink.

"You might need to start thinking more about yourself," I suggest, holding his hand under the warm water."

"That's a little selfish," he says, staring down at the cut while I wash away the blood.

Just holding Brian's hand under running water triggers feelings I'm bottling up inside of me. Sending signals now may not be such a good idea. Although our touch isn't intimate, it's still an up-close, personal connection.

"I'm just being honest," I add, holding his hand steadily while I pour alcohol over the cut.

"Owww... ," he hollers, snatching his hand from mine away from me, waving it in the air, "That burns like Hell."

"She's thinking about herself," I advise, turning off the faucet.

"Sara doesn't care about me - not now," he mentions, sitting down in the barstool, blowing air over his cut.

"She's won't - not until you start caring about yourself," I explain, smearing first aid ointment on his cut.

"That's ass backwards," he says, glancing up at me. "It makes no sense."

"Some women are like that," I pause, tearing open a bandaid. "So what's going on between y'all?"

"Little things - lots and lots of little things," he answers, resting his hand on the island while I stretch a bandaid over his cut.

"Like -," I inquire, tearing open another bandaid.

"It doesn't matter," he snaps, raising his voice, flinging his other hand in the air, pausing. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take my frustrations out on you."

"It's okay," I console, putting a second bandaid over his cut.

"Sara's not the one to blame," he elaborates, swiveling his barstool to face me. "It's as much my fault as it is hers."

"Relationship problems are never one-sided," I mention, scooping up the first aid supplies in my arms. "There's always some sort of cause and effect."

"You forgot to kiss it to make it feel better," he jests, slapping his hand on the counter top.

Brian's sense of humor catches me off guard. I don't really know Sara all that well, but she has his head messed up. I'm sure he's joking around with me at this point like usual. Still, his comment invites a witty response. The words that roll off my lips, however, surprise me more than his comment.

"Huh... Are you going to tempt me like that," I joke, studying him for a second, then turning away.

"Anyway, sex isn't the problem," he mentions, hanging his head, "The problem is she wants a baby."

"I'll be back - hold that thought," I say, walking away from the conversation.

I disappear into my bathroom to put away the first aid supplies. Really, I need a minute to bridle my tongue and remind myself this isn't the best time to bring up certain things about me to Brian. It might alienate him, leaving him to feel as if he's losing his best friend as well.

"You were saying," I resume, heading straight to the refrigerator and opening it.

"Uhhh... Oh, yeah, Sara wants a baby," he coughs, sniffling.

"That's hard to compromise," I add, putting his dinner plate in the microwave.

"It's impossible," he sighs, tapping his fingers on the counter top.

"Yeah - it is," I agree, starting the microwave, "but love isn't always about what we want."

"I know - I know," he remarks, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"That doesn't mean that you have bow down and kiss her ass," I advise, leaning over on the island, "or neglect the things you want."

My advice probably sounds a bit repetitive and I doubt it's what Brian wants to hear from me. Besides, I can't really tell if he's listening to me or pretending to. Either way, it seems as if it's hard for him to take me serious when I'm wearing makeup.

Anyway, when his dinner is through heating, I put it in front of him. Then, I pour him a glass of tea and get him a fork. It takes him a minute to pick up the fork while I clean the blood off the flor, but at least he's eating something.

"Well, I'm off to bed," I announce, closing the microwave door. "I've got a busy day ahead of me tomorrow."

"Thanks," he mumbles, staring at his plate.

"For what," I ask, pausing my retreat, glancing at him.

"Everything," he mentions, raising his head.

"It's nothing," I say, patting his shoulder.

I'd love to stay and chit chat with Brian longer, but I have to walk away from him. I'm hurting on the inside. It feels wrong to give him advice when I'm harboring feelings for him, too.

I retreat into my bedroom, close the door and turn off the light. Then, I tumble over onto my bed.

"I hate myself," I mumble, snatching my phone off the nightstand.

After setting an alarm on my phone, I toss and turn until I fall asleep. When the alarm goes off before sunrise, I'm tempted to hit the snooze button and stay in bed. Instead, I roll out of bed feeling groggy and hating life while I strip myself naked on the way to the shower.

A nice, hot shower makes me feel better, but it doesn't change anything. As I scrub and wash the makeup from my face, my gay thoughts begin to disappear for a brief amount of time. When I'm through taking a shower, I dry off, get dressed and begin the tedious ritual of putting on my makeup, jewelry and perfume all over again. Then, I stare off into the mirror as I primp my hair, thinking.

About an hour or so later, I emerge from my room dressed in a white satin blouse and tight, black faux leather pants, wearing black ankle high boots with leather straps on the sides. Oddly, Brian is asleep on the sofa with the TV is on. The thought of kissing him goodbye puts a smile on my face when I sneak past him with an arm full of design layouts, heading to my car.

Once I stuff everything in the back seat of my Ford Focus, I send Jason a text. Then, I hop in the car and head his way, enjoying the sunrise hanging over Atlanta's skyline ad I zip through the morning traffic. In no time at all, I'm pulling into the parking lot of Jason's office.

A full hour passes by while I wait for his arrival. My patience begins to wear thin. I send Jason a text, telling him that I'm heading home. With no reply, I drive home, fighting heavier traffic on the interstate. A smile returns to my face when I pull into my driveway, expecting to see Brian still asleep on the sofa.

"Well, that was a waste of time," I complain, unloading my car.

"I could've stayed in bed all day or even jerked off," I mumble, closing my car door with my hip.

"Hey, you're back," Brian greets, pausing the movie when I walk through the front door.

"Traffic was a bitch," I grumble, closing the door with my foot.

"Where did you run off to so early dressed up like that," he asks, sitting the remote on the end table.

"I had to run some design layouts to the other side of Atlanta," I explain, spilling some of them on the floor.

"Do you need some help," he asks, rising from the sofa.

"Uhhh... If you don't mind," I say, stumbling over my heels as I head towards my bedroom.

"Oh, before I forget, some goofy guy came by looking for you," he mentions, picking up the folders I dropped, "Kinda of tall, with short brown hair, a mustache and glasses."

"That would be Jason," I say, laying the folders on my dresser. "He was supposed to meet me at the office and run these layouts to a client."

"He's a bit nosy if you ask me," he mentions, walking into my bedroom.

"Hang on a second," I motion, snatching my purse off the dresser and darting out of my bedroom.

There's a puzzled look on Brian's face as I race past him. Leaving him alone in my room, I head to the front porch. I hate being rude, but I want to know why Jason came by here instead of meeting me at his office. As soon as I step outside, I send him a couple of texts.

"Hey, why did you come here," I text.

I don't get a response from him. I lean over the railing waiting for a reply. Then, I send another text, fuming.

"You should've called first," I add.

After several minutes, Jason replies.

"I thought you'd be in the mood for something else."

"That was a one time thing - nothing more," I remind, glancing over my shoulder to see if Brian is watching me.

"Are you still coming by the office today?"

"I've already been up there," I text, pulling my hair out of it's ponytail, shaking my head.

"Sorry about that. I'll get the layouts another time."

"It'll have to be Monday afternoon," I text, staring out at traffic on the busy road.

"Why so late?"

"I have plans for the weekend," I text, yawning.

"So are you sleeping with the guy staying with you," he inquires.

"Brian is a friend, not a fuck buddy," I clarify, squeezing my phone.

"Does he know about you wearing women's clothes?"

"He knows," I text.

"Ah... But did you tell him that you're gay?"

"No," I text, furrowing my eyebrows.

"Are you?"

Jason is really agitating me - like to no end.

"I'm not in the mood for questions," I answer, losing interest in the conversation.

"It'd be unfortunate for him to find out."

"You're pissing me off," I text, gritting my teeth.

"Lighten up. I'm only joking."

"I'm done talking," I text, turning off my phone.

Although Jason is a nice guy to work for most of the time, I've got a feeling he might try to use my secret for his benefit if given a chance. Whether he's actually joking with me or not, it irks me, leaving me to wonder if he would do something crazy just to get his dick sucked again. If that's the case, then it's not going to go the way he thinks it is - not if I can help it.

"I wouldn't put it past him to blackmail me," I mumble, snatching open the storm door.

"Is something wrong," Brian asks, greeting me at the door as my emotions shift.

"You have no idea," I hint, sinking my eyes to the floor, pondering.

"It can't be all that serious," he says, placing his hand on my shoulder.

"It is," I hesitate, "sooner or later, you're going to find out."

"Find out what," he asks, studying me with his curious eyes.

My body trembles. I feel like I'm being backed into a corner - but not by Brian. I'm afraid to look him in the eyes, scared to tell him - so scared that I want to run to my bedroom, shut the door and cry my eyes out like the little girl. Somehow, I don't know how, I lift my head and take a deep breath, seeing no other option.

"I'm gay," I confess, mentally preparing myself for his reaction.