A story of two enemies attached and captivated by lust and value.
"You act like you can't stand me...But the moment I get my hands on you, you're like putty."
18-year-old Addison Westbrook swears up and down that he hates Oliver Beckett. Even with...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
As Addison lay, staring at his boyfriend's sleeping figure, he already knew that he had fucked up. And the lecture he'd get when Oliver awoke, would be well deserved.
Addison only had a few drinks the night before, meaning he knew exactly what happened, but the marijuana still left a hazy effect on his brain. He swears he could still smell it on his breath, and he hated it.
Oliver shuffled in his sleep and pulled Addison closer to his front. The boy's resistance must have woken him up, for his eyes soon opened, and he stared directly at Addison, "Good morning." Addison whispered, easing a slight smile on his face, "How'd you sleep?"
Oliver stared at him silently for a few moments until a frown tugged at his lips. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Are you?"
"I'm asking you, Addison."
Addison sat up and rested against the headboard before returning his gaze to Oliver, who swiftly followed suit.
"Do we have to talk about this right now?" He wasn't ready to speak about something he hardly understood.
Addison couldn't comprehend his sudden hesitance to do something he'd been looking forward to for months.
Or his sudden relapse on a drug he hadn't thought about for almost a year.
So if he couldn't get a stable grasp of his own feelings, how could he possibly get someone else to do the same?
"Yes--I mean no...Not if you don't feel comfortable talking about it, we don't."
Addison sighed and did the only thing he could think of doing at that moment: he tightened his lips and shrugged.
"Addison..." Oliver started cautiously, "Are you... you know?"
"Am I what?"
"...Are you suicidal--or depressed? If you are, you know you can talk to me about it, right? You know we all care about you, and we could get you help-"
"-Oliver-"
"-I'm serious, Addison. I wouldn't look at you any different if you had those kinds of feelings or thoughts. You know Brandon's mom is a therapist. I could get you in with her. I just need you to talk to me, please."
Addison let him finish his statement, knowing that there was no hope of interrupting him. Did he really think he was depressed? Is that how he appeared to him last night?
"...I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you." Oliver took a deep breath after his talk and looked at Addison expectantly.
"Oliver, I'm not depressed...Just a little...overwhelmed? I don't know, I really don't. I'm sorry."
Oliver's shoulders fell in relief, but his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Why are you apologizing?"
"Because I've been a nuisance lately with my feelings, and last night was...It was unacceptable."
