°~Correlation~°

°~Chapter Three~°

Phillip Graves was not gay. He wasn't, he never would be. Phillip Graves didn't like gay people, his family didn't, his friends didn't. So, he wasn't gay. But...if he wasn't gay, why'd he hook up with a man? Why'd he ache for that certain man?

These were the words that plagued Graves thoughts, on the daily.

Graves POV
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He laid in the bed, Vladimirs bed. His mind going 100 miles an hour, he was going crazy. Vladimir was making breakfast, like the kind.. handsome guy he was. Graves felt like he was going to vomit, his stomach felt like a pit. He felt like he was going to die at any moment. He had 17 missed calls from his PMC's, but he didn't care. He was too distracted by his own thoughts. Why couldn't he just be normal? Why couldn't he just love a woman. Why couldn't he just have a normal life, like his father wanted, why couldn't he just have a wife and kids and call it good?

"Phillip? Breakfast is ready, Милый."

His thoughts were momentarily interrupted when he heard Vladimir speak. He groaned and eventually pulled himself out of bed, and went into the kitchen, just wearing a pair of dark gray boxers and white socks. He looked up at Vladimir, who was dishing up pancakes. He had a massive hangover, the lights were blinding. When he made eye contact with Vladimir, the feeling in his stomach got worse. He felt like he was going to throw up right then and there, he bit his tongue and grabbed one of the plates with a pancake on it. He sat at the table, he just stared at his food. He couldn't eat it. Vladimir eventually noticed that Graves hadn't even touched his food.

"Is everything alright, Phillip? You haven't eaten anything..."

Graves looked up, he didn't know what to do. All his thoughts about what his father would think. What would his father think? His mother? What would happen if Graves father found out a man, a Russian man, had fucked his son? His father would freak out, he'd kill Graves, he'd kill Vladimir. He stood up and went into the bedroom, he got dressed and grabbed his stuff quickly. He just wanted to get back to base and dissolve into his self hate. Vladimir immediately stood, he followed Graves.

"Hey hey, what's wrong?"

Graves said nothing and just kept walking, Vladimir groaned.

"Phillip, please, what's wrong? Did I do something?"

Graves finally stopped, he sighed. He really didn't want to have this conversation.

"Nothing, nothing's wrong. Just let me get back to my base, I have a lot of work to do."

Graves could tell that Vlad didn't like that answer, not one bit. But Vlad let him go, a sad expression on his face, almost disappointed.

"Alright...text me when you get home."

Graves nodded and quickly hurried away. He took a taxi to the base, his PMC's were pretty worried. But he didn't answer any of their questions, he just went to his office so he could work himself to death. Like he always did. He didn't know what was wrong with himself. He didn't have any mirrors in his bedroom or office, he really didn't have them anywhere in his house other than his bathroom. But most of the time his bathroom mirror is covered. He hated looking at himself in the mirror, it felt like someone else was staring back, a machine, a killer, a war criminal, a fag. Everything he hated about himself.

Graves' train of thought ended when he heard a clock ding, 12 am. Graves groaned and stood up, shutting off his computer and turning off his light. He walked through the base, going to the barracks. The base was empty at this hour, it wasn't too dark in there, you could still see the outlines of stuff. He finally got to his room, it was pretty average sized, but it was home. It wasn't particularly decorated, there were a few photos here and there, but nothing special. He got undressed and laid in the bed, staring at the ceiling, just another night of no sleep and tossing and turning. Just Graves lost to his own thoughts, like every other god forsaken night.

717 Words