My Home Is With You [LGBT+]

Twenty Six

I STARE AT THE CEILING with my hands folded across my stomach and phone laying atop my chest.  My legs are crossed at the ankles and I'm cocooned in the warmth of the blanket, yet I feel cold.

There's something in the pit of my stomach and a little voice in my head that taunts, "I told you so," like a broken record.

I should have known.

Scratch that, I did know.

I knew all along this would happen, but I chose to ignore it.

I knew there would be no calls or texts.

Nothing but radio silence.

Instead, I chose to cling onto Max and his sweet nothings.

I chose to lose myself in his touch and his soft-spoken words.

I chose this.

I chose to stay and trust.

For what?

For the lingering pain that only manages to grow as the seconds tick by.

I have no one to blame other than myself for the pain in my chest that makes my heart squeeze tight and knocks the wind out of my lungs.

I turn onto my side and barely even flinch when my phone falls onto the wooden floor with a dull thud.  My eyes sting and they're red and swollen, my nose runny and throat aching.

Exhausted and emotionally drained, I curl up and close my eyes, willing myself to fall asleep, if only for a few hours.  I just want that bliss of darkness, where I don't dream, don't think.

But I can feel the cold empty space behind me, wishing more than anything to have Max's warmth again.

The length of his body pressed against my back, his hands soft and warm and keeping the cold at bay.

Reality though, is that he is not here.

And this house has never felt so alone, so big.

With a sniffle I finally manage to fall into a light doze.

The kind where darkness is at the brink of embracing me and offering that escape which I desire, but not allowing the reprieve.

A tear or two escape and dampen my pillow without my consent. I'm tired.

I'm so fucking tired but I cannot sleep.

I twist and I toss, and I turn.

The clock is blaring 1:43 AM and I'm still awake.

It's only then that I hear my phone vibrating.

I don't move.

My body feels too heavy, and I debate on ignoring it.

It stops.

And I breathe a bit easier, letting my eyes droop closed only to startle when the vibrations pick up again.

Groggily, I reach for it.

Hoping it'll stop.

"Hel'o?" I answer weakly, slightly annoyed.

"Oseias?"

A second ticks.

Another.

And finally, "Max?"

"Oseias..." For a moment he sounds relieved, until I can hear the concern bleeding through, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I mumble.

"... You've been crying," he states.

"No, I haven't," I lie.

Does he really care?

He's calling, isn't he?

Only took him three days.

"Oseias, don't lie to me please."

I don't answer, I deflate as the internal struggle just vanishes.  I'm too tired to think.

But my silence is enough for Max to understand.

"I'm sorry, Oseias."

My heart suddenly stops at those words, why is he apologizing?

I sit up carefully in bed.

Three days.

Three days of no calls, only to hear, I'm sorry, from his lips now.

Sorry for what?

Is he not coming back?

Was I right?

Is he-

"I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner," he elaborates, "I'm sorry for making you cry, baby.  I've been swarmed with work and meetings ever since I arrived."

I swallow thickly, he's sorry.

"I miss you," I sniff.

"I'm sorry baby boy, I'm so sorry."

"It-It's okay," I manage.

"No, it's not.  I know it's not.  Be honest with me, Oseias."

I wipe away a stubborn tear, "I simply don't feel well and it's almost two in the morning.  I just sound tired and exhausted."

"I... I'm sorry, I didn't take account for the time difference," and I can hear the frown through his voice.

I can picture the stress lines on his handsome face contorting it and causing him to look older than he probably is.

"It's okay," I smile tiredly, "I'm just glad I can finally hear your voice."

He sighs again.

He's been doing that a lot.

"Are you okay?" I ask in turn.

"No, not really. Baby boy, you have no idea how much I miss you."

"I miss you too," I whisper, "So much, Max."

"I know sweetheart, just a few more weeks."

Biting my lip, I sigh, "I know you're busy, just... don't push yourself.  Don't rush on anything.  If you overwork yourself, you might get sick."

"I'll keep that in mind baby," he promises, "If I can't call you, I'll text you, okay?  I won't simply disappear like I did these past few days. I promise, and I'll make it up to you.  I won't hurt you again or worry you."

"Okay," I breathe in relief, "Okay, Max."

"Sleep, sweetheart.  You sound terrible," he says.

"Gee, thanks," I huff.

His laugh is contagious and before the line disconnects, he calls my name one last time, "Oseias."

"Yes?"

"I... nothing, sorry.  Goodnight, baby."

Slightly confused, but feeling lighter than before, I mutter a timid, "Goodnight, daddy."

This has made me realize that our relationship isn't perfect.

But Max keeps true to his word.

He texts me every morning.

Calls whenever he can and wishes me goodnight at the end of the day (regardless of the time difference).

We fall into a routine.

And I fall more in love with him.