OUT

Chapter 6

Saturday, September 6th 2014

The room was dark, but a sliver of moonlight snuck its way through the tiny bit of window visible through the curtains, and shone across Jack's bare back. He was in the bed with Ciarán, whose legs were either side of Jack's torso. Their bodies were tangled in each other, chests pressed together, and they were kissing more passionately now. Ferociously, almost, like something had snapped within him that had been fighting to break free.

Jack could feel Ciarán was hard through his underwear. They were both still wearing underwear. He pulled his pelvis back slightly, so that part of their bodies weren't touching. He was soft, although that was probably to do with the amount of alcohol in his system.

Ciarán had his hands around the back of Jack's neck. 'Wanna fuck me?' Jack's whole body tensed, the words paralysing him. He stopped kissing Ciarán for a second, who obviously got the message. 'It's fine if you don't want to.' Jack pulled away from him and rolled over on his back in the bed awkwardly. Neither of them spoke for a couple of minutes, they just awkwardly stared into space. 'I didn't mean to-'

'Sorry, I'm just wrecked,' Jack amanged eventually.

'That's ok. I'm tired too,' replied Ciarán, glancing at his phone, 'fuck, it's nearly 6am. I'll talk to you in the morning, night.'

'Night.'

Jack's head was spinning, but all of a sudden he felt very sober. What the fuck was he doing in bed with a stranger, least of all with another man!? A man who wanted to have sex with him! He needed to get out of there; to leave and never look back. But he needed to wait until the guy fell asleep, so he could sneak out and avoid any more awkward conversation the next day.

Jack stared at the ceiling as his thoughts raced, waiting for the guy to fall asleep beside him so he could leg it, although his eyelids were getting heavier with each passing second. It seemed he just blinked, and then all of a sudden the room was bright. The noise of traffic echoed from outside. Sunlight tore through the curtains.

Quickly but quietly, Jack sat up in the bed. The boy was snoring loudly beside him. He leaned across to where his phone was charging, and realised it was vibrating. Mark was trying to ring him. He declined the call and quickly sent a text.

Im fine. B home son.

He had twenty missed calls from Mark, eight from Laura, and eighteen from a number he didn't recognise that he supposed was Ciara's. He scrolled through a seemingly endless list of notifications for text messages asking where he was. That was a problem for later.

'Shit,' he muttered under his breath, and crept from the bed as quietly as he could. He looked around the room. In the corner were three mannequin heads with huge wigs standing on top of them. Stacked under them were three pairs of women's thigh-highs boots in three different colours. In the corner of the room was a mirror with a little desk covered in makeup in front of it.

What the fuck, he thought.

He glanced back at the boy who was still asleep, and quickly pulled on his jeans and a t-shirt, which were both bunched up in a heap on the floor at the foot of the bed. He picked up his shoes and socks, not bothering to put them on yet, and tiptoed silently from the room - the floorboards creaking as he walked, making him cringe with anxiety. He carefully pulled open the door and slipped out of the bedroom, leaving it slightly ajar behind him so as not to risk any noise. He turned, took a few steps down the hallway, and then his face dropped.

'Oh, fuck me.'

Jack was standing in a large sitting room that almost resembled a second hand furniture shop, with a weird collection of mismatched couches and decor. He stared around in horror as he stood in the sitting room of the house he had been in only a few days earlier for a viewing. The house he was due to move into in just three days and it dawned on him that he had just woken up beside his soon-to-be housemate.

He clasped his hand over his mouth, and quickly ran across the room in his bare feet, beginning to hyperventilate. He got to the front door, and like a horror movie damsel in distress, fumbled with the locks for a few seconds as his hands shook. When he tore the door open, he practically flung himself through it - he couldn't escape the house quick enough. It shut behind him and he paused, contemplating going back in. Although it was too late now.

'Oh God. Oh shit. Oh shit,' he said, panicked, and hurried down the street quickly.