The Ice Cream Man

To Love and be Loved in Return

Whew! 😰 Hope you are all okay. I'm not sure. I've rewritten and scrapped and rewritten so many times that I finally just told myself to let it go and be one with the universe. Here goes nothing.

Trigger Warning: Sexual Content, Attempted R*pe, Violence

BOBBY POV

"Do you have a favorite story?"

The words are quiet, whispered and warm in the dark of the room. The only light is coming from the bathroom down the hall. It's not night time, but instead a room without light and we have both woken after a nap to simply lay with each other. The quiet dark feels intimate, and endless as I sit curled against Creed's side. My fingers mindlessly trail over the flesh of his chest. The question is sudden in the companionable silence and I tilt my head on his shoulder looking up towards his amber eyes.

"What kind of story?"

"The kind does not matter. I am simply curious to know what your favorite story is. So many times I came to you, you were reading alone underneath that willow tree."

I consider this for a second thinking back to my perch underneath the tree in our front yard. Creed was right, I did read many books under that tree, avoiding any and all social contact with family members. Really anywhere that I could get away was good enough for me but that spot in particular was one of my favorites. It was warm in the summer, but with ample shade and when the breeze hit the leaves of the willow it would whisper. It was a perfect spot to tuck in and exist. At that time I was unaware that Creed was observing me, sucked into whatever fictional world I had chosen to be a part of. I already know the answer to his question of course, I barely have to give it any thought. The thing that stops me from saying it is the sheer irony. I clear my throat awkwardly and sit up still curled against the warmth of Creed's side. "My favorite has always been The Phantom of the Opera."

Creed looks shocked by this and I shift awkwardly. "Is that surprising?"

It's as if Creed senses the uncomfortable lilt in my voice and I see the shadow of a smile on his face in the dark of the room. "It is quite a bit surprising if I am honest."

I shrug, "I liked the Gothic aspect of it, and I've always liked stories with a little bit of a horror factor to them as well. But -" Creed shifts a little pulling himself up into a sitting position and propping himself against his pillow to give me more attention. Somehow he has a way of making me feel like every word that comes out of my mouth is of the utmost importantance "It's funny...I always loved Erik's character despite what he had done. To me, It was the people around him that failed him. All he wanted was to love and be loved back in return." I reach over and take Creed's hand in mine. "To be so desperate for love, to die of a love that wasn't reciprocated. It was beautiful but painful to read." Weirdly enough, though The Phantom of the Opera was not a love story, I had always considered it to be one, in a strange and discordant way.

Creed is silent for a moment, our fingers simply caressing, before he speaks. "What a peculiar sort of coincidence."

"It is, isn't it?"

I had never thought about it until now how similar Creed was to the Phantom. Though Creed may not have been deformed on the outside like the Phantom was, Creed had experienced his own trauma in his childhood that twisted him into believing the things he believed now. Creed acted on his desires for love and companionship just like the Phantom in ways that were, to put it gently, unconventional. There was something eerily beguiling about both Creed and Erik that managed to captivate me. Maybe I was doomed from the start.

"In the novel....Christine did not love him the same way he loved her. She pitied him." I can feel Creed's gaze on me as if trying to decipher how I have somehow ended up sitting in this bed with him willingly. Though we have continued to enjoy each other's company, every once in a while Creed will have moments where he contemplates the reality of our situation, as if berating and reminding himself not to get too excited. Not to over-indulge.