Roommates (Maxley)

Chapter 5

His arms are warm, and he smells like the trees scattered around campus. It's dark, the only light coming from the crack beneath the door that keeps them separated from the rest of the world. Max's hands are on his hips, pinning him against the wall as Brad mumbles a list of excuses. They can't do this, not here, not now! It's wrong, and it's unnatural, his father would never approve. He can't get himself to pull away, not when Max is looking at him so softly, lips parted and prepared. God, he's so pretty, dark eyes always holding a certain light in them that makes Brad's breath hitch as he leans down. One wouldn't hurt, just one, and only this one time. He's shuddering as if he's cold but he couldn't be further from it, body burning up as Max presses against him.

"What's wrong? Afraid of kissing a boy?" Max whispers, their lips a centimeter apart. Close, so close, just lean in a little more-

"No!" He wakes up on the floor, obvious to the scream he just let out. What kind of dream was that? "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

He's late, so late, his class started thirty minutes ago. His father was already upset about his grades, if his attendance dropped he'd definitely be disowned. He rushes to get dressed, ignoring the warmth below his waist and hiding with a baggy maroon sweater. Pants, he picks out a pair of jeans that are a bit baggy on him but he doesn't have time to think about it, sliding on a thick belt before slipping on his white shoes. Bag, where's his bag- and his pencils, what has he done with those? He can't think straight, his mind going back to that damned dream. He was going to kiss Max, he was going to give in, lean in and claim his lips. What the hell is wrong with him?

Boys can't like boys.

This is just some twisted form of hatred, that's all. In fact, he should hate Max for confusing him like this in the first place. That's why he brushes past him when Max waves, ears burning despite the stoic look on his face. He had learned how to be expressionless from his father, after all, he never liked a crying child around him. He still needs to win back his father's favor, and the only way to do that is to focus on his studies so that's what he does. He spends the next few weeks with his nose buried in his textbooks, studying until he's crossed side and falling asleep on his notes so often the lead would tattoo on his cheeks. He started staying inside more, staying up later and later until he could blink and see the information- but it still wasn't enough. He had to work harder if he wanted to even get a glance from his father, so every moment his eyes dared to drift down...he'd dig his fingers into his arm. Not too hard, sure his nails pierced his skin at times but it was necessary- anything to stay awake. It's not like it was the first time he had done something like this, he used to poke and prod himself all the time when he was younger. It started as stretching, but then it turned to searing himself with the rod that his parents would leave near the fireplace. He moved on from burning himself quickly, it was only excusable after so many times and eventually his mother started hiding every heatable item away from him. He learned about knives and found himself sneaking into the kitchen, choosing the smallest one with the sharpest blade. It was that night when he started carving into himself, treating his skin like cardboard at the age of twelve.

Now, his sweater sleeves were burgundy on his arms, spots of soaked up blood sticking to his skin. Great, now he has to shower, but not until he finishes this page. Keep your eyes open Bradley, what would father think of you being lazy? So what if his words had slurred, if he had become an irritable mess? He had work to do. He had to please his father, even if it meant exhausting himself. He's trying, he really is, but his head drops down onto his desk and he struggles to stay conscious. His body won't listen to him, shutting down, demanding sleep he's abandoned for the past week completely. His hand curls around his pencil, other one attempting to push himself back up but he slumps against the desk. Come on, Bradley, get up. Don't be dramatic, don't be lazy, get back to work. How will he ever lead the company if he can't handle something as small as a Business Administration major and an Economics minor. It's really not that bad, in highschool he took every AP class available to him so he was used to the constant stress. He used to be able to pull all-nighters all the time but now his body was forcibly shutting down, and he couldn't stop it no matter how hard he tried.