Forever Seems So Far

Chapter 2

I woke up to find myself wrapped in a mess of gray sheets. Alone.
I remembered cuddling with Dylan as if he were my boyfriend . Shit, was he mad? Of course he was mad, I took advantage of him when he was vulnerable. He probably thinks I'm some sort of rapist. Maybe he left. But where would he go? Would he wander the streets begging for money? I'm such an awful human-
The smell of  bacon filled my nose. I stood up, following the smell into the kitchen. Dylan was placing two plates of strawberry waffles and bacon on the table. He had his tank top back on. Shame.
I, however was very shirtless. When Dylan saw me he blushed. I blushed at his cute expression.
"You didn't have to cook breakfast. Thank you, though," I said.
He smiled sheepishly at me. I joined him at the small table and started to eat. It was delicious.
"This..." I said with my mouth full. "Is really good"
"Aren't Australians supposed to have manners?" he teased.
"I don't know what your talking about. The Brits do that stuff, not Aussies," I say sporting my Australian accent and stuffing a piece of bacon into my mouth.
He laughed a little then stared back down at his food.
I swallowed my food.
"You know, the offer to stay here still stands. As long as you like, really"
Dylan looked up, bedazzled. "Really!?" He smiled shamelessly.
I tilted my head with a smile. He blushed.
He smiled at his plate then picked up a fork and started to pick at the waffle. Meanwhile I stuffed the rest of my food into my mouth and swallowed, satisfyingly.
"Hey Dylan..."
He hummed a yes.
"How long have you been with Austin?" I asked seriously.
He tightened his grip on the fork, as if it was a painful question. Guilt surged through me.
"I'm sorry, you don't have to--"
"Three and a half years," he said, looking me in the eyes.
My eyes widened a little.
"When did--"
"You found me seven hours after I ran away from him," he suddenly looked very interested in his breakfast and started eating again.
Then someone pounded on the door. Dylan flinched with fear.
"Yo, Cam!" It was James.
"It's okay, he's a friend of mine," I put my hand on Dylan's.
Dylan stood up instantly and whispered, "Just don't tell him I'm here"
He sprinted into my bedroom before I could say another word.
"Wake up, Cam! You're gonna miss practice!" He yelled urgently.
Shit, swim practice. I walked quickly towards the door and opened it. James stood impatiently in the door way. He looked down at my appearance. "Oh, come on" 
I ran into my bedroom where Dylan stood, looking at the family pictures on my desk and admiring my large book collection that lined the walls.
"I have swim practice and you're coming," I pointed at him.
He nodded.

-

I walked out of the bedroom with Dylan's hand in mine. James was eating one of my granola bars and leaning against the counter.
He stopped eating when he saw Dylan.
"This is Dylan. Dylan, this is--"
James bowed his head, placing a sexy smile on his face, "I'm James. Nice to meet you Dylan"
You see, James was bisexual and Dylan was just his type: tallish, blonde, good looking, and strong yet not intimidating.
I stepped in front of Dylan, "Back off, James. He's stamped"
The words tripped out of my mouth before I could stop them. Though deep down, they where true. I kept myself from blushing and cast my cold gaze upon James. I knew that gaze was frightening, I inherited it from Dad and barely ever used it.
James shivered, "Why do you always get the good ones?"
"Because I'm nice and don't support quickies, thank you very much," I grabbed my bag from the closet and kept my hand in Dylan's. I looked back to see him blushing fiercely.
We jogged down the stairs, then into the lobby.
"You wanna ride?" James asked.
I smirked at him. Then I looked back at Dylan who was standing there blankly.
"I think Dylan should meet Stella," I said.
James' face moored into a smile and he charged out the front door of the lobby.
"Who's Stella?" Dylan asked.
"You'll see"

-

Stella was my motorcycle. When we got to the garage, she sat neatly next to the stairs. Not a spot of dirt devastated her, I made sure of that; scrubbing her clean when she went through mud, making sure her engine was on point, and always fixing her up after a midnight race. See, Stella used to be my uncle's. He was a bike racer and his newest trophy was the white-rimmed black beauty that would run like a bullet if you pushed. Uncle J had adjusted her engine to street-legal but sometimes I would drive her at night, daring people to race.
I walked over to her and sat down.
"This," I said grabbing my black helmet from the lock. "is Stella" I popped the helmet over my head and opened the visor.
I grabbed an extra helmet from the supply cabinet that the facility supplied after a large complaint from one of the owners (me). His eyes where wide as I patted the small seat behind me.
"No. Fuck no," he said.
I looked into his eyes and tilted my head innocently. My hand wandered over to the extra helmet. Once Dylan noticed he pointed at the bike. "That is a death machine and--"
"Come on, I'm a really good driver. Live a little," I whined
He looked at me nervously so I got off the bike and walked over to him. He shuttered a little when I grabbed his hand. I smiled at him cutely. He looked me straight in the eyes, serious. "No"
I silently dragged him towards the bike. He didn't make it easy but I finally got him to stand within a foot of the back wheel.
"Most motorcycle crashes end up with the riders dead..." he said anxiously.
Okay, if you won't get on yourself, I'll do it for you.
I carried him like a prince would carry his princess. Or in this case a knight carrying his prince charming. He struggled a little in my hands but I held him tight. I walked around the bike then placed him on the back seat. I jumped in front of him before he could get off and shifted the backpack I had been carrying to the front of my chest.
"No--"
I grabbed either one of his hands and curled them around my waist, making sure he leaned against me. When I let go, he stayed in the position.
Slowly, I started up the bike making sure it could grind. Dylan flinched but stayed as he was. His grip around my waist was tight and when the bike started moving, I thought he was going to break my hip bone. The gate opened as I pressed a button under the handles. We rolled out the driveway and into the street. I could feel Dylan's face buried in my neck. I smiled as we passed the bench I had picked him off of.
Clouds still covered the sky, though not as heavily. Fog still prowled on, thick and wet. It didn't smell like rain but it sure looked like it. We passed a University security guard who I smiled at.
"You okay back there?" I asked Dylan calmly. We weren't going that fast, I didn't want to scare him; I didn't make any sudden turns or whirl around cars. I took the bike down neighborhoods, trying to avoid bigger streets and intersections.
He nodded into my back.
After twelve minutes of taking side roads we finally made it to the swim stadium. See, being on the swim team was nice. Every guy there was absolutely hot and at University, Swim was the second most popular sport behind football. Being on the swim team made you very popular. People knew your name, knew who you where. While it was fun, it was also extremely annoying.
We parked in the lot next to the Swim Stadium. Dylan staggered off as I shifted my backpack to its rightful position. I stole the keys from the ignition and shut down the bike, making sure it was secure. Dylan stood behind me awkwardly.
I turned around to see him blushing. I smiled lightly at him. It seemed he was always blushing.
I looked around to find James's Jeep parked on the opposite side of the lot. It was his regular spot.
I checked my phone. 9:59. On minute to go.
I grabbed Dylan's hand and started sprinting towards the building. We burst through the doors and  into the lobby, down the halls, and then towards the pool-room where Coach and the rest of the team stood. Everyone was stretching in their pro-swim shorts which wrapped tightly around their thighs and waist. Goggles laid at the edge of the pool, as did swim caps.
Coach turned around to glare at me. He was african-american with a set of dreadlocks that where always pulled up. He was very tall and had an intimidating build. He was quite handsome at twenty-eight. Very young for a college-coach.
James smiled at me, "Hey it's Dylan," Never mind. He was smiling at Dylan.
"Cameron!" Coach yelled. I shivered.
"Yes, Coach. Sorry I'm late, I woke up late--"
"I don't care for excuses. Who is this fellow?" he motioned towards Dylan.
"Dylan Augustine. A friend of Cameron's," Dylan introduced himself casually. Honestly, I was surprised. He seemed okay with meeting new people.
"And due to certain circumstances, he will be rooming with me for a while. So expect to see him at practice with me in the future," I told Coach.
He nodded. "Go change, Cameron"
I turned around and pulled Dylan back through the doors. One thing about Coach, he always called us by our first names. He was very nice...except for when it came to swimming. Then he was a shark.
"You go to school here, right?" I asked Dylan.
"Yeah... online classes... but I haven't really been... you know..."
"...What's your major?"
"Haven't decided"
We slew through the locker room's doors and I quickly shuffled over to my locker, letting go of Dylan's hand. He sat on the bench.
I scrolled my code and grabbed my black/green swimsuit and goggles. I didn't wear swim caps. Then I shuffled into a shower house and changed quickly. When I finished, I threw my clothes into the cubby, grabbed a towel and shut the locker-door.
My small-six pack that I had earned fairly from swimming showed off. As did my slightly buff arms. I had admitted myself kind of attractive. With messy jet-black hair, blue eyes, and a tan, I could call myself that. But still, I wasn't perfect nor model-material.
"Let's go," I said.
Dylan followed me out the door.
When we walked back into the room, everyone was in the pool except for Coach (like always). 
"You can sit on the bleachers if you like," I pointed towards the bleachers on the right and left side of the pool. Dylan quietly walked towards the bleachers on the right and sat down. 

As soon as he did, Jack--One of the guys on our team who was out for a sprained his ankle-- scooted down a few benches and sat next to him. Dylan immediately froze when he noticed him.
The thing about Jack was that he was sketchy. Intimidating. You could say he was scary. His appearance didn't help the judgement, either. A hunk of muscles spread around his body. He had an easy six-pack that bulged through his shirt just like his superman arms. His head was shaved though brown roots where painted across it.

Jack closed the distance between Dylan and himself. I was paralyzed a I watched. His lips touched the edge of Dylan's ear and Jack whispered something that brought fear into Dylan. Before I could do anything, Jack's hand flew up and squeezed Dylan's cheeks.

I fucking flew out of that pool, James (the epic friend he was) right behind me. I punched Jack so, so hard, so, so, so, so hard. That his jaw clicked unnaturally. James distracted the coach while I pulled Jack up by the hem of his shirt. 

"If you ever fucking do anything like that again, to anyone and especially to him, I'll break your fucking neck. Now get the fuck out. I never want to see you again. Not on this swim team. Not anywhere." He couldn't move his mouth because I had broken his jaw, and oh, oh, oh he got off so easily. I had never felt this enraged before. Not even in the bad days of my childhood. I wanted to kill him. I still did.

I dropped Jack on the ground, leaving him whimpering, clutching his broken jaw. Nodding at James, I grabbed Dylan and dragged him out of the pool-room, down the hall, and into the locker room. I couldn't calm down. I was still smoking with ultimate rage. 

I let go of Dylan's shaking hand and started pacing. I stopped next to my locker and punched it as hard as I could. The metal dented and my fist throbbed. I punched it again, my fingers jamming and the metal creaking. Again, my fist bled. A song whistled into my head: Kingdom Fall. The song I always heard when I was upset. The song I heard when mom got sick. I punched the locker again, one of the hinges snapped. Again, again, again, again, again. Just like that I was in my own personal cloud of reality. Painful reality.

I didn't know how long it had been before I finally stopped, tears streamed down my face and there was an intense pain in my hand. I didn't look at Dylan. I stared at the beaten locker. A hinge was snapped and the metal was dented but the locker seemed to stay intact.

This rage reminded me of my teenage years, my childhood. The bad parts of it. The drugs, the fights, the drunken sex. I hated it. I hated the anger. The pain. Any time I could, I would subconsciously take it out on anything and everything. That included a threat to a guy I liked and barely knew. When I got mad, I turned into my dad. And my dad was the worst thing I could ever be. I was a whole different person.

"I'm sorry," my voice was hoarse.

I wanted to kill him.

"I'm so sorry," I sobbed.

I still do.

God help me.