I'm Not Okay (I Promise) • Geetrick

23

---Patrick---

Driven to madness.

I think that's how I feel right now. I'm being driven to madness.

His hot breath leaves droplets of moisture on my cheek as I suck on his bottom lip, gazing down at the pink flesh. I don't know how long I'm taking in everything but I feel like I need to. I need to take in every last detail before it's gone. Before he has to leave because I know he will... His pleasured breaths and the way they warm my cheek. Just from that I already know this wasn't a mistake. He's panting slightly and it sounds like he's trying to hold back a moan... but I'm not sure. I do know that he isn't mad, which is good. His hands are on my lower back, pulling us close from a tight embrace. Another reason why this wasn't a mistake. Maybe he really does want this... He really does love me, maybe the text was real. The last one lifted my heart but I can't think about that now. I'm lost in the moment and I love it.

The disgustingly sexy sounds of my lips sucking on his gently... I don't know where all this bravery came from. Hell, if I was in this situation three weeks ago, I would have probably killed myself by now, fallen off of that building with no hesitation because I hated life and myself, text included or not. I mean I still do, but I don't hate life as much anymore. That was all before being gay was okay. That was before Kevin took my virginity. That was before I fell in love with Gerard. In only three weeks I'd found myself a crush who, somehow, returns the feelings and makes me completely forget about anxiety when I'm around him. How the fuck does he do it? How is he just so... Perfect?

My eyes dart up to his, gazing intensely into the dark pools of surprise and want. He lets out a tiny whimper and I giggle slightly into his lip, the corners of my mouth folding into a smile as they let go of the pink flesh. He pulls away but only kisses me again, his addictive taste on mine. It's slow, each kiss feels like an eternity but it's such a pleasure-filled eternity. Like heaven. His fingers drag up my back, sending shivers down my spine and making it arch into the touch.

He lets go but not quite. Instead, he bites on my bottom lip and gazes up at me. Immediate boner. I stifle a moan because fuck that is hot but finally pull away even though I don't want to. I don't want to be empty but we need to talk. We need to talk about... everything. He leans in again but I only shake my head and pull away even more, leaving him disappointed.

"Where were you?" He finally asks, understanding what I'm trying to do and leaning against the railing. I don't reply at first. I let my stomach drop first. That bad feeling you get when someone finds you out and the guilt takes you over begins to settle as the unanswered question rings through my mind. I hate it... I hate that feeling... It's the feeling I got when Pete asked what was wrong. It was the feeling I got when Dad showed up at the hospital with a hard gaze and asked, 'What happened?' and all I could reply with was, 'There was a car crash.' A week later, he hit me. A month later, he beat me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. I shut my eyes, the city streets flashing through my mind. The way people would walk in long strides, the way my hair blew in the wind and my fedora fell to the ground. If I had waited just a split second longer, I would have fallen to my death. Down, down, down. And splat to the ground. I half wish that had happened but at the same time I don't. I'm conflicted just like I've been every single day since The Incident and I feel like I'm about to sob, "I'm sorry, I, I thought you hated me and I was so scared. I didn't want to see what you had to say. B-because I honestly thought it was impossible that you could ever love me when I don't even love myself."

He nears me again about to hug me but I shake my head. I'm too guilty and I honestly feel like I'm about to puke so I turn and lean over the railing incase anything does come up.

"Okay, so where were you then?" He asks, coming to my side.

I look down in shame, gripping the rail, "I..." I trail off. Do I really want to tell him? How would he react? Would he be mad? Would he hurt me?