Unsaid Words

The Second Thursday

Seb sat at the kitchen table, staring at the shot glass in front of him. It had been exactly a week since Jim had come back drunk as hell. That next morning, Jim claimed to have no memory of harassing Seb. Seb wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. He hadn't told Becca anything about Jim's drunkenness because of how she would probably bury Jim in the park after poisoning him and slicing his neck open in his sleep.
Seb knew he could handle Jim himself. It was a simple matter of threatening to slit Jim's throat. The situation hadn't occurred since, anyways. Seb wasn't worried.

Seb picked the shot glass up, raised it to his lips, and threw his head backwards. He shook the energizing feeling away.

Someone knocked heavily on the door.

"Who is it?" Seb called.

"It's Jim," Jim called through the door. "I forgot my keys inside."

Seb sighed. He stood up and opened the door.

Jim was leaning on the doorframe, his hair ruffled up.

"You're drunk, aren't you?" Seb asked, not moving away from the door. He blocked Jim's way in on purpose.

Jim laughed. "Yeah."

He tried to push Seb over, but Seb sidestepped Jim's weak attempt and shut the door behind him. Seb began walking away from Jim, going to put away his vodka. Jim interrupted Seb, throwing all of his weight onto him and pushing him into the nearby wall.

Seb put a hand on Jim's shoulder and threw him to the side effortlessly.

"Piss off," Seb muttered.

Jim fell over, partly from his lack of balance and partly from the force of Seb's push. Seb began walking away, but Jim grabbed onto Seb's leg, impeding his progress.

Seb sighed. He pulled his switchblade out of his suit jacket and cut across the back of Jim's hand.

Jim jerked his hand away in pain, his face showing his discomfort.

Seb rolled him into his room (via kicking) and shut the door.

He couldn't help but feel that had been surprisingly easier than a week ago. Jim had barely harassed him that time.

Seb smiled to himself, realizing how much his standards of Jim had lowered. He put his shot glass in the sink and the bottle of vodka in the fridge. Seb went to his room, deciding it was time for bed. He changed into his pajamas, neatly folding his suit in the closet. Seb decided to check on Jim. Knowing him, he was probably passed out on the floor where Seb had left him.

Seb quietly opened the door, just in case Jim was asleep.

Seb immediately turned away from the room, having seen what was inside.

"Oh God," he whispered.

Jim was laying on his side at the foot of his bed, wearing nothing. Not his shirt. Not his boxers.

"Does his make you uncomfortable, Seb?" Jim asked.

"Yes, very," Seb answered, refusing to turn back around.

Seb heard Jim stand up and walk toward him. Jim wrapped his arms around Seb's neck. He leaned to the side and put his mouth over Seb's ear.

"Dear God," Seb muttered. "Get the hell off of me."

"You could move if you wanted to," Jim whispered.

Seb didn't reply.

Jim pressed his chest against Seb's back. Seb could feel too much. He decided he wasn't going to put up with it anymore.