Something More | Randy

chapter six | moonlight

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There was no coming back from it. I just jerked off thinking about my best friend. If there was any chance left of denying a sexual component to my jealousy, that chance was now gone. Once I had relieved myself, I fell straight into the most peaceful dreamless sleep I'd had in a long time.

It was a different story when I woke up. My head was pounding and my heart was heavy. An uncomfortable mixture of shame and and heartache squirmed within me. The whole situation made me feel dirty. What kind of a creep sticks around to listen to their best mate get off? And then gets off themselves thinking about it? This wasn't the kind of person I was. 

Worse than the shame, was the guilt. For not being happy for him. For not being good enough at keeping these criminal thoughts bottled up, the ones that threatened to ruin everything we had built together. Whatever these weird feelings were that I held for Rye, they were clearly not reciprocated, and I had been punishing him for acting in a perfectly normal manner- after all, we'd both had other relationships before, and Kylie seemed to be a better person than a lot of his exes from what I could tell so far. Why was I being pathetic?

I could feel the beginnings of a nasty thought spiral coming on, and for the first time in a long time, I let it happen. I'd worked hard to get to a good place mentally over the past few years of my life, and although it hadn't always been easy, I had managed to keep my head above water. Now, I felt myself slipping again, the energy draining from me as my body turned to lead. 

I didn't realise how long I'd been lying there unmoving until a knock jarred me from my trance. 

"Fovvs?" Rye tentatively poked his head through my doorway. 

I didn't answer.

"Are you alive?" Rye asked gently, "I only ask because it's four PM..."

Wow. I had spent the whole day in bed, feeling sorry for myself. I almost laughed as barely twelve hours ago I'd been convinced I could keep myself in check. Now look at me.

"I don't feel great," I said, meaning for him to interpret it as I was feeling sick, or hungover. My weak voice gave me away however, and concern flashed across Rye's face. He closed the door behind him and padded over to the bed, hopping in next to me. I suddenly became insecure, all too aware of the fact I was just in briefs. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, as he cuddled into me. Rye was never the best at dealing with emotions, but I could feel how much he cared as he began stroking my hair lightly. There was so much warmth and love and friendship that I didn't deserve emanating from him. It made me want to cry. But I wouldn't let myself. 

Instead of confiding in him, I replied thinly, "I just feel sick." 

"Yeah?" Rye asked, sweeping the hand that was in my hair down to my forehead, feeling for a temperature, then moved it down to my chest. "Do you mean sick sick, or sick here?" He tapped on my heart. It reminded me that he had seen my darkness before. God, he really knew me.

"A little both." I confessed. The urge to cry swelled up in me again so I twisted away from him.

"Andy, come here," he commanded softly, pulling me round by the shoulder so I was facing him again. Rather than look him in the eye, knowing it would set me off, I opted to bury my face into his chest. Rye engulfed me in his arms and held me tight, fingers tracing patterns on my back, his warm jogger-covered legs intertwining with my bare ones, trapping my cold feet between them. Despite him being at the centre of all my negative thoughts, his embrace pushed them out of my mind, the sound of his heartbeat soothing me through his skin.