Until summer ends

NO SMUT

//

"I'm just not going to do it.
I tell myself, but when 5:30 the next afternoon rolls around, I find myself getting in bed, just like I do every Wednesday and Friday.
It turns out the Chris Sturniolo who was so self-absorbed and rude to me at the parking lot and the Chris I watch in my room under soft bedsheets every Wednesday and Friday are two very different people in my head.
Wednesday video is up. The headline lights up in my computer, "Another trip to San Diego." Chris is standing by Nick, both of them holding tennis rackets. Next to it there're a cut out of Matt and Chris riding a bicycle. Above it there's another one of chis getting out of the clear blue water of the ocean, gloriously laughing while he runs.
What he said bothered me so much I haven't been able to look at him right in the face when we came to his house and offered me a nice room to stay the night. The Chris who jokes around his brothers is nice. He isn't rude. He doesn't mock. He stirs me to life the way he did inside the van when we were alone, yes, but he has never rejected me afterwards. He is simply Chris. I simply watch him. I say to myself that that's pretty messed up.
I'm still smarting from the way he dismissed me last night as I slide my fingers across the mouse debating whether to close the video or not. It's stupid that I'd even want to see him so soon after what he said to me, but this weekly pilgrimage is a ritual that I haven't broken in so long. It would feel wrong to do so now.
I click play. " - Until summer ends