Cooper releases Enzo as Aiden hands him his sweatshirt that he found on the floor. Cooper and Ivan go to work on tracking down his shoes and socks. Within a couple minutes, Enzo is fully clothed and we are ready to leave. At the door I stop in front of Enzo and squat down, offering him a piggyback ride. I say, “I know these aren’t your outside shoes. Hop aboard.”
When we get home, we don’t have that talk. I don’t say the things I promised myself I would say. The things that Wyatt and possibly others already see. The other four guys can’t stop hooting and high fiving. Enzo is celebrated as a hero.
After a long hot shower, he finds me in our bedroom waiting for him. This is when he finally opens up and talks for real.
“I know you were the one who realized I was missing. It was you who figured out where I was. Thank you.”
I shake my head, “It only happened at all because of our stupid rivalry with those assholes. If Cooper, Aiden and Ivan hadn’t–”
He cuts me off with a sharp, “Don’t! Those three guys were not responsible. What they did was a harmless prank. Guys goofing around and having fun. Boys being boys. What they did hurt no one. It was the Baseball Guys who crossed the line.”
I take a step closer, “Are you hurt?”
He looks away, “Not physically.”
“What was there plan?”
“They knew there was a scheduled basketball practice so they came to our house seeking revenge. They didn’t know what they were going to steal, but they figured they’d know it when they saw it. They were surprised when, A- the front door was unlocked, and B- someone was home. They made the brilliant decision that I would be what they would steal. They were going to hold me captive for the weekend and set me free by Monday morning in time for classes.”
“That’s insane!”
“I had fallen asleep on the couch with headphones on so I saw and heard nothing until they woke me up. They were in the process of figuring out what they were going to do with me all weekend. Keeping watch or dealing with restraints or whatever was starting to sound like a chore, so they decided instead that I would be their entertainment. Their toy for the weekend. They woke me up by poking me and they discovered that I was ticklish. That would be the basis of their entertainment. They tortured me for two hours but that would have only been the beginning. I would have lost my sanity by Monday morning.”
“You went through hell for two hours?”
He scoffs, “They told me to just let them have their fun and to not fight it. They said that if I did that, I’d even enjoy it.” He shudders and sniffs, “Twelve hands were all over me. They violated me.”
“I am so sorry, Enzo. I should have gotten to you sooner. None of this should ever have happened.”
He looks at me, “You saved me. And you showed up sooner than I thought you would. You had practice. Once you made it home, you figured it out in record time. And really, your timing couldn’t have been better. That guy who was the biggest one? He had just gotten a new idea of how and where to tickle me. He was going to… He was starting to take my pants off!” He sobs.
I rush to him and hug him, “I know. But he didn’t.”
He hugs me back, “You were right on time.”
I spend the night on Enzo’s bed, spooned up against him. Holding him. Keeping away the demons.
Enzo:
I wake up this morning, still in Owen’s arms. He couldn’t have slept too well, spooned up against me in a bed that’s made for one. Big burly manly athletes are not supposed to be as gentle and sweet as Owen is. He’s also ridiculously gorgeous. He’s my best friend and hopefully always will be. We love each other in that bro, dude, best friend kind of a way. I’m lucky to have him.
But still… I can’t help but fantasize that there was more to it. But the fantasy is always broken by reality. Friendship is where this ship stops. It’s not fair of me to wish him to be someone he’s not.
He’s still asleep, but he unconsciously pulls me into him tighter. I melt into his warmth. His nose and lips are now on the back of my neck and when he exhales, it gives me goosebumps and it gives me another bump. And then I realize that behind me, Owen has a bump of his own!
Okay, settle down. It means nothing. Owen is a healthy twenty year old guy. Normal, healthy young men wake up with morning wood, right? It’s natural. It has no cause. There is no reason. It’s kind of a phenomenon. And right now his “phenomenon” is poking me in the back of my thigh.
He’s still asleep and he absentmindedly kisses the back of my neck. That causes my bump to become a lead pole. His “situation” might be normal morning wood but mine is the direct result of a hot guy, who just happens to be a hero who saved my life, lying in my bed pressed up against me.
I need another shower, but unlike last night, this needs to be a cold one.
~~
I’m not up for going to the game today and the guys all understand. Owen, however, refuses to leave me home alone. He calls in sick for the game. He instructs the others to tell his coach some unpleasant things involving simultaneous vomit and diarrhea.
Once the others have left, he joins me on the couch. I’m not sure that in the three months we’ve lived here that it’s ever been just the two of us in the house without some combination of the other guys. Right now, we have at least four hours alone.
Without saying a word, he picks up my left foot and places it in his lap. My house high-tops are never tied; I wear them like slippers. He slips it off and begins a gentle foot massage through my sock. He is not tickling me. It feels nice and I let my eyelids go droopy.
He eventually asks me, “This isn’t triggering or anything, is it. I should have asked. I could stop.”
I never want him to stop. Owen could never be a trigger. He might be twice my size, but he is a giant teddy bear. I smile, “This is nice.”
So he really digs in. He uses thumbs and knuckles and he goes all in on the spots that make my eyes roll back into my head. I can’t suppress some embarrassing groans of pleasure, but I don’t even care. He gradually involves my calf and plays at the top of my sock before pushing it down toward my ankle. I silently will him to take off my sock and it works. He does.
He asks, “Is this okay?”
I nod, trying not to look too eager.
He gives me gentle fingertip strokes up my arch that can only be described as loving. It’s while he’s massaging each individual toe that he clears his throat and says, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”
A wave of fear rolls over me. Irrational paranoia takes over my brain. What have I done? Am I late with the rent? Am I not a good roommate? Is their old friend Ray coming back meaning I’m being kicked out? Did the guys all vote and I’m now homeless? I imagine this massage being a consolation prize. A parting gift.
He clears his throat again, “Did I ever tell you how brave you were the day we met? I mean, I know that you ‘came out’ to a hundred people before me and a hundred more since, but that’s my point. You’re brave every day. That is a bravery in life that I have yet to achieve.”