Nearly twenty minutes after I ripped apart my journal. my telephone rang. I gazed over at the phone and then at the shredded pieces of paper in the wastebasket and then I finally sauntered over and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Sean?" I recognized the sexy deep voice before he even identified himself. "It's Patrick." My whole body tingled. I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath before answering.

"Hey," I said sounding as casual as possible, "What's up?"

"Nothin much," he replied. I just loved the sound of his voice; hearing him talk made my knees wobble. I sat down on the edge of my bed. "I was just callin to see what you were up to."

"I'm not doing anything," I said. "Just hangin around."

"What about later tonight? You busy?"

"Not really. Why?"

"Just wanted to see if you wanted to do somethin later on tonight," Patrick said. My heart was pumping with excitement instead of blood. "Like nine or somewhere around that time." I was glad we were talking over the phone so that he couldn't see the large smile on my face. I laid back flat on my bed. 

"Like?" I asked.

"I dunno, go to the movies, go get somethin to eat or somethin like that. I just don't feel like bein in the house all night by myself."

"What about Rose?" I asked. Immediately after saying that, I wished I hadn't. Patrick didn't say anything for a while and then he said, "What about her?"

"Never mind...nothin. I'll be ready at nine," I said. I was trying my hardest not to sound like a thirteen-year-old girl ecstatic about going out on a date with the most popular boy at school. 

"Cool," Patrick responded. "See you then." He clicked off abruptly.

I hung up the phone. For about ten whole minutes I just laid on my bed, ecstatic, waiting impatiently to see Patrick. Even though I've seen him just about much every day of my life since I was eight years old, but everytime I saw him was better than the time before. Again, as usual, I closed my eyes, lowered my shorts and started to fantasize what it would be like for Patrick to be in my bedroom, for him to climb on top of my bed - climb on top of me, with his sweaty clothes on. I imagined us kissing, slowly at first, and then very roughly; I imagined myself taking off his clothes, piece by piece. His beautiful, sweat-slicked, naked body would feel so good against mine, me squeezing his tight bubble round ass as his dick slipped into my asshole and him fucking me so hard that I - 

My telephone rang again; my dick was already iron hard, even though I had shot a fat load half and hour ago when Danny gave me head. I was still a bit surprised that Danny's wet mouth had been on my dick, and I was even more surprised that I liked it. He stormed out of my room, upset because I didn't want to fuck him, because I'd rather fuck Patrick instead. I was sad that he had gone; I didn't want him to leave like he did, but at the same time I wasn't gonna run after him. Danny had always known the boundaries of our friendship, and it wasn't my fault that he tried to break them. The telephone rang again, my boner went down slowly, like a balloon deflating. Hoping that it was Patrick on the other end, I picked up the receiver. "Hello?" I asked.

There was no answer on the other end, just dead silence. "Hello?" I asked again.

Still nothing. I didn't even hear breathing. 

"Whoever this is, stop fuckin playin around." I slammed the phone down. I picked the receiver again and pressed the caller return button to see who had just called. The phone rang a couple of times, and then the operator came on and said that I was unable to contact the person had just caused. I hung up the phone, angry. For some reason, I had a feeling that the phone would ring again, so for a few minutes I just sat by it, staring at it, waiting for it to ring. But it never did. 

Before I knew it, it was already eight thirty. Patrick would be here in thirty minutes and I hadn't even showered or changed into actual clothes. As I grabbed my towel and headed toward the bathroom, I thought about Danny again. He should've been home by now, it had been almost two hours since he left. I dialed his number and waited for him to pick up. It took four rings before someone answered the phone. "Hello?" The voice on the other end came from a male with a very deep and harsh sounding voice. It was Danny's father. I immediately thought about just hanging up the phone, because I really didn't want to talk to him. 

"Oh, hi Mr. Madison. Um, this is Sean. Is um, Danny available?"

"One second," Mr. Madison said. He took his mouth away from the phone and started yelling, "Danny! Some boy on the phone wants to talk to you!"

I heard Danny's voice in the background. "Who is it?" he asked.

"What did you say your name was?" Danny's father asked me.


Danny's father told him I was on the phone. There was a brief moment and then Danny came on the line. I didn't even manage to say one word before Danny said, "Don't call here again, Sean. I don't wanna talk to you." He hung up the phone so quickly that I didn't know how to react. I just stood there with a buzzing phone in my ear. My feelings were slightly hurt, but a part of me didn't care that much really. I liked Danny, but not a whole lot. If he didn't like me, it just made it easier for me not to like him. I kinda felt guilty for feeling that way. But I knew that I would feel better when Patrick came. 

It was about five minutes before nine after I showered, dressed in nice clothes, put on cologne, brushed my hair and shit like that. I didn't expect Patrick to show up exactly at nine, because most people never show up at the time they say they will. As I waited for Patrick to come, I spent the whole time calming myself down, making myself remember that we were just two friends going out to go do something, not boyfriends going out on a date. I didn't want to put any hope into thinking that Patrick had any interest in me other than our platonic friendship. I didn't want to put any expectations on the evening because I didn't want to be disappointed when Patrick didn't react to me the way I would've liked him to. 

Most importantly, I didn't want Patrick to pick up any slight of a clue that I was interested in him. I thought about the torn pages of my journal lying in my wastebasket in my bedroom, and I also thought of Danny's threat to tell Patrick that I was in love with him - (love?) - I'm not sure if I really meant to say that word. I wasn't sure if I was in love with Patrick. I forced myself to believe that there wasn't a point in loving Patrick in a romantic way, because Patrick had a girlfriend. 

But getting back to Danny, now, since my journal was destroyed, there was no way of him having any proof against me about my feelings toward Patrick. I don't think Patrick would believe Danny anyway if Danny were to say something. I've never given Patrick any indication that I liked him. I've never -

There was a loud knock at my front door. My heart leapt at the sound. I waited a few seconds, until my heart stopped pounding before I walked over, as casual as possible, and answered the door, expecting Patrick to be on the other side - he wasn't. Nobody was on the other side of the door. The air outside was crisp and it made me shiver a little bit. I looked around to see if there was somebody out there, but it was too dark to see a person. 

But when I looked down at my feet, I saw a leather-bound book lying right at the tip of my shoes on the doorstep. I picked it up. It was a small book, but it felt kinda heavy. Someone had just knocked on my door and left this book on the doorstep and I didn't know why. I suddenly had the feeling that somebody was watching me and I hurried up and went inside and closed the door behind me. I didn't understand why somebody would knock on my door and leave that book there. I opened the front cover over the book and my heart almost stopped when I read the inscription on the first page:

"You Can't Lie Forever, Sean"

My mouth was just wide open and I didn't know what to think or how to react. I just stared at that one page for a good three minutes before I flipped to the next page. What I saw after I turned the page almost made me die of shock. An except from one of my journal entries, from the journal I had just torn apart not even a good three hours ago, was written in the book. The handwriting was very sloppy and I couldn't recognize who the handwriting belonged to, but I could definitely recognize the words:

September 22/ Almost everyday I wish I didn't think about him the way I do. Sometimes I wish we hadn't become friends at all. Maybe that way I wouldn't feel like this anymore. He has no idea about my feelings, and if he does, then he has done a really good of hiding it - but then so have I. I'm tired of hiding; I'm tired of pretending; I'm tired of dreaming about him all the time and having to face the reality that he is in love with 'her' instead of me. Sometimes I wish I had the courage to tell him, just to see how he would respond. I wish I would just say, "Patrick, I fuckin love you" and be done with it. If he didn't like me back, and if he didn't want to ever talk or be around me again, I would be very hurt - but at least I wouldn't have to keep this fake cover over myself, protecting myself from the truth that lies underneath. And if there's the slightest chance that Patrick might --

There was another knock on the door. The book fell out of my hands and onto the ground. I looked up at the door, very cautious about answering it. The knocking continued, so I finally, after much reluctance went over to the door and opened it, just a little. When I saw Patrick standing on the other side, partially hidden in the darkness, my nervousness went away a little bit. I opened the door all the way, erased the panic from my face, and smiled. "Hey," I said, trying to sound as normal as possible, "took you love enough."

Patrick stepped through the doorway. He looked as stunning as ever. He wore a simple white-color, buttoned down, long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of loose-fitting stone washed blue jeans; Patrick was smiling as soon as he stepped into my house, his perfect white teeth flashing, his captivating dark eyes concentrating directly on me, as though I were the only thing he were able to see. It was moments, when Patrick looked at me like that, that I believed there was a possibility that he really liked me. 

But of course, when I got to excited, I had to remember that he didn't, and never would. "Yeah," Patrick said, his smooth-sounding voice making my skin tingle. "Took longer to get ready than I thought." Patrick hadn't closed the door behind him. Slightly cold breezes were coming into the house. For a few seconds we just stared at each other. I was happy that Patrick was looking at me, but the longer our eyes held each other, the more I wondered what he was thinking about. I took my eyes of Patrick for a couple of seconds, and gazed out the open doorway behind him -

There was somebody watching us. I couldn't see him clearly, because he was a bit far away, but I definitely knew it was a person watching us. When he saw me, the person turned and ran around the corner of my house. Without thinking, I pushed Patrick aside and ran out of the door. I didn't know what I thought I was doing or why I was doing it. Behind me, I heard Patrick yell, "Sean, where are you goin?" His voice stopped me from going another step. It was way to dark to see who it was. And being that my neighborhood wasn't the friendliest, it could've been someone dangerous. I felt stupefied, stunned, and embarrassed that I had done that in front of Patrick. The black leather book with my journal entries inside of it came to my mind again. I figured that whoever had left the book on my doorstep had also just been spying on me. 

The first person that came to mind was Danny. Of course I didn't want to believe that Danny was snooping around my house, waiting in the darkness, leaving books with my secrets inside of them. But after he left this afternoon, filled with so much anger, it really wasn't that unbelievable. I must have been standing out there for a long time, just thinking about Danny when a hand grabbed me by the shoulder. I turned around, a bit startled, to see Patrick standing behind me. I couldn't see him too clearly, but I could smell his sweet, masculine scent clearly; he looked a lot taller in the dark than in the light. 

"What was it?" Patrick asked as we made our way back into the house. 

"Nothin. I just thought I saw a shadow or somethin."

"You look kinda scared," Patrick noticed. He had a very concerned look on his face, and there were a couple of creased lines on his smooth forehead.

"I'm fine," I said, taking a deep breath. "Let's go."

* * *

We went to one of our favorite restaurants, a small little place that served really good hamburgers. It really wasn't that cold anymore, so Patrick and I decided to eat outside, in the well lit back patio area of the restaurant. Many of the tables were empty, except for a middle-aged couple who sat in the corner, talking softly to each other other, Patrick and I were the only people there. I liked the silence. There was a small candle on the middle of our table the long flame whirled around in fast circles. I felt kinda nervous as we sat at the table across from each other. Patrick placed his large hands flat on the table. I took a few moments just to look at them, to notice how smooth and beautiful they were. "What are you thinkin about?" Patrick asked, breaking me from my thoughts.

"What?" I asked.

"What were you just thinkin about right now?" Patrick asked again. 

"Nothin important. I was just lookin at your hands."

"Oh, so you're sayin that my hands aren't important?" Patrick said with a smile. I smiled back. There was a tree above our heads and the leaves rustled noisily for a few seconds and then went silent. The waiter came a few minutes later, and asked for our order. Patrick ordered for the both of us; he knew exactly what I wanted, which made me feel good. "That was what you wanted right?" Patrick asked after the waiter left. "You get the same thing everytime."

"Basically," I said. 

"Rose get's mad everytime I try order something from her. She's always like, 'I know how to do my own shit, I don't need you to do it for me, and all that 'independent, I don't need a man to do this for me shit; but then she always wants me to pay the bill." We both laughed, but I could tell there was real resentment in Patrick's voice. It was the first time the whole night that he had mentioned Rose's name. And that one thing he had said about her had been a negative thing. Maybe that was a clue... Patrick looked down at the candle, and the light was reflected in his gorgeous eyes.

"Patrick, can I ask you something?"

Looking up from the flame, Patrick said, "Yeah. What is it?" He seemed really interested in hearing what I was about to say - so interested that I began to doubt rather I should ask him or not. 

"Never mind," I said.

"No, go `head and tell me."

"You might get offended," I told him.

"I'll get offended if you don't tell me what it is," Patrick responded. 

I felt bad about asking it, but he really wanted to know, and I really wanted to ask him. "Do you really like Rose?"

Patrick's face kinda froze when I asked that. His eyes went cold and those crease lines reappeared on his forehead. It took him about half a minute to answer. "What do you mean?"

"Never mind," I said. "That's why I didn't wanna say anything."

Patrick looked away from the table. He looked deep in thought. I really wished I hadn't brought the subject up to begin with. "No," Patrick said finally and very sharply. At first I thought I hadn't heard him right, but then he said it again, very clearly. "No. I don't like her."

My heart bounced in my chest. The candle flickered around very wildly. I didn't know what to say next. Actually, I did know what to say - I just didn't think it was real appropriate to say it. Somehow, I mustered the balls to say it. "So why are you still with her if you don't like her?"

I could see that asking these questions was really hurting Patrick, but at the same time, I think he really wanted me to know these things, about how he really felt. "I used to like her. Back in the tenth grade when we first start goin together." Again, Patrick stared at the flame, the reflected light danced along his face. "But now I'm just tired of her. I mean I want to break up with her, it's just that I know doin all that shit wouldn't be easy."

"Why wouldn't it be easy. Just be like 'I don't wanna be with you anymore, goodbye."

Patrick laughed, but it was an uncomfortable laugh. "Not that easy, Sean."

"You probably just like fuckin her." We were both surprised that I said that. I didn't even know where that came from or why I said that at all. I really felt stupid. But Patrick's shock went away quickly. He looked me directly in the eyes, and said quietly, but loud enough for me to hear:

"I've never fucked her. Not once."

I was kinda puzzled by that. My first thought was just that Patrick was lying. Yet Patrick wasn't the kind of person that lied, and I don't think someone would lie about that anyway. I was beyond surprised. "Are you serious?" 

Patrick nodded. The candle flame stretched out and then became shorter. "Why not?" I asked.

The waiter finally came with our orders. Patrick waited until he left before he resumed our conversation. "It's not `cause I didn't want to. She never wanted to. Three years and I haven't got any," Patrick said bitterly.

"Then that's a definite reason to break up with her: you don't like her, she won't do anything with you. What's the point of being together then? Honestly, Patrick, I don't think Rose likes you either. I don't think she ever liked you - ever."

"I know," Patrick said flatly. There was no hurt in his voice. "It's all for appearance. Just to make a look good in front of all her bullshit friends."

"And that's okay with you?" I asked.

Patrick didn't answer.

"Maybe Rose isn't the only one who's in it just for appearances." I knew by saying that, that Patrick would get really defensive. I was surprised when he didn't. 

He said very calmly, "Maybe you're right."

The candle flame extinguished.

* * *

Our drive home was quiet for the most part. I was still thinking about all the things Patrick had told me about Rose. He was probably thinking about the same thing. We were almost to my house when Patrick asked me suddenly, "Sean, are you gay?"

The question came as a surprise to me, but at the same time it didn't. When he asked me, I didn't tense up, but I also didn't feel comfortable. I didn't want to lie, but I also didn't want to tell the truth either. But he was my best friend - probably my only friend. Regardless of the consequences, rather he hated me or not, I thought he had the right to know if he wanted to.

"Yeah, I am." It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. It was almost really easy to tell him. My voice didn't shake at all, and I didn't feel embarrassed or anything. 

Patrick didn't say anything.

* * *

"I'll see you tomorrow," Patrick said as I climbed out of his car.

"Are you okay?" I said. 

He looked at me weirdly. "What about?"

"About everything. About what I told you?"

"I'm cool," Patrick said. He sounded convincing enough. "If you're not busy, we can hang out tomorrow."

"I'm never busy," I replied. I closed the door and went up to the front door. Patrick drove off before I went inside. As I approached the porch, I saw there was a piece of paper attached to the door. I walked up the doorstep and ripped the paper off. There was only one sentence written on the paper; The words were written in dark red ink, almost like blood. Shivers went down my spine as I read the message:

- I Won't Let You Have Him

To Be Continued..




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