23

The pain in my chest has dissipated substantially since my talk with Johnathon, but the hard, raw nervous feeling in my stomach is heavy like a deadweight. I don't know what Johnathon did, and the thought frightens me, though I don't think he would have jeopardized my chances in any way. That's not even half of it however. I'm so scared of Ethan right now.

Once again, I messed up. We both acted out of fear and we both hurt each other, I guess we both made mistakes, but I think I have once again taken the fuck-up trophy. I need him to forgive me, I'm so terrified he won't. But Johnathon says he loves me.

But Johnathon also says he's going to be pissed about what he did. I don't even know what that means.

I sigh and try to stop worrying, but that's pretty pointless. I've been worrying for hours already since Johnathon left. I have at least twelve hours before I can even go to Ethan's, but I can't sleep and I don't know what to do, so I worry.

I'm making myself sick to my stomach worrying. There's so much guilt and so much doubt, but there's hope, too. I have to believe he wants me back, I have to believe that I'm good enough for him, I have to believe that I didn't mess this up so bad that it can't be repaired.

But I do doubt myself, I wonder if I really deserve the chance. What if I mess up again? What if I can't do it? What if I was never meant to love anyone at all? What if I keep hurting him? I don't want to hurt him.

Giving up now would hurt him, so I can't do that. Every time shit gets bad, I just have to remember how much I love him. I do love him, so much. That is what matters.

Nevertheless, I still start to panic.

I force myself to go back to my painting room. I make myself sit down and paint. But the paintings are still ridiculously shitty and I'm sick of blue. I want green.

I want green and there is barely any left. So I mix a little with white, a little with black, and a little with blue, which leaves me with three different greens. I paint the first thing that comes to mind when I think of green.

I love Ethan Anthony Godrick Bennett—Christ, he has a long name.

I love his eyes.

I love the way he smells.

I love his smile.

I love his ridiculous hair.

I love his dirty mouth.

I love his pubes.

I paint everything I love about him, down to the little mole right above his ass crack.

My iPod is blaring sappy love songs in my ears and by the time that I think I'm finished, my cheeks are killing me because I've been smiling so damn much. The canvas is covered in green, green words about him—it's very Ethan. I love it.

I roll my neck around, loosening some of the kinks and pluck one of the earbuds out of my ears.

Thud thud thud thud thud thud...

Christ, what is that? Couldn’t be J, could it?

I jump up off of my stool, toss my iPod aside, and listen, and the banging doesn't stop. It doesn't even falter. It's continuous and loud, and I realize that it's at my front door. Whoever it is knocking is pissed off. I consider not answering it, but I can't just ignore it, it might be important. It's probably the police doing a courtesy check because someone called about my car being parked haphazardly in the same place for over a week. I have to answer it or they're going to bust that in looking for me, expecting to find me dead or some shit.

I stop in the bathroom on my way to the door to wash the paint off of my hands and to make sure that I don't look like a zombie or something. I took Johnathon's advice and showered and shaved after he left, because he was right, I looked terrible. I still look pretty shitty, compared to how I usually look, but at least I'm not at zombie status anymore.

It's pouring rain outside, I wonder if the police are really that worried. Just as I'm walking through the mudroom towards the door, the knocking stops. Everything goes quiet and I freeze, staring at the door.

I suddenly feel like I've just stepped into a slasher film and I expect my lights to go out. It thunders really loudly and the lights flicker. I shriek, quickly turning around to make sure no one is behind me. There isn't anyone there, of course, but holy shit. I haven't lost power yet, but I hate scary movies and I feel like I'm in one. If my power goes out, I'm going to huddle in a corner and cry like a baby. I don't want to die—and I really don't want to be cut into little pieces.

The knocking doesn't start again and I'm just standing there staring at the door. Would I be an idiot to open it? Or am I being an idiot for not opening it? It's not like it's likely there will be a murderer there, but what if there is?

My palms are sweaty, my hands are shaking, and my heart is racing. I'm so afraid to open the door. But I have to. I look out the side window first, but there is no one parked even remotely near my driveway. I think that makes it worse.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Okay, I can do this. It might be psycho James coming to kill me, but I can do this. I'll just scream and start hitting if whoever it is tries to attack me. I'm pretty decent-sized, I'm not tiny, I can totally take them. Unless they look like Johnathon, in which case I'm dead.

I force my hand to be steady and I slowly unlock the door. Carefully, I open it, as cautiously and quietly as I can. I should have turned on the porch light.

There, standing in the rain, is a man with his head bowed, dark hair shielding his face. He's drenched and shivering and he has something clenched in his hand.

A knife.

Oh, wait, those are flowers.

Flowers?

"Ah!"

"Jesus Christ!" I gasp, jumping backwards, startled by the surprised yell from the man before me.

The man has green eyes; familiar green eyes. Angry, cold, frightening green eyes.

"Damn, Jasper," he hisses.

A lump immediately forms in my throat. It's Ethan, he's here, and he's angry, but I don't care. He's here, and that's all that matters. I'm just so happy to see him. If he wants to yell at me for what an asshole I was to him, he can.

"Shit, no, I'm sorry," Ethan says quietly, his face instantly softening. He thrusts the flowers in his hand out at me. "Here, I brought you these. I don't know if you like flowers or what kinds or anything, but I saw these and I thought of you because they're pretty and they smell nice. I mean, I sound like such an idiot, I don't know what I'm doing," he mutters.

I'm completely dumbfounded. He bought me flowers? That's so sweet, no one has ever done that for me before! And he called me pretty! And he thinks I smell nice.

"What I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry for the shit I said, Jasper. I'm so sorry. You don't have to let me in, I don't expect you to, I just want you to know that I'll stand out here in the rain every day freezing my ass off for you if I have to. I don't want us to be over. I want you back. Please."

A stupid smile overtakes my face. I want to tell him that I feel the same way, but I'm speechless and the damn smile is so big I can't talk anyway. He apologized, he wants me back, he even said please!

"You don't have to answer right now, you can think about it if you want to. Here, just take these, and I'll... go."

What? No. Why am I still standing here like an idiot? Jesus, he looks cold.

He reaches in hesitantly and places the flowers on my table where I usually set my keys and other shit. "I'll see you around, okay? You can call me if you want."

Holy shit, say something! "Wait, Ethan, don't go," I call as he starts to turn around to leave.

He turns back towards me, a sad smile on his face. "It's okay, Jasper, you're not ready yet, I understand."

"No, you don't understand," I insist with a stomp of my foot.

His mouth quirks, and his nose crinkles, and he so wants to laugh at me for stomping my foot, but he doesn't. The quirk disappears and he just frowns, all amusement gone. "It's okay, I won't give up, I'll be back so we can talk when you're ready. I can... I can be tolerant."

"No, it's not okay. I messed up, I failed you, again."

"Jasper—"

"No! Let me say this." I take a deep breath and look into his eyes, and I know. I don't just feel it, I know it. That void, it's gone, and it disappeared the second I saw his face. I can't live without him, I can't breathe without him. I need him. "I love you and I'm sorry," I say.

"What?" he asks breathlessly.

I swallow and repeat, "I'm sorry."

He flails his hand in my direction, staring at me with wide eyes. "No, the other part."

"It'll never happen again," I promise.

"You didn't even say that the first time!" he yells, slightly hysterical.

I smile and tell him what he apparently wants to hear, again. "I love you."

He hits me faster and harder than I expect him to. The movement is swift and full force. He just barrels into me, like as hard as he can, I swear.

I gasp and lose my balance because I haven't slept or eaten and I've turned into a sissy. I nearly fall, but he catches me. He presses his mouth to mine, hard. He's soaking wet and he's so cold, but his mouth is hot on mine and his hands are everywhere they can reach.

"I missed you so much," he mumbles into my mouth, kissing me impossibly harder.

I moan and grip his neck, and his skin is like ice. God, I hadn't even noticed that he was still shivering. Jesus, he's going to get sick.

I pull away from his mouth and he tries to follow, obviously not wanting to end the kiss. "Hey," I say. "We need to get you out of these clothes."

His eyes open slowly to meet mine, and I swear, they're on fire. Can green eyes be on fire? Maybe they're smoldering. Whatever, they're just hot. "Okay," he says deeply. "You too."

Huh? He starts pulling my shirt off before it clicks. "That's not what I meant, you pervert," I laugh, tossing my shirt into the washer anyway because it's all wet from him. "You're dripping wet and freezing, you need to get out of these clothes before you catch pneumonia."

"Oh," he says, looking sad.

I lean back in to kiss him again and unbutton his pants while I suck on his perfect bottom lip. He seems to think I changed my mind because he's pushing my pants down. I just let him, since those are wet from him too, but he better not go for the undies. He doesn't, not right away at least, but he does opt to squeeze my ass.

I have to remind myself repeatedly that we are not having sex tonight.

His wet jeans pool around his ankles and get caught on his shoes, so I break the kiss and kneel before him. I'm pretty sure he's trying to put his cock right in my face. Maybe it's just my imagination. Either way, it takes me forever to get his shoes untied and off because my eyes keep wandering. He takes the liberty to peel his shirt off and my eyes greedily roam up to take all of him in again. I gasp at what I find.

Low on his right ribs is a huge horrible, painful looking purple bruise. "Johnathon," I growl.

"What, did he sign it too?" Ethan asks, looking down at the bruise.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

He runs his fingers through my hair and nods. "I don't think he broke anything. I'll be fine."

"Okay," I sigh. I lean in and carefully kiss the skin right below the bruise and he shudders—and I don't think it's from the cold, though it's definitely possible since his skin is covered in goosebumps. "Let's get you warmed up," I say, kissing again.

"You're doing a pretty good job of warming me up," he replies and I glance down.

Well, he's not lying, but I think only one certain part of his body is feeling warm right now. "I see that," I reply, "but I think that maybe we should concern ourselves with your health right now and deal with your sexual health a little later."

"Both are important," he says.

I roll my eyes up at him and lean in and kiss his stomach once more, though this time I can't resist flicking my tongue out and tasting his delicious abs. They tense under my tongue and his eyes grow unbearably more seductive as he watches me lick him.

"Mm," I moan quietly as I pull away and stand up. "You taste good there too."

He huffs when I grab his hand and start leading him through the house. "You're a tease, Jasper."

"I know," I sigh. "I'm really sorry Johnathon hit you." I try to remember that Johnathon was just fighting back and that he really did help, but he hurt my boy. I want to tear his balls off for that.

"It's not your fault. He's got one hell of an uppercut."

"It is my fault, if I wouldn't have been such an idiot—"

"Shh, baby, it's not your fault," he cuts me off.

I frown over my shoulder at him and he gives me this encouraging smile that doesn't help at all. I bring him back to my master bathroom and quickly get the hot water going in the shower.

"Are you going to come in with me, keep me warmed up?" he asks, sticking his fingers into the underwear over my hip bones.

I have to fight to keep control over my body, I so desperately want to grind against him right now. But, God, we can't do this tonight. Not after what happened and not with him being half-hypothermic.

"I'll go get you something warm to wear," I say, avoiding his question and answering it at the same time. I kiss him chastely but he doesn't really respond to it.

He has this miserable, heartbroken look on his face, and it makes me pause, a chill of fear running down my spine.

"Did what I said hurt you too much? Do you not want me this way anymore?" he asks quietly.

"No, Ethan," I sigh, reaching for his hand. "We both said some hurtful things, but you can't change the way I feel about you. I'll always want you, in every way."

"Are you sure?" he pries with trembling lips.

"Yes," I say adamantly.

"You were right," he whispers. "I was pushing you away and when I said that, I remember thinking that I had to do anything I could to make you stay. I might as well have just told you to leave for saying what I said. I didn't even realize what I was saying, how wrong it was for me to say it. I'm so sorry, I'll never use sex against you like that again. I'm so sorry."

I squeeze his hand, and his lips are trembling so hard, I just want him to get in the shower, but he seems to think he has to say everything right now.

"I just need you to know, Jasper, I want to be with you. I want to have sex with you. I do care, very much, about you and us, and I want us to be together."

"I know," I reassure him. "We'll have plenty of time to talk and work shit out tomorrow, okay? Please, just please get in the shower now."

He smiles a little. "I'm not that cold."

"My ass you're not that cold, you're practically blue! Just get in there and get warm. I'll bring you clothes and we'll go to bed and sleep, cause I'm tired and I need you, so please."

He nods and grasps my neck, pulling my mouth to his. Once again, his mouth is hot and soft, yet so hard, and he really tastes good. I can feel him shifting and I think he's taking off his boxer-briefs, but I'm not sure until he is putting them in my hands. Then he turns and I watch his bare ass disappear behind my frosted glass shower door. And I'm kicking myself in the nuts for giving up the chance to be in there, soaping up that perfect, tight little ass.

I take his underwear back out to the washing machine then head back to my room to find him something to wear. I dig around in my pajama drawer and find some flannel pants that I've probably worn like once—I really prefer nudity. I find him one of my favorite black v-necks and then I bite the bullet and go back into my bedroom to find his favorite underwear. They're his, he should have them back, and now that I have him to snuggle with again, they'll basically be useless to me.

I fold all of the stuff up nicely, for whatever reason, and carry it into the bathroom. I'm not moving very quietly and I assume he hears me in there, but he moans and I wonder if maybe he doesn't. But then I assume that maybe he's just enjoying his shower. I think about it though, and that really didn't sound like a 'well, this feels nice' moan. It was more of a 'oh my God, that feels amazing' moan—and I know his moans.

He moans again and this one is more of a 'yeah, that's the spot, baby' moan.

"Are you masturbating?" I ask incredulously.

"Yeah," he answers, like he totally doesn't give a shit that I know. He probably doesn't though. I've seen him cum before, and he was obviously horny when he got in the shower. I'm not sure why I'm so surprised. "Does that bother you?"

"No, shit no, I'm just surprised," I admit.

"Why? You can't seriously expect me to have been able to sleep with the raging hard-on you gave me. I'm getting nice and hot, just like you wanted," he snickers.

I realize a little belatedly that he's going to smell like my soap when he gets out of there. The thought drives me crazy and I slip out of the bathroom. I grab a handful of tissues from the nightstand and dig around in the drawer for some lube and squirt some into my palm.

My useless dick has been fully resurrected. It's harder than ever and has been since Ethan started kissing me again. He's absolutely right, we both need to ease some of the tension if we're going to sleep together without humping first.

I can hear the shower running from my room so I sit down on my bed with my back facing the door, just in case. I slide my underwear just low enough that they won't hinder my movement and groan quietly as soon as my slick hand is wrapped around my cock.

I fall back on my elbow, half-reclining, and I suddenly care if he catches me about as much as he did that I caught him. What's the worst thing that can happen if your boyfriend catches you jerking off anyway?

It takes an embarrassingly short time for me to get off, but I blame it on the fact that I haven't cum since our last dry hump on his couch. It exhausts me and I can barely manage to clean myself up before I climb under the covers.

The shower finally shuts off about five minutes later and it takes Ethan another ten minutes to finally come out. I'm just trying not to fall asleep without him.

He laughs when he sees me in bed. "You look like you just got laid," he says.

"Mm, you too," I mumble.

He snorts and I hold the blanket up for him. He climbs in and we both gravitate towards each other, enveloping with arms and legs and lips. He does smell like my shampoo and he's wearing my clothes and it's probably the hottest thing ever. He's still shivering though, so I can ignore the hot for the cold.

"I really missed you," he whispers, kissing my throat lightly.

"I missed you too, baby. I love you," I whisper back.

His breath catches and I hear him swallow. "I love you too," he mouths. I don't know that I actually hear the words, but I feel them. I feel his lips move and even if it's not really what he said, I can feel it in the way he's holding me.

I know he loves me.

I tuck my face into his chaotic hair—which smells like my shampoo!—and I drift.