(Betrayal, Part 3)



Copyright November 2000

I watch him. My friend, my roommate. The man I've loved since college. All I can do is watch helplessly as his world crumbles around him.

That night I stood in my room, my hands clenched in fists, listening to that bastard break my friend's heart. Even now as I stare at the hole in my wall, I can still hear the hateful, the spiteful words he threw at him. The ache of my broken hand is nothing compared to the ache in my heart as I watch my friend struggle through this hardship.

Only after that fucking asshole stormed out of the apartment did I venture from my room. I stood in the hallway, the heart-wrenching sobs of my friend tearing me apart. I don't know how long I remained outside his room, hesitating. Would he have welcomed my embrace at that moment? Or would my hug only have reminded him of what he had lost?

That night I felt so confused . . . one part of me wanting to comfort him, shelter him from this pain. One part of me wanting to love, to offer myself as the man he could rebuild his life with.

But I could not choose a course of action. Instead, I spent the entire night standing guard at his doorway, praying to the heavens for both of us.

It's been two months since my friend was betrayed and abandoned by his lover. Two long months for both of us. Most of the time I find him locked away in his room, his cries drifting through the walls haunting me. How many times have I gone to his door desperate to console him, needing to pull him into my arms and cradle him close until the tears run out?

I have stood at his door, my hands resting on the rough wooden surface. I long to knock down this barrier between us. To let him know there is someone else.

I know he feels alone in this. But he's not . . . I'm here. Waiting for him to see me. Me . . . not the roommate, not the friend. But me . . . the man who loves him, cherishes him, adores him.

I'm afraid. I don't want to push myself on him. Not now when he's hurt and recovering from a devastating loss. But I feel if I don't make my feelings known, someone may step in and give him the love I have hidden away for so long.

I know the pain in his heart is relentless, giving him no rest. I watch him wander through our apartment, touching the furniture, skimming his fingers over the surfaces where his lover's things once stood.

One early morning when I was searching his room for dirty laundry, I found he had hidden a photograph of the two of them under his pillow. I stared at it and fought back the urge to break the glass so that I could rip that bastard's image away.

My friend deserved better, deserved more. And I want to give him all that; give him everything. Dare I? Is it the right time to offer him my heart and soul?

I hear his keys in the door. I turn off the bright lights and move to intercept him, blocking his nightly escape. The need to feel his body against mine, to hold him close overwhelms me. I release the restraint on my feelings and do what I've wanted to do for so long.

I take him into my arms and kiss him gently.

To be continued . . .

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