Moving On - 2
This story includes explicit depictions of sexual acts between consenting adult males. If you are underage or it is illegal to view this for any reason, consider yourself warned. If you find this material offensive, I have to wonder why you came here in the first place.
This story is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to people, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.
As author, I retain all rights to this story, and it cannot be reproduced or published without explicit consent from me. This work is copyright © Fitz, 2011.
This is my first attempt at writing a story, so I would love to hear any feedback, be it positive or negative. Send me an email with any comments or questions at movingonstory@gmail.com. I'll try to respond promptly to all emails, but any flames will be ignored.
I would like to thank Jay Gordon at www.jaygordanstories.com, for much of the inspiration to write this, in addition to the many amazing stories that I've read by a wide number of authors. Jay's stories may have given me the inspiration, but all the excellent writers have created a desire in me to write. Thank you all.
My story is also hosted at fitz.thestorycloset.org, which will likely be updated more frequently than nifty. Later chapters may require you to register with the site, which is free.
Ultimately, this is a love story. It will take a while to develop, but the journey is essential. I hope you enjoy.
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CHAPTER TWO:
REQUIEM
I ran, pushing myself as fast and as hard as I could even though I was wearing a suit. I must have been quite a sight for anyone that I passed. My face was red with exertion, sweat forcing my pale brown hair to form odd clumps, and tears were streaming down my face.
I knew that today I could run for quite a while. Even if I hadn't been in good shape, my adrenalin levels were through the roof. Combine that with the stress and emotions that I had been holding in for the past three days, and I was currently an unstoppable force.
As I ran, I allowed my mind to wander and to think back on our life together.
I was the tall one. I used to tease Steve that he was a shrimp at 5'9". He would respond that I was only 6'1" because I had my entire head shoved up my ass. He argued that if I ever managed to extract myself, I would discover that I was actually seven feet tall. We used to joke and tease each other constantly. There were very few occasions, most of them very early in our nine-year relationship, where one of us would actually offend the other. We made it our mission to try to outdo the other with the jabs we would throw back and forth. Whoever couldn't manage a reasonable comeback first was the loser. The winner's prize was having yet another thing to tease the loser about. It was our favorite game, and we were quite equally matched. The game was especially fun when we found ourselves in awkward social situations. People could never figure out that we were just messing with each other until we broke down laughing.
We both kept each other in good shape. He was the best workout buddy anyone could ever ask for. Of course, the fact that every exercise I did accentuated one attribute or another in a manner that drove Steve crazy, was a perfect motivator. Simply working out made me seem sexy to him. And I was very happy with the motivation. At 28, I still had the flat stomach I had worked so hard to get in college. My chest was reasonably well defined, I had great legs, and my arms were decent. I never spent much time focusing on toning my arms, because Steve couldn't check out my ass as easily. And I was always happy to oblige his lecherous looks. Obviously, the motivation went both ways.
He would love to see my hair now, I thought. All clumped and matted with sweat. Steve always teased me mercilessly for the amount of time I spent putting gel in and mussing it just to make it look like I'd just gotten out of bed. He actually tried to get me to just go out immediately after waking up and see if anyone noticed the difference. I would never give in, because I knew he was right. But I loved my hair. Before we met, it was too long to do anything with. Then, I started cutting it too short to do anything with.
If asked in `polite company', Steve would always tell people that his favorite part of my body was my eyes – my bright blue eyes that he claimed had a hypnotic power over him. I kept threatening to try them out on other people and see if everyone was similarly affected. On the other hand, if the person asking was a friend, or Steve was feeling particularly horny, when asked, he'd immediately tell them about my 8.5 inch cock. I always acted mortified when he told people, and I would always respond by telling him that I don't talk about his three inch dick like that. It was actually a quite satisfying seven, but it isn't as much fun to tease him for being well endowed. And Steve wasn't exaggerating when he told people about me. He was bragging.
My thoughts continued to wander as I started to push myself harder, and I began to think back a few days ago.
I had gone out to buy some groceries. Steve had given me the list, like usual. It'd only been a couple days, but I can't honestly remember what set me off. Something on the list irritated me. We had a brief spat before I left, with the little annoyances of the last few days being aired. I don't remember what they were. I don't remember what was said. All I remember was the last words out of my mouth as I closed the door.
"You know I love you, but sometimes you really fucking piss me off!" I swear I wasn't that mad, and nothing completely out of the ordinary for me to say to him during one of our spats. But that's what I said. My last words to him.
When I came home about an hour later, I grabbed all the bags I could, and stumbled to the door. It was open. Something was wrong. I dropped the bags, and I heard glass jars breaking. Like a bolt of lightning, I was inside the house.
Steve was lying on his back in the middle of the living room. His blood was pooling out from under him, staining the hardwood that had been the selling point to him when we bought this house a year ago. He was coughing and sputtering, barely able to take a breath, and he didn't even seem to have the strength to open his eyes.
I yelled his name and dropped down to him. He had been shot twice – once in the abdomen and once in the chest. I tried to put all of my weight on those two points, thinking maybe I could stop the blood from leaving his body. Maybe I could keep my husband alive.
Suddenly, his eyes opened, and he looked directly into mine.
"Scott," he managed to wheeze, "Don't"
His entire body went limp. I knew he was gone. I just threw myself on top of him, sobbing and rocking, hoping that by doing so I could bring him back.
Suddenly, I was torn out of reliving the worst day of my life, when I ran into something. I fell over, and as I looked up, and all I could see where brilliant green eyes. They were so intriguing that I felt like I was being drawn in. I blinked, and shook my head. I was hoping to somehow clear the fog that had been filling my mind since he died.
I realized that I was in front of a coffee shop about two miles from the cemetery that I had just fled from. I assumed from the rainbow flags in front of the store that it was gay friendly, but it wouldn't have mattered anyways. This was one of the sections of town with very a large gay population.
I was just about to start running again when my personal roadblock stuck out his hand and introduced himself.
"Hi, I'm Will Drake. Sorry forgetting in your way! Where are you going in such a hurry?"
I thought about just blowing him off, but then I realized that I was still crying. The slow flow of gentle tears gave way to deep chest-heaving sobs as I began to let out only the beginnings of the sorrow that had consumed me.
"Do you need someone to talk to?" He asked gently, rubbing my back. "I've been told I'm a great listener."
I nodded in spite of myself. I think at that point, I just needed to get everything off my chest. Besides, I had never met this guy before. The worst that could happen is that I'd make a fool of myself and then never see him again.
Will grabbed me by the shoulder and escorted me into a seat. I managed to introduce myself, but only barely. Will nodded his head as if to acknowledge that he had heard me. He just stared for a few moments before he started asking me questions. My guess is that he didn't catch my name through the sobs, and was just hoping that I would calm down before he started asking questions.
After about ten minutes, I had managed to nearly cry myself out. To Will's credit, he didn't look embarrassed to be seen with a blubbering mess like me, nor did he look down at me with pity. His green eyes just looked like deep pools of concern.
"So do you always literally knock people off their feet when you meet them? I mean, you didn't need to run into me to do that. Just seeing you in that suit is enough for me." Will asked. It just overwhelmed me. I quickly stood up and started to head towards the door.
Will was on his feet just as quickly. He gently grabbed my arm, stopping me mid-flight.
"Sorry, I just assumed you were gay. Pretty much everyone in here is," Will said, pointing around the room. "I really didn't mean anything by it. I was just trying to ease the tension a little."
I let out a deep breath. Will seemed to be genuinely interested in just being a friend. I realized that I desperately needed someone to talk to. I hadn't been able to talk to anyone yet. I didn't want my friends to know how deep my wounds ran. I slowly walked back to the table and sat down.
"So where are you running from? If it wasn't Tuesday, I'd guess a wedding, so....Oh, shit! I'm so sorry." Will rambled as he tried to make conversation light until he inadvertently stuck his foot in his mouth again.
"It's Steve," I could feel the tears welling up again. You would think that I wouldn't have any moisture left to cry out. "Steve...my husband. Steve di-" I just trailed off. I couldn't finish the sentence. Will just looked at me patiently. I noticed that his eyes were wet with unshed tears by now. "umm, He died."
Will just nodded his head sympathetically. "Can I ask how Steve died? I'm not trying to push you, but maybe talking will make you feel better."
I thought for a moment and began to speak. I told him about our little fight. How I left mad. How I never got to apologize. How I dropped the groceries when I saw his body lying in a pool of blood. How I held him as the life drained out of Him. I couldn't tell Will about his last words yet or the fact that he died mad at me.
I continued to tell Will about the funeral, including what was going on in my head, and what I said to the crowd of supporters. While I had been hesitant to tell Will the details of his death, I spared no detail from the funeral. If the situation had been different, I'm sure that the story would have caused him to chuckle.
Will had tears streaming down his face and wasn't even trying to hide them. He was clearly deeply moved by my story. I then noticed that I wasn't crying. For the first time in several days, my eyes were dry. I think I actually felt a little better. Not better, that's not the right word. Maybe it is. I really couldn't describe how I was actually feeling.
Will cleared his throat and tried his best to smile for me to let me know that everything was going to be okay. I knew that it was a lie. Nothing could ever be ok again. All that was left of my life was pain and despair.
"I want you to do something for me." Will said softly.
"What's that?"
"First, promise me that you will just try. That you won't get mad and run away. Please promise me."
I had no clue where he was going with it. I didn't like it, but he'd been so kind listening as I told him my story. Apprehensively, I gave him my word that I would try.
"I noticed the entire time you talked you never said Steve's name whenever you talked about his death. I want you to say `Steve died'."
I was angry for a moment, but his eyes only showed that he wanted to see if I could. I decided it was the least I could do, despite the pain. Will had been so patient. If I had been more thinking more rationally, I might have been a little taken aback that a complete stranger was being so kind and understanding.
"St-St-Steve, um, Steve, um, Ste-Steve d-" was all I could stutter out. I couldn't say it. The words were just stuck in my throat. My cheeks were wet again. The tears had returned.
"Look, my mind isn't fully functional right now. I know he's dead, at least most of me does. I just can't say it. It's too, I don't know..." I was struggling to find the rights words to convey my meaning, "final." At this point, I actually dropped my head into my hands, and started to cry. They were soft, not the painful sobs from earlier.
"Hey, don't beat yourself up over this. You tried. You're hurting worse than I can imagine right now, and yet you still allowed yourself to try to push yourself to say the one thing you don't want to admit has happened. I'm proud of you!"
As he said that, I did feel better. And I mean actually better. It was by a miniscule amount, but it was progress. I realized what he was trying to do. He was just trying to help. I just hoped that we could become friends. If he could make me feel better, even by just a tiny fraction, in only an hour, I couldn't even begin to imagine how much he could help me repair my mind and heart if he became a friend.
Will and I continued to talk for another hour or so. It was all idle small talk. He didn't talk about himself at all. I had already talked way too much about myself. We talked about the weather, movies, and even sports, which was laughable in hindsight. Neither one of us cared about sports at all. Still, we both did our best to convey knowledge about the local teams.
I actually smiled a little when we started talking basketball. We were doing our best to talk about a sport neither of us had ever watched, let alone played. Neither of us even knew the name of the city's NBA team. That didn't stop us from trying.
Will was great at leading the conversation. He carefully stayed away from anything that might be a painful subject for me. Whenever he sensed that he was venturing into a painful topic, such as a movie that Steve liked, he quickly changed started talking about something completely different. I really appreciated it.
Suddenly, I became aware that I had been sitting there for a long time.
"Shit!" I said, louder than I intended. "I have to get back. My family is probably still waiting for me."
"Hand me your phone," Will said. "I'll program my number. Just call me if you ever need to talk again. You look better right now, but I'm sure things are going to get worse again. Just know that I'm here if you ever need a friendly ear."
"Do you want me to give you my number?" I was hesitant. That was a step that I wasn't sure I was ready to take. It felt too much like I was pushing Steve out of my life.
"Nope. Right now, my only concern is your well being. Besides, I'll get it whenever you decide to call me. By the way, did you know that you have 74 missed calls? Like, no shit. 74. They seem to mostly be from either an `Ethan Hudgins', or a `Tom O'Neil'."
"That would be my brother, and Scott's brother. Tom must be really worried if he's calling. I haven't even been able to look at him since he showed up. They are identical twins."
"I'm not sure that I would be able to look at him either. I think it would almost feel like you were looking at a mirage."
The fact that Will was able to connect to my feelings made me feel a bit better about the feelings I was having towards Tom. My attitude may have been poor, but maybe my treatment of him was actually understandable considering the circumstances.
Before Will handed me the phone back, it vibrated again with another incoming call.
"It's Tom calling again. Do you want to answer it? If you want, I can talk to him instead." He was looking after me like a brother. His caring was genuine, and I had gotten no sense of unwanted interest in me after the initial comment.
"Go ahead. I still can't stand to hear his voice. It's just too similar to Steve's."
I had never had any problem telling the two of them apart. Somehow, I was even able to tell them apart in their baby pictures. I think it's because Steve and I dated for almost six months before I even met his brother. By that point, I was so familiar with everything about Steve, that to me they looked and sounded very different. But right now, they were just too similar.
"Hello, this is Scott's phone," Will said. I could only hear the one side of the conversation, but I had a pretty good sense of the conversation.
"No, he's fine. He is sitting across from me at a coffee shop. He ran into me as I was walking, and he looked like he needed someone to talk to, so we went inside and started to talk."
"Actually, he was just about to leave."
"Ok, He'll be there soon." With that, Will hung up and handed my phone back to me.
"C'mon," he said as he stood up from the table. "I'll drive you back. I'm not sure that you're ready to be alone with the thoughts going on in your head."
I knew he was right, so I just followed him to his car without a word.
As we got near the cemetery, my entire body started to tense. Will noticed and just gently put his hand on top of mine. Such a small gesture of support coming from someone that had been a complete stranger earlier in the day really helped to make me feel that it was somehow possible that everything might one day be ok.
We pulled up at the cemetery, and he stopped the car. As I looked to his gravesite, I saw that Dick and Lydia were still there.
"Can you walk up with me? I don't think I can face his parents alone." I asked him.
"I understand if you have other things you need to do. You've already spent a lot of time today listening to a complete stranger exposing their soul." I quickly added. I then realized that this was the first time that I'd actually taken someone else's feelings into account since his death. It felt, well I'm not exactly sure how it felt. Maybe good?
"You're right about me spending a lot of time with you today, but you needed it. That's more important than running errands. Besides, it won't take the rest of the day. I can spare a few more minutes," Will said, as he turned off the car and started to get out, undermining any chance I had at checking to see if he was sure.
"Thank you," was all I was able to offer in response. "For everything. Really."
He followed a few feet behind me as I walked back to his grave. Mom and Dad, Emma and Ethan, and Michelle and Dustin were talking with Tom, while Lydia and Dick were standing next to his grave. Everyone else had already left. Not that I was surprised. I had been gone for two hours, so the funeral had been over for a while.
As soon as Richard saw me approaching, he stormed over to me. Dad and Ethan saw this and came running in case things became violent.
"Listen to me, you little shit. I don't know where in the hell you get off making a mockery of my son's funeral. I am his father, and that means more than just a silly little piece of paper. It means that I have my son's best interests at heart, and I'm not going to allow for second guessing by some faggot!"
I staggered as if I had been slapped. Actually, more like I had just been hit in the face with a brick. I looked over and noticed Dustin, Emma, and Michelle trying to restrain my dad and Ethan, who wanted nothing more than to tear Dick limb from limb.
"I actually thought that you had feelings for my son," Dick continued in his rant. "Instead, you cause a scene, leave his funeral and come back with some new toy that you've probably been fucking since the moment you left the cemetery."
Thankfully, with that Dick stormed off, grabbing Lydia as they left the cemetery. As the tension slowly lifted, everyone slowly began to talk quietly. Everyone seemed to be avoiding me, but I guess they were just trying to give me some space. Will stood awkwardly about 10 feet from me, very unsure what to do.
Just as Tom started to walk over to me, I saw Michelle and Emma walk over and start to engage Will in conversation.
"Hey," Tom said, obviously unsure what to say to me.
"Hey," I responded. It was the first word that I had managed to say to Steve's twin after his death. Tom realized that, and it seemed to break some of the tension between the two of us.
"I hope you know that he doesn't mean any of that, right?" Tom asked. "I've never seen him act the way he has until since Steve, well you know."
"Yeah, despite all of our differences in the past, he's never really seemed hateful. I just wish he would realize how badly I'm hurting."
"I think that there's a lot of that going around. I'm not sure anyone is really paying attention to how much other people are hurting at the moment," Tom added showing off the insight that had made us grow so close over the years.
"Whatever," I responded. I wasn't in the mood to think about how other people were feeling, let alone care.
"So what's up with that guy? I know you, so I know that Dad was completely wrong, but I don't think I've ever met him before. Besides, if I had, he would've already been here."
I proceeded to tell him about running into Will, literally, and finding solace in a stranger.
"Maybe it's the fact that he doesn't know me, doesn't know Steve, or anyone else that I know. It just felt good to talk. We were just about to leave when you called. I never expected him to offer me a ride back. When I saw Dick, I just couldn't walk up here alone."
"Scott, please remember that Steve would want you to move on. If this Will guy is that person, then go for it."
I could tell that Tom was trying to be helpful, but I just wasn't having anything to with any part of that statement.
"First off, how can you tell me that Steve would want me to forget about the last nine years of my life? Second, the only feelings I have for Will are akin to the same feelings I have for Ethan. Or you. Any feelings that I have for him are entirely platonic."
Before Tom had the chance to respond, our conversation was interrupted by a loud slap behind me. I spun around in time to see Will recoil as Dustin grabbed Michelle and pull her away.
"How DARE you?!?!" Michelle screeched. I hadn't heard that tone since her and I had walked in on her then-boyfriend having sex with her roommate sophomore year of college. "Don't you have sense of decency? He just buried his husband!"
With those last words, I felt the all too familiar tears begin to fall. It was somewhat comforting to cry. Even though I wasn't able to feel any emotions anymore, it was reassuring that I was apparently still having them. More than anything, I was confused as to what set Michelle off like that. She was always the calm in the center of the storm.
"This fucker just told me that he thinks you're hot. The nerve! YOU BASTARD!" Michelle informed me as she tried once again to lunge at a very terrified Will.
Ethan and Emma were quick to jump between Will and Michelle just in case she managed to break free from her husband.
"Stop it!" Emma yelled.
Michelle froze mid-lunge. Dustin loosened his grip a little, and she almost fell before he helped her find her balance.
"I really didn't mean anything by it! I wasn't about to throw myself at Scott or anything. It's not my fault that I find him attractive. I can't even imagine what he's going through right now. All I know is that he's hurting and he opened up to me. Why, I don't know. But I do know that I'm going to be there for him if he ever needs anyone to talk to. I'll listen, and I promise that I won't act on my attraction unless Scott makes it clear that he feels the same way."
Michelle thought for a second before deciding that Will was telling the truth. Slowly she relaxed. Dustin noticed this and released his grip on her.
Ethan turned to Will.
"Dude, everyone here has gone through something terribly tragic today. I want to apologize to you for all of our actions, even that bastard Richard. None of us have yet to figure out how to channel our emotions, and unfortunately you are getting the brunt of it right now. You seem like a pretty chill guy, but please leave. No offense, but we just need time to relax."
"No, I get it. I knew that by getting out of the car, I would end up facing the pointy-end of the stick. Scott, are you ok if I head out?"
I just nodded
"Good. You have my phone number if you ever need to talk."
With that Will turned and left the cemetery.
My parents came up to the group.
"We were hoping to spend some more time with you before we left, Scott," my dad said. "But as it stands, we really have to hurry to make our flight. I have to fly to Tokyo for a meeting tomorrow morning. I'll have my phone on me if you ever need to talk."
"Honey, promise me that you're going to be ok," Mom said, hugging my goodbye. "I know you are hurting worse than you ever thought it was possible, but trust me that it will get better. I really hate that we have to leave while you are hurting, but unfortunately life goes on."
"Not for him it won't," I moaned.
"Promise me," she repeated in my ear, rubbing my back.
As she pulled away, I managed to nod my head slightly. She saw it, and I think she even believed it.
Just as my parents were walking away, Tom came up.
"I just wanted you to know that I'm here for you, even if you aren't ready for that yet. I'm going to head back to the hotel, but call me if you need anything."
Silently, I walked back to Ethan's car with Ethan and Emma right following me. Dustin shouted out that he'd see us back at the house as he and Michelle walked back to theirs.
Even after everything that happened that day, I still did not want it to end. I did not want to go back home. I knew that as soon as I got there, more memories would surface.
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I really hope that you are enjoying the story so far. Now we know a lot more about Scott and some of the details surrounding Steve's death. Do you think Richard is really that hateful? Was Scott wrong for bringing Will back to the cemetery?
Don't worry, there's a lot more to come!
Don't forget to send me any questions or comments to movingonstory@gmail.com.