Wild Card -- Chapter 2 -- The Barrier Method
A big black Tacoma with a "
Puro Pinché Beavers"
bumper sticker on the back sat in what had become its usual spot in Indie's driveway, and for some reason that pissed me off.
That's it? I just go home and he's there? No going out to find him. No long searches. No lying awake at night worrying if he's all right? Nothing. Cory's just
here
. That's really it?
Anger surfaced, boiling up through what should have been relief. He should have called me; told me something was up instead of making me come find him. If he was going to pull this shit, I would have had him meet me in Pax River. Mom and Dad would've loved to see him again; I fucking swear they love Cory more than they love me. We could have both enjoyed Christmas dinner with my family instead of eating the cold fucking leftovers I had to smell the entire agonizing fucking drive from my parents. We could be snuggled up under blankets right now, drinking beers and enjoying multiple rounds of Christmas desserts, while watching movies with my family. Instead, I was freezing my ass off in the middle of the night just because he wanted to come back early.
What the fuck was he thinking?
I pulled up next to his truck and shut off the car, thankful for the motion security lights above the seldom-used garage as the light at the front door hadn't been turned on. Cory had this blue tarp tied down over the bed, and the cab was haphazardly packed almost to the roof, which was strange. I know Cory had packed little more than his laptop and a duffle bag of clothes and toiletries for his trip home. He still had clothing, and half his shoe collection besides, back in Texas, so he didn't need much. I stole a quick peek under the tarp. I could make out the shapes of boxes, storage bins, and trash bags. Maybe he brought over more of his stuff since he had moved out of the dorms. Not that he'd said anything about that the last time we talked. I don't even remember him talking about anything of consequence then.
I shrugged off the thought and walked up the path to the front door, which had not been locked. I wondered at the unlocked door and the completely dark and quiet house, as well as the random crap I almost tripped over in the foyer. His bookbag and shoes lay a little way from the front, as if he'd just dropped shit wherever he happened to shed it. A few feet away lay his coat. Perhaps he was one of those closet slobs who would fake neatness only when others were around to complain. As such, I fully expected a kitchen full of dirty dishes, but only one half-empty glass of water rested on the counter. Of course, I could follow the trail of clothes in our bedroom like bread crumbs. Pajamas and a hoodie from the door to the bed. Jeans, shirt, socks and underwear from the bed to the bathroom.
A soft whimper drew my attention to the mound in the center of the bed, topped by a familiar head of soft blond hair—a little longer on top than when he came to Virginia, but still short on the sides—that poked out of the blankets.
Cory.
My jaw clenched as I started getting more pissed off. The little fucker had come home and taken a shower, then mucked around in his pajamas before going back to bed. And, in all that time he didn't think to call or text me so I'd know he was safe. I'd worried myself sick, made my family worry, Lord knows how his friends were taking this, and his ass had been here the whole time sleeping as if nothing was wrong. I crossed my arms at the side of the bed, watching him doze without a care in the goddamn world.
"Cory," I growled. "Wake up." I plopped down on the bed and jostled his shoulder when he didn't respond.
His blue eyes blinked groggily as he looked up at me. "'Rain?" he asked. His voice did this miserable crack in the middle of my name, and he reached a hand out from under the covers. The man scooting closer and wrapping his arms around my waist bore little resemblance to the jovial guy I was used to. Dark circles puffed up under his eyes like he'd been sleeping worse than I had these last few days.
My anger cooled as if doused with ice water.
"What happened?" I asked. "Why are you here?"
Cory didn't answer. I lay down with him, and he buried his face in my chest. My arms came around his shoulders, and I felt him shake. A growing spot of dampness where his face pressed into my shirt was my only warning before the shaking became small hiccoughs. I didn't have enough time to brace myself before that fell into muffled sobs.
I ran through every comforting gesture I could remember—rub his back, comb your fingers through his hair, rock him gently, kiss the top of his head, apologize (even if you have no fucking clue what you're apologizing for), call him pet names, promise him that you'll make everything okay, tell him that you're here and not going anywhere—but if anything, trying to soothe him made the crying worse. His tears kept coming, soaking through my shirt so that it clung to me.
Fuck
.
"Hush,
gatito
," I whispered, tightening my arms around his shoulders, my mind reeling as his hands clenched the back of my t-shirt. "I got you."
I had him alright, but I had no idea what to do with him.
~*~*~*~
I wondered what Juaquin would make of me giving my boyfriend the shirt off my back so he could clean his face with it. My shirt had enough of his tears and snot all over it, so letting Cory blow his nose with it wouldn't be that much of a stretch.
Not exactly a Dutch oven, but it had to mean something, right?
Is there a such thing as the "crying barrier" or the "non-sexual body fluids barrier"? Would not freaking out over being drenched in my boyfriend's snot mean the same thing? I resisted the urge to call my brother and ask his advice again. My roommates and I had polished off most of the beer before we left for the break, and who knows how much alcohol Juaquin had on hand after our extended family left for the night.
While Cory put himself back to rights, I shot off a few texts to all involved parties—
I found him. He's okay. Details when I can.
I got texts from both of his best friends, his two former suitemates, and our current fourth roommate reminding me that Cory liked to starve himself when he got depressed. I set about getting something small for Cory to eat, a protein shake and some saltine crackers. Maybe some of the fruit salad Mom had packed for us. Easy things in case his stomach was upset.
Cory was sitting up in bed once I got back to the room. He'd only been wearing his trunks when I came home, so I finished stripping off my clothes and joined him in bed once I got down to my boxer briefs. I scooted behind him so he rested between my legs and pulled him back against my chest. He adjusted the blankets around us.
"Drink," I told him, handing over the protein shake.
"I'm not hungry," he said, pushing my hand away. "And my stomach kinda hurts."
"Not a request,
gatito
," I replied. He glared over his shoulder, and I raised my eyebrow, daring him to argue. Cory took the bottle with a small huff and sipped the contents. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Breakfast."
I rested my head against the headboard. "How long ago was that?"
"Day before yesterday," he mumbled weakly.
"Fucking hell, Cory!" I said. "No fucking wonder you feel sick. Goddammit!" I grabbed the bag of crackers and shoved it at him. "Hurry up and drink that, then eat some of these. Later, I'll find a Sprite or ginger ale somewhere to help with your stomach." His shoulders dropped and he sniffled a little. I cursed. The last thing I wanted to do was set him off, but he was rubbing at his eyes again. Somehow he knew how to make everything better when I felt down, but I only seemed to be good at fucking it up when he needed me to return the favor.
I stroked my hands over his belly while he nibbled on saltines.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
I kissed the back of his shoulder. "Ready to tell me why you're not in Texas?"
"Yeah," he said, but was silent for a while. His body was still warm from being under the blankets. Getting back in bed felt heavenly after running around the cold as fuck house in just my jeans and socks. I don't think Cory had touched the thermostat from where Indie had set it at before he left for break. I adjusted the temperature on my way back, and the heat had kicked on, but it was still fucking freezing. Cory's warmth spread over me, and I nuzzled closer as he swallowed the rest of the cracker and washed it down with the protein shake. "I got kicked out."
