Hollow

It's about 2 a.m. when I get home. I see that you’re still awake: there’s light in the bedroom window, that little bedside lamp we got for Christmas from Sam and Jess. It casts a soft yellowish light that gives more warmth than actual light—you can't really read a shit with it. But it looks nice.

"Where have you been?" 

Your voice is soft, not accusing, but I still feel guilty.

"Walking. Couldn't sleep and didn't want to keep you awake. Sorry." 

I can't make myself to meet your eyes. You’ve always been too good at reading me.

"Are you coming to bed?"

"Sure, give me a minute."

I take a quick shower and brush my teeth. I'd like to stall a bit more, but I know I can't. When I came to the bedroom, you are on your side of the bed, reading something on your Kindle. You like your Kindle: it fits in your satchel nicely, between your laptop and important papers. 

I turn to you, give a small peck to your lips, turn to my side, and mumble, "G'night."

You reach hesitantly to touch my shoulder, but I pretend I'm already asleep. I can feel your eyes on my neck and force myself to breathe slowly and steady. 

You sigh, put your Kindle away and tuck yourself in for the night.

*****

We've been together for almost twelve years. Our neighbors think we're the living proof of middle-class dream with our steady jobs, nice cars, and beautiful home: high school sweethearts grown up. The elderly lady from three houses down keeps asking if we're finally considering adoption for real. She seems convinced that any child would be head over heels happy with 'two so fine young men as daddies,' as she so brightly piped out yesterday. I smiled and had never felt so empty in my life. 

I know you like kids, you always have. And I know I like them too, but I don't want to get one with you. It just wouldn't feel right. I might say yes to a dog, but we have never really discussed pets.

I have no idea when things changed between us. Or maybe it was just me who changed, I don't know. You seem the same as then, only lines on your face look deeper and your eyes are older. But they still have that same bright light in them when you get excited about something and lose yourself into it. We used to sit in the kitchen drinking beer, arguing and laughing over some meaningless opinions about some book or film. 

I find myself missing that light and enthusiasm and our talks. We don't have them anymore.  

***** 

"Okay, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired," I shrug and turn away.

"You sure? 'Cause it seems to me that you're tired all the time."

You sound frustrated and I can't blame you. I've been turning away from you for a while now, and I know you are wondering why. 

"I know something's eating you so don't say it's nothing. Why can't you just tell me?"

"For fuck's sake! If I say it's nothing, there's nothing to talk about. Just leave it."

You snort and look at me through narrowed eyes. "...Nothing. Sure. 'Nothing' keeps you awake alone by the TV, 'nothing' makes you take a walk in the middle of the night, 'nothing' makes you bite my head off when I ask something, and absolutely 'nothing' turns you away when I try to touch you. So yeah. Nothing. Right."

I grit my teeth and stare at my feet.

You run your hand through your hair, making it messier, shake your head, and sigh. "I just wish you would talk to me. Whatever it is, we'll sort it out together."

"Yeah. Maybe tomorrow."

We both know we won't. 

*****

I don't remember when we last had sex. We sleep together, but we don't sleep together. It's a crying shame, because I like sex. Like, a lot. And we fit together so well. Over the years, we’ve learned each other's bodies so thoroughly that we're on the professional level of 'how to have awesome sex.' You have memorized all my quirks and know exactly how to push my buttons to make me squirm and pant and come with a groan. And I adore your body, your skin and lean muscles, that delicious happy trail that leads straight to the heaven that is your cock. I've had good sex before you, but you taught me what it means to make love. I think you've ruined me for others for good.

You could still make me come with a groan, with me trembling and spilling down your throat, or you buried deep inside of me. But every time you reach out to me with want and warmth in your eyes, I find that I can't. 

I just can't. 

And I know its killing you.

*****

"Oh, so you finally found your way home. The yellow brick road didn't lead you astray. I was worried for a while here."

There's bitterness in your voice. It still hurts, even though I know I put it there.

"Wasn't yellow, more like lilac or mauve."

"Har-fucking-har. Where were you?"

Your face has hard lines around your mouth. How come I haven't noticed before? Or did I just put them there?

"Walking."

"Where?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

I sigh. "Out in the park." 

"Alone?"

”Alo— what the fuck? Yes, I was alone. The fuck you're asking?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Whatever. I'm going to bed." 

*****

Sam comes over. Jess isn't with him, due to late lecture or group assignment or something. It's our movie night which I had completely forgotten. It's Sam's turn to pick a film, and we end up watching Blue from Kieslowski's Three Colors. We watch in an unusual and a bit awkward silence, me not being wholly able to concentrate. 

Sam, always so perceptive, corners me in the kitchen while I'm making more popcorn.

"Is everything ok between you two?"

"Um... Yeah, why?" I counter.

"You just seem a bit off."

"Oh. Well. Just busy. You know how it is."

"Yeah. I know." 

But I know Sam's not fooled, not a bit. He's known us for so long that he can almost read us with his eyes closed. But he's also smart enough not to push it. So we watch the film, drink our beers and talk nonsense until he leaves. I know you wish he made me talk, but he didn't, for which I'm grateful.  

*****

Late at night, when I think you're already asleep, I hear you swallow.

"Don't you love me anymore?"

I sigh. "Sure I do."

"I love you. I love you so much."

"I know."

You touch my face tenderly, kiss my lips and stroke my side. I let you. 

I let you caress me, make me hard, make me come over your hand, let you push inside with gentle care, whispering possessive words into my skin. 

And when you came inside of me, I feel hollow. 

*****

I wish for many things.

I wish I could love you like you love me. 

I wish I could be what you want me to be. I wish you could make me happy and content so that I wouldn't want to be out in the world again by myself. I wish I could be everything you deserve, for you deserve so much more than me. 

I wish I didn't have to hurt you.

I stand by the door and wish morning was already here.