Jimmy's head pounded, as he opened his eyes and let the morning day light seep in. The sun shone in from behind the curtains. His bedroom was quiet, he dared not move.
How much did he drink? Oh, he rubbed his forehead. Fuck! What did he do? With Warren? He got excited all over again, lying there in his crumpled sheets.
Was it a dream? He and Warren? Fuck me, he thought.
Was Warren setting him up? No, he couldn't have been. He was as enthusiastic as Jimmy. You don't set someone up by actually going through with it. You set some one up by looking as though you are going through with it, but then don't.
A dream come true? Is that what it really was? All he'd ever wanted. For how many years? Was it true? Could it be true?
Was he so drunk he dreamt it?
Would Warren remember?
He rubbed the corners of his eyes with his finger tips. Warren? Fuck me, he thought again. He couldn't get the smile off his face. He closed his eyes.
They just fooled around a bit until Warren wretched and passed out and dribbled and snored. Jimmy had left pretty soon after that, staggered out the door.
Did he knock over a lamp on the way out? He couldn't think about that now.
That last look back at Warren, his shirt unbuttoned, his arms over his head, was emblazoned in his memory. Would it be the last time he would see Warren? A view to remember him by?
He slid his hand under the sheet, no guilt.
Oh my god!
All he could feel was fear. It didn't mean I'm a poof, he thought, even though he suspected it probably did. It didn't mean... Warren was either. Just... best... mates, that's what it meant? He wondered what Warren felt?
Would he ever know?
Would he ever see Warren again?
Should he call him?
He wondered how long it would take Warren to call?
He started to shake. He suddenly felt cold. He sank down into the bed clothes and pulled the doona up around his neck.
No comments:
Post a Comment