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With the end of the year closing in, I found myself anxious to close out the semester. I was distracted. I knew my colleagues could sense it, my students restless in classes that had lost focus. My writing had suffered, but it had never been something I was particularly proud of anyway. My heart wasn't in it. I wanted to be home.
I was afraid to go home.
I was compelled to be with Elio whenever possible, but his grief was consuming. I'd watched it whittle away at him, the cracks that Purge Night had left in him shattering the day that Jamie left, leaving behind the raw nerves beneath. Old wounds opened by the loss of his parents. The loss of me, over and over. I wanted to help him, but neither of us knew how I was meant to do that.
I stayed out for a few hours with some friends from the university, playing poker in the basement of their campus housing. I'd left early, guiltily, even though I'd told Elio where I'd be. I brought home a bottle of expensive wine and felt foolish. I loved him so much, and had never been so helpless.
Key in the door, I blew out a breath, braced myself, and stepped inside.
I was afraid to go home.
I was compelled to be with Elio whenever possible, but his grief was consuming. I'd watched it whittle away at him, the cracks that Purge Night had left in him shattering the day that Jamie left, leaving behind the raw nerves beneath. Old wounds opened by the loss of his parents. The loss of me, over and over. I wanted to help him, but neither of us knew how I was meant to do that.
I stayed out for a few hours with some friends from the university, playing poker in the basement of their campus housing. I'd left early, guiltily, even though I'd told Elio where I'd be. I brought home a bottle of expensive wine and felt foolish. I loved him so much, and had never been so helpless.
Key in the door, I blew out a breath, braced myself, and stepped inside.
For Elio (The Purge)
Oct. 20th, 2024 08:43 pmAs evening approached, I wondered again if we'd made the right decision in staying home.
Elio was reluctant to leave the shop, not because of the things that were inside, but because of the memories housed within. The people who'd walked among the shelves, who were no longer here. We'd locked up tight, pulling down the metal grates installed over the windows, which we rarely bothered with, and having upgraded the locks in preparation.
Our apartment, accessible from a narrow staircase inside the shop, or from the fire escape around back, seemed especially vulnerable. Those locks had been replaced, as well, but it was far from a fortress.
I cooked dinner, something light and easy, and we had a small glass of wine. A bit of normalcy. And as the alarms sounded, signaling the beginning of the Purge, I drew in a breath, arm slipping around Elio's shoulders, and longed for morning.
Elio was reluctant to leave the shop, not because of the things that were inside, but because of the memories housed within. The people who'd walked among the shelves, who were no longer here. We'd locked up tight, pulling down the metal grates installed over the windows, which we rarely bothered with, and having upgraded the locks in preparation.
Our apartment, accessible from a narrow staircase inside the shop, or from the fire escape around back, seemed especially vulnerable. Those locks had been replaced, as well, but it was far from a fortress.
I cooked dinner, something light and easy, and we had a small glass of wine. A bit of normalcy. And as the alarms sounded, signaling the beginning of the Purge, I drew in a breath, arm slipping around Elio's shoulders, and longed for morning.
Heaving a sigh, I slammed the lid on my laptop.
I'd been puttering away at what I hoped would turn into a publishable article for longer than I'd realized. When I emerged, dry-eyed and my back aching, I glanced at my phone, shocked by how late it had gotten.
Somehow, I'd missed a text. Hearts and kisses from Elio, who'd decided to leave me to my work and head out for dinner with friends. Chuckling, I responded, telling him to have fun and that I'd see him before bed.
With a groan, I stood, arms stretching overhead, spine cracking, and went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
In the middle of scooping grounds, I jolted as someone unexpectedly knocked on the door. "I'm coming!" I called out, snapping the coffee basket shut and starting the machine, and made my way to the door.
Peeking through the peephole, I frowned, surprised to see one of Elio's friends. Throwing open the door, I half expected him to tell me something had happened, and blurted an impatient, "What is it?"
I'd been puttering away at what I hoped would turn into a publishable article for longer than I'd realized. When I emerged, dry-eyed and my back aching, I glanced at my phone, shocked by how late it had gotten.
Somehow, I'd missed a text. Hearts and kisses from Elio, who'd decided to leave me to my work and head out for dinner with friends. Chuckling, I responded, telling him to have fun and that I'd see him before bed.
With a groan, I stood, arms stretching overhead, spine cracking, and went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
In the middle of scooping grounds, I jolted as someone unexpectedly knocked on the door. "I'm coming!" I called out, snapping the coffee basket shut and starting the machine, and made my way to the door.
Peeking through the peephole, I frowned, surprised to see one of Elio's friends. Throwing open the door, I half expected him to tell me something had happened, and blurted an impatient, "What is it?"
With only a few weeks of the fall semester behind me, I already found myself slipping into the dull monotony of teaching. Covering the same material, with few exceptions, fielding the same questions, struggling to engage the same disinterested students, all while pushing towards a permanent place in a department I wasn't sure I had the passion for.
I was good at it. I'd always been good at faking it. I would be a relatively successful academic, with just the right amount of publications, and just the right amount of students who continue on to more lofty ambitions, and just the right amount of respect among my peers. Once, just the right amount was all I'd ever aspired to.
Now, I couldn't help the feeling that I should be reaching for more.
Sitting in a chair by the window at the shop, I thumbed through a volume Socratic philosophy, in need of a brush up. After a while, the words began to blur, and with a sigh, I tossed it aside. I rose to my feet just as the bell above the door chimed, and I glanced up, smiling at the familiar face.
"Hey."
I was good at it. I'd always been good at faking it. I would be a relatively successful academic, with just the right amount of publications, and just the right amount of students who continue on to more lofty ambitions, and just the right amount of respect among my peers. Once, just the right amount was all I'd ever aspired to.
Now, I couldn't help the feeling that I should be reaching for more.
Sitting in a chair by the window at the shop, I thumbed through a volume Socratic philosophy, in need of a brush up. After a while, the words began to blur, and with a sigh, I tossed it aside. I rose to my feet just as the bell above the door chimed, and I glanced up, smiling at the familiar face.
"Hey."
As summer drew to a close, the new semester gearing up and the anniversary of my third year in Darrow approaching, I couldn't help but think back on my conversation with Sihyun at Pride. My reaction to the news of his engagement has nagged at the back of my mind since the Spring. Even more so, I was rattled by my later admission that the planning of a wedding, and the stress and attention it would bring, was something I instinctively shrank from.
It made me quiet and contemplative, and while I could hide such things in the first weeks of the semester, I knew now that Elio would've noticed.
So, tonight, I made tea. I bought a box of pastries we both liked. Our dinner was small, intimate, as it usually was. Comfortable. Content. I was happy, and making a change felt unwise, but I knew we were both waiting for the other to do something. Say something.
And it needed to be me.
It made me quiet and contemplative, and while I could hide such things in the first weeks of the semester, I knew now that Elio would've noticed.
So, tonight, I made tea. I bought a box of pastries we both liked. Our dinner was small, intimate, as it usually was. Comfortable. Content. I was happy, and making a change felt unwise, but I knew we were both waiting for the other to do something. Say something.
And it needed to be me.
(no subject)
Jul. 16th, 2023 09:54 pmfrom here.
"Fuck me, right here," I murmured to him in Italian, words muffled against his lips. "Don't let me come. Not until you say."
He'd teased me about fucking in my office, with me bending him over the desk after hours, but despite my reluctance, it wasn't a fantasy he harbored alone.
"Fuck me, right here," I murmured to him in Italian, words muffled against his lips. "Don't let me come. Not until you say."
He'd teased me about fucking in my office, with me bending him over the desk after hours, but despite my reluctance, it wasn't a fantasy he harbored alone.
It was late, and I felt like I hadn't made a dent in all the planning I needed to get through over the next couple of weeks. It was a cycle I started over every year, feeling inadequate and ill-prepared, like an impostor in my own field, scrapping and redoing lectures and syllabuses up until the very last moment, and then coasting through the semester feeling like, at any moment, someone was finally going to stand up and say, "What do you think you're doing? You're not supposed to be there."
With my doctorate nearly cemented, and an associate professor position nearly locked within the next few years, I really had nothing to worry about. Darrow's academic career path wasn't nearly as vigorous as it might have been for me back in New England. While I wanted to continue to do something I could be proud of, frankly, I didn't have to try so hard.
It was thoughts like that, which led to dissatisfied, boring, mediocre professors, protected by tenure and festering in departments they no longer believed in. I couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before I became one of those.
And now, with Elio no longer enrolled at Barton, I wondered if he felt as adrift as I did. As if sensing his presence, I glanced up from my laptop, smiling tiredly at him standing in the doorway. One look at him told me all I needed to know.
"Hey."
With my doctorate nearly cemented, and an associate professor position nearly locked within the next few years, I really had nothing to worry about. Darrow's academic career path wasn't nearly as vigorous as it might have been for me back in New England. While I wanted to continue to do something I could be proud of, frankly, I didn't have to try so hard.
It was thoughts like that, which led to dissatisfied, boring, mediocre professors, protected by tenure and festering in departments they no longer believed in. I couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before I became one of those.
And now, with Elio no longer enrolled at Barton, I wondered if he felt as adrift as I did. As if sensing his presence, I glanced up from my laptop, smiling tiredly at him standing in the doorway. One look at him told me all I needed to know.
"Hey."
The restaurant was a bit pretentious, but I'd booked a table on their rooftop bar, thinking the more casual atmosphere might suit the two of us a bit better. Besides, we were both accustomed to eating in the open air, and a quick search on their website promised that the tables were situated in cozy nooks, offering privacy that the main dining room couldn't.
We'd planned for drinks at Prohibition with friends on Saturday, but tonight, Elio's twenty-second birthday, would be just for the two of us.
I wore a summer suit, the collar of my shirt left open, and a pair of woven espadrilles that I knew would make Elio chuckle. While I wasn't nervous, I couldn't ignore the feeling of expectation looming over the evening. The last year wasn't my fault, but I still felt responsible for making up for it in whatever small ways I could.
Leaning in the doorway of the bedroom, I smiled at him softly. "Ready?"
We'd planned for drinks at Prohibition with friends on Saturday, but tonight, Elio's twenty-second birthday, would be just for the two of us.
I wore a summer suit, the collar of my shirt left open, and a pair of woven espadrilles that I knew would make Elio chuckle. While I wasn't nervous, I couldn't ignore the feeling of expectation looming over the evening. The last year wasn't my fault, but I still felt responsible for making up for it in whatever small ways I could.
Leaning in the doorway of the bedroom, I smiled at him softly. "Ready?"
(no subject)
Mar. 15th, 2022 11:01 pmFrom here.
Falling back on the reclined seats, I gripped his hips and dragged him closer, swallowing a strangled moan as the fabric of his trousers brushed against my painfully hard cock.
"You shouldn't have taken that off," I teased him, glancing at the tangle of clothes sliding to the floor. "I had this vision of fucking you with your suit on." I leaned up to bite at the curve of his jaw, grinning as my fingertips dipped below his waistband.
Falling back on the reclined seats, I gripped his hips and dragged him closer, swallowing a strangled moan as the fabric of his trousers brushed against my painfully hard cock.
"You shouldn't have taken that off," I teased him, glancing at the tangle of clothes sliding to the floor. "I had this vision of fucking you with your suit on." I leaned up to bite at the curve of his jaw, grinning as my fingertips dipped below his waistband.
I might be getting married in the spring...
Might. Always leave the door open. Your options open. Anything could happen in six months, couldn't it? An on-again, off-again relationship just might have an off-again engagement, and then... and then.
"Excuse me, sir?"
The frail, older man behind the counter at the jewelers peered at me, concern etched across a wizened face. I smiled. Charming. Distracted. Busy. Yes, of course, he could see that I was busy. I was a young, postdoc instructor at Columbia and I was getting married in two weeks. I signed with the Montblanc pulled from my coat pocket, a replacement for the one I'd purchased myself after finishing my dissertation. It was not my first replacement, but my second. You travel enough, and you tend to leave pieces of yourself behind.
Flipping open the velvet box with my thumb, I glanced at the twin gold bands nestled inside, one slightly thinner than the other.
"Are they to your liking, sir?" The jeweler asked, mouth pinched into a thin line.
"Looks great." I dropped the box into my pocket, nodding as I was told to return if I was ever in the market. Sweeping out the door, without so much as a later, maybe, I braced myself for the morning chill of a New York spring.
Instead, I stopped short, the door of the shop I'd exited clattering shut behind me. It was evening, the air warm and still, the streets bustling but not with New York's usual vigor. I frowned, pulled out of myself, as if scrambling for consciousness after a fitful dream.
I turned to look at the jewelers, casting out for a hint of the familiar. Instead, there was what appeared to be a used book store. Cozily lit and charmingly cramped. A pair of young girls stepped out, chatting with one another about something trivial. They murmured their apologies as they stepped aside to avoid a collision, blushes staining cheeks and eyes lingering.
"No worries, ladies," I answered with an ease I did not feel, catching the door before it shut behind them. I stepped back inside, as if that action alone might somehow reset the strangeness of the moment.
Of course, it did the opposite.
Might. Always leave the door open. Your options open. Anything could happen in six months, couldn't it? An on-again, off-again relationship just might have an off-again engagement, and then... and then.
"Excuse me, sir?"
The frail, older man behind the counter at the jewelers peered at me, concern etched across a wizened face. I smiled. Charming. Distracted. Busy. Yes, of course, he could see that I was busy. I was a young, postdoc instructor at Columbia and I was getting married in two weeks. I signed with the Montblanc pulled from my coat pocket, a replacement for the one I'd purchased myself after finishing my dissertation. It was not my first replacement, but my second. You travel enough, and you tend to leave pieces of yourself behind.
Flipping open the velvet box with my thumb, I glanced at the twin gold bands nestled inside, one slightly thinner than the other.
"Are they to your liking, sir?" The jeweler asked, mouth pinched into a thin line.
"Looks great." I dropped the box into my pocket, nodding as I was told to return if I was ever in the market. Sweeping out the door, without so much as a later, maybe, I braced myself for the morning chill of a New York spring.
Instead, I stopped short, the door of the shop I'd exited clattering shut behind me. It was evening, the air warm and still, the streets bustling but not with New York's usual vigor. I frowned, pulled out of myself, as if scrambling for consciousness after a fitful dream.
I turned to look at the jewelers, casting out for a hint of the familiar. Instead, there was what appeared to be a used book store. Cozily lit and charmingly cramped. A pair of young girls stepped out, chatting with one another about something trivial. They murmured their apologies as they stepped aside to avoid a collision, blushes staining cheeks and eyes lingering.
"No worries, ladies," I answered with an ease I did not feel, catching the door before it shut behind them. I stepped back inside, as if that action alone might somehow reset the strangeness of the moment.
Of course, it did the opposite.
