Chapter 9
Another Morning After
Jack woke up slowly the next morning and stretched leisurely. He felt good. Very good, in fact. The reason for this was most likely the warm body sprawled on the bed next to him. Jack rolled on his side and pressed himself against Doug's side, relishing the feeling of warm skin-on-skin contact. This, he thought, was definitely a good way to wake up.
"Mmm," said Doug vaguely, then cracked open one eye and looked over at Jack. He smiled, closing the eye again and lifting one arm to slide it around Jack and pull him closer. "Morning," he mumbled.
Feeling slightly mischievous and more content than anything else, Jack extended one hand and began to doodle random designs with his fingertips on Doug's chest. "You were amazing last night," he said. Doug had been much better and much more experienced than he had expected. "I don't think I'm going to be able to sit properly for a week."
Doug opened his eyes and grinned, then leaned down to give Jack a swift peck on the lips. "You weren't half bad yourself," he said.
Jack couldn't remember feeling better. Most of this he put down to the fact that he had desperately needed to get laid. But there was more to it than that. It felt good to have Doug here next to him. It felt good that it was him particularly. Jack liked the thought that he would see Doug again, that this was not a one-night engagement, that they had a life beyond this bed as friends. It felt somehow much more secure.
Jack yawned and sat up. He was loathe to leave the bed, but his stomach was beginning to growl at him. He would have to get up and make breakfast, and maybe-
But his thoughts were interrupted by Doug, who grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked smugly, pinning Jack to the bed and rolling over on top of him.
Jack tried not to grin, and failed. "I was going to see about breakfast. I take it you had other plans?"
"Maybe," murmured Doug playfully.
Jack reached up and cupped Doug's face in his hands, giving him another light kiss. "I'm glad you decided to stay for that nightcap."
"Me too."
Jack chuckled. "Pacey's gonna flip when I tell him about this."
Suddenly, Doug drew back. "You can't!" he said, sounding alarmed. "You said you wouldn't tell anyone."
Jack sat up, slightly bewildered. "I know, but I thought... didn't you tell him?"
"No," said Doug. There was a pause. "And I'm not going to."
Jack felt suddenly cold. "What?"
Doug moved over a little until he was sitting near the edge of the bed, and stared at the wall. "I'm not coming out, Jack. I told you this already. Just because we had sex, doesn't mean I'm going to let you pressure me into it."
"But... but... You said..." Jack was at a loss. "I thought you said you were going to tell Pacey?"
"I thought about it," said Doug, his voice still very calm and a little stony. "And I decided not to. Pacey doesn't need to know."
"You're afraid to tell him, you mean," Jack spat.
Doug looked over at him, frowning. "Jack, you know my feelings on this. Why are you so surprised?"
"I don't know." Jack could feel the venom dripping into his veins, staining his voice and poisoning his heart. "I guess I thought that maybe you were prepared to make an effort."
"I just don't think that it's worth it, Jack."
And that was it. Jack felt something clench painfully inside him. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. "I see," he said finally, his vision beginning to mist over with red.
"Jack," Doug started, but Jack cut him off.
"No, that's okay. I get it. What you're saying is, you don't think I'm worth the trouble of being honest. Thanks Doug."
"That's not what I said, Jack-" Doug protested, but once again Jack interrupted.
"But it's what you meant. You know what, if I'm so fucking worthless, then you can just get the hell out of my house."
Doug winced at Jack's vulgarity, but stood and got dressed in stiff silence. He didn't look back as he walked out the door.
Jack felt sick. He couldn't even make himself move until he heard the crunch of Doug's tires leaving his driveway. Then he forced himself out of bed and stumbled over to the doorway, staring out into the living room without seeing anything. He couldn't seem to form any coherent thoughts.
Finally, his roving eyes looked through the glass door and rested on the two empty glasses out on the picnic table, their edges rimmed with frost. They stood there, standing tall and close together. The idea of them meant so much to Jack, the concept that they stood for, the memory of the two of them, sharing an evening drink.
Jack sank to his knees and let out a moan. He had been so sure. It had been so very perfect.
How could it have all shattered so quickly?