XXX

Enrique

Throughout my twenty three years of life, I was confident I had never seen my mother look so utterly speechless, unsure if she was supposed to yell and me, Oliver, both of us, or neither of us. Like the darkest depths of the ocean, her eyes were a blue abyss of mystery, mouth part way open yet unable to come up with any words.

"I think he had too much to drink," I stuttered, breaking the trance just enough for her to close her eyes and sigh, a slow shake of the head giving off more judgment than words ever could. Oliver was silent as well. This was beyond embarrassment, head hung in humiliation I hadn't seen the likes of in years.

"Oh god…" He wept, "I'm sorry- I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-"

My mom waved a hand my direction, signaling to get him out of the elevator and setting a hand on his back while I steadied him by the arms. For a few meters, all we could do was follow her quietly, the weight of our inevitable punishment holding us down. She swiped a key card to the door of a room, speaking for the first time since catching us in a puddle of Oliver's stomach contents.

"Wait here," Was all she said.

I obeyed without question, understanding that now was not the time for me to be talking back to a parent. She left the door open a crack, just enough for me to catch on to the fact that she was now on the phone, likely contacting maintenance due to the fact that cleaning needed to be done and that a hazmat suit might be necessary.

"Stop crying," I mumbled to Oliver, attempting to keep my voice gentle.

"I'm not crying…"

"Then stop groaning."

He mumbled something incoherent, stopping just as my mother came back out into the hallway.

"I'm going to pick you up a door key for a few rooms over," She explained, "Just stay here; maybe take him into the bathroom while you wait and get him cleaned up a little."

I nodded, still unable to fully look at her while anticipating the verbal beating I'd be getting in the morning. Oliver, by the sound of it, was trying to apologize again, squeezing his hands to his temples in what I could only assume was pain. He would have a hell of a hangover in the morning.

I walked him to the bathroom, unsure what I was actually supposed to do. Don't get me wrong, I loved him, but cleaning puke off of one of my friends wasn't exactly a situation I felt prepared to face. Not to mention he currently smelled absolutely terrible.

To my relief, the decision was made for me as he stopped me at the door, shooing me away without words and closing it behind him. He had absolutely no plans to bring me into the bathroom with him and I was absolutely fine with that, simply pressing my ear up against the door and listening to the sound of running water coming from the sink and his occasional dry heaving.

"Are you okay?" I asked, waiting as patiently as I could for a response. Before he was able to say anything, the room of the hotel opened, my mother walking in and handing me a room key.

"You're in room 414," She said, knocking less gently than I had on the bathroom door before jiggling the handle. He hadn't locked it and she didn't seem even remotely worried about about what she might be walking in on, taking in the absolutely pathetic sight of Oliver on his knees with his head practically in the sink. I had only seen him this drunk a very small handful of times and during all of them we were too young to be expected to take care of ourselves or one another, a parent always prepared to swoop in and help, even if they were planning on giving us hell the next day.

I guess that was still what was happening, my mom wrapping a bath towel in his hair and getting him up to his feet. "You're going to have to walk, dear," She explained, "I draw the line at carrying you."

"I'm sorry…" He mumbled for the fourth or fifth time. I had lost count.

"I have six children, it's nothing I've never experienced. I cannot and will not disregard my duties for the two of you, though." She turned to me, "Enrique, Oliver may be the nephew of one of my dearest friends, but he's your friend and responsibility right now. Get him properly cleaned up and make sure he drinks water before letting him go to sleep. Not coffee, you aren't seventeen trying to sober yourselves after prom, water. Do you understand?"

I nodded as she handed him over to me like a rag doll, getting one arm over my neck and shoulder and propping him up with little difficulty. If it hadn't been for the fact that I had just heard him speak, I would have thought he was already out cold, needing to half drag him while my mom opened the door for us and led us into the hallway which was currently partly closed off and being sanitized, elevator door locked, open, and out of order. The entire area smelled like sour milk and alcohol even though we hadn't even eaten that much dairy and was mixed with the overpowering scent of air freshener, which didn't so much make it smell like roses as it made it smell like roses and puke, something that was in a way, worse.

Just as I got to the door, I made a quick turn around, accidentally knocking Oliver's head on the frame with a loud thud and causing him to groan in pain while also not bothering to lift it.

"Mama?" I called, watching her turn around once more to face us, hand perched on her hip while still appearing quite disappointed in me. "Um… Thanks." I mumbled.

"We'll discuss it in the morning, Enrique, just get him to bed."

'Discuss' was definitely not a word to be taken lightly in my household, a subtle way of putting off a conversation for a later time while also acknowledging that I was in a heap of trouble that I would not be easily getting out of.

All I could do was nod in shame, unlocking the door and pulling his body, which felt significantly heavier when he was doing as little as humanly possible to help me, inside. I was extremely confident that if I were to let him go, he would fall to the ground like a dropped suitcase. Instead I was able to get him to the foot of the bed, propping him upright and taking the towel off of his head.

"Are you conscious?" I asked, giving him a gentle smack on the cheek.

"Not willingly," He groaned. "I need to brush my teeth."

I gave a nod, making sure he could walk without falling down before helping him find the toiletries that had come with the room and leaving him be, undressing to the only clothing I had that weren't formal, my underwear and a tank top that I just happened to be wearing underneath. I hung everything up, understanding that I'd have to put it back on to leave in the morning and looking around the room for the first time. It was large, a chandelier hanging over the bed, a big closet and an extremely nice bathroom containing a separate bath and shower, but it only contained one bed with a couch at the foot of it.

I sighed, grabbing a spare pillow and setting them on the couch before going into the mini bar and taking two bottles of water, putting on the floor by my makeshift bed and handing the other to Oliver as he stumbled out of the bathroom, practically face planting onto the bed. He was going to be just fine, if not very sick in the morning, making me feel more comfortable leaving him alone so that I could use the bathroom and get ready for bed.

Not surprisingly, he was asleep by the time I came back out, not even undressing from the event. I took a few minutes to do it for him, hanging his clothes up with mine and throwing our vomit covered shoes in the bathtub before turning out the light and laying down on the couch bed I had created for myself.

Before my head even touched the pillow, I was out cold.

XXX

Oliver

I wasn't sure if it was my bladder that awoke me, or the pounding headache that I had, an ice pick impaling the back of my left eye after I'd been hit with what could only be described as a truck full of rocks. If there was anything left in my stomach, I would have vomited it up right then and there. I felt like absolute death, even finding the idea of sipping from the water bottle next to me revolting. On top of that I was still at least somewhat drunk as not everything was out of my bloodstream after only five hours of sleep and very little liquid.

Trying not to gag at the thought, I opened the bottle of water and sipped at it, fully able to feel the cool liquid travel down my throat and into my knotted stomach. Although it wasn't the first or only time, it had still been years since I had gotten that drunk, an experience I'd likely not had since the very beginning of college after developing that fresh taste of freedom. Actually, the last time might have been during my first date, that morning I had stayed up all night with Jean Pierre and the day I lost my virginity, not that I ever planned on telling Enrique or anyone else that.

Getting up onto extremely sore and wobbly legs, I used the light on my phone to find the bathroom, peeing without bothering to flick on the light switch and hobbling back to the comfort of the mattress. I hadn't noticed when we first came into the room that there was only a single king sized bed, causing me to look around for Enrique once I'd realized that he wasn't in it with me and quickly finding him asleep on the couch.

He really had been good to me tonight… shame filling my face as I recalled what a fool I had made out of myself. I wasn't sure why I had kept drinking once the alcohol had begun taking an effect, a mix of excitement, anxiety, and discomfort being the only reason I could come up with. He had taken such good care of me, never letting me out of his sight, turning down my sexual advances that I'd humiliated myself with and helping me to bed even though it was common knowledge that he was disgusted by vomit, something he'd told us years ago after an unpleasant incident he'd had with a girl back in secondary school.

Approaching Enrique, my eyes met the plush cotton blanket that lay mostly on the floor, making me take notice of the slight chill in the air. I picked it up, draping it over him gently in an attempt not to wake him and brushing my fingers through his bangs, taking in the innocence of his sleeping face. He had done what he had set out to do when he first came to find me those few months ago. He had proven how much he had changed. He'd proven that he truly did care about me and although it was true that I still couldn't seem to allow myself to fully forgive him for what he had done, I found myself beginning to see him with a new set of eyes. I knew what it felt like to be afraid of ones own identity and the consequences it might bring and I suddenly found myself face to sleeping face with the scared little boy he had once been. The same one I was all those years ago.

Kneeling down in front of him, I allowed myself just a few more minutes to stare, wishing that he had been the one to take the bed so that I could fall asleep in his arms the way I had the night that we'd made love, longing for the feeling of his arms holding me. It felt like so long ago now… I closed my eyes and sighed quietly as I thought about how much had happened since that day, kissing his cheek gently before getting back up to my feet slowly enough to avoid the dizziness of standing up too fast. My body was already struggling to stay awake as I got back into bed, pulling the covers over myself and allowing my thoughts to take over.

I wished he understood that it wasn't me that he loved. Not anymore, at least. I had gotten older the same as he had and with that came a change. Although that boy still resided inside of me, it wasn't who I was… not since the day I had realized why he had left. Not since the day he broke my heart. How was I meant to cope with the fact that he was the one now picking up the pieces?

No… he didn't love me.

But for the first time in five years, I was beginning to wonder if I loved him.