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Elio was balled up in the quilt and he didn’t move. He just lay there pretending that he wasn’t being juvenile and pathetic and tried to focus on breathing in his scent, Oliver's scent and he savoured it.
Each time he moved he was reminded of the dull ache in his rump; the natural outcome of a very intense session that they hurriedly engaged in that morning. The sting was oddly soothing, like knowing where Oliver had been but also distressing at the void that his absence left. He stopped breathing for a few seconds to compose himself. It didn’t work.
***
After Oliver had moved into his apartment, Elio had tried to continue his life as usual. He went to work, and he spoke to people but soon he realized that he was an imposter; pretending to care and to be engaged in this alien world was pointless. Everything away from Oliver was bland and lacked any sense of beauty. There was so much that he still had to learn about Oliver and his body. Elio’s body sparked with excitement and he was reluctant to waste a single second of the limited time they had.
He told himself that it wouldn’t be long before they all saw him as the pathetic shell of a human that he had become. The husk of Elio spent his days counting the moments until he could return to Oliver, his Oliver, waiting patiently for him at home.
After two exhausting weeks, he couldn’t continue the charade, and he had told his boss that he would need to take leave, effective immediately, and for the foreseeable future. He gave no real explanation, but he felt relieved at admitting it couldn’t continue. Oliver was an itch that he needed to scratch, or he would drive himself mad trying to ignore the irritation.
***
For the first weeks they rarely left the bedroom, the sheets tangled and pungent with the heady aroma of their love making and their mingled essences. The smell was ripe, but they couldn’t care less as they both actively sought to be further enveloped in the other.
Most days, they only left their room to relieve themselves or to shower. The bathing process had become a cramped ineffective lust laden endeavor which usually required them to repeat the process after their excitement had been sated. They then needed to wash off their exuberance a second time.
They only ate when hunger struck them, which was infrequent, as they had no real appetite for anything other than for consuming each other. One would disappear and bring back a plate of something random from a tin that they would share.
Just as infrequent were their interactions with the outside world. The neighbors had concluded that Elio must have gone away. When friends called the house, their requests were refused, and Elio would apologize profusely but ultimately, to save the deception, in the end he mostly just let his phone go unanswered.
His parents were not so easily placated or put off and even though he tried to put in the extra effort for them, they were soon worried and assumed something was wrong. It would ultimately be his father who burst their amorous bubble.
***
Elio had beseeched Oliver to ignore whoever was rapping hard on the door, but Oliver assured Elio that it would be easier to send away the interloper himself, and they could get back to bed. Elio watched with interest as he slipped a crumpled T-shirt over his boxer-shorts and he continued to stare with wanton lust at Oliver’s fine ass as it bounded out of the room.
The surprised sound of his father’s rasping voice saying Oliver’s name, would never leave him. His tone had Elio on his feet and searching for pants. He would have to explain himself and Oliver’s presence and only a few seconds to compose himself enough to make it sound plausible. The difficult conversation that followed would be one of the most unsettling interviews of his life.
Papa would understandably be annoyed at not being informed of Oliver’s sudden appearance in Italy, not to mention his state of undress in Elio’s apartment. The worse and more telling betrayal, at least in Elio’s mind, was his fervent greed and cupidity over Oliver. This adamant possessive desire meant he was not willing to share Oliver with anyone, least of all his own parents and this callous disregard made him nauseous.
Galvanizing himself, Elio walked into the living room with ease and a relaxed expression which was at odds with his genuine emotions. Sami Perlman was embracing the larger man and when his eyes locked on his son, over Oliver’s broad shoulder, it was not a fraternal or jovial gaze. He released Oliver and proceeded to cross the room, and opened the balcony doors. The morning air was as chilled as was the mood of the room.
He took out a packet of cigarettes and then offered it around. They felt obliged to take one and they all smoked nervously. The lovers surreptitiously searched each other’s faces, trying to deduce what they should say to ease the tension.
It was Sami who began the conversation, with the older man asking numerous questions which both Oliver and Elio had trouble answering. Elio’s father narrowed the focus of his enquiries to easier and more specific topics.
How long did Oliver plan to stay? Oliver of course could not answer this definitively as he didn’t know, and this is what he told him.
Why had he not contacted them earlier? Which brought about anxious looks between the two before the question was left hanging in the air between them.
When he asked Elio why he wasn’t at work, Elio felt obliged to inform him that he had taken leave. Which made Sami click his tongue in disapproval.
Moving the conversation on to a safer topic, Sami asked about Oliver’s work. His sabbatical was mentioned, and the older man seemed delighted with his response. In fact, this was the first thing that he showed any delight in since he had begun his inquisition.
Oliver was reminded that Annella would be very put out if he didn’t make some time to visit Milan when he was in Italy. Oliver swore that it had always been his intention to visit, and that he had planned to visit the university in Milan to reacquaint himself with some colleagues. But first he had to contact his publisher and family, who he had managed to keep contact with after all these years.
Sami was overjoyed with them beginning to formulate some sort of plan for Oliver’s Italian vacation and suddenly suggested that they all go to lunch. Sami informed them that he needed to take the late afternoon train home or Mafalda would never let him hear the end of it. So, he wouldn’t interrupt or disrupt their reunion for long.
He pointed them towards the bedroom to encourage them to get dressed for lunch and made himself useful by tidying up in the kitchen. When they acquiesced, he surveyed the state of his son’s living quarters. The many days of neglect were abundantly evident and from this he deduced that Oliver’s visit had stretched on much longer than the two recalcitrant boys had led him to believe.
That evening the call for Oliver came from Elio’s mother. Annella made it clear she could not wait to see him and eagerly anticipated his visit. Was he free this week? Of course he was. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. She told him which train to take two days hence and would be waiting to pick him up from the central station.
Elio had quite obviously not been invited and felt it better to not encroach on their reunion. He only had two days to soak up as much of Oliver as he could before he would lose him again.
***
Even now as he lay in bed, he decided he wouldn’t bathe in case he lost some irreplaceable trace of Oliver. Elio understood the science behind this overreaction he was experiencing, but it didn’t help him stop the process in the slightest.
Elio’s vicious amygdala: that nasty little primitive monkey part of the brain, that is useful for self-preservation by dictating his reactions to the patterns formed from past experiences, had been working overtime to destroy him.
He likened it to a wicked gossiping neighbor, it delighted in reminding Elio of every single second of misery and sorrow that he had lived through since the last time Oliver had left. It triggered a spiral of anxiety and paralysis that was out of proportion for an overnight separation. For fuck’s sake, he could physically see almost all of Oliver’s Italian possessions in his bedroom, but still, Oliver’s leaving hammered at his soul.
***
As they stood together waiting for the ‘specified’ fast train to depart from Roma Termini, he couldn’t help but relive their prior separation and a wave of nausea washed over him.
The pain of the days and months that followed was still so raw that he recoiled just remembering the unbearable agony of it. Of course, this time was going to be different and he told himself that.
At the last minute, unafraid, Elio leant in to kiss Oliver and claim his man. At this stage of life, he did not care who was looking or judging them. Without warning Elio bit Oliver’s bottom lip, hard. Oliver couldn’t help but cry out with the pain of it, “What was that for?” he yelped.
“Every time you open your mouth, I want you to be reminded of me wanting to hang off those lips,” Elio stated bitterly.
“You are such a brat! You know you could come too,” Oliver declared.
Elio shook his head to negate Oliver’s assertion and instead began to kiss him again, until Oliver pulled away when the pressure on his lip became too much. His hand went instantly to the injury. He knew he would have a lot of explaining to do when he met up with Elio’s parents in Milan, but a bloody lip had not been one of them.