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"Y’know if you want me to, I can leave.”
It was nearly eleven at night, and the fresh air outside was tainted with the stale scent of tobacco smoke wafting around the cement balcony Pete’s apartment had installed.
Pete and his partner sat across from each other in plastic patio chairs that were creased and cracked around the edges, and coated in layers of dirt and grime. They each avoided making direct eye contact with one another as they drank and smoked together in silence. Or at least, it was silent, until someone felt the need to speak up.
Pete broke his gaze on the week’s worth of old beer cans that littered the small iron table standing between him and his lover to glance up at them with narrowed eyes. “Why would I want ya to leave?”
"I was just asking. You’ve barely even looked at me since we came out here, so I felt like I should ask. I’m not saying I actually want to, but...”
Pete put what remained of his cigarette out on the overflowing ashtray on the table. “If yer gonna keep actin’ like a bitch, go ahead. Just don’t play the victim an’ act like I’m makin’ you.”
They furrowed their brow. "I only said I'd leave if you wanted me to, why are you being so cryptic about this?”
Pete rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not. All I’m sayin’ is, if you wanna walk away from me again, then grow a pair and do it. Either leave me alone like every other bitch has, or shut up.”
They groaned and stood up in front of Pete as he remained seated in his chair. Almost like they were giving him a stern talking to. "God, see! This is what I'm talking about! One second you're saying you don't wanna see me and that you don't care if I leave or not, and the next, you're making me feel like shit for respecting your wishes! Please, can you just… Be sincere with me, for two seconds?”
Pete said nothing, not even bothering to look them in the eye. He took a drag from a newly lit cigarette cradled between his index and middle finger as he kept his eyes focused on the lights of the city beneath the balcony.
"Fine." They huffed out. They walked through the sliding glass door separating the balcony from the rest of the apartment, grabbed their cross-body bag from Pete's couch and stormed towards the front door. As they turned the knob, they let out a quiet sigh and turned their head back around to face him.
"I.. I'll see you later." Their voice was far gentler now than it was previously. They walked out of Pete's apartment with some kind of feeling of reverence, and down the stairs to the beat up, hand-me-down Camaro that they’ve been driving around since high school.
Pete didn’t say anything he was getting walked out on. Usually, he’d jump at the opportunity to argue with anyone, especially at a time like this, but now he didn’t feel like he could. Not this time.
He got up from his seat, and didn’t even bother to close the glass door behind him as he walked back into his cramped space. He headed over to his refrigerator and squinted as the weak ray of light in the back hit him upon opening the door. His eyes raked the almost empty plastic shelves for what seemed like the millionth time that night, as if he’d find something good he hadn’t noticed during his previous searches.
After a few more minutes hunched over the open fridge, Pete decided to just go to bed without eating. Not this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him, though. After a couple beers, half a carton of Camels, and maybe even a cheap bowl late at night, he was pretty much full until the next day. At that point, raiding the fridge and pantry at the end was really just another part of his monotonous routine.
With a defeated groan, Pete shoved his hands into the side pockets of his cargo shorts and dragged his feet over to the one and only bedroom in the apartment. Once he got inside, he flopped down onto his unmade bed and gazed up at the popcorn ceiling above him. There were two pillows at the front of the bed, both without cases and covered in small, miscellaneous stains. The same could be said about the fitted sheet, which didn’t seem to be taken off to wash at all for the better part of a year. A few different blankets were layered sloppily on top of everything, tying everything together in a way that was actually rather cozy, despite everything that preceded it.
For a moment, Pete just laid down on his back as he stared at the mess of his nightstand. It was no better than the table set up on the balcony, littered with empty cans, bandage wrappers, assorted bottles of painkillers and prescription meds, as well as a box of tissues and a pump bottle of lotion on the lowest shelf of the stand. His eyes lingered on that particular pair for a bit longer than he’d care to admit, before he threw his shorts off onto the floor beside his bed.
The back of his head was cushioned by one of his pillows as his left hand crept down his lower stomach and beneath the waistband of his boxers. He pulled them down to his knees and his dick twitched and rose slightly as he held it in his calloused grip, rubbing the base up to the head in gentle strokes. He sighed to himself at the sensation, and reached his unoccupied hand over to the nightstand beside him to grab the half empty bottle of lotion. He pumped some of the scentless substance out onto his left hand and coated his now half-hard member with it.
It didn’t take long for Pete’s strokes to get faster, causing him to cover his mouth on instinct as he let out a low groan to muffle the sound.
“Fuck.. God…”
He wiped his thumb across his tip, smearing his pre over the head and causing it to drip down the base. He moved his hand away from his mouth as he let out another breathy sigh and let the back of his arm fall down on his forehead. He blinked up at the ceiling once again as he felt sweat trickle down his face from the top of his brow. He glanced down at the rager between his thighs, encouraging him to keep going until completion.
Pete could already feel himself coming undone, now exhaling in short, heavy breaths.
“Stupid…. Stupid bitch!… God, fucking…”
Pete's hand was now covered in his own finish, as well as this lower stomach and inner thigh. He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling above him and panted in exhaustion. He fully kicked off his partially soiled boxers, which at this point, were already down to his ankles. He pulled a small, nearby blanket over himself and curled up to get more coverage out of it. He was now laid on his side, facing a small window. He brought his hands to his face and groaned.
“Christ….”