Page 26 of Jealous Guy

I’ve been touch-starved before. Lots of times. It’s nothing new. In some ways, it’s pretty much a baseline, a go-to feeling for me. For years, I’ve craved Jordan’s touch and have forced the need down. I’m used to the dull throb of being on my own in my body. The emptiness of being close to him, but not close enough. The aloneness, the singular solitude of watching his hands move and not land on me.

The intense loneliness of wanting someone who doesn’t want me.

Tonight, in this swirly, sickly night that won’t fucking end, the glaring lack of pressure on my skin feels other. The nonexistence of the weight of Jordan’s hand on my shoulder physically hurts me. The absence of it is so glaring tonight, so painful, I could scream from it.

I feel it everywhere. All over my body. Nerves that aren’t being stimulated. Synapses that aren’t firing. Endless reams of skin that aren’t being touched.

I’d take anything right now. Anything at all. Even the lightest, most accidental of touches would do. He wouldn’t need to mean it for it to help. Turning in his sleep and nudging a foot or a knee against mine would be enough.

His breath in my hair would tide me over.

My head on his chest with his arms around me.

His lips stamped anywhere, anywhere on my body.

His lips would be heaven, but I know that’s asking for too much, so I’d settle for his hand on my shoulder or my arm. A light touch, as a friend, would be fine.

I’m used to the feeling. The craving, the yearning for the physical comfort only Jordan can give me, but it’s never been like this. It’s never so bad that I can feel the lack of his touch like something has been surgically removed from me. Something that should be part of me has been cut from me.

I lie as still as I can and tremble in pain until I can’t tell the difference between the ache for Jordan’s touch and the ache the fever is branding into me.

I don’t even need him to touch me anymore. I could touch him, and that would be enough. I don’t mean touch him sexually. I’d never do that. I mean, I could touch the tip of my finger against his while he sleeps. So lightly that he wouldn’t even know I’d done it.

Obviously, I can’t do that either. It’s creepy as hell, and it’s not right to think like that, so I resist the urge with everything I have.

I resist for hours.

For lifetimes lived alone in the dark.

At last, Jordan rolls over with a soft sigh and mumbles something in his sleep. He’s a little farther away from me than he was, and I hate that, but the space it’s bought gives me something.

It’s not much, but I’ll take it.

I reach out and put my hand on the sheet where he lay seconds ago. It’s warm. It’s warm from his body. I’m not touching him, but I’m touching something he’s touched. For me, that has to be enough.

11

Jordan

It’s early morning. Really early. Not properly light or dark anymore. I blink, mildly confused when I make out the outline of a bookshelf that isn’t mine and a faded poster above it that reads All I need to know about life I learned from Star Trek.

I’m not in my room. I’m in Orion’s.

In his bed.

I snicker at the poster. One of Orion’s claims to fame is that he’s never watched Star Trek.

I fucking love his sense of humor. It’s the best. I chuckle to myself about what a legend he is as I take stock of my surroundings. I swirl my tongue around my mouth and will my brain to come back online. It’s slow to happen, but the first thing that comes rushing back is how sick Orion was last night. He looked and sounded awful. Seriously, it was so bad that I considered calling my mom to ask her if I should take him to the ER.

I’m about to sit up to check on him when I notice a warm weight on my chest.

I rolled to the middle of the bed last night, and Orion did too. He must have because his head is tucked into the space between my head and shoulder and his arm is draped over my chest. It’s not draped exactly, more like wound. Wrapped like a vine. My T-shirt is knotted between his fingers and his other hand is tucked tightly under my side.

I put my hand on his forehead as gently as I can.

Shit. He’s burning up.

He must be sleeping deeply, though, because he doesn’t react when I touch him. Poor guy didn’t get much sleep last night, so he must be beat. He was tossing and turning a lot, and I could tell from his breathing that he was awake more than asleep.