Lies On The Lips

Chapter Five

Brett

The worst yet was to happen… Copeland. Even thinking his name hurts. But seeing him? Smelling him? Having him touch me? Last night was both the most torturous night and the happiest. It was painful to be around him, but I soaked up every second of it. When he stuck his hand in my pocket… A groan rumbles from me at the memory. Then, his hot breath at my ear as he stood too close and whispered taunting words at me. The energy buzzing through my veins was unreal. It was always Cope who made me feel alive in this dead world. Now, having him in my life after one night, I’m addicted again. Needing another hit. Now we're back at his house and although I could run back to mine, next door I don't. I stood in front of the best friend who stole my heart before he even knew it. He stole it and I broke it. Broke mine, broke his. Broke what we had, now he's pushing me, taunting me, hurting me all over again.

"Sit," he said in a stern voice and I'm doing as he tells me, like a fucking damn puppy. "And don't look at me like that, I didn't want to be at school."

I huff and turn away from his devious intentions, if there's any at all. "You could have done that alone, you don't need to drag me along with you."

"Of course I did, you didn't want to be there either," He's right, I didn't. But I don't have the luxury of just being able to bail like he does. I need to get my shit together and ace my exams and get into a good college, because my dad sure as hell won't help if I fail. "I'm tired." He yawns and slowly strips his clothing away leaving just his boxers, tight and beautiful against his skin.

I cock my head, looking him up and down. "Tattoos?"

He looked down at his chest, then graced me with a smile. "Yeah, my own design. You like it?"

"It's good, really good." Moving towards me, I backed up and made contact with his desk and I closed my eyes when his hand came at me.

"Let me ink you," he whispered. "Right here," He said, pressing a finger to my chest, over my heart. "You will let me, won't you?" My heart was now hammering in my chest at his closeness, his warmth, his smell. "Gonna draw a big dick on here. Maybe you with some hearts in your eyes." he taunts in his cruel tone he’s perfected over the past two years.

"Cope, please don't."

"Please don't what?" I kept my eyes shut tight. His finger became his hand and he pressed it against my chest. My legs wanted to buckle beneath me. "Brett," I peeked, he was watching me, my reactions and he was doing a grand job of it too. I started to break out in a hot sweat. "Get your clothes off."

"What?"

"Lay with me, just for a bit." He asked.

"No."

"Brett, lay with me."

I pleaded silently with him. I’ve longed for his presence. But not like this. He's playing and it hurts. "I can't."

"Do you whack off to thoughts of me?" he asks as he opens a stick of gum he finds.

"Don’t be a dick," I bite out. He turns and flashes me a devilish grin.

"That non-answer tells me you do. You’re gay and you want me." He shrugs and starts going through a notebook.

"You’re awfully presumptuous for having not spoken to me in two years," I mumble. "I have a date tonight." His shoulders tense and he turns his head to scowl at me. I needed to change the subject, although the subject of my heart is sitting in front of me.

"With who?"

"Leah," He laughs and turns back to his task, popping his gum loudly. "Why is that so funny?" I grit out.

"Because," he said, turning to face me. "You’re gay." I opened my mouth to argue, not because I’m not, but because he’s pissing me off, then my words die in my throat.

Shirtless freaking Copeland. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s preferred to walk around without a shirt when at home or at mine. It’s not a big deal. It means nothing. Except now, I can’t stop looking at him. He’s filled out in the last two years and he has ink. Ink! "Just stop. I kissed you because I was drunk, doesn't mean I'm gay." He laughs again and lies on his back.

"Whatever."

I needed to change the subject and fast, because I'm getting pissed. "So, are you drawing Tattoos?"

"Yeah."

"Your dad will flip a lid." I mutter, my voice raspy and low. His palm splays over stormy clouds artfully drawn on his pectoral muscle.

"My designs. I want to learn to do the tattoos myself, but my dad would shit." He frowns and meets my stare. Our dads are assholes. They rule us with their wallets. We’re trust fund babies and probably always will be. Neither of us is brave enough to bust out of this mold our dads have put us in. Our rebellion was always a quiet one…but ours.

"Well, you definitely have talent." I admit, my gaze greedily roaming all over his other tattoos. There are words written under each collarbone that I want to read, but that would require staring at him for an uncomfortably long time. His body is too perfect. Another painful stab. Where my muscles are larger from football, his are lean from good genetics and regular exercise. My gaze lingers at his abs, the enticing trail of hair below his belly button that dips below the waistband of his jeans. I licked my lips and peel my gaze from him. I'm always doing that, having to look away.

"So," he said, patting the bed. "This supposedly date, where is it happening?"

"The cinema." I wasn't going to tell him it's not exactly a date. Leah is a friend of ours and I'm only just connecting with her again after a long time. Bless her, she didn't know what to do when me and Cope stopped talking, we kind of went our separate ways and I owe her. She tried to be there for me and I refused. She doesn't know I'm gay either and I wanted to use tonight to break the news.

"I'll come with, I need a night out."

"No, that's fine."

Frowning, he tapped at his bed again and I followed and sat on the end of it, legs crossed with a few feet between us. "I want to go too." I sigh and hold my head low and start picking at his quilt. "Brett,"

"Why? Why do you want to?"

"Because it will be fun, all three of us together again."

I let a small breath out. "Yeah, I guess," I looked up at him, staring into his blue eyes. "Remember when we cut her pigtails off?"

"Yeah, she got in so much trouble for that."

"I know and she didn't tell on us either."

"She said she didn't care, she hated when her mom dressed her up with pigtails and bows."

"I know right, we did her a favor." It went silent, we both just stared at each other, the growing tension all too obvious. It's nice though, being here like this. Talking, but I still felt all churned up inside. I'd give anything to be able to throw myself at him, to touch him.

"I’m not gay," he growls my own words back at me. His voice cold, as he sits up on his knees and releases his grip on the pillow he was holding. "And you are. Dating Leah isn’t going to fix your dilemma." I flip him off and he just laughs.

"I didn't say I was going to date her, she's my friend."

Rolling his eyes he inches closer. "But you'd try, right? Just to make you look less gay, to me?"

"Don't try and assume shit Cope, do you even know how I feel? Being who I am, having the dad I have and being the quarterback," I took a quick deep breath, trying to hold back the sea of tears. "If anyone finds out, I'm done for and you come back into my life trying to get under my skin, asking, constantly. Do you get some kind of kick out of making me feel less of a man? Is it fun for you to bring me down every fucking second? You're too cruel." His eyes left mine and he fell back against the bed.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I just wanted you to admit it, then maybe you can move past it."

"Move past what?'

"Wanting me."

My tears started to fall and anger pushed through me. "Stop, for fucks sake, stop thinking my whole world revolves around you, because it doesn't."

"Fine," he bit. "I'll leave it." Uncomfortable silence again. For long minutes he just stares at me or through me, either way it hurts. "So, what now?"

"I'm going home."

"Really?"

I nodded and moved from the bed. "Yeah, I'm going," Grabbing my backpack I head for his bedroom door. Then turn back to look at him looking at me. "Why does it feel so good to you, to hurt me? Because I'm the one who's bruised by all the pain you've thrown at me for two years."

"Meet you in my car." He calls out as I leave his bedroom. He's getting to me, so much it's killing me all over again. I can't do this, I thought we could try again, to be friends again. Or maybe I'm afraid of it fading away, terrified of the silence. My final memories are pulling me back to a place I just want to forget, yet the need of it wasn't there. I'll never forget, no matter how much his words burn me, I'll always remember. Yet getting back to mine I rush up to my room and kick the door shut behind me, I tug down my pants and relieve some tension before I do something stupid. Like kiss that damn guy again. And that absolutely cannot happen.