Date: Wed, 1 Sep 2004 08:11:04 EDT
From: PrismSentence@aol.com
Subject: Refracted Light Part 2

Refracted Light

II. Purple Sky

1.

"So you haven't heard anything. Hmmm."

Alex Pendleton had been sitting on the top bunk watching Tricia braid her
hair for an hour. The young woman wound her ebony tresses in intricate
patterns, the tight coils full of colored beads being set in place by
various clips and pins. He always loved watching her work, every twist
and interlaced rope of hair meticulously set in place in just the perfect
way to heighten the beauty of her cocoa skin and pretty face with it's
full lips and high cheekbones. How did women have that kind of patience?

"No, nothing," he finally said. "It's the weirdest thing. It's like he
doesn't even know me." Depression gnawed. He hated it.

"It's no mystery, honey," Tricia declared, continuing to work the
complicated array of clips. "That boy probably ain't even out yet. He's
probably scared stiff. He was drunk, right? There you go. He's all up in
that closet of his, and here you come, rattlin' his hangers. The boy
probably wants to slam that door shut. But, nuh uh, honey. Now he's out
there in the light of day, and he's tryin' to scatter like a cockroach."

Alex laughed mildly. "You're right. Of course you're right. I've had this
happen before with one-night stands, so it shouldn't bother me. It just
does this time. I don't know why. I haven't even looked at another guy
this week."

"Then you really must be hung up on him somethin' awful, baby." Tricia
began to hum quietly, several pins pursed between her lips.

Alex leaned over and laid his head on a pillow. He listened to Tricia's
song, so airy and soothing, but speaking to something deep inside. He
drew up his knees and closed his eyes. As the song went on, he felt
something akin to an itch rise from his chest and settle firmly in the
back of his throat.

He had held onto Matthew after their lovemaking. Known him in that
feverish embrace, looking into those dark blue eyes as if peering into an
infinite chasm of loneliness. The tears slowly slid down those pale
cheeks, and all Alex could think to do was kiss them, brush away that
sadness with his own lips. How different to be moved to love and protect
and hold a complete stranger, instead of slipping out into the night as
he had done countless times before.

Now those eyes and that face were there whenever he laid down to sleep,
those tears falling through the sky in his dreams, and a soft, phantom
caress against his cheek when he awoke every morning since. He smelled
Matthew, his polo cologne, his sweat and his fear and his excitement.
Even the scent of stale beer and cigarettes on them both did little to
diminish the purity and completeness of that union.

But how dissonant were the following days! Matthew in the health complex,
trailing behind the brown-haired boy and that girl with the dark,
gorgeous curls as if he wanted to melt into the shadows of his two
friends. Matthew's eyes, wide with fearful recognition, meeting his in
the locker room for only the briefest moment before he practically fled
up the stairs and out the door. Then again in the cafeteria, as Alex
walked towards the tables, he watched Matthew rise from a half-finished
meal while he made hurried excuses to his companions. Not a glance in his
direction as he pulled his coat close and wandered into the night.

Alex had discreetly asked his friends about him. The two who knew of him
had the same story to tell. Very smart guy. Asks complicated questions
during Philosophy in Literature class. Seems terribly put out if he's
having a hard time understanding a concept. Too serious, too worried
about not knowing things. Too eager to figure out everything at once.
Tests the patience of the professor.

Well that sounded familiar, didn't it? When Alex had been a little
younger and grappling with his sexuality, didn't he too spend all of his
waking moments attempting to reason and question and will some
explanation and solace into being? Didn't he seek some salve for his own
soul as it bled through those troubled times and scabbed over due to the
endless recriminations for what he allowed himself to become?

All of that well in the past now. No more questions or doubt or sorrow.
Only contentment in who he was. Perhaps a little pride even. His moods
were no longer subject to the feelings and attitudes of others. At least,
until Matthew. There was little doubt in Alex that his contentment had
now been thoroughly displaced, and by one who seemed to want nothing more
to do with him.

"Tricia, do you think I should approach him? I mean, try to get him to
maybe talk to me?"

She had nearly finished the labyrinthine arrangement of hair. "Honey, why
do you want to be playin' grief counselor? You know that's askin for
heart-ache."

Alex shifted, looking down over the edge of the bunk onto that
impossible, but somehow ordered, maze atop Tricia's head, reminiscent of
the elegant designs in Persian rugs. "I don't know. I know what it's like
to be in the closet, to be scared to come out. Maybe that's really all he
needs, someone to talk to."

"Like I said," Tricia replied firmly. "There are plenty of boys who be
after your ass, and none of them are lookin' for a therapist to fuck."

Alex rolled onto his back, sighed, and stared at the ceiling with his
hands behind his head. The sound of a striking match came from below. A
long wisp of smoke climbed upwards followed by the deep smell of his
mother's flower garden on spring days after school. Brief image of her
shears and the white gloves caked with dirt. Weeds piled next to her as
she hummed. "What is that?"

"Incense, baby. It'll calm you down."

The itch in his throat and chest rose again, but no tears. Only the
memories of a time long ago.

2.

The next day, Alex crunched his way through the ice and snow as he
crossed the quad. Steam rose from his face and hands while his bodily
rapidly cooled from the three-mile run he had just finished. Desolate,
this place, in the frozen finish of January, with only the smell of the
frosted grass, hard concrete, and barren trees. The oak trees
particularly struck him as strangely hideous and beautiful, with their
thin, withered fingers reaching towards the sky as if desperate for the
spare warmth of the sun. And there, along a wall crawling with dead,
skeletal vines, laid the naked remains of violas shivering in the bleak
winter breeze.

The white expanse of the lakeshore loomed between towering Martin Hall
and the squat art department next-door. It seemed to him like the salt
flats he had seen in movies, where people buried things to hide them from
witches. It rose upon the horizon like an otherworldly backdrop for a
campus full of dull, red brick.

Alex's eyes fixed on Martin Hall, counting upwards until he reached
fifteen, then four across to the small window with the blinds drawn. Was
he up there, right now, peering at him through a slit as Alex stood there
in his black athletic pants and blue sweatshirt? Would he even recognize
him from so high up?

Alex had no doubt that he would, and perhaps it would give him enough
motivation to remain locked away in that tall fortress of a dorm, hiding
from him as long as he possibly could. Damn him for this. Damn Matthew
for making him stand out there in the cold like a rejected prince pining
for a Rapunzel who would never lower her hair again.

Cursing Matthew, but mostly himself, he climbed the steps into Martin
Hall and flashed his student I.D. to the disinterested security guard
outside the computer lab. Though the lab in his building tended to be
habitually full, he rarely minded waiting. Only an emergency could compel
him to cross campus and use these facilities. This time he was only too
ready to find an excuse that would place himself in an area where Matthew
might pass.

As Alex entered, the sudden warmth filling the room stung his ears and
nose, but how delicious to feel it seep into his skin. The other students
took no notice of him. There were a dozen or so here, their faces bent
over the screens in concentration.

He found a vacant computer and logged in, promptly emptying his e-mail of
all the campus event advertisements like the bake sale for the Faculty
Wives Club or the European trivia night held by the Polish Student
Alliance. Here was the announcement of a taco bar to be set up in the
lounge by the Student Union, though for what reason Alex could not
fathom. Certainly this little plan had been concocted late at night, long
after the pot had run out. The only clubs that interested Alex were those
three train stops south of the university. Though there might be pot in
those places and tacos in the odd adjoining restaurant, he had the
sneaking suspicion he would never encounter a faculty wife at any of
them.

Finished with the spam, he opened the mails from friends at home, those
he had gone to high school with who had moved on to other lives entirely.
The descriptions of classes and activities became almost rote as Alex
clicked through them, all slightly different, but all consisting of the
same theme. The words held little feeling of the time they had spent
together, of the memories shared during their childhood. Only sterile,
reportorial information remained, sent only out of a sense of obligation
to old affection mostly forgotten.

He fired off a few replies, saying very little of interest even to
himself, and nothing at all about Matthew. Isn't that what these long
gone friends wanted? Lists of classes and assignments, but not a word
about new friends, emotional entanglements, and those things which really
mattered in his day to day life?

While pondering these things, his eyes flashed over the e-mail addresses.
Like the notes themselves, all different yet all exactly the same. Simply
a first initial, last name, the university, and the required .edu.

Alex suddenly grew quite still, not trusting himself to keep in a shriek
of excitement as he hit upon the idea. His own university used the same
format for e-mail addresses. He had seen Matthew's last name on a few
scattered assignments the morning after they met. His palms became
sweaty. Could he reach Matthew in this way? He quickly entered "mobrien"
into the send field and began writing. The words came slow at first, but
rapidly poured out of him as hope in his heart grew:

* * *

Matthew,

I know you have been avoiding me since that night we spent together. I
hope it's not because of something I have said or done. I think it's
because you're still in the closet. Don't worry, I haven't told anyone
else. I would never do that to you.

I really just want to have a chance to talk to you. If you're feeling
torn up about what happened or about the possibility that other people
will find out, don't. Like I said, I won't tell. I just, I don't know. If
you're having problems, I want to help you and be there for you. I went
through the same thing myself, and I know how hard it can be. No one
should go through it alone.

I just want to say that Friday night was wonderful for me. I hope it was
for you, too.

My worst fear right now, is that I'd taken advantage of you when you were
drunk. I had a little to drink myself, but I wasn't anywhere near as bad
as you. I really hope that isn't it, because then what I did is terrible,
and I hope you will forgive me.

Please let's just talk, ok?

Alex P.

* * *

Alex thought for a moment before adding his phone number along the bottom
and sending it with a note to call "any time, day or night." Every
scenario of reply ran through his mind. An acceptance of his offer. A
furious denunciation of Alex for taking advantage of him that night. Yet,
there could be nothing worse than no reply at all, which is what he
feared most.

To his right, a female student cursed and banged the top of the laser
printer on the end table. "Stupid piece of shit." She struck it again.

Did they call this sort of thing serendipity? There, lashing out at the
printer was the dark-haired girl with the flowing curls he had helped
Matthew take home - the same one who seemed to accompany Matthew
everywhere around campus.

"Hey, calm down there a sec." Alex stood up and walked over to the
printer to find out what the problem was. "It's only a paper jam, see?
Just yank it out and put a few sheets in at a time. Someone's messed this
all up by trying to force in an entire stack at once."

The girl - Emily was it? - smiled, seemed embarrassed. "Sorry, it's just
this stupid paper. I have to have it printed for a history class that
starts in ten minutes." She brushed a curl back over her ear. "I know, I
know. I shouldn't have waited until the last minute, but it couldn't be
helped." She gave him a rather good damsel-in-distress smile. If he had
been any other man . . .

Alex chuckled in spite of himself. "I know how it is. I've been there
myself. Everyone has." He quickly repaired the printer and smiled when
Emily squealed with joy when it began chugging away.

"Thank you so much for doing this!" She bounced a little and continued
her flirtatious grin as the pages ground out.

"Emily, right?" Perhaps she could help.

"How did you know?" The smile vanished somewhat, replaced by a little
suspicion. A girl with a reputation maybe?

"I heard your name at the party last Friday night. I just have a memory
for these things." He shrugged in a disarming manner.

"Oh." She said simply. "Oh! Right. You're the guy who was dancing with
that black girl all night." She quickly added, "Wait, that so didn't come
out right. I mean, I only noticed her because she had her hair done up
and an ass I would absolutely kill for." She seemed flustered over her
poor choice of words.

"It's quite all right," Alex said. "I think Tricia would be pretty
flattered by your description. She'd probably fawn over your own hair.
It's quite pretty." Was that the right way to smooth over a faux pas?

Emily cheeks reddened. "Why thank you. And now my paper's finished
printing, and I need to dash right off to class. But first, I'd like to
know the name of this really cute guy who has totally saved me."

It was his turn to blush. "Alex." She really could have any man she
wanted with those big, brown eyes and the long, dark lashes. "But, hey,
if you want to pay me back, maybe you can do me a favor."

Emily seemed entirely too anxious to do anything he pleased. The
slightest tinge of discomfort tugged at him. "Hmmm?"

Alex rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "Do you know a guy
named Matthew O'Brien? I heard he lives here. See, I've been trying to
get a hold of him, since a friend of mine said he's killer in philosophy,
and that's exactly the kind of person I need right now for a paper I have
to finish. I've tried e-mailing, but he doesn't seem to be answering. Do
you know where I can find him?"

"You're looking for Matt? Sure. He's one of my best friends. He's usually
at the library until all hours, studying. I know he has a big German Lit.
exam coming up, so he's been there pretty late every night this week, all
holed up with his books. He gets like that when he's stressed."

Perfect. "Great, thanks. I'll try to find him there."

"No problem," Emily said. "And now I really have to get to class." Alex
thought he glimpsed a wink as she turned, picked up the papers, grabbed
her coat, and veritably skipped out of the lab.

3.

"Now I'm a proper stalker," Alex muttered to himself while blowing hot
air into his cupped, gloved hands. A half hour had passed in the
unendurable cold as he stood waiting just outside the library entrance
for Matthew to leave. Dressed all in black, with a matching woolen cap
drawn low over his ears, Alex fancied he looked like he was about to rob
the next person who crossed his path. Standing against a wall just
outside the circles of burnt orange light cast by the streetlamps didn't
do much to expel the image. He impatiently checked the steel watch on his
wrist.

Seven minutes until midnight, until the library closed.

Matthew would be forced to leave through the main entrance, as the rest
of the doors had been padlocked two hours ago. Then Alex would approach
him or call out to him or . . . what? Scare him half to death is what. A
terrible way to confront him, but preferable to risking a scene inside
the quiet library where unwelcome eyes could watch them. Better to speak
outside where even the campus police stopped patrolling on account of the
vicious cold.

Alex ventured a glance through the glass doors.

Matthew leaned against a desk in the lobby, running his hands through his
tangled black hair and talking with the elderly female librarian. He put
on his coat and placed a stack of just checked-out texts in his backpack.
He nodded several times and smiled politely as the librarian gestured
wildly before laughing and put her hand on his arm. More smiles and then
a wave as Matthew turned towards the doors and began walking out.

Alex quickly ducked to the side and pressed himself against the wall, his
breath tightly held.

The glass door swung open on the frozen hinges with a grating, protracted
whine. Matthew shivered and drew out a pair of dark gloves from his
pockets, slipping them on while trying to balance the overloaded backpack
on one shoulder. A long column of breath billowed into the light.

"Matt."

Matthew whirled around, fell to one knee, and slid across a wide patch of
ice as the momentum of his heavy bag threw him off balance. Pure alarm on
his face as his body stilled and eyes attempted to adjust in the darkness
where Alex stood.

Alex stepped forward and offered a gloved hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean
to frighten you. I just didn't want to talk inside." Seeing the
consummate fear on Matthew's face brought instant regret. Should have
waited for a reply to the e-mail. Should have found him during the day.
Should have done anything but this clumsiness that left Matt staring and
shaking like a cornered rabbit.

Matthew reluctantly took Alex's hand and lifted himself up. He brushed
the ice from his knee. "What do you want?"

Alex looked into Matthew's blue eyes. They had darkened into glassy pools
of ink, covered in a watery shimmer of reflected light. Nothing but
mortal terror in those eyes, which were even now darting back and forth
as if searching out any who might overhear them. "I want to talk to you
about what happened Friday night."

An unsteady sigh. "Look man, it's ok. It happened, and it's fine. If
you're feeling guilty because I was drunk, don't worry about it. I was
the one who pushed for it. You have nothing to be sorry about."

Did Matthew know how nervous he looked just now as he said that? Alex
shook his head. "You misunderstand me. I wanted to talk to you, not
because I was feeling guilty, but because I liked it. And I was kind of
hoping that maybe it could happen again. You know, after we had gotten to
know each other a little better."

Petrified rabbit look again. Alex detested it. Detested he was the cause
of it.

"No, I don't think so," Matthew said thickly. "And not because of you.
Don't get me wrong here. It was really great. It just can't happen again,
and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't let anyone know. I'm not . . .
you know."

"I know," Alex said, full of sympathy. Keeping himself from reaching out
and taking this poor, scared kid into his arms took every ounce of will
he could muster.

Matthew took a deep, jittery breath. "I know this is really shitty of me.
And, it's kind of a cliché, but it really isn't you. I just can't deal
with this right now. I hope you understand."

The boy pushing past him on the walk caught Alex by surprise. Stunned for
a moment, he watched Matthew disappear into the dark underpass of a
footbridge. He jogged after him. "Wait!"

Total darkness in this place. Only the smallest pieces of fiery light
glinting off the ice in the sidewalk cracks. "Matt, please, let's just
talk."

Warm breath touching Alex's face. "I seriously can't do this right now. I
have a scholarship I have to worry about. I'm not rich like a lot of the
kids here. If I lose my scholarship, I'm completely fucked. And if I get
into this with you - with anyone! - I will completely lose it. Don't you
understand? I'm completely incapable of doing this at this point in my
life. It will eat me alive, and I'll lose everything I've worked my ass
off for."

Alex reached out towards the vague form in front of him and put his hand
on Matthew's shoulder. "No it won't. It doesn't have to if you don't let
it. Do you think keeping all of this bottled up is healthy? Matt, it's
already eating you alive. You've been running around and hiding for a
solid week now. Do you think that's something you're willing to do for
the next three and a half years?"

Alex perceived a nod. "I have to. You don't understand. Not everything.
And if I let a little bit out, then it's all going to come rushing out,
and then I won't know what to do with myself. I have to keep my focus in
my studies. Maybe after graduation, when I'm not worried about
scholarships or anything else, then I'll have time for this and myself."

How well he knew this, all the many years Alex spent saying the same
things to himself over and over again. This time he did put his arms
around Matthew and pulled him close. The tiniest heart-piercing whine
came from this wounded boy, followed by a flood of sobs that must have
been in him all his life. "I know," Alex repeated again and again, gently
rocking Matthew back and forth in his arms.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" Matthew balled his hands and pounded
against Alex's chest feebly. "How fucking dare you do this to me! Why are
you doing this to me?!" A struggle as Matthew tried to push him away. But
his frame was too slight compared to Alex's.

Suddenly a rough kiss full of awful hatred and terrible love before
Matthew ripped his lips away in contempt.

A primitive hunger awoke in Alex, an unknown part of him quickened as he
felt the palpable glare from Matthew in the dark. He grabbed the boy's
fists and pinned him against the brick wall of the underpass, returning a
kiss as brutal as the one that came before.

Their gloved hands shot out for each other's pants at the same time. Alex
pulled the gloves from his hands with his teeth and clawed at the button
of Matthew's jeans. "No," he commanded, pushing Matthew against the wall
again. In an act of near violence, Alex tore the boy's jeans down to his
knees and against pressed him against the wall again. Almost rape, so
savage were his gestures.

Matthew's cock stood ready for him, even in this agonizing cold, so
smooth against his lips, and a small pearl of precum just beginning to
ooze out of the tip. Alex swallowed him, groaning as Matthew filled his
mouth and throat. Fingers running through his own hair, pulling him
closer, guiding him into a rhythm.

Matthew sighed and moaned, smitting quiet yelps as his flesh touched the
icy wall behind him. All of this tantalizing beyond reason for Alex as he
consumed this hard cock, running his tongue along the shaft before
pulling it in completely once again. His hands all over Matthew's thighs,
rubbing, warming them in the frigid air as he took him into his throat
once again.

His senses filled with the smell Alex loved, the penetrating masculine
scent, all clean and heavy and full of sweat and arousal. The precum
landing on his tongue in thick droplets only heightened the pleasure for
him. His own cocked leapt and pounded in his jeans.

Then came the glorious flood, Matthew pulsing against the back of his
throat, filling his mouth full of this boy Alex was falling in love with.
Weak, guttural sounds rumbled from Matthew's chest, and that was as
perfect as everything else for him.

Alex fell backwards, staring up, half believing or even aware of what had
just happened. Matthew looked down at him, panting heavily, his knees
bending ever so slightly and threatening to fail him all together. As if
in a dream, he pulled up and rebuttoned his jeans.

Alex became dimly aware that his own jeans were soaked through between
his legs. Was it possible for such a thing to have happened when he
hadn't touched himself? But the evidence was slick and warm against his
skin.

Matthew continued to stare, his face blank and full of confusion and
wonder.

Alex climbed to his feet, pulled out his wallet, and withdrew a small
white card from one of the folds. He pressed it into Matthew's hand.
"Call me, and we'll talk."

Alex Pendleton walked away, leaving the wounded boy behind, no doubt
dumbfounded. A faint smile touched his lips, his mind at peace. A hope he
was doing right by Matthew O'Brien kindled in his heart and burned
brightly as he left the dark underpass below the footpath.

And then he went home.

End of Part II

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