Amends

You're tired. So very tired.

If you didn't know any better you'd say you just fucked your brains out. But you haven't. Instead you have just made love to Justin. That's what they call it, right? Making love?

It's what he asked. He wanted to feel you inside. He asked you to take is easy. And in a voice that sounded so fucking pathetic you offered to do it like the first time.

The first time... the one time that became a second and a third time and at the end of the night, the kid had almost worn you out.

But that's not what he asked for tonight. He didn't ask to be fucked into the mattress. He didn't ask to wear a butt plug while he blows you. What he asked for is... you.

He chose you to be his first that night. It wasn't you who picked him, you stopped kidding yourself about that a while ago. He said it to Mickey in that bratty, cocky as they come voice in the back of your car. "I'm going with him."

And just like that, he chose you again tonight.

After everything.

After he almost died because of you.

Sure, he tells you it's not your fault. But that doesn't make it so. You've had almost three months to convince yourself of the opposite. That if you hadn't gone to that prom, none of this would have happened.

And you wouldn't be lying here now, watching Justin's right hand curled in a cramp against your stomach.

You want to reach for it, smooth out his fingers against yours but you can't. You're not sure why but you really can't.

Why has be chosen you? Out of all people.

Back then, you knew why. Because you were hot. And he was seventeen with a stamina to match. Sure, he was is young and so were are you. Like he'd said, just like everybody else, he wanted to get laid.

Why he chose to come back afterwards... well, part of you understands. Your dick surely does. Your brain... not so much.

And then the virtually unthinkable happened and he asked you to be his prom date. That one you will never comprehend. How he could be so sure, so confident, so... fearless. All you know is that that's why you went after all. Because he was sure and confident and fearless. Because he practiced what you were preached all this time. Because he did what he did because he wanted to. Who are you to deny him that?

But now you're here and you're tired and your "no regrets" mantra doesn't seem as set in stone as it once was.

You do regret. And you told him that. You've apologized a hundred times over. Not with words but with your silent presence at his bedside. That's all the amends you can make.

Well, that isn't entirely true. You're here, aren't you? You offered his mother to help him. To repair the damages. She knew what you were too afraid to admit. That you are the only one who can help Justin.

And he is the only one who can help you.

He can help your mind be quiet. Something that neither booze nor bumps nor blow jobs could manage in the past few months.

He can help you sleep because you're so fucking tired.

He can help you heal because you have scars, too. Of course, your friends can't see them so they don't count, right?

He can.

He can give you what you need the most.

A second chance.

You are in this together. He and you.