Loveless: A Male-Male Forbidden Romance

  Loveless

  C.L. Matthews

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Loveless

  Love should never mean | having to live in fear. | - DaShanne Stokes

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  The End

  Acknowledgements

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  Further Reading: Breathe

  Also By C.L. Matthews

  © 2020 C.L. Matthews

  All Rights Reserved

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Opulent Swag and Designs

  The use of actors, artists, movies, TV shows, and song titles/lyrics throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

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  Love should never mean

  having to live in fear.

  - DaShanne Stokes

  To everyone who has suffered through

  being forced in a closet no one should have to live in.

  Love is love is love.

  Chapter One

  TEXAS

  We all stumble at some point.

  That’s not a dance reference but a life one.

  Whether you’re rich, somewhere in-between, or like me—dirt poor and homeless—we all experience a low. It may be really shallow and pure squalor, even less than the bottom of the barrel, or just a setback that makes your life temporarily feel unstable. Either way, we all stumble, misstep, or trip at some point.

  That’s exactly what has happened to me.

  My dad, Bert Silver, a hard-ass for all intents and purposes, is an ex-Navy Commander. He lived his life serving his country and met Mom when he was stationed at Everett. They fell madly in love, but I never experienced that side of him. Not that memories trigger, at least.

  Mom died when I was five. Cholangiocarcinoma. A cancer that kills you swiftly from the inside of your liver, swallowing your life wholly.

  My mom was our middle ground. She loved me endlessly and made sure I’d never felt alone or helpless. Dad only loved me because she did. Since forever, my dad and I butted heads. I like color. He likes formation. Music is my addiction. Reading the Washington Post is his. Flavor is a necessity, but steak and potatoes could be his singular palette for life. One is up, while the other is down. We never see eye-to-eye, but I did the best I could. The problem is, my best and his best are opposites of one another. Mine is sub-par to his idea of exceptional, which means I’ll never make him truly happy.

  I’ve known since I was fifteen that I’m into guys. It was the first time I tried and failed to sleep with a girl. She understood and believed me when I lied about drinking too much. Patty Sinclair, the first and only girl to ever kiss and touch me. Luckily for me, we went to different schools, and I never saw her again, but I will always remember her name, the eyes that seemed to know it all, and the smile she left with.

  It wasn’t until today, at twenty-one years of age, that I finally got caught with my pants down.

  Literally.

  I’d been jerking it to porn on my cell. Nothing abnormal. It’s all I can do being in a small-as-fuck town with as many gay people as there are gas stations. Five. That’s a total of five. There’s no one I could spend time with that won’t get back to my dad somehow. I live at home while going to Valley West University. Living with Dad is all I can afford, and he allows it, claims it’s the only way I won’t be a sad excuse to his name, especially since I didn’t go into the Navy. He wants me to be a huge businessman, while I want to be happy. That’s right... happy. Doesn’t seem so taboo, does it? Well, it is. Happy means being open about my attraction to dicks. In Valley West, dicks are only allowed to be inside pussies. Guess happiness won’t happen after all.

  The guy on the screen pounds into another lither one. They’re both athletic and built, just how I like them, but the bottom is smaller like me. There’s something addicting about muscles, wide shoulders, and the sheer voracity of how a man can pound into another’s ass like it’s their last shag. My hand grips my shaft greedily, wishing to be the man taking it, being pushed into like no one else could possibly get the top off like me. Right as I’m about to bust a nut, my dad comes in. I’m so lost in the moment that it takes me a huge breath to grasp the fucking situation I’ve gotten myself into.

  The horror on his face only lasts a second before he witnesses the two dudes fucking on my screen. Perfect timing too, the top exclaims, “That’s right, you little cumslut. Take my seed.”

  “What the fuck?” Dad’s voice booms, and I’ve finally gathered my wits to pull up my boxers. “You’re a fucking faggot!”

  My whole body heats in shame and fear. That vein in his forehead I rarely see pops and pulses along with my raging heart rate, and I’m scared shitless.

  “Dad—”

  “Don’t. Just get your shit and leave, Texas. Queers aren’t welcome here.”

  It comes out softer than I expected, almost too calm with a touch of disappointment. He slams the bathroom door as he leaves, and I clean up, shut down my porn app, and get my grab bag.

  When you live in a home with a military man, you always have a go-bag. It’s something that holds essentials. Passport. ID. Clothes. First Aid kit. Dad was huge into planning for the end of the world. He even has an underground bunker in the Sevier Mountains a half hour east of our home. It’s just in case.

  I grab the picture of my mom and me as a kid, my bottle cap collection from friends that went around the world while I stayed in this Podunk town, and my bag. It takes me five seconds to breathe and to text Prim, my best friend.

  Who is a girl.

  Who doesn’t know I’m gay.

  She’s my escape. Her fruity-colored hair and passionate vegetarianism brings me peace. I’m a carnivore, but she’s practically a rabbit. Somehow, it works.

  Dad kicked me out. Meet at Grounders? It’s not our normal day to meet, but she’ll keep me from having a full mental breakdown.

  Grounders is our favorite coffee shop in the center of town. It’s small, family-owned, and makes the best coffee. Sh
e’s more of a tea girl, but luckily, they serve both.

  I leave before my dad can come back inside and decide to beat some straightness into me. I’ve seen it happen on the shows he watches. It wouldn’t be a surprise if that ends up being the route he takes. If you witness the way he talks about gay people, you would be disgusted.

  I’ve given him excuses over the years because he’s my dad. No more.

  Sure thing, jelly bean. See you in ten.

  Her text has me smiling. She never second-guesses me, just goes with the flow no matter how hard it may be for her.

  I grab my car keys from the dangling wood plaque Mom made and rush outside. Dad can’t keep my car. It’s my only home from now on until I can get a job. Plus he didn’t pay for it. Why I haven’t had a job since high school was my first mistake. Dad told me to focus on school, and I didn’t realize I wouldn’t have anything to keep me afloat if he decided to finally disown me. Poor planning on my part.

  Staring at the text message, I think of Prim. Primrose Loveless. We met at Grounders one day. Her hair back then had been a bright blue, almost still blonde but not, a glowing soft turquoise shade that made her seem angelic.

  I would find out later, she was, in fact, an angel.

  “Earl Gray with a dash of honey, whip cream, and sprinkles!” the barista yells out the finished order.

  From around the aisle, a dainty little woman hops to the counter—literally skips—for her disgusting-sounding concoction. As the lady said, there is, in fact, whip cream and sprinkles. Even from several feet away, the rainbow diabetes drink is visible. My dark heart bleeds a little here for the unicorn in front of me. She has these piggy tail buns on her head, and there are stray hairs curled to make her seem even more charming. She’s vivacious, full of life, the exact opposite of my dark self.

  She’s wearing white skinny jeans because she’s insane with rips up and down the legs, bright blue leggings underneath them, and a soft pink crop top that’s a little too baggy for her small frame. It hangs off the shoulder a little, and there’s a small tattoo there. Meow. It says meow.

  It takes everything not to chuckle at her, but a slight one slips out anyhow, and her eyes collide with mine. They’re an orange-y color, almost feline. She offers me a raised eyebrow, and I smile.

  I have no room to talk with my pitch-black outfit, gauged ears, seafoam green hair, lip piercing, and tattooed arms.

  If not for already being called a delinquent waste of space by my dad, my ink would definitely garner the same reaction from him. It’s why I didn’t second-guess every line, inch, or image on my body. Not even the piercings.

  After I order my shotgun coffee, which wasn’t something I chose for flavor, I find myself watching her from afar. Our eyes constantly meet in silent conversation. What would it be like to be that bright and comfortable with myself?

  To be free and unbothered.

  To live simply for the sake of living...

  We became friends that day and spend every Wednesday getting drinks to talk about nothing. It’s almost meaningless conversation. It’s telling a stranger why you want to die or finding peace in another human because they just listen.

  She’s my human.

  I listen.

  She talks.

  We live.

  Even if it’s not romantic, it’s peaceful. It’s platonic and safe, and she doesn’t ask for anything in return but my ears and Wednesday afternoons.

  The small distance drive to Grounders goes by quickly, and as soon as my car rounds the corner, her Tesla is already visible. Yes, a fucking Tesla. It stands out like a sore thumb, making it the most noticeable vehicle in town.

  Prim is environmentally aware, so no gas guzzler for her. She definitely teases me from time to time for my 2005 Nissan Altima. It’s not the worst carbon footprint offender, but it isn’t as green as she is.

  Oh, and she’s a vegetarian. Go meatless! Inside joke. Sorry.

  After parking, I lock my entire life in my car and head to the front.

  “Tex!” Prim’s exhaustingly exuberant voice beams from outside the door. Her pink cotton candy hair is down today, flowing in loose waves to her midback. Since we’ve known each other, she’s refused to cut it.

  Today, she’s sporting shorts and a crop top. In this miserable foggy weather? No thanks. I’ll stick with my black hoodie, black jeans, and combat boots. Her clothes are as bright as her, though, and it never ceases to make me smile.

  The pain from earlier is the last thing on my mind as she brings me in for a hug. She’s not fazed about my random invite at all. It’s such a different response than all my other friends, none of which are in Washington anymore. The difference between Prim and them is astronomical. She’s colorful, and they’re dull. It’s a perfect contrast. Everyone needs a little brightness to challenge their dark.

  “I missed you,” she hums into my chest.

  Her arms tighten around me, begging for me to return the hug. I’m not much for embraces or touching. Any human contact is a restriction, a straitjacket to my soul, something that brings awareness and pain. It’s why affection makes me uncomfortable.

  My arms wrap around her eventually, knowing it’s the only way she’ll detach herself from me. As we awkwardly block the door to the shop, the barista Carol gives us a disapproving look.

  “You’re letting in the gray, you two.”

  Carol has been like a mom to me without the constant love. She’s sixty-seven and quicker than a whip. Her hair is graying throughout, but it’s barely noticeable with her being a blonde. Almost looks like shimmering silver, or at least, that’s how she corrects me when I bring it up.

  We hurry in, and she starts our order without asking. It’s been like this for three years. Prim and I—my salvation. These meetups, our conversation, her peppiness.

  There’s no one in the shop. A smile tugs free at that. It means our table will be free of rando tweens and writers who pretend to work while browsing social media. Prim rushes to it, dragging my hand along. We get seated, and I just sigh. It’s all I’ve got to offer after my shit morning.

  “Let’s talk, Tex,” Prim articulates.

  Her eyes are digging into my head, not literally, of course. She’s trying to compile what transpired. I can’t tell her, not the truth or reality of what happened. She wouldn’t understand. If on the slim chance she would and isn’t like every other snub-nosed person in this town, where would that leave us? Would she be accepting or weirded out? Would she not want drama or damaged-friend goods?

  “My dad kicked me out. Not much to say other than a big disagreement he wouldn’t compromise with. I don’t have a job, so my car is my new home, and I’m tired as fuck.”

  She has this saddened expression marring her peaceful features, bringing her eyebrows downward and her lower lip out. It’s an expression that needs to go away. I want to wipe it clear from her and not allow her to feel sorry for me. It’s not her fault.

  Prim, unlike most, isn’t meant to be sad. It’s almost more devastating for her to feel your emotions than experiencing them yourself.

  “Don’t be upset, Prim. I’ll figure it out,” I calmly say, trying to reassure her. And I will figure it out, not that there’s much choice. Starving isn’t on the roster. Homelessness won’t do. “Just need to find a job and drop out. I can make it work.”

  “You’re not dropping out!” she hisses loudly, peering around to see if anyone is listening. No one but Carol can hear, or she would tell us to hush. “I’ve got the perfect place for you to work.”

  My ears prick at that tidbit.

  “What? Where?” The eagerness in my tone can’t be cramped down with hesitation. I’m pretty desperate at this point.

  She smiles conspiratorially. “You’re twenty-one now, Tex. You can work at Drink More, Love Less!”

  I stare at her, wondering why that sounds familiar. Yes, it’s her last name, but—

  “Your Dad’s bar?” I ask, cutting off my own thoughts, realizing she told me o
nce about the place. I might be twenty-one, but bars aren’t my thing. If I got too drunk and hit on someone, I would be better off dead.

  Prim nods, a big smile encompassing her face. “And you can stay with me. I’ve got extra room. Or rather, we do. Dad has another two spare rooms.”

  My eyes bug out. A bed. A place to stay.

  It all sounds nice, but she’s making these big decisions without her dad’s approval. She may be nineteen, but she’s still under his roof. There are restrictions. Believe me, I would know.

  “No, that’s okay. Don’t need to make your old man hate you as much as mine does me.”

  “Oh, stop!” she says, exasperated. “He’ll be fine. Plus, we know once you get on your feet, you can get a new place.”

  I’m nodding even though I shouldn’t. I’m not a freeloader. I work for my shit.

  “Maybe we can get a place together when you’re in a better financial place,” she continues. “I’ve been meaning to get a job, too. Imagine us living together.”

  The way she said we has me feeling bad in more than one way. We’re best friends, yes, but she likes dick.

  Me too, Prim. Me fucking too.

  “Your drinks,” Carol interrupts us with her raspy leather-like voice. It brings comfort, always has. It’s like my home away from home, especially since that home was never more than a roof over my head. “If I had enough business to hire help, Texas, you’d be the first to know.”

  It’s in those words and the shine of her eyes that I realize she’s upset about my entire situation.

  “Thanks, Care.” The sincerity in my voice speaks volumes, and in return, she squeezes my shoulder.

  After we start drinking, Prim comes up with a plan. I gave her shit for trying to push me onto her dad and begged her to have a conversation with him before jumping the gun. She gives me enough cash to stay at the little inn on the corner and to get dinner, saying she’ll approach her dad about the job and moving in.

  Lettuce pray.

  Get it? She’s a vegetable-tarian.

  No?