The perfect man

Erica’s excitement could reverse an eclipse, returning the light to a dark world.

She had been invited into the Young Creators Cohort. That was the good news she had for us, and indeed, it was great. I was smiling from ear to ear, hoping I was smiling right—the correct way people smiled. I wasn’t sure if they had specific steps to smile, or if I could buy a book to learn how to make one properly.

Henry pulled Erica in for a hug the way he always did, throwing his arms lazily around you and suffocating you at the same time. She pushed him almost immediately after a brief hug.

“Okay, that’s enough,” she breathed out and in. “I’ll need some personal space, okay?” She said it in a serious tone but was still sarcastic, because Henry only moved in closer and continued trying to pull her in for a hug despite her protest and complaint about smudging her makeup. I was laughing hysterically, just as Henry was laughing too.

I loved them. I really do.

I wish I could tell them about Riley—tell them the details about what happened in his house—but it felt like bubbles were clogged up in my throat, pressing down on words not yet said.

That evening, when Riley came out of his door after I had knocked, he came out sweaty, with only his singlet and shorts on. He was sweating so profusely it was dripping from his jaw, and his biceps and collarbone glistening like honey.

I told myself that I would have to start getting used to seeing this. He was such an eye candy, and I was consuming him with every glint, every stare—from the tattoos on his strong arms, to his broad shoulders, to his abs that were visible through the thin film of white fabric. I thought of things that I wished I didn’t think of, things I didn’t know I could think of.

I first saw his lips move, noiseless at first, before I heard his voice.

“Are you just going to stand there?” It was loud, intense, angry.

I shook, and the book in my hands fell. I didn’t know when he had stepped back, when he had opened the door and was waiting for me to walk in. I didn’t know for how long I had been standing there, staring into his perfect face and perfect body, swimming and drowning in my own thoughts of him.

The skin of my face burned, and I hoped I wasn’t shining red. I picked up my book from the ground without a word, even though I wished I said something—something that would make it make sense, something that explained why I was the way I was.

But I said nothing. My lips were glued to one another and my throat was tight with bubbles, so I just took my book and went in.

I wouldn’t have known Riley had an entire gym in his suite if he didn’t turn on the light on the west wing of the living room. I heard some sounds there, like he was putting some things together. He was probably training before I came—that was why he was sweaty. He came out almost immediately.

“I should go freshen up.” He pointed at his body like it was dirty. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t mind, that I wouldn’t mind him looking sweat-stricken throughout the session. I pinched myself so hard I almost bled.

The thoughts in my head felt foreign, like they weren't my own, like someone else was thinking for me and I was trying so hard to take back control of my mind.

***

“Hey, kid, come help me out.” Riley called from inside his room. I ignored it, hoping that it was only a fragment of my imagination. But he called again.

“Alfiee.”

My lips trembled—not with fear, but with something else that I couldn’t explain. Why was he doing this, any of this? Is there perhaps something he wants… no, there’s no way. One, he’s not even gay. He probably just enjoys seeing me quiver. This right here is what he enjoyed doing. He was a devil, and had no bigger motive than to torment. If I didn’t show him how I felt, then maybe he’d stop.

I walked into his room, each step more careful than the last, and when I opened his door, my body went stiff from the sight I was forced to behold.

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