Skin on skin.

I sat in my bed. Feel like something has to be done. but do I have the courage? Don't know. I've gone to my study today. A notebook I got from the shelf of it had been placed on the table in my room. My eyes drifted from the window to the notebook very frequently. It is one of my books which had a label on it, a very tiny one. making it kind of special. and it was special.

The sole of my bare feet touched the cool wooden floor, taking calculated steps towards the table in the corner of the room. I stood in front of it, hands hesitantly reaching to feel the outlet of the discarded book. I never read it. Now seeing it, I can feel this urge in me to see what's inside of it, which I wrote when we were together. I never read the things I wrote but he did, apparently, he loved to do it.

The pad of my fingers ran back and forth on the cover of the notebook, stopping at the tiny slip I glued on it years ago. It read 'Skin on skin'. the slip is rusty, I took the book in my palm before walking out of the door. The hall is a little mess. The blanket bundled on the coach almost touched the floor. That's when I recalled I didn't make my bed yet.

I didn't go back to do it as I ambled straight to the front door. I dragged it open before stepping out. The morning sun shines on my face. everything is glistening under the gleaming daylight. I've always been a morning person because I love the smell of mornings. I heard the faint chirps of birds with the shuffling of leaves by the summer breeze, then I felt it on my skin, lightly.

I pulled my shirt over my head before plopping it down on the floor of the front door. my feet are still bare that I could feel the land underneath without any hindrance. I walked down the patio steps to the chair I settled underneath the shadow of a tree of which I don't know the name of. The light heat I feel on my bare skin is, delighting.

I perch down on the chair, almost laying on it. The barely-there weight I feel on my left hand reminds me of the reason I came here. I lifted the notebook to the level of my eyes with both hands, before bending my hands to hold it on my lap. I opened the cover of the notebook. the first page was empty, but when I flip it over, the second page was flooded with words. I couldn't make out some of it which I guess I wrote in a hurry. The letters are twisted and tangled up with each other. lots of scribbles earmarked on the ends of the pages, maybe every place that I could do it without messing up with the real thing.

my eyes take in the left side of the page, where I wrote the date, there's a little heart shape at the end. Below that was something like a poem—

You were all over me like you lost the power to control your movements.

we stumbled on our feet like it can't stand in a particular space that it invaded other's.

I feel like I am fading into you

Are we doing it?

I feel your lips on my skin, as I traced yours with the tips of my fingers.

I feel like I'm in my headspace, floating.

you feel warm underneath the skin of my palm and can feel it starting to become feverish.

I wanna feel more,

You on me,

skin on skin.

—My hands clasp the page, and I tossed my head back on the chair. I can't read more. Because I can feel how I felt when I wrote this. that was the first time we initiate something so intimate with each other. And we haven't been living together. that he didn't know something like this— a book, existed. But the existence of this was so damn prized for me at that time, that I didn't want anything that happens between us to slip past the oblivious darkness of my mind.

I was eighteen when I saw him for the very first time. And the twenty-five years old Deik sure did things to me. He was tall, built, and fascinatingly handsome, making me awfully self-conscious. There were sleepless nights that I spend writing. The gay in me which I pushed into the deepest pit of my heart, surfaced altogether when the arrival of him. I couldn't help but be myself around him, to show the true color of me which nobody has ever seen.

Because I knew he was just like me, a sinner as they say.

There are a bunch of pages left for me to read but I'm done for today. if I take all this into my system now, maybe I can't have what I want from Elvin when I see him tomorrow.

I bend down to grab the shirt which I discarded when I went outside from the floor before entering the living room. I take a quick walk to my room to take my phone, I haven't touched it today. I stick out a hand to take my phone, but I have to retract it when my eyes land on the bed. Mess is an understatement for it. I pull the blanket away from the bed first, throwing it on the small couch parallel to the bed. Then I rearranged the sheets before adjusting the blanket over them.

After I have done making the bed I got to grab my phone and open the device to know the time, half-past ten, yet I still haven't had my breakfast. I marched back to the kitchen. pulling open the door of the refrigerator, I snatched the milk carton, before finding a bowl to chunk some cereals in it, pouring the milk over it. Finally grabbing a spoon to eat as I walked toward the living room.

I snatched the blanket from the couch, throwing it on the floor. God, I fucking have the laundries to do. When the blanket was removed I saw the laptop, which I searched everywhere yesterday night like a madman. pushing it aside, I sat there legs crossed.

When I open my mouth to take the spoon of cereal in, I stopped, to be exact, the ringing of my phone stopped me. Fuck- it's on the table, I strode towards the phone, still holding the bowl in my left hand.

I glanced at the screen, a familiar name flashing over the screen. "Elvin" it read.

Tucking the bowl on the table before grabbing the phone, I slid a finger over the green icon.

"Hello?" I ask.

"Hey, babe." I try, but I can't help the way I rolled my eyes at that, this is the very thing I can't endure.

"Who's your babe, fucker?"

"Oh no.. why do you always have to be this grumpy?" I can tell from his voice that he's half-mocking me because he knows I don't like it when he calls me that. it's not like he's calling me wholeheartedly, because he's not. he too wanted this no string attached thing. And I'm quite comfortable with him. But I think he's more into mocking me than the real deeds. I didn't say anything to his question, though.

"When will I get to see you again?" He asks again, this time a little serious.

"Tomorrow," I say.

"Are you gonna let me top—"

"Fuck you!"

"So it's you, yea? Gonna fu—" I don't let him finish as I cut the call, sighing.