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José knew when Brock was sad. José knew when Brock was lonely. José knew when Brock missed him. Those were the only times he called. He’d call, they’d hook up, they’d hang out and then Brock would be gone as quick as he came.
Brock knew when José was feeling too hopeful. He knew when José was falling too deep again. He knew when he needed to back off for a little bit.
José could say that he was fine with being friends with benefits until he was blue in the face, but his actions, his actions said otherwise. His face said he was fine, but his eyes warmed when Brock held him. His skin flushed when Brock kissed him. His body screamed when Brock was gone.
Brock knew it was only a matter of time before José backed out. José knew it too.
It was a Thursday in the middle of the summer. DXP had just ended. After spending two weeks with Brock, José just couldn’t take it anymore.
José looked into Brock’s expectant grey-blue eyes They both knew what was happening.
“This has to stop.” José whispered.
“I know.” Brock said back.
Neither made a move to leave.
“I can’t keep letting you in like this. It hurts every time.”
“That’s not my intentions.”
“I know.”
It was a somber conversation.
José grabbed his bag, kissed Brock’s cheek, and walked towards the door.
“I’m sorry.” José whispered, not looking back.
“Me too.”
That’s the last time they talked. Well, that’s the last time they talked in private. They spoke at shows, and in the comments of posts online.
But now, here they were, three weeks later. Brock got ready to go out with Steve. These were the nights Brock would call José. The nights where Brock would drink tequila. Tequila did things to Brock. Tequila reminded him of the memories. Tequila made him gentle. Tequila made him romantic. Tequila made Brock soft. Tequila made him the boyfriend that José deserved.
José deserves better. Brock thought to himself, taking the first shot. I’m not going to call him.
Brock danced like nobody was watching, even though he knew that people were. He was graceful, elegant. He was warm. He needed another shot.
He doesn’t want to hear form me. Brock thought, downing the second shot, and then the third for good measure. I’m not going to call him.
Brock walked outside; Steve close behind. The cool air was a refreshing trade from the damp air of the club. Brock was floating. He had missed this. He had missed the carefree atmosphere that came with Steve’s companionship.
Brock lit up a cigarette and leaned against the wall of the club. He inhaled deeply, feeling the instant nicotine rush. Steve stood next to him, leaning his head on Brock’s shoulder.
“I’ve missed you buddy.” Brock said. Steve smiled fondly.
“Brock, it’s only been a week since we saw each other last.”
“I know that.” Brook took another drag of the cigarette. “I really need to stop smoking these things.”
“You probably should.”
Brooke took yet another drag. Guess he wasn’t going to try to quit tonight.
He needs another shot.
I miss the warmth of his skin. Brock downed his 4th shot of the night. His head was fuzzy, and his phone was heavy in his pocket, waiting. I’m not going to call him.
It wasn’t until his 6th shot that he caved. He kept thinking about his phone in his pocket, it grew heavier and heavier, making its presence known.
I’m going to call him.
The chances of José answering were slim. Brock figured José was Vanjie right now and Vanjie was at a gig, but he was going to call anyways. It wasn’t that late. 230am.
“Hello?” José said, voice thick with sleep.
Why was he sleeping? José was only 2 hours behind him where he was at. Unless he wasn’t home.
“Shit.” Brock said.
I need another shot. A wave of nausea came over Brock. No I don’t.
“B?” José asked, “B, you ok?”
No.
“B, are you there?”
“Y-yeah.” Brock finally replied, “yeah, I’m okay, I’m here and I miss you.”
He could almost hear José roll his eyes. He knew it was happening.
“Brock, I can’t.” José sounded tired in more ways than one.
“I’m sorry.” Brock said softly, he knew he was pushing things.
“You were drinkin Tequila weren’t you? Tequila makes you weird.”
Silence.
“Exactly.” José sighed, “I have to go. Be safe, Brock.” José hung up. Brock wanted the world to swallow him up. He didn’t even know what he had wanted from José.
I shouldn’t have called.
The next morning, José laid in the bed in his hotel room. He stared at the ceiling and thoughts flooded his head. He was tired. So tired on many levels.
José felt used. José felt like a plaything that Brock only wanted when he was drunk. Drunk on Tequila at that. Tequila turned Brock into a completely different person, and José didn’t want to be the object of his attention.
José tried to go back to any amount of normality he could get. He performed show after show. He did Werq the World, he did his one woman show, he did club shows all over the country. He stayed busy. He barely heard from Brock, aside from the random live and post here and there, but he couldn’t bring himself to call him.
One night, in mid January, José painted Vanessa on his face, picked out his current favorite outfit, and got ready. He was doing a club show in New York. To get hyped, José did a shot of Tequila. Much like Brock, it made José feel soft and sentimental, but he wasn’t going to let it make decisions for him.
He hadn’t heard from Brock, and if he was being quite honest with himself, he missed him. Not the drunk calls, no, but he missed Brock.
I’m not going to call him.
They called Vanessa to the stage; she felt her heart race. She always felt a mixture of feelings before a performance, excited, anxious, all of it.
As soon as she set foot on that stage and heard the audience cheer though, it was over. She was in her element.
She danced and flipped and dropped and spun. She smiled and posed and accepted the tips. The audience ate her up, and she was living for it.
Brock was in the back of her mind though. Brock was always in the back of her mind.
Her show was over, and she asked for another shot.
I’m not going to call him.
Vanessa de-dragged, listening to the music that played in the club on the other side of the wall.
Shot number 3 went down easier than shot number 2 and shot number 4 was easier than number 3.
Each shot pushed her closer and closer to doing it.
I’m not going to do it. I can’t.
But he missed him. Brock was all he could think about, especially now with the alcohol in his system. He battled with himself.
After the fuss he made about Brooke calling him, how could he call him?
Shot number 5 went down smooth.
Vanessa slowly turned back into José. The glitter, the lipstick, the eyeshadow, it was all gone.
Chills went up José’s spine as he heard the song that was playing in the club.
Oh yeah Don't need permission Made my decision to test my limits 'Cause it's my business
Images of Brooke in the catsuit flooded José’s senses.
God as my witness
Start what I finished
Don't need no hold up
Taking control of this kind of moment
Brooke dipping and doing splits.
I'm locked and loaded Completely focused my mind is open
All that you got, skin to skin, oh my God Don't ya stop, boy
Brooke on half upside down with her legs in the air, ear on the floor.
Brooke accepting tips from the audience, the sway of her hips positively sinful.
Somethin' 'bout you makes me feel like a dangerous woman
So dangerous indeed. The way that Brock kissed his neck. Dangerous. The way that Brock made him feel everything all at once. All the sensations. Dangerous. He was dangerous, and José was trying to resist.
Somethin' 'bout, somethin' 'bout, somethin' 'bout you
Makes me wanna do things that I shouldn't
He knows he shouldn’t. He knows that it’s not good. But he’s going to. José picks up his phone and scrolls to the number he’s looking for. He presses ‘call’.
I live for danger
“Brock?”