"Are you nervous, my little Liam?"
"Yes."
Their lips met as the older man's hands unbuttoned the college student's shirt. Both boys' pulses were racing, with their skin burning, starving at the touch of each other.
"I'm honored to be Liam's first time."
The green-eyed boy smiled, giving him complete permission to do whatever he wanted with him. Was this what it felt like to be in love? It wasn't Evan's first time having sex, and it wasn't his first time with a man, either. But it was the first time he felt wanted and loved, and the first time he didn't want to be guided only by the pleasure of the act but by making his partner truly enjoy it. He wanted to forever engrave that moment in his memory, as his hands ran over Liam's bare torso and he felt the younger man's fingers trace his back and down to his thighs, with a trembling touch over his skin.
"Don't be impatient, Liam," he whispered against his lips, torturously for the younger.
"You know you want it too," Liam raised his hips slightly to rub against the other's body.
Their pants were already too tight for both of them.
"Yes, but be patient," he placed his fingers on the younger man's lips, fingers that the boy under him then began to lick, imagining a thousand things with his warm tongue.
Evan felt a shiver run down his spine, which intensified when he unbuttoned his partner's pants and released his member. Damn, he was so big. It was going to hurt, but it was going to feel so good. Carefully, he positioned himself on top, and sure enough, it hurt when Liam entered him. He was obviously much bigger compared to his fingers. But the pain wasn't bigger than the pleasure that was beginning to cloud his vision, nor the ecstasy he felt seeing the boy's face beneath him, holding back a slight growl.
"Liam…"
"Evan…"
Without needing words, they hugged and kissed as the blond began to move slowly until he stopped feeling the pain and increased his speed. They could only hear their kisses, sighs, and gasps as their bodies collided.
Evan knew that the next day he wouldn't feel his legs and it would hurt to sit down, but that night he felt like he was in nirvana in the arms of the boy whose virginity he was taking.
Then, he opened his eyes.
What the hell was that?!
Evan woke up with a slight problem in his pants after having a wet dream about that boy called Liam. Various shades of red rose to his face, and he felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest.
"Fragments of the memories you lost may come back to you on their own, so you shouldn't worry too much about that," were his therapist's words the day before regarding his amnesia, but he refused to believe that erotic encounter was a memory, nor the sensations that were still etched on his skin and made him shiver at the soft touch of the sheets.
He wasn't even halfway through his disability break, but he had to go to the studio for a small meeting in a few hours, so he couldn't stay in bed all day.
Damn, I'll have to do something with this.
He looked down, and clearly, the problem inside his pants had no intention of going away on its own. He had two options: take an ice-cold shower or "solve" it with his own hands. The second option sounded humiliating, but it was too cold for the first one. Besides, he lived alone. It's not like anyone would find out. But in an attempt to preserve the little dignity he had left, he preferred to bite his own pillow so he would not make any noise while his fingers solved the problem. No one would question the smell after he took a shower and washed his pajamas and bedclothes.
.
.
.
Oliver had told him to act naturally, and thanks to his great performing skills, no one seemed to notice his amnesia. He was obviously a great actor who knew how to play any role perfectly. The role of pretending to be that charismatic boy everyone loved… He could play it with a perfectly crafted smile and a false sense of confidence to cover up his enormous insecurities.
It seemed no one had noticed his amnesia. He used some bandages and a splint on his left hand so they wouldn't ask more questions about the car crash. He didn't need to use bandages. His physical injuries would heal perfectly with just rest and anti-inflammatory medication. But with visible bandages, no one would suspect the wound that clouded his memory and had broken into fragments his mind.
However, he wasn't 100% convinced about Dante, who seemed to treat him more closely even when they had never spoken off-camera before, or as much as he could remember. He also asked very strange questions.
That damn question that ruined everything.
"How is Liam? Has he made progress with his latest investigation?" was the bombshell the younger man dropped.
How the hell was that man supposed to know about Liam? Were they friends? But if that were the case, why was he asking him about Liam? Perhaps, since they were both the same age, they might have met at school or through social media, they could also have common friends, but he couldn't understand how he could go from that to connecting it directly to him. Why would Evan know Liam, and why would Dante know that information?
For a few seconds, his mask broke with a micro-expression of terror, but he quickly managed to hide it, trying to change the subject with an answer that might or might not be the right one, trying to evade the topic. Quickly, he claimed he wasn't feeling very well and needed to go to the bathroom. Without giving Dante any more time to delve further into the matter, he hurried out of the offices and ran away.
As much as he tried to pretend nothing was wrong, he was drowning inside, knowing that fragments of his life were missing and feeling like he was walking on a tightrope with spikes under his feet, waiting for him to fall.
He didn't remember who he was. He didn't even know who he was now. How much can a person change in a year?
He thought it would be easier to move on with his fragmented memory, that a year wasn't a long time. But it felt like at any moment he could fall off the edge of a cliff, crumbling beneath his feet.
And the memory of a small 8-year-old boy crying in fear began to consume him in his growing anxiety. He felt all eyes on him, judging him. His skin burned and itched, feeling as if he were an intruder in his own body. He took refuge in the toilet of the studio, feeling the walls closing in, suffocating him.
"Damn. Not now…"
He knew he was having an episode and would have a panic attack. It had been a while since he'd had one. Had they been common in that year of which he has no memory?
You just have to wait for it to pass. It will pass…
He tried to regulate his breathing until he could calm his pulse. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… The tears fell involuntarily, first like a treacherous trickle down his cheek, and then more and more drops flooded over his face. His throat burned. He wanted to scream, but couldn't make a sound. He wanted to moan, but he was asphyxiating. Uselessly, he hugged himself with his trembling hands.
So fragile, so small.
He felt broken, fragmented, incomplete. He was even a failure as an actor, trying to play the role of the boy everyone knew.
As he always did whenever he felt he was on the edge of a cliff, about to collapse, he washed his face with cold water to hide any trace of tears or fragility. He still had another meeting to be at.
After looking in the mirror, so weak and tired, he was able to fake a smile again and leave the bathroom.
He returned to the room where the main actors were casting and was greeted by Charlotte, a pretty girl his age with curly cinnamon hair and almond-colored eyes. Her silky hair was tied back in a bun with bangs gently framing her face. She would be the star. Without a doubt, she was a beautiful girl who had complete control over her body and gestures. Just by smiling, she conveyed a great sense of calm to Evan, even though it was their first time working together.
Evan wished it were their first time talking to each other, so he wouldn't mess things up.
"Hi, Evan. I'm delighted to be working with you," she said with a soft voice and extended her hand. "You're the perfect angel! Ever since I heard you'd be my partner, I'm sure this job will be incredible."
Evan shook her hand and smiled.
"I'm flattered, thank you very much. I'm delighted to be working with you. I'll give my best to play this role."
"I think this role suits you perfectly." "Do you color-treat your hair, or is it natural?"
"My hair? It's natural, it's my natural color."
"Wow! It's so soft, like sweet gold. You really look like an angel."
"Thank you very much. I guess having blond hair and fair skin helps me for roles like this."
But I'm not sure I can turn into that angel. My wings are broken.
I'm more like a fallen angel with broken wings and no fate.
"It's not just that," Charlotte looked at him thoughtfully. "Obviously, it has to do with your appearance in a way. You look like something out of a Romantic painting. But it's also incredible how you manage to convey such real feelings and emotions in your performance. I've seen some of your work, and you've seriously captivated me." She smiled again. "I say you'll be the perfect angel."
Those words left Evan blank; he didn't know how to respond. Was that compliment genuine or just professional respect? He wasn't sure, but he didn't see a hint of deception on Charlotte's face.
"They say you know psychology," she said.
"Yes, I studied at UMass for three semesters before my manager recruited me."
"Well, then I'll ask you for help so I can make my character real. I want the protagonist's desperation to be real, and... the topics of suicide, depression, and mental health; I think it's very important to make it visible. It breaks my heart just thinking that this is the reality for many people, so it would be an insult on my part to give a mediocre performance. I want to be able to understand my character's psychology and how she sees the world through her eyes, how she feel and how she thinks."
Once… There was once a time when he felt that same despair. And that dark cloud threatened to cast a shadow over his days again.
"Sure, I'll help you with whatever I can."
Would it be hypocritical of him to play the role of an angel who wants to save a girl from suicide and depression when he himself is slowly falling into that black hole of despair again? He could tell others thousands of motivational quotes, he could convince them that life is beautiful and worth living, and he'd still want to jump off a building, unable to bear anything anymore.