10 Days to Getting Over True Love (P)
âHey Mikey, when you get this can you-- OK, so I forgot you wonât be back until tomorrow. Never mind. Hope you and Blaine are having a blast. You guys deserve it.âÂ
Blake Caffrey exhaled slowly as he fell backward onto the bare mattress of his bed. Phone forgotten at his side as he brought his hands to press against his eyes he groaned in frustration. He could still smell the mistakes from the previous night, smell him, the scents of an old flame burned into his memory foam layered mattress and it drove him crazy. Five years in Los Angeles and he had managed to avoid falling into the stereotypical L.A. young gay lifestyles. Until Caleb Kennedy had appeared out of thin air, in a Starbucks of all places.
Stupid caffeine addiction. Stupid Starbucks. Stupid perfectly blue-- No.
A second groan of frustration escaped him as his hand clenched into a fist and released into a shaking collection of slender fingers. He could still feel Calebâs fingers laced between his own and it bothered him. âWhat are you doing, Blakie?â He muttered to himself. Eyes clenched shut he tried to think of other things, his day ahead, friends, his careerâ
He had worked harder than he should have for his dream of directing. Long, sometimes unpaid hours, and a streak of celibacy that, until last night, had proven to be the most challenging aspect of his life. Blake made sure to visit his family in New York at least once a year and kept in touch with friends as often as he could spare the time for. He made sure to check in on his siblings, regardless of how old they were now, and called his mother once a week like a good son. Though none of it seemed to matter in regards to Caleb Kennedy, the one person he never expected to see again. Back to Caleb. It was worth a shot.
âHome wrecker.â He laughed. The title rolled off his tongue with a sour taste. âGuess Iâm officially a Californian now.â Self-deprecation at an all-time high, he turned on the mattress find an old picture of himself and Mikey, his best friend, staring back at him. Dressed to fit the occasion, he and Mikey wore their high school graduation gowns proudly.
At once the memories flooded his thoughts.
âYouâre still my best friend, man. Nothing will change that.â
He shook his head as the memory brought his thoughts to a crashing halt. How dare his own brain betray him.Â
Stupid high school Caleb. Stupid ex-boyfriend. Stupid fifteen-hour drive to con--
âStop it.â He muttered and forced himself into a sitting position. After another minute of staring into the corner of his bedroom, willing his mind to stop recalling every detail of the three-year relationship he and Caleb had before, he forced himself to his feet. He turned towards the bed and began to pull the sheets, his frustration obvious as the sharp tugs that only ceased at the sound of stretching fabric.
âYou arenât in high school-- you arenât even in college-- ugh, now I feel old.â He grumbled as he balled the mass of sheets before pulling them into his arms and carrying them out of the room with a sigh.
âNote to self: Youâve gotta get a dog or something, Blakie. Talking to yourself like this canât be good for your health.â Blake continued as he made his way through his modest one bedroom apartment. Posters lined the walls, framed and signed by varying actors and directors that he had come across in his career. The apartment was small, compact, and seemed to just barely house his movie collection grew every year. Â As he padded through his home with familiar ease, careful to step over power cords, DVD cases, and a pile of books he had yet to find a home for.
Blake continued down the small hallway, past the kitchen and living room which had a small wall counter that divided the two spaces. A small table and two chairs sat in the kitchen, itâs top littered with undone paperwork and old, half-empty cups of coffee. The living room remained clean, save a few DVD cases spread across the small coffee table between an old leather couch and a modestly sized flat screen displayed over his entertainment system.
For a directorâs assistant, Blake was proud of all that heâd accomplished. Even if he did spend a little too much money on DVDs. He paused before the folding doors to his washer and dryer at the end of the hall. A frown surfacing as he glanced back at the entry of his kitchen and the list of things to buy that hung in clear sight.
âFuck.â
