**TRIGGER WARNING** Discussion of self-harm. Reader discretion is advised.

Waiting on the sun

Will it ever come?

--From the song Filling Lungs

Lyrics By: Orion Bauwens/Benjamin Hill

I decided yesterday in the shower that I was going to kiss Tristan. Because I didn't know how to muddle through what I was feeling. Because truthfully, I had never felt like this before.

Talking to Gloria didn't help. Trying to think about it wasn't helping. All I knew was that I was feeling really, really shitty lately, and the only time I felt some semblance of normalcy was when I was around Tristan.

Of course there was always the risk he didn't feel the same way. And of course I might get my scrawny little ass beat. But hey, if he didn't feel whatever the hell I felt, I could always just fire him and bribe him to keep his damn mouth shut.

This had to happen though. I literally don't think I could stand another day without knowing what the hell I was feeling. Our relationship had become so confused in my head. We knew each other for such a short period of time, and yet he seemed invested in me. He and I barely knew each other, yet he was concerned about me.

I couldn't help but be annoyed at my anxiety over this. It's not like this was new territory for me. I had slept with plenty of men before. Yet somehow this was different. Here I was, acting like a school boy with a crush, completely freaking out. My thoughts plagued me, and I was scrutinizing every detail with microscopic precision. 

Maybe he was just a really nice guy. Maybe I was looking too deeply into this. Maybe I was looking for, hoping for, something that wasn't there.

That's why I had to kiss him.

And it wasn't going to be some cliche thing. This was tactical. It wasn't going to be overly romantic--'Oh, I just don't know what came over me!'. No, I wasn't going to be drunk, and I wasn't going to wait, and I was gonna kiss him.

So I pace in the entertainment room, waiting for him. I sent everyone away; I kicked them all out. I told Gloria, Jake and Ben to get lost. They didn't want me to be alone but then I told them I wanted to talk to Tristan about something. I'm pretty sure the fact that I wouldn't be alone was what got them to leave.

"Hey."

I stop pacing and turn around. Tristan looks good as ever, wearing dark jeans, black and white skater shoes, and a green t-shirt that hardly manages to contain his bulging biceps. My eyes fall to his chest, his defined pecs that are clearly visible beneath the fabric. As my mind runs away, thinking about running my tongue and fingers over his chest, I swallow and force myself to look at his face.

"H-hi."

"Ran into Gloria outside," he says, walking closer to me. "She told me to make sure you felt better. Are you sick?"

"N-no."

I'm standing by the only wall that doesn't have anything on it. Tristan comes right up to me, his light chocolate eyes heavy with concern.

"Are you alright? You're acting strange--"

Well, it's now or never. I grab both his cheeks and plant a soft, tender kiss on his lips. I close my eyes tight because I'm afraid of what I'm going to see. I'm waiting to be shoved away, but when I'm not I open my eyes slowly.

Tristan pulls away and smiles at me. Hesitating, he slips his arms around my waist. He suddenly looks shy and I nearly laugh. I've never seen him look shy before.

"I was hoping you felt like that about me," he says.

I'm so ecstatic that I think I might explode. It's the best I've felt in days. I wrap my arms around his head, entwining my fingers in his hair, and go back to kissing him. It was sweet. It was chaste.

But then he has me shoved up against the wall with his tongue in my mouth. And before I know it I'm moaning. He slips off my jacket and I kiss him desperately. Still kissing me with a primal, passionate vigor, Tristan slips his arms under my shirt. I shudder and moan as he moves his hands up my stomach and chest. Then he's tugging at my shirt and without thinking, I let him pull it off me.

"What the hell!" Tristan shouts.

I freeze, suddenly realizing what had just happened.

Oh, fuck. My shirt was off. That meant Tristan just saw what I've done to myself--what I have been doing to myself for a very long time. 

Tristan grabs my right arm. "What the fuck Orion?"

I yank my arm out of his grasp. He grabs me again. I glare.

"Nothing, Tristan."

I move to grab my discarded shirt but he stops me. I glare again.

"Let me go."

It breaks my heart when I see tears in his eyes. "No."

"Let me go, Tristan! It's fine!"

"This," he shouts at me now, "is not fine!"

We struggle a moment before he bends my arm at the elbow, lifting my arm to my face.

"Look at this Orion."

I look away so he shakes me. "Look at this!"

"I know, okay?! I know."

He finally lets me go and stumbles back. The look of horror kills me. He looks repulsed. I'm repulsive. I hate it.

"Orion," he says softly, his face crumpling. "When--when did you do that?"

I look away again, wrapping my arms around myself. "When you saw the bathroom."

"Don't lie to me!" he shouts again. "That was days ago--these are fresh!"

I can't look at him as I begin to cry.

"Just, God Orion," Tristan continues, walking up to me again. "Both your arms look like they were attacked by a wild animal. And some of them are deep, really deep Orion."

"I-I know."

He pulls me into his arms. "Did you clean them at least?"

"N-no."

"Orion!" he shouts at me again. "Fuck, man, they could get infected!"

"S-so?"

That slipped out. I didn't mean to say that regardless of how true it was. Tristan's face changes and he narrows his eyes at me. I physically cringe under the look.

"Do you plan on getting help?"

I shake my head.

"Then I'm telling someone."

I panic. "What?!"

He starts to walk away.

"Tristan, don't you dare."

When he doesn't stop I grab my shirt and go after him.

"Don't you fucking dare--"

"Or what?" he snaps at me, turning around. We're at the front, by the seating, and I'm pulling my shirt back on. "You'll fire me? Fine."

I grab his arm. "You are not leaving this bus!"

"Let me go."

"No."

"I said let me go!"

"Not unless you promise not to say anything!"

"You're an alcoholic! And clearly depressed! Evidently you self-harm, too!" He grabs my wrist, pulling up my arm again. "If you accidentally hit the wrong spot with some of these deeper one's, you could've died!"

When I try to get away he shakes me.

"And you didn't even treat the fucking things! Seriously, do you want to die?!"

"No!" I scream. "Of course not!"

He lets me go. "Well you clearly can't take care of yourself so I'm taking care of you."

When he tries to leave I grab his arm. He shoves me off and I stumble into the seats on my back, the wind knocked out of me. He pauses a moment on the stairs and looks at me.

"Sorry."

I'm not sure if he's sorry for shoving me or for what he's about to do. I don't get an answer, either, because without another word he exists the bus, leaving me in my humiliation.