Carry the Ocean: The Roosevelt, Book 1 (16 page)

“I want to take off my underwear also,” I told him. He nodded, but when he tried to close his knees, I stopped him. “No, leave them open. I like to look at your naked cock and balls.”

His cock twitched more. “Okay.”

I moved my underwear down to my feet and stepped out of them, but I left my socks on. His were on too. “I want to masturbate us together. Push my balls against you and stroke both our cocks at the same time.”

Jeremey’s knees wobbled. “Okay.”

I knelt on the bed and brought our bodies together. His skin was hot, but his balls and cock were warmer. He sucked in a breath when our cocks touched. When I put my hand over his cock, he made a kind of hissing noise.

“Emmet, I’m going to come really fast.”

I was too. “Think of something boring. Count.”

He shook his head and moved his hips so our balls banged together. His eyes were closed tight. “I can’t. All I want to do is shut my head off and hump you like an animal. But I’ll come so fast it’ll be embarrassing.”

My hips were moving too, slow at first but faster and faster. I liked how hard Jeremey breathed. I wanted to do what he said he wanted: to watch him shut his head off. “I’ll count for you. I’ll count to twenty. It’s not that long, but it’s long enough we can enjoy it. You can’t come until I get to twenty, but you can be an animal until then.”

Jeremey’s whole throat moved when he swallowed. His hips kept moving faster, and his cock was leaking out the tip. “Okay. I’ll try to hold on.”

“Just listen to me and enjoy the feeling. Our first time having sex. This is called frotting.” I jerked our cocks and rolled my hips in a circle so our balls were snuggled tight. “Do you like frotting?”

Jeremey made gasping noises as if he didn’t have enough air. “Please start counting.”

I counted. I didn’t count fast, but I let my hips move quickly. I moved our cocks together, both the tips leaking. Jeremey made amazing noises, and his hips pressed tight to mine. I gave him firm pressure because he enjoys it, and he also likes it when I move my hips sharp and fast, not gentle. He flailed his hands all over, kind of flapping with his whole arms. At fifteen he gave a long, loud cry that made my balls tingle and almost made me shoot. I started counting faster, and then it was twenty and everything went crazy.

Jeremey made a loud, loud noise and arched his whole body—his semen went like a fountain, and I got so distracted I watched. I hadn’t come yet, but my cock got so excited watching him I let go and jerked myself fast so I shot too. My semen landed on Jeremey’s chest, some of it on his mouth. I wouldn’t have enjoyed the sensation. Semen gets cold quickly, but Jeremey lay there with his chest heaving, his eyes closed, his mouth open with semen on his lips, as if he wanted more.

He was so pretty my cock shot a little bit a second time.

I was tired and wanted to lie beside him, but I got the cum rag first and cleaned up. I called it a cum rag because that’s what the Internet called it, but I actually use baby wipes so I don’t have to be sticky. Jeremey’s belly twitched when I touched him with the wipe, though they were warm since I have a wipe warmer and I’d turned it on before we got in bed. I think he twitched because his sensations were as high as a person with autism.

My sensations were high too, but I didn’t want to be by myself yet. I wanted to hold Jeremey and kiss him and see if he enjoyed the sex. I hurried with cleanup, and then we got under the covers. Jeremey snuggled against me, his penis along my leg. It was getting soft, but it was still happy from sex.

“We’ve had sex now.” I stared at the ceiling, all my feelings so loud their colors swirled in clouds above me. “It was good. I want to do it again after we rest.”

Jeremey’s hands moved on my skin, but when I jerked at the touch, he stilled. “I’m sorry. I forgot you don’t like light touch.”

“Everything is loud right now,” I told him.

“Is it okay if I stay here with you, or do you need to be alone?”

That was a tricky question. I thought maybe I did need to be by myself, but Jeremey didn’t want to be alone, and anyway my research said cuddling was important to bonding. “I want you to stay,” I told him. “But everything is very loud.”

“How can I stay and not make it so loud for you?”

I thought about it for a minute. Jeremey needed touch, and I thought maybe I did too. But I needed stillness. I wondered if maybe I could touch him and it would be okay.

I ended up holding him with his back to my front. It made him feel close, but I felt as if I had enough space to find myself again. Once he went to sleep, I would get up and go rock in the living room to process and enjoy the rain pelting against the window. I told myself I could wait, that my brain could count to twenty for a different reason this time.

My plan worked, and my brain octopus didn’t have a fit. It was happy to wait, and then once Jeremey was asleep, it liked sitting in the chair, rocking and humming and flapping and counting train cars during a rainstorm. I felt proud of myself. Not many people would understand how difficult that had been for me, but that is what being an adult is. Doing hard things and nobody knowing or helping.

I lived independently, I had a checking account, I had sex, and I made my own modifications. Though I had been legally an adult for a while now, that day was the first time I knew I really was one.

Chapter Sixteen

J
eremey

T
he Roosevelt had thirteen apartments, and one of them was occupied by Tammy and Sally, who lived rent-free and got a stipend for being our live-in backup. Originally they were supposed to have their own apartments, but they shared because of Emmet and me. That made me feel guilty, but Tammy and Sally both said never worry about it, they were glad we’d come.

The day after we moved in, Tammy was our first houseguest. While I was in the shower, she texted Emmet and me both, and when I came out from getting dressed, Emmet asked me if he could schedule her at ten. I had exactly nothing on my schedule, so I said sure.

Emmet had plenty on his schedule. I’d seen peeks of his iCalendar before, but by living with him I found out firsthand how rigidly every second of his day was mapped out. He’d had a small fight with his mother the day before. She’d wanted to come by and verify he was doing okay without her monitoring his schedule, but he was adamant he was an adult and could manage his own life. Their compromise had been that he’d text her often to let her know how he was doing.

As I watched Emmet go through his morning routine, I understood why his mother had been so hesitant. For all his confidence and determination, he could be undone by the strangest things. Like the toaster.

He had special gluten-free bread his mother made him. This meant he had his own toaster, which had been purchased new for the apartment so he’d still have one at his parents’ house. Emmet had been practicing home skills, especially cooking, for a month. But when Emmet made his toast, it came out burned.

It sent him into
orbit
.

“The toast is burned.
Burned.
I can’t eat this.” Emmet threw the toast at the wall, made a strangled scream, and for a terrible second I thought he would throw the toaster.

He didn’t. Instead, he stormed into his room, then slammed and locked the door.

I didn’t know what to do.

I stared at the closed door for a few minutes, holding my breath, fearing he’d come out angry. I didn’t think he’d hurt me, but I was pretty sure he’d break something. I thought of the thousands of dollars worth of equipment in his room, and my stomach went queasy. But I didn’t hear any crashes. There were some loud thumps, but that was all. Then it was quiet, but Emmet didn’t return to the kitchen.

I cleaned up the burned toast—which wasn’t really burned at all, only a little extra brown—and put his bread away. I didn’t know how he liked his toast, or I would have remade it. I was no longer hungry for my own breakfast, and the cozy apartment which had been so comforting now felt empty and dangerous. Unsure of what else to do, I went to my own room and crawled under my covers.

We were both still in our rooms when a knock came on our front door. Blearily, I glanced at the clock and saw it was ten. Tammy was here.

She smiled at me cheerfully when I opened the door, holding out her hand. “Hi there. Jeremey, right? I’m Tammy. Good to see you again. Everything going okay?”

I shook her hand, or rather let hers envelop mine. “Um, okay,” I lied.

I’d been bristly at the idea of having a minder, but I couldn’t help loving Tammy on sight. She reminded me of the counselor in middle school I’d loved, both in looks and demeanor. She was both warm and easy and a wall nobody could climb. She was heavy-set in a way that made her both soft and strong at the same time. Her hair was natty and stuck out like a dark-brown halo around her head except for where a thick red plastic headband pushed it away from her forehead. She wore glasses with leopard-print sides and gold bling that matched the huge gold hoops in her ears. When she entered the room, she moved like water, rolling as if every step were a sensual dance.

“Nice place you got here.” She grinned and chuckled as she pointed at the rocker by the window. “There it is, my boy Emmet’s chair. But where he at?”

I glanced at the counter, where the offending appliance loomed. “There was…an issue. With toast.”

Tammy rolled her eyes knowingly, not unkindly but as if she knew all about devil toasters, the bastards. “I got this, sweetheart, don’t worry.” She sashayed to the door of Emmet’s room and knocked five times. “Emmet, honey, it’s Tammy. I want to hear all about this toaster.”

It took her ten minutes to get him to open the door, and that was when I learned two things: Tammy had read some kind of Emmet manual, and she had the patience of Job. She never raised her voice, never scolded, only kept pointing out he had an appointment with her and he was keeping her waiting. She offered to help him fix the toaster and to talk with him about what went wrong, but mostly she kept repeating, over and over, that he needed to open the door. When he finally did, he pulled her inside and shut them both in.

This is when I had my own toaster moment.

There is this thing I do which I can’t stop. I’ve talked about it some with Dr. North, and my dad has scolded me for it, but basically I feel like everything that happens, everywhere, is my fault. I understand it doesn’t make any logical sense, but I can’t stop feeling that way. Emmet talks about seeing emotions in the air like colors, but I swear I can
feel
all of them. If I’m in the store and someone drops a jar, I feel embarrassed for them, and I am always sure I must have somehow made them drop it. If someone is upset, I’m sure I must have done something to make them feel that way, even if I don’t know them. Sometimes I can tell myself the feelings are wrong, but a lot of times that makes me so tired I just want to go to bed.

When Tammy closed the door to Emmet’s room, I was overwhelmed with the conviction I had broken Emmet’s toaster, or I’d failed to help him or should have gone to comfort him or all of the above. I felt stupid and worthless, and the cloud that always hangs over my head descended in full until I could barely breathe. I didn’t want to go into my room. I didn’t want to wait for Tammy. I didn’t want to break anything. I wanted to lie down somewhere far away in the dark and wait to die.

I didn’t lie down, and I didn’t try to kill myself, but I did start crying. It never takes much for me to get teary, but this was going to be a bad cry, I knew, and the thought of them coming out and seeing me this way filled me with so much shame my face was hot. Shame turned to fear, fear turned to panic. I knew I could go under the dome and feel heavy and trapped like I had before we went shopping, but I didn’t want to do that on my first day after moving into a new place. Yet I couldn’t choose not to feel the panic and sense of despair. I wanted away from it, but I didn’t know how to escape.

Without consciously making the decision to do so, I left the apartment.

I left without shoes, which I noticed only when I got outside and the gravel hurt my feet. The sun hurt my eyes too, and the city bus passing on the street sounded like a dinosaur roaring. My chest was tight, my head dizzy. I couldn’t see for tears and the saltwater spots on my glasses. I couldn’t run without shoes, and every rock felt like a knife on my skin. I couldn’t go inside. I was too mortified. So I sobbed as I crossed the parking lot and curled up beneath a tall tree facing an old wooden playground.

It was a good spot. The tree had a divot worn out at the base, like it had grown for the sole purpose of shielding a human body into its trunk. I couldn’t hear the street traffic, a soft breeze blew, and I could stare out at the play structure, sad for its lack of children but beautiful in a melancholic way. It was an ornate monster of playground equipment, with turrets and swinging bridges and tunnels made out of old tires. If I were smaller, I would have totally hidden in its depths. If I weren’t so tired, I would have tried right now.

It didn’t surprise me that Tammy found me. I heard her approach, heavy feet on gravel, and I smelled her perfume as she crouched beside me and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Hey, tiger. You want to tell me what just happened?”

No. I shut my eyes and burrowed deeper into the tree. They’d send me to the hospital, or Icarus House. I was such a mess I couldn’t live in an apartment for twenty-four hours.

Her heavy hand massaged me. The touch felt so good. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Everybody’s okay. Nobody’s in trouble. Nobody’s angry. But I think everybody’s nervous right now because it’s the first day.” She made sweet, cooing noises and ran her fingers through my hair like I was her baby. “Oh, sugar. You’re breaking my heart, you know that?”

“I’m sorry,” I said around sobs, then sobbed harder.

She was launching into another round of hushes and soothing noises when more footsteps came up, these in Emmet’s halting gait.

“Why is Jeremey crying?”

I tried to hide from him, too ashamed, but I could only fix my gaze more firmly on the tree roots.

Tammy answered for me. “I don’t know yet, honey, but it’s going to be okay. Everybody’s going to be okay.” She kept rubbing my back. “This might be a good time to ask for an Ativan, Jeremey. You got yourself a little too wound up. It’s okay to ask for help coming down.”

She was right, I did need medicine. The wheels of shame and failure crushed me over and over again like the never-ending wheels of a train. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

That was Emmet, and he was right beside me now. He didn’t touch me, but I could feel his presence. It comforted me even as it made me sad, as if he were fruit forever out of my reach.

“I think we need to have everybody take a break,” Tammy said, “and we’re going to try this again. Jeremey, let’s get you tucked somewhere safe until you can calm down. Emmet, you can—”

“I want to stay with Jeremey.”

I looked up at him through my fog. How did he always part it for me? “I’m sorry about the toast.”

Emmet frowned. “But you didn’t burn my toast.”

“I’m sorry that it burned. I’m sorry it made you so upset.”

I understood then why Emmet was so comforting to me. He regarded me with more open consternation than anyone did when my emotions didn’t make sense, but nowhere in his expression was the wariness or silent judgment that told me
something is wrong with you
. He only looked at me as he would any contradiction, as if I were a simple, honest puzzle he hadn’t solved yet. “You’re upset because I was upset?”

That made it sound like I was angry at him, which, holy panic, Batman. “I feel bad when people are upset. I feel with them. I’m sorry. I can’t turn it off.”

Emmet stared at me—or near me, above my head—then touched my face with his fingers. “You don’t have to turn it off. But you can’t run away.”

Some of the shadows in my mind lifted. “Okay.”

He pulled his hand from my face but stayed close to me. “I’m sorry I got angry about the toaster. I wanted my first day of being independent to go well. I didn’t mean to make you feel my anger so loudly.”

I nodded, feeling better all the time. Except I still felt heavy and foggy and more than a little on edge.

“You two.” Tammy’s voice was beautiful, like a song, every word a note. “I want to hug you to pieces. But I think instead we’re going to go inside, I’m going to make you breakfast, get Jeremey his Ativan, and we’re going to have a casual get-to-know-you chat. We’re going to be good friends, the three of us. I can already tell.”

A month ago I would have felt this speech was pandering, social worker garbage for babies. Right then and there, I felt more helpless than a baby, and I didn’t mind her soothing tone at all. In fact, Tammy seemed like a lifeline I’d been seeking my whole life.

T
he first week at The Roosevelt was very much a roller coaster, but whenever Dr. North asked how I was doing, I told him I was good, and I meant it. It was scary to be on my own, even with Tammy and Sally downstairs, but it really was okay. Living in an apartment was like being in my room all the time, except my mom never bugged me, there was more space and a fridge.

And Emmet.

Emmet had a harder time adjusting to independent living. While I’d appreciated how particular he was since I’d met him, I learned that first week at The Roosevelt it was something else entirely to live in the same space with Emmet’s fussiness. He had so many odd little rules about how the handles should turn on mugs in the cupboard, what went on what shelf in the fridge and where I could leave my shoes. I couldn’t possibly remember everything, which made me panic. But we couldn’t melt down, because Tammy caught us before we figured out we were falling.

“Emmet,” she began at one of our morning meetings, “we need to talk about how many rules you’re giving Jeremey to remember about the apartment.”

The way she said it made it sound as if I’d complained to her, and I freaked out. “It’s fine. His rules are fine.”

She caught my hand and laced our fingers together, soothing me. Tammy touched me all the time, hugging me and smiling. It always mesmerized me, and it did now too.

Emmet rocked slightly in his seat as he stared at the tabletop. “Rules are important. Consistency is important.”

“I know, honey, but you have to remember Jeremey’s brain isn’t the same as yours. He overwhelms easily, and he’s not going to tell you when it’s too much. Jeremey is working on vocalizing his needs, but for now I’m going to be his voice. He doesn’t have a camera brain for information. He reads emotion. Which means while he can’t remember the angle you wanted him to leave the couch at, he can relay all the emotions you had yesterday and the day before.”

I read emotion? I thought about what she said. I couldn’t remember what I’d eaten for breakfast, but yes, I knew Emmet had woken up slightly grumpy, got happy when the train passed, got horny when he asked me to come into his room for sex. He was relaxed after, but too keyed up until I went to take a shower so he could be alone.

I blinked. Wow. Yeah. I totally read emotions.

Right now I was pretty sure anybody in the world could read Emmet—he was highly agitated. “I need order and rules.”

“I can try to learn them.” I hated how upset I was making him. I couldn’t learn, though, and I hunched my shoulders.

Tammy rubbed the one she could reach from her chair. “We need to find a modification that works for the two of you.”