A gay story: Coming Out with the Truth Ch. 02 **Thanks for all the positive feedback! Comments and constructive criticism always welcome. **
CHAPTER 2:
Keith:
A few days after the barbecue I was in the centre of town, having just finished shopping and was packing my car. It was weird only shopping for food for one. I was still buying and cooking too much and then having to throw things out. I was thinking about getting a dog; then at least the scraps wouldn’t be wasted.
This time I’d also been to the furniture shop and had been delighted that the pieces were actually handcrafted by an elderly gent from eastern Europe somewhere. I’d put in an order for quite a lot of furniture there and picked out a couple of pieces to pick up the next day. They were mismatched but rustic and I liked them. And I hoped they’d go alright with the pieces I’d picked out at the local second hand and antique shops. I was still mostly living out of boxes, so I figured any sort of furniture would be good.
I heard someone behind me and I didn’t worry about it, since there were plenty of cars parked around. I was surprised to be addressed by my name.
“Keith, isn’t it?” I turned around and looked up at a burly guy with a jutting chin and heavy brow. He was overweight and balding and did not look friendly in the slightest. His arms were crossed over his beefy chest and his stance was aggressive. I’d seen him at the barbecue, but we hadn’t spoken.
“Yes.” I answered, wondering what he was going to say to me. I nervously and surreptitiously, I hoped, wiped my hands on my jeans.
“Saw you playing with the kids at the barbecue.” He said. For Christ’s sake, I thought. Someone else who thought being gay automatically made you a kiddy-fiddler and a freak and a pervert.
I said nothing. I was not going to give him any more ammunition.
Instead I just gave him a look I hoped was neutral.
Normally I would’ve ignored him or said something smart, but he was pretty big and mean looking. I judged it better not to.
“Play much soccer?” he asked me.
I blinked. “Used to play a bit.” I admitted carefully. “Not for years, though.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“I’m sorry.” I said. “I don’t know your name.” If he was going to hit me, then I wanted a name to give to the police. If not, then I wanted to know who the hell he was anyway.
“Gordon Freeman.” He said with a curious nod upwards, and held out his hand. I shook it warily. He had hairy knuckles and forearms. I wondered if that was where his hair had receded to. “PE teacher at the local high school.”
“Oh. Right.”
“You’re good with kids.” He said to me. I couldn’t explain my jitters any more except by saying that this was definitely not what I’d expected. I felt very much on the back foot here.
“Thanks.” I said. I didn’t know. I didn’t have much to do with them, apart from seeing cousins every now and again at family occasions.
“Ever considered coaching?” he asked then.
“What? No.” He actually smirked at my surprise.
“Saw you showing Will a thing or two. We need a coach for the under sixteens and the under twelves and the under nineteens. Interested?”
“I’m not… qualified…” I managed to say. I had never thought about coaching. I’d barely even thought about playing sport again.
“So?” Gordon asked.
“I haven’t played for years.”
“Yeah. And?” I blinked at him. “Under twelves and nineteens practice after school on Wednesdays, under sixteens after school on Thursdays. They play on Saturday mornings. School has a bus we drive them out on.”
“Out where?”
“Wherever we’re playing. Not many schools play soccer, you know? Not exactly the national sport. Here’s my number. Think about it, yeah?”
I blinked at him without much intention of ever calling him. Gordon nodded and walked away.
I didn’t think about it again, until five days later when my doorbell rang and I found five sheepish looking boys on my front step. One or two of them I had a feeling I’d seen at the barbecue, and I guessed they were probably between thirteen and sixteen.
“Hi.” I said blankly.
“Mr. Freeman said you might show us some stuff.” I blinked at the boy in the front, then noticed the peeling ball under his arm. Now this was underhanded. As if a bunch of kids their age would have come and knocked on my door of their own volition.
I considered saying no and sending them away, but then I thought about Gordon’s offer. Maybe this would be a chance to see how I actually did with the kids before I said yes or no.
“Now?” I asked. They nodded. “Yeah, ok.” I agreed. I jammed my feet into some old shoes, grabbed my keys and shut the door behind me.
The introduced themselves as we walked down the street towards the main town and headed to the oval. They were pretty friendly, two more shy than the rest. At the park two started having a mock sword fight with a couple of long sticks (and making the obligatory accompanying laser noises) while I chatted to the others.
They laughed when I told them to stop, and they did, which kind of surprised me. I hadn’t really expected them to take me seriously. It didn’t take long before we’d sorted ourselves out and were playing. It wasn’t much, since there were only six of us, but we had fun and I helped them out with a couple of tricks. They wanted to chat as well as play, wanted to know why I’d come to live in a town. I didn’t mention my being gay. I wasn’t sure how their parents would take that, but one of the shy guys, tall for his age, watched me closely. I had a feeling about him.
An hour or so later they had to go to be home in time for dinner and to get their homework done. The ringleader of the group, Simon, asked if I was going to be their coach. I told them the truth; that I didn’t know yet.
They waved goodbye, and I stuck my hands in my pockets and decided to go for a walk into town before I headed home.
There was a noticeboard outside the small municipal library. I quickly found the sheet looking for a soccer coach. It was curled and yellowed and looked like it had been there a good long while. None of the tabs with the details had been ripped off the bottom. Christ, even the flower arranging group had more interest than this.
I grabbed one of the tabs quickly, hoping no one saw me.
I looked up at a shadow and found John standing behind me. His hair and skin shone golden in the late sunlight. I felt a warmth down my back and neck. I felt a thrill seeing his uniform.
He was a cop.
He wasn’t looking at me, but at the board.
Shit. He’d seen me take it. I quickly grabbed tabs off a couple more notices, shoved them in my pocket.
When I met his gaze again he seemed quietly amused.
“Settling in alright?” He asked.
“Yeah.” I answered with a nod. I was tense all over, for some reason. Jittery. I was not ready for the way he looked at me.
I nodded to him, then turned and walked away. Then I looked at the tabs in my hand. A church group. A refugee outreach program. A fortune teller. And the local sewing circle.
He was going to think I was a total nut job.
I hoped he wouldn’t tell anyone.
But still. It could have been worse.
I could have got the flower arranging tab.
The kids were back on my doorstep three days later, with another group of kids. This time we played later, chatted less. Again, they wanted to know if I was going to coach them. Again, I answered that I didn’t know yet.
As I left the oval I noticed a police car parked at the side of the road. And John leaning on the fence. He’d avoided me at the barbecue, and unless I was mistaken he’d sought me out in town, but then hadn’t had anything to say. I wasn’t sure what to make of him anymore, other than the fact that he was gorgeous and had a body which begged to be examined more closely.
“Making some friends.” He said, but his smile was warm. I smiled back cautiously.
“Guess so.” I answered.
“So you going to take Gordon up on his offer?”
“You know about that?” he gave his warm, slow laugh and butterflies spread through my stomach.
“Yeah, I know about that.” He said simply. “Give you a lift home?”
“That’s ok. It’s only about four blocks.”
“Yeah. And?” I shook my head and hopped in the car. He looked in the mirror and pulled away from the curb. He was looking in the mirror when he spoke.
“It’d mean a lot to those kids if you took the job.”
“I dunno.” I said. “I only played, never coached or anything, and that was years ago. I don’t know anything about coaching. What if I let them down?”
John chuckled at that. The sound sent another warm thrill through me. I was not supposed to get so agitated from alaugh. “Keith, they haven’t won a match in so long it isn’t even funny anymore. It’s pretty much a no pressure situation.”
Was he serious? I thought about those kids arriving on my doorstep. I did kind of like the idea of it, but I was pretty sure the reality wouldn’t be so much fun as I thought.
“So.” He said, as he pulled into my driveway. “Shall I tell Gordon you’ll do it, then?”
I wondered then, why the hell not? The whole town knew I was gay and I’d joined the ladies cooking club so I couldn’t exactly do much more to make myself look like an eccentric outsider. Except for joining the sewing circle or the flower arranging group, which I didn’t plan on doing. And this was a tight knit community. What better way to make friends and fit in than to coach people’s kids?
“Yeah, alright.” I said, feeling more confident. It could be fun.
“Great.” John said. I met his gaze and found myself unable to breathe again. There it was, that look again. The same look as when we’d shaken hands. I couldn’t mistake it now. Gay or not, he was attracted to me. Did he know how gorgeous I thought he was?
I dropped my gaze and unbuckled my seatbelt and reached for the doorhandle.
“Hey,” he said, as if wanted me to stay and chat.
“Thanks for the lift.” I said quickly, then shut the door behind me and headed up to the house.
John:
The next time I saw Keith after his abrupt exit from my car was only a week later. I hadn’t expected to see him, given I was two towns over, but I thought I recognised his car in the car park, and as I drew closer, I recognised there was someone in it.
A figure was sitting slumped in the front seat, head against the steering wheel. The door was open.
A cold chill slid down my spine. I knew it was him by his hair, but the way he was sitting made me fear the worst.
Had he been robbed? Attacked?
As I grew closer his arm moved and he tried the ignition. All his car produced was a weak sputter. Not even a cough.
Keith made a frustrated whimpering noise against the steering wheel but didn’t move.
“That you, Keith?” He looked up quickly.
“Uh, hi.” He said, getting out and hastily rubbing his cheek as if afraid he had a mark there. I had to smile. People didn’t usually get nervous around me, and for some reason I kind of liked that he appeared to be.
“Car trouble?”
“Yeah.” He was a bit pink. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it. I was just here looking at washing machines and things and now it won’t start but I had it serviced not too long ago and it’s never done this before and I know zilch about cars… It’s got to be karma.” He concluded suddenly with a look of dawning comprehension.
“What, you didn’t treat it well enough?”
He smiled ruefully and shook his head. “I smashed up my partner’s car with a golf club.” He admitted with a wince. I had to laugh.
“A wood?” I asked.
He gave me a funny look. “A golf club.” He repeated warily. I laughed again and he went redder. He was cute when he was embarrassed.
“You don’t play.”
“You can tell?” he asked sheepishly.
“Oh, yeah. Let me give you a lift home. I’ll call Frank to get your car.” Keith hesitated before he finally nodded.
We drove back to town mostly in silence. Keith seemed nervous. Awkward. I pretended not to notice. I was having enough trouble of my own.
My plan had been to avoid him. But even while I knew that was the smart thing to do, I didn’t really want to.
He made me… curious. That’s the only thing I can call it, I guess. This urge to find out more about him, see more of him. To talk to him.
It wasn’t an urge I’d had with anyone before.
Ever.
“So.” I said as I pulled into Keith’s drive way. “What did he do?” Keith just looked at me blankly. “You didn’t smash up his car without a reason, did you?”
“Oh. No.” He briefly closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. “No, I had a good reason.” I waited but he didn’t say anything else. My curiosity was aroused. I wanted to know more. He changed the subject. “So what do I do about my car?”
“Happy to give me the keys? I’ll speak to Frank. He’ll sort it.” He pulled his house keys off his key ring and gave them to me without hesitation. I didn’t think he even knew who Frank was. I decided he must trust me.
I started to reverse down his driveway and he turned back to the car.
“You’re making a habit of helping me out.” He called. I had to smile.
“Maybe you’re making a habit of needing a hand.” I shot back and waved, then pulled away and drove off down the street.
And wondered what I was thinking even contemplating the idea of something existing between us.
My life was all mapped out.
I was thirty now. In another couple of years people would stop asking me when I was going to get married and leave me be and I could be whatever the hell I wanted in the privacy of my own home for the rest of my life. I could get old however the hell I liked.
I loved my job. I liked my life. And I hadn’t wanted anything to change.
The only problem was that now the existence I’d had planned was looking mighty empty.
But somehow I still couldn’t contemplate the idea of changing.
March 2009:
Keith:
I sat in the café in the main street with the paper and a hot cup of coffee. I’d only had to wait two days for my car back after I’d broken down outside the electrical appliance shop- something had been wrong with the electrics or the battery or something, but I’d been walking around more since. Although I’d needed the car for some things.
I’d been curtain and rug shopping and I felt like I was finally going back to a home and not a half furnished house, so I decided to celebrate with a coffee and piece of pie. Although in the short time I’d been in town I was finding an awful lot of reasons for pie or cake at Jim’s. I sat in the window like I liked to do, watched people moving around out there. I had nothing to write about (or maybe I was just being lazy), so after I while I grabbed a newspaper off the stack intended for the patrons of the café and settled back with my refill of coffee to catch up a bit on the outside world.
It was the newspaper I had worked for, and I was feeling ok about reading it. It was nice to see what everyone was doing and how things had changed since I’d left the paper (with Graeme’s encouragement) over six months ago. Rob had come a long way and Pete and Mary were as steady as ever. It looked like Cashin had come out on top in the brawl amongst the sports editors. I couldn’t bring myself to read anything by Graeme.
I flipped through the paper as I shut it, froze when I saw a small headshot of Graeme I hadn’t noticed before inside the front page of the paper. It was a blow up of his staff photo. I didn’t want to look, but he was so boyishly handsome and, despite everything, I still missed him. I drank in the picture, hating myself for being so needy but promising myself that this was just a last look. My gaze fell from the picture to the paragraph accompanying it.
I don’t remember leaving the café. I sort of remember driving home, gripping the steering wheel with the newspaper still in my hand.
I went straight to the kitchen at home, fumbled in the cupboard until I found a still-closed bottle of rum. I unsealed it and drank straight from the bottle. It burned and I wanted to lean over the sink and be sick. I sank to the floor, leaning against the cupboards and tried to breathe evenly.
How could he have done this?
How could he do this to me?
John:
I drove down the main street looking for a park. It was lunch break and I was hoping Keith might still be sitting in the window of the coffee shop. I’d seen him when I’d driven past a fair while ago, but he didn’t appear to be there now. I knew he’d often be there for a couple of hours or so scribbling in his notebooks, and I hoped he was just paying his bill or choosing a pastry and went in anyway.
“Hey, John,” the proprietor called to me as I looked around. Nope. Definitely no Keith. I didn’t like to read too much into the pang of regret that I felt. I’d given up on avoiding him, finding I thought about him too much to keep doing it. Problem was, he never seemed to be around when I went looking for him. The proprietor, Jim, beckoned me over to the counter.
“Jim. What’s wrong?”
He sighed. “You know the new guy in town, Keith, right?”
“Yeah.” I agreed slowly, my heart sinking.
“Just wondering if you know if he’s alright?”
“What happened?” I demanded shortly, not answering his questions. Let him draw whatever inferences he liked.
“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” He said quickly. “Just… he was here earlier. Black coffee and cherry pie and a newspaper. I was wiping down some of the cases and I heard him get up so I came round the counter. But he left, he didn’t pay, took the newspaper. But he looked pretty upset. Looked like he might cry.” Jim sounded awkward.
Jesus. Keith was certainly not going out of his way to slot into life here unnoticed. The coaching, fine, but the cooking group? And the tai chi? And the book lending? And his friendship with almost every woman over 50 in town? I half expected him to join that sewing group any day now.
“I mean,” Jim went on. “It’s not a problem if he doesn’t have the cash. He could tell me and pay later, right? I just thought… he didn’t look too good. ”
I nodded slowly and pulled a note out of my wallet and put it on the counter.
“This cover it?”
“Oh no.” he said, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. I can’t take your money, John.”
“It’s procedure,” I lied, already kicking myself for offering to pay. “Take it. Just give us the receipt. He’ll reimburse the office. You’re reporting a theft, Jim.” Jim went red.
“Well, it’s hardly a big deal. Don’t be too hard on him- he’s obviously just a bit shaken up about something.”
“That’s no excuse.” I said as he took the note. He gave me a reproachful look but shut up and rang it through the till. I hoped this wouldn’t come back to haunt me.
I drove to Keith’s straight away, hoping he’d just forgotten to pay and walked out.
No one answered the front door. There was no noise from inside either, no quickly muted tv or music, no footsteps.
I went around the side of the house to the back yard and climbed up steps to the back veranda. I knocked again, but again there was no response. I peered in the window.
Was that a shadow on the floor? I banged on the door again and called his name. The shadow moved very slightly.
“Keith?” I called loudly, and leant against the door. It gave easily. The door was warped, didn’t seem to fit into the frame very well.
I went inside, and just as I feared, found Keith lying on the floor. He was curled into the foetal position with one arm flung out. A mostly empty of bottle of rum was in his hand, but I couldn’t tell how much he’d drunk since he seemed to have spilled a lot lying down like that. There was another bottle of rum with only a few fingers or liquid left just within his arm’s reach.
“Hey, there, Keith.” I said gently, couching down and touching his face. He jerked back with a gasp and opened his eyes. He looked confused and bleary. “You alright there, buddy?” I asked and he nodded, but his eyes filled with tears.
Well, shit.
I hauled him up off the floor and half carried him into the lounge room where there was actually a couch now. He was pretty much a dead weight and I was glad he wasn’t any bigger than he was. I meant to gently deposit him on the couch but my feet got tangled with his and I ended up sort of dropping him so I didn’t fall on top of him. He stayed exactly where he fell. I heard him sniffle. I took the rum off him, having to prise his fingers off the neck of the bottle and took it back into the kitchen.
I called my deputy as I tipped the rest down the sink. “Hey Mac. Gonna be late back from lunch.”
“Problem?” he asked.
“Just a drunk.” I said and he laughed.
“Already? Jeez. Better you than me.” He said happily and I rang off. That took care of that, at least.
Now what to do with Keith?
I went back into the lounge where he was curled up and was sobbing quietly. I perched on the edge of the couch next to him. He didn’t acknowledge me in the slightest so I gingerly rubbed his back like I had vague recollections of my mother doing.
“Hey now, Keith.” I said gently, partly so I didn’t feel like I was rubbing his shoulders just because I wanted to. “It’s ok. It’s gonna be ok.” He sat up at that and looked at me with blazing eyes. He smelt very strongly of rum.
“Nothing’s ok!” he slurred angrily and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Graeme.” He blurted then. I nearly told him I was John, then realised this might be the beginning of the story. “He’s getting married. He’s engaged. He’smarryingher!” I didn’t know who Graeme was or who he was marrying or why it was an issue so I kept quiet and kept rubbing his back. And tried to pull my thought away from what it would be like to run my hands over his bare skin. “Six fucking years an’ he-he’s engaged and iss ony been six weeks! An’ they’re getting married in another six weeks onourannivers’ry and I thoughd ‘e was goin’askme. How c’d he do this?” he finally asked and then pulled his knees up and hid his face again. He drew shuddering breaths. “Bastard.” He whispered. “Lying fucking prick.” I wasn’t sure who he was referring to.
“It’s ok.” I said quietly, even though it most clearly was not. I didn’t know what else I could say. “I’ll take care of you.” I said gently, and he looked at me then. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot and his cheeks were flushed and tearstained. And those pretty pink lips were slightly parted.
“Your eyes ‘re pretty.” He said suddenly with a hiccup. Drunker than I’d thought?
“Uh, thanks.” I said blankly, found him fixing his fingers behind my neck.
Well, shit.
He was gorgeous as fuck but I did not kiss. Never. No matter how many men I’d been with there was never ever any kissing. “Ok.” I said warningly. “That’s enough, now-” he cut me off, pressing his lips against mine and immediately pushing his tongue into my mouth. A bolt of lust shot straight through me. Little John was immediately awake. I didnotkiss, but fuck, he tasted good and I couldn’t help myself. His mouth was hot and slick and softer than I’d imagined. He clung to me tightly even though that wasn’t really necessary any more. I was kissing him back now, enjoying the warmth of his body against me. It felt really good. Unbelievably good. Keith moaned and reached for my belt.
Oh Christ. Not on my lunch break. Not while he was drunk as a skunk.
“Keith, no.” I said firmly.
“I wan’ you.” He slurred. “You make me hard when I see you and I wanna lick you all over and see’f you taste as good ‘s you look.” That sent heat straight through me. “Wan’ you to fuck me.” he said, looking up at me with wide dark eyes and kiss swollen lips. “Wan’ you to fuck me hard til I cum and cum and you cum inside me…”
Well, fuck. The image almost made me lose all of my control. I had to stay professional. I had to.
“Come on.” I said firmly. “Let’s get you up to bed.” He seized on the word ‘bed’ and was immediately up off the couch. I had to catch him because he nearly face-planted back onto the carpet. I helped him up the stairs, aware of the way he tented his pants, trying to ignore the way he grabbed my arse and breathed against my neck and tried to pull my shirt open. Given he was drunk, he didn’t do a good job.
His room was the second door along. He had a nice king sized bed, a beautiful blue-green quilt set that would look really good against his hair and naked skin, I was sure. I let him fall onto the bed and he smiled up at me, held his arms out to me.
“Ok.” I said with some resignation. “Let’s get you undressed.” I wasn’t sure how I was going to go about that since I had a pretty strong feeling he wasn’t going to take my staying dressed very kindly.
He tried to help with the buttons on the shirt, but he was pretty useless in his state. He was more of a hindrance than a help. I pushed his hands away and managed to get him undressed to just his boxers and socks in pretty quick timing. Keith lay there smiling blearily and murmuring things I didn’t quite catch, but which I suspected were in the same vein as what he’d said downstairs, especially given the erection tenting his boxers and the way he made random passes at my belt and shirt. And when each item of clothing I removed displayed more of his beautiful, soft, skin, it was probably a good thing I didn’t listen too closely to what he was saying. I was already nearly as hard as he appeared to be, just from catching vague words and the images they brought to mind. He reached for his boxers off and I stopped him. The temptation was bad enough as it was. I did not want him naked and hard in bed.
Well, that was I lie. I did. But not now. Not drunk and upset. Not during my lunchbreak.
I was trying to get him under the covers while keeping his hands away from my belt when he suddenly went white and then red, covered his mouth and made to hurl himself off the side of the bed. I let him go and he bolted for the en suite bathroom. I was actually surprised he made it through the door without falling over his feet given his state. I followed him in and held a cool, damp handtowel against his forehead while he cried and puked his guts up.
His skin was clammy and he was shaking. This time when I put him to bed I didn’t have any trouble getting him to stay there and shut his eyes.
I went downstairs and rummaged in his cupboards until I found aspirin and a bucket. I left the aspirin on his bedside table with a glass of water and a box of tissues, left the bucket next to his bed on the floor.
By the time I left he was snoring gently. He’d probably be comatose until the next day.
Back at the station I went to my locker for my spare shirt.
“What happened to you?” Mac laughed. “Got puked on?” he asked.
“A little.” I said because I couldn’t really lie. “Mostly just cried on though.”
“Weepy drunk?” he asked and I nodded. “Jeez. Makes a nice change from all the angry drunks we got. Who was it?”
“Keith.” I answered. “The new guy from the city living on the north side of the park.” Mac went quiet a minute.
“You know he’s a fairy, right?” he asked. My blood boiled. Normally I’d have just laughed, joined in with whatever he said and ignored whatever I felt inside. Today I couldn’t ignore it.
“Yeah. So?” I asked coldly. “You think that means I shouldn’t treat him like a human being?” Mac looked taken aback.
“Naw, it’s just-” I slammed my locker shut. “You know. You were…” I didn’t want to listen to whatever else he had to say.
“And what?” I interrupted. “You think he’s going to tie me to a chair and infect me with his gayness?” I asked in disgust.
“No, I-” Mac didn’t look like he knew what he was going to say next, so I glared at him and headed back to my office.
His comments about Keith had made me lose the last of my hard on pretty quick. I worked efficiently for the rest of the day, refusing to chat or goof off.
But I couldn’t help thinking about Keith’s gorgeous thighs, the beautiful curves of his arse and the graceful line of his spine. I remembered holding his hair back and rubbing his shoulders, wanting to fuck him hard and fast, and bite that spot right there, hear him yell my name as I came inside him and he spurted against the sheets.
I went home early and took a long, cold shower.
It didn’t matter. There I was watching tv and still all I could think about was Keith’s blue-green eyes, dark with desire, as he told me he wanted to lick me all over.
I really really wanted that too.
Keith:
I woke up at some point with light streaming through the window and burning my eyes. It was a strong reminder to buy some curtains. Soon. I felt like a vampire whose skin was blistering in the sun right before he burst into flames. A zombie being blasted to pieces by some sort of laser beam. Some monster from deep space being melted upon exposure to a random substance that was non-harmful to humans. I felt like pure shit.
It took me a minute to figure out I was in bed in my underwear. Surely I hadn’t had enough presence of mind not only to get up to bed but to also get undressed? I noticed the asprin and water then and something tugged at my memory. I certainly hadn’t done that.
John had been here.
I groaned and buried my head under a pillow.
Great. Just great.
I wondered if I’d said anything. If I’d done anything. Fuck.
I’d probably told him about Graeme. My chest tightened and I wanted to cry again. How could he do this to me?
I’d known he was gone and he wasn’t coming back, and I’d known he’d left me for a woman… I wasn’t entirely sure why this hurt so much more.
I lay there feeling sorry for myself for a while, wallowing in self pity and keeping my eyes shut, enjoying the darkness and the silence that came from holding the pillow over my head.
When I roused myself I took two asprin with the water and got out of bed. I looked at the time and saw it was about noon. I’d probably slept for nearly 24 hours. I tripped over something on the floor. A bucket. It had a crack in it now, but a bucket meant I’d been sick.
I groaned at the thought of having to clean up my bathroom. All I wanted was hot coffee and sleep.
I shuffled into the en suite and found it clean. I nearly went to check the other rooms of the house to find out where I’d been sick, but I checked the laundry hamper and found a towel and a couple of cloths there.
Fuck. I hoped that didn’t mean John had been here when I’d been sick. I hoped he hadn’t been the one to clean up after me, but I couldn’t think of anyone else who might have done it.
I carefully made my way downstairs so I didn’t trip over anything else, kept my eyes half closed.
The kitchen stank of rum. What had I done- painted the place with it? Two empty bottles were standing next to the rubbish bin. Two whole bottles? I couldn’t have drunk that much… could I? Well no wonder I felt this bad. I was a lightweight at the best of times.
I made coffee and sat at the table with it in my boxers and socks. By the time I finished my second cup I was starting to feel a bit better.
I went upstairs and showered, but rather than get dressed I pulled pyjama pants and a t shirt on. I was not going anywhere. Even gettingthatdressed was a huge effort.
I took a big glass of water into the lounge room and turned on the tv. Bad idea. The sound killed my head, and there was nothing on, anyway. I found a channel playing some movie in black and white and turned it to mute, lay down on the couch and waited for the world to end.
When someone knocked at the door I thought my head would split.
I slowly got up and shuffled over, opened the door to Sarah.
“Hey.” She said gently. “You alright?” John had told her. I nodded and let her in.
“Coffee?” I asked. Knowing Sarah, she wouldn’t be leaving in a hurry.
“Let me make them,” she said, and I didn’t argue.
“You okay, honey?” She asked when we were sitting on the couch again. The cup scalded my hands but I kept my fingers wrapped around it.
“I think so.” I said softly and then cleared my throat. “John sent you?”
“Yeah.” She agreed. “He said you were pretty upset.” I nodded once, wished I hadn’t. “Said he found you on the floor and put you to bed.” Yeah, that’d be right. “You ok, honey?” She repeated.
I nodded again. Why did I keep nodding when I knew it was going to hurt so much?
“Was it about the breakup?” She asked softly.
“Yeah.” I agreed quietly. She was watching me avidly. I had the feeling that she wouldn’t tell anyone, even if she did talk too much. I felt like maybe I could tell her. It was the first time I felt like I could speak about it at all. I drew a deep breath. “He left me, you know. It wasn’t like… it wasn’t like I had any idea anything was wrong…”
Sarah nodded slowly, reached out and rested her hand on my shoulder.
“He told me he’d been cheating on me. ‘Seeing someone else’. For three months.” Her hand gripped my shoulder tighter. “And he told me he was leaving me. Forher. Everyone warned me, you know.” I burst out with sudden vitriol. “They all warned me about dating a man who was bi. Bi guys have got a reputation for just screwing around until they find the woman they want to marry, but I never ever thought Grae would… I defended him to everyone, and after a while I didn’t even think about it anymore. I just knew he wouldn’t. Six years was such a long time. But he did… aftersix years… and he actually…”
“He’s marrying her?” Sarah asked softly, but it was almost a statement. I nodded. Tears were winding their way down my nose now. I hadn’t noticed them before.
“In six weeks. Onouranniversary. The announcement was in the paper. And he’s been dating her for, what, not even six months? And he left me only six weeks ago. I just… I don’t understand. Six years, and it’s like it never happened. It’s like it didn’t mean anything. And… I loved him. He was supposed to love me. I thought- I thought he’d marry me, you know. I waited for him to ask the whole first few years. And then… I just thought maybe he wasn’t into that. But apparently he is. Just not with me.”
I had thought about us getting married; not in any legal sense, but just with our families and our friends. I’d never asked Graeme to marry me because I didn’t think he’d like it if I did, given his hang ups. But I’d found a brochure from a really nice jeweller’s in his suitcase. I’d found web pages for hotels in Paris in his browser history on his computer. So I’d assumed he was going to ask me, even if I hadn’t really expected it after six years together. Instead he’d left me. For a woman who had no idea I even existed and probably had no clue her new fiancé had been more gay than bi for most of his adult life.
Sarah scooted closer and put her arm around me.
“You know that sometimes these things just happen. You can’t always explain them.”
“Yeah.” I answered, my eyes stinging again. “It’s just not fair. He didn’t even have the guts to tell me first. He was already fucking her before he even told me- before he even left me. I don’t understand how he could be such a prick… Apparently he just didn’t care about me. Not at all. How could I not have seen that, though?”
“Oh, Keith.”
I let Sarah put her arms around me and hold me close. I had barely touched anyone since Graeme and it was nice. It felt good.
By the time we finished talking some more I was still feeling hurt, but it was morphing into something else. Into anger. Hot spiky resentment.
It was almost actually a relief. I’d been getting tired of feeling broken.
Sarah stayed for a while. I refused to let her cook me anything, but she made me promise to eat. I had no plans of actually eating anything at all, despite what I’d said.
Instead I went to bed.
The next morning I felt human again. I still felt like shit, but at least it was a human kind of shit.
I showered and washed my hair and shaved and got dressed, drove carefully into town. I was pretty sure my blood alcohol level would be zero by now. If it wasn’t, then I didn’t think I would have survived.
I pulled in at the police station and took a moment in my car to gather my courage.
It was cool and dim inside. The man at the desk quickly took his feet off the desk when I approached.
“Hi.” I said lamely. His nametag read McGuiness. “Is John around?” he nodded and pressed a button on his phone, then looked me up and down.
“You look like shit.” He said.
“Feel that way.” I admitted and he grinned. For some reason he looked like that answer appealed to him. John appeared in a doorway and looked surprised to see me. There was something else in his gaze.
Uh oh. What had I said to make him look at me like that?
“Keith.” He said. I waited for him to ask me to come to his office, but he didn’t. He just watched me. He was normally kind of reserved, but he seemed different today. I wondered if I could apologize for something I didn’t remember or if that would make things worse.
“I, uh, just wanted to say thanks. For the other day. And I’m really sorry about being sick.”
“You remember that, huh?” Something flickered in his eyes. Fear? He shot a quick glance at McGuiness.
“Nope.” I said, and he half smiled, relaxed a bit.
“Why don’t you come through?” he asked finally and I followed him through to his office. I didn’t miss the way McGuiness watched me suspiciously. Nor did I miss the fact that John left the door open.
“Remember much?” he asked.
“No.” I admitted. “Not until about lunchtime yesterday when I woke up. Figured I wouldn’t have got water and asprin for myself. And cleaned up the bathroom. I sort of had this feeling you were there.” Something in his eyes again. Fuck. What had I done? “How come you came to my house?”
“You walked out of Jim’s without paying.” He said shortly.
“Oh.” I didn’t remember paying, but I didn’t remember not paying, either. But was a six or seven dollar debt really worthy of a house call? I looked at him funny and he went to explain.
“I saw him later on and he said you’d been upset so I came to check on you. Found you lying on your kitchen floor covered in rum. Wouldn’t have picked you for a rum drinker.”
“I’m not, really.” I admitted. “I buy it because it means I’m less likely to drink it.” He blinked at me and I sighed. “I probably told you about Graeme.” I said and he nodded once. “I bought rum thinking that I wouldn’t drink it unless things were bad, since it’s not my drink of choice.”
John nodded. “Makes a weird kind of sense, I guess.”
“Yeah, but it didn’t work.”
“I don’t know.” John said slowly. “You achieved your objective pretty quickly.” I must have looked blank. He sighed. “Drinking ’til you passed out.” He filled in. I managed a weak smile and he looked at me critically. “You still don’t look good.” I nodded.
“Trust me, I know.”
“You should get yourself over to Jim’s. He does an awesome breakfast fry up any time of day.”
“Yeah. Not sure I can go there, now.” I admitted. John smiled.
“He doesn’t mind. He was worried, is all. He knows how close you and his wife are.” I blushed at that. So I joined the ladies’ cooking group? I liked them and I was learning and having fun. And they were really sweet to me. “I’m serious.” John said. “Get your arse over there. Jim’ll tell me if you don’t.”
I nodded and sighed. I was starving since I hadn’t eaten anything since that piece of cherry pie, so it did sound like a good idea.
“Sure.” I agreed. John showed me out, told me he’d be telling the local shops not to sell me any alcohol.
McGuiness seemed to think that was funny. I most certainly did not.
I headed over to Jim’s and waited at the counter. He appeared after a minute and gave me a broad smile.
“Keith- you alright?” He asked. I wished he hadn’t.
“Yeah. Just some bad news.” I said. “I’m really sorry about the other day. How much do I owe you?” Jim looked taken aback.
“John already took care of that.” He said in surprise. “Said you’d reimburse the police station.”
“Oh. Right.” I said, as if I’d gotten confused. I didn’t have to fake much. Why hadn’t John mentioned that to me?
“How ’bout a coffee?” Jim offered.
“Yeah.” I agreed. “And John mentioned you do a fry up?” Jim’s eyes lit up.
“Sure do.” He said. “Best breakfast around for miles. You take a seat and I’ll get your coffee to start with.” I thanked him and took the window seat again. This time I didn’t take a paper.
I wanted to speak to John and find out why he had covered my bill and not told me. But I was also afraid of what the answer might be. To say I was feeling fragile was a small understatement.
I avoided John for the next few weeks. I didn’t know quite what to say to him, and I didn’t know if he’d look at me so intensely or if he’d shut me out again. I didn’t want to have to think about whatever I may have said to him, and I wasn’t ready to ask him straight out what he wanted either. And I still needed to come to terms with losing the man I thought I’d be with for the rest of my life.
Under the circumstances, avoiding John just seemed easiest.
I didn’t have much choice the next time I saw him.