by Ann Grech
“Don’t, Angelo,” I warned, shaking my head, trying to protect him. I was walking a fine line, and the tether holding me was about to snap. Anger, pain, and loathing for myself and the world I lived in would swallow me whole. I was already engulfed in the firestorm. I’d be scorched alive. Then when I fell, I’d be lost in an abyss. I’d fall into the flames of hell like I should have that day on the bridge when I met him.
He didn’t move. Like a stone bastion, he was unyielding. Angelo planted his feet shoulder width apart and squeezed my arm. “Whether you like it or not, I’m here for you. I’m not going to walk away, and you sure as hell aren’t going to be alone with whatever it is that’s eating at you.”
“No—”
He laughed as if I was being ridiculous. “You know me well enough to know I’m stubborn. I’ll stand here and wait you out if I have to, but just so you know, we’re going to the gym and you’re going to beat the shit outta the punching bag I’ll be holding.”
I looked at him then. Gazed into his eyes, and I saw compassion there. He may not have understood why I was so worked up, but I knew that to him it didn’t matter. That was the kind of friend he was. Loyal, with an unwavering strength. When he eventually found out what I’d said, he’d rip me a new one. I had no doubt about it. He’d never let my bigoted comments stand. I appreciated that about him too. He was no pushover. He’d never let me get away with shit he didn’t like. He’d always have his say. He was blunt and honest.
When Angelo raised his hands to my shoulders and squeezed them, I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything at that point. “Go and get some sweats on. Then we’ll leave. Whatever happened, we can get through it, okay?”
In my bedroom, I paced. The doors to the walk-in closet were drawn open and I was between it and the bed. Frustration stirred within me. Why did my godfather still have so much control over me? Why did the events of a decade and a half ago still make me crazy? I shouldn’t care who Ford was fucking. I shouldn’t. But I did. The knowledge that I’d once made the same mistake and had been taught a lesson for it played on me until I was seething with anger. Gritting my teeth, I fought the urge to throw a punch at the mirrored doors and pulled the first random set of clothes I could find on. I had to get out of there.
Angelo was waiting for me when I walked out, handing me a bottle of water but keeping the boxing gloves he’d grabbed from the garage. The drive wasn’t long—nothing was in Queenstown—and soon I was attacking the bag he gripped. He’d taken me into one of the quieter training rooms, and for that I was grateful. I let loose, every ounce of frustration and injustice and anger pouring out of me with each punch into the bag. Every hit I landed sent Angelo stepping backward until he braced himself with all his body weight pressed up against the bag. My form wasn’t perfect; it probably wasn’t even good. But I needed this more than I could ever have known. With every punch, I pictured his face. The one I’d never been able to forget. Contorted with rage, I remembered him more than I did my parents. I relived the pain, the scars he left me with opening again. I fought against the endless months I spent sleeping on the cold, hard ground and railed against the beating I took the final night that I’d slept behind the shopping mall. The same night that Edith, the lady I’d slept next to for months, had been raped in front of me while I fought to get free and help her. But the disgust I felt for Ryan, and those men who’d ganged up on us was nothing compared to what I reserved for myself. The picture in my mind’s eye morphed into me. Distorted, it was hideous. As if my corrupted and warped soul had taken corporeal form and the monster staring back at me was the embodiment of that. I hated the vision. I hated myself. I wanted to erase it off the face of the planet. I wanted to erase myself.
My eyes stung and I couldn’t catch my breath, but I kept punching. The pained cries didn’t sound like a noise I’d make, but I knew it was me. My throat was raw. I was gasping for air. My lungs were burning, my heart pounding in my chest. My arms were so heavy that I could barely lift them anymore. My strength was entirely sapped. I didn’t know how long I’d been hitting the bag, but exhaustion permeated every part of me. Angelo wasn’t holding it any longer either. He didn’t need to. I didn’t have the strength to push it far enough that it’d do anything more than sway gently. He was beside me, calling my name, but I couldn’t stop. His hands on my shoulders pulling me away forced me to though, and I felt myself falling. Collapsing until I hit the rubber mats. I was in a crumpled heap on the floor and I couldn’t breathe. My lungs were closing down, my vision going hazy. Panic set in, and I grasped fruitlessly at the loose singlet around my shoulders, trying to get the constriction off my chest. I had to get it off, but my gloves were in the way. I had to get them off. I couldn’t breathe. Oh fuck, I can’t breathe.
Angelo was on his knees in front of me, and I reached for him, needing him. He cupped my face and drew me close, murmuring softly in my ear and rubbing my back. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but his words kept me grounded. Stopped me from spinning entirely out of control. They brought me back into myself. I clutched at him, never wanting to let go, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. I breathed in his familiar scent. Took comfort in the steady heartbeat against my cheek as I pressed it to his throat. He was rocking me, and I was crying. Grieving for what was and what I’d turned into. I’d been down before. I’d felt the darkness envelop me so thoroughly that I never wanted to escape, but this was the first time it’d hit me like this. The release was cathartic.
Angelo’s hands loosened around me, and I pulled him tighter, not wanting to let go. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m just taking off your gloves,” he crooned. The constriction of the band around my wrists loosened, and cold air wafted over each of my hands in succession as he pulled the gloves off and tossed them aside. I curled my hands around his back again and held on to Angelo for everything I was worth. In his arms, I was safe. I wasn’t that lonely teenager, scared out of my mind and wishing that the darkness would finally envelop me. I was just me. Broken and scarred, but he made me feel important. Like I was strong enough to pick myself up and dust myself off.
“You’re always here for me,” I whispered. “Why?”
“Because I could never be anywhere else.” Angelo threaded his fingers through my hair, and I lifted my gaze to his. He’d been crying too, and the despondency in his eyes broke me.
“Can we go home?” I rasped, my throat feeling like I’d swallowed knives. Angelo nodded and pulled away to pass me a bottle of water. I guzzled it down while sweat dripped off my brow and stung my eyes. My shirt was soaked through, but Angelo didn’t seem to mind. He helped me stand and wrapped an arm around me to guide me out. I was grateful for the support. My legs were like jelly, but more than that, I needed him to feel grounded. Tethered.
Angelo led me straight into the main bathroom when we arrived home and turned the hot water on in the tub. He added bath salts and a few drops of something that reminded me of warm tropical nights on faraway beaches, and it wasn’t long until the room started to steam up. “You right to get in?” he asked, then looked at me, shook his head, and blew out a breath. He mustn’t have been impressed with what he saw, adding, “Let me help you.” He was on his knees undoing the laces on my trainers before I could object, and he pulled each of my shoes and socks off. When he rose, he slipped off my shirt and tossed it into the hamper in the corner. I swayed on my feet, not because I was unsteady, but because I wanted desperately to get closer to him. I had to fight down that instinct. It wouldn’t get me anywhere, especially not after this morning’s shit went down.
“You got the rest?” he asked. When I nodded, he busied himself with getting out a fresh towel for me from the cupboard. I had one in my bathroom, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t have left me alone even if I’d insisted on it. With his back turned, I slipped off my shorts and sank into the foamy water. It wasn’t deep yet, but I knew he was giving me whatever privacy he could in the confines of the small room.
I sighed
as I sank down and rested my head against the porcelain. “Look,” Angelo started, hesitating as if he wanted to choose his words carefully. He sat down on the side of the tub, still not looking at me. “You’ve made it pretty clear you won’t share this stuff with me, but you need to speak with someone. I want you to get some help, Trent.”
I wanted to resist, but I knew it was futile arguing with him. He wouldn’t give up until he took me to see a counselor himself. “I know,” I croaked. “I will.”
“Don’t just say it and not mean it.” He turned to me then, and in that moment, I would have done anything for him. He was as broken as I was. He was hurting just as much. His eyes, red-rimmed and puffy, were dull. Their usual spark nonexistent. His lips were turned down and his shoulders slumped in defeat. I caught myself reaching for him and pulled back, dropping my hand back into the water. He flicked his eyes to it before hanging his head low. His reaction to that simple move solidified my promise. How could I keep hurting him?
“I will. I’ll get help.” The resolve in my voice must have satisfied him. He nodded and stood, keeping his back to me.
“I don’t want to lose you, Trent, and every time this happens, it makes me think I’ll be burying you. I can’t do that.”
This time I didn’t hesitate. I reacted on instinct and reached for his hand, clasping our palms together. I squeezed hard, trying to reassure him. “Some shit happened when I was younger. I don’t like to relive it, but I do. The memories… they’re not good. I don’t want to….” How did I put into words that I didn’t want my memories to taint him? That I didn’t want him to look at me differently? I couldn’t risk losing him. “I promise I’ll speak with someone. I will.”
His only response was to squeeze my hand and sit back down. We stayed like that for a long time, the water turning tepid before I could will myself to move and break our connection. It’d been a long time since I’d dated—years since I’d had more than a one-night stand—and the loneliness had crept in. The only thing that’d kept it at bay was my friendship with the man sitting beside me. The hole in my chest never felt as big when he was around. It was never as deep and dark. I’d had hookups, but they were meaningless. A way of fulfilling a basic human need with a warm, willing body. I never had the slightest hesitation when it came to walking away. But with Angelo sitting there with me, it was different. His warmth soaked into me and his calm steadied me. We took comfort from each other, reaffirming the rock-steady bond of friendship we had. Only once before in my life I’d had a friend like Angelo—Jake, my teenage best friend who’d risked everything to give me clothes, money, and food.
“You’re coming out with us. Go get dressed,” Angelo ordered as he buttoned up his dark gray vest. He’d paired it with a matching pair of suit pants and a pale blue button-down shirt. With his shirtsleeves rolled up his forearms, he looked damn fine. Add on the black woolen coat and dark gray scarf and he would catch the eye of every woman in the place. He barely even glanced their way though. He’d smile and talk to them but rarely even showed any hint of being interested. It amazed me that a man like him was still single.
“I don’t think so,” I muttered. Ricky had organized drinks, but I knew Ford would be there with Reef. He wouldn’t want me to go, and if I were being honest, I’d rather not be there either. A few weeks earlier when I’d seen them together, it’d been enough to send me spiraling. I didn’t want the same thing to happen again, and frankly, I figured I’d be lucky to survive the night without a fist to my face.
Angelo looked at me and pursed his lips, looking disappointed. “Please?”
I sighed and nodded. I couldn’t turn him down, even if I knew it wasn’t going to be a happy ending.
“I wouldn’t mind a night out.” I smiled, hoping it didn’t look too forced, and went into my bedroom to get changed. I wanted to look good. For him? For me? I had no idea. It didn’t really matter. All I hoped was that the night didn’t turn into a total clusterfuck. Probably too much to hope for, but hell, I deserved one night, didn’t I?
I picked out a pair of dark jeans, a white button-down, and pulled my suit jacket out of the closet. In fifteen minutes I was ready, and I refused to stall. I was either going to jump in headfirst, or chicken the shit out. You’d never know it with my history, but I hated confrontations. I was nervous, both as to how I’d react and how Ford would.
I saw Ford and Reef enter before they saw us. I’d positioned myself closest to the edge of the booth when they spotted us and started making their way over. I downed the scotch I’d bought and swallowed hard. They came closer and my heart rate spiked. My throat constricted. But it wasn’t fear. It was shame. What sort of person reacted the way I had when they saw two people together, no matter who they were? What sort of man was I when I hated myself so much that I took it out on them? I didn’t even deserve to be sitting at that table with my friends. They were far too good for me. I stood, resigning myself to leaving, when Ford stopped in front of me. He eyed me, and I tried to hold his gaze and apologize without words, but I couldn’t. Humiliation swamped me, and I knew that the right thing to do was walk away. If I stayed, I’d ruin their night. If I left, they wouldn’t even miss me. I closed my eyes and begged Angelo for forgiveness in my head, then turned and walked away. I only got as far as the bar. I needed something to wash down the bile making its way up my throat.
I barely choked out what I wanted before I had to suck in a few deep breaths to stop myself from puking. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that I’d disappointed my friends so much. The end of the night couldn’t come soon enough. But I knew when it did, I’d have to contend with Angelo and what would be a difficult conversation. It’d also be entirely one-sided. How could I explain everything—or anything—to him?
I left early but waited up until Angelo arrived home before I headed off to bed. I couldn’t bring myself to go to bed without seeing him. I didn’t know why, it was just one of those things that I apparently did. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I did it every time he was working or went out. I needed to know he’d come home safely before I could sleep.
The half-empty bottle of tequila sat next to me on the side table. I’d drunk most of it since getting home and it still hadn’t dulled the pain sitting heavy on my chest. Contempt and humiliation, shame and yearning all mixed together, sloshing around like the potent liquid I’d swallowed, relishing the burn as it flowed down my throat. I deserved nothing less.
The snick of the lock on the door had me zeroing in on it. I watched silently as the handle turned and Angelo entered. He looked tired. As if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn’t say a word as he tossed his coat carelessly over the sofa and reached for the bottle. He took a swig from it and winced.
Standing over me, he asked, “You want to tell me what the fuck happened tonight?” His cold voice, devoid of its usual warmth, cut me like a knife. But it helped maintain the walls I was desperately trying to keep from crumbling. I couldn’t let them fall. I wouldn’t. I’d lose Angelo if the truth of what I’d done came out, and that wasn’t an option.
“Nope,” I muttered mulishly.
“Of course not. You never fucking do.” Angelo scrubbed a hand over his face and started pacing. “You hurt Ford tonight. Reef didn’t know what the hell to do. Ricky thinks you were acting like a child, and you put me in a position you are never to put me in again.”
My posture remained relaxed. I was sprawled out on the sofa, one leg kicked over the armrest, but every muscle in me tensed knowing the blow he was about to wield with his words. It could break me. I held my breath, waiting for him to continue until he faced me again. He stood there, legs shoulder width apart, arms crossed in front of his body, and his jaw set. Anyone else who looked at him would have seen aggression. I saw him trying to protect himself. His arms were a shield. I knew I’d hurt him before I asked, my tone more caustic than I had intended, “What position’s that, Angelo?”
“You made me choose betw
een you, my brother, and our friends. Don’t you get it, Trent?” He spoke with his hands. He always did, but this time he pointed at me, his voice raised in a passionate cry. “You’re as much my family as they are, and you made me choose.”
“You chose them,” I yelled, surging up off the sofa. I stood before him, chest to chest, almost daring him to taunt me more. I waved at the front door, as if he could tell I was talking about the others who were probably in their own homes by now. “You didn’t choose me. You fucking chose them!”
“No!” He grabbed my arms and squeezed them, as if he was reassuring me. “No.” He shook his head and this time, lifted his hands to my face, cupping my cheeks. His warmth seeped into me and unfurled something that had long gone dormant. His voice was barely more than a whisper, uttered quietly just for my ears, when he said, “I love you, man. I’ll always choose you. Always. But you needed space.”
I closed my eyes, wishing that he meant something entirely different than the love between friends. Wishing his touch didn’t feel so good and that I didn’t want to lean in a fraction more and kiss him. I had no idea whether he’d welcome it. He shouldn’t, especially not from a worthless piece of shit like me. I shouldn’t want it either, not after the lesson I’d been taught, but it was getting harder and harder to keep denying the side of me I’d buried. Seeing Ford and Reef that night, dancing together wrapped in each other’s arms. Making out. They were beautiful together. Lovely. Sweet in a way I’d never thought two men together could be. Jealousy had burned through me that they could express themselves like that. Longing had overtaken me, and I couldn’t deny who had been in my thoughts. That was when I had to get out of there. I couldn’t watch them any longer without forgetting every lesson I’d learned that terrible night. I sucked in a breath and pulled away from Angelo. When I opened my eyes, I saw heartbreak in his. They were glassy, like he was about to cry.