by Jenny Wood
I wasn’t surprised to see the look of shock on his face; I had to know that coming here was probably the stupidest thing I could have done. I was most likely one of the last people in the world that he wanted to see and it was purely selfish that I’d come to ease my own conscience when I’d had a hand in possibly helping his partner be unfaithful. I should have thought this through a little better.
“He isn’t here.” He says softly, snapping my attention back to the here and now. His voice sounds so hollow, so hurt; I want to reassure him, immediately. So I do.
“No, oh no.” I shake my head in earnest. “I’m not here for him.” I say, quickly. His brows furrow on his ashen face.
“I’m sorry, I don’t…” He starts but trails off. He shakes his head in confusion and I mentally kick myself for not being able to say anything.
“My name is Kingsley.” I reach out to offer my hand. He stares at it for a full minute before slinking his small, freezing, bony hand into my much larger, warm, tattooed one. I couldn’t help but stare at the contrast in our skin tones as well as my heavily inked one and his flawless, fragile fingers.
“Sorry, my name is Kingsley Kennedy and I really just wanted to come and apologize for last night.” I tell him honestly. I want to tell him everything, from the time I’d met his husband or boyfriend, until he’d caught us together.
“Oh.” Is all he says, still holding my hand, no longer shaking it. He seems to notice it at the same time I do because he drops it, like it’s on fire.
“Listen, I…” I try to start, but flounder, not knowing where to start. My hand is gripping the back of my neck uncomfortably and I rake my fingers through my beard in thought. I do that when I get nervous or I’m concentrating extra hard. “Look, I’m not that guy.” I settle on and his confusion is much more evident in his face.
“I don’t know who Stephen is to you, but I can guess he’s someone that shouldn’t have been with another man.” I start. His face gains some color when he blushes; he looks away and pulls at the sleeves of his sweater, self-consciously. “Last night, I went to a club and he approached me. I’ll admit that I didn’t ask if he was available and I should have, but it isn’t something I do often and to be honest, I didn’t think an attached man would bring me to his home if he had anything to hide, but… apparently, this one did and I should have asked. I should have made sure, you know, that I wasn’t fucking something up between two people or possibly hurting someone because I was lonely and wanted company for a little while.” I snapped my lips shut because I couldn’t believe I’d spilled that little gallon of vulnerability. His face got soft but he still didn’t say anything, so me being the uncomfortable rambling person that I’m normally not, I keep going. “I understand that this is probably extremely uncomfortable for you and I apologize for that too. I just…I left you on the floor last night in a bad way. I know it wasn’t my place to intervene and you don’t know a thing about me; but I felt terrible and I worried on it all night. I really just wanted to come and apologize and to see that you were okay.” I finished, finally; willing myself not to say anything else.
What I was most definitely not expecting, was what he said when he finally got finished looking me over from head to toe.
“You want to come in for some coffee?” And I did.
Chapter 4: Morgan
I woke to soft knocking on the front door. I knew it wasn’t Stephen because, wrong or not, he would have just walked in. I contemplated staying in the hiding spot that consisted of the warm afghan that I was wrapped up in and my ridiculously comfortable couch. Unfortunately, I’d uncovered my head at some point in the early morning and the sun was bright and shining through the front window, making it impossible to go back to sleep. I guess I’d get the door.
I wasn’t prepared for the large man on my doorstep and even more importantly, it hurt that he’d come back for Stephen. I don’t know where Stephen went last night and I’m surprised that he hadn’t called this man, but either way, I had to tell him that he wasn’t here. Hearing him ramble on was contradictory to my opinion of him from last night, or even when I’d opened the door, just then.
He was massive; taller than any man I’d ever seen in real life; I was 5’8 and he towered over me like a giant. He was also thick; his arms were massive and I could see them protruding through the sleeves of his shirt. His chest was cut and I could only imagine what his stomach looked like. He looked like he could be a scary bouncer or a security guard or something, but there was something in his eyes that held geniality and compassion. I could tell it was really bothering him what had went down last night and I appreciated him coming to apologize. It said a lot about his character.
Imagine his surprise when I opened my mouth an invited him in. Sure, I needed a shower; to clean up the pile of vomit I’d left in the floor last night and hopefully not let it ruin my appetite because, I was starving right now; which was uncommon for me, the morning after treatment. I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth though, I’d lost a good 25lbs, since diagnosis and I didn’t have that much to spare.
“I’m Morgan.” I tell him, once we’ve reached the kitchen. “Morgan Blackwell.”
“It’s nice to formally meet you, Morgan. I wish it was under better circumstances.” He replies and I silently agree.
“I don’t drink coffee.” I say guiltily, because since I got sick, I’ve switched to tea. Not even good tea, but herbal or ginger tea. “I have juice, milk, and there is soda in the fridge or I have this espresso thing here but I don’t know how to even turn it on. You’re welcome to give it a go if you’d like.” I’m the one rambling nervously now.
“I think I can handle this.” He says as he steps closer to the espresso machine.
“It also makes cappuccino’s, there are little things right there in that basket next to it. Cups are in the cabinet right above you.” I point to everything and have a slight moment of panic now that he’s so close. “Can you excuse me for just a minute, I’m afraid I crashed on the couch last night and I was just getting up when you knocked. I just… need a second.” I say, backing towards the doorway as he stares at the floor between us. He looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t, so I make my way to the restroom to relieve myself; brush my teeth with the quickness and wash my face and neck with warm water. I rush into the bedroom that I shared with Stephen and throw all his clothes on the bed, looking for a different shirt to throw on. I find a smaller long-sleeved shirt and throw it over my head and make it back to the kitchen as Kingsley is washing his hands.
“Sorry; I was gross.” I attempted a small smile as I grabbed my tea kettle and began filling it with water; Kingsley standing close with a vanilla smelling coffee.
“So… you said that Stephen approached you at the bar?” I asked, even though I’m pretty sure I really didn’t want to know.
“He did.” He says regretfully, taking a stool on the other side of the counter. “I’m really sorry about that, I really wish I’d have known. I feel terrible.” He says softly and I can tell that he does. It’s written all over his face.
“You didn’t know.” I say back, just as soft.
“Is he… I mean, are you guys…. Is he your husband?” He blurted at the end; probably trying to figure out the best way to ask and then just throwing it out there.
“No.” I say. “No, we’ve been together for a couple years though.” I tell him. We weren’t married but we were in a committed relationship, is that very much different?
“What a dick.” Kingsley mumbles and shakes his head in disgust. I find it hilarious for some reason and laugh. He looks at me like I’ve got a screw lose.
“He really is; what a dick thing to do.” I say, still laughing. He smiles softly at me and it hits me in the gut. He’s kind of gorgeous, if I’m honest. It would figure that Stephen would pick someone like him up for a good time. Stephen is a lawyer, so he’d never be able to date someone like this man, appearances and all that bullshit, but for a night of
fun; sure, I could see him going for this gorgeous, dark eyed man.
“So, are you okay? I mean, after last night? I mean with the sick… you got sick.” He rambled again. I cursed myself internally because it probably reeked in the living room and I forgot that I needed to clean that up.
“I’m okay.” I said, then amended. “I’m okay for now.”
“You’re really sick?” He asked; curious, I’m sure.
“I am.” I say. “Grade 3, Oligodendroglioma”
“I don’t… is that…serious?” He struggles. Nobody’s ever sure what the etiquette is for someone battling a disease; to be honest, I don’t think there is one.
“Kind of.” I say honestly. “It’s uhm, it’s a tumor in my frontal lobe. It had been there for a while before I was diagnosed. It started with headaches; vision problems, then I started getting weakness on one side of my body and was getting dizzy and stuff. I had some scans done and loads of tests, then surprise… six weeks ago, I find out that I have a massive tumor on my brain.” I flinch at the words like I always do. I can’t bring myself to look at him so I busy myself with my tea. “I started radiation a few weeks ago, hence the episode there in the living room last night. It’s not fun, but we’re hoping it can shrink the tumor down a great deal before I have surgery to try and remove it.” I finish, not wanting to think of that right now. I’ve never so much as had a stitch in my skin or a broken bone and they talk about having to cut chunks of my skull and my brain. I avoid thinking about it, when I can.
“Shit.” Kingsley whispers. He looks devastated. I find myself watching him closely because why?
“Yeah,” was all I had.
“So, do you…. I mean…” He starts, I can tell he’s got questions but where to start, right? I’m not sure why he even cares to ask but, I find that I don’t mind talking to him about it. I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it. Stephen acts like if we don’t talk about it, it’ll just go away. I grew up in the foster system after my mom left me home for three days alone, when I was four. Luckily a neighbor called the police when he’d seen me outside by myself. Those are definitely days I do not think about. Still, it’s nice for someone to take interest in what’s going on with me. Is it sad that I’m so desperate for attention that I’ll talk to the man my boyfriend had an affair with last night? It so very much, is.
“You get sick like that, a lot?” He asks, quietly.
“After treatments, I do.” I say. “The tea helps.” I smile and try to take a small drink. It’s disgusting and anyone from Georgia will tell you that your tea is supposed to be made in the sun with 3 cups of sugar. This stuff is terrible; still, it helps with nausea and I’m told it helps fight cancers; as do the million medicines and vitamins I take every day. I grab them from the tray on top of the fridge and count out my morning doses.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I cleaned up what was in the front room there. I figured it would make you sicker to do it and I’ll admit I was being nosy and checking out your art work in there on the walls when I saw it.” He confesses, face red in embarrassment. I’m not sure why, it was my mess; I should be embarrassed.
“Thank you.” I say sincerely. “I didn’t have much left in me last night but to kick Stephen out and crash.” I try for a smile but I’m sure it looks more like a grimace.
“Can I ask where you got them from, the paintings, I mean? Is it a local artist, from around here? I couldn’t read the name on the grey one with the trees.” He asks about the painting beside the bookshelf. I’d painted that from a memory I’d had at one of my foster homes.
“It’s mine.” I tell him.
“No, I know. I’m not going to take it.” He laughs, misunderstanding me. “I just like it.” I can’t help but laugh with him.
“No, I mean; I painted it. I’m the artist.” I smile at his dumbstruck face.
“Wow.” Is all he says. I’m suddenly proud. I like that he seemed to like it so much.
“One of my foster sisters ran away one time; she was only like, six or seven. Our foster parents looked for her all day but wouldn’t call the police because they could have gotten us all taken away and despite being kind of absent they were some of the good ones.” I tell him, explaining the picture. “They had a huge forest, out in the back of the yard; I remember it being creepy out my back window at night, but as it was getting darker and we still hadn’t found Quinn yet; that was her name. I decided to check the woods; she was sitting under a tree that looked just like that with a doll and a blanket.” I say, trying to remember why she “ran away” and the circumstances surrounding it. I can’t though, all I remember is the tree.
“I’m sure it ended up a good memory for all involved, having found her and brought her home; but all I remember is that tree and her huddled up under it.” I explain, thinking back to that day.
“It’s beautiful.” He comments and I can tell that he really thinks so.
“Thank you.” I smile again, looking at the backs of his hands and remembering his body ink from the night before.
“I could say the same for your art work; who done yours?” I ask, wanting to know more about him. I feel like I’ve revealed too much of myself to this man I’ve just met.
“I did.” He says. “Well, me or my brother but I’ve drawn, I’d say over 70% of everything on me.”
“Really? You guys artists too?” I ask, feeling more lively and awake now that I’ve had tea and we’re talking about something I love that we have in common.
“We’re tattoo artists; we just opened the shop in town a few months back.” He says, flexing his fingers nervously.
“Shut up!” I exclaim, startling him. “I want to stop in there when I get better. One of the things on my bucket list is to get a tattoo.”
“Yeah? What would you get?” He asks, a smile breaking out on his face, now. He looks so friendly and less intimidating when he smiles like that. Before I can answer, I hear the front door open and slam. I kind of panic because I wasn’t at all prepared to deal with this, not now. I was doing good pretending it didn’t happen.
“Well, this is quite the surprise.” Stephen says as he walks into the kitchen and sees Kingsley and me sitting across from each other. “What’s going on in here?” He asks, skeptically. I’m not sure where he thinks he gets off coming in here, demanding answers since effective last night, we were no longer together.
“Did you need something?” I ask, surprising him with my nonchalant, attitude.
“Yes. I want to know why my boyfriend is sitting here with….” He trailed off, unsure how to finish that question, I’m sure. Sitting here with….
“Kingsley.” Kingsley said, helpfully.
“I know your name.” Stephen clipped, impatiently. “What I want to know is, what are you doing in my kitchen with my boyfriend?”
“Seeing how we’re both dressed, it isn’t what you were doing with him last night. Does that answer your question?” I sassed back.
“Honey.” He sighed. “Can we not at least talk about that?” He asked.
“Absolutely. We can not talk about it. So why are you here?” I inquired.
“I mean, we need to talk about it, honey.” He clarifies.
“Was last night the first time?” I ask, it’s all I needed to know. I can tell by the look on his face, he’s about to lie.
“Honey.” He starts.
“How many times?” I ask.
“Morgan, listen…” He tries, coming closer. Kingsley stands up and we all freeze.
“How many times, Stephen? Were you safe? Do I need to get tested on top of all the other shit I’ve got going on right now?” I ask, panicking just a little bit.
“We’d have to have sex, ever, for you to have to worry about that.” He snarled. The hit stung. I knew it was partly my fault that he’d strayed but having that thrown in my face in front of Kingsley sucked.
“I think your done here. You need to do what you came to do, quickly, and be on your way.” King
sley says, menacingly. Stephens eyes get huge as he looks from him to me and then back.
“I live here, friend.” Stephen says, haughtily to Kingsley.
“Not anymore.” I comment immediately.
“What do you mean, not anymore?” He almost yells. I can tell, he’s actually floored. How he’s surprised, I have no clue.
“I mean, as of last night, we are no longer together so you don’t have to worry about me not putting out or stroking your ego. Your clothes are on the bed and I’ll get your suitcases down from the closet. Pack ‘em up and get ‘em out.” I say. I’m sure there will be a time when I break down and mourn the relationship that I thought we had, but it is not at this minute. I’m getting more pissed the longer he’s standing here.
“You cannot be serious.” He growled in the least threatening, low growl. I had a feeling, Kingsley could do it much better. Fortunately, we didn’t find out. Stephen cursed his way to the bedroom and began throwing stuff into suitcases; grumbling and griping the whole time. I stood at the door and watched to make sure he didn’t take anything that wasn’t his or destroyed anything of mine.
“So, we’re not even going to talk about this? What are you fucking him now too?” He asked, nastily. I expected him to lash out and I knew he wouldn’t physically hurt me; so I just stood there and silently watched.
The thought of being alone, especially now, was more than a little scary… still… I deserved better than this.
Chapter 5: Kingsley
Well this has been an eventful morning; after Stephen left and Morgan got quiet, I sensed he needed some time to get his head together. I needed to get to work anyway, so I asked him if he needed anything before I went. I apologized again, more than once and I thanked him for letting me have my say. I wanted to get his number or give him mine. I wanted to let him know that if he needed anything, he could call me. I had this need to want to help him. He thanked me for coming over and explaining and he told me that it showed a lot about the person I was, that I’d not wanted him to have a bad opinion of me. It was true, I really didn’t; but more than that, I had just wanted to check on him.