Break the Rules (Rough Love Book 7)

by Leighton Greene

  “Well, it seems unlikely.”

  “I agree with you. But the point is, many great minds have struggled with these issues.”

  “Who else?”

  She considers. “Foucault was involved in the gay sadomasochistic scene in San Francisco.”

  “Foucault taught at Berkeley for a while.” For some reason, the thought brightens his heart a little. “I went to Berkeley. But he was way before my time.”

  The Doctor smiles at him. “So, you see. You’re in fine company.”

  There’s something he wants to ask, so badly, and he can’t think of a way to put it without offending the Doctor, but he has to ask. “When I went to a therapist to research for my role, she said sadomasochism was a mental disorder.”

  “And perhaps it is. But who can say that another is mad?”

  That’s it? Ben thinks. That’s your answer? We’re all mad here? He feels guilty when she looks into his eyes searchingly.

  “We may be mad, but that is not an excuse to be destructive, to ourselves or others. This Jake, for example, his behavior is completely unacceptable. But, Benjamin—I’m afraid that yours is not a positive thing either. You are engaging in self-destructive behaviors. I know that you know this.”

  “I was just trying to…”

  “I understand why you’re doing it.”

  “I miss him.” He’s starting to tear up again. Ridiculous.

  “Do you still love him?” Her voice is gentle. He wants to lie, but he can’t.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I want you to promise me something. I want you to remove yourself from the dating pool for three months. Three months from today. Will you do that?”

  “What good would it do?”

  “You have a broken heart, Benjamin. You need to give it time to heal. If I could just stick a Band-Aid on it for you, I would. But I can’t; time is the only thing that will help. And reckless behaviors—the things you’ve been doing—are only going to make the process more difficult.” She scribbles again on her notepad. “You strike me as someone who enjoys lists, yes?”

  “I guess.”

  “I’m prescribing you this. You should take my advice.” She rips the paper off and holds it out to him. “Trust me. I’m a doctor. And I’m also your friend.”

  Ben feels his smile start to return as he reads the paper.

  1) Get up every day by 8 am at the latest and make your bed. You may sleep in on Sundays, but not past 10 am.

  2) Shower and dress every day.

  3) Get fresh air and light exercise daily.

  4) Allow one hour a day to remember and feel bad—but only one hour.

  5) Spend time with close friends and family.

  “New rules to live by? I think I could use them, actually. Thank you.” He hesitates. “You don’t think I need therapy or something? Psychoanalysis? Or…medication?”

  “Psychoanalysis has its uses, of course, but it can sometimes do more damage than good. I think you know what I mean by that.” Ben thinks about Xander, and his own brief foray, and nods. “We can discuss therapy in the future, if things don’t get better for you, and I will be happy to refer you to professionals who specialize in this area and who are receptive to alternative sexual practices. I would prefer not to prescribe medication for something that I believe is a transitory state. But what I would like you to do is come back to see me if you feel worse, physically or emotionally, or if things don’t improve over the next ten days or so. And call me immediately if you’re thinking of doing yourself in.”

  “Okay,” Ben says, and can’t help but be amused at her practicality.

  “After the three months are up, if you find you still want the same things you want now, come back to see me again. I will take you into the community and help you explore safely. But in the meantime, please promise me you won’t find some random stranger on Craigslist to beat you.”

  Ben gives one of the first genuine smiles he’s given for weeks. “How did you know it was Craigslist?”

  She quirks her mouth.

  “I promise,” Ben tells her.

  “I will hold you to that, Benjamin. And now you may have another lollipop. I’ll pick this time—my favorite. Tangerine and chili.”

  It tastes a lot better than it sounds, Ben finds. He stops at the receptionist Adrianna’s desk to try to pay or give insurance details, but she waves him away. “No charge, sweetie. She says you’re a friend.” Adrianna is bright and sunny and beautiful, and Ben starts to remember what it felt like to be happy. “You take care, now.”

  “I will.” He actually means it.

  The next few days are better. Ben follows the Doctor’s instructions, although he finds it difficult to stick to only one hour of feeling bad. His family holds a birthday barbecue for Katy, with a thousand cousins, and everyone is horrified at the state of his face although he reassures them as much as he can. Katy, evidently, can see a change in him, because after interrogating him, she switches sides and starts defending him to everyone else.

  At home, he cleans his apartment thoroughly and stacks the dishwasher. He does load after load of laundry and packs away Xander’s X-box, which he left with Ben on his move to New York. Xander lost interest in Call of Duty after Ben practiced more often and started winning against him. He decides he can drop the X-box off at Xander’s brother’s place one day. Preferably when Joe isn’t around.

  He has one more thing to do. He’s been avoiding it with everything in him, but it has to be done.

  He opens the pantry and looks at them—a bakery box of stale cookie things that he bought for Xander. He was going to send some to New York every week, but now…now he never wants to look at cookie things again. He sweeps the box into a plastic bag, ties it off and trashes it.

  Later that week he calls his friend Matt Anderson and spends some time with him. Others among Ben’s old friends seem to have taken pity on him and are finally calling, but he feels uncomfortably certain that it’s just because they think he’s, as Dave puts it when he calls, got all the gay out of his system.

  “Sorry, man, I know things were kind of weird between us for a while,” Dave tells him, after dropping that phrase casually into the conversation. “But you know, we should hang out.”

  “Dave, things are always going to be weird between us. Don’t call me again.”

  Hanging up on him gives Ben such a pure sense of satisfaction and rightness that he doesn’t need his Doctor-prescribed hour to feel bad that day after all.

  Jae Kim is back in town for promotional work, and Ben enjoys spending time with him. Jae doesn’t talk about Xander at all, and chats instead about his family, and small projects he’s been involved with. He’s so relaxed and content that it rubs off on Ben, and even after Jae leaves, Ben finds himself counting his blessings when he wakes up in the mornings, instead of his losses. He even drops by the old coffee shop to say hi to Karl, reminisce, and listen to Karl’s bitching about how hopeless the new staff are.

  He stops yoga, but keeps running, and starts doing weights again to try to build up some bulk. He’s way too skinny right now.

  One day he calls Elijah, who’s still in LA.

  “Ballard! What are you up to?”

  “Not a lot. You know how it is. Actually—I was thinking. I’ve never actually gone indoor rock-climbing.”

  “Me neither, buddy!”

  “But you suggested it,” Ben says, bewildered.

  “Well, I figured those big strong arms of yours would be an advantage for spotting me.”

  “Okay, come on, admit it. You are hitting on me, aren’t you?” Ben jokes. It might actually be the first joke he’s made since the break-up, he thinks.

  Elijah laughs and laughs. “My nefarious plan. It’s true, though, man, I’d totally go gay for you. Or bi, at least. I’ll set up the rock-climbing, okay?”

  “Okay.” Ben smiles, and the smile sticks even after he’s hung up.

  That night, around nine, Ben is reading in bed when there’s
a knock at the door. He’s not expecting anyone, but for all he knows, it’s Elijah, inviting himself over again. And right now he kind of likes the idea of hanging out with Elijah, because it’s easy, fun. Or maybe it’s Katy. If it’s Katy, he can genuinely reassure her that things are better for him.

  He swings out of bed and pulls on track pants. The thump comes again, more insistent this time. He looks through the peep hole, but the light outside is broken, has been for several days, and all he can see is a shadowy figure. For a moment he wildly considers the possibility that Jake has found out where he lives, and has come to terrorize him.

  Unlikely at best, he decides, and opens the door.

  It’s Xander. He’s steadying himself against the door frame but swaying, and reeking of something alcoholic. Whiskey, Ben recognizes after a moment. Xander pushes himself upright, a gesture that Ben thinks is supposed to be casual, but it’s ruined by the way he has to hang on to the doorway for balance. His hair is longer than in the New York pictures, growing back, and he’s wearing a striped sweater and dirty jeans.

  Xander smirks. “Can Benjamin come out to play?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Ben stares at Xander, wobbling in the doorway, and wishes he’d thought to pull on a shirt before opening the door. Xander is having a hard time keeping his eyes on Ben’s face.

  Xander rubs a hand over his mouth, uncoordinated. “Hi. I’m drunk.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ben stares at him, at an inebriated Xander whose eyes still can’t quite meet his, and whose expression keeps flickering between guilt, lust and hope. “You’re sorry,” Ben repeats.

  “I’m sorry I’m drunk and I’m sorry for what happened. Before. At the play. Very, very sorry.” Xander enunciates each word with deliberateness, as though the vowels and consonants are sliding away from him.

  Suddenly the torpor overcomes Ben again; the drained, empty feeling that he fought so hard to get rid of. He’s been better lately, happier, and he hasn’t cyber-stalked this jerk for at least two weeks.

  “Can I come in?” Xander asks.

  “Go away, Xander,” Ben says wearily. “Fuck off to wherever you’re staying, and sleep it off. I don’t have time for this.”

  “You know, you were really cute when you were saying fudge instead,” Xander slurs. He stumbles backwards, and Ben moves forward to grab him, worried that he’s going to do an accidental back-flip over the stair rails. “We should do that again.”

  “How much did you drink?”

  “Not sure. More than I meant to. I probably shouldn’t have asked if you wanted to play—”

  “I’m going to call you a taxi.”

  “Please don’t.” Xander is clutching onto him desperately by the bare shoulders, drooping in Ben’s arms like an unwatered flower. Ben wishes again that he’d taken the time to pull a shirt on before opening the door. Xander’s hands are cold on his flesh. “I need to talk to you.”

  “You want to talk? Please. That’s not what this is.” Ben’s mouth curls in disgust.

  Xander is sliding now, and Ben has to prop him up, too close, his breath hot and pungent with whiskey. Ben turns his head and looks out over the stairs.

  “Yes, talk. I have to talk to you.”

  “But I don’t have to talk to you, Xander. Not if I don’t want to. And I don’t.” If it goes on, Ben realizes, he’s going to be cruel, say things just to cut, and he’s a better person than that. Or at least, he’d like to think he is.

  Besides, Xander might not remember it in the morning, and if he’s going to be an asshole to Xander, Ben definitely wants him to remember it.

  “I’m really sorry,” Xander babbles. “Please don’t call a taxi.”

  At the very least, Ben knows, he’s going to have to dump Xander on the couch while he makes the call, because he can’t leave him sprawled on the cement out here.

  Well. He could.

  “Benjamin, I know I—”

  “Jesus Christ, Xander, just—move. Inside. Stop talking to me, I don’t want to hear it. And don’t call me Benjamin.”

  Xander’s eyes go very wide, and he closes his lips together tightly. Ben half-drags him into the apartment and deposits him on the couch in a tumble of limbs.

  “Stay there.” His phone is in his bedroom. But when he turns from the nightstand to the doorway again, Xander is slumped against the wall outside the bedroom. “What are you doing? I told you—”

  “I’m sorry,” Xander says quietly, and he sounds totally sober in that moment. “Baby, I’m so, so—”

  “Where are you staying? With Joe?”

  “Why?”

  “So I can give the address to the fucking taxi.”

  “I’m not going to tell you,” Xander says, and folds his arms. He starts sliding sideways and has to grab at the wall.

  Ben pushes past him but Xander follows him down the corridor again into the lounge, talking. “Please would you—”

  “No.”

  “But Benjamin—”

  “Do not call me that,” Ben snarls, whirling around abruptly. “Sit on the fucking couch and wait for me to call a taxi and don’t speak to me.”

  Xander sits immediately, his face pale even in the warm yellow light from the floor lamp. They stare at each other for a second, and then Ben turns to leave.

  “Where are you going?” Xander sounds forlorn.

  “Kitchen.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t fucking look at you.”

  Ben paces the kitchen tiles in the dark for a few minutes, feeling shaky. He tries to call the taxi but his fingers are trembling and he keeps hitting the wrong buttons, partly because his eyes won’t focus, and partly because his brain is still stuck on the fact that Xander is sitting in the other room. And Ben is furious again, like he was the night they broke up, and tired. So tired.

  “Please don’t kick me out.”

  The guy won’t quit. Xander has followed him to the kitchen now and looks—is it fear? It’s hard to tell. Xander is haloed in light from the lounge behind him.

  “Did I or did I not tell you to stay on the couch?”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “You keep saying sorry like it’s supposed to mean something!” Ben shouts. “It doesn’t matter what you say, what matters is what you do.” His voice reverberates around the room, and he sees Xander flinch. “What you did.”

  Xander holds up conciliatory hands. “I know. I know that. I’m trying to—”

  “What you’re doing is getting smashed and coming round for a quick fuck.” Ben wishes with all his soul that the thought of sleeping with Xander was anathema to him, but even like this, after everything, Ben still feels that spark. The attraction.

  He thinks fleetingly about giving in to it, letting Xander into his bed and them afterwards, telling him to get out. Telling him that he’ll never have anything this good again. Breaking Xander as thoroughly and completely as he possibly can. It would be only what he deserves.

  “No, it wasn’t supposed to be like this!” Xander pleads. “When I thought it out, what I’d say to you when I showed up, it went differently.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. In your head you were balls-deep by now.” It’s like the last week or two, feeling better, the pain lessening, the memories fading a little—that’s all swept aside. All Ben wants to do right now is hurt.

  Hurt Xander.

  “No, not that, I wasn’t thinking that! Well—no, I mean, I—” Xander bites his lip. “It was different, what I thought would happen. I wouldn’t be so drunk. And you would yell more at first but try to get away from me less. You wouldn’t be so obviously repulsed by me.” He comes fully into the kitchen and snaps on the light. “Hey, what happened to your face?”

  It’s been a while since Jake, but Ben still has a slight blue shadow under his eye, and a pink, healing cut on his nose.

  Xander comes forward, frowning, and blinking his eyes l
ike he’s trying to focus them again. “And there. You’re bruised.” It’s the place where Jake punched him in the gut, still yellow. Ben can see the moment Xander starts to think it, that he’s been playing with someone else. The broken-hearted look that crosses his face only makes Ben want to wound him more.

  So he leans back against the bench top, pushing his chest out and looks straight at Xander, like he’s proud of the marks.

  Xander moves forward, tentative.

  “Stop.” Ben hisses the word, and Xander stops. “If you take another step, I am going to physically throw you out of this apartment. I have a nice level of balance in my life right now, and you are upsetting it. So either I can call you a ride, or you just get out now and find your own way home. Your choice.”

  Xander gets a calculating look on his face and shrugs. “Okay. Call a taxi. You were right, I’m staying at Joe’s.”

  “This is so you get five extra minutes, isn’t it? Before I kick you out.”

  “Yes.”

  “And are you going to come back again tomorrow, hung over, and try again?”

  “Yes.”

  Ben puts his cell down on the kitchen bench carefully and leans up against the cupboards. “Fine. Say what you have to say and then get out.”

  Xander takes a deep breath. “Can we go lie down—sit,” he amends quickly at the sight of Ben’s face. “Christ. I didn’t mean that, it was just habit.” He passes a hand over his eyes. “Can we sit down, maybe?”

  Ben feels an almost overwhelming urge to disagree with everything Xander asks him to do, but he takes a second to breathe. The quicker it’s over, the quicker he can get back to his own life and forget. So he follows Xander, who’s getting steadier on his feet, back into the lounge and watches him collapse on the couch like a water balloon.

  “I need to think for a minute,” Xander mutters. “Please.” After a stretched silence, he says, “I was wrong.”

  Ben doesn’t reply.

  “I was being a total asshole that night, and I’m sor—I want to make it up to you.”