The Fading Trilogy: Fading, Freeing, Falling: Includes 2 BONUS short stories

by E. K. Blair

  Tossing my gym bag into the back of my SUV, I text Mark when I hop in and shut the door.

  On my way.

  After the other night, Mark had called and wanted to hit the gym with me. I probably shouldn’t have agreed; I know he wants something more than what I think I’m able to give him—what I know I’m not able to give him. But I can’t help the feelings that overwhelm me every time I talk to him, or hell, even think about him. So when he called and suggested getting together, I couldn’t say no.

  Hey, I’m running late. Meet me at my house and we can ride together. Kyle is home.

  Okay. See you in a bit.

  When I arrive at Mark’s house, Kyle answers the door and lets me in.

  “Hey, man. Mark just called and said he was on his way.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say as I follow him into the living room. “What are you up to today?”

  “Nothing really. Just hanging out, watching TV,” he says as he picks up his beer from the coffee table and sits back on the couch.

  I sit down next to him as he starts flipping through the channels and asks, “What are you guys going to go do?”

  “Gonna hit the gym for a couple hours.”

  Taking a swig of his beer, he stays focused on the TV when he asks, “So you guys dating?”

  “No,” I answer way too quickly. God, why can’t I face this? Why can’t I just be comfortable enough to say yes?

  Tipping his head to look at me, he smirks and repeats, “No?”

  I know that look. I give that look. A lot. When his eyes shift to my mouth, I suddenly feel like I’m back in my all-too-familiar territory, so I maintain, “No,” with a slight shake of my head.

  Meeting my eyes again, I know what he’s thinking. Knowing Mark is on his way home, and as much as I like him, these feelings I’m starting to have for him bring up all the shit I don’t like to think about. Being numb and emotionless with guys is just easier, so I take this bait as an easy out from my conflicting situation with Mark. When Kyle leans in, I take the rope he is offering and hang myself.

  I kiss him.

  Grabbing his face with my hands, I tangle my lips with his, knowing that once Mark walks through that door it will all be over, and I can bury this self-hatred that only he has been able to dig up.

  There is nothing behind this kiss aside from pure destruction. I feel sick to my stomach, and when Kyle thrusts his tongue in my mouth, I’m consumed with guilt. But I don’t stop. Instead, I push him down and hover over him. He’s running his hand up my shirt, and I don’t stop kissing him when I hear the door open. My stomach sinks when Mark’s voice pulls Kyle away from me.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Shit, man,” Kyle says as he jumps off the couch.

  I know what I’ve done, and really, there is nothing I can say. So I don’t speak. I get off the couch and walk to the kitchen to get my car keys.

  “You’re not gonna say anything?” Mark questions as I walk past him. He’s visibly pissed, just as I expected. He isn’t like me; I know that.

  Grabbing my keys, I walk to the door as he persists, “Jase! What the hell, man?”

  I can’t fuckin’ look at him. I feel like complete ass for what I just did, but I’m a coward. He doesn’t deserve it; he’s better off without me anyway, so I leave. I walk out the door and straight to my car without ever looking back at him. I hate myself for this. All that anguish I’ve been hiding so well finally surfaces, and I fuckin’ lose it. The tears that are blurring my eyes spill over, and I slam my fists into the steering wheel as I speed back to my apartment. I can’t even begin to sort my thoughts out. Hopeless—Candace said it the other night, and I couldn’t agree more right now. Why can’t this be easy? Why do I have to be this way? I can’t stand this shit.

  I hate that I just hurt Mark. The first guy—the only guy—that I’ve ever had real feelings for and I destroyed it before I gave it a chance. What the hell is wrong with me? Trying to understand why I hate myself so much is ever consuming, and I honestly don’t think I am strong enough to handle the reality of it. So I let the animosity eat at my flesh, right down to my bones.

  When I walk into my apartment, I get a beer and go lie down in my bed. My phone chimes, and I’m scared to look at the text message that I’m sure is from Mark. Reaching over, I pick it up and swipe the screen. I sigh in relief when I see it’s from Candace.

  Getting off work soon. Can I stop by later?

  Feeling like a total dick, I don’t want to see anyone right now. I love her, but I can’t talk to her. I can barely stand being in the presence of my own thoughts. Here I believed, for the past three years, that I’ve been an openly gay man, but truth is, I’m still hiding. I didn’t see it until Mark came along. He made me realize just how scared of these feelings I actually am. I don’t want a relationship with him because I’m afraid that will make it too real for me. Define me. Gay. Fag. Queer. Fuck. Am I ready for that?

  Is this the life that I’m meant to have? No woman? No wife? Immediately, I know that it is. I have never been attracted to women the way I have always been to men. I know I could never have those feelings for a girl. I’ve only ever wanted guys. It seems so easy for Mark to be who he is, as if it doesn’t even phase him. Doesn’t even bother him. I wonder if it ever has.

  I pick up my beer and down it. Getting up, I walk back to the kitchen and just grab the whole pack and bring it back into my bedroom. I open another bottle before finally texting Candace back.

  I’m out. Maybe tomorrow?

  I can’t deal with this right now. I have no idea what I’m doing and feel more confused than ever. Lost.

  “Can I get my tab, man?” I ask as one of the bartenders passes by.

  Moping around my apartment after what I did to Mark this afternoon was driving me crazy, so I decided to walk to 9 Million, a local bar in my neighborhood. It’s getting late, and I’m about to hit my limit with alcohol.

  Sitting here alone, trying to think about anything other than what a total dick I am has proven to be harder than what I was hoping. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m sick of the self-pity, wondering why I have to deal with all of this. Why can’t my life just be simple—simple choices. Hell, who am I even kidding? I know this isn’t a choice. I wish it were. None of this would even be an issue if I were just straight. Maybe I was better off just being numb, taking what I wanted from guys and not having to worry about what it all means for me.

  “Here you go,” the bartender says as he hands me my receipt.

  I don’t even look at it; I just hand him my credit card and turn around in my seat. It’s a busy night and people are packed in here. Everyone seems so carefree—happy even. I’m envious of them.

  Before I turn back in my seat to finish off my drink, I spot familiar tattoos on arms I vaguely remember. Making his way through the crowd, I definitely recognize his face as he pins his eyes on me and approaches. What’s his name? I can hardly filter through my intoxicated brain to remember who this guy is.

  I swallow the last of my beer when he leans onto the crowded bar top and says, “Jase. It’s been a while, mate.”

  His Australian accent is his tell and it clicks. “Hey, Preston.”

  “Haven’t seen you around lately. You just disappeared on me.”

  I disappear on almost all the guys I hookup with, and Preston is no different. In fact, this was the very bar I met him in the night we messed around several months back.

  “Didn’t disappear. Just been busy,” I respond, not really in the mood to talk.

  When the bartender hands me back my card, I stand up, shoving it into my pocket.

  “You headed out?”

  His accent is more than appealing, then I remember how even more appealing it was in bed. No question, this guy is hot with his short, messy hair, hard build, and the almost cryptic winged tattoo I know is splayed across his shoulders underneath his shirt. Needing to dull the anguish in my head, I find myself return to my not-so-old habit. “Y
eah. Wanna come with?”

  We head out into the Seattle mist and walk the couple blocks to my building, staggering as Preston drones on about whatever it is he’s talking about. I can’t focus because my mind is still with Mark. I need to rid the thoughts of him; they’re only making me feel worse.

  It’s not long before we step into my apartment. I toss my keys towards the coffee table with shoddy aim and hear them hit the floor as I walk to my room. Preston follows and when I clamber into bed, I look up to see him stripping off his shirt before he climbs on top of me.

  I’m a fumbling mess, trying to remove my shirt, needing to move quickly in an attempt to clear my head. He doesn’t seem to want to waste any time either when he pulls my pants off and tosses them across the dark room. His kisses are rough and aggressive, and I find it distracting because it’s such a contrast to Mark. God, stop thinking about him.

  Returning Preston’s intensity, I flip him over, tear open a condom, and almost immediately find myself regretting this hookup when I slam myself inside of him. This used to be fun, but now it feels wrong. I grip his shoulders, and my emotions start to spin out of control until irritation pervades.

  Frustration takes over, and I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. Quickly, I push off of him and fall on my back onto the bed. “You need to go,” I pant out.

  “What the hell’s your problem?” he snaps back, and when he does, I roll out of bed, rip off the wasted condom, and yank my boxers on.

  “Just get out,” I throw over my shoulder as I walk out of the room and to the kitchen in search of some aspirin. I used to be able to do this, no problem. Pushing feelings aside, and just taking the moment to be in a place of pure physical indulgence. It hits hard when realization affirms that this isn’t what I want. It’s him. How could I be so stupid—weak? Why is it that Mark, in an instant, made everything I thought I knew about myself irrelevant?

  “This is really fucked up, you know?” Preston slings with ill temper as he walks into the living room, and I can’t blame him; I’m an ass.

  I can’t say anything else, so I just agree. “Yeah, I know,” I mumble before taking another sip of my water, back towards him.

  “What, you can fuck me but you won’t look at me?” he yells, becoming more pissed.

  “It doesn’t even matter,” I say in a low, defeated voice as I turn to face him. And to me, he doesn’t matter. I’m not even sure I matter.

  His words are mixed with threat when he laughs and says, “It doesn’t matter to you now,” before slamming the door behind him.

  My phone reads that it’s a little after two in the afternoon when I pick it up off my nightstand. Running my hand down my scruffy jaw, thoughts of what happened last night run through my still sleep-induced head. How is it possible that I feel even worse than I did yesterday?

  I should have accepted Candace’s offer to come over last night; it would have saved me from making a complete ass of myself. I’d much rather be waking up with her than alone in the bed where I completely used Preston when all I really wanted was to go back in time and erase screwing things up with Mark. And now—now all I want is her. Truth is, I need her, and I know her well enough to know she won’t pry. With Candace, I’ll be able to relax a bit; she has a way about her that, no matter what, just makes me feel good.

  Can you come over?

  After I text her, I drag myself out of bed and into the kitchen to mix up some Gatorade. My phone chimes with Candace’s incoming text.

  Heading to the studio. Everything ok?

  Yeah, just want to spend time with you.

  See you in a few hours?

  Sounds good.

  Knowing that she’ll be coming over, I force myself to pull it together. If she saw me like this, she’d worry too much, and I don’t want her to worry. So I decide that tonight will be like any other night for the two of us. We’ll hang out, cook, and just relax . . . God, I need to find a way to relax.

  I decide to forego the self-loathing and hit the pavement for a much-needed run and try to do some productive thinking for a change. I toss back my Gatorade, chugging it before throwing on some clothes and heading out.

  I run around Fremont before drifting into the surrounding neighborhoods. Pushing myself, my mind starts to drift again, but this time, I try and focus my thoughts on how to make this right. What I did to Mark was wrong, no question about it. But if I’m ever going to get to a place where I can stop living a lie and face the truth that deep down I know is me, I need to do something. I am so damn torn up about Mark. Why did I have to be such an idiot?

  I think about what my parents would say if they knew. What would they do? Pounding my feet against the ground, I take long strides as the thought of baring myself to my parents sends chills through my ragged body while sweat trails down my back.

  Fuck that. It will never happen. I just need to get away—get out of Seattle for a while and get some space away from this mess. As much as I don’t want to, I do need to go back home. Check in with my parents. It’s been almost eight months since I went back. We haven’t spoken in a couple of months, so just the phone call alone will be uncomfortable. I know they’ll leave me alone for the most part, and that’s really what I need right now. Space. Get out in the ocean and do some surfing, maybe hang out with some of my old buddies.

  Calling my mom was awkward, as predicted since we go long spans of time without speaking. She was a little surprised when I asked if I could come home for a visit. When they said it would be fine, and that they would be there, we decided I would leave at the end of this week and spend a few days with them.

  Once that conversation was over, I ran down to the market on the ground floor of my apartment building. I decided to cook fajitas for Candace tonight. Cooking has always been my thing; I love it and find myself cooking for her a lot, since she is normally a bottomless pit. She’s a dance major at UW and spends hours in the studio nearly seven days a week, so she always has an appetite when I cook for her since her idea of cooking is grabbing an apple from her fridge.

  As I’m slicing the peppers, I hear a knock on my door.

  “It’s open,” I holler.

  Her hair is still in a bun when she opens the door and walks in.

  “Hey, you mind if I take a quick shower? I came straight from the studio.”

  “Go ahead. Dinner will be ready soon.”

  Walking into the kitchen, she kisses my cheek and says, “That smells so good. I’m starving.”

  “Hurry up then.”

  “Okay, give me ten minutes,” she says as she rushes off to the bathroom.

  While she showers, I finish chopping the peppers and onions, and toss the sirloin into the skillet of hot oil. When I take the last heated tortilla from one of the skillets, I place it in the oven and look up to see Candace walking in, wearing a pair of my boxers and a t-shirt.

  “What are you making?”

  Turning off the stove, I pull out two plates as I say, “Fajitas. I made a lot, so you better be hungry.”

  She laughs and picks out a bottle of wine for us. Once we have our plates made and drinks in hand, we make ourselves comfortable on the couch.

  “So what’s bothering you?” Candace asks, catching me off guard.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I see it in your face. I know you well enough to know when something is weighing on your mind,” she says and then takes a bite of her food.

  What’s weighing on my mind the most is Mark, but I appease her with saying, “I called my mom today.”

  “Really?” She’s surprised. She knows we don’t talk and barely even have a relationship. “What did you guys talk about?”

  “Nothing really, but I’m going back home for a quick visit at the end of this week.”

  Setting her tortilla down, she gives me a curious look and asks, “Why?”

  “I haven’t seen my parents since last Christmas. We just thought it was time for a visit.”

  “Are you worri
ed at all . . . I mean, being back home when you guys are so distant with each other?”

  Taking a sip of my wine, I say, “It’s not like it’ll be different than any other trip back home.”

  “True. I just worry, that’s all.”

  “I know you do, but it’s just a short visit to catch up.” I don’t tell her the real reason why I’m going because I’m not sure I’m ready to admit all of my insecurities to her just yet. I don’t even want to admit them to myself, but I hate keeping secrets from her; she’s my best friend.

  “When do you leave?”

  “I booked my flight for Wednesday.”

  “You want me to drive you to the airport?”

  “No, I’m just gonna leave my car there. Who knows if I’ll come home early or not, but if I do, I want to have my car.”

  Setting her plate down, she shifts to face me. “What’s really going on?” she questions.

  “Nothing, but I’ve told you about my parents. I just don’t want anything to keep me from coming back here in case I want to leave.”

  Letting out a deep sigh, she says, “Okay, well, when are you supposed to be back?”

  “Saturday.”

  “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Setting down my plate, I pull her next to me, and we lean back on the couch. “You know I love you, right?”

  She doesn’t speak; she just nods her head against my chest.

  “Let’s not talk about my parents anymore, okay?”

  Looking up at me, she grins and says, “Okay. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I like that you worry about me.” I kiss the top of her head and promise myself that I will tell her everything when I can find a way.

  The two and a half hour flight to San Diego felt like time was standing still. But as soon as the plane landed, it suddenly felt all too short. My father was already there waiting to drive me back to the home I grew up in. Mom had stayed behind, and when we arrived, we said our uncomfortable greetings before she went back to doing whatever she was doing before I walked through the front door.