by Sean Kennedy
“You’re probably right.” Paul sat next to him, seriously invading his personal space.
“What shall we drink to?” Micah asked.
“The Dockers turning their season around?”
“You’re a Melburnian. They’d run you out of town for toasting that.”
“You’re a Melbourne boy too,” Paul pointed out.
“Not anymore.”
“You sound sad about that.”
Micah didn’t come here for deep-and-meaningfuls, and he was pretty sure Paul hadn’t invited him in for one either. He ignored the question and fished an ice cube out of his glass.
“What are you doing?” Paul asked.
Without answer, Micah rubbed the cube over Paul’s nipple, and he yelped. Once again, Micah was playing a role. He remembered Kyle doing this to him on a warm day, and now he did it in order to distract Paul from asking any more personal questions.
“Fuck,” Paul hissed.
“You like that?” Micah put the ice cube in his mouth, close to the tip of his tongue and then sucked on Paul’s nipple. This was another thing Kyle had done to him.
Fuck, he had to stop thinking about Kyle.
“You don’t waste any time,” Paul breathed.
Micah looked up and crunched the ice cube into oblivion. “Time’s overrated. Now, get your clothes off.”
It was the script again, the lines delivered by rote. But it was amusing to see how quickly Paul complied.
THE MORE they went at each other, the less Micah felt in control of himself. Naked, they were now wrestling each other over the covers of Paul’s bed, their skin slippery with sweat. Paul had wedged himself in between Micah’s legs, refusing to take any other position so Micah let him. He was already aching, desperate to cum and Paul was taking far too long to make him.
At least he was now scrabbling around in his bedside drawer, and triumphantly producing a box of condoms.
“Uh, fuck,” he hissed.
“What?” Micah asked, propping himself up on his elbows. How long was this going to take?
“I haven’t got any left.” Paul rattled the empty box to show him. “Have you got any?”
Micah reached for his pants on the floor, his arse up in the air. Paul slapped it appreciatively.
There were none in his wallet. “Fuck.”
And now Paul was… doing things… with his fingers that made Micah close his eyes and groan loudly.
“I can’t stop,” Paul was saying. “So fucking hot.”
Nope, this had to stop. But, oh fuck, that feeling—
“I’m safe,” Paul said. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
Horny as hell, the room spinning around him, Micah heard a voice come from him that he could swear wasn’t his own. It was a voice that came from the videos hidden deep within his files on his laptop. The voice of someone else playing a role, playing something they were prepared, pretested, and paid for. “Then fuck me raw.”
It surely wasn’t Micah. Micah knew better. Micah knew this was wrong, and he should stop. That if they had to do anything, they could just jerk each other off and have to be satisfied with that. Micah knew the dangers of unprotected sex.
But he had said it anyway.
“Are you sure?”
“Hurry up,” said not-Micah, the same strange lustful porn actor voice seeming to speak from his dick rather than his mouth.
Paul didn’t need to be told a second time. He was already in Micah before he finished speaking, and Micah was lost in the frenzy that followed.
SENSIBLE MICAH, the real Micah woke up a few hours later in a cold sweat.
The other guy was snoring, sated. His back was to Micah as if he had already forgotten him. He wasn’t worried about what they had just done.
But Micah was.
Now, at least.
He was still feeling woozy as he looked in the dark for his clothes, his wallet and his keys. He wasn’t even trying to be quiet. He didn’t give a fuck whether Paul woke up or not—he just wanted out of there as soon as possible.
The taxi arrived after ten minutes sitting at the entrance to the flats. He couldn’t go home—not yet—so he told the driver to take him into the city. He wanted a hotel, where he could lock himself away in a room and scrub himself clean without waking his parents or Alex.
And that was what he did. He was savage as he washed himself, even though he knew it would make no difference. What the fuck was he thinking? How did he let it happen? He knew better.
He could keep berating himself, but he knew it wouldn’t change anything. He’d let somebody fuck him without protection. Micah had never been that irresponsible, even with all the casual trysts he had since he moved to Perth. And there was nothing wrong with one-night stands, as long you were careful. Sex was meant to be fun, not fraught with danger.
As the water remained hot, without any sign of running out, Micah sank to the floor and let it run over him.
Sex is meant to be fun. The mantra kept running through his head.
He knew what he’d been doing all along; he’d just buried it so deep he wouldn’t have to think about it. This was his morality play moment, when he finally acknowledged that all he had wanted all along was to recapture those feelings he had with Kyle. Where sex was fun, passionate, and also kind of gross, weird, and messy—but perfect all the same because it was about connection. He hadn’t had that connection with anybody since—but to be fair, he hadn’t been looking for it. He thought he just wanted to get off.
Well, like some cheesy high school video meant to scare you off having sex, he was paying the price.
His jocks were drip-drying on the towel rack. He had even wanted them scrubbed clean.
Once he dried himself off, he put on the hotel-supplied bathrobe and stretched out on the bed. For the first time since leaving Sircuit, he checked his phone.
A missed message from Kyle. I’m really worried about you. Please let me know you got home okay.
Micah closed his eyes, and despite everything, fell asleep.
Chapter 14
THE COLD light of day made Micah feel even worse, if that was possible. His body felt raw. He had scrubbed it so many times despite knowing it wouldn’t change a thing. But that was nothing compared to how raw his soul felt.
His stupidity of the night before was unparalleled. It went against everything he believed. And although part of him was mad at Paul—who was much more sober than he was and should have been more sensible—Micah still knew the larger blame lay with himself. He had still been cogent enough to realise he should have stopped. He had just ignored that little voice telling him to do so. It had been yelled over by the porn star.
Googling on his mobile revealed the Gay Men’s Health Centre was in St. Kilda, and it was open until midday. He’d better get a move on. Dressing in his still slightly-wet clothes, he signed out of the hotel and caught the tram that would take him to Fitzroy Street. As the tram carried him over Princes Bridge, the Yarra River glittered in the early morning sun. It was too beautiful for the mood he was in. He pulled out his mobile and opened the message he had received from Kyle, which was still unanswered.
His fingers trembled slightly as they danced over the screen. He had to keep himself together, or he would lose it in the medical centre. I’m sorry, he wrote. For everything. For the way I acted on our aborted coffee date. For last night.
He didn’t have to wait too long for a response.
I was worried about you.
I know. Sorry.
Stop saying sorry. Do something about it. Something’s not right.
Kyle didn’t know how much of an understatement that was. And even though he would probably be the best person to talk to about it, who would help him without any judgement, Micah still couldn’t ask it of him.
I am, he wrote. Believe me.
I’m trying to. I still feel like I should call Declan.
Micah hesitated before sending the next message. Please, don’t. Next time I’m i
n Melbourne, can we do a proper catch up if you’re here as well? I’ll let you know how I’m doing.
Of course. But keep in touch in the meantime.
Maybe they could be friends. Fuck knows, Micah needed as many as he could get.
In fact, he would love one to be with him right now. But the only one he would trust was Emma, and he couldn’t even bring himself to call her.
As he got off the tram in St. Kilda, he wouldn’t allow the opportunity to run away even though his feet were pleading with him to go in the opposite direction. He hoped he looked like he was walking casually into the medical centre rather than someone carrying the burden of shame. Because, he told himself, this was something many people had to do. Because they were humans. And humans fucked up. Sometimes when they were fucking. There was a very long line of people who had done this very thing before him, and there would be just as many people in it long after he had left.
The receptionist, a woman who looked like she wouldn’t brook any nonsense from any client, took his Medicare card and personal details and told him to take a seat.
His phone buzzed. Emma. Are you still coming to the hospital today?
Yes, he replied. Have a few errands but will be there after lunch.
Errands? How posh.
You know me. So posh.
He could practically hear her snort in her reply. More like Posh Spice.
Nah. I’m Scary. And you’re Ginger.
Is that a snide comment about my titian locks?
He had almost forgotten about why he was there, and was laughing softly to himself, when his name was called. He looked up, all levity forgotten and followed the cute doctor into his room.
“Is this your first time here, Micah?” The nameplate on his desk informed Micah he was dealing with Dr. Ben Nguyen.
“Yes. And hopefully my last.”
Dr. Nguyen raised an eyebrow.
Micah told him the whole story, sparing no details. He had read online that all the medical staff were LGBTQ, so he didn’t have to worry about offending any heterosexual sensibilities. It also gave him a great deal of comfort in knowing they would understand him and hopefully empathise a little more.
Dr. Nguyen listened without judgement, and his first question came as a surprise. “Do you think you were impaired in any way, by other means, besides alcohol?”
“Uh, I felt a bit woozy but that could have just been because of the amount I had drunk.” Was he suggesting his drink had been spiked? Micah didn’t think so. He hadn’t felt any different to any other time he’d been bladdered.
Nguyen nodded. “Okay. Look, I’m going to prescribe you PEP. Have you heard of it?”
Micah scratched at his elbow. “It’s kind of like a morning after pill for unsafe sex, right?”
Nguyen gave a slight smile. “That’s how it’s thought of. But it’s a lot more serious than that. For one, thing, the side effects. You could feel quite sick after taking it. That’s why it’s not recommended as a ‘morning after’ pill.”
“Believe me, I don’t think of it as something to take regularly. Last night….” Micah trailed off.
“Yes?”
“Well, it wasn’t normal. Not for me. I always practice safe sex.”
“So what was different about last night?”
“Different?” Micah asked, to stall answering the question.
“Something made you throw caution out the window. Something other than being drunk.”
Micah knew he was right, but he still couldn’t formulate an answer.
“I’m going to be straight with you, Micah.”
Little bit too late for that, Micah thought giddily.
“I know who you are. Living in this football-mad city I could hardly escape it. And being gay myself, and in a gay workplace, well, let’s say that a gay AFL player is big news round the watercooler.”
Micah wanted the chair to swallow him up. “Uh-huh.”
“That being said, anything you tell me in this room is confidential and will never go outside here. I guess what I’m really asking is, are you okay?”
“Okay?” Micah’s response was little more than a whisper.
“I can guess you’re probably under a lot of pressure. Playing for the AFL, being away from your family. I can’t even imagine how much stress that could cause.”
Micah nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“I’m not a psychiatrist. But what you’ve told me about last night sounds like it could have been an element of self-destructive behaviour. Or a feeling of invincibility. But just listening to you today, I would say it’s the former.”
Was he that transparent?
“I don’t want to put you on the spot. You don’t have to tell me anything. You’re here for medicine, and I’m supplying that. But I can give you numbers of other people to talk to.”
Ben Nguyen was a stranger to him, yet was displaying such considerable kindness that Micah felt even more adrift. He knew if he’d asked any of his friends for help, they would give it. But he had closed them off. He rebuffed Sam at almost every opportunity. They all knew something wasn’t quite right with Micah, but it had taken Ben Nguyen to cut straight to the chase.
And after everything that had happened to him recently, Micah finally felt ready to take the hand proffered to him.
But being unable to speak, he cried instead.
BEN, FOR they were on a first-name basis now, kept Micah in his office for over an hour as Micah began to speak and found he couldn’t stop. By the end of it, Ben probably wished someone else had gotten to Micah’s file and called him in before he did. But Micah knew that wasn’t true. Ben had seen a patient in trouble, and taken the time to help, and Micah was grateful for it.
He filled in his prescription at the chemist next door. He had made a series of appointments with Ben to return for further tests four weeks, and three and six months from now. If they clashed with any games back in WA, he could arrange a test there. It was going to be a long wait for him to be finally cleared and feel assured of true negative diagnosis.
“The odds are low for you to have been exposed to HIV after only one unsafe experience,” Ben told him. “But like pregnancy, it only takes one time.”
He hoped he wouldn’t get carpal tunnel from all the wanking that was in his future, but he remembered that he had survived being thirteen and discovering what his dick could do without getting RSI, so maybe he would be okay.
Thirty days of pills. This was a very expensive lesson to learn, although thankfully the drugs were covered by the pharmaceutical benefit scheme, and Micah once again thanked his lucky stars he didn’t live in America where his prescription and tests could have bankrupted him.
While waiting for the tram he bought a cheap messenger bag to stick the pills in without drawing attention to himself, especially as he had decided to go straight to the hospital. He texted his parents to let them know he was okay and that he’d crashed in another player’s hotel room. He didn’t say the obvious choice of Sam just in case he had called Micah’s parents trying to find out why he hadn’t turned up to Sherlock’s. Their casual reply didn’t send his spider-senses tingling, so he hoped he was safe.
Not that he wouldn’t be forever. He couldn’t help but remember Ben telling him that he needed to be open more to people. That included letting his parents know how he wasn’t coping in Perth. He didn’t have to give all the details—after all, transparency had many layers—but enough for them to get the gist. And then maybe they could help him sort it out.
It also meant he wouldn’t be relying upon Declan like he always did. It was time to give the guy a break, and let the Johnson family do the heavy lifting this time around.
Emma was already in Will’s room by the time he got there. Just as he was about to enter he heard his name called and turned to find Henry approaching him.
“Glad you’re here,” Henry said, shaking his hand.
“How is he today?” Micah asked.
“He’s a lot
less groggy. You’ll probably find he’s able to talk a little bit more. I don’t think Emma’s been able to get a word in since she got here.”
“That’d be a first.”
“Will managed to stay up for a little bit of the game yesterday. I’m sorry it didn’t go your way.”
It was amazing that Henry could stand here and have such a conversation, as if Micah losing a football game was something to feel bad about given Will’s career in the same sport had just ended. It must have shown on his face, because Henry led him further away from the door so they wouldn’t be heard.
“Look, Micah. Will’s going to have to deal with the fact that life goes on as normal for everybody around him. And he’s starting to do it, like watching part of the game yesterday. There’s going to be hopelessly mundane discussions about the weather or who in politics is pissing us off. And you’ve got to stop comparing yourself to Will, because, quite frankly, it’s not going to help Will in the long run either.” He frowned, checking himself. “Did that sound harsh?”
Micah shook his head. “It’s true. And I guess Will needs friends, not people feeling sorry for him.”
“Yes, he does. Ready to go in?”
“Sure am.”
ONCE MICAH and Emma had settled in for the afternoon, Henry took the opportunity to head home, feed his pets, and get some supplies for Will.
Will watched him leave with a frown.
“What’s up?” Micah asked.
“He’s doing so much for me.”
“Because he loves you,” Emma said.
“He wants me to move in with him. He offered when I first left home, but I wanted to do it all on my own. I didn’t want to sponge off him.”
“He wouldn’t have seen it as sponging.”
“If I moved in with him now, I’d definitely be sponging.”
“Shut up,” Emma sad, firmly but lovingly.
“But—”
“She told you to shut up, mate,” Micah told him.
Will ignored them anyway. “I know they said I could walk again, and I’ll be starting rehab pretty soon, but what if I don’t? Then I’ll be….”