by Rhys Everly
The more his phone rang, the more worried he got. By the time he reached the back and entered the staff room, his phone had stopped ringing. He called Pierce. He usually picked up by the third ring, but this time he didn’t. He let it go to voicemail and hung up. Now he was really worried.
He found the number that had just called him and rang it back. In a second it was answered, and his knees gave up on him. He collapsed on the sofa. “St. Andrew’s Hospital, how may I help?”
His mouth felt dry all of a sudden and his throat was hoarse. When his voice finally came out, it was stale and barely audible. “Hi, I just missed a call from you. Can you tell me what this is about?”
“What’s your name, sir?” the woman asked on her phone.
“It’s Rafael Arena Santos,” he replied.
She was quiet. Rafe kept quiet too. He was praying it was a mistake, that nothing had happened.
“Ah, there it is. Yes, I called you because your friend Pierce Callahan has been admitted in the ER, and you are his emergency contact,” she said.
Rafe’s heart nearly ripped his skin apart, and he breathed deeply trying to find the courage to ask what was happening. “Is he okay? What happened? When was he admitted?”
The woman typed something and answered. “His wound has been infected, and he was found unconscious by a homeless man on Nassau Avenue. The man said he found his phone and called us because he wouldn’t wake up. He was brought in an hour ago,” she said.
“What—what was he doing in the street? What time did they find him?”
“We don’t know that. He was found around midnight. Do you think you can come around? We don’t know when he’ll be out of the ER, but I’m sure he could use a friend,” she said.
Rafe got up and started fumbling with his locker, trying to get his bag out. “But is he going to be okay?”
“Like I said, sir, we don’t know for sure when he’ll be out, but the infection doesn’t seem to be life-threatening. The doctors are waiting for his response to the medication to have a better picture of your friend’s condition.”
Rafe nodded, said he was making his way over, and hung up. Next thing on his mission was finding Vance and telling him what had happened. He couldn’t possibly stay at work and finish his shift when Pierce was fighting for his life.
He found him in the empty kitchen, nibbling on some salad. Rafe choked on his words, trying to tell him he had to leave and the reason why. Vance put his salad down and gave Rafe a warm hug. His arms felt good around him. Fatherly almost, he would dare say, if he knew what a fatherly touch was.
Vance reassured him that everything would be okay then took took over the bar for Rafe. Rafe called a cab and caught a ride all the way to Brooklyn and St. Andrew’s Hospital.
When he got there, they told him Pierce was responding to the drugs and would be out within the hour. Rafe tried to sit down while he was waiting for the minutes to tick by, but he couldn’t.
He paced the corridor, walking further and further with each take until he ended up in the hospital cafeteria and grabbed a sandwich, which he ate in what seemed like seconds and only because he needed to put something in his mouth, even though nothing seemed to be going down easily. He ate so fast, nothing tasted of anything.
At four a.m. Pierce was taken to a room, and Rafe sat down on a chair next to him and finally took a little nap after a long, taxing day, made even longer by what had happened.
But even sleep couldn’t let him find peace for long, and he woke up at five, then again at six. At nine, when he opened his eyes, Pierce was awake and watching the TV.
“Hey,” Rafe said and got up to touch Pierce and give him a kiss.
Pierce didn’t respond.
“What happened last night? How did you end up at Nassau Avenue?” Rafe asked, his voice gentle, trying not to be too loud or intrusive.
Although being considerate of the other patients in the room wasn’t on top of his list when his boyfriend was suffering.
“I’m sorry,” he groaned.
Rafe winced and asked for an explanation.
“I gave up on us. I’m sorry. I couldn’t take seeing you overwork yourself for my sake. I’ve literally seen you one full day since Wang told you I can’t stay there anymore. You just come home to sleep for a few hours and go back to work, and I just couldn’t stand seeing you like that. You’re unhappy. You need a break,” he said.
Rafe grabbed Pierce’s chin and turned his boyfriend’s head around to face him. “What are you talking about?”
Pierce closed his eyes before he continued. He sighed. “I decided to leave. Go back to the streets, so you don’t have to move out,” he said.
“What? Why? What about all the things we talked about?”
Pierce opened his eyes and looked directly at Rafe. “Well, now that I’ve left, you don’t have to work for the two of us. I’ve seen you go from a happy-go-lucky guy to a man who can’t even smile anymore without forcing it. This whole ordeal is making you unhappy, and I don’t wanna be the reason for that. That’s why I left,” he explained.
Rafe didn’t say anything. He whacked Pierce across the head, infection or not. “My God! I am actually dating uno estúpido. I’m not unhappy. I’m just tired. But I didn’t care because at the end of the day I slept next to you, even if only for a few hours, and having that, I could wrestle fucking lions the next day. Because I had you. Don’t you remember what I told you the day Wang told me he’s kicking us out? Don’t you? Do you think I am that feeble to take it all back, or that my feelings aren’t strong enough to last through a hardship?”
Pierce tried to say something, but Rafe didn’t let him.
“And what is wrong with you? You’re acting like you don’t want to do better in life. Like you’ve made up your mind you’re homeless and that you’re going to be for the rest of your life, despite the fact that so many opportunities have come your way to prove to you that you can get over this. I thought you loved me and you wanted to be with me.”
“I do,” Pierce hesitated before he interrupted Rafe. “I do love you. I do want to be with you,” he added.
“Then prove it,” he shouted. Rafe was raging and he didn’t care one bit. He loved Pierce, but he was so annoyed with him for doubting Rafe’s feelings. “Prove to me that you do, because I am seriously this close to walking away from whatever this—” he shook his arms between them two—“is supposed to be. Because until a few minutes ago I thought this was a relationship.”
Pierce bit his lip and looked at the sheets covering him. He didn’t dare look at Rafe, and it was making Rafe even more furious.
He growled, then turned around and picked up his jacket, ready to leave. He was so blinded by his anger that, at that moment, he didn’t care what happened to Pierce unless he showed the same willingness to commit to their relationship.
“I’m an idiot,” he cried and stopped Rafe from turning the latch and opening the door. “Don’t go. Please.”
Rafe didn’t move. He couldn’t decide if he could trust Pierce’s words anymore. Pierce seemed to be using them sparingly, without any real emotion. He needed proof. He told Pierce so without turning his head, still staring at the door.
“I don’t know how. I don’t know how to stop you from going away. I do love you, and I don’t know what’s so fucked up with me that I can’t see that you do too. I’ll understand if you go. It will break my heart, but I’ll understand. I’m not an easy person to be with. I think my parents fucked me up more than I realize. But that’s no excuse. So if you have to go, go. The only thing I can think of to convince you to stay is to tell you ‘please take me home.’”
The room went quiet. The patients that were awake were all certainly looking at Rafe, because he could feel their prying eyes burning his back. Even the noise of the TV in the back of the room seemed to mute itself in anticipation for Rafe’s response. He was so sick of words, of Pierce’s words. Of Pierce realizing his stupidity and apologizing. Of Pierce throwing sor
ries around like they were cookies. But damn it if he’d walk away from him when he was begging him to take him home.
“Okay, estúpido,” he said and turned around.
Like he’d guessed, everyone was looking at him. And Pierce was too. And he was crying. He was a fucking mess. But Rafe loved that mess with all his heart.
He covered the few steps between them and took his hands, kissing him. The other people in the room made their existence known by fawning over them, and both Rafe and Pierce, without breaking their kiss, looked at them.
Yes, they were going home. And home was wherever each other was. Even if that meant they were both back in the streets and sleeping in subway trains.
Twenty-Nine
Pierce
Pierce woke up and, before doing anything else, changed his bandages.
Coffee was next on the list.
He wanted to go out for another photographic session, but the place was a mess and needed a tidy-up, so he spent the next hour doing that. It was surprising how much time cleaning a tiny space consumed. He put his and Rafe’s clothes in the washer and put the clean ones back in the wardrobe. Changed the sheets for new ones and put Rafe’s growing sketchbook collection in order. Then he dusted around the room, cleaned the window, and vacuumed the floor.
Rafe had already left for work. He had forgiven Pierce so quickly, but Pierce hadn’t done so yet himself. Everything Rafe had told him at the hospital was true, and he couldn’t stop beating himself up for making Rafe hurt so much with his reckless actions. He wasn’t going to do anything like that again. Pierce had learned his lesson.
He never wanted to break what he had with Rafe; he never even wanted to put it at risk. He did what he did to make life easier for Rafe. Sure, they’d agreed to go on together, but when he kept seeing Rafe’s mood declining, his work hours increasing, and his sleep time reducing, he couldn’t help but feel guilty.
Rafe might be on his medication and looking healthier than ever, but he was still sick and Pierce’s condition was putting extra stress on him.
All he thought of, every time Rafe got back home and dropped on the bed to sleep, was that he was making Rafe sick again.
He felt like a burden to his own boyfriend because he felt like a burden to himself. He hated that he couldn’t get back to work yet. Vance had agreed to take Pierce back part-time when he was ready, but that wouldn’t be for another month, if his brash behavior hadn’t pulled an extension on his recovery.
He still couldn’t lift things, bend down or kneel. Walking helped. It was everything else that was a struggle. His medication was strong and wore him out quicker. Sometimes when he complained about being tired to Rafe he felt selfish, compared to Rafe’s exhaustion. Not that he wasn’t happy with his baby’s development in the restaurant. He wished he could be there with him, working with him. Helping. He felt like an imposter that had been given all this spare time with nothing to spend it on but taking pictures.
So that was why he’d run away. He wanted his baby to be fine and well, even if it meant he wouldn’t, that they’d be apart. He was trying to help. Of course looking back now, not even five days later, he wanted to hang himself for his idiocy. However, he was sure if he tried, Rafe would find a way to revive him and kill him with his own hands.
It did seem as if he had a death wish. Every time things got rough, he ran away, and then he complained his life was going nowhere.
His life would go nowhere if he kept running, and he understood that the moment Rafe nearly walked out on him.
Leaving him to have a better life was hard, and he was sure he would manage the pain, but Rafe walking out on him, not loving him anymore—he wasn’t sure he could handle that.
He wanted to do better in life. He was sure that meant being with Rafe. He just needed a constant reminder. A constant reminder that he was worth as much as Rafe said he was, and that he was loved and needed as much as he loved and needed Rafe.
When he finished with the room and had something quick to eat, he felt dirty and grimy. But he couldn’t have a shower, as much as he wanted to. His wound still hurt like a motherfucker, and he needed help getting in and out. Even turning was a strain, so whenever he needed a shower, he did it with Rafe. He couldn’t complain. It made the process much more fun. It made him forget the pain.
The doctors had prescribed him such strong medication to battle the infection and to ease the pain that he couldn’t go longer than four hours without a nap. He wanted to go back to the streets with his camera, though. He couldn’t wait any longer.
The last three days locked in the room had been horrifying. The room was starting to feel smaller and asphyxiating. He needed fresh air and another reminder that there was something he was good at. He would just have to do a short session around the neighborhood and return home before he fainted in public.
It was ten when he looked at the clock, so he told himself he had to be back by twelve, nap, and then go view a room.
That was another issue. The month was running out and people were coming to view the room that Rafe and Pierce slept in, even while they were actually sleeping.
Wang didn’t even bother asking them anymore, nor knocking. That’s why they made sure to lock the door until morning. Rafe couldn’t even talk to Wang anymore. His crappy behavior made his eyes twitch and his fists curl.
So they only had a little under two weeks left until February, and no agent would let them rent anything. Even though Pierce had a few pay stubs to show them and Vance ensuring them he’d be back to work soon. And despite that fact he was going to be their guarantor.
The private landlords were not trusting either. Pierce had called every ad he’d found online. He’d even viewed a couple of rooms that were smaller than Rafe’s current one which were completely uninhabitable. They’d also viewed some rooms that were pretty nice, even a studio on the North edge of the city that was almost in their price range. It’d been divine, the perfect place for them, but the agent wouldn’t even discuss it with Pierce and Rafe if they didn’t have all they asked for.
He was going to be calling a few more private landlords later today. He’d found a few rooms that were cheaper, and if they really were cheaper, then they could probably convince the owner they could afford it. The good thing was that with the Christmas season officially over, accommodations were emptying up and there were more popping up every day online. Hopefully, they would find something before their time was up.
Pierce returned to the room and looked for his camera, and despite the very few places it could be, he couldn’t find it anywhere.
He had left it for Rafe when he’d decided to leave. He hadn’t thought he deserved his gift anymore and thought that perhaps he could sell it back. But now that he was in his right mind, he wanted it. Couldn’t imagine going through his recovery without it.
“Where did Rafe put you, for fuck’s sake?” he cursed and kicked the bed.
Only it wasn’t the bed he kicked, but his suitcase, and the motion hurt his stomach so much that he curled up on the end of the bed, where he tried to control the pain. He looked on the floor at his broken suitcase. It still hadn’t been fixed, and kicking it had sent the top flap flying to the wall. Inside the suitcase was his camera case.
The pain backed away and he sat up on the bed, taking the camera out of the suitcase and putting it next to him on the bed.
Then, carefully, he leaned forward and lifted the top part of the suitcase to his lap. He looked at the hinges and the nails that had been keeping it together. They were completely gone. He turned it in his hands, looking to see if it was salvageable with superglue. But instead his gaze fell on a tear in the lining. He cursed.
He fiddled with the edge of torn lining and cussed again when, without meaning to, he pulled more fabric out of its stitches.
Before he could slap himself, an envelope held his attention. It was there, behind the lining, waiting for Pierce. Had it been there all along, or was it something someone put there recently,
the reason why the lining was torn? The envelope had soaked up the dyes of the suitcase and was almost yellow. But it surely couldn’t be that old. He would have noticed the envelope moving behind the fabric, or the outline of it every time he opened the suitcase.
He shook his head and pulled the envelope out. It hadn’t been glued shut, so he opened it and pulled out some papers. One was a letter. He unfolded it and read.
Pierce, my dear boy,
I am writing this letter in case I never get the chance to tell you in person and, considering how your parents have been treating me, I doubt I will be able to.
I hope you find this letter sooner rather than later, but I had to conceal it so that your parents don’t get a hold of it and take advantage. Hopefully, that is not what happens. Hopefully, they have not broken the lock. Hopefully, my suitcase will reach you when you are well into your adulthood and I will have had some more years to my life, but since my health has taken its toll, I would rather be safe than sorry.
My dear boy, as you may know, I am a homosexual man. You have probably learned to associate this word with the Devil. For heaven’s sake, in our family it is worse being homosexual than a demon or a witch.
But I wanted you to know that I am not a pervert, and I did not abandon my family because I was brainwashed. Your parents might have told you that I was an evil man, but I am not. I promise I am not. Your grandma did not think so. Surely, it took her some time, but in the end she contacted me and told me she forgave me, and understood why I did what I did. She even said she had an inkling even before I had.
So as you already know, I left your grandma and my children. That is what your dad told you, did he not?
The truth is I did not want to. I wanted to stay, be part of your lives, but he and your uncle could not grasp the idea that their beloved father was a queer. Pardon my language, but be assured they used far meaner words to describe and insult their own father than that word. Queer almost blurs in comparison.