Never Been Loved

by C.M. Kars

  He’s going to be okay.

  Christ, the kid’s going to be all right.

  I’m pretty sure I’ve just lost ten years off my life. I feel like an old man, joints and bones aching, and I’d rather just sit here and slowly waste away than expend any more energy.

  I clear my throat and find my voice after long minutes where I watch Matty become more and more alert. When he picks up his crayon again, massaging his cheek with his free hand and starts munching on the grilled cheese I made him earlier, I know I just skimmed Death’s scythe with Matty’s life.

  “I want you to leave now. Please.” I toss out the ‘please’ and it sounds just as broken as I am. Mom and I both know that if she asks anything of me right now, I’ll say yes, just to get some time alone, just to be free of her presence.

  So that’s exactly what she does. She asks me to call Aly, and I say I will.

  When she’s gone, I snag my pouch from the kitchen counter and check my sugar. I’m high. I figure the adrenaline rush is gonna help burn off the excess sugar in my system, and what I really need is a nap.

  Preferably one where Matty sleeps half-on my chest, so even in unconsciousness I know how he’s doing.

  We end up in my bed, Matty somehow snuggling into my ribs like a puppy would do to its mother. My throat tightens up, and I palm his head, sifting my fingers through his hair.

  I drift off with one thought in my brain; her name is Sera.

  Chapter 6

  “Please, Daddy? I want to watchhhhh itttttttt,” Matty whines, voice doing acrobatics with the syllables.

  My head’s pounding, and I’m wondering if I could pound back two Aspirin and sleep. Then I’d leave Matty unsupervised and I promised myself I wouldn’t be a dick anymore. Christ, why is that so hard?

  “Kid, it’s not my fault you forgot it at Grandma’s.” He just keeps looking at me like I’m going to take out another copy of Peter Pan from my back pocket as if I go carrying it around like some pedophile.

  “I want to watch it! Please please please please,” he mumbles, crawling up my lap and digging his little knees into my abs and placing two hands on either side of my face. I can’t look away, I can’t ignore him. I have to listen, I have to pay attention. What a smart little shit.

  “I want to watch Peter Pan before I go to bed. I have to watch it or, or...” Matty’s eyes skitter to the side, thinking. “I’ll eat the cake you bought and make myself sick!”

  My heart convulses in my chest that he’s already made the correlation between sugar and making himself sick. It’s the first cardinal rule of being a diabetic – sweets are a controlled substance. It’s also the first rule I broke when I found out at eighteen that I was a diabetic. I can’t let the kid do that to himself. Ever.

  “Then you’ll make yourself sick, won’t you, kid?” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and calm. Jules’ eyes stare up at me with such betrayal, I wonder how I can stand to go walking around in the skin I’m in.

  I blow out air from my nose, and it fans the hair on Matty’s head, so close to my face. “I’m not promising anything, all right? I’m going to go check next door. Stay here.”

  I’m going to see her, Sera. I look down and see the jeans and wrinkled t-shirt I’ve been lounging in all day, and hope she doesn’t mind. I grab a hoodie, pull it on, just in case. Running my hands over my chest and abs, I try to smooth the fabric down. Fuck it, I’m freaking out for no damn reason. I walk out into the hall, making sure I close the door behind me, and knock on hers.

  I can hear a conversation going on in there. Christ, she has company. This is great. I knock, wincing when I realize that I basically punched her door three times. Classy. Real classy.

  Muffled voices from her side of the door, and I wonder if Sera’s going to at least look through the peephole and check who it is first. I bite down on my back molars, and ignore the flare of pain up my jaw. Jesus, she better look through the peephole.

  After a few seconds, I hear the lock being turned and the door opens.

  Fucking shit – she’s wearing her glasses. They’re brown with flecks of gold or something pearlescent shining off of them whenever they catch the light. And Christ, her eyes. Her eyes are like nothing I’ve ever seen. While Aly’s green eyes are chilly, the kind that reminds you of the colour of frosted grass, Sera’s are dark, like the needles on a Christmas tree, ringed with brown in the center. And they’re staring at me.

  I should say something.

  “Yo,” she says, then mashes her lips together, and a gorgeous pink colours her cheeks. I don’t think I’ve ever made anyone blush, not like this, not like I am now.

  I feel my mouth twitch, and cross my arms over my chest. One corner of my mouth kicks up as I watch her take in the movement I just made.

  “Yo yourself,” I say, watching her eyebrows slowly climb up her forehead. I’ve never seen anyone so expressive, and if I had, I’ve forgotten what that looks like. What it looks like when someone doesn’t bother hiding the truth from you.

  The shirt. The fucking shirt. It just says ‘But shit it was 99 cents’. I never thought a babe like her would like Macklemore, especially when he’s singing about the shit he found at a thrift shop. But she does, and I can’t help but like her more.

  “What’s up?” She’s looking at me like I might be wasting her time, and then I realize I just might be. Fuck, what if she has a guy in there? What if it’s that creep with that weird-as-fuck name? Horse-boy or something?

  Sera isn’t that kind of woman that deserves this kind of behaviour. Fuck, I need to stop thinking, or I’m going to lose the use of my dick soon enough.

  I pop up an eyebrow and start paying attention. Shit, now I looked at her pants. She’s just wearing sweats. Like she’s really comfortable with whoever’s in there with her. Some prick who probably doesn’t even know the exact colour of her eyes, or exactly what shade of green and brown they really are.

  “Didn’t we just do the whole hello thing?”

  She shakes her head, looks down at her feet, bites her X-rated mouth, and looks up at me again.

  “Yeah, but I meant ‘what’s up?’ as in, what do you need? Understand the slight difference?”

  Now she’s talking to me like I’m an idiot.

  I need to shut this down – whatever this is. This can’t happen. I’m sick of bringing people down in my life, and I won’t do it to anyone else.

  “I need to ask you a favour.” A part of her ponytail swings forward, and the hair just settles over her shoulder. Sera’s eyes widen a bit, and her lower lip parts from the upper one, like she’s waiting for a kiss.

  My gut tightens, and my dick twitches, ’cause I want to be the one right there, right fucking there, sharing the same air, and touching those lips with my mouth, with my fingers. Wanting her to let me be that close.

  I don’t know if she can read me, since she starts sputtering. “Uh... Look, I don’t-”

  “Do you have the Disney version of Peter Pan?”

  I could laugh at the expression on her face. The way the surprise makes her eyebrows pop high on her forehead, the way her lips form into an O. Just in time for it to be chased away by something else, the brightness in her eyes dims, and those expressive eyebrows get low on her face, and those kissable lips screw up into something that clearly says she’s pissed off.

  “Seriously?” I can see the tension in her body, the way her arm tightens up on the inside doorknob, the way her shoulder straightens out, and her spine locks her straight.

  I do what I always do. I fuck everything up. “Would I be here otherwise?” She winces. Actually winces, like what I’ve said has hurt her.

  I’ve never had anyone react to me like this before. Mom doesn’t give a fuck, Aly’s in the same boat, and Matty’s just a kid. He doesn’t know much yet. But shit. Sera? I’m halfway between wishing someone would William Wallace me, or cut off both my legs and stick me in a wheelchair.

  The wince is gone, and the fighter’s back. “I’ve go
t a problem with this,” she says, almost through clenched teeth. “You want a kid’s movie? For yourself?”

  Ah, looks I know all too well. Disgust. Disappointment.

  “Look, I don’t really care what you do with your free time, but if it’s to one of my movies then we’ve got some serious problems.”

  Now I’m a fucking pervert. Fucking great.

  “What the fuck? It’s for my nephew.” I narrow my eyes at her, wondering how she could think that of me. But she doesn’t know me, she doesn’t who I am. And I don’t know why it matters so much.

  “Prove it,” she says, and notches up her chin. The perfect little chin where my thumb and index finger could tilt her head up to kiss her. I could want Sera like I’ve never wanted anything in my entire life. And I’d fuck up her future in the process.

  Not going to happen.

  “Prove it?”

  “Yeah!” Her nostrils flare as she pulls in air. I watch her chest move up and down, then glue them back to her face. Pay attention, asshole. “Bring the kid over. Make sure he’s real and not made out of plastic and air.”

  Fuck. I don’t want her to meet Matty. But what’s the lesser of two evils? Going back to a whiny kid that makes Russian roulette with a six-shooter look like a viable option, or show the babe next door that I’m a dad and forever kill my chances?

  I rub my mouth, thinking. I thought she was beautiful before, now she’s exquisite in her anger. The colour on her cheeks is pink, bright and full of life, full of health. I wonder what she would say if I told her I’m a diabetic.

  The first time I told Aly, she didn’t get it; she thought I was playing a joke. She fucked me through that first night, and whenever she’s felt like it for the past ten years. Reminding me that this is what I am, this is what I deserve. What I’m going to get in my life. I want. Fucking. More.

  A sick fuck like me only deserves the scum at the bottom of the barrel, not the bright beauty that barely penetrates my darkness. Christ, I need to stop thinking.

  “Are we done here?” Her arm tightens up again, and she’s starting to swing the door forward. I checked out with my pity-party and wasn’t paying attention. Sera thinks I’m bluffing. “Definitely done.”

  The door closes in my face, throwing the numbers 610 at me. I’ve been dismissed, but I’m used to that. I’ve been trained by the very best.

  I stalk over to my apartment, open the door, and motion for Matty to come with me. The little guy gets up from the couch, skipping towards me and my heart does this weird flutter thing in my chest that I think can only be love.

  I close the door behind us, and pound my fist against her door for the second time tonight. I wait as Matty arranges himself in front of me, practically leaning back on my legs. It’s something Jules would have done.

  The door swings open and it’s not Sera. Instead, there’s a chick with one of those tight skirts and blouses on, stockings and all. She looks like she just came from work, she looks like she wants everyone to believe that she’s better than them. Her hair isn’t as light a brown as Sera’s is, and her eyes are dark, not hazel. She’s not wearing any glasses.

  I’ve decided I really like shirts that say stuff on them that I don’t understand. I could get the girl in them to explain them to me in all sorts of interesting ways.

  “Where’s Sera?” I ask, ignoring the way her friend just continues to gape at me. It’s the way Aly looks at me, and I want to growl at her to look away. I look past her to the rest of Sera’s apartment, getting a glimpse of a glass table set to the far right, and a clear view straight ahead to the living room. A zebra carpet. Looks like Sera can be full of surprises.

  Then I realize she wasn’t with a man. And damn if I don’t want to beat my chest, and roar.

  “What now?”

  I watch Sera come closer to her friend—God, please let it be her friend—and stare at me, then to the kid at my feet. I look down, too, and watch as Matty gets his whole body behind a wave hello. I look up in time to see Sera, with her mouth open in that waiting-for-a-kiss look, wave right back at him.

  “You want Peter Pan?” she asks.

  Matty nods, and Sera looks up at me one more time, then back down. I told her the truth. No matter what happens next, or a month from now, or weeks, or years – I told her the truth.

  She turns away from me, and I’m stuck staring at her friend, who gives me the once-over two more times. Doesn’t seem like my dick is into the whole look-over, either. A new one for me.

  As Sera comes closer to the doorway, and hands Matty that DVD, I can’t remember how many times Matty has been given something, like a gift. I watch him cradle the thing to his chest, and probably toss up a signature MacLaine smile.

  I get pole-axed with Sera’s smile as she gives it right back to the little guy.

  “Thanks. He’ll have it back tomorrow, swear,” I say, and I sound tired, even to my own ears. It’s been a long three years, and I’m tired of fighting. I nod, because I can’t talk anymore. The headache’s pushed its way front and center into my attention span, and the kid’s already walking down the hall to our place when I turn away from her.

  There are just too many game-changers. I’m not healthy, I’m not successful, or anything like that. If I was that cocky piece-of-shit eighteen-year-old kid again—before the diagnosis, before the insulin injections, before the checking of my sugar six or seven times a day; before I had to pay attention to my body, and listen, and think of how I feel in every moment so I could be around to take care of Matty—I would have gone after her. I would have gone after Sera.

  If I’d seen her in the elevator that day, reading her book, oblivious to the world – yeah, I would have asked her what her shirt meant.

  I would’ve asked her what she was reading, and what it was about, just to listen to her talk about it. I’d ask her why she seemed so nervous, and maybe she’d explain to me that the characters are going through a hard time, or whatever. I’d be brave enough then to ask for her number, ask her out to coffee, hell, I’d even offer to buy a book or ten for her, if she’d let me.

  If a girl can understand and feel for fictional characters on the level that Sera seems to feel for them, maybe there’s hope for me after all. Maybe I could be one of her flawed characters she could care for.

  I convinced myself all week to leave her alone, to let her live her life without the complication of Matty and me added to it. I made Matty drop the movie off the day after she lent it to him, and I haven’t seen her since.

  I figure it’d be best if I didn’t see her, but I can’t seem to shut my brain off. The sludge between my ears has me wondering what her laugh sounds like, or what book she’s reading right now, or even what her favourite Disney movie is.

  My phone buzzes along the kitchen counter where I’m trying to slice up some broccoli to be steamed for dinner tonight. I have yet to take a shower, and the sweat from today’s work is slowly cooling on my body, and I’m about three seconds from freezing my ass off. I slice the pad of my finger lengthwise, and the idiot I am, I just watch the blood streak its way across the space of injured skin, and hit the vegetable.

  This wouldn’t’ve happened if I was at a hundred percent. I move closer to the sink, put my finger under the running water, and squelch it with paper towel until the bleeding stops.

  I should’ve eaten on the drive home. I had food left over from lunch, even a couple of juice boxes to tide me over. But I like to play chicken with my body, see how far it can go without the sugar it needs.

  My cell’s still buzzing, obnoxious and fucking annoying, I just want to throw it across the room. I snatch it up, and snarl, “What?”

  “Baby, open the door for me.” Takes me a second. A fucking second and a half to realize it’s Aly, and not Sera on the other end of the line.

  “Where are you? The lobby?”

  “Nope. Right outside your door.” I disconnect and toss my phone on the couch, watching as the colours seem to seep out the room, and everythin
g goes greyscale. I blink slowly and watch myself like I’m watching a stranger open the door to my apartment and let her in.

  I need sugar. This isn’t going to end well.

  I blink slowly as she comes into my place, watch the twist in her features as she catches a glimpse of Matty watching our retrieved copy of Peter Pan on the couch. Why was she ever in my life, even for just a second?

  “You didn’t call me. What are you doing here? You can’t just show up for the fuck of it.” I’m surprised words come out of my mouth.

  My stomach’s starting to churn, and I know that if I don’t get something down quick enough, I’m going to feel too nauseous to eat, and I’m heading into dangerous territory. What’s worse than having a diabetic with a sugar low? A diabetic that can’t eat that sugar?

  Matty’s so into the movie, he forgets to con me out of a quarter for swearing in front of him.

  “I’ve been texting you all this time, and you’ve never answered,” she whines, her voice scraping against my skin, and ricocheting around my skull. I close my eyes, feel like my feet are moving in a ghost-imitation like stepping off a treadmill, when I’m pretty sure I haven’t gone anywhere.

  “Maybe there’s a reason for that, yeah?” I open my eyes, feel the cold of my sweat drying on my body. I don’t have the energy for this, the energy to fight her off.

  I’m suffocating in here, like I can’t get enough air, and my body’s shaking too much for me to do anything worthwhile. Aly could stroll up to Matty, grab him, and I wouldn’t be able to move fast enough or stop a kidnapping.

  This is what my life is – a whole lot of not-being-able-to’s. And it fucking blows.

  She narrows her eyes, like I’m an insect that crawled over her big toe. A sneer does ugly things to her mouth, the mouth I’ve let her use on me.

  “Baby, your mom called me, told me to come over.” An evil grin spreads along the seam of her lips, and I really need to get my head checked if I never noticed this before.