by Alexa Land
“I have to get out of here,” I whispered.
“Get in the bathroom, Hunter, and call the police. It’s safe, I checked. Do it now.”
Abruptly, the ‘flight’ end of a fight-or-flight response kicked in, and I repeated, “I have to get out of here.” I turned and bolted from the room, and Brian cursed vividly and came after me. I ran out of my apartment, leaving the door open behind me, and pushed the button for the elevator frantically. When the doors slid open, Brian was right beside me, gun on his lap as we got on and hit a button.
“What if he’s still in my apartment?” My voice sounded like a child’s, high and frightened.
“All the more reason to call the police. Give me your phone.” I tugged it out of my pocket and handed it to him, and Brian dialed 911. Moments later, he began speaking to the dispatcher. When we reached the lobby, I ran to the big glass door, but then I hesitated. Suddenly, the darkness looked sinister, foreboding.
“Stay in here!” Brian yelled, grabbing my wrist with his free hand. He concluded the 911 call, then towed me away from the door. “The police are on their way. We just need to stay right here and wait for them. Do you hear me, Hunter?” I backed myself into a corner, and glanced nervously all around the obviously empty lobby. When I turned to look at Brian, his brows were knit in concern. “You’re going to be okay,” he told me. “I promise.” I nodded automatically.
What happened after that was a blur. The police arrived and searched my apartment, but they didn’t find anyone. The building manager was roused from bed, and footage from the security cameras was taken as evidence. The officers asked me a million questions, which I tried to answer coherently.
They also asked Brian a bunch of questions. I was too distracted to pay much attention to his answers. After a while, he disappeared. I assumed he’d had enough of this drama and figured out someplace to go. But a few minutes later, he appeared beside me and said simply, “Here.” He was holding out one of my t-shirts and a jacket, he must have gone upstairs and retrieved them for me. Only then did I realize I was soaked from the rain and trembling violently.
“Thanks.” I pulled off my wet t-shirt and put on the dry clothes, all while answering the questions the police officer kept lobbing at me about my job, my social life, my acquaintances. He had a lot of questions about the man I’d brought home earlier tonight, and whether he could have come back and done this. The cop was doing a decent job of pretending he wasn’t a raging homophobe. Only occasionally did a little smirk give him away.
Eventually, the police ran out of questions, declared my apartment safe, and took off with the tapes from the security cameras. I was seated in one of the upholstered chairs in the lobby, knees drawn up to my chest, chewing my fingernails, and Brian was a few feet away, watching me closely. Finally he asked, “Are you really a gay porn star?” When I nodded, he looked skeptical.
That made me knit my brows at him. “Is that really so unbelievable?”
“You look like you belong in a computer lab.”
“You’re completely judging me by the glasses. That’s pretty shallow.”
“No I’m not. I’m also judging you by the dorky haircut.”
My hair was all one length and grazed the top of my shoulders. “This from a man who got his last haircut during the Clinton administration.”
We sat there for several long moments, frowning at each other. Finally he said, “So, what are you waiting for?”
“What do you mean?”
“Officer Keller told you the apartment is safe, they searched every inch of it. Why are you still sitting here in the lobby?”
“I’m afraid to go back in there,” I admitted.
“Come on,” he said, tilting his head toward the elevator. “I’ll go with you. I still have your gun, by the way.”
But I shook my head. “I don’t feel safe there. Not tonight, anyway.” I pulled my phone out and started scrolling through my list of contacts. “I’m going to stay with a friend, you can come too if you want. Sorry to hitch you to the crazy train, by the way. I know this is a hell of a lot of drama.”
He actually grinned, just a little. “This is actually the most interesting night I’ve had in years.”
I scowled at that. “I’m glad my personal crisis has entertainment value.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant that I’d planned to go into law enforcement after the Marines, and I—never mind.”
I sighed and returned my attention to the phone. There were dozens of names in my contact list, but most were little more than fuck buddies, people I could call when I wanted to party or get laid, but not when I actually needed something. I started chewing on the nail of my right ring finger.
“You don’t have anyone to call either, do you?”
I hit Brian with a hard glare. Surprisingly, he looked sympathetic instead of smug. Not that I wanted his sympathy. “I have plenty of people to call,” I lied. “It’s late though, so maybe I shouldn’t disturb them.”
“Uh huh.”
I chewed on the nail of my index finger for a while, then sent a text to Christopher, asking how Kieran was and asking him to check the pockets of my coat for my wallet.
The phone rang in my hand, and I answered it with, “Hey.”
“Hi, Hunter,” Christopher said. “We’re still waiting to see a doctor. The emergency room is apparently the happening place to be on a Friday night. Nana and one of her grandsons are here too, coincidentally, because her maid was having chest pains.”
“How’s Kieran?”
“In a ton of pain. He can’t even sit up, he’s flat on his back on the floor of the waiting room.”
“I’m sorry he’s in pain, and even sorrier he’s on that gross, germy floor. You’re going to have to dip him in Purell when you leave there.”
“I know. Oh hey, here’s your wallet. It was in an inside pocket of your coat. Want me to bring it to you?”
“No, you have your hands full.”
Christopher must have heard something in my voice, because he asked, “Hunter, are you okay?”
Before I could answer him, a shrill, familiar voice in the background yelled, “Is something wrong with Hunter? Give me the phone!”
Nana got on the line and exclaimed, “What a night! First Marta thinks she’s having a heart attack. I think it’s gas, but better safe than sorry, I always say. So here we are in the emergency room, and then who should come through the doors but Christopher and his hottie! And now something’s wrong with you, too? What is it? Do I need to send an ambulance?”
“No, Nana, it’s nothing like that. I just…well, someone broke into my apartment tonight.”
“What? Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What did those scumbags take? They didn’t get the painting that Christopher made of you, did they? Or your gun. Tell me they didn’t steal your gun, because you and me got a date at the shooting range tomorrow.”
“Um, I don’t know if anything was taken. I haven’t been back in there yet to find out, actually.”
“Wait a minute. Don’t tell me it was that stalker bastard!”
“Maybe.”
“He got in your apartment? But how?”
“I have no idea. This building is really secure.”
I could hear Christopher in the background, asking, “What’s going on?”
“Where are you now?” Nana asked me.
“In the lobby of my building.”
“That’s no place to be, not with that psycho on the loose! Tell me you at least have your gun with you.”
“I do, actually.” I glanced at Brian. He was relaxed in his chair, watching me like I was a TV show.
“Well, thank heavens for that,” Nana said. Then she held the phone away from her ear and exclaimed, “Marta! They let you out already? Vincent, go help Marta. It was gas, wasn’t it?” Her maid must have nodded, because Nana said, “See, I told you! But it’s good we came to the hospital just to make sure. You can’t mess around with your heart. Trust me, I kno
w. Vincent, go bring the car around, and Marta, come and sit down. You look exhausted.” Just when I thought she’d forgotten I was on the line, she said into the phone, “Hunter, sit tight, I’m on my way. We’re just going to drop Marta off at home and then we’re coming right over. What did you say, Christopher?” I could hear my friend in the background. After a moment, Nana told me, “I’ll bring your wallet. And Christopher wants to talk to you. I’m gonna go see what’s keeping Vincent and that car. We’ll be there soon!”
“Wait, Nana, you don’t have to—”
“She’s gone,” Christopher said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“Someone broke into my apartment and spray-painted the word ‘whore’ above my bed. It was all very slasher film.”
“But your building is always locked! How could he get in?”
“No idea.”
“Ask Nana to bring you here to Mercy when she arrives. You can wait with us, and then come home to our apartment. I’m sure you don’t want to be alone after something like that.”
“I’m not alone, actually. Brian’s still with me.”
“He is?”
“Long story.”
“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have burdened you with him. You have enough to deal with right now.”
“It’s fine. I’m actually glad he was with me,” I admitted. “If I’d discovered the break-in when I was alone, I would have completely lost it.” I glanced at Brian again, who was still watching me. His head was tilted to the side, and he looked a little perplexed. I wondered what he was thinking about.
When Christopher and I hung up, I pointed myself toward the front door and waited for our mutual friend to arrive.
“Stop it,” Brian said.
I turned my head to face him and raised an eyebrow. “Stop what?”
“You’re making yourself bleed. Stop biting your nails.”
I glanced down at my hands. I hadn’t even realized I’d been chewing off another fingernail. Damn it, I’d done a number on them, they looked disgusting. And I really had drawn blood, more than once. “I can’t help it. I used to be a compulsive nail-biter when I was a kid. I’ve mostly stopped now, but when I get stressed, I revert right back to it.” I folded my hands in my lap and went back to watching for Nana’s car.
A couple minutes later, Brian muttered, “Christ,” and came up right in front of me, grabbing both of my wrists. “You have to stop doing this. It’s giving me the willies.” Again, I hadn’t even realized that I’d gone back to biting my nails, and a couple more were bleeding now.
“I really don’t have control over it.”
“Sure you do.” He let go of me and said, “You only lapse into it when you’re idle, so talk to me about something.”
“What could I possibly have to say to you?”
“Lecture me some more about what an asshole I am.” There was that tiny grin again, almost hidden by the big, nasty beard and mustache.
“You are an asshole.”
“I know.”
“And you’re okay with that? Are you just planning to be an asshole forever? To spend the rest of your life being miserable, and making everyone around you miserable in return?” He frowned at me, and I said, “You got home from Afghanistan three years ago. Isn’t there some kind of expiration date on taking your frustration out on the people that love you?”
He knit his brows. “You know I was kidding when I told you to lecture me about being an asshole, right?”
I ignored that and said, “I get that some really shitty things have happened to you, but right now, you’re letting them define you. I know your life hasn’t gone the way you planned. So maybe what you need is a new plan, a new direction.”
“You’re such a hypocrite.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re spouting off about needing to make changes,” Brian said, “but look at your life. You work in pornography, for Christ’s sake. I’m guessing that wasn’t your dream growing up, any more than mine was to end up in a fucking wheelchair. If it’s so damn easy to change your life, why haven’t you done it?”
“We’re not talking about me right now, we’re talking about you.”
“But why not talk about your problems? Your life’s just as fucked up as mine, only in a different way.”
“My life is not fucked up!” I exclaimed. “And you know what you’re doing? You’re deflecting. I learned all about that in therapy. Something you should seriously look into, by the way.”
“Because it did you so much good.”
“You met me less than two hours ago. Do you really think you know me well enough to judge me?”
“You’ve known me the same length of time,” Brian said, “and you’ve been judging the shit out of me.”
“Yeah, well, your reputation preceded you.”
“All you’ve ever heard about me has come from my brother, who, granted, has every reason to think the worst of me. But maybe consider the fact that his perspective is kind of skewed.”
“I don’t think it’s skewed at all. I think he sees you for exactly what you are.”
“And what am I?”
“You’re an angry, frustrated man who feels like life royally cheated him. But you’re more than that too, Brian,” I said. “You’re also scared out of your mind.”
“That’s what Kieran thinks, that I’m scared? That’s bullshit.”
“Actually no, he’s never said that. But it’s so damn obvious.”
“I am so fucking done talking to you,” Brian hissed, and swung his chair around, barreling for the door.
“You’re just making my point for me,” I called after him. “You can’t even talk about this, that’s how scared you are.”
He swung back around to face me. “Of what? What do you think I’m afraid of?”
“You’re afraid of letting people get close to you. You’re afraid that if you let anyone in, they’ll see how hurt and vulnerable you are, and they’ll judge you for it.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know from hearing Kieran talk about his life that you were both raised by a macho cop father in a macho cop family. You were probably expected to behave a certain way, to ‘act like a man,’ to be strong and tough. But, Brian,” I said, “that’s all bullshit. It’s okay to be vulnerable. You really don’t have to keep pushing everyone away and hiding behind your anger.”
“You don’t understand any of this,” he muttered, and turned from me again.
“I do, actually, because I was raised the same way. In my house, I was expected to ‘act like a man,’ and if I didn’t, there was hell to pay. I remember this one time – I must have been about ten years old. I was crying, and when my father saw that, he beat the shit out of me. I’m not telling you that to get sympathy, by the way. I’m telling you that so you know I really can relate.”
“That’s a pretty extreme reaction.”
“I know. My father is a raging alcoholic. Most of his reactions were totally out of proportion like that.”
Brian stared at me for a long moment. And when he finally said something, it was, “What made you cry?”
“My dog got run over.”
He knit his brows. I half-expected him to make some sort of wisecrack. But what he said was, “It’s really surprising to me that you and I would have the first thing in common.”
“Why? Because I’m queer?”
“No,” he said, “because you’re a scrawny little geek with a stupid haircut.” I was about to get mad at him, when I saw that little, teasing grin again. It was always so unexpected, like sunshine right in the middle of a thunderstorm.
Sudden pounding on the main door of the building made me jump. Nana’s face was pressed up to the glass, her hands cupped around it. “Hunter, lemme in!” she yelled. “It’s raining like a bastard out here!”
I rushed over to the door and swung it open, and my ‘adopted grandmother�
�� came bustling in. She was all of five-foot-nothing, but make no mistake, Stana Dombruso was a powerhouse. She was also colorful as all get-out, literally and figuratively. Apparently, her maid’s faux heart attack had gotten Nana out of the house in a hurry, because she was wearing bright floral pajamas, a purple raincoat, bulky red snow boots, and a huge yellow sun hat. Though she had to be about eighty, she was still the type of woman who never went out without her lipstick. This evening she’d clearly applied it on the fly, and had misjudged the location of her mouth by a good inch.
Trailing behind Nana was her grandson Vincent, holding an umbrella that was obviously hers, because it was bright yellow with black and white daisies all over it. I had to grin at that. It was just such a wonderful contrast to his dark, brooding persona.
Vincent looked a lot like his older brother Dante, who was an acquaintance of mine. That meant he was about six-four with shoulders that Atlas would have envied, slightly long black hair, and chiseled features. Unlike Dante, he wore a pair of silver, wire-rimmed glasses. And also unlike his brother, he never smiled. And I mean never. That was a real shame, because he was a beautiful man.
I glanced at him as Nana fussed over me and hugged me about half a dozen times. He was alert as a sentry, very nearly standing at attention, his dark eyes taking in everything. When his gaze landed on me, he didn’t react at all. He just looked at me for a long moment, then went back to scanning the room.
“I can’t believe you’re here in the lobby,” Nana exclaimed. “Doesn’t it make you nervous to be in this building?”
I focused my attention on her and said, “It’s not so bad down here. I like the fact that the lobby’s wide open – no hiding places. And I just can’t quite make myself go back to my apartment.”
“Well, I can certainly understand that,” she said. “Your home’s been violated, it’s going to take time for you to feel safe there again. You know, my friend Glenda Meier’s granddaughter, she’s one of them, what do you call it? Witchens. We should have her come out and do this cleansing ritual Glenda was talking about. It’ll rid your home of all the bad juju that this psycho scumbag brought in with him.”