Gathering Storm

by Alexa Land

  “What was the first?” I asked.

  “Getting a job in pornography.” I sighed at that, and he added, “See? I’m a total pain in the ass. Even if I could do the job, and I can’t, you’d fire me in two seconds anyway for pissing you off.”

  I swung out of bed. “Look, just think about my job offer. It’s only temporary, of course, just until the police catch that guy.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to bed.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

  “I never want to be alone, but that’s beside the point. I was just staying until I knew you’d put that nightmare behind you, and obviously you have. I’ll see you in the morning.” He opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but then he closed it again and nodded.

  Brian was gone the next morning when I got up. Nana said he’d asked her to call a cab and a locksmith, and had taken off bright and early. She also told me Vincent was already at my apartment, installing a security system. Man, everyone was up and being productive so early. A productive morning to me usually just consisted of making it to the coffee pot and hitting the on button.

  I visited with Nana for a while over coffee, then she and I headed out to our prearranged date at the gun range. When this whole thing with my stalker had started, she’d bought me a gun and told me I needed to learn to shoot. I didn’t like guns and had never planned to own one, even though I’d grown up around them. But I kind of agreed with her about needing to be able to defend myself in an absolute worst-case scenario.

  After the gun range, she went off to an appointment and I kept myself busy for as long as possible by working out at the gym, returning calls and running errands. It was early afternoon when I returned to my apartment. Vincent was still there, suit jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled back. A couple workmen were there, too. Apparently they’d torn a few holes in my walls to install the new security system, and were now patching it back up.

  “The system is operational,” Vincent said in lieu of a greeting. He reached into the pocket of his black pants and pulled out a slip of paper, which he handed to me. “This is your temporary access code. Be sure to change it right away. I can show you how to do that, if you’d like.”

  “What I’d like,” I said quietly, taking a step closer to him, “is for you to stay after the workers go home, so I can thank you properly for the new alarm.” I ran my hand lightly down his big arm, and for just a moment, Vincent’s lips parted slightly.

  But then he remembered his self-imposed no-fun-at-all rule and withdrew from me. “You shouldn’t use your body as currency,” he said. That stung, more than a little. “I was glad to do this as a favor to Nana, who cares quite a bit for you. Nothing more is required.”

  I frowned at him. “I wasn’t offering myself in payment, but thanks for making me sound like a prostitute. I just thought we could have a little fun. We obviously find each other attractive, so why not act on it?”

  “My attraction to you is irrelevant. I would never take advantage of your current state of vulnerability.” He turned and walked away from me, and I frowned after him.

  “Well, awesome, Mr. Spock,” I muttered.

  He and the workers cleared out maybe half an hour later. And once they were gone, I sat down on my couch, my foot tapping rapidly. I tried to take a few calming, deep breaths. A minute later, I began to chew off what was left of my fingernails.

  Okay, no, I couldn’t do this.

  I launched myself from the couch and grabbed the overnight bag that I’d dropped beside the front door earlier, set the alarm with the passcode I’d been given, and headed for the elevator. I knew I was being irrational. The apartment was perfectly safe, now that Vincent had installed a security system worthy of the Louvre. But I still felt really vulnerable here.

  I flagged down a cab, and when the driver asked, “Where to?” I had to think for a moment. Finally, I recited Brian’s address. I’d probably spend the night at Christopher’s place, since he and I had been texting throughout the day and I had a standing invitation. But Kieran was currently sleeping off some hardcore painkillers, and I wanted to give him a chance to rest. That gave me plenty of time to check on Brian. I just had this vision of him stubbornly trying to live in his sewage-scented, bathroomless house.

  As it turned out, I wasn’t very far off. He answered his front door with knit brows and asked, “What’re you doing here?”

  “Checking up on you. Why aren’t you at a hotel?”

  Brian’s frown deepened. “Because I don’t want to be.”

  “Did the plumber fix the main sewer line?”

  “Yes.”

  “But your bathroom still has a huge hole in the floor, right?”

  “Yeah, but it’s fine. I figured out a solution.”

  “I’ll bet. What did you do, put a five gallon bucket in your hallway and call that a toilet?”

  He looked surprised, then quickly broke eye contact and muttered, “No, of course not.”

  “You did, didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Oh man, you totally did!”

  “Maybe. But so what? And do I really need to remind you that this is none of your business?”

  “You can’t live like that, Brian. Come with me, let’s get you to a nice, comfy hotel.”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t want to go to a hotel.”

  “You were willing to go to one last night.”

  “I was desperate and too tired to think straight.”

  “Why don’t you want to go? Give me one good reason.”

  He surprised me by admitting, “I don’t want to go someplace where everyone’s staring at me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I feel like a freak when I’m out in public. People seem to think it’s okay to stare and make comments, like because I don’t have legs, I’m somehow exempt from common courtesy.”

  “Wow, that sucks,” I said. “But why don’t you just give them the finger and tell them they’re being assholes?”

  “I do sometimes. But then they just think I’m even more of a freak.”

  “Well, fuck them. There are always going to be dipshits in the world. The trick is learning to hold our heads high no matter what they come up with, and refusing to let them get to us.”

  Brian rolled his eyes and said, “Don’t pretend you have a clue what I’m going through. If anyone stared at you, it would just be because you’re cute. And that is not the same thing.”

  “You think I’m cute?” I said with a grin.

  He knit his brows at me once again. “Now that you’ve combed your hair and lost the nerd specs, you’re obviously an attractive, if highly annoying, individual.”

  “Thanks. Kind of. But I do totally know what it’s like to be singled out, talked about, and made to feel like a freak.”

  “How could you possibly know what that’s like?”

  “I grew up in a town of eight hundred and sixty-seven people in rural Idaho, and never fit in, not even a little. I was called a fag before I reached middle school, before I even knew what that meant. For the first eighteen years of my life, I didn’t know anyone else that was gay, not until I met my boyfriend Cole during our senior year of high school.”

  “That’s a terrible example.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” Brian said, “once you grew up, you had the option of leaving that rural shithole and going someplace accepting of gay people. What am I supposed to do, move to Planet Legless?”

  “Eleven days.”

  “What?”

  “That’s how long it’s been since I was called a faggot by some punk-ass jerk. Even living here, in one of the most tolerant cities in America, I still face prejudice all the fucking time. Does that mean I know what life is like for you in that chair? Of course not. But I sure as hell know what it’s like to have to deal with rude assholes.”

  Brian considered that for a long moment. And then he said, “I st
ill don’t want to go to a hotel.”

  “So don’t. Let me help you move in with one of your friends or relatives until the bathroom floor’s fixed. Which one do you hate least?”

  “I don’t hate any of them.”

  “Why are you avoiding them, then?”

  “Because,” he told me, “I’m so sick of their good intentions and their oh-so-helpful words of advice, as if it hadn’t occurred to me that I need to get on with my life. Worst of all, though, is the pity in their eyes. I don’t hate them, but I do hate that, so fucking much.”

  “Okay. So, of all the people you know, who’s least bad?”

  “Kieran. He’s too busy being annoyed with me to pity me,” he said with a faint grin. Then he added, “Even if moving into his apartment was an option, though, I still wouldn’t want that. I don’t want to be around those two.”

  I snapped, “Oh no, of course not. God forbid you’d have to watch a gay couple that’s happy and in love.”

  That really flustered him, and he exclaimed, “I didn’t mean it that way! At all!”

  “How did you mean it, then?”

  “I mean I fucking hate your friend for taking my brother away from me!” Brian obviously regretted that confession as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He looked away, fighting back some sort of strong emotion, and muttered, “Christ, why am I telling you this shit?”

  His admission struck a chord with me, and I felt bad for jumping to conclusions. I kept my tone gentle as I said, “Probably because you really need someone to talk to, Brian, and I’m better than nothing.”

  After a while, he glanced at me, his tense body language relaxing slightly. “You’re way better than nothing. Hell, you’re better than therapy.”

  “Have you actually been to therapy?”

  “Of course. The Corps required me to go for a full year, when I first got back from Afghanistan. But it was really useless.”

  “Why?”

  “Because every session went like this: ‘Talk about your feelings, Brian.’ To which I’d reply, ‘I’m fucking pissed!’ There was nothing to say beyond that.”

  I grinned a little. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound terribly productive.”

  He knit his brows and watched me for a moment, then asked, “Are you really not going to lecture me about the fact that I need to give therapy another try? Because everyone just loves pointing that out to me.”

  “You already know that. Why would you need me to harp on it?” He seemed surprised. I said, “So, back to my original question. Aside from Kieran, which of your friends or relatives is the least objectionable?”

  “My cousin Jamie, I guess. There’s always a hint of pity in his eyes, but at least he manages to keep the lectures and ‘helpful’ suggestions to a minimum.”

  “Well, great! So I’ll text him and let him know you’ll be staying with him for a few days while you pack a few things.”

  “You know my cousin?”

  “Indirectly. Christopher knows him, since he’s best friends with Jamie’s ex, Charlie.”

  “Man. Suddenly everyone I know is gay,” he muttered. When he saw my expression, he added, “I’m just saying.”

  “Are you okay with the idea of staying with Jamie?”

  “I guess, but I’ll text him myself. I am actually capable of working a phone, you know.”

  “I was just trying to save some time so you can go and pack. I wasn’t implying that the phone’s too difficult for poor lil ol’ you.” We both rolled our eyes, and he went off to find his phone. While he did that, I took a couple steps into the interior of his house. All the curtains were drawn, so it was fairly dark. It was also really cluttered, with all kinds of crap shoved up against the walls and piled on every surface.

  I was just a bit too anal to let this go, so I went into the kitchen and found a garbage bag, then returned to the living room and began tossing empty pizza boxes, Chinese food containers, and other miscellaneous crap into it.

  “So, what exactly are you doing?” Brian asked when he returned to the living room.

  “Keeping the health department from seizing the premises,” I said, using two fingers to gingerly pluck a pizza crust off the arm of what was probably the sofa (but who knows, since it was completely piled with crap).

  “You really are the most intrusive person ever,” he told me.

  “And you take the term slob to a whole new level.” I was still gathering trash, the garbage bag bulging by this point.

  “I thought you were eager to deliver me to my cousin’s apartment.”

  “That was before I got a look at your living room.”

  Brian grinned a little. “You can’t help yourself at all, can you? You literally have to clean this up. It’s just like your nail biting, you’re completely compulsive.”

  “Yes.”

  “Really? You’re actually agreeing with me? I thought you’d argue about how well-adjusted you are.”

  I stopped what I was doing for a moment and looked at him. “I’m pretty aware of my flaws. But this particular glitch is actually beneficial, especially in a case like this. If you let me, I’d have this living room spotless in twenty-four hours.”

  “There’s no way. It’d take weeks to bulldoze through all this clutter.”

  “Please let me prove you wrong.”

  “Are you actually begging me to clean my house?” he asked. “Because that’s really strange.”

  “This is a compulsive person’s dream come true,” I said with a grin. “And to be honest, I really need a project right now. I’d love a way to take my mind off the total nut job that’s stalking me and breaking into my home.”

  Brian considered that for a long moment, then said, “I still think it’s weird that you’re just dying to clean my house, but I guess I get it. Besides, I’m pretty sick of it looking like this.”

  “So you’ll let me clean?”

  “Let’s just make one thing clear: the house is the project, not me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t want this to snowball from let’s-fix-the-house to let’s-fix-Brian. I totally get that I’m a fucked up mess, but I really have no interest in Mr. Clean Junior trying to inflict some big life makeover on me.”

  I took off my leather jacket and tossed it onto a coat rack near the door. “The only thing getting a makeover is this room. You won’t even recognize it when you get back from Jamie’s.”

  “Oh no, I’m not leaving you here unattended. You’re liable to throw out everything I own in your cleaning frenzy.”

  “You can’t stay here, there’s no downstairs bathroom. And a bucket is not a solution.”

  “So, I’ll figure something else out. I’m staying.”

  “Fine.”

  I’d always found cleaning incredibly therapeutic. So given that, Brian’s pigsty of a house was better than a week at a spa. I completely lost myself in the task at hand.

  At first, Brian just hovered, occasionally exclaiming, “That’s not trash,” and taking things out of my hands. After my fiftieth ‘I know’ he finally relaxed a bit. Then, gradually, he joined in. Eventually, he focused on the task of sorting through his mail. There was at least a year’s worth of unopened envelopes, sales circulars, and random junk mail piled around the living room and kitchen. He started by gathering it all up and stacking it on the recently-unearthed table in what was once a formal dining room, but which was now little more than a junk-filled pass-through between the living room and kitchen. Then he began sorting it piece by piece, most of it going into a bag for recycling. The few seemingly important envelopes went into a big shoebox.

  While he was doing that, I concentrated on one particularly piled up corner to the left of the fireplace, sorting through layer after layer of junk. When I’d almost reached the wood floor, I carefully picked up the little stack of photos I’d uncovered.

  The picture on top was of Brian, Kieran, a boy I didn’t recognize, and Charlie, Jamie’s ex, all in their high sc
hool football uniforms. Brian would have been totally unrecognizable, if it wasn’t for his eyes. All four looked so happy, their arms around each other’s big, padded shoulders.

  The next photo was a posed portrait, probably taken at a prom. His date was a tall, pretty brunette, her long hair curled into ringlets. Brian was so handsome in his tux. He was laughing and looking at something off-camera, I wondered what it was.

  The third and final photo, well, that one really got to me. It was a picture of Brian and a couple other people at the beach. He was dressed only in baggy swim trunks, looking tan and fit, but most of all, so totally joyful, full of life and carefree. I realized then just how much war had taken from him, far more than his legs. I glanced over my shoulder at him, through the arched doorway to the dining room. He was concentrating on his mail, an all-too-familiar frown line etched between his brows, his broad shoulders hunched. My heart broke for him.

  Brian sighed and turned toward me with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, what did you find that’s making you go all introspective?”

  I dropped the photos like I’d been caught doing something wrong, and said, “Nothing.”

  “It was obviously something, because you hadn’t actually stopped moving in over two hours. Was it a picture of me before I ended up in this chair, and did that trip all your sympathy switches? Because just so you know, one of the only reasons I can stand you is because you look at me with contempt, not pity. If you’re going to get all compassionate on me, I’m totally throwing you out on your ass.”

  I fixed a neutral expression on my face and stood up, stretching my arms over my head. “No worries, there, Sasquatch. The only ones I feel pity for are the cockroaches that have to live in squalor with you.”

  His expression got downright alarmed then, and he asked, “You didn’t really find a roach, did you?”

  I grinned at that. “Surprisingly, no. I think this place is below their standards. But look at you, all afraid of bugs.”

  “I’m not afraid of bugs, I just fucking detest cockroaches. They’re the most disgusting things on the planet.”

  “Well, then it was a pretty dumb idea to let your house go to hell like this. It was probably about twenty seconds away from a major roach invasion.”