by Anthology
December 2nd was the date that New York City gathered in Times Square for the lighting of the Christmas Tree this year. It was already dark at six o'clock, and wall to wall people. All types of people gathered in Manhattan for this annual event.
There were groups of carolers intermixed with the general population, the usual newscasters and paparazzi checking for celebs that might have chosen to make the trek here; and of course, wherever crowds like this gathered, I was sure the street thugs and pickpockets were amongst them.
New York City police officers were mounted on horses to keep the peace and hopefully deter any potential terrorist threat on the Big Apple.
As Lloyd and I snaked our way through the crowd of people, I made sure our arms stayed locked so as not to lose one another. I sure as hell wasn't going to have to hail a cab to get back to our place if we got separated.
"There's a bit of a clearing ahead," Lloyd called back to me over his shoulder. "We'll stake our place out there to get a great view."
Awesome, Lloyd. Just fucking awesome.
I wasn't a Grinch by any means. I enjoyed Christmas. I just didn't dig crowds and public exhibitions like this. Made me nervous. I was a bit of a claustrophobic and this crowd certainly tested my limits with that.
The things we do for love.
Yeah it was love. I'd known that for a while. I just hadn't declared it to Lloyd yet. I kept waiting for him to make that declaration first. Hell, he was the mouth piece, right? But so far, he hadn't come forward, which bothered me.
Did that mean that I loved him but he was still only in like with me? If that was the case, it was really gonna suck. After all, we'd had several months together, and despite Lloyd's reluctance in being roomies until we got to know one another better---well you know that hadn't happened, right?
We'd been inseparable since coming into one another's lives in the most unconventional way. That wasn't to say that we hadn't had some issues, spats and down and out arguments along the way because we're normal dudes. Gays fight. That was a fact, and we were no exception to it.
But nothing major on that front. Stupid shit.
Lloyd shit.
Toilet etiquette, laundry etiquette--and for the fucking record, I had not capitulated on folding my dirty clothes before placing them in the hamper. That was too fucked up to even be negotiated, so chalk one up for Gunner.
But over the months, we had learned to negotiate and to pick our battles and to compromise. And that's why I had fallen in love with Lloyd.
Finally we reached the clearing, and there was a half empty bench we grabbed to take a seat at least until the official lighting of the tree took place.
The December air was crisp, and a few snowflakes obliged the Christmas spirit by falling, which lifted my spirits and made me glad that Lloyd had nagged me into coming.
"So, babe," I said, taking my seat next to him, "What would you like for Christmas?"
Lloyd arched a brow, and I knew damn well something sarcastic was going to escape from his sexy mouth. "New socks. For you, Luke. That's what I want."
"What the hell kind of present is that for you?"
"Trust me. If you were on the receiving end of those nasty socks, you wouldn't have to ask."
"Then you buy me socks if they suck so much. Here I am, trying to get into the appropriate holiday spirit, asking my boyfriend what I can surprise him with on Christmas morning, and I get what? Fucking snippiness."
Lloyd snorted, and gave me an eye-roll. "Relax, Tiger," he replied, his hand now resting on my thigh, "How about when we get home, we both make a list for Santa?"
"I can hang with that, I guess," I replied, giving him a wink.
"And FYI---guys are incapable of snippiness. Next time use callous--that works."
I brushed my hand against his jaw and cupped his chin, "Don't get smart with me, Counselor, or I just might have to drag you out of here before this shindig is over and pummel your beautiful ass."
"It's a date," he replied, smirking.
Just then our bromance moment was broken when a voice close by caught our attention.
"Fuck, Larson, isn't that your ex over there? Floyd? Lloyd?"
"That's my attorney, Troy. And you know that his name is Lloyd. Behave."
Oh. Fuck. To. The. No.
Blackburn. Larson Fucking Blackburn.
I felt the tenseness in Lloyd's muscles as he listened to the exchange beside me. And then we were graced with my lover's ex-lover and apparently, his new lover.
"Lloyd, great to see you," the tall, muscular golden haired man said. They were both dressed in designer duds. I could see Lloyd with either one of them, although I knew he loathed Troy Babilonia.
"Larson," Lloyd greeted with a smile, and then as the smile faded into nothingness, he continued, "and Troy." He didn't even try to hide his distaste for the dark-haired, dark-eyed man standing next to Blackburn with a smirk on his face. Great looking. Both of them. And I hated the fact that I felt I didn't add up.
Lloyd threw his arm over my shoulder, "I'd like to introduce you to my partner. Luke Gunner, this is Larson Blackburn and Troy Babilonia. Larson is one of my clients," he finished. And as I held out my hand to shake both of theirs, I couldn't help but love the fact that Lloyd had just referred to me as his partner. That was a first.
I shook their hands, noticing that each of them had a silver infinity ring on their left hand ring finger. Were they married? Engaged? Should I be thinking rings for Lloyd and me?
"Nice meeting you," I said twice, but not meaning it even once.
"There's certainly a crowd here tonight. Same as always," Larson said, smiling at the both of us, but letting me know that this was something he'd likely done with Lloyd before me. I wanted to smash in his handsome face. But I merely smiled and nodded.
"Yes there is," Lloyd replied. "Everyone seems to have the holiday spirit."
"Larson...I'm going to get some hot chocolate," Troy said, nudging his man.
"Right, that's where we were headed," Larson explained. "Happy holidays to you both," he said, following his alpha partner.
"Same to you," Lloyd and I both called out together. And then there was silence between us as we both watched them walk back through the crowd, arm in arm like the lovers they were. A hollow pain filled my chest. I needed to know. Christmas or not--I needed to know.
"Do you miss him?" I asked.
"Not a bit. Not anymore."
"They look like they're in love," I observed.
"They are," Lloyd replied, "And so am I."
"Wait. What?"
"Are you that dense, Luke?"
"Don't say things you don't fucking mean, Lloyd. Especially as you watch your ex-lover walk away from us. So not cool."
He grabbed my hand, and raised it to his lips, brushing a kiss over my knuckles. "I loved Larson once. But not anymore. And it was different than it is with you."
"How so?"
"I loved Larson for his talent--as an author--nothing else. But you? You I love for your mind, and for the way that you love me back."
"But we've never said it before."
"Just because we haven't said it doesn't make it any less true, Luke."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. But for the record, Counselor, you know?"
Lloyd smiled, pulling me closer and our lips brushed against one another in a fleeting, soft kiss. "I'm going on the record. I love you Luke Gunner."
My mouth crashed against his with a furious passion. "And I love you, Lloyd Ledbetter," I rasped as my mouth moved from his. "So deal with it."
LUCAN
A Novella
By: Kim Black
A WORD FROM KIM
This story has been extremely difficult for me to write as I am a HS sufferer myself. While many people still don’t know anything about this disease, I have been dealing with it since the tender age of twelve. At the time, there wasn’t even a name for it, no real treatment and no guidance as to how to handle the symptoms. It wasn’t until ten years lat
er, had I been given a proper diagnosis and a name for the disease that plagued me all throughout high school… Hidradenitis Suppurativa aka HS.
HS is a chromic, incurable, immune-mediated inflammatory condition. It can have an effect on multiple aspects of the body, but also have significant psychosocial impact on its sufferers which can be more damaging than the physical effects of the disease. Some of the sufferers of HS deal with depression, anxiety, and PTSD. Other mental illnesses such as bipolar disorder is also very common due to the pain, symptoms, odor and often the idea of the chronicity of the disease.
Currently there is no cure for HS. And while, I don’t know if one will materialize during my lifetime, I cling on to hope that more people will become aware of this disease and will seek out more research.
For my sister, who also suffers from this debilitating disease, I hope that this anthology and the funds it raises bring awareness and helps us get towards finding a cure for the millions who suffer.
DEDICATION
To my sister,
We suffer the same…
No one can understand what we have
been through more than each other.
Know that I will always be there for you in your
journey in dealing with HS.
Love you!
ONE
Thamar
“DAY ONE HUNDRED and thirty-six,” I mumble to myself as I gingerly cross from the bedroom into the bathroom. That is the number of days I have been in remission since beginning my new treatment plan with my doctors.
It has been a long road, but somehow—through much research, tears and groveling to the big guy upstairs—I have finally found a way to keep my Hidradenitis Suppurativa (HS) condition in check. Or, at least, somewhat in check.
Remission for me didn’t mean that I didn’t still get the occasional lump here and there, but for the most part I have gotten my HS in control. Who would have thought?
My secret? Stress free living and a new diet regimen that seems to be keeping whatever triggers that had plagued me for years at bay. It’s a tough route to take and many HS sufferers don’t even consider doing what I do, but I have made the choice to try this plan. So far, it’s been beneficial, although I am so dying for a slice of pizza or my favorite… Vanilla bean ice cream.
The change of my diet has been the roughest on me. I have always been a very picky eater, but nonetheless, I am a foodie through and through. There is nothing like a good bacon cheeseburger or the right Caribbean style baked macaroni and cheese. All my absolute favs, but I can’t have any of it.
Why? Because of fucking HS.
Many people aren’t even familiar with the disease and those who suffer from it tend to be a bit embarrassed by it. I happen to be one of those people. Nothing is more embarrassing than having a huge abscess like a golf ball between your legs or under your arm. Or, when it’s so bad that you can’t even close your legs and walk.
How the hell do you explain it to people? I can’t really say, ‘Oh, I’m walking like this because there is a huge baseball sized lump in between my legs, right next to my lady bits.’ Yeah, right!
I don’t bother explaining anymore. I just ignore the stares when I get a flare up and silently curse them out because they are all normal and have never dealt with such a debilitating disease that shows no signs of ever being cured. No, I am not going to explain any of it to anyone anymore.
I even stopped dating a few years ago. Really, what the hell is the point? What man would want to deal with the fact that you can’t always have sex and that you are in pain all the time? That’s way too much to ask of anyone. Therefore, I have decided to just remain single.
It’s not so bad, really. I mean, it would be nice to have someone that understands all that I am going through while fighting this disease. But after my ex broke up with me and specifically told me that he just couldn’t handle my being sick all the time, I figured I’d better cut my loses and fit myself for a chastity belt made of reinforced steel.
As I turn on the water in the bathroom, I sigh as I think back to how much Jason had hurt me. We’d only been going out together for a few months, nothing too serious really so I wasn’t upset about it ending. It was the reasons behind the break up that messed me up. It still affects me till this day if I am to be very honest with myself.
Nevertheless, in the end, I realize now that he had done me a favor and made me see how selfish it is to take someone else down this journey through HS with me. It’s my disease, my broken body and I have to deal with it on my own.
Shortly after starting my new regimen, I quit my job. I loved being an accountant for one of the biggest banks in New York, but the stress of the job prove to be too much on my body. Often times, I would get three or four HS flare ups, making just getting out of the bed difficult. So, despite the fact that I had no means of making money doing anything else, I resigned.
Three months later, I began working from home as a virtual assistant for a few small businesses in the Brooklyn – Bedford Stuyvesant area. It isn’t as fast paced and hectic as my last job, but it pays the bills and that’s all I can ask for.
Stepping out of the shower, I make my way back to my bedroom, opening the top draw to my dresser and pull out my daytime pajama set. I chuckle as I throw it on, since it makes absolutely no sense to have two different labels of pajamas. Since I rarely leave the apartment, I feel the need to differentiate between the PJs I wear during the day while I worked and the ones I wear at night to go to bed. It’s silly, I know, but it works for me and that’s all that matters.
Strolling to the kitchen, I hit the button on the coffee machine and go through the process of starting up my computer. I have a lot of work ahead of me today and only eight hours to get it done. Two of the companies I work with have recently began increasing their revenues, which in turn means more work for me, organizing all their documents and spreadsheets.
Once the computer is turned on, I head back to the retrieve my coffee as there is absolutely no way I can start my day without it—even if it’s the decaffeinated stuff. Freaking HS took that away from me too. Still, I pretend it’s the good stuff and need it just as much as I would the real deal.
Pouring the dark liquid into my ‘Hello Kitty’ cup, I mentally do a rundown of my to-do list, reorganizing in my mind what takes priority. Placing the glass coffee decanter back, I reach for the refrigerator to retrieve some vanilla soymilk. Looking on the both the top shelf and the side compartments of the door, I groan when I realize that I have run out.
Closing the refrigerator door, I eye the dark liquid in my cup suspiciously. I’d never been one to drink black coffee, but I wonder if my dislike for the taste will win over having to go to the grocery store.
I bring the cup closer to my face, smelling it and then blowing on it gently, all the while mentally preparing myself.
Just pretend it’s not black, I tell myself just as I bring the mug to my lips and tip it over only to immediately twirl around and spit it back up into the sink.
“Shit,” I grumble as I place the mug down on the kitchen island and make my way back to my bedroom.
Looks like I have to head to the store first before beginning my workday. Trust me, my employers will thank me for it. There is nothing worse than me without my morning Joe crunching numbers in excel.
Lucan
The tension in the air intensifies as Petrov advances to the center of the room. His posture is straight, his steel blue eyes void of all emotion and his moves are purposeful.
Straightaway, Vladimir and the other men are on high alert, standing around the dimly lit room awaiting to hear the purpose of this impromptu meeting. Each knows that Petrov is not a man to request your presence without cause, as speaking to anyone below the rank of Vladimir is beneath him and for the others to be called in meant the boss is not happy.
I look around the room, and take in the selected few before us. The air of the room is charged with anticipation and wariness. I know something
is not right. From the second I was called in this morning, my stomach has been churning.
On the rare occasions Petrov has called a meeting, it has never ended well—almost always ending in bloodshed. Therefore, it is not a matter of what he has to say tonight. No, it is a matter of who would die and why. However, that is not what bothers me as I stand to the right of Petrov, and Alexandrov—aka Alexander, his brother, to his left.
I have spent the last ten years working for The Petrov Crime Family, one of the most ruthless Russian organizations in New York. I had started as a Byki, a bodyguard under the Vor, Vladimir, a man as heartless as a stone. This is where Petrov started most men. Only with Vladimir’s seal of approval did you advance.
Swarm too much and you were killed. Seem too eager and you were also killed. He only picks the best of the best and after working under him for three years, I had advanced to a Brigadier, captain. My division handles all drug related businesses within the Petrov Bratva. I am considered lethal, brutal and the best. This earned me favor with Vladimir and then finally with Petrov.
Faithfully, I served Petrov until my talents and skills positioned me to where I am today—one hair away from the final goal. Sovietnik, the right hand man. Alexander currently occupies that position, so I must wait, but I will be sure to take it from him soon. It is just a matter of time. Of this, I am certain.
Standing beside Petrov, despite the fact that I am not a full-blown Russian—a transgression Alexander seems to hold against me at every cause—I know that I have impressed Petrov with my work and loyalty. I do not fret for my life. Not on this day. Still the fact that I am in the dark in regards to the purpose of this meeting does not sit well with me, but of course, this is of no concern to Petrov. Therefore, I keep my mouth shut and my eyes and ears open.
“Do you know why I have called this meeting?” Petrov asks once he is situated behind his desk.
The room grows eerie quiet as all eyes train on the boss. Despite the fact that each one of us know the outcome of this meeting, not one of the men show a single sign of fear. They know better. Fear has no place in the presence our Pakhan, Boss. He both detests it and thrives on it.