by Z. B Heller
I didn’t have a witty come back for Jasmine because everything she said was true. God, I felt like the world’s biggest asshole. I should have put my feelings aside and protected Brandon more—protected what we had together. I let my selfishness get in the way. And now I might pay the ultimate price.
Brandon 10:15 p.m.
I put on my jacket to head out to the club, anxious to get to Ryan and tell him I chose him and we would go through this journey together. I took one last look in the mirror, checking my reflection and solidifying my final decision with a nod to myself. Yes, I was ready. I have never been surer of anything in my life.
There was a knock at the door, and I wondered if Ryan got impatient and came to meet me here instead. Butterflies danced in my stomach, and I couldn’t help but smile. I quickly walked to the door to open it.
“You are always so impatient—”
The blood in my body turned into ice, my chest felt like it was about to collapse on itself, and I couldn’t find air to breathe.
“Son,” my father said in that cold tone he always used when he wanted something from me.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” I croaked. I didn’t understand how he found me, considering I didn’t leave them with any addresses. They did know the name of the school I was going to, but I made sure that was it.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
I looked both ways in the hallway, but it was empty. “What do you want?” I asked, finally finding a stronger voice.
“You had some mail come to the house from your school. It had your new address. I thought I’d come for a visit since you just left us in the dust. You know—your parents.”
“I’ll ask again. What do you want?”
The fake smile my dad wore faded into a look I was more familiar with… disgust. He reeked of booze and cigarette smoke. The T-shirt he wore had stains all over it, and his jeans were ripped and holey. I didn’t miss he was wearing his steel-toed boots, too.
“I guess we’re just going to have to skip the pleasantries. I need money. Your mother left me, and I haven’t worked in a few months. Since you’re family, it’s time you stepped up and helped out your old man.”
I wasn’t quite sure what had taken over me at that point, but something vibrated low in my belly and crawled its way up my chest to my throat. Maybe it was because I had finally made the decision to do what was right for me and not let this man control me anymore. I thought of Ryan and how he would be so proud I finally confronted the demon who stood before me.
“No,” I said in almost a whisper.
“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” He inched closer to me, balling his fists at his sides.
“I said no.” The growl that came out of my mouth made my dad take a step back. He rubbed his chin.
Several heartbeats passed, and I prayed my dad would just accept my answer and move on, but I knew that was very unlikely.
“You fucking piece of shit. I knew you’d be worthless.” He pushed against my chest and sent me stumbling back into my apartment. “Are you spending all your money on your little faggot friend? Well, that must mean you’re a faggot, too.” He pushed again, and I landed flat on the floor.
“Faggots have no place in this life.” He pulled back his foot and kicked me straight in the ribs. A rush of air left my lungs, replaced with stabbing pain. Before I could take a breath, he kicked me again. Tears ran down my face as I gasped for air.
“Why are you crying, you fucking homo? Can’t take it like a real man?” He fell to his knees, cocked his arm back, and landed a punch square in my face. My head twisted to the side, and I saw a spray of blood come out of my nose. I wanted to fight back, but my dad had the upper hand; I’d lost all my strength from the pain I felt in my ribs. I’m not sure how long my dad beat the hell out of me. All I could think of was how I needed to get to Ryan.
Ryan 12:23 a.m.
I’d lost count of the number of drinks I consumed. All I knew was that I couldn’t feel my feet, I was slurring my words, and I’d lost any sense of clarity. I knew this because I was talking to a very attractive twink. Blond hair, blue eyes, and a body so slender he’d break if I squeezed him too tight while I pounded his ass. And yet, I did want to fuck him. I wanted to get the fact that Brandon didn’t show up out of my head. I wanted to fuck this man, who looked nothing like Brandon—a person I loved but who chose his fears over me.
Twinkie was into me; he hadn’t stopped touching me since I started talking to him an hour ago. I don’t know what he was saying, nor did I give a fuck. I just wanted to forget.
“I love your muscles,” I think he said. His voice was high-pitched and sounded like flaming mouse. I could barely respond in actual words, so I just gave him a smile.
“Do you want to get out of here?” He flashed me a sultry look and bit his bottom lip. I had never had a one-night stand. In fact, I’ve been with my fair share and the relationships only lasted a short time. That’s because I was pinning after… him—the gay that shall not be named. But now I needed to forget and move on. I grabbed the twink’s hand and pulled him outside to hail a cab back to my place.
Brandon 7:00 a.m.
I checked the mirror on my visor in my car to see if I was somewhat presentable. I had fifteen stitches over my blackened right eye, a bloodied lip, a broken nose, and two bruised ribs. After beating the crap out of me, my dad took off, but I was able to call for help. The paramedics and police came to my apartment quickly, and I gave a statement of what happened. The paramedics took me to the ER, where they patched me up. The doctor suggested I stay longer at the hospital, but I had to get to Ryan to explain what happened. I tried texted him all night but got no reply. I figured the club had shitty reception and he’d gone home to crash. I had to let him know I was coming to meet him. The thought of him waiting for me caused me to panic, which in turn made me ribs ache.
I got out of my car and pressed the buzzer. I’d expected to explain myself over the intercom, but the door buzzed open without anyone saying a word. It was strange; both Ryan and Sam always asked who was there. I walked up the stairs to Ryan’s apartment, taking each step cautiously; my body was so sore. I felt like hell, but Ryan was my number one priority.
I gave a solid knock on the door. When it swung open, someone I didn’t recognize stood there in nothing but a jock strap. I didn’t know what surprised me more: the fact that he was naked or the fact he was naked.
“Holy shit, what happened to you?”
“Umm, is Ryan here?” I tried to look past the guy in front of me.
He smirked. “Sure he is. But he might be still sleeping. We had a bit of a workout last night.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I frowned, causing the stitches to pull.
Before the guy could answer, Ryan came out of his room, chest bare and a white sheet wrapped around this waist. His hair was everywhere and dark circles shadowed his eyes. The moment he spotted me, he stopped dead in his tracks.
“Shit, Brandon!”
I felt like I was going to throw up on the spot. I needed to get out of there. After my brain was able to connect to my feet, I moved as fast as I could to get the fuck out.
Shit, shit, shit. What have I done?
I ran down the steps, chasing after Brandon with only a sheet wrapped around me. I barely remembered what happened the night before. I vaguely recalled going on a drinking binge when Brandon didn’t show up, and then nothing. Next thing I knew, there’s a guy in a jock strap opening my apartment door to Brandon, who looked like he got hit by a truck. Was he in a car accident? Why didn’t he call me? Shame, anxiety, and fear pumped through my veins as I tried to catch up to him.
He stopped at his car and dug into his pockets to find his keys. The couple of seconds he took gave me the opportunity to catch up to him. The gravel and grit on the street stung the bottom of my feet, and I hopped in pain when a sharp piece jabbed my heel. My sheet fell, and I quickly snatched
it up before I showed the world the goods. A man walking his dog whistled at me when he passed by.
Brad Pitt: Oh Ryan, you stupid, stupid boy. What is the matter with you? You never learn from your mistakes.
Steve Buscemi: What mistake? The kid never showed, so he did what he wanted. He got plastered and got laid. I didn’t see a problem here.
Brad Pitt: You wouldn’t see a problem here, you asshole! He broke Brandon’s heart.
Steve Buscemi: Did you just call me an asshole?
Brad Pitt: Yes I did. It’s time Ryan grew up and took responsibility for his actions.
You’re right, Brad Pitt. You’re so right.
“Brandon, what happened to you?” His was back was to me as I approached; he didn’t move. I reached out to touch his shoulder, but he swatted me away.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Brandon, please turn around and tell me what the fuck happened to you.” My words were demanding even though I had no right to be. We stood in silence, which felt like forever, until he finally turned to look at me. My breath caught when I saw the true degree of his injuries. He had dried blood on his lip and stiches over his eye. Jesus. I went to touch his face. But he slapped my hand away before I could get close enough.
“I said don’t fucking touch me,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Brandon, who did this to you? Tell me so I can find them and kill them for hurting you.” He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.
“Are you serious right now? Are you that stupid, Ryan? All you have to do is go back upstairs and look in the damn mirror. That’s who hurt me—it was you.”
I slumped against his car and covered my face with my hand.
“I can explain,” I started to say, but any excuse I might give him wouldn’t be enough.
“I don’t want your explanation, and I don’t what your apology. Want to know what happened?” He stepped up to me; our faces were so close, I could smell the ointment on his wounds. “I was on my way to the club to tell you that I chose you. I chose my love for you over my own fear. I wanted to tell you that I didn’t care what anyone else thought, that if I had you by my side, I could get through anything. When I was ready to leave, my dad showed up at my front door looking for money.”
I gasped. I knew where the rest of the story was going. From what Brandon had told me about his father, he was an evil person. How can a father do this to his child? Brandon balled up his fists. I thought he was going to throw a punch at me, and I would’ve welcomed it. I deserved every ounce of his anger and rage. Yet nothing came at me. Only tears fell down Brandon’s beaten face.
“This”—he pointed to his face—“is why I kept myself hidden for so long. Because I didn’t want to possibly be beaten to death or have people I loved hurt. There are people out there, Ryan, who hate homosexuals.”
“I know—”
“No, you don’t get it because you’ve lived in your perfect little bubble.” He grabbed his chest and winced. I assumed his father landed some punched there, and knowing that made me hate myself more. “I tried texting you all night, even when I was at the hospital. Now it makes sense why you never texted me back. You were too busy getting it on with someone else. Did you kiss him like you kissed me? Did you pull him in some dirty bathroom to suck him off? Did you fuck him to get me out of your system?
My eyes welled up with tears. His words were daggers in my heart, but it wasn’t something I could fight against because everything he said was true. I’d been angry because I convinced myself he hadn’t chosen me. I wanted to forget him, although I knew I’d never be able to.
“Brandon, I acted so selfishly. I should never have given you an ultimatum. I should have been there when you needed me the most and supported you in any way you needed me, but I failed. Please don’t give up on us.” I was the one shaking now. I didn’t know a world where Brandon wasn’t in it. If I had to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness, I would.
“There is no us, Ryan. There never was and there will never be an us,” he said, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Please. I love you.”
“You wouldn’t know the meaning of love if it slapped you in the face. The only thing you’ve ever known is your ego. Well, guess what? Your ego won’t be the one to keep you warm at night, and I sure as hell won’t, either.”
I squinted and ground my teeth. “What are you going to do now, huh? Go back and hide in the closet?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. I was turning my pain into anger. He didn’t deserve that, and I certainly didn’t deserve him. He huffed and smirked.
“I’m taking a lesson from the Book of Ryan. I’m going to take care of myself and finally deal with the things I’ve put off for too long. And then, I’m going to find the first guy I can and fuck him until I don’t even remember your damn name.”
Too stunned to move, I watched Brandon get in his car and look at me one more time before he drove away. Tears flowed freely from my eyes, and I wanted to throw myself in front of the car so he couldn’t leave. But I let him go. Everything he said to me was true. I collapsed in the street and wept into my hands. I had lost the best part of me, and our tie would be cut forever.
Twelve years later
“Wake up, you cocksucker! I know you can hear me because your window is open.”
I opened one eye and immediately closed it again when I was hit with the bright sun blazing into the room. My head felt like an explosion had detonated, and the pounding coming from outside made my head pulsate more. I raised my hand to shield the sun before I tried opening my eyes again. It helped only marginally. I slowly sat up, feeling the hurricane force winds of nausea plow over me. I scratched my whiskered jaw.
“Ryan, you have thirty seconds to come open this fucking door, or I’m going to tell your neighbors that you have sex with people dressed up as clowns.”
Well, if my neighbors didn’t think that before, they sure did now. The voice screaming from below belonged to my best friend Moxie.
I gingerly got out of bed, afraid that I would empty the entire contents of my stomach on the floor, and searched for my sweatpants. I patted my way over to the dresser, which held the empty bottle of Jack from last night’s bender. I took the bottle in my hands and tried to remember my first swig, but most of my memories from last night were a complete blur.
Moxie banged louder. “Ryan, I swear I’m going to barge in there and rip out the ten piercings you have in your dick one by one. Then I’ll let you bleed out and laugh over your dead body.”
Shit, people were going to start calling the cops if I didn’t move faster.
I slouched my way down the stairs of my Lincoln Park townhouse, which was in the upscale neighborhood of Chicago. It was a place I’d bought and my boyfriend of two years, or I should say, my ex-boyfriend lived with me. Fucking cheating asshat. It had only been a week since I found out about Tom’s betrayal when we went for Chinese with some friends. His on-the-side-piece of ass showed up, the evening ended with my best friend, Moxie having to pay for the koi fish she’d used as a weapon in defending my honor. Rest in peace, dear koi.
Tom pleaded for forgiveness, but I kicked him to the curb. Well, more like I threw all of his clothes in the dumpster in the back alley and for good measure, made sure to cover it with used cat litter from his stupid cat. Tom was an OCD narcissist. Everything had to be a certain way, and I later found out, it was only his way that mattered. Since the breakup, I’d ignored the dirty dishes, left the toilet seat up, and worn my shoes all over the house—including in bed. Shoes in bed lasted a day before I washed my sheets. Apparently, I had my limits, as well.
I opened the front door to see a fiery redhead holding a greasy brown paper bag. She smiled and batted her long eyelashes, as innocent as the day she was born. Never mind that she’d woken up half the neighborhood.
“I brought treats,” she said in a singsong voice. Moxie pushed me aside and let herself in.
“Whi
le I appreciate the artery-clogging meal you have soaking that bag, I’m not hungry.” I groaned at the awful smell of fried food and followed Moxie to the kitchen.
“Holy fuck, Ryan. Where’s the dead body?” She pinched her nose. “You killed Tom, didn’t you? You chopped him up into tiny fragments and hid him around the house.”
“I didn’t kill anyone. I just haven’t cleaned or done the dishes.” I pulled out a plate from the cabinet.
“Damn, I was hoping to be on Dateline, talking about my friend who went postal on his ex-boyfriend. I can see the segment now. ‘My Man Fucked Another Pooper and I Went Into a Stupor.’ ” She looked off into the distance.
“You do know you’re a complete dumbass, right?”
“Listen, fudge packer, if it weren’t for me, Renee, and Miles, you’d be wandering the streets drunk and offering blow jobs for free.”
“They wouldn’t be free. I’m worth at least a dollar. And I’d even offer it for a twenty-five-cent sale.”
Moxie opened the bag, reached in, and pulled out two fried egg and bacon sandwiches and two orders of hash browns. Perfect hair-of-the-dog food. One of the many things I loved about Moxie was she didn’t care that she was a size sixteen—she loved to eat. Moxie had attitude and lived up to her name. It was one of the things that attracted her boyfriend, Miles, to her. I still liked to take credit for introducing them since I worked with Miles at the television station. He was in the graphics department, and I produced the morning and midday news broadcasts. What I didn’t know when I had introduced them was that Moxie and Miles had already met. She’d introduced the contents of her stomach to his shoes one night after one too many. That was a story I was sure to tell their children one day. Moxie took a seat at the breakfast bar and stared at me with somber eyes.
“What?” I picked at the sandwich. Moxie continued to stare at me.
“I have to ask.”