Don't Let Me Go

by J. H. Trumble

  I decided on one (well, technically he decided on one, and I just said okay). Danial pushed his chair aside so I could complete the signup screen. It took only ten minutes to choose a template, configure the blog posts, add a few gadgets, and decide all the other minutiae of setting up a Web log. The biggest hang-up was coming up with a name and a tagline.

  “So, what are you going to blog about?” he asked, clicking on another template just to see the effect.

  Before I could answer, Skype signaled an incoming call.

  “Do you want me to reject it?” Danial asked, moving the cursor in that direction.

  “No!” I reached for the mouse. “Sorry. This will only take a minute.”

  He shrugged and sat back but didn’t move. I clicked Answer with Video without thinking twice, and then when I thought twice, I quickly turned the screen to me, but not before Adam saw Danial in the video window. I could tell by the surprised look on his face. He didn’t ask who he was. I didn’t know why that pissed me off, but then I chided myself for being so sensitive.

  “I’ve only got a few minutes,” Adam said, looking right at the webcam as he spoke. “I had to run back to the apartment for a new shirt, but I’ve got to get back. I tried to Skype earlier, but your computer was offline.”

  “I slept in.”

  He looked like he could have used some more sleep himself.

  “We need to talk,” he said, to which I said, “I know.” In the background I could hear someone call his name.

  “Who’s that?” I said.

  “Can I Skype you tonight? It’ll be late.”

  I looked at the camera and swallowed hard. “It’s okay. I’ll be here.”

  He pounded his heart with his fist twice.

  “Me too,” I said. He disconnected the call without answering my question about the voice in the background.

  “Your brother?” Danial asked.

  “No. My boyfriend.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Your boyfriend? Really? I mean, I noticed the T-shirt, but I figured it was just some political statement, not something personal.”

  I shoved the screen back toward him. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  He put his hands up like I’d pointed a gun at him. “Hey, don’t get your panties in a wad. I’m just, uh”—he grinned—“surprised.”

  “Why should that surprise you?” I sneered. I was itching for a fight.

  Danial scratched behind his ear, still grinning, and cleared his throat. “Well, for starters, you’re not very girly.”

  I glared at him. “Maybe I should slip on some stilettos.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  The jerk was mocking me. I slammed the screen down on my laptop and stood up. “Forget it. We’re done.”

  He calmly reached over and reopened the screen, scooting his chair back up to the desk. “You need a name for your blog and maybe a tag,” he said again, ignoring my outburst. “A line or two that tells people what your focus is.” He looked up at me. “So, what do you want to blog about?”

  I maintained my defensive stance. “What else?”

  He studied me for a minute, then turned to the keyboard, a grin tugging at his mouth again. “Okay.” I sat down, feeling foolish and relieved at the same time.

  He paused, drumming his fingers lightly on the keys without actually pressing them. “How about Gay Nate talks Straight.”

  “Gay Nate?”

  He shrugged. “I thought it was kind of catchy.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  He laughed. “So let’s hear your ideas, Shakespeare.”

  Adam did that. Quote Shakespeare. Danial wasn’t quoting Shakespeare, but the reference ... God, I was pathetic. I struggled to focus. Thoughts of Adam would have to wait.

  “I don’t want to use the word gay.”

  He looked at me. “Let me get this straight. You want to write about being gay, but you don’t want to use the word gay. Brilliant! A from-the-behind sneak attack,” he said, which wasn’t half as funny as he apparently thought it was, judging from the grin on his face.

  I glared at him. “Gay is gender specific.”

  He snorted. “So I hear.”

  I ignored him. “I want to use queer. It means non-gender conforming, but it’s a broader term that includes lesbians, bisexuals, and transgenders.”

  “Really?” he said, sounding sincere for a change. “So ... you’re really queer?”

  I wasn’t sure if he was simply verifying the term or my actual status. Either way, I decided it didn’t matter. “Yeah. Get over it.”

  “That’s it!”

  “What’s it?”

  His fingers raced over the keys, and then he turned the screen for me to see. There was my blog page. And spanning the top was my new tagline in bold, blue sparkly lettering: I’m queer. Get over it. I stared at it, dumbfounded. It certainly went right to the heart of the matter.

  Danial misinterpreted my silence. “Ah, you don’t like it.” He grabbed the mouse and moved to edit the line.

  “No,” I said, placing my hand over his to stop him from clicking on Delete.

  He looked down at my hand and then up at me with a look that said, “Are you holding my hand?”

  “Uh, I’m flattered,” he said, “but you’re not exactly my type.”

  I released his hand, embarrassed and irritated at the suggestion, and stuck it under my leg. Then, thinking that made it look like I was trying to keep myself from touching him again, I laid it in my lap.

  He watched me, amused. “If you’re done acting gay—excuse me ... queer—I gather you like the tagline?”

  I sneered.

  “Oh, come on.” He bumped my elbow with his. “Don’t tell me queers don’t have a sense of humor.”

  “We do when someone’s actually funny.”

  “Oh, smack!” he said, laughing. “Come on. Do you like it or not?”

  I shrugged. “It’s good.”

  “All right!” He slapped me on the back. “You’re in business.”

  He showed me how to create and publish posts, add links, and other bloggy stuff. I followed along, nodding, asking questions occasionally, knowing all the while I’d forget half of it the minute he left. Fortunately, the site looked pretty user friendly. I’d figure it out.

  “You probably want to moderate comments. You know, have a look before you let them show up under your posts.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Well, for starters, there are a lot of crazies out there. Censorship can be a good thing.”

  “No moderation. People should be able to express themselves freely.”

  “You don’t get out much, do you?”

  I glared at him. He shrugged and turned off the comment moderation feature. When he ran out of stuff to show me, he slumped back in his chair. “Questions, sweetheart?”

  I can’t say I was getting used to his barbs, but they seemed good-natured enough, and I was starting to enjoy his company. Unlike a lot of kids, he didn’t seem threatened by me. More amused than anything, and that was okay. I could do amused.

  I gave him an air kiss. “I’ll let you know if I think of any, darling.”

  “You could have done this on your own, you know. It’s not that complicated.”

  “You could have told me that on the phone, you know.”

  “Yeah, maybe so.” He grinned and reached up for the picture Adam’s mom had taken. It was sitting on a shelf above my computer. “Your boyfriend?”

  My jaw tensed. I cleared my throat and took the picture. “Yeah.” I put it back on the shelf.

  “Where is he?”

  “New York.” Danial raised his eyebrows but didn’t ask any more questions.

  Adam called me from the hallway instead of Skyping.

  “It’s the only place I can get any privacy around here,” he said. “Even the bathroom’s taken.”

  I gave him points for sounding almost as frustrated as I felt. “How was your day?” I ask
ed, wanting to know every last detail and not wanting to know at the same time. It still bugged me that he hadn’t answered my question earlier, and it bugged me that he hadn’t yet asked who the guy was sitting at my computer.

  “Long, tiring. How was yours?”

  “Long, lonely. I got the blog up. I’m queer. Get over it.”

  He laughed. “Well, that pretty much says it all, doesn’t it?”

  “Danial suggested Gay Nate talks Straight.”

  He laughed again. “Gosh, Nate, I’ve only been gone a day and already you’ve got some cute guy in your bedroom? Are you trying to make me crazy?”

  I forced myself to smile because he didn’t sound crazy at all, and I wanted him to. “He just helped me with the blog. There’s nothing on it yet, but you can set up an e-mail subscription. The URL’s just nateschaper.com.”

  “I will. So, who’s this Danial?”

  Finally. I filled him in with what I knew, which wasn’t much.

  “Don’t you ever get a day off?” I asked when I was done.

  “Doesn’t seem like it, does it? But, yeah. Everything is such a different pace here. I feel like I’m running all the time. Even on Sunday. Can you believe it?”

  I was starting to. “Who was that calling your name?” I asked, unable to hold back the question any longer.

  “When?”

  “When you Skyped earlier.”

  “Oh. That was just Alec. He’d left his iPhone and came back with me to get it.” He laughed. “He whined all morning because he couldn’t check his Facebook status.”

  I mentally kicked myself for being so suspicious.

  An awkward silence stretched out between us.

  “Nate, talk to me about last night. I couldn’t sleep knowing you were upset. I thought we had this all sorted out. I don’t know how to make this right. You knew I was going to be living with three other guys. It’s too expensive here to live alone. They don’t pay me that much.”

  “He was naked, Adam.”

  He got quiet.

  “I mean, what is that you’re living in? Some kind of freaking commune? Free love and all that crap?”

  “It’s not like that, Nate.”

  “Then what is it like? Because from where I’m sitting it looks pretty damn—” I choked up, unable to finish the thought. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “He had his hands on you.”

  “They were on my shoulder.”

  “Why was he naked anyway?”

  “He sleeps that way.”

  “He sleeps naked? And I suppose you’re going to tell me next that he’s the one you share a room with?”

  Again, he got quiet.

  “Great. That’s just great.”

  “Nate.” He sighed heavily. “I can’t control what any of my roommates do. But you’re the only one I’m interested in. You’re the only one I want to look at. You know that.”

  I scrubbed my hand over my face. I couldn’t stand the idea of Adam living with three other guys in such close quarters, but to see Justin strutting around naked and touching Adam ... and now hearing that this was likely a nightly occurrence ... it was too much. No wonder he usually Skyped me from the bathroom.

  “Oh, Nate, this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come back. I shouldn’t have come at all. It’s too much, too soon. Look, I’ll get a flight. I can be home in a few days.”

  “No. No.” I gritted my teeth. “I don’t want that.” I swallowed hard. “I just want to know that you miss me as much as I miss you.”

  “You know I do. I’d never do anything to hurt you. We established that a long time ago. Right?” When I didn’t answer he repeated that last word until I finally admitted what I knew in my heart—he would never hurt me. At least, not intentionally.

  Chapter 16

  Last February 14

  An unintentional hurt

  Two weeks after I was released from the hospital, Adam and I had our first post-trauma date. Appropriately, it was Valentine’s Day. He stubbornly refused to tell me where he was taking me. “I want it to be a surprise.” I was intrigued when he pulled the car into a parking lot in front of a small, nearly windowless building behind a strip center and cut the engine.

  “What is this, some kind of underground gay bar?”

  “Nope.”

  I squinted at the unassuming sign hanging above the single door. “Westboro Playhouse?”

  “It’s not Broadway, but I thought you might like it.”

  “What are we seeing?”

  He chuckled and pulled the keys out of the ignition before answering. “Alice in Wonderland. You’re going to love it. Trust me.”

  I raised my eyebrow, skeptical.

  “You’re so cute when you do that,” Adam said. He traced my eyebrow, then allowed his fingers to continue down my face and brush across my lips. I closed my eyes and tasted his fingers, running my tongue over the tips, feeling the smooth edges of his nails. A familiar tingle began to work its way through my body.

  “Stop that,” he said, his voice husky and close to my face. “I paid fifteen dollars each for these tickets and we’re using them.”

  The playhouse was small. We wormed our way through the crowd inside the lobby, stopping here and there so Adam could hug or kiss someone. He’d obviously been here before, a lot of times. I understood moments later when he led me through a crowded narrow hallway. The black walls were plastered with pictures from past productions. He stopped and pointed to an eight by ten glossy of a kid dressed in a medieval costume. I studied the picture. “That’s you,” I said.

  He grinned at the surprised look on my face and nudged me down the hallway, pointing out other pictures. A twelve-year-old Adam dressed as a lion. A fourteen-year-old Adam as a ragamuffin. Even a fifteen-year-old Adam as a girl. “You do a very sexy girl,” I said, pinching him a little on his side. There were pictures of him everywhere.

  “I’ve been performing here since I was a kid,” he said.

  I pointed to an older Adam in green leotards, then looked over my shoulder at him and raised my eyebrows.

  “Peter Pan,” he said. “Just a couple of years ago. I was sixteen.”

  “I like the leotards.”

  He leaned in then and whispered in my ear, “I still have them. Maybe I’ll wear them for you later tonight.”

  My insides did a little flip.

  He laughed and pulled me by the hand into a small, semicircular theater with seating for maybe two hundred. Every seat was practically right on the stage.

  The play was cool, I guess, but I was distracted. My mind was like a rubber band—I kept stretching it to focus on the stage, but without warning it would snap back to images of Adam in those green tights ... and out of those green tights. So when the lights went up, I grabbed his hand and headed for the door. “That was great. Let’s go.”

  “It’s only intermission. There’s still half the play to go.”

  “I’ve seen the movie. Alice eats some bad mushrooms, grows, shrinks, wakes herself up. End of story. Let’s go.” Adam laughed and stumbled after me.

  “Where to, Clyde?” he said when we were in the car.

  “Still got a lock on your bedroom door?”

  “Hm. I think I can do better than that.”

  The house was dark when we pulled up to the curb. “Where are your parents?”

  “Out.”

  “How long?”

  “Long enough.”

  He let us in the front door, closed it, and turned the deadbolt. I had my hands in his pants before he could turn around. We hadn’t been together like this in a month and a half. I was desperate to see him, to touch him, to have him touch me. He laughed and turned back to face me, dislodging my hands. I dropped to my knees and grappled with the button on his jeans.

  “Shouldn’t you buy me dinner or something first?” he said.

  “You ate yesterday.”

  I watched out the window as his neighborhood retreated and mine advanced, the profound lack of conversation buffered on
ly by the low whine of gears engaging and disengaging. Adam pulled up along the ditch in front of my house and cut the engine. I popped the door latch and started to get out, but he reached a hand over to stop me.

  “Don’t go.”

  I dropped back in my seat and stared out the windshield at the empty street. A possum nosed out of the shadows and trundled into the lamplight, where he paused to sniff the air, then continued in his nightly scavenge for whatever discarded crap he could find. I white-knuckled the door handle, but I didn’t get out.

  “What happened back there?” Adam said.

  Breathe. In. Out. One. Two. Three. Four.

  “Talk to me, Nate. Whatever it is, just say it. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out. But you’ve got to talk to me. We’ve waited so long, and now ... I don’t understand what happened.”

  Five. Six. The possum disappeared into the shadows on the other side of the street.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  I scoffed.

  “What did I do, Nate?”

  He reached to touch me, but I deflected his hand with my forearm. He recoiled in surprise. “It’s not what you did,” I said through gritted teeth, my voice all sharp edges. “Don’t you get it? It’s what you didn’t do!”

  “No, I don’t get it.”

  “I wanted all of you tonight. ALL of you.” I fought the burning in my nose and the pricks in my eyes.

  His voice was soft when he spoke, and confused. “You had all of me.” He reached for me again but I flinched and he backed off.

  “I didn’t have all of you. I wanted all of you, but I most definitely did not get all of you.”

  “What?”

  And then I could feel the aura around him change. “Is that what this is all about, because I wouldn’t ...” He swore just under his breath. “Nate. You know how much I want you. All of you. Every inch of me craves every inch of you. But, I can’t, Nate. It’s too soon. I won’t hurt you, no matter how badly I want you.”