The Drumbeat of His Heart

by M. C. Roth

  Seconds later his phone was ringing. He slid his thumb across to answer and pressed the phone to his ear.

  “T?” said Ian’s voice on the other end. “Are you okay?”

  Trent relaxed as soon as he heard the deep timbre of Ian’s voice. There was something about it that erased every bit of worry and insecurity that had pierced him since he’d woken up alone.

  “Hey,” said Trent as he lowered himself into his chair. “I just wanted to say hi. That’s all.”

  Ian chuckled on the other end. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a flair for the dramatic?” There was a steady dull roar and a soft murmur of voices in the background.

  “When am I going to see you again?” Trent forced out the question that had been plaguing him since the hotel room. His stomach clenched at the sound of Ian’s heavy sigh.

  “I don’t know, T.” There was a burst of laughter in the background and muffled male voices. “We have to finish this tour and that’s months. After that, who knows? We’re already working on a new release and that usually means more tours.”

  “Don’t you ever get time off?” Trent glanced at the rest of his abandoned salad before he tipped it over into the garbage bin beneath his desk. His appetite had disappeared.

  “It’s never really mattered before. None of us have families, or kids, except for Mac. I’m pretty sure he likes his wife better when he’s not at home. We take time off for holidays and Christmas so we can go home to see our families, but the rest of the time we are usually working or travelling.”

  “I couldn’t do that.” Trent chuckled humourlessly and shook his head. He tried to ignore the irony of his cancelled vacation time. “I am a nine to five, Monday to Friday kind of person. Thank you for the flowers, though.” He smiled as he glanced back over at them. “I’ve always loved lilies. Something about them just makes me smile.” Perhaps it was the sneezing fits he had every time he drew close to one.

  “Good. Look, T… I’m sorry, but I have to go. We’re stopping for lunch in a few minutes. We have another show in two days, so I should be able to talk to you after that. I can call you when we’re done. Would that be okay?” Ian’s voice got even lower until it was almost a whisper. The voices in the background got louder as he lowered his voice. Trent recognized the even tilt of Mac’s voice among them.

  “Yeah, okay. Bye.” With a whispered bye in response, Trent hung up his phone and set it gently beside the computer. The tears he’d been holding back tipped over the edges of his eyes, even as he tried to force them back. His nose burned as he pinched the bridge and hoped that he wasn’t going to fall apart.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Late summer bled away into autumn, then the first snow was on the ground. The trees were heavy with a frozen burden of crystalized light, and the ground made its own symphony with each hurried step through the deep snow.

  Trent’s life went back to the monotonous repetition that had always existed before Ian. He would bundle into a thick jacket and warm boots as he trudged out to check on the ladies every morning. They huddled next to the heater and pecked at their water bowl that had gathered a thin film of ice, despite the heating element. He had to be careful to tuck their eggs close to his chest or they would shatter in the cold.

  After a quick breakfast, he was off to work for nine hours. He dragged himself home through the slushy sidewalks before he had a quick dinner. He would watch the world news, and sometimes the entertainment news, before he was off to bed. When he woke up, he was rested and ready to repeat the same thing.

  There was one thing that kept him from going mad. Ian was there in spirit as a constant tether in his life. He was the intangible strength behind the daily text messages and deep voice on the other end of the phone before bed. The ache of not being able to touch and hold him had burned away to a dull numbness over the months.

  On days Trent was feeling especially down, he would often come into work to find a new little treasure at his desk. People in the office peeked around the corners in envy at the array of gifts that lined his desk. His home smelled of the sweet lilies that Ian had bought him on that first day. He’d stuck them next to the sill in the kitchen, and new flowers spurted forth every few weeks. He’d shared the chocolate-dipped fruit arrangement with Candace the day it arrived. It had been artfully shaped into a chicken, complete with a dipped strawberry as a pointed beak.

  A small sand garden had arrived after a particularly rough week. It sat on the little ledge of his windowsill at work. The sand had been combed into many shapes, and the rocks arranged and rearranged too many times to count. The next week a tiny water fountain had completed the ensemble.

  It was the first time that Trent had been treated to anything in his life. Sure, his friends and parents had bought him gifts before, but they often fell flat, even if they were heartfelt. With Ian, it was different. Trent had mentioned in passing in the fall that it would be neat to have a sand garden. Then, nearly a month later, after the week from hell, he’d found the wrapped package on his desk. The flowers were always his favourite, though.

  Somehow, it was never enough. The sand felt coarse beneath his fingertips, and so unlike the callused skin of Ian’s palms that he longed for. The flowers were too sweet when he only wanted the deep rich cologne of Ian’s natural smell. The discreet toy that was sent to his house as a gift was awkward and hesitant inside him, and so unlike Ian’s powerful thrusts.

  The worst part of all was that he could send nothing in return. Ian’s birthday came and went without even a card. Trent had tried to have a courier take a package to the moving entourage, but it was nearly impossible. There was a mail service that could forward it to them eventually, but it was scattered and delayed. A text was flat and useless, and a call wasn’t much better. A video chat was almost always out of the question because of the proximity of Ian’s band mates. Trent had tried to whisper sweet nothings into Ian’s ear on his birthday, only to have the phone click and go dead as the drummer hung up on him.

  The text came a few minutes later.

  Sitting with the guys. Don’t want to get a stiffy here.

  Trent didn’t reply that day or the next. By the time he was over his embarrassment and anger, Ian’s birthday was a distant memory.

  The worst part, as Trent had known it would be, was the secrecy. Trent had always shared certain aspects of his life with those that mattered to him. He had hoped, given time, that Ian would do the same thing. Every time he hoped, it would come crashing back down around him. Ian never broke a promise, because he never made any in the first place. It left a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that would last for entire days at a time.

  It was on one such morning that his phone rang while he was cooking bacon in the kitchen. It was a chilly but sunny Saturday morning, so he had time to spoil himself with breakfast. He hit the button to answer the call, then switched it to speaker.

  “Hey, Candace, what has you up so early?” He smiled, knowing that his friend was anything but an early riser.

  “I was worried about you,” she said, with her voice coarse with sleep. “I heard last night, but it was too late to call. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He heard a shuffling in the background. It sounded like she was still in bed and shifting below the blankets.

  “What?” He flipped the bacon, jerking back as the grease struck his forearm. “I’m fine, I guess. Lonely, and it’s freaking cold outside this morning. But Christmas is here soon, so that’s something to look forward to. And don’t even try to guess your present or you aren’t getting anything.”

  “Christmas?” Candace yelled back into the phone, her voice tinny and bursting with static over the speaker. “What the fuck are you talk about? I meant about Ian. I can’t believe you aren’t upset.”

  “What are you talking about?” He froze with his hand hovering over the splattering pan.

  “His girlfriend. That’s what I’m talking about. Where have you been? It’s all over the entertainment news.”
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  Trent’s heart went as cold as his frigid toes. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly. His bacon was forgotten in the pan as it went from perfectly crispy to downright burnt.

  “Shit, you didn’t know, did you. He never said a thing to you.” Her voice lowered into a soothing timbre. “I’m so sorry, Trent. I was rooting for you guys, I really was, but he was obviously too far in the closet. If he won’t come out for you, it’s just not going to happen. Don’t watch the news. It will just upset you more. Just take it from me. He picked up some girl at his last concert, and someone leaked a video of them fucking in a hotel elevator. There are pictures too, and it’s pretty clear. I guess some charges were laid. I’m so sorry, Trent.”

  “I have to go.” Trent ended the call a second later. Numbly, he flicked the stove off and put the bacon over his buttered toast. He sat at the table with his head pounding and ate every bite of his breakfast. It tasted the same way a cotton ball would if it was rolling over his tongue and had the texture of egg shells. As he finished, the ringing stopped and Candace’s words sunk in. He ran to the bathroom and threw up every bite.

  He was still heaving over the porcelain bowl when his phone chimed with his usual morning text. He gripped it and read the words on the screen. He’d been expecting an apology or an explanation of what Candace had said. There was neither.

  Morning, T! How r u this morning?

  The cheerful lettering on the screen made his stomach lurch again. His temper bubbled as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, grimacing at the taste of bile.

  Go fuck yourself, you lying bastard.

  He hit send hard enough that the screen squeaked under his fingertip. His phone rang a few seconds later, buzzing and chiming in his hands like a cheerful hummingbird. He glanced at the screen, pondering for a moment before he accepted the call. He already had the words on his lips that he was prepared to say. He wasn’t going to take this one lying down.

  “T?” Ian’s voice was so sweet and innocent, like it was his heart being ripped out, and not Trent’s.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Trent snarled. His hands clenched into fists as he gripped the mat on the bathroom floor. “How dare you. You lead me along for all these months. Do you send me shit when you feel bad because you’re out fucking some whore? She doesn’t know what you need, but I do, even if you don’t admit it to yourself. You’re such a fucking coward.” Every hurtful word dripped out of his mouth as his anger grew. His stomach rebelled again, but he managed to hold it down.

  “What the fuck?” Ian asked quietly.

  “I’m not finished.” He cut Ian off. All at once his anger vanished into nothing. He was left alone, bent over his toilet, speaking to someone who had hurt him more than anyone before. His voice went quiet as tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. “I love you, Ian. I hope you know that. I would’ve waited forever for you. Now I wish I’d never known you.” He cut off the call with a sick sob.

  Candace found him like that an hour later. He was huddled around the toilet and shivering as the cold floor soaked through his thin pyjamas. She lifted him from the floor and stripped his clothes off his body. She stayed silent as she ran the shower for him and helped him into the warm spray, even though it soaked her in the process.

  He stood against the wall, completely numb, as she passed him a toothbrush through the open curtain. She was speaking to him in a low tone, but he couldn’t understand the words. He trembled as his sickness slowly washed down the drain. He washed himself automatically and violently, as if he could rid himself of his thoughts and feelings if he only scrubbed hard enough.

  When the water ran cold, Candace was there, pulling him from the shower and wrapping him in a towel. She passed him clothes and he dressed in a blur before he was ushered to his living room. She wrapped him in a blanket and pushed him down on the couch. There was a cup of coffee waiting for him on the small side stand. It was bitter and sweet, exactly how he liked it.

  “This is my fault, Trent. I never should’ve taken you to that stupid concert. If I just let it go, then we both wouldn’t be here right now.” She shifted close to him so she was pressed against his side. The feeling of her warmth was completely platonic, but it did soothe him, just a bit. That, and the second sip of coffee that scorched its way down his throat.

  “It’s my own fault,” said Trent. “I just feel so stupid and used. Maybe that’s how Ian felt when he left the house after that first weekend.” He shook his head and stared at the crinkling paint on the far wall. “I just don’t know what to do, Candace. I keep imagining what that video could’ve shown. Some chick with her legs wrapped around him as he fucked her in an elevator. I can picture the look on his face when he came in her, and it just hurts so bad.”

  “The video was super grainy, but yeah, that was pretty much the gist of it.” She snuggled deeper into his side. “If it makes you feel any better, they are both being charged with public indecency after there was a complaint at the hotel. He was already gone, but they identified him by the video, so there is a warrant out for his arrest.” She wrapped her arms around him.

  It reminded him of when they would have sleepovers when they were younger. Their parents had been concerned, of course, when they’d found the two of them bundled into the same sleeping bag, even though they were both still clothed and unsullied. Trent’s mother had realized, even back then, that there was nothing more than friendship between them. But it was a friendship so deep that it kept away the loneliness of life.

  “It makes me feel a bit better.” He laughed humourlessly and took another sip of scalding liquid. The anger that had blinded him now left him feeling emptier than he could ever fill with simple comforts. “Does it make me a bad person if I still love him, even if I don’t want to?”

  “No, Trent, it makes you human.” She pinched at the thin skin over his ribs. “Can you sing for me, just like you used to?”

  Something in her tone gave Trent pause. He wasn’t the only one hurting here. Something was wrong with Candace, and from her tone, she definitely didn’t want to talk about it. So instead, he sang.

  The words started off cold and tilted as he tried to find the rhythm of the song. His voice stuttered as he swallowed the dryness in his mouth and the burn of acid in his throat. He started again, stronger and louder as the beat came alive in his mind. He could see each word of the song as if it were painted on the wall in front of him.

  Every song he’d ever listened to was trapped in his mind like a useless eidetic memory. The words curved and swam together, just out of reach, until he started to sing. Then they all poured forth like a leaking faucet turned into a waterfall. He tapped his foot to the beat as Candace made chords on his belly.

  His voice grew stronger until he was lost in the sound all his own. It was someone else’s words, but the groove was his, and he twisted it in his own way. He realized after a few lines that he was singing a song from Ian’s band—one that had made their debut album a particular favourite of his.

  Candace fumbled for her phone and started up the camera. “Keep singing. I want to keep this one, just for me.” Trent didn’t hear a lie in her voice.

  He sang. His voice drifted and his face fell in grief as the song progressed. It was a story, as any good song was. It was about a lost love hidden beneath layers of deceit and anger. But it was the ending that drew him in. The pause of hopeful lyrics that broke back into the chorus of longing and desire. It was about sex, good sex, in a way that only artists in their craft could portray.

  As he finished, he let his voice linger in the air before he let out a huff. Candace clicked her phone off and slid it back into her pocket before she let her head rest against his chest.

  “Was that one okay?” He didn’t ask about the tears on her face or the way she bit her lip.

  “It was perfect,” she said. Her voice was thick.

  “Do you have the video? I need to see it,” said Trent. As much as he knew it would hurt him even more, there was something i
n him that needed to see the grainy picture. “I don’t think I’ll be able to fully accept it until I see it for myself.”

  “You don’t want to, Trent.” Candace wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ve walked in on girlfriends who were in bed with other girls…or even guys before. It’s not something you want to see. Just trust me on this one.”

  “I need to see it, Candace, or I’ll never be able to let him go.” He shifted on the couch and the leather pulled at his sweaty skin.

  She shook her head against his chest once, before she dug her phone back out of her pocket. “It’s grainy, but the one online is actually pretty graphic. They didn’t show that version on TV, of course, but you know.” She flicked through her phone and pulled up the bookmark. She ducked back down as she handed the phone over to him.

  The phone was warm from resting in her pocket and the screen was smudged with fingerprints. Trent ran the corner of his shirt over the screen to clear away the prints and the video started up as it sensed his barely covered fingers scooting over it. He’d accidentally scrolled ahead until the video was already half over.

  The picture was low-quality, but clear enough to make out two figures pressed against the back wall of an elevator. The elevator was a huge monstrosity with walls that were made entirely of mirrors so that anyone could watch themself as they plummeted twenty floors to the lobby. The mirror across from the camera gave a second view of the entwined couple.

  They must’ve hit the stop button at some point, or it was late enough that no one was calling on the elevator, because the video was five minutes long and no one had interrupted them yet.

  The man’s pants were halfway down his thick thighs, and the woman’s legs were wrapped around his waist with her knee-high boots crossed at the ankle. Her skirt was hiked up past her waist to leave her completely exposed, although shielded somewhat from the camera by the man’s bulk. A few buttons on her top had been pulled open and one breast peeked through the open fabric. Her hands gripped around his neck as he pushed himself into her over and over in quick jerks. His hands were gripped against her ass with his shoulders leaned into her to hold her against the wall.