Smoke and Mirrors

by Lillian T. MacGowan

  “Jesus, fuck, you still don’t get it.” Naim shook his head in disbelief.

  “Yes, I do. I get it, Naim. You don’t.” Deck approached him carefully but deliberately. “I fucking get it. I fucking get that you survived. Shit that…shit…fucking…” He stopped and pulled himself together, taking a step back because Naim had taken one back. He rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead and had the vague thought that later on he’d need to kill someone, anyone who had ever looked at Naim sideways, and watch the thing bleed out at his feet.

  He looked to Naim and tried to plead with him silently to look back at him. “You said it yourself. You were a kid. You had no choice.” Deck’s voice was angry but soft and grief-stricken and gentle. “Those…those fucking…things…they put their hands on you, and they knew…they fucking knew, Naim.” Deck took a small, careful step forward. “They knew that you were a child. That you were hungry and fucking scared, and that you didn’t have a fucking choice.”

  Naim slumped against the door frame. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud that he called Étienne, and he froze in a T-shirt and the winter air. He shook.

  “They raped you. I get that. Every fucking shit-eating motherfucking one of them that saw a fucking child—” Deck stopped again, feeling himself lose it. His hands were bloodless fists, and he was raising his breaking voice. He breathed, and Naim slid down the door frame and sat, small and cold on the floor, his head in his hands.

  Deck would cheerfully pull his own beating heart out of his chest for Naim to look at him. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled the few feet left to where Naim sat. “I get it, Naim.” Carefully, he reached out and touched his hand to Naim’s back as lightly as he could. “I just don’t get it the way you want me to,” he whispered and could see and feel that Naim was weeping.

  It shattered him, actually devastated him, to not wrap his arms around this beautiful man whom he loved so desperately and stupidly. But the fear of hurting him paralyzed Deck, so he just sat and touched his back and let Naim cry soundlessly.

  After a while, Naim lifted his head and wiped the tears from his eyes. Did Deck ever not look at him? “I don’t want you to get it any particular way. I…just don’t understand how… Deck, I just told you where I’ve been. What I’ve done.” He looked Deck in the eyes and spoke in an empty, pathetic voice. “How can you stand to touch me?”

  “I can’t fucking stand not touching you. I’ll never ask you to do anything you don’t feel okay with, but I don’t know how to not touch you.”

  Naim shook his head like Deck was an idiot. “Stupid.”

  “Naim.” Deck turned himself, settling more comfortably on the floor, close to Naim, his hand still on Naim’s back. He rested the other on Naim’s frozen, bare feet and squeezed them, trying to add some warmth. “I’m not stupid.”

  Naim snorted impatiently.

  “You see yourself in a certain way like you did something wrong.” Deck had the feeling, an instinct that he should say nothing about Étienne. Like that was sacred space, so he stayed respectfully away. “But then you said, you said, and you know that you didn’t have choice. I don’t fucking care where you’ve been or what you’ve done, and I really don’t fucking care if you did it to keep yourself the fuck alive.” He brought his sore, weakened arm from Naim’s back around to his frozen feet, cursing and needing the pain at the same time. “You survived shit that—Fuck, Naim, I’m supposed to be the giant monster and I couldn’t have survived it.” Deck looked at him and saw something old and new. He’d seen it the entire time; he just didn’t know. Naim had strength like an animal. Naim was the monster, but not the way he thought. He was a warrior.

  It was an epiphany to Deck.

  “You’re a warrior. Jesus.” He shook his head and laughed softly, and Naim finally looked at him, afraid that Deck was losing it. “You’re like one of those…those I don’t know, those weird Japanese cartoons where the kid is standing on a fucking mountain of bodies, sword in one hand and a severed head in the other, just covered, dripping fucking blood.” He laughed a little louder, delighted by the image.

  Naim stared at him, startled. “Deck…”

  “No I’m serious. Jesus fucking Christ. You’re a fucking surgeon, for fuck’s sake. You didn’t just survive. You’re thriving. You took all that shit they tried to fucking shove down your throat, and you fucked them with it!” He laughed outright now, squeezing Naim’s feet and rubbing them in his hands.

  Naim frowned, confused and disoriented.

  What was happening?

  Why was Deck still here? Touching him? Laughing and calling him a fucking warrior.

  Clearly, Deck was insane. He thought about that for a moment. He turned it over in his mind for a while, trying to click off psych diagnoses in his head while Deck warmed his feet. He struggled to come up with a particular diagnosis, but the feeling crept up behind him like a shadow that maybe he didn’t care.

  If Deck was insane, then could…maybe…could they be broken together?

  Deck stopped laughing but smiled down at him, and even in the cold, his feet warmed. Naim blinked at him for another little while and loved him, insane and all. He looked down at his feet, pressed together. They were brown and pink now. He thought they may have been blue before. He arched his hips up a bit, reaching for the cigarettes in his pocket. Still feeling a little bit hostile and a lot unhinged, he lit one, holding it out the door, and blew the smoke away from Deck. He looked at the city in the winter dark.

  Deck scooted closer to him and took Naim’s free hand in his and twined their fingers together, because that’s what they did.

  “I…I think you might be insane,” Naim said into the night air.

  “Okay. That’s okay. As long as you think you might be able to love me back. Insane or not.” Deck ghosted his lips across Naim’s fingers.

  Naim didn’t answer him. He smoked silently and felt that maybe Étienne had been right when he’d told Naim not to go back. He finished his smoke and flicked the butt into the street, then turned his head and looked at Deck.

  Deck immediately cupped the back of Naim’s head with his free hand and pressed his forehead against Naim’s. “Okay?” he whispered.

  Naim closed his eyes and breathed quietly.

  After a minute Deck tilted his head, slowly leaning in to kiss Naim but wanting to give him the chance to pull away. He gently touched their lips together, not pressing, but wordlessly asking permission. After a moment, he felt Naim’s mouth turn up in a tiny, exhausted smile, and he couldn’t help but smile back, mouths together.

  They spent that night in Naim’s bed, talking, laughing, sometimes crying, lightly touching, and exploring a new world they would create together. A world in which Naim was strong and not afraid, and Deck was completely owned by another human being. They fell asleep fully clothed and fully entwined, exhausted and safe.

  Chapter Ten

  Naim had a board meeting and work the following day, and he was already gone when Deck woke. Deck panicked at first. Then he saw the note on the nightstand. He’d known Naim was likely to leave early. He just didn’t like not having him right there. Next to him. He reached over for the note, smelling Naim on the sheets, the duvet, the pillows, and himself.

  Stay as long as you want. Click the button on the door handle when you go. Early dinner? About five? Hospital until 11. Text.—N

  It wasn’t the most romantic love letter he’d ever gotten (and he had gotten some), but it settled his heart and stomach that Naim wanted to have dinner, wanted to see him—even something this small meant building and moving forward. That was enough for now.

  Jesus fucking Christ. Deck wiped at his face with his hands. How the fuck could Naim ever think—why did he blame himself for what he’d had to do? Brilliant, strong, clever, kind, and a million other things, and all Naim could see was what his body had once been forced to do just to keep alive and saner than the alternative. Deck thought about the images that had passed through his he
ad yesterday afternoon, the things that Naim wanted him to see in an effort to disgust him. He was fucking disgusted all right. He’d never been more repulsed or revolted in his life, but not with Naim. Never with Naim. Naim had torn his heart out. Torn it out, shattered it, and blown it into shards. But then, throughout the night together, it seemed they might be able to repair and renew them both. Deck’s outrage and horror were directed at the things—the fucking shit stains that had hurt Naim. Starting with this Claude motherfucker.

  Deck wondered how hard it would be to find the guy. That ICM place—they had to have records of foster parents. Deck could find Claude. He could find the cunt and feed him his own filthy, stinking cock after he ripped it off with his bare hands. He could do that. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to find every foul shitbag who ever took advantage of the powerless child Naim had been, but he could try. Fucking see if he wouldn’t.

  Deck breathed as his head started to throb and the rage built. So fucking help him, someday he’d kill someone over this.

  Okay, he needed to calm down.

  He rolled onto his back, a little uncomfortable and stuck to his jeans, his left arm and shoulder sore. He inhaled deeply, still smelling Naim, and his stomach and heart fluttered. Deck hadn’t known they made love that felt like this. That you could need another person like this. He snorted to himself and shook his head. Stupid asshat thought that he could chase Deck away or that Deck would want to run away after hearing his story. All he wanted to do yesterday, all through the night and right now, was find a way to absorb Naim through his skin and hold him there forever. He loved Naim more. And the only thing that concerned him was how to move forward without hurting Naim.

  It was clear last night that Naim was disgusted with himself and believed Deck should feel the same way, but, since they’d met, he’d responded to Deck’s touch. He would live with blue balls cheerfully for the rest of his life rather than do anything to make Naim feel cheap or used. Well, not cheerfully but…fuck. He didn’t know how to handle this. He thought it best to follow, in whatever way Naim led, but Deck suspected that Naim wouldn’t lead. He seemed embarrassed by his sexuality, which, much to Deck’s rage and frustration, seemed to make him feel dirty.

  He really didn’t know what to do. Probably it was best to shelve the whole issue for now. Take some time to learn each other in the real world and not push. Let Naim grow comfortable with him again and learn to trust him.

  Deck turned again, thinking how comfortable Naim’s bed was. Fuck, it smelled good. Naim smelled good. All the time, whether he was wearing that tea-and-limes-and-honey concoction or not. He’d said it was expensive. It was expensive and elegant. Kind of like Naim, priceless and elegant. And he had to trust him a little bit, didn’t he? After all, he’d left Deck in his apartment alone; most guys would probably start rifling through his things, getting all nosy and shit. Deck was pretty content to just lie in Naim’s bed and imagine him in it. Soft and lazy and sleep warm. He wished he’d seen Naim wake up. That must be a fucking spectacular vision. Hair everywhere, giant eyes all heavy and drowsy. A cute little pillow crease across his cheek. Deck stretched and smiled in spite of the anguish of the previous night. Even with all the pain and sorrow that Naim carried with him, it was who he was, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing that didn’t make Deck happy about his perfect little warrior.

  Deck chuckled. Naim wasn’t actually little, but everyone was little to Deck. He was a…what had Naim called him? A wall. He was a fucking wall. Naim had called him that just two short days ago when Deck had taken his very first opportunity to—like two strong, healthy human beings—shove Naim against the door and kiss and touch him until they were both unglued. And Naim had been unglued. Deck knew that. Naim had kissed Deck back fiercely, and Naim’s strong, careful hands had explored places Deck had seen his eyes devouring just a few minutes earlier. Naim did want him. Deck knew he did.

  Maybe he just didn’t know how to feel okay wanting someone. Maybe that was it. That felt right, and it clicked for Deck.

  Unfortunately, Deck knew all too well how to feel okay wanting someone, and his mind kept wandering back to Naim’s firm, tight body, soft skin, and wicked, hot-fuck eyes.

  Fuck.

  He got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. It wasn’t his style to go rifling through anyone’s personal belongings, but he loved Naim like a crazy person and planned on being in his life for a very, very long time. He’d just have to deal with Deck having a quick date with Rosey Palmer in his bathroom.

  Deck slipped out of the booth and stood before Naim was even close to the table. They’d texted plans for a quick meal at the diner across the street from St. Sebastian. Naim, busy with several procedures throughout the day, had apologized for bringing Deck so close to the hospital that he was sure Deck would happily never look at again.

  Deck replied: STFU, ILY. SEE U AT 5. He’d texted again two minutes later: SRSLY. I-FUCKING-LY. Naim replied with a smiley face, and Deck had grinned for the rest of the day.

  Naim walked toward him, sliding out of his white coat, fucking breathtaking dressed simply in black, his hair pulled back in a sloppy bun that Deck recognized as Eli’s handiwork for when Naim operated.

  His baby doll was a dark warrior, Lord of the fucking Underworld, and Deck was already feeling trouble start in his jeans.

  Naim smiled tentatively, and Deck touched his hand to Naim’s face, leaning down and kissing him. “Hi.” He tucked a bit of hair behind Naim’s ear as he pulled away.

  “Hi.” Naim blinked, and he leaned into Deck.

  “How are you?” Deck brought his other hand up and cupped Naim’s face gently, thumbs lightly running across his cheekbones.

  Naim’s smile strengthened, and his eyes started to shine. “I’m good. Busy. I’m sorry I’m late.” He reached between them and pressed his hand to Deck’s chest to feel his heartbeat, strong and a little too fast.

  “Shit. No, I’m sorry. Yeah, work.”

  Deck shook off the daze he’d been fading into and ran his hands down to Naim’s neck before collecting himself and steering Naim into a seat. “You’re not late, love. What, like, three minutes?” He slid into the booth across from Naim and took Naim’s hand back once they were seated, kissing his knuckles.

  Naim smiled again. “What did you do today?” he asked, pressing his hand a little closer to Deck’s mouth.

  Deck smiled that thunderous smile and murmured around Naim’s knuckles. “Laid around for a while, went home, fed my cat, then went to PT.” He removed his mouth from Naim’s hand long enough to make a face and stick his tongue out.

  “You have a cat? Did you mention that before?”

  Deck’s eyes shifted and widened. “Uh, yeah. I guess I just never—” He lowered their hands to the table. “Why? You don’t like cats?” He tried not to panic. He really loved the vomity fucker.

  Naim laughed. “I have no problem with cats.” He smiled. “I was just surprised you never mentioned it. Someone had to be taking care of her while you were here, yeah?” Naim waved a hand across the street.

  “Him. Sue. And yeah, Laura, Pey, and Bosko helped out. I gotta buy them all beer.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “What?”

  “You said him, but him is called Sue.” Naim cocked his head to the side just as a young waiter approached and took their order. They both ordered coffee and food while Naim eyeballed Deck.

  After the waiter wandered off, Deck answered, “Yeah. Sue. Ya know. ‘A Boy Named Sue’?”

  Naim just stared, his eyebrows pulling farther together.

  Deck sighed. “Naim. C’mon. ‘A Boy Named Sue.’” He was nodding as though constant repetition would infuse the knowledge into Naim’s brain.

  “I…don’t know any boys named Sue.”

  Deck groaned. “Johnny Cash, Naim. Come on. ‘A Boy. Named Sue.’” Deck was looking at Naim like he’d just suggested they eat roadkill. Who the hell didn’t know Johnny Cash?

  “You keep saying that l
ike”—the waiter brought coffee—“like I’ll know what it means if you repeat it over and over. You know, like Bosko when he thought he had to yell everything at me until he realized I speak English as well as he does.” Naim squinted.

  “Better.”

  “Better than he does.” Naim nodded, correcting himself.

  “And I know.” Deck went back to the original source of distress. “I just can’t believe you don’t know what I’m talking about.” His gestures were starting to widen. It was Johnny fucking Cash.

  “I know Johnny Cash. I mean I’ve heard of Johnny Cash. I just don’t know what you’re talking about.” Naim shrugged, amused.

  Deck sighed. “It’s a song. About a boy.”

  “Named Sue?”

  “You’re a wiseass.”

  Naim grinned. “I’ll have to listen to it.” He looked up into Deck’s eyes. “I’ll download it when I get to my computer after we eat.”

  Deck swallowed lukewarm, crappy coffee. “What, now?”

  “When I go back.”

  “For me?”

  “Deck.” Naim clicked his tongue but smiled wide. “It’s a song. It’s iTunes. I’m not buying you Canada.”

  Deck laughed. “I know, I just—” He realized his enthusiasm and squirmed, a little embarrassed. “You do these little things because they mean something to me.” He looked into his coffee cup. “I love that.” He looked back up. “I love you.” He grinned.

  Naim looked into his own coffee, embarrassed.

  Deck could see Naim struggling so he moved on; it meant everything to him that Naim knew he didn’t expect anything from him that he wasn’t fully comfortable giving. “Oh, and I helped myself to your shower and your coffee. I hope that’s okay.” He leaned back in the booth, stretched his legs out, and caught Naim’s foot between his. Surely a little footsie wouldn’t weird him out.