Lonely Hearts

by Heidi Cullinan

  He motioned for the cigarettes.

  They both finished their second one as they crossed the street, but as Elijah aimed his charge at the front door, he met resistance. “What—? The White House? Why are you taking me here?”

  “I thought you’d like to clean up. This is my— I live here.”

  Elijah might as well have asked his guest to strip naked and go back to the cafeteria. “I can’t go in there!”

  Help. Mina. Aaron. Giles. Anybody. “Why not? Nobody’s home.” Except maybe Baz.

  “Are you fucking insane? The cool kids live in the White House. You want them to see me like this?”

  Cool kids? Elijah stood there, mouth opening and closing as Lewis/Lejla backed into a bush, ready to run. Elijah covered the sidewalk, trying to cut off the path to campus, but that left the way past the garage and into a depressed housing development wide open. Elijah tried to think of something reassuring to say, but he had nothing. All he could do was watch as his friend broke away from the shrubbery and bolted the other direction.

  But the gods were still with Elijah because a new figure stepped onto the path. As Baz cried out, “Whoa, there,” and steadied the escapee, speaking calmly and soothingly, Elijah felt foolish for thinking Baz would ever have done anything but.

  Baz didn’t know what was going on, but he knew he was determined to make whatever had upset Elijah go away.

  “Hey—slow down. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” Whoever had run into him was shaking, almost crying. To Elijah, Baz asked, “What’s going on?” Please toss me a bone here, baby.

  Elijah wrapped his arms around himself. “This is Lejla. She—”

  “Lewis.” The individual in Baz’s grip tensed like a cork ready to pop before glancing away, face burning with shame. “Not…here.”

  Elijah recoiled as if slapped, and he tossed Baz a begging glance.

  Okay. So they were both out of their depth.

  “Let’s go inside. Get you cleaned up.” And while you’re in the shower, I’m getting an earful from Elijah.

  Eyes sealing shut, Lejla/Lewis shuddered. “I just want to go home.”

  “Where’s home, sugar?”

  “Titus. Third floor.” Nostrils flared. “Fuck, I can’t go there like this. They’ve probably heard. They’ll all laugh.”

  “Come inside and clean up first. Take a long shower. We’ll find you some new clothes.”

  For reasons unknown, Lejla/Lewis did not want to go into the White House, but once Elijah played wingman, the two of them got their guest into the house, up the stairs and into the shower, with Baz’s robe hanging on the wall to wear after until they sorted out the clothes thing. As soon as the water began running, Baz caught Elijah’s elbow and pulled him into the hall. He didn’t have to prompt Elijah for a thing, because as soon as he closed the door, his lover sang like a canary.

  “Oh my fucking God, Baz, I didn’t—” Elijah wore a wild, injured-pissed look as he gestured toward campus. “They dumped fucking beets on his head.” He stopped, faltering. “I mean—her head.” He wilted. “I don’t know what to call him. Her. Them. He was always Lewis, but today he came all girled up, more than usual, and I had this weird religious thing on the way here, and I asked his name, and he said Lejla, and I asked what pronoun, and…” He sagged down the wall. “I don’t know. I probably fucked up.”

  Baz crouched in front of Elijah, taking his hand. “Baby, who dumped beets on Lejla?”

  Elijah stared off in the distance, gaze going hard. “Asshole in the cafeteria. Football fuckwad. Everybody laughed. Everybody.”

  “Not you.”

  Elijah slumped forward. “I had to help. But I don’t know what to do. I don’t know. I suck.”

  “You’re doing fine. More than fine.” He cupped Elijah’s shoulder and ran a hand down his back. “You did good.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Something tells me Lejla would argue otherwise.”

  Elijah tensed. “Baz, what do I call her?”

  “Your friend.” Baz kissed his forehead. “Come on. Let’s find some clothes.”

  Elijah resumed his freakout because he didn’t know what clothes to find, girl or guy clothes. Baz wanted to hug him and point out that kind of detail orientation was doing something. He’d figured out praising Elijah wasn’t calming him down, though, so he redirected to the task.

  “Let’s start with something unisex, like sweats and a T-shirt.”

  “But what about underwear? What about underwear?”

  Baz ducked into the room long enough to scoop his key ring off his dresser and tossed it at Elijah. “Go to Target. Buy guy’s underwear size medium. Girl’s underwear size…” He paused, shrugged. “Get something that would fit you if you were a bit taller, with some room to eat a big lunch. Lean on sweats and yoga pants.” He passed over a fifty from his wallet, added another couple more for good measure.

  Elijah stared at the money for several seconds, still half-crazed. Then he let the air out of his lungs in a rush, took the money and wrapped his arms around Baz.

  Baz returned the embrace hesitantly. It was, despite living together and fucking at least twice a day, possibly their most intimate moment yet. Elijah’s most honest, vulnerable offering of affection.

  So why did Baz feel awkward about it?

  He accepted the kiss a lot more easily, moving past the hump of awkward into wanting to linger and enjoy the feeling of holding his boyfriend more. But Elijah murmured “I better go” against his cheek, and Baz had to relinquish him so he could disappear down the stairs.

  Alone in his bedroom, Baz lounged on the bed, browsing social media without reading it, perking up only when Elijah arrived at the store and began lobbing questions at him. Long after the shower stopped, the bathroom door stayed closed. Baz passed the time fielding panicked Elijah texts and photos about what shirt was better and how girly should the underwear be. When the bathroom door creaked open, Baz turned to see his guest framed by the doorway to his bedroom.

  While Baz wasn’t exactly awash in trans acquaintances, he knew enough people who identified as other than their birth sex to understand there was no look or identifying feminine or masculine tendency making somebody obvious. Gender identity was way too personal. That said, he’d be damned if Lewis-Lejla wasn’t the most androgynous figure he’d seen in some time, especially sporting shower-slick hair. Even the Adam’s apple wasn’t much of anything to write home about. Passing wouldn’t be terribly difficult, with the right accessories. The eyebrows could use some shaping. Longer hair would go a long way toward increasing a feminine appearance. The shoulders would always be broad. But overall? He could see Lejla. Maybe it was the suggestion, maybe it was her projecting through.

  The question was, what did the person inside that body see?

  Baz tried to strike the balance between overeager and disinterested. He saluted instead of shook hands, not wanting to crowd. “Baz Acker. Nice to meet you.”

  The Adam’s apple shifted on a hard swallow. “I—I’m…Lewis.” Lewis made a brief face, as if tasting something bad. “I…I don’t know what Elijah told you, but I’m…Lewis. At least to the outside. What I told him, about Lejla…he took me off-guard.”

  “I’m fine either way, for the record. Fine with one identity in one place, a different one in another.” When red-rimmed eyes teared up, Baz winced and held up a hand. “Or not. Lewis is fine, if that’s what you want.”

  Lewis put a hand in his hair, face turned away in mortification. “I can’t believe this is happening. I walk by and wish I were cool enough to live here, and now I’m standing in your bathrobe wondering if I got all the beet juice out of my hair.”

  “For the record, the dickwad who gave you the beet bath would be happy to do the same to me. I get out of it because people know I have a closet full of lawyers and the money to p
ay them.” He pulled out a chair and gestured to it as he perched on the footboard of the bed. “Sit. Tell me your story. Or, if you’d rather rest, I’ll bug out of here.”

  “You can…stay.” The chair was accepted, hesitantly. Legs were tucked up, revealing them to be clean-shaven. “I don’t have a story. I’m a girl, but I have a dick. I know I’m trans, but…” Lip in teeth, gaze averted. “I’ve never come out to anyone before Elijah. I feel weird. I’m happy and sick at the same time.”

  “You can be out or in. You can bob and weave. I don’t think there are any rules except for what you make them.”

  His guest said nothing, and Baz let the silence build, unconcerned. It took another full minute, almost, but eventually Lewis/Lejla spoke. “There are rules, because I’m always breaking them. Everybody laughs at the way I dress, unless I dress boring or like a guy. Then guys tease me for being a fag. Which sucks, because I’m not gay. But it’s a double slap, because first I have to wear things that feel wrong, and I have to be teased for being what I’m not at the same time.”

  Yeah, what a nice bite in the ass. “What keeps you from living as female?”

  “People who dump beets on me. I’ve figured out how much I can wear without getting too much teasing, but it makes me crazy. Sometimes I don’t realize how much I’ve girled-out until I’m a mile out the door. Lejla is subversive. She changes how I dress when I’m not looking, and if I deliberately hold her back, I end up sobbing in a toilet stall.”

  “Have you seen a doctor? Have you been diagnosed with gender dysphoria?”

  “My parents don’t know, and I’m not ready to tell them.” Tears were wiped away. “I mean—they’re not like Elijah’s. But they wouldn’t understand. They’re nervous enough thinking I’m gay.”

  What a lovely dead end. Baz ran a hand through his hair. “Well—shit. I’m no psychologist, but I’m pretty sure you’ve thrown up some red flags. Subconsciously dressing as the gender you feel you are being the biggest one.”

  More silence. It was making Baz crazy not knowing what name or pronoun to assign. Why the hell it mattered, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Was he going to treat the person in front of him any different as a Lewis instead of a Lejla, or vice versa? No, but—well, that was the thing, wasn’t it? It didn’t matter, except it really fucking did.

  Gender was such a fuckjob. What made Elijah attractive to Baz? Why was Mina not on the menu? He refused to believe it was her tits. It must be something else. Pheromones. Or maybe it was all genderfuck. Born naked, and the rest is drag, like RuPaul said. Maybe they were all warped by details. Maybe orientation and gender and even attraction were a thousandfold more complicated than anybody wanted to admit.

  What about the underwear, indeed.

  Baz cleared his throat. “There’s got to be a support group in the Cities.”

  “I don’t have a car. I barely have enough money to go to a movie. The college fund my parents saved for me crashed right before they had to start cashing out, which is why I stayed on campus to work. So unless the support group comes with free bus service—”

  “I have a car, and a—boyfriend who can drive it.” He hated how he still tripped over the word boyfriend.

  His companion frowned. “You can’t drive your own car?”

  “I have severe retinal damage and photophobia. I was legal to drive for about twelve hours.” He paused, tasting the rest of it before he spit it out. “I got beat up, and my sight and some chronic pain are the casualties.”

  Shock, horror, sorrow—but thank fuck, no pity. Empathy, maybe. A little fear. Made sense. Talk about it could happen to you. “I’m so sorry. That’s why—the glasses. I had no idea.”

  “It is what it is.” He rubbed his neck, sighed and held out his hand. “Look—I don’t want to budge into your life. We don’t really know each other yet. But you strike me as somebody who could use some backup. What I’m saying is, I’m offering. Elijah too. If you stay for dinner, I’m pretty sure you’ll have more people in your posse.”

  He ached at the way this offer of friendship made his guest nervous, not reassured. “Why would you do that? Why would anyone do that?”

  Because Elijah brought you home. “Because getting beets dumped on your head for wearing a Kiki’s Delivery Service shirt and a bow in your hair sucks.”

  Tension, quick and tight as a whip. “So you’re helping because you feel sorry for me?”

  “No. Never.” He paused to attempt a rephrase. “I can’t exactly explain myself, but it’s sure as hell not because I pity you. You’re Elijah’s friend, to start. That comes with certain perks. This is one of them.”

  “But I barely know him. We smoke together at work, is all. I was never sure he liked me much.”

  Noise on the stairs stopped them both, and seconds later Elijah appeared, fists full of Target bags. He deposited them in a small sea of red and white around the chair before withdrawing, wrapping his arms over his stomach. “I got some things. Different kinds. You can keep whatever you want.”

  He set Baz’s keys and a wad of fifties on the dresser. Baz raised an eyebrow.

  Elijah lifted his chin defiantly and started for the door. “We’ll leave you to get dressed.”

  Baz followed, but on the way out he couldn’t resist whispering to Lewis, “I think he likes you.”

  Once Baz closed the door, Elijah dragged him into the communal bathroom. “I used my money. The stuff from the fund.” Elijah leaned on the sink, but when Baz caught his hand, he sort of melted against Baz’s body. “It was the first time it didn’t make me queasy to spend it. I went a little crazy.”

  Baz faced the mirror, which presented a full-on view of himself: too tall, slumped from a day of headaches and hip pain, eyes hidden behind his shades, Elijah’s dark-haired, wiry body wrapped around him. Elijah hugging him. Holding himself close. Baz holding him right back.

  The sight hit him in the gut. He flipped the lock to the door, threw the switches so the main light went out and the bathroom swelled with red glow. Then took off his glasses and set them on the counter.

  Elijah opened his mouth to say more, but Baz quieted him with a nuzzle against the side of his head. “Shh. I want to look at us for a second. Without the fucking glasses.”

  Wordlessly, Elijah complied, but when Baz caught him trying to peek, he shifted his good hip to let him have a better view. They stood a long time that way, silent, holding each other, staring into the mirror.

  “I like your eyes.” Elijah stroked Baz’s arm, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “I see them as brown even with the shades, in my mind. I love the fragmented colors in your iris.”

  Ungh. Baz cleared his suddenly thick throat. “Th-thanks.”

  They didn’t say anything else. They didn’t kiss, not so much a brush of the lips. And yet while he stood there, like the hug in the bedroom, Baz knew this strange, crystalline moment would ring in his head light years longer than any blow job. Even being topped beautifully in a freaky moose hotel. This was…tender. Aching. Perfect.

  Mind-bendingly dangerous.

  As they left the bathroom and went to talk to Aaron and Giles as they heard them arrive—well past the half-life of the tenderness—Baz had no urge to run. He didn’t panic.

  Okay, he panicked a little. But not because it freaked him out to be close. Because he’d found a new terror—the acknowledgment he wanted something to stay.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Elijah had been prepared for a wide palate of Lewis/Lejlas to come down the stairs, but it still surprised him to see his friend so butched up Elijah felt a bit femmy. Male sweats, hoodie, no makeup, the gender neutral white faux Keds Elijah had thrown in at the last minute, not the faintly glittery flip-flops.

  Lewis hung out on the stairs in the shadows. Mina and Aaron and Giles sat with Baz, eager for an introduction and chance to show their support after hearing the story,
but Elijah didn’t give one yet, meeting Lewis on the landing in hopes of an explanation.

  Lewis averted his gaze. “I need to get to my dorm. Didn’t feel like any additional attention.” Shifted a tightly packed pair of Target bags, glanced at Elijah. “You said…it was okay to keep some of the clothes?”

  “Keep all of them, if you want. You don’t have to go right away, either. You could have worn what you wanted and changed. We ordered subs. They should be here any second. Will you stay and meet everyone?”

  Lewis leaned into the wall, looking pale and tired, eyes red and puffy from crying. “I don’t have it in me right now. Sorry.”

  “Let us give you a ride at least.” When Lewis balked, Elijah crowded a little, hating how he felt like the flip side of when Aaron had badgered him into accepting help. “You’ve got all this stuff to carry. And Baz is going to be all managing mother bear, wanting to make sure you’re okay.”

  Lewis sighed. “I just…need to be alone tonight. It’s nothing personal.”

  Alone for the night Elijah could live with. But he wasn’t relinquishing his new friend without getting some digits first.

  He did get them, in the loading zone of Titus while Baz retrieved the bags out of the frunk. The three of them went up the stairs together, Baz and Elijah ignoring Lewis’s protests that an escort was unnecessary. They got a lot of stares, but half of them were for the Tesla and most of the others went to Baz.

  “Ah, Titus.” Baz swung one of the Target bags over his shoulder and tipped his head back to take in the building as they approached the side door. “How I haven’t missed thee.”

  “You lived here too?” Elijah glanced around the familiar stairwell, flashing to last year when he roomed with Aaron. And dodged the Campus Crusaders, and hoped to hell his parents didn’t find out what he was up to.

  “Yep. First floor, room to the right of the showers. Shacked up with Marius until we moved to the White House at semester. Thought I won the roommate lottery, but it turns out my mother had her assistant comb through every freshman until he found the one most suitable.”