by Mel Gough
It was all over. The finality hit him again like a hammer, and all that would happen next loomed so impossibly large it was terrifying him out of his mind.
Ben pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the station. “Lou? It’s Ben. Tell the captain I’m not coming in today. Oh, and tell Jason, too… What? Uh…food poisoning. Yeah, real sorry to leave y’all hanging out to dry on a Saturday. Alright, thanks. Bye.”
He hung up and stared at his phone. For a moment, the urge to call Donnie was almost overwhelming. But in the end, he couldn’t do it. Donnie had enough on his plate already. He didn’t need the burden of Ben’s messed-up life on top of his own.
Ben dropped the phone onto the bedside table, suddenly exhausted. Having to sound normal to Lou had taken all his remaining energy. Calling in sick and lying about it lay heavily on his mind, but, right now, he couldn’t face work or life.
Everything was unraveling around him. Ben felt terrified, paralyzed, powerless. And he had no idea what to do next.
“’LO?”
“Ben? Ya okay?”
Ben rubbed his eyes. What was the time? “Donnie? Yeah…yeah, sure. Whassup?”
“Where are ya?”
“Home. Why?”
“Ya said ya were coming over again tonight.”
“God, I did…yeah, sorry.” He looked around the gloomy living room, the mess on the coffee table. Plates, knife and fork, dirty, right on Helen’s precious furniture. Crumbs everywhere.
A bottle and glass.
“Ben, what are ya doin’?”
“Nothing…”
“Ya drunk.”
“Am not.”
“Ben…”
“What does it matter?”
“I’m coming over.”
“No, Donnie…”
“Be there in twenty. Ya better let me in.”
“Or what?”
But there was no reply. Ben heard a click and the line went dead.
“C’MON, MAN, OPEN up!”
Donnie’s voice came from right outside on the stoop. Ben frowned and yanked open the door. “Stop shouting already! I told you not to come.”
Donnie ignored him and pushed past into the hallway. Reluctantly, Ben closed the door. Donnie appraised him, his gaze unusually steely. “Where’s Helen?”
“Out with friends.”
“Laura?”
“Sleepover.”
“Figures,” Donnie growled and took Ben’s jacket from its peg on the wall. “Ya wouldn’t have done this with them here. Put this on.”
He held out the jacket, but Ben didn’t move. Donnie sighed, then stepped right up into Ben’s space, until their faces were mere inches apart. Ben’s head was spinning. He had to look away from the intense blue eyes.
Donnie reached out and put a hand against Ben’s cheek. “No, ya look at me now. We’re going to meeting. Ya don’t want this shit. That’s why ya came to the center. Ya can hate me all ya want, but I’m here now, an’ I’ll help. C’mon.” He shook the jacket open.
Ben looked at Donnie. The other man’s face was pale, but there was a determination in Donnie’s eyes that Ben had never seen there before.
He nodded and slipped his arms into the sleeves. “Alright.”
Donnie cleaned away the dishes from the coffee table and wrote a note to Helen. Then he led Ben from the house. Ben watched as Donnie locked the front door. Then Donnie helped him climb into his pickup truck. They didn’t speak.
Ben felt deeply ashamed. He hadn’t had another drink after Donnie’s call, and already he was sobering up. The beginnings of a hangover were giving him a headache. Donnie’s eyes flicked over to him several times, but Ben didn’t look around.
He really couldn’t have said why had he gone out and bought that bottle of bourbon the moment Helen and Laura had left for the evening. How could he ever look at Donnie again after this? He was a coward and a liar.
Donnie parked in the deserted staff parking lot at the community center. He kept a hand on Ben’s back as they walked down the alleyway toward the entrance. When they got to the big blue door, Ben stopped dead.
“What is it, man? Ya gonna puke?” Donnie asked.
Ben stared at the door and the faded yellow poster tacked to it. He remembered the first time he’d seen this door in the early morning glare and with a hangover worse than the current one.
“Your eyes…,” he said softly. The blue of the door, that was what Donnie’s eyes reminded him of.
Their fuckups were what linked them—he suddenly understood—and the desire to be better men. Maybe they couldn’t always be strong for themselves, but they could be strong for each other.
“What?” Donnie asked, confused and impatient. When Ben didn’t speak, Donnie gave him a small push. “C’mon.”
They climbed the stairs together and went into the meeting room, and Ben, dizzy now, moved clumsily along the chairs in the back row, dropping down hard into the very last seat. Donnie sat right next to him and moved close, until their legs were touching.
There were only half a dozen people in the room for this last AA meeting of the day. Ben didn’t recognize anyone in the group or the volunteer who recited the serenity prayer in Arthur’s stead. His head was pounding. He kept his eyes to the front, but he could feel Donnie’s gaze on him. At first, the words of the speakers at the podium washed over him, incomprehensible. But slowly the usual calm of meetings descended, and Ben felt soothed, even through the hangover.
Then Donnie got up. He walked to the front, looking nervous but determined, and faced the room. He was blushing, and Ben’s heart was suddenly beating fast.
Donnie’s voice was low and halting when he started to speak, but just like the first time Ben had heard him in meeting, everyone kept very still.
“I hate being afraid,” Donnie began. “Been scared all the time since I got diagnosed last year. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna get sick. Arthur helped me, when me and Floyd fucked up. When I came here, I started to believe in something again. And then I got told I’m positive, and everything crashed again. I kept going, but it was real hard.” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “I’m so tired, all the time. Being scared, it’s exhausting, and it sucks. Sometimes, I can’t even think, it hurts so much. But my life, it’s not over. I know that now. I can be scared and still do things that make me happy.” He stopped again. His gaze found Ben’s, and it didn’t let go. “I won’t give up. My life can still mean something. And when it feels like I can’t go on, I look up, and I see I’m not alone. I got someone to help me. To help me believe in something again.”
“BETTER NOW?” DONNIE pulled the blankets up to Ben’s waist, then climbed into bed next to him.
Ben gave a shuddery sigh, and allowed Donnie to pull him into his arms. “Yeah, thanks. For everything.”
“It’s okay.”
On their way back from Atlanta, it had been Donnie who’d had to make an emergency stop by the roadside, five minutes from his house. Ben had choked out a curse, one hand scrabbling on the door latch before the pickup truck had quite come to a stop.
Donnie’s hand on his neck as he’d retched into the ditch had been soothing, and Ben, embarrassed but with Donnie’s words from the meeting still in his ears, had been grateful not to be alone.
Now he buried his face against Donnie’s chest, the cotton of his undershirt soothing against Ben’s aching head. “M’such a fuckup.”
Donnie didn’t speak right away, but his arms tightened around Ben’s shoulders and he rested his chin on top of Ben’s head. “Would tell ya that’s bullshit, man, but ya wouldn’t believe me, so I won’t,” he said finally. Ben didn’t say anything. Donnie’s newfound eloquent confidence was really a little disconcerting. After a moment, Donnie asked, “Ya wanna tell me what happened?”
Ben didn’t know where to start. He wanted Donnie to know, about Helen telling him to move out and how it had made him lose all hope. But the words wouldn’t come.
The s
ilence stretched. They remained silent for so long Ben was almost convinced Donnie might’ve gone to sleep. Ben was nearly drifting off himself, the residual alcohol in his system warring with his misery.
He flinched awake when Donnie finally spoke. “Ya wanna come live with me, here?”
Ben pushed himself up and stared at Donnie. “How’d you know? That Helen…”
Donnie shrugged. “Didn’t, not really. Just knew something happened, at home.” He glanced around himself. “Place is a bit small, and it’s not as nice as yer house.” He gave a little smile. “We could get a bigger bed, though. And it’d be nice, not being all alone here.”
Again, Floyd was on Donnie’s mind. It wouldn’t be a bad idea, Ben thought, moving in with Donnie, at least temporarily, even if just to have Donnie’s back should his wayward brother ever reappear.
“What if Floyd comes back?” Ben felt he had to address the issue.
Donnie’s eyes turned dark, and he shrugged again. “Maybe he won’t.” But then that shutter came down again. Conversation over.
This was too much to deal with tonight. Ben shuddered as his head gave an angry throb, his stomach clenched. It was all he could do not to throw up again.
Donnie sensed his woe and pulled Ben back into a tight embrace. “It’s real late, man. Let’s go to sleep, we’ll figure this out in the morning.” He turned around and switched the bedside lamp off.
Ben lay against Donnie in the dark and listened to his breaths even out as Donnie drifted into sleep. He was worried about how they’d cope here in this tiny house, with the threat of Floyd’s return always hanging over them. And Ben still didn’t know how his suddenly living with a man would be taken by his colleagues. He didn’t feel ready to come out of the closet, not yet.
At least I’ve got Donnie. That thought gave him comfort, but it still took a long time before he finally fell asleep.
SOMETHING WAKES DONNIE from deep, peaceful sleep. When his head clears, everything around them is calm. He frowns into the dark, wondering what disturbed him. Maybe Ben twitched or sighed in his booze-infused dreams.
Ben lies against him, a gray shadow in the moonlight. His head is resting on Donnie’s chest, and the silken curls tickle Donnie’s bare shoulder as Ben mumbles softly and shifts a little. Donnie smiles, a lump in his throat from the gentleness that rises in him.
He never thought he could get used to sleeping like this in his narrow bed, curled up into each other, limbs intertwined and heads resting on chest or shoulder. Or Ben behind him, his strong arms wrapped around Donnie, the way they spent their nights at the hospital. But it’s more than possible, it’s soothing. Having Ben around has given Donnie some of the best sleep he’s had in years.
But being happy when Ben is going through all the shit with Helen makes Donnie feel guilty. Ben’s been there for him these last few weeks, in ways Donnie can never thank him for. He wants to do his bit now and help Ben through his own hell.
They can live together here just fine. Ben needs somewhere to stay, and he needs not to be alone. Donnie finds asking for help difficult, but for Ben, it’s nearly impossible. So Donnie will make sure he won’t need to ask. He’ll be there even before Ben knows he needs anything.
It’ll be great to have Ben around more, but that it has to come at such a high price for his lover makes Donnie sad. He can’t make Ben’s problems go away; only time will help heal the broken hearts, clear the wreckage of a broken marriage. But, at least, Ben will have somewhere to feel safe and wanted, when he comes home to Donnie.
My family, that’s over. Donnie can still hear Ben saying those words, full of sadness and longing. He’s determined to be family to Ben, whatever it takes.
What they will do if Floyd comes back and how Donnie will ever find the courage to tell Ben about this last, biggest problem he still has to deal with somehow, he just doesn’t know.
Ben sighs again and stretches. “Hey, buddy,” he mumbles against Donnie’s neck. “Why’re ya ‘wake?”
“Am not,” Donnie whispers, patting Ben’s hair clumsily in the dark. “Go back to sleep.”
“‘Kay.” Ben’s arm wraps around Donnie’s chest, and with another sigh, he drops off again.
Donnie buries his face in Ben’s hair and closes his eyes. He tries to relax into the warmth and comfort of Ben’s body, willing his mind to go blank and slide him back into the dream he woke from. Nothing will be resolved tonight.
There are no answers in the dark.
Chapter Twenty
DONNIE LEANED OVER the box sitting on the kitchen table. “What did ya bring?”
Ben slapped his fingers when Donnie reached for the satin band holding the lid down. He carefully undid the knot himself and opened the box.
“Apricot torte.” He looked up when Donnie gave a throaty little laugh.
“Too gay?” Ben had a hard time keeping his face straight.
Donnie shrugged. “Who gives a shit what it’s called? Looks delicious!” His hand snuck over the rim of the box, and Ben smacked him on the knuckles a second time.
“Dinner first. And take some extra enzymes. The torte’s been made with low-fat pastry, but better safe than sorry.”
“Alright, Mom,” Donnie drawled in an exaggerated pout.
“Behave, or no dessert,” Ben said, still grinning. He replaced the lid to hide the cake from view, then walked around the table to the hearth. As he passed Donnie, he quickly squeezed his left buttock. “What’s for dinner, honey?” he continued in his best fifties household commercial voice. Donnie grinned at him and gave him a shyly flirty look from under his lashes. He was enjoying their easy banter.
In the two weeks since Ben had moved in, the two of them had developed a surprisingly comfortable routine. Donnie had taken to cooking like a fish to water. Armed with a book full of recipes from the hospital’s diet specialist, he had taken over most of the kitchen duties with enthusiasm and remarkable skill. He was determined to make the best of a bad situation. Keeping up the healthy new lifestyle was easier for him when he could share his dinner with an appreciative party, and Ben was more than happy to be Donnie’s guinea pig for all things culinary.
And he didn’t mind changing his routine to match Donnie’s wherever necessary to keep the other man healthy. Donnie had to eat small regular meals throughout the day, low in fat and salt to avoid stomach pain and nausea. But he always remembered to put some extra olive oil and salt on one part of the dinner dish so that Ben would enjoy his food, too.
“We finally got that computer someone donated set up in Arthur’s office today. None of us really know how it works, but I found a recipe for paella online,” Donnie said. “Left out that fatty chorizo sausage, hope ya don’t mind. Ya like seafood, right?”
Ben smiled over his shoulder at Donnie while stirring the pan. “I love seafood! This smells absolutely delicious!” Donnie looked pleased with himself, blushing only a little at the praise. Ben went over to the cupboards to get plates and glasses. “You bought the shrimp from the farmers market? Did you remember the fresh fruit and veg?”
Donnie nodded but looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, I did. But, Ben…”
Balancing a pile of plates and glasses precariously in one hand, Ben stepped very close in front of Donnie and put his free hand around his neck. “Hey, buddy, we talked about this. Your well-being comes first. You gotta have the healthy stuff, every day, no exceptions. You know what the dietitian said.” He tried to lock eyes with Donnie, who wasn’t having it. Ben sighed. “I just can’t bear the thought of you getting sick again.”
Every week, Ben put as much money as he could into the jar they kept in the kitchen for grocery shopping. They did the shopping list together, and Ben checked with Donnie every night that he’d bought everything they’d agreed. Donnie was embarrassed that Ben contributed so much money just for his sake, but Ben insisted. Paying into two households was a struggle, yes, but it was worth it, witnessing Donnie’s delight when a meal came out well, and seeing him fill out a
little again, too.
Donnie’s eyes were directed to somewhere in the region of Ben’s belt buckle, and he was chewing his lip. “I know,” he mumbled eventually.
“C’mon, buddy,” Ben said gently, determined to keep the evening free of self-doubt and guilt. “You know how much I love to mother you. Indulge me, will ya?” It was a lie. Ben didn’t enjoy treating a grown man like this. But he would keep doing it if it meant that Donnie stayed healthy.
At that, Donnie finally glanced up, and Ben gave him a wink. Donnie blushed, then grinned.
“Right,” Ben said and let go of Donnie’s neck. “That masterpiece of yours, is it almost finished? I’m starving!” He set the table while Donnie put the last touches on the paella and finally brought over the pan.
During dinner, they talked about their day. As usual, Donnie listened rather than talked. But there were no frosty mealtime silences here like Ben had had to endure with Helen and Laura in the last few months. Ben was surprisingly content in his new temporary home. Never mind the peeling paint on the walls and the cheap scratched Formica tabletop. At least he was with someone who genuinely wanted him around.
Donnie came alive over the apricot torte. His eyes were shining, and the smile on his face was huge. When he’d finished a second slice, he leaned back and his features relaxed into unmarred bliss. A warm happiness flooded Ben’s chest.
“That pie was amazing!” Donnie gave Ben a glance from under heavily lidded eyes. The expression on his face reminded Ben strongly of the way Donnie looked during sex, and his denims suddenly felt tight. “We’ll have that every night now, right?”
“Dude, we can have it morning, day, and night if it makes you look like this,” Ben said quietly and squeezed Donnie’s leg under the table. Donnie’s eyes sparkled.
“Was gonna suggest we watch a movie,” he murmured. “Fuck it.”