How We Love

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How We Love Page 8

by Michael Ryan Webb


  “Who was that?” I asked. “Also, you answered my phone?”

  “Sorry, reflex,” he said with a shrug. “It was a wrong number anyway.”

  “Wrong number? But you told them- oh, oh, hello,” he'd cut me off my kneeling in front of me and kissing my stomach, slowly moving lower.

  “Bro, I can either keep talking or I can put my mouth to better use," he said. His warm breath blowing over my stomach felt like electricity. He was making it hard to think about anything else. “Your call.”

  I closed my eyes and gave in. I wouldn't think about the call again until it was too late.

  Over the next couple of weeks, Aaron migrated from sleeping on the couch to sleeping in my bed. I made it to work every day, but I was simply going through the motions, recycling old assignments, arbitrarily assigning grades. I stopped attending my scheduled office hours. Lauren tried to schedule an appointment with me several times but I knew she probably had more questions about the adoption agency rather than actual class, so I cancelled each time.

  On Halloween night, the university’s English department held a small get together for the faculty and graduate students. Amy had organized it, of course. I didn't want to go because I knew Wes would be there. But I also wanted to support Amy, and I knew Dr. Lewis would be on my case even more if I didn't show up. But there was no rule that said I had to go alone.

  Aaron and I arrived a half hour late. We’d agreed to arrive late after “pre-game” drinks, then leave as early as possible. Maybe I was imagining it, but I could swear every eye was on the two of us as we entered hand-in-hand. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Wes make a beeline for Amy, who was trying to help Jason wrangle their kids into a table in the corner of the room.

  “Is that the guy that’s pissed because you wouldn't fuck him again?” Aaron asked.

  “Is it that obvious?” I asked.

  “Let's have some fun,” he said, winking.

  He grabbed two cups of punch from the nearby table and then angled himself away from the crowd as he produced a flask from the inner pocket of his jacket and poured tequila into each cup. I should have stopped him. But I drank the punch, grabbed the flask and refilled my empty cup with straight tequila, then drank that.

  Aaron smiled and shook his head, as if to say he was impressed. He led me nearer to where Wes was angrily gesticulating at a very bored looking Amy. Without saying a word, Aaron grabbed me and dipped me backward as he planted a huge kiss on me. Wes stormed off, even more angry than he'd been before. Amy awkwardly shuffled back to where Jason was sitting with their son and daughter. Aaron thought it was hilarious. I almost agreed with him, until I saw Dr. Lewis heading my way.

  “Dr. King,” she said sternly. “I need to speak with you, please. In my office- now.” I followed her to her office, frantically cramming a piece of gum in my mouth to try to mask the tequila on my breath.

  “Sit,” she said. The lack of pleasantries told me I was screwed. Ana was not one to skip pleases and thank yous. “We need to discuss the way that you have behaved over the last two months, Dr. King – your display in there being merely the latest in a string of actions that display seriously poor judgment.”

  “It was just a kiss,” I said, shifting awkwardly in my seat. “I'm a grown man. He's a grown man. Is that the real problem here?” Big mistake. I knew that was a huge reach.

  “You know very well that it isn't,” she said. Her voice had raised sharply. “The problem is that you were very clearly trying to get a rise out of Mr. Harris, which you successfully did. Have you forgotten that Mr. Harris is still a student of this university? A student you have had a sexual relationship with that was broadcast all over campus-“

  “Yeah, by him,” I interjected. “Among other very private details of my personal life.”

  “That only further proves my point, Dr. King,” she said, her face twisting in frustration. “You had the poor judgment to share intimate details of your life with a student who is known for his lack of discretion. Now you miss entire days of work with no valid excuse. You haven't held office hours in almost a month, and several students have complained that your grading system seems entirely arbitrary. After investigating I'm inclined to agree.

  “And I hope you don't think one stick of wintermint is covering the overwhelming smell of alcohol on your breath. When was the last time you came to this campus entirely sober, without a hangover? I suspect the answer is over a month ago. I cannot allow you to continue on my staff this way.”

  “Wait, am I being fired?” I asked, my breath suddenly shallow and uneven.

  “No, Dr. King,” she said, sighing heavily. “I understand that you have had a very difficult year. And until this semester you have been a very reliable and valuable member of my staff. I will not terminate your employment for coping poorly when life dealt you an undesirable hand. I am, however, going to put you on suspension – effective immediately.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but she put up a single finger, signaling for me to remain silent. “You may return at the beginning of the spring semester, provided that you can prove to me that you are sober, and prepared to work with a renewed focus.”

  I sat in stunned silence. I knew I hadn't been giving 100 percent of my capability to work, but had it really gotten that bad?

  “That will be all, Dr. King. Please, I implore you to seek out assistance for your alcoholism,” she said.

  “I'm not an alcoholic,” I insisted, realizing that was the second time in one month I'd uttered those words.

  “Oftentimes, Dr. King, it is difficult for us to see ourselves not as we wish to be, or as we remember ourselves, but as we have become,” she said solemnly. “I believe if you engage in true introspection, you'll come to a different conclusion. I truly hope to see you in January. Please get home safely.”

  She gestured to the door and I was too dumbfounded to say anything else. I stumbled down the hallway and stood in the doorway to the room where the party was being held. Amy spotted me first. She gave me an apologetic look that told me she knew and worse, she pitied me. I met Aaron’s gaze and gestured for him to follow me out.

  He made a big show of being angry and indignant on my behalf when I told him what had happened, but everything around me was like white noise. I fished the flask out of his jacket pocket and we split what was left. As if everything else I'd done in the month prior hadn't been stupid enough, I got into the passenger seat of his car and we set off toward my apartment.

  The next thing I remember is a dull aching in my ears as I awoke to an unbearable noise. An ambulance, sirens blaring in the distance. No, I was in the ambulance. A bright light in my eyes, back and forth. Searing pain in my left arm. Throat burning. Something on my face – an oxygen mask. Oxygen. I’m alive, I thought. Oh god, where is Aaron?

  I frantically tried to sit up, but the paramedics pinned me down. I could hear them speaking to me, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Someone grabbed my left arm and pain exploded throughout it so fiercely that I blacked out.

  I awoke in a hospital bed some time later. My head was throbbing. I tried to assess my injuries. My left arm was broken, and there was what felt like a nasty gash on my forehead, but everything else seemed fine, aside from minor cuts and bruises. I was relieved for a split second, then realized I didn't know where Aaron was.

  I pressed the nurses’ call button repeatedly out of desperation. The nurse who responded explained to me that Aaron was fine. He had no major injuries, but had been arrested for driving under the influence. He had driven right into a traffic light pole, and the light fixture itself had fallen through the windshield, crushing my left arm. Luckily, we were the only car involved and no one else was injured.

  I was overcome with guilt. Aaron wouldn't have been in jail if I had just skipped the stupid party, or if he just hadn't gotten involved with me in the first place. I was starting to face the fact that I might in fact be an alcoholic when the nurse asked if there was someone else they could c
all for me.

  “What do you mean, ‘someone else’?” I asked.

  “Well, sir, the paramedics found your cell phone on the scene and we tried to contact the emergency contact you'd programmed. But the first call wasn't answered and there were a few attempts after that went straight to voicemail,” he explained.

  I declined and thanked the nurse and he left me alone. I had programmed Mark as the emergency contact when I'd gotten the new phone without thinking. Why wouldn't he answer? I thought to myself. Multiple calls and he wasn't concerned?

  I knew Mark had been working toward getting better in the hopes of us getting back together. So I couldn't come up with a reasonable explanation for why he would suddenly not care if I called, but I intended to find out. The next morning, after I'd been questioned by the police and discharged from the hospital, I took a taxi to my old house.

  There was a car that I didn't recognize in the driveway. Early for visitors, I noted to myself. I rang the doorbell and waited. No one answered. I rang it again and waited a few more minutes. Still nothing. I walked over to one of the large windows that looked in on the living room and peaked in through a gap in the curtains.

  Mark was there, asleep on the couch. He was always a heavy sleeper, I recalled. Maybe he's just been asleep this whole time. No, doesn't explain the calls going straight to voicemail after the first. And then I noticed something strange – what looked like a dog resting with its head in Mark’s lap. I craned my neck to try to get a better view, and realized that lying down next to Mark and what was indeed a dog, was another man.

  He couldn't answer the phone because he was with this guy? I thought, unreasonably offended. In hindsight, I know I had no right to be angry. After all, I was just in a car accident with a man who had practically become my live in boyfriend, or the very least, live in friend with benefits.

  But when you love someone as much and as long as I loved Mark, and when you’re as big an alcoholic as I had unwittingly become, logic goes out the window. Unlike the large rock I found in the front yard, which went right through the window.

  Shit’s about to hit the fan, I thought as I came to my senses. And boy, was that the understatement of the century. Settle in. This is gonna be messy.

  Chapter Six | Mark

  There was a brief moment when I awoke on the first morning of November where I thought I surely must still be dreaming. I heard a large crash, then an even larger thud. I snapped awake along with Grayson and Dolly both of whom, like me, must have fallen asleep on the sofa during the movie we were watching the night before.

  Someone’s here to murder you, and your new friends. They're dead because of you. Way to go.

  I quickly counted my fingers to try to quiet my mind.

  1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10

  Then I looked over to the bay window across the room and saw him through a large hole in one of the panes. Adam, wearing a cast on his left arm, visibly angry. Dolly began barking loudly near the window and Grayson jumped off of the sofa and stood in front of me, as if he were trying to protect me.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. I nodded. “Do you have any idea who this guy is?”

  I stood and tried to get a closer look at Adam, unsure if I was even seeing him correctly. He looked very different from the last time I'd seen him. His normally clean-shaven face had an uneven smattering of stubble. His hair had grown quite a bit and was wholly unkempt, a jarring contrast from his usual neat style. His eyes looked bloodshot and there were large bags underneath them. I wasn't honestly sure I did have any idea who he was.

  He came to kill you. He left you and he found someone better. Now he's going to kill you because he hates you. My chest tightened and I couldn't fight the mental images working their way in – Adam standing angrily over my limp body, me bleeding out on the floor.

  “Mark? Mark, I'm here,” Grayson said. I felt his hand gently grip my arm and snapped back to reality.

  “I’m sorry,” I said through tense breaths. He smiled at me reassuringly. “It's – it's my husband. It's Adam.”

  “What? Are you serious?” he asked, stunned. “You haven't heard from him since he left. Why is he throwing rocks through your window?”

  “I-I-I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I'm going to find out. You can go if you want. I'll do my best to be at work at the diner on time.”

  “I'm not leaving you,” he said firmly. “He doesn't seem like he's in a good head space right now. I don't feel comfortable leaving you here alone with him. I'll take Dolly and go upstairs, but I'll be right up there if you need me.”

  “Grayson,” I started, but his face was the most serious I'd ever seen it. He squeezed my arm gently, scooped Dolly up into his arms and went upstairs.

  Should have asked him to stay. You're as good as dead now.

  1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10… “No, this is fine. Adam would never hurt me. We’re just going to talk,” I told myself. I carefully walked around the broken glass and opened the front door.

  “Adam,” I said breathlessly. “What, um… what's going on?”

  “That's a great question, Mark,” Adam said aggressively, storming up the steps to meet me face to face. “Here's one for you: why the fuck didn't you answer your phone last night? Too busy playing house with whoever the hell that is?”

  I'd planned to try to calmly talk and figure out what was going on, but he was clearly not interested in that approach. His breath reeked of alcohol, and I couldn't help but wonder if that had anything to do with his behavior and appearance. Neither of us had ever been big drinkers, but his father had a serious drinking problem before finally dying from liver failure a few years before. Regardless, I wasn't going to just sit back and not defend myself after all this time.

  “Wait, are you really mad that I didn't answer the phone? I've called you twice this month. You didn't answer the first time, and another man answered the second. You didn't call me back either time. Why should I have to answer your calls? And that,” I said, pointing upstairs toward where Grayson had gone, “is my boss. I got a job, which you'd know if you'd returned either of my calls. But I guess you were too busy with Aaron, or whatever his name is.”

  “I didn't get either of those calls Mark. I lost my phone and didn't have one for a while, and Aaron never told me you called. And he's just a friend,” he said, rubbing his neck with his good hand on the last bit.

  “Just because we've been separated for a couple of months doesn't mean I've forgotten everything I know about you. You always rub your neck when you lie, Adam,” I said.

  The situation was getting out of control, not that it hadn't started that way, what with the broken window and all. I took a deep breath, rubbed my temples, and tried to continue in a more calm manner.. “Look, I don't even care. You left me, right? I shouldn't have expected you not to see other people. I do, however, feel like I should have been able to expect you not to throw a rock through my window bright and early in the morning. What is the matter with you? And what happened to your arm?”

  “I was in a fucking car accident, Mark,” he said. “It wasn't me calling last night. It was the hospital.”

  Way to go asshole. You threw away any chance you ever had of not dying alone because he didn't return your calls. He's never going to take you back now and you're going to be lonely and miserable for the rest of your life.

  “Oh god, Adam I'm so sorry,” I said. “I had no idea. Are you… okay?”

  “No, I'm not fucking okay, Mark,” he retorted.

  “Sorry. Do you want to come in?” I asked.

  He rolled his eyes and strolled past me with his arms crossed. He looked around the foyer and living room suspiciously, as if he expected to find some evidence of impropriety on mine and Grayson’s part.

  “So, your boss sleep here often?” he asked haughtily, making air quotes as he said the word “boss”.

  “He is my boss, Adam, just a friend. And no, he doesn't. He came over to help me hand out candy to trick-or-treaters so that I wouldn't be so
afraid to do it. We were watching a movie afterward. It got late and we must have fallen asleep. That's it, I swear,” I insisted.

  “So that's it? You were watching a movie, so you couldn't be bothered to answer the phone?” he asked. "Fucking the guy would have been a better excuse."

  “No. I didn't answer the phone because I was hurt. You hurt me Adam,” I said. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, still scanning he room diligently. “Have you already forgotten that you walked out on me?”

  “You know it wasn't that simple, Mark,” he said, whirling around. “I tried so hard to stay, to make this work; but you, you just…”

  “I what, Adam? I didn't recover from my grief on your timetable? I didn't lose my father and bounce right back? What Adam? I what?” I demanded.

  “You quit trying,” he shouted. “You stopped going to therapy. You stopped seeing me. I was just your babysitter by the end.”

  He’s right. You're a huge loser.

  “No, that's not fair, Adam,” I responded, as much to myself as to him. “I kept taking my medication. I kept trying. You know damned well that I didn't just stop going to therapy. I stopped going anywhere. I couldn't leave the house. It wasn't my choice, Adam. I was sick. I still am.”

  “You look fine to me, Mark,” he said, his voice growing louder still. “I move out and suddenly you're leaving the house and working? Why the fuck couldn't you do that when I was here?”

  “I tried, Adam,” I yelled back. “And you're acting like I just decided to be better one day. I didn't. It took me a lot to work up to even going outside, much less walking down the street far enough to get a job. And the only reason I can even have this job is because I managed to stumble into the one place that has an owner who actually understands what I've been through and why there are days when I just can't make it to work, or days when I can't do certain things because I'm afraid I'll die if I do.

  "And beside all of that, I'm only doing any of it because I wanted to prove to you that I could be better, and that I could deserve for you to love me again. If you think that any of this has been easy for me, or that I've moved on, then you're wrong. I've only been doing it for you.”

 

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