I thought of joining him, but it was too soon. I just wanted to rush this awkward part along, to get back to the comfort and ease we used to have. Life needed a fast-forward for moments like this, to skip past the fixing-things part, the getting-done-with-Nathan part, the edginess I was feeling as I prepared to face the day, the week, the life sober and clean.
Steven showered, then I showered, and neither of us said much until we were in Steven’s car and headed out of town. I turned to him and said, “Thanks for taking me.”
He smiled. “Of course. I want this all to be behind us too.”
“I know, but this time, you didn’t have to. It wasn’t involving you.”
“Anything that involves you involves me,” he said, and moved his hand from the gearshift to squeeze my knee. “Especially anything that involves this psychopath.”
“I almost went to see him once before,” I confessed.
“Oh?”
“It wasn’t too long after he got sentenced. I was actually about halfway there before I turned around.”
“Why?”
“Why did I turn around? I just couldn’t face him.”
“No, why were you going to go?”
“Actually, to thank him. I know it sounds ludicrous, but I just wanted to thank him for confessing, for pleading guilty, for saving us all the ordeal of a trial.”
“Never thank him. He doesn’t deserve gratitude for that.”
“I know.”
“When was this?”
“A couple of weeks after . . . That Friday Night. Maybe I was drunk or high when it occurred to me. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Never trust what your brain tells you to do when you’re fucked up. Better yet, don’t get fucked up anymore.”
“I’m going to try not to.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” He drove in silence for a minute or so. “How often are you doing it?”
Steven hated drugs. Before me, he’d been very much in love with a guy who was very much in love with coke, and Steven had come home to find his place cleared out, everything sold to pay off his lover’s skyrocketing drug debt. Everything he had worked hard for, gone. The guy, Pierre, never even had the guts to face Steven.
That was why he hated drugs. And me doing coke had almost killed our relationship before. Now though, everything was as over as it could be, and if things were going to rebuild, they had to do so on an honest foundation. I knew that.
Still, all I could say was, “Too much.”
“You know how I feel.”
“I know. I know Pierre screwed you over.”
“Fuck Pierre. This is about you. I worry about you. I don’t want to see you dead.”
“I know.” We drove in silence for a while, and then I said, “Every weekend. Friday and Saturday both. Sometimes, during the week. Sometimes, just to get going again in the morning. Sometimes, to keep going when I’m almost passing out from being so drunk.”
“So, too much?” He smiled, shaking his head.
I chuckled. “Yah, too much.” I paused. “I’m done.”
“Easy to say that, Alex.”
“I mean it.”
“What about next time you’re drunk?”
“Done with that, too. I have to be. They go together for me now.”
“That’s going to be hard. You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you.”
“I know.”
“I’ll help you as much as I can, though.”
“What can you do? I just have to not do it.”
“I know. But, you know, I’m here to talk or whatever.”
“I know.” I reached over and squeezed his knee. He reached down and squeezed my hand.
“I’ve missed you, Alex.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
We drove on, leaving the city behind. The freeway stretched out ahead of us, the sun now high overhead. It was a beautiful spring day. This was about how far I had gotten that other time, before I turned back, still twenty minutes to the jail where Nathan was confined. What would it be like to see him for the first time since the court session where he pled guilty? What would it be like to stare through the Plexiglas window at him, to pick up the little phone and hear his voice? Would he own up right away, or would we have to drag the confession from him?
“What are you thinking about?” Steven asked.
“How much of this is his fault,” I said. “Can he really be held responsible for what he does? I can’t even imagine having to go through everything he did. To be raped over and over again by your own father and his friends? Can we blame him for hating us?”
“We didn’t do that to him, Alex. Yes, we can blame him. That’s not gay people doing that. It’s child molesters, and yes, it’s terrible, but you even thinking that what happened to him makes what he did to us even a little bit excusable, you can’t. If you do, he wins.”
It echoed my own thought from earlier, and I turned back to look out the window, the countryside speeding by. And soon, there in the distance, I saw it. The Tulgey Federal Correctional Institution: sprawling, brown and gray, and fenced. It was uninviting, yet not nearly as foreboding as it should have been.
That changed though as we parked. With each step, it felt heavier on my heart. Each step of the procedures brought us closer to Nathan. We registered. We were scanned at security. And then we were eventually brought into a room filled with tables. There was no Plexiglas barrier. He would be directly across from us, much like another prisoner already was, in his orange, visiting a crying woman.
We would be at the same table as him. Like we were friends or family. Not like we were the victims of his rage and hate. There was a guard at the one entrance, and two at the other. We were safe. Of that, I had no doubt, but we would be at the same table as him.
Steven nudged me, and pointed me toward the door. There he was.
Chapter 32
His blond hair was cropped off. He had packed on muscle since the last time I had seen him, but it was almost too much. He looked swollen underneath that hideous orange jumper. Is this what regular people thought, when they came to visit people in prison? That no one could look good in such a shade of orange? Or was it just me (faggot faggot faggot)?
When he saw us, there was a brief confusion on his face, one that morphed into a sneer, before fading into passiveness. Steven clenched my knee under the table, and I let out the breath that caught in my lungs when I saw Nathan. He sauntered across the room and sat down across from us, sitting on the chair backward, cocky as always.
“Well,” he said. “When they said I had visitors, I sure didn’t expect it to be the two of you.”
“Who else, Nathan?” Steven said. “You made it pretty clear when you were holding me hostage, there’s no one in your life.”
Nathan’s expression shifted. Gone was his arrogance; in its place was a sudden panicked confusion. I smiled at Steven. He had my back. And then I realized how hard this must be for him. Yes, Nathan had been trying to get to me, but Steven had been his pawn. Steven was the one he had kidnapped and tortured. Steven was the one who could have died.
Not everything was about me.
It was a simple realization yet a profound one, and it clicked inside me. Not just regarding Steven, but also with Nathan. Maybe confronting him head-on wasn’t the way to get either cooperation or a confession. Maybe I needed to see what it was like for him, and reach him that way.
“Look, Nathan, we’re not here to fight.”
“Why are you here then?”
“How are you doing?” His shock at my simple question was matched by Steven’s.
“How am I doing? Really? How the fuck do you think?”
“I really want to know.”
“You don’t fucking care.”
“I do. I know that what you did, it wasn’t all your fault. I know—”
“You don’t know! Don’t pretend you know! Don’t pretend like we’re friends.”
“I’m not, and we’re n
ot . . . but we were, once.”
“Until you touched me with your disgusting faggot hands.”
“I didn’t know what he’d done to you, Nathan. I didn’t know what he’d let them do to you.”
“Look, I don’t want to talk about this.” He stood up. “I get enough therapy from the prison shrink, okay?”
“Sit down, Nathan,” Steven said. “Alex, just ask him.”
“Ask me what?” Nathan sat back down.
“I’m sorry for touching you. I’m sorry for shooting you. But this needs to stop, Nathan. You can’t keep harassing me, harassing us, like this.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Alex?”
“The picture. I don’t know how you got it to me, I don’t know who you got to deliver it, but who else could it be from, Nathan? Who else would do that?”
“What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about any picture.”
“Nathan, look.” Steven stood up now. I could see the guard watching us. “No more fucking around. We don’t even care. Just admit it, and stop it, and it’s done. We won’t press any charges, we will just forget it ever happened, but you have to promise it’s over.”
“Promise what’s over? I really have no clue what you fags are going on about.”
“The picture of Taylor.”
His face scrunched up in disgust. “Your little faggoty-ass boyfriend from high school? Why would I send you a picture of him?”
“Just to fuck with me! I’m done being fucked with, Nathan.”
“I thought that’s what you like,” he said with a sneer.
“Nathan, I swear to God . . .”
I was standing up now, and the guard came over. “Okay, guys, keep it calm, or this ends.”
“We’re done,” Steven said. “He won’t tell us anything. You can take him away.”
“Wait, wait. We can still talk,” Nathan said. The guard looked at Steven, and Steven looked at me, and I nodded, and the guard walked back to his spot at the door.
“Okay, talk,” Steven said.
“What is this about a picture of Taylor?”
“Look, if you’re just going to play games . . .”
“I’m not! I swear. I just . . . I didn’t send you anything, Alex. It wasn’t me.”
“Then why do you want to know about it?”
“I don’t, really . . . I just don’t want to go back yet. You were right,” he said to Steven. “There’s no one else to visit me.”
“Oh no, this is not a social call. We are not your friends. Not after what you did to me.” Steven got up again.
“Steven, sit,” I said. “Look, Nathan, I’m sorry you’re here, and I’m sorry you’re alone.” My eyes watered. Was I really crying over this psychotic piece of shit? “But no one else would have sent me that. No one.”
He reached across the table and grabbed me by the wrist. “It wasn’t me.”
“No touching!” the guard yelled from across the room, coming back over.
“It wasn’t me,” Nathan said again, letting go.
“Then there’s no reason for us to be here,” Steven said. “C’mon, Alex, let’s just go.”
I stood up and we started to walk toward the door.
“Wait!” Nathan said, and we turned back to him, standing there, the guard’s hand wrapped around his arm.
“What, Nathan? What?”
“I’m sorry.” He stared at the floor as he said it, and I couldn’t believe I was hearing the words. “I . . . I know it wasn’t you . . . wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do . . . didn’t do those things to me.” He looked at me, his eyes burning into mine, and images flashed through my brain: us fighting for the gun, us fighting in the classroom the day Taylor died, him screaming at me to get away from him, us laughing and playing and running in the park. “I’m sorry, Alex.”
“Sorry is just a word,” Steven said, and he practically dragged me from the room. I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to see him like that, in orange and beaten down. I wanted to remember him the other way instead, when the days were golden and he was my best friend.
Chapter 33
We didn’t say much on the way back to the car. There wasn’t much to be said. We got in and drove away, and we had no answers. Did I believe Nathan? Yes. After everything, after kidnapping Steven, after torturing him and tormenting me, and after nearly killing us both, I still believed him. It was just a feeling, but it was a feeling I felt was right.
I looked over at Steven, and his brow was furrowed as he stared straight ahead. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Just seeing him. Hearing him lie and lie and lie. I am just so mad.”
“You’re allowed to be mad after what he did.”
“What he’s still doing. I can’t believe he won’t give up. What’s he trying to accomplish?”
“I don’t know . . .” I started to say, and then Steven went on.
“Like, a picture of Taylor! How would he think you wouldn’t know it was him? What game is he playing?” He turned to look at me. “You don’t know what?”
“I . . .”
“You believe him.”
“I don’t know. Maybe . . . he seemed sincere.”
“You’re being pretty fucking gullible, Alex. First, you believed that little twink, when he never did anything but lie to you. And now you’re believing Nathan.”
“Don’t get mad at me,” I said. “It’s just a feeling.”
“Well, your feeling is wrong. Who else, Alex? Who else?”
Who else indeed? Who was in my life now that knew me then? Aaron came along long after Taylor was gone. It was so long ago. It was just me and Taylor. And Dinah. Dinah had been there. Dinah was still here, I hoped. I needed to fix that. I needed to apologize.
“Maybe Dinah would have an idea. She was there when he died.”
“Well, let’s call her and see.”
“I haven’t talked to her since her party. We . . . had a scene.”
“I know. But you still haven’t fixed that? Alex, it’s been days. You and Dinah never go this long without talking.”
“I just haven’t had the strength.”
“What did she do? Just blame you for me leaving?”
“She called me a fag.”
“She didn’t!”
“She didn’t mean it. I know she didn’t mean it, but the shape I was in, it just hit me hard, and I lost it.”
“Well, just call her. You know she must feel as badly as you do.”
“I know. There’s just been so much happening since.”
“That’s part of your problem, Alex. You need to start dealing with things, not just letting them pile up. You let them take control of your head until they’re too big to face, and then you do stupid shit like get drunk or high.”
“I know. I’ll call her when we get home.”
“You’ll call her now.”
“Steven . . .”
“Call her, Alex. Call her and tell her we are on our way there.”
“What?”
“Some things are easier in person.”
“But—”
“Do it, Alex.”
I took out my phone and took a deep breath. He was right. He was always right. Infuriatingly and painfully right, but right. A text would be easier. A text would probably be all it would take.
“Call her. You’re not texting.”
“But—”
“Alex.”
I sighed, but dialed. It rang once, twice, three times.
“I’m sorry,” she said, in place of hello.
“I’m sorry,” I said, in place of hello.
“We’re good?”
“We’re good.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“How are you?”
“Not good.”
“What’s up?”
“Can we come over?”
“Who’s we?”
“Me and Steven.”
/> “You and Steven?”
“Me and Steven.”
“What’s going on, Alex?”
“Some things are better said in person. We’ll be there in about half an hour?”
“Should I be worried?”
“No. We just need to ask you something.”
“Of course come over. I have something to tell you, too.”
“See you soon then.” I hung up. “There. Better?”
“Good boy, Alex,” Steven said with a smile, and he squeezed my knee.
Chapter 34
Everyone I knew lived in the gayborhood. Most were in condos high in the sky, overlooking the city, far removed from the homeless and the traffic and the ugly streets. Not Steven. He had his cute little house on his quaint little street. And not Dinah. At first, she too had lived in a condo in the clouds, but she and Christopher had moved out to the suburbs, where all straight couples eventually ended up. In a cul-de-sac even! It was all very Knots Landing.
We pulled up outside, but as I opened the door, Steven grabbed my arm and pulled me back in.
“What . . .”
He kissed me briefly, too briefly. And then pulled away.
“Why?”
“It felt like the thing to do. You’re doing good.” He looked at me. “You are doing good, right?”
“You’re here, I’m doing great.” I smiled. He smiled. “Let’s go talk to Dinah.”
We walked up the sidewalk to their door, past the chain-link that served as a replacement for white-picket fencing, past the lawn gnomes sitting there in the dirt waiting for flowers. I loved her, but damn, the girl could be tacky. Lawn gnomes, Dinah? Really? We had barely rung the bell before she bounded out of the door into my arms. Lawn gnomes or no, I did love her.
“Come in, come in, come in,” she said, “Christopher is at work but come in.” She ushered us into the living room, which was simple but comfortable. “Can I get you guys something to drink?”
“Not gonna lie,” Steven said, “I’d love a gin.”
“Sure. You too, Alex?”
“No. Just a water for me.”
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