Destiny (Waiting for Forever)

by Mayfield, Jamie

  “God, you’re a mess,” Alex said as he tried and failed to lift me from the floor. “I need some help here unless you want me to call Mike and Brian to come get you into bed.”

  “Screw that,” I said and brushed his hand away, trying not to fall over in the process. It took me a while, but finally, I got the lid down on the toilet and sat on it, resting my cheek on the cool tile of the sink. Alex took one of the washcloths from the rack and wet it before handing it to me to wipe my face. In the light, he looked tired and drawn. My stomach churned again with a mixture of alcohol and guilt.

  “Come on; let’s get you into bed. Talking to you is going to be useless tonight anyway.” He sighed and half carried me to my bed. I sprawled on my back and looked down to see Alex taking off my shorts, and my chest ached that it wasn’t Brian. My head swam as he covered me up with a blanket, and all I could smell was vomit and booze. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Alex kissed me on the forehead, and I must have fallen asleep before he got into bed because I didn’t even notice him turning off the light.

  THE wakeup call I’d requested exploded through the room with the force of a jackhammer when I woke up. My head pounded in time with some imaginary drum, my eyes were glued shut, and my mouth tasted like the floor of a cab. It was worse than waking up after a night of coked-out sex.

  When I put the phone back into the cradle, I looked over at Alex, who mumbled something and then rolled over and went back to sleep. Good, no conversation meant no awkward questions. I didn’t even shower. I just grabbed my shit, threw it into my bag, and picked up a cab to the airport. Because Nick had booked at the last minute, he could only get one or two seats on different flights. My flight went out first, and while I hadn’t been happy about that when he told me, now I was thrilled to be taxiing down the runway at eight in the morning.

  I slept for most of the return flight. I couldn’t say I felt better when we landed, but I felt more human. Even after the plane stopped and the doors opened, I sat in my seat and told myself I needed to stand up. The rest of the passengers were already getting off the plane, so why didn’t my legs work? Oh yes, because my legs would be carrying me to Steven. Finally, when I saw a lull in people coming down the aisle, I stood and stretched. My carry-on seemed to weigh a ton as I pulled it from the overhead compartment. I felt worn out and defeated.

  He waited for me just outside the security checkpoint with open arms. As lonely and rejected as I felt, those arms made me feel welcome.

  “God, I missed you,” he murmured into my neck as he held me in the middle of the open area. Surrounded by coffee vendors and magazine stands, Steven showed his love for me with tender kisses and giant bear hugs. I had to admit it felt good, and I tried to remember why I had run away from it. With Steven, I had stability, affection, and consistency. Sometimes he treated me like shit, but I usually knew when to expect it. I could avoid it if I just did what I was supposed to do. He’d never break my heart, not like Brian did, because I didn’t have that kind of emotion invested in our relationship.

  “Let’s go home,” I whispered. I’d never considered Steven’s place home before that moment. Probably because I’d always had hope that one day I’d find a way out, find a way back to Brian. That hope was gone.

  The apartment looked the same, more of the unyielding consistency I needed in my life. I set my bag in the bedroom—our bedroom—and found the chain still wrapped in tissue paper in a side pocket.

  “I found this for you in a little shop in the French Quarter,” I said quietly, handing him the delicate silver chain. “I liked the colors in the silver. I thought it would look good on you.” Just the idea that I had missed him, that I had thought about him enough to buy him a gift, made his face light up. Taking a deep breath, I stepped closer to him and put the chain around his neck. Wrapping my arms around him, I clasped it in place and then kissed him. It was rare in our relationship when I initiated sexual contact with him. Usually, I dreaded it, but after Brian’s betrayal, I craved it. I needed to feel loved and wanted because my soul felt empty.

  He lifted me easily, wrapping my legs around his waist, and carried me to bed.

  MY NEXT shoot with Hartley Entertainment didn’t take place until the following weekend. I hoped with everything in me that Brian wouldn’t be there. The week with Steven had been one of our best ever. It seemed he really had missed me while I was away, and he looked for a million little ways to show me. Maybe he could tell that I’d been hurt and wanted to make me happy. He bought me an e-book reader and a gift certificate that would buy more books than I could read in six months. The expression on his face when I jumped into his lap and wrapped my arms around him, kissing him in thanks, was sheer joy.

  Throughout the week, we had dinner and curled up in front of the television together every night, something we’d never done before. Even though I still felt hollow, something had changed between us, and we both knew it. I’d given Steven the check from my shoot in New Orleans, and he rewarded me with a weeklong high. Losing myself in the sex and the drugs, I didn’t have to think about Brian or wonder who he was sleeping with.

  On Saturday, Steven dropped me off at the studio with a sweet kiss and the assurance he would be back in a little while. He needed to pick up some lumber for the building, and the lumberyard wasn’t far. I leaned over the center console in the truck and kissed him good-bye. He smiled as he kissed me back and promised to take me to dinner later. I got out of the truck feeling nice and high and went inside.

  I walked through the deserted living room, past an equally empty kitchen, and found a few guys on the back deck in bathing suits. It seemed we’d be shooting by the pool. No one had warned me to bring a suit, so Brandon threw me one of the extras, and I went to the upstairs bathroom to get dressed. I hadn’t seen Brian, Mike, or even Alex yet, and I felt like the dread was eating a hole through the lining of my stomach. It grew with every step I took through the house. I’d been so high and so insulated spending the week hiding with Steven that I hadn’t realized Alex hadn’t called to yell at me for leaving New Orleans without so much as a word to him.

  When I came back down, I saw the three of them sitting on the corner of the deck. None of them approached me or even made eye contact, and that was fine with me. I checked the schedule with Nick and learned I’d be shooting first on the north side of the pool. They would also have another scene going on the other side of the pool with Julio’s camera because Nick didn’t want to lose the light and they had a lot of shit to film. I was almost giddy when Nick told me I’d be doing a solo.

  “Okay, Dylan, there’s a dildo there and some silicone lube that won’t wash off in the water. Give us a second to get the camera rolling and then you can get started,” Nick said as he talked to Phil. Normally, Phil worked in editing, but Nick had him on camera work. I noticed Nick was giving the models a shot with camera work and editing more and more lately and wondered if that was something I could get into. I’d love to work on the other side of the camera for a change.

  But, for the moment, I smiled and began to rub the front of my crotch for the camera.

  UP IN the green room, I had just dropped my wet bathing suit onto the towel I had used to dry off when the door banged open. I saw Mike, who was also wet, storm into the room. He had a towel in one hand and his clothes in the other. I didn’t even bother covering up. They saw me naked all the time; it really made no difference.

  “Mind if I change in here? No? Great, because I have a few things to say to you,” he spat at me and jerked down his suit, leaving it to drop on the carpet. I couldn’t say I was surprised. Mike’s devotion to Brian showed in everything they did together, so I had half expected a tantrum from him.

  “I know you’re not going to leave until you get whatever it is off your chest, so spit it out,” I countered and faced him with my arms folded across my chest. His face flushed and he looked furious. For a moment, I thought he might hit me. Instead, he got right up in my face.

&nbs
p; “What the hell is your problem? I have never seen anyone love someone the way Brian loves you. Some of us would kill for that kind of love, but you take every opportunity to punish him for it!” His voice was low and scathing. Close enough to me that I could feel his breath on my damp skin, he didn’t give an inch.

  “Really? He loves me? That’s why he was sleeping with you and with Emilio, and probably bending over for anyone else that came along?” I cried, feeling my heart shatter all over again. He pushed me then, losing all measure of control at the accusation that Brian was a slut. We landed on the nearby bed, wrestling, each of us trying to get the upper hand, but we were evenly matched.

  “You bastard!” he yelled and finally succeeded in pinning my arms. “The second he saw you that very first day, everything stopped. It tore at him that he’d ever touched us at all, but we were trying to get him to live, you selfish prick.” He panted and adjusted his hold on me. It looked as if he tried and failed to calm himself before he continued. “You told him, in that letter he still carries around with him, that you wanted him to get on with his life. Then, what? You’re going to judge him, crucify him for it? Let me remind you, Mr. Perfect, that you screw other guys too, lots of them!”

  “I don’t have any other choice! I’d get my head busted in if I didn’t!” I challenged.

  “And that makes it better? He gave up everything for you! He walked away from a full scholarship and got on a bus. He worked his ass off every single day trying to find you. He searched homeless shelters and talked to everyone he could who might be able to help. Those first few months, he was like an empty shell, and it broke my heart to watch. So, yeah, we cared about him, and we took him to bed. San Diego is a big city. He might never have found you, and then what? He should have just gone without love or affection for the rest of his life? He even gave up his dignity to stay in porn just to be close to you, you selfish—” He sucked in a breath and shook his head, the fury beginning to drain from his face. “Never mind… you know what? I’m done with you.” He started to move to his side so he could get off the bed when the door opened.

  “What the hell is going on?” Steven’s voice, shocked and angry, filled the room where I was laying naked under another guy with no cameras in sight. Fear such as I had never known consumed every part of me, and I froze. Mike, however, jumped off me and off the bed. It might as well have been on fire. With a useless and foolish bravado, he stood his ground as Steven stomped into the room.

  “You little whore! This is what you do when I’m not around?” Steven yelled, and I watched as the rage consumed him. His face flushed, his eyes flashed, and his hands balled into fists. I had no doubt those fists would soon come at me. With the way our relationship had changed in the last week, he must have felt the betrayal cut even deeper.

  I felt guilty that Mike would have to face Steven’s wrath because he wanted to defend Brian. No matter how pissed I was at Mike, he didn’t deserve to get the crap beat out of him for sex he didn’t even have. I didn’t dare move or even look at him, because if I did, it would be worse for both of us. Trying to defend Mike would be the very worst thing I could do right then. I curled up into a ball against the headboard as Steven advanced.

  Before he had taken more than three steps toward the bed, loud footsteps came charging up the stairs outside the door. It didn’t sound like just one set, either. That sound made me move, and I rolled off the bed onto my feet. Still naked, I backed up against the wall and waited. Alex came through the door first, skirting around Steven to stand directly in front of Mike. If our nudity surprised Alex, he didn’t show it. Behind him were Emilio and Brandon—and Brian, who stood between Mike and me. Steven stopped and looked at the wall of guys now standing between him and his intended target. Brandon handed Mike the clothes he’d dropped during our argument, and Steven picked up my clothes. For several long seconds, as he bent to scoop them off the floor, his eyes never left mine and his face was full of hatred.

  When he straightened, he squared his shoulders with a scowl.

  Several tense minutes passed while Steven glared at Mike, surrounded by friends. A big man, Steven could have taken on two or three of them and come out okay, but not five. His hands twitched as if he wanted to try anyway. Mike finished dressing quickly while I remained painfully naked and hunched against the wall.

  More footsteps on the stairs brought Nick and Julio into the room.

  Rather than speaking right away, Nick surveyed the room with detached interest. For a new arrival, the standoff between Steven and the rest of Nick’s crew was evident. I was sure the only real questions were what had started it and why I was naked. Apparently, those things could wait.

  “You need to leave. I’ll call you during the week with his schedule, but before this gets out of hand, you need to go,” Nick told Steven. The authority and hint of menace in his voice were unmistakable. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that Steven was the catalyst to the fight because real trouble in the house usually involved him. Steven looked around the room one final time, probably trying to assess his chances of getting at Mike, before he threw my clothes at me with as much force as he could. The shirt billowed, but the jean shorts came much faster. A metal button struck me near the eye when I didn’t catch them fast enough.

  “Get dressed, you little whore.” Every word was a hint of the pain I would feel later, once we were alone and no one stood to help me. Not bothering with the briefs that had landed a foot in front of me, I hurried to get my shorts on. Brian bent down, picked up my shirt, and held it out to me.

  “You don’t have to go with him,” he said tenderly. I took the shirt slowly and looked at him. “We can take care of you. We can protect you, Jamie. Just stay here with us.” His voice sounded calm, as if he tried to soothe a frightened animal. He was such a better man than I was. God, he deserved someone who would make him happy, not me hurting him over and over.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Steven warned, and my eyes shifted to him instead. I knew about the gun he kept in the nightstand. I’d seen it from the wrong end of the barrel a few times as he threatened me with it. If I stayed with Brian, there would be nothing to stop Steven, to distract him from going home to get it.

  Trying not to look at Brian’s desperate, frightened face, I threw my shirt on and followed Steven out the door.

  Twenty-Five

  THE pain in my head woke me up, and I realized I was freezing. A violent shiver rolled through my body, making my head throb. I tried to move my hands, but something wet and soft made them slide. My head spun, and for several long, terrifying minutes, I had no idea where I was. The smell of tomato and garlic confused me further, and I took the chance to open my eyes. When they finally adjusted to the low light, I realized that I was on the kitchen floor.

  Oh… right, the lasagna.

  For the three days since the standoff in the studio, I’d been on lockdown. I could not leave the apartment or talk on the phone to Alex, who had called over a dozen times. I could do absolutely nothing that would give Steven any reason to worry about me screwing around. Being unable to leave the apartment meant I also couldn’t go to the market, leading to the fight last night. We’d been out of spaghetti sauce, so I’d tried to use tomato sauce and different Italian herbs to make it taste right.

  It ended up tasting like shit, which is what Steven had been screaming at me when he threw the plate of lasagna, fresh from the oven, at me across the table. I hadn’t been wearing a shirt, and the hot sauce and melted cheese burned my stomach on impact. Standing quickly with a scream, I tried to make it to the sink to wash it off, but Steven got to me first and, really, that was the last thing I remembered.

  Turning my head slightly, I saw the time on the microwave: 11:42 p.m. Even that small movement brought blinding pain to my head, neck, and arms. A sharp, stabbing pain in my back stopped me from rolling over. Reaching behind me to pull the broken shard of a dinner plate from my skin, I sat up slowly and looked at the fragment of stoneware. Bloo
d and tomato sauce stained the white surface, making a grotesque red collage.

  As the room gradually came into focus, I panicked at the mess. Broken dishes and food littered the floor and countertops. The table lay turned on its side, leaving wine and debris in its place. My legs and back ached from lying on the floor for the last several hours, my abdomen stung from the burn, and my face throbbed. One eye was swollen almost closed, and I could taste blood on my lip. None of that mattered as I crawled over to the small closet that held the broom and dustpan. I needed to get it cleaned up before Steven woke up. I moved as quickly and quietly as I could, straining to set the table upright without letting it bang against the wall. I set the dustpan deep in the garbage can to prevent the clatter made by pieces of the plates as they hit each other. My back screamed as I scrubbed the red mess from every nick and groove in the pattern on the tile. A piece of rogue glass got caught in my sock, cutting my heel as I swiped my feet across the floor to make sure I’d found every sliver of the broken wine bottle. Finally, knowing Steven would be even angrier if I left the apartment, I double bagged the garbage and set it in the small closet where we kept the broom so I could beg him tomorrow to take it to the chute.

  The sun had just started to rise when I finally collapsed on the couch, which had become my new bed.

  THE pain of the hot water hitting my skin was so intense I nearly skipped the shower. Crusted tomato sauce, grime, blood, and sweat forced me to continue. I tried to shield my abdomen as much as I could from the water, but if I didn’t clean the burn and the open cuts on my arms and back, they could become infected. Even if I had health insurance or money for a doctor, I was sure Steven would never let me out of the house. The only thing helping me through the pain was knowing that once I had dried off after the shower, I’d dig into my hidden stash and make the pain go away for a little while. I’d nearly emptied the tiny stash since Steven had brought me home from the studio in a towering rage. Each line I snorted, each pill I took, dulled the pain a little bit more, and it became harder and harder to just stop with two or three. I welcomed the escape from the physical pain, but even more, it helped me escape the scathing words Mike had screamed at me that day, the accusation in his voice.