Gay Fiction, Volume 1

by Mel Bossa

In his bed.

  “Don’t squirm so much.”

  In that parallel universe disguised as a loft on Du Port Street.

  “It tickles.”

  “Be still.”

  Nick’s mouth, softer than cashmere, moved across my stomach. His eyes, like two giant Ulysses butterflies, fluttered above my skin, spying on me. “Feels nice, no?”

  I closed my eyes. “Yes.”

  Nick says sex breathes and lives at the edges of our erogenous zones, and he was demonstrating the power of his theory. When his lips skimmed my inner thigh, I let out a small groan.

  “No,” he whispered, “no sounds.”

  Silence is key.

  One must hear every heartbeat, every breath.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  Nick flashed a smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “You’re not ready.” He stretched out next to me, nestling his face into the fold of neck. “You’re still too grounded in what your cock wants.”

  I laughed. “Oh yeah?”

  He kissed my ear. “Yeah.” His fingers folded themselves around mine. “I don’t know, something feels tense in there.” He gently pushed his finger into my stomach.

  My body stiffened against my will. “Sorry,” I said weakly.

  “Would you stop apologizing? It’s nasty for your health.”

  I smiled against his silky hair and held his fingers more strongly.

  Nick pulled away a little, glancing over at me. “I’m serious, O’Reilly.”

  The smile faded from my lips. “Sor—” I stopped.

  “Look at me.” Nick’s eyes burnt my face. His blue stare leafed through the most hidden pages of my heart. He squinted.“Why did you beat yourself up that day?”

  I nibbled on my lip.

  “Why?” he insisted, looking around the bed as if he could find the culprit, hiding somewhere near.

  I shrugged. “Doesn’t ma-matter.”

  “Don’t say that.” He sat up, stealing the warmth off my skin.

  “Please, Nick. I wanna leave it alone. It feels so much better when I leave it alone.”

  Nick fell back on the pillow and turned his piercing eyes to me. “I’ve been thinking about you and all my fucking sauces have been splitting. O’Reilly, everything you don’t say speaks to something gentle in me. Something I thought I’d choked.”

  I wrapped myself around his beautiful chest, remembering what it had felt like to wake up with my head on his lap, and the winter sky rolling pass my eyes. “Nathan wants me to go to Milan with him.”

  “Of course.” Nick’s fingers curled around a strand of my hair and he lifted it to the pale light filtering through the room. “O’Reilly,” he murmured. “He’d be fuckin’ crazy not to want you there. Every day. Every night.” Against my arm, his heart thumped. “He’d be stupid not to want to wake up to your wicked green eyes. Those eyes that make him feel like he’s paid his dues. Like he’s finally finished with living off God’s fucking redemption crumbs.”

  I held my breath.

  Nick tensed. “Are you gonna go?”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “Well? Are you?”

  I chewed on my lip.

  “O’Reilly. Hello? You’re gonna marry Nathan and go to fuckin’ Milan? You’re gonna play boy toy, maybe let the jerk dress you up and take you out to see a show when he isn’t too busy tappin’ every loose ass in Italy?”

  When Nick makes a point, it makes a hole in the paper.

  My pulse flew into a rage. “No, Nick. I won’t go. I won’t marry him, because I love—”

  “Don’t, O’Reilly. Not now. Don’t say it now.” Nick’s eyes darkened. “Not right now.”

  “But I—”

  “Look, I need to take care of something. Something important. I’m gonna be out of town for a few days.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just kiss me.” His heart had begun pounding. “You gotta bear with me, O’Reilly. Can you bear with me?”

  Bear with him?

  If Nick would ask me to meet him on the other side of an erupting volcano, and I had just been decapitated, my body would still find a way to his.

  “O’Reilly,” he murmured into my hair. “Don’t go to Milan. Please. I’ll make it worth your while. But you gotta gimme some time. This is big.”

  *

  Like glass, Nathan’s fragile idealism has shattered.

  I spend my days sweeping up the broken pieces, yet I sense that I’ve neglected one, and its ragged edge will soon slice my skin.

  “You were in there for thirty minutes.”

  Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the washroom.

  I sit on the toilet lid and watch the wall.

  “What were you doing in there anyway?”

  Nathan’s moue of disdain snatched a chuckle out of me.

  “What’s so funny?”

  My eyes strayed to the television.

  “Derek?”

  It was golf. Again.

  “Babe, do you know where my Raffaello shirt is?”

  I can’t glimpse Nathan’s love for me through the thickness of our faults.

  “So, are we going to Oliver’s on Christmas Eve or not?”

  Oliver?

  Is he a friend of ours, or a restaurant?

  “Derek, I told my mother we would drive up to the cabin on the twenty-sixth. Should I cancel the holidays?”

  The holidays can probably do without us.

  “Der, if you don’t talk to me in the next two minutes, I’m gonna put my fist through a wall.”

  If I could get a refund on my thoughts, I would gladly turn them in.

  “I live with an apparition. You know that, don’t you? I fuck a ghost.”

  “Hanging on the doorknob.”

  “What?”

  “Your shirt.”

  Nathan’s eyes swept my face. His features hardened. “The bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  He hesitated, watching me suspiciously, and slowly walked backward to our bedroom.

  My attention strayed to the sky. Crimson clouds streaked the horizon.

  Nick.

  My beautiful wreck.

  “Found it.” Nathan’s cold lips wet my cheek. “Can we look at the Hotel Saint-James pamphlet—”

  “Nathan—”

  “Der, I know you’re feeling overwhelmed with your auntie.”

  “Nathan. I want you to look at me.” I sat on the couch with my back to the world outside our window and my face turned upward to the man I have been kissing, holding, and sucking off for the last two years. “Please.”

  Nathan’s eyebrows met. He smiled, but his arms had folded over his chest. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you see me?”

  “Derek.”

  “Nathan.”

  He sat by me and sighed. “Are you having a nervous breakdown?”

  Where have all the shades of gray gone?

  “I don’t want to get married, Nate. I don’t want to be—”

  “Sadistic?”

  “I’m sor-sorry—”

  “No, Derek. You’re a haunted house. That’s what you are.” His gaze drifted for a moment. “You know, sometimes when I’ve been chasing a deal down for too long, I get sick of the sale. The fresh ink on the contract reminds me of what I could have been doing with my goddamn days.”

  “Nathan, I need to be on my own.”

  His dark eyes set themselves on my mouth. “Oh God, I’m obsessed with you.”

  “I know.”

  He hid his hands in his face. “Fuck.”

  I reached out.

  He flinched, then rose. “We’re not breaking up yet. No one splits over a trip to Milan.”

  *

  Francine St-Jacques went slowly, as though creeping to a strange, open door.

  “It’s over.” Johan’s hand rested on my shoulder. “She’s gone.”

  Mom’s whimpering caused my jaw to harden.

  “Leave me.” I slapped Johan’s h
and off my shoulder. My fists clenched. “Go.”

  Their quiet footsteps unnerved me.

  I waited, staring into the one face that has known me.

  Me.

  The authentic me.

  The boy.

  The man.

  I watched her lips, praying for one final word out of them.

  I stayed by her side, until I could smell the end on her.

  When I stepped out of her room, I found everyone waiting.

  Nathan took a shy step toward me. “Derek—”

  I flinched. “Go home.”

  He shrank back and retreated to the corner of the lobby. I watched him hesitate by the door, as if he might actually listen to me, but he sat in one of the lobby chairs instead.

  Why would he start considering any of my needs now?

  “Derek—” Boone reached out for me. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you he-here? Huh?” My voice cracked. “Why are any of you here?”

  “Stop it, Derek,” cried Lene. “We all loved her too.”

  “Yeah?” I mocked, feeling the rage course through me. “Where the fuck were you all these years, huh? Huh, Lene? You and your perfect fuck-fucking family. You and-and your—”

  “Derek, calm down.” Johan’s voice boomed through the empty lobby. “Let’s get you home.”

  “Home? Ho-home?” I grabbed my head. “Don’t you get it! She was my home! She was the-the only one who ca-cared—”

  “Derek! Enough!” Mom had grabbed my arm and was trying to wrap her hypocrite arms around me, but I jerked myself away from her phony embrace and threw my finger up in her face. “You!”

  Yellow breath.

  Empty mornings of muted cartoons.

  Silent threats of abandonment.

  “You don’t touch-touch me-me!”

  Dad’s palm whipped the air out of my throat. The strike caused me to tumble back, then, before Johan could restrain me, I had lunged at Dad, shoving him into the wall, shouting until my vision blurred. “Fuck you!” The anger burned my throat. “Go fuck you-yourself!” I beat his chest, slamming my fist down into him. “I ha-hate you, I fucking ha-hate you.”

  Dad’s eyes stared blankly as I pummeled his chest.

  Johan and Boone’s hands tore at me, trying to pull me off him.

  Then Nick’s voice shot my fury dead. “O’Reilly.”

  He had come.

  Nick had come for me.

  My muscles loosened.

  My fists opened.

  Boone’s arms circled my shoulders. “Easy now. Easy.” He then turned to Nick with surprise in his eyes. “Take him, please. Get him outta here.”

  Nathan hurried to me and intercepted Nick, forcing himself between us. “I got it, thank you.” He then turned to me. “Come on, baby, it’s okay. Let’s go downstairs and get you some water.”

  I shook all over. My teeth clattered. I could barely hold my own weight. “Nick,” I managed to plead. “Nick.”

  Nathan’s eyes flicked to Nick’s face, then back to mine. “Derek—”

  “Nick,” I said more forcefully.

  “You’re Nick?” Nathan’s question carried all of the answers.

  Boone coughed.

  Lene seemed to hold her breath.

  Johan shifted, reaching out for Nick’s arm. “Be still,” he whispered to him. “Be still, Nicolai.”

  Nick stared Nathan down, and nodded quietly. “That’s right.” His gaze blazed with defiance.

  Nathan stiffened, but held on to my limp hand. “Okay. Well, whatever. I’m Nathan, and I’m taking him home. So you mind?” He pulled me near.

  I resisted. “Nick,” I said again.

  “Derek, let Nathan take you home. No more trouble from you, please. Nicolai, go find some coffee for John.”

  My legs felt stronger. “Nick, please.”

  Nick’s eyes roamed over my face. He rubbed his chin, exhaling a long, hard breath.

  “Nicolai.” Johan’s tone was authoritative. “No. Go find the coffee. Now.”

  Nick didn’t move.

  We stood, face-to-face, with Nathan fidgeting at our side. “Der, what’s going on here?”

  “I’m not going home with you, Nathan.” My voice was quiet. I held Nick’s cold blue stare.

  “Derek, now is not the time to cause a scene, son.”

  But I didn’t heed Johan’s careful words.

  I took another step in Nick’s direction.

  Finally, Nick set his fingers on my hand. “Come,” he murmured. “Come with me, O’Reilly.”

  Nathan slapped his hand off mine. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Get your hands off him—”

  “Nathan,” warned Boone. “You don’t wanna do that.”

  Nick flinched. His jaw tightened, and I witnessed the violence rising inside him.

  I remembered the rumors that had been whispered about him, a long time ago, and reached out for his hand again. “Don’t, Nick. Let’s go, plea-ease.”

  “You’re gonna walk away like this?” Nathan’s face was twisted with indignation.

  Not hurt, or loss.

  Indignation.

  As if I were a prize he had won, only to find out I was broken.

  “You’re gonna end us like this?”

  Gently, Nick’s hand drew me close to his chest, binding me to him.

  At last, I was in his arms.

  Johan sighed. “All right. Go, you two.” He slowly shook his head at Nick. “I miss you. My Nicolai.” His kind eyes twinkled with tears. “We miss you. We need to see you, Nicolai. So much more.”

  Helga extended her long fingers, but never touched her stubborn son. “Come by sometime. Our door is open.”

  “Maybe I will,” was Nick’s only reply.

  I let him escort me down the hall, and didn’t turn back once.

  Nathan never even chased me.

  I suppose a closer knows when the deal has soured.

  As Nick and I passed through the cancer ward’s final door, Aunt Frannie’s last words forced my drowsy inner eye to open.

  “Keep staring, hon. And don’t you dare blink, baby. Don’t you dare.”

  I squeezed Nick’s hand.

  Chapter Nine

  November is here, and with it comes the end of many things.

  Beginnings come too. No matter how slowly they seem to crawl, when I would like them to sprint, they are still promises of something new.

  Let me knock you out of your dancing shoes.

  I live with Lene Lund. In her one-bedroom apartment in the Mile-End district. And no, she hasn’t ravished me yet. Of course, this living arrangement, as pleasant as it is, is only temporary. I’m looking for an apartment.

  And…a job.

  Three days after Aunt Fran’s funeral, I handed my resignation to Mr. Goldman, who, only a few weeks before, had praised me for my “quiet leadership.” He called me Eric through the whole private meeting; it was very anticlimactic.

  Jake spotted me emptying my desk. “Where you going, man?”

  “Quit.”

  His face turned a vibrant shade of red, and he rubbed his dark hair back, then jumped up and down as if his team had won the cup. Jake’s arms stretched above his head in sign of victory. “Oh yes, my man! You fucking rock! Oh yes! Give it to the man! Up his ass!”

  I chuckled.

  It took a little convincing on my part to keep Jake from feeding his tie to the shredder and following me on my reckless whim. I’ll miss him, I think.

  Not sure.

  What I do know is that whatever Jake does, he’ll manage to screw it up fantastically, but will always be forgiven for it.

  I remember walking home that afternoon, carrying a box of useless things, feeling strangely calm. I had no money saved up. No other job waiting for me on the next Monday. The Ducati’s insurance was going to be up in less than two months, and I couldn’t afford half of it. I would have to store my sexy red toy in Boone’s dirt basement.

  When Nathan left (first class, Milan)
, I had exactly three days to “get my shit out” of his condo. Those last brittle days were terrible. I slept on the couch, with my eyes open for a few nights, scanning the darkness for a shiny blade. Thankfully, Nathan was too busy with transferring accounts, shipping furniture out, and tying up loose ends to stab me seventeen times in the throat.

  I wanted to drive him to the airport.

  “I have someone to drive me to the fucking airport, Derek,” he said.

  More like snarled.

  “I’m sorry,” I lied, thinking about the bellboy, whose name is Joaquim.

  They met in Toronto. Joaquim breeds dogs.

  I hope he enjoys sushi and dry fucks.

  “For what, Derek? You think you broke my heart?”

  I would like to think that I did, at least a tiny fragment of it.

  Nathan picked up his Delsey suitcase. “No, Derek,” he reminded me before stepping into another life, one I have been written out of. “You didn’t break my heart.” His dark eyes gleamed, and this time, I caught a wolf in them.

  Yes. A wolf.

  These last two years, I have been Red, prancing about, like some adolescent idiot, waiting for Nathan to swallow me whole in the name of mainstream love.

  “Derek, you didn’t. Okay? All you did was waste my goddamn time.” He shut the front door behind him.

  I stared at that door for a long time, and then spent the next five minutes hurling shoes at it.

  Lene showed up at my doorstep the very next day. “Our baby misses you.”

  *

  I moved in on a Tuesday.

  It took less than ten minutes. I had exactly two boxes, and that’s counting the one from the office.

  I thought I owned more. Every thing in my life was borrowed.

  Lene and I get along fabulously. I supposed we always did, in our own demented, asocial way. She works evenings; I lounge days.

  I walk around.

  Sit around.

  Pine around.

  Wait for Nick to call.

  Which he hasn’t.

  *

  Lene and I were eating nectarine and almond couscous in her eclectic kitchen this afternoon.

  That’s all she eats, really. That and chocolate chip cookies.

  “You could go into income taxes, you know, open your little office and do people’s taxes.”