by Drew Hunt
Despite Kevin’s protests, Joey had put his foot down and insisted on paying for the tree, its trimmings, as well as a set of white fairy lights. The two of them had had a fun evening the previous week decorating the thing. Once the tiny angel had been situated at the top of the 4-foot tree—a duty Joey insisted Kevin perform—Joey had pulled out a small flat box wrapped in Christmas paper from his coat pocket and laid it under the tree.
Picking up the box, Kevin—for the hundredth time that weekend—read the tag. “To my special pup on our first Christmas together.”
Pressing the shiny red-wrapped box to his chest, Kevin looked down at all the other gifts that lay around the tree. He’d delighted in watching as his big strong sir regressed into a little kid as he excitedly counted the boxes each time he’d come round, reading the labels on anything new that had shown up. Whenever he realised the new gift was for him, his face would light up. Kevin had bought more presents just to see that look on his sir’s face.
Hearing a knock at the door, Kevin’s heart fluttered, but he’d been disappointed too many times already that weekend when whoever had knocked or telephoned had turned out not to be Joey, that Kevin soon composed himself. Putting the gift back under the tree, giving it pride of place at the front, Kevin walked to his door and opened it.
Kevin’s heart leapt for joy when he saw Joey standing in the hallway. His sir had come for him, he hadn’t abandoned him, and he wasn’t lying in a hospital bed after being run over. Kevin’s spirits soon began to fall, however, when he looked closer at Joey’s face. The normally bright piercing green eyes were dull, lifeless, sunken. The dark circles and heavy bags told Kevin his sir hadn’t slept much during their separation. Joey didn’t look as though he’d shaved either.
“Um, can I come in for a minute?”
Kevin realised he’d been standing in the doorway staring at Joey, blocking his admittance. Kevin was disturbed by Joey’s quiet, almost defeated tone of voice. He moved aside and watched as Joey shuffled across the threshold. The man moved with slow deliberate steps, all the while keeping his head bowed. He walked to the centre of the room, looking at everything apart from Kevin.
Shifting uncomfortably at the continued silence, Kevin said, in a voice quavering with fear, “Sir?”
Joey seemed to wince at the word. “I…” Joey briefly looked over at Kevin, his hollow and lifeless eyes sending an icy pang of fear straight to Kevin’s heart. “I’ve got something I have to tell you.”
Kevin knew what Joey was about to say. To his surprise a detached, numb calmness began to wash over him. Hadn’t he prepared himself for this all weekend? In some ways he’d been expecting the axe to fall ever since they’d met. He’d always kept a tiny piece of his heart in reserve just for such an eventuality. Kevin knew it was this that was preventing him from breaking down into a blubbering uncoordinated mass of misery.
“We can’t…” Joey’s voice cracked. He paused to clear his throat. “I mean…I’m sorry, but we can’t be together.” He blinked rapidly.
Kevin was frozen in place.
“You see,” Joey continued, “it’s our Simon. Carole’s emigrating to Israel and the family want me to have him, and I can’t do that if I have a boyfriend. Mum wouldn’t, she…” Joey’s emotions prevented him from continuing.
Kevin managed to remain icily calm, despite his world collapsing around him. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on just keeping it together for a few more minutes.
“You have to understand…It was a horrible decision to have to make…This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done…It’s not that I don’t love you…I love you with everything I’ve got…I’ll always love you. I’m sorry…”
Kevin blocked out the rest of Joey’s words. He just wanted him to leave, to go and never come back. Reaching for his collar, Kevin loosened the buckle. He’d never taken it off before, apart from when he showered.
“No, please, Pup, no. Please keep it. Please!”
Kevin turned his dispassionate eyes to Joey, who looked close to collapse. Somewhere deep inside of himself, Kevin felt sorry for the man, but he had to keep up his walls to protect himself. Kevin pressed the folded strip of leather in Joey’s hand, closing the man’s fingers around it.
“It doesn’t mean anything anymore.”
“No, Pup, please.” Joey held the collar out to him.
Maintaining his flat monotone, Kevin carefully enunciated, “But I’m not your pup anymore.”
Joey lowered his arm and looked down at the collar in his hand. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”
“Please go. I…” Kevin felt his façade cracking.
“I…”
“Please, Joey, just go.”
Giving Kevin one last, long look, filled with helpless, heartrending sorrow, Joey averted his eyes, turned away and made for the door. Kevin wanted to watch him leave, but knew it would be too painful. Reaching for the edge of the table, Kevin leant against it. Keep it together, just for another minute, he told himself.
It seemed an eternity before the door opened, then closed, the noise of the lock clicking into place sounding like a gunshot in the otherwise silent room.
Kevin’s knees gave way, his iron grip on the table insufficient to hold him up. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he slumped to the floor, pulling the tablecloth, the brightly lit Christmas tree and all the presents along with him. The crushing agony of loss overwhelmed him. Embracing the pain, Kevin prayed it would carry him into the depths of blessed dark oblivion.
Chapter 16
Time ceased to have meaning for Kevin as he lay on his side, curled up against the wall, the Christmas tree pressed to his chest, the presents strewn around him. His anchor, his reason for living had left him. Abandoned him. Thrown him away. The once familiar spectres of insecurity, worthlessness and helplessness returned, haunting and crowding in on him.
Gradually becoming more aware of his surroundings, Kevin realised he was shivering; the room had become perishing cold. Reaching up to rub his eyes, Kevin’s fingertips brushed against the many dried tear tracks on his cheeks. Beneath his closed lids, his eyes felt red and inflamed; he didn’t think he’d ever cried as hard, as much or for as long.
Not really wanting to move, but deciding it probably would be best if he got away from the drafty window, Kevin opened his eyes and was momentarily dazed by the brightness from the overhead light. He tried to get to his feet to switch it off, but his legs refused to take his weight, causing him to collapse back to the floor. On hands and knees he moved across the room, his limbs cramping due to their long period of inactivity. Once the main light had been extinguished, the only source of illumination came from the overturned Christmas tree. Staring at it, Kevin couldn’t help thinking that the fallen tree was somehow symbolic. What a stupid fool he’d been to believe that someone like him could ever have been granted the privilege of celebrating Christmas with a special someone. How could he have been so stupid to think his fucked-up life would ever change? Suddenly finding his legs worked, he marched across the room and yanked the electric flex to the fairy lights out of the wall socket, plunging the room into total darkness. Pulling the window open, the sash complaining as it jolted its way upwards, Kevin hurled the tree into the night, watching the long strands of tinsel unfurl from the branches as the tree fell towards the flag-stoned courtyard.
Kevin’s anger remained unsatisfied. Pulling his head back inside, he groped around in the darkness for the pile of presents. Finding one, not caring who the intended recipient was, he flung it through the window to join the tree. He felt a small surge of satisfaction, a perverse pleasure in doing something unconventional, something that contradicted his usual nature. Finding another gift, Kevin dispatched it, too. He needed to expunge all traces of festive cheer from his room. Christmas would not be happening that year.
Kevin’s rush of adrenaline faded once the last of the gifts had been disposed of, leaving him drained and listless. Attempting to close the window against the frigid wind, K
evin cursed when the sash caught and refused to budge. Using the remainder of his dwindling strength, he tried to force the window closed. The recalcitrant frame gave out a final agonised squeak before crashing down, almost trapping his fingers. The impact resulted in the lower pane of glass cracking, but Kevin didn’t care.
Shivering violently, Kevin blew on his fingers in an effort to restore feeling. Groping his way towards the gas fire, he fumbled with the matchbox, trying to hold one of the small slivers of wood in his trembling fingers. After dropping several on the rug, he finally got a hold of one and struck it, the orange-yellow flame seeming especially bright in the dark room. Turning the control on the top of the fire, Kevin bent to apply the match. To his consternation the fire didn’t light. Blowing out the match, he tried to work out what was wrong. It took his brain a couple of moments to note that the familiar hiss of gas was absent. Checking that the control was indeed open, Kevin cursed, realising the credit on his gas meter must have run out. Throwing the box of matches to the floor in frustration, Kevin marched towards his bed and flung himself on top of the covers.
Despite his best efforts, sleep evaded him. He was repeatedly visited by images of the times he and Joey had spent together. Though Kevin had admired Joey from afar for many months, he’d never had the courage to speak with him about anything other than work-related matters. But then there was that evening in the car park when Joey had helped him up, carried him, taken him home and looked after him. Kevin didn’t want to remember, but was helpless to stop his mental film show.
Right from the start Joey had used his strength to protect rather than hurt, an enormous contrast to Cal. Kevin knew it was this above all else which made Joey completely irresistible. Kevin was fully aware how weak and needful he was, but Joey was always more than willing to be strong.
Rolling himself in the bedclothes, knowing they were a poor substitute for Joey’s arms, Kevin sat in the bed, steadily rocking himself backwards and forwards. A long wounded howl of total anguish rose from the core of his being and spilled from his lips, interrupted only by Kevin repeatedly whispering, “I wasn’t good enough.”
Kevin knew he’d reached rock bottom. He had relied upon Joey’s strength, Joey’s physical presence, Joey’s love, too much. Without these things, Kevin knew he wouldn’t be able to survive. It was just too painful, too lonely, too empty.
Sliding off the mattress, the quilt firmly wrapped round his body, Kevin groped in the icy darkness towards his kitchen, debating which method of suicide would be quickest and most effective. He soon rejected the idea of slitting his wrists; he didn’t think he had the courage. Also, he knew such an act would make a lot of mess, and he hated the thought of someone having to clean it up.
Remembering he had a bottle of painkillers on the top of the tall cupboard, Kevin pulled over his stool and climbed up. With relief, his fingers closed around the rectangular plastic bottle. Giving the container a shake, Kevin heard a satisfyingly heavy sound. The bottle was almost full.
Stepping off the stool, Kevin shuffled over to his armchair and sat down, pulling the covers tightly around him.
Now he’d found his solution, Kevin felt better. Could he actually go through with it? Though he’d previously contemplated suicide, he’d never actually gone this far. But then you’ve never felt this bad before, his inner voice told him.
His eyes now accustomed to the darkness, Kevin cast his gaze around the small room, looking even shabbier in the weak moonlight. He wouldn’t be sorry to see the back of it. He’d been stupid to think he could escape the grotty ill-kept room by going off to live some fairytale happy-ever-after existence with his sir. Real life didn’t have such storybook endings, not for the likes of him.
The calmness of earlier in the evening began to settle over him again. It’s odd, I thought I’d be a blubbering mess if it ever came to this, he mused. Kevin considered writing a note, but what could he say? I failed. Sorry I couldn’t do better?
Sliding the bottle of pills from under the blanket, Kevin looked dispassionately at the label. He’d been given the pills after one of Cal’s beatings. He’d told the bearded doctor he’d fallen down the stairs. It was the truth. The numerous bruises along his trunk had been caused by the stair treads banging into him as he fell, only he omitted to mention that he’d been pushed. Kevin couldn’t remember why he hadn’t swallowed the bottle of pills back then. It would have saved all this if I had.
Tipping the bottle’s contents into his palm, Kevin stared at the small white circles, knowing they’d soon take all the pain away.
Realising he didn’t have anything to wash the tablets down with, Kevin carefully emptied the pills back into the bottle and went to get a glass of water. “Half empty, not half full,” he observed mirthlessly as he stared down at the glass.
Returning to his chair, Kevin began to count out the pills, organising them in a line along the chair arm. As he worked, he couldn’t help thinking back upon some of the high points of his and Joey’s short time together. He’d had a bad dream that first night. Joey had rushed into the room and just held him, allowing him to cry on his shoulder. It was at that moment, with Joey silently giving of his strength, that Kevin’s sense of belonging, of safety and security had really begun. Joey’s embrace felt so safe, as if nothing could hurt him when those strong arms were wrapped round him.
Returning to the present, Kevin sniffed and gathered the quilt more tightly about him.
Ten, eleven, twelve. The line of tablets began to lengthen.
The images of Kevin riding on the back of Joey’s motorcycle began to populate his mind’s eye. Whenever he’d ridden pillion, Joey would never go too fast or take a corner too sharply. He used to tell Kevin he always took extra care when his ‘precious pup’ was with him. Kevin pursed his lips at the remembered phrase.
Twenty-one, twenty-two.
The times they made love. And it was love, right from the start. Joey was big, much bigger than Cal. Their techniques were so different. Cal would stick it in and just thrust away. Joey was always gentle, always patient, always kind. He was considerate, passionate and loving. A tear rolled down Kevin’s cheek as he realised that he would never experience being made love to again.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.
A quick shake of the bottle told Kevin there were still plenty of tablets left. How many would he need? He wasn’t sure. Fifty probably would suffice; it was a nice round number after all. Kevin was surprised at how dispassionately he was able to view what he was doing. He tried to examine why, but came to the conclusion it didn’t really matter. It just was as it was.
Thirty-one, thirty-two.
A deep warmth suffused Kevin’s veins when he recalled the day Joey asked him to be on top for the first time. Jesus, I never saw that one coming, he thought. Though he’d doubted he could fulfil the request, Kevin had concentrated on the overwhelming love he’d had for his man, and had found he could do it. Though he knew he had never wanted to be the dominant one in their relationship, he couldn’t deny the rush of protective emotions he’d felt while comforting Joey was incredibly heady. No wonder he enjoyed being the protector so much. However, when it came down to it, it hadn’t been enough. Joey had still abandoned him. Kevin found little comfort in Joey’s claim the previous evening that he still loved him.
Thirty-six, thirty-seven.
Raising his head to look out of the window, Kevin noticed the darkness was beginning to recede. He knew he couldn’t put things off any longer; the prospect of carrying his burden through another day was just too cruel to contemplate.
Forty-two, forty-three.
The sound of someone gently knocking on his door caused Kevin to lift his head to listen. For a split second he entertained the notion it was Joey come to tell him last night had been a mistake, and that he wanted him, he couldn’t live without him.
Exhaling the breath he’d been inadvertently holding, Kevin shook his head, dismissing his thoughts as wishful thinking. Whoever was
knocking would soon give up when they didn’t get an answer.
The line of pills along the chair arm continued to lengthen. Kevin had almost reached his target. The visitor at the door persisted. Kevin remained resolute, however, in his decision not to answer. Go away. no-one’s here, he thought.
“He’s probably left for work already.” Peter’s voice carried through the paper-thin plasterboard walls.
“Doubt it. He’ll not be in any state to go to work if yesterday afternoon is anything to go by,” Terry replied.
The knocking grew louder.
“You’ll wake the whole floor,” Terry hissed.
Kevin froze just before placing the penultimate pill on the chair arm. He was torn. He didn’t know if he wanted to face Peter and Terry, or would it be best if they just left him to get on with it?
“You brought the key?” Pete asked.
“Yeah, but…”
“Give it here then,” Pete said, beginning to sound agitated.
Kevin heard the scrape of the key as it slid into the keyhole. The decision over being saved or left to die had been taken out of his hands. Kevin remained in his seat, facing away from the door. He held his breath as he heard the lock click, followed by the squeak of the hinges as the door opened a crack.
“Kev, you there?” Peter asked.
A soft click, and the main light came on, followed by a further squeak of hinges.
“You’re here, we thought…” The rest of Peter’s words were halted by his gasp of surprise.
Kevin didn’t turn round. He couldn’t.
“Oh my God!” Peter exclaimed.