Tainted by Love

by Jones, Gillian

  “This’ll warm you up.” I give him the glass before stepping in and wrapping myself around his midsection, giving us both comfort in the moment—for him, it’s the warmth of my body; for me, it’s simply having him back inside to be with me.

  “Thanks, Fruitloop.” He takes a sip before dropping a kiss on my forehead. “You okay, baby?” he asks, walking us into the kitchen. He places the glass down on the butcher block counter, then moves to look me in the eye.

  “I’m all right. Just sad. I worry about Simon, and I miss her so much,” I shrug. “I really hope he takes us up on our invitation to dinner this week. I can’t imagine how lonely he’ll be. Maybe even a little bored,” I say, with a soft chuckle. “He’s been taking care of Andrea everyday. How do you suddenly just…stop?”

  The more time I’ve spent getting to know Simon, the more I’ve come to adore him. He’s turned out to be one of the most resilient and completely-in-love men I’ve ever seen. Once Andrea finally let Simon in and told him everything, nothing changed. Simon didn’t bat an eye. If anything, it was like the truth made him love her more. Kind of how I see Hendrix…pure acceptance.

  Backing me up until I’m parked on my stool again, Hendrix moves in behind me. He wraps his big warm arms around me and kisses my neck, silently telling me he’s here when I’m ready.

  “I love you,” he whispers, looking over my shoulder at my phone, open to my old text chats with Andrea, and also seeing my computer open to Facebook. Open to the Messenger window. I feel him stiffen slightly. Letting out a breath, I ask the question that’s been gnawing at me for the past week.

  “Will you read Blake’s message with me?” I ask, turning to see his reaction, despite already knowing he’ll say yes. He’s told me over and over again that he would be there whenever I was ready.

  “You know I will.” He kisses my cheek then stands tall, his palm automatically resting on its spot at the base of my neck, his thumb rubbing as he asks: “Where do you want to do this. Here? Or in bed? We could get all snuggled in the way you like. It’s starting to snow heavy again. Don’t think we’ll be going out anytime soon. It’s supposed to go all night…might as well get comfortable and relax?”

  “Let’s get in bed.” I finish off my second glass of wine, and grab the wine bottle and my laptop, leaving Hendrix to bring the glasses. “We’re going to need more alcohol for this,” I admit, and I hear a low chuckle. It isn’t lost on me that once again it’s storming outside, as it was the day I last messaged Blake. Thankfully, this time I’m not alone—and I’m happy.

  “Alright, baby. But we’re not going to let you get too sloppy. I know you’re upset, but we can’t mask the hurt. It’s better we talk.”

  “I know. I’ll just have one more glass, I promise. I’m gonna need it. You probably will, too.”

  “You’re right. I might need a couple after we do this,” he says honestly.

  “Thank you for doing this with me,” I say over my shoulder, stopping in the middle of the hall.

  “I’d do anything for you, Trin.”

  I know he would. Without a shred of doubt, I know to the marrow of my bones that this handsome, strong and somewhat bossy man absolutely would. That thought has tears starting. It seems like it took so long to get here, but I finally feel I’m getting my happily ever after.

  “God, I’m a mess—again,” I sniffle. “Maybe we should watch a little Netflix and fool around first?” I joke, trying to pick up the mood.

  “Whatever you need me to do, sweetheart, just say the word,” he says, walking close behind me with one hand on my hip as we move into my room.

  Once we’re settled in my king-size bed, I rest the laptop on a pillow on my lap as we cuddle side by side, blankets and quilts half-burying us.

  “I love you,” I say, reaching for Hendrix’s hand and intertwining mine with his.

  “Nowhere near as much as I love you, baby. C’mon, let’s get this over with. I want to snuggle with my girl the rest of the night.”

  “Sounds good.” I let out a deep breath and tap the trackpad, bringing the laptop back to life.

  “You sure you want to do this tonight?” he asks.

  And I want to say, “Hell, no, I don’t want to do this, today or any other day. But I need to make some changes to move forward, so I’m going to do it anyway.”

  However, I say nothing. I just sit quietly, my lips becoming grim.

  As long as Hendrix doesn’t change, I know everything will be okay.

  42

  Hendrix

  “You sure you want to do this tonight?” I ask, some reluctance in my voice, when she props open the laptop resting on the pillow. Grabbing the remote, I aim it at the docking station and fiddle with it until I find a good station. Soon the room fills with the sound of X-Ambassadors singing “Unsteady”, and I laugh a little, thinking how the lyrics reflect how we’re probably both feeling right now.

  Today was rough; more to the point, it was fucking hard for my girl, but she was nothing but the strong and resilient woman I’ve come to love. She puts on one hell of a brave front, that’s for damn sure. But privately, she’d pulled me into Simon’s kitchen at one point and took my arms and wrapped them around herself wordlessly, taking what comfort she needed from my touch. Honestly, though, I have to admit there were a few times when I felt sickened myself throughout the day. I couldn’t stop putting myself in Simon’s shoes. It was bloody awful; I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it must be—and is going to be—for him. There were a few times when I needed to leave to compose myself, unable to rid my thoughts of what it would be like losing Trinity this way. Before we left, I made sure Simon knew that he wasn’t alone, that both Trin and I were here for him and to call anytime, even if he only needed an ear.

  “It’s the closure I need. Andrea was right, I have to do this,” Trin assures me, inching in closer to me under the covers.

  “Alright, baby.” I put my arm around her. “You want me to read it, or are you okay to?” I ask, and a part of me hopes she’ll want me to read it to her. Like maybe if it came from me, in my voice, hearing what this asswipe had to say might not be as hard for her.

  “You’d do that?” she asks, sitting up, gripping the computer’s screen.

  “Of course I would,” I tell her, and see her nod before passing me her laptop.

  I open the Messenger section and see that there are only two chats, one with Shannon and the other with Blake.

  Opening Blake’s and Trinity’s chat, I take a deep breath as I scroll up to read the first message sent by Trinity over two years ago, in February. “I’m going to read what you wrote first, okay?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine,” she says. “I was really upset when I wrote it, I’m not even sure how I managed to type. I needed to know if it was Blake that gave it to me, if he even knew he had it, you know? Like, once I found out I was HIV-positive, I couldn’t get past the fact that Blake had never contacted me. I kept thinking, ‘maybe he didn’t know’? One of the first things I did was message the other men I’d dated, knowing I would need to contact everyone I’d had sex with after Blake. Luckily, it was only two.”

  “It’s ’cause he’s a coward, and you’re my brave girl.” I squeeze her close while she takes another big sip of her wine. Joining her, I take a gulp from my glass before putting both of our drinks down on the nightstand.

  “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be, I guess,” she huffs, sticking out her lower lip and blowing her bangs up in the air.

  “Before we do this, I want you to know, you’re pretty fucking incredible, Trin. Today’s been hard, and you’ve been a champ. I’m proud of you, baby.”

  “Thanks, I have the best support system around to keep me from crumbling. He’s pretty incredible, too,” she says, elbowing me, before slouching down to rest her head on my chest. Beast jumps on the bed and curls up between her knees, purring. “And you’re pretty incredible, too,” she tells him. He beams at her.

  I squeeze
her shoulder, clear my throat and start to read aloud:

  “Blake,

  Tell me you didn’t know.

  Tell me you didn’t know and that’s why you never contacted me.

  Tell me you didn’t cheat on me and risk my life without thought.

  Tell me you didn’t know you gave me HIV.

  Please.

  Tell me something.

  Trinity.”

  “That’s a lot nicer message than I would have sent, trust me,” I say honestly.

  “It took me hours to figure out what to say. I think I typed and deleted fifty messages. Part of me was hoping maybe I didn’t get it from him, but once the doctor’s words actually processed, I realized it had to be him. I’d never used drugs, had a transfusion, or had unprotected sex with anyone but him. Like idiots, we never used protection because he was my first…”

  I try to block out the last comments. The idea of another guy feeling what’s mine makes me go apeshit. I know it’s crazy, but I don’t give a shit. Trinity is mine and, regardless of her past, the thought of any other man with her makes me physically ache.

  Scanning down, I see the next message is dated the same day—but a few hours later—as Trinity’s message.

  “So, you never opened the reply?” I ask, wanting to clarify.

  “No, I didn’t. Look,” she says. Using the track pad, she hovers the cursor over the Messenger icon and a text box pops up to display the first line of any incoming messages. Huh, I never knew you could do that. Not that I Facebook much, anyway. I read:

  “I’m so sorry, Sunshine. I didn’t know…”

  “Wow. So, his reply’s really been sitting here all this time? You sure you want me to keep going? Ready for me to read it?” I ask, my eyes starting to scan the page, my heart rate accelerating as I see certain words jump out. I need to rein in my temper here, because I’m about to go ballistic and that’s the last thing Trinity needs.

  “Yes, go ahead,” she whispers, and I hate that she’s doing this to herself, although I understand why. All I know is that this guy better stay in Hong Kong because I just might kill him otherwise.

  “I’m so sorry, Sunshine. I didn’t know…I didn’t know how to tell you. First, I did cheat, but it was only a couple of times. I’m not even sure if it counts as cheating, we weren’t really exclusive. Please know I never thought this could happen. I just wasn’t thinking about consequences. I mean, who thinks about that stuff? It was when we were first dating. I was drunk. They didn’t mean anything. I barely knew most of them. I’ve just always hated condoms, so I never used them unless I was forced to. I thought I was clean. I never would have willingly hurt you. It’s not an excuse; I’m ashamed of my behaviour now that I look back on things. I was young and stupid; I was trying to find out who I was. I experimented with a lot back then: drugs, sex and whatever else I could find that would help me. I wanted to tell you many times, wanted to open up and share who I thought I was, and who I wanted to be for you. When I found out I was HIV-positive, I couldn’t bring myself to admit everything to you out loud, it would have been too complicated. I’m a coward. I fucked up everything, and for that I’m sorry. I never knew what to say to you then…to any of you, for that matter. I don’t know how or when I transmitted the disease, and for me that’s the scariest part. I’m not sure how long I’ve had it. There was a lot going on that I didn’t know how to tell you. And for that I’ll always be sorry. There will never be the right words, Sunshine.

  B.

  “Oh my God! Hendrix, I—I—I feel like I can’t catch my breath.” She sits up straight, her fingers clutching the duvet cover, her chest and shoulders heaving in time with her erratic breaths. Immediately, I toss the laptop aside and begin rubbing her back, whispering low, soothing sounds of comfort. She takes a deep breath and continues. “He—he knew. He knew and he didn’t tell me. I could have known sooner, could have been on medication sooner. How could he not have told me?” she yells, reaching for any available pillows and throwing them furiously across the room.

  Worried that it’s too much, I put myself in front of her so we’re face to face. I hate the hurt and confusion I see shining in her eyes.

  “You have every right to be mad. Let it all out, sweetheart,” I say, keeping my voice low and calm.

  “He ‘hated condoms’?” she screams, her fists clenched. She pounds both hands against the mattress. “He says it like it’s no big deal! It’s a huge fucking deal. Why did I think I was the first person he never used one with?” She shakes her head, tears pouring down her beautiful face. “Why was I so stupid? Oh, fuck, who’s to say that when he cheated he didn’t already have it? Oh my God!” She shakes off my hand, one that I was using to try and cover her fists, and slaps her hand over her mouth. Her breath hitches as she tries to inhale, and a tiny moan escapes. She begins to tremble. “Jesus, Hendrix, how many people has he slept with without protection since he got HIV? How many of us are there? I—I’m going to be sick…” she cries, sliding off the bed and rushing to the washroom. From the bed, I can see her lurching over the toilet as she empties the contents of her stomach.

  The need to break shit is all consuming, but instead of losing my mind, I head to the washroom right behind her and wait until she’s finished. Seeing her in pain, I slip in behind her on the floor. As soon as she feels me, she turns and wraps her arms and legs around me, anchoring herself to me, and she cries and cries. I just hold her, giving her the time she needs to let it all out, the pain from losing Andrea coupled with the hurt from reading Blake’s note.

  We sit in silence for what feels like hours. Suddenly, she looks up and says, “We’ll write him back. I have to. I need to give him a piece of my mind. He needs to hear from me, needs to know he’s not forgiven. Blake needs to know that it’s not alright, even if he’s sorry now. I needed him to have had a conscience years ago.” She sniffs into my neck.

  “Whatever you want, Trin.”

  With that, she nods, stands, moves to the sink and brushes her teeth, then washes her hands and face. She takes me by the hand and leads us back to the bed.

  Once positioned side by side in bed again, she sighs and says, “I feel better. Sorry. I guess I needed to let it all out; it suddenly hit me like a Mac truck. It’s been so long that I’ve wondered…to finally have it confirmed and it not being the answer I wanted…well, it was a shock,” she shares. We settle back into our little cocoon under the blankets after a few minutes of silence.

  “Don’t apologize, Trin. I can’t pretend to imagine what that was like. I know how I feel; I think you have every right to feel the way you do. I think a few meltdowns are allowed, and more than understandable.” I lean over and kiss her before opening the laptop again. “Do you want me to type?” I ask, but then realize there’s another message below. One sent a little more than a year after Blake’s first one. Shit.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, looking over at me, then at the computer’s screen. “Why did you stop talking?”

  Not sure I really want to tell her, I take my own set of shallow breaths before telling her.

  “There’s another message here. From just over a year ago.”

  “There is? What’s it say?” she asks, then moves in closer to look at the screen at the same time as me. We read the first line together.

  “Dearest Trinity, I hope you’re keeping well. It breaks my heart…”

  “…Oh, no. Oh, God. Hendrix…”

  I open the entire message and begin to read it aloud. Once I start, I don’t stop. It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid, better done quickly.

  “Dearest Trinity,

  I hope you’re keeping well. It breaks my heart to have to send you this message, especially through social media, and after Blake sent you that awful last message. First, I want to tell you that I’m truly sorry my son’s past mistakes affected your life so significantly. Our family always thought very highly of you and it pains me to know the hurt and heartbreak that Blake’s choices have caused you. Please k
now we’re always here for you if you ever need a thing.

  This past winter, Blake passed away. He was living in Hong Kong, with a friend he said he loved by his side. Kris informed us via email that Blake died from complications of the AIDS virus. From my understanding, Blake refused to seek medication or treatment. He felt he got what he deserved and essentially allowed himself to die. Another way to look at it is that my son committed suicide. This is the way I’ve been seeing it, and I’m beyond saddened that Blake chose that for himself, but I guess he never did make the best decisions or choices, did he?

  We didn’t even know he was sick until he died. It was a complete and utter shock to all of us. It was something we pieced together afterwards through Kris and our subsequent correspondence over email. I guess he decided to keep his illness private. Kris only contacted me via e-mail after I began leaving daily messages on Blake’s answering machine, asking where he was, after no-one had heard from him for months. Kris finally replied, but only to explain that Blake had fallen ill with some mysterious disease and wouldn’t be in contact for a while. Eventually, Kris messaged us again and asked if we wanted to come to Hong Kong to say our final goodbyes.

  Unfortunately, we never made it; Blake passed away before we could get there. He’d waited too long to ask Kris to let us know, and a part of me wonders if this was intentional. I know I wasn’t always the best mother to my son, but I did love him. I’m heartbroken to think that my own son felt he couldn’t talk to me. I would have tried, or at least I like to think I would have. Blake’s always been a bit wild and reckless, even as a child and early-teen, and I knew he’d been battling with some inner demons, but once he started dating you, we hoped maybe he’d figured himself out, that he was finally cured.

  I’m not sure if he figured things out in the end or not, but in my mind, at least, I imagine he might have, and that he passed away with a woman who loved him—and whom he loved—by his side. With this, I feel a peace I haven’t felt since he was dating you. I can finally allow myself to go back to church without the burden of wondering any longer. I’ve made it right in my heart.