Till Death

by Kol Anderson

  I looked into his eyes. “I’m just trying to make you feel good,” I said. “I want to feel good too, I want you to come.”

  I started stroking him but it wasn’t doing anything so I dropped next to his crotch and started going down on him. Then, I massaged his perineum, reached for his prostate so he would have no choice but to get hard and that’s exactly what happened. I was soon rewarded with an erection and I started using my mouth to pleasure him.

  He was young, full of cum because of being deprived for days and the tiniest effort made him shoot his load in my mouth.

  He was breathless.

  When I tried to kiss him, he was crying. Just looking at him, remembering everything that happened and the taste of him, I couldn’t stop from jerking myself off. I came pretty much as soon as he did. Everything was filthy. Fucked up. Everything. Including me. I wanted to wash the filthy off myself and him.

  I lifted him off the bed and he clung to me. I took him to the bathroom and set him down on the floor but he couldn’t manage it. He started to cry when he couldn’t do something that simple.

  I hugged him, hard, but trying not to hurt him. I supported him with one hand and used the other to clean him up and we stood under the shower. The cuts and scrapes must have burned and stung but Justin didn’t make any sound to show it.

  I looked at his face. It still hadn’t lost it’s innocence.

  “I’m sorry,” I said and took his face in my hands and kissed him. He didn’t protest that either.

  I finished cleaning him up and carried him back to the room and placed him gently on the bed.

  He was shivering. The whole ordeal had been too much. It would be a while before he could go back to being normal.

  But he wasn’t alone.

  I handed him a Xanax and he took it wordlessly.

  I dimmed the lights in the room and climbed into bed with him.

  I put my arm around the shivering boy until the tremors stopped. We were both so exhausted, sleep came easy.

  14

  "You know I'm the only one, Trent. I'll always be the one. You can’t get away from me. I’m your fate, I’m inevitable..."

  The room was empty and no sign of Justin anywhere. I started panicking. It was evening. I’d slept the whole day away, fuck.

  Justin.

  Oh god what did I do?

  I couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t have gone far with the beatings and everything. The truth is that I couldn’t picture him walking a single step without any help. He has no friends, no family, not even a pimp. He did have junkie friends, he told me that. But how do you find a bunch of junkies in the trenches of New York City and isolate them?

  I realized I didn’t know anything about him. I knew the important stuff but I guess trivial stuff was just as important, for instance where are your boyfriend’s junkie friends located.

  He ran.

  He left you, Trent.

  Why was I even going after him? He probably didn’t want anything to do with me. I deserved it. But he needed me. More than I needed him. He was my responsibility.

  I should have taken better care of him.

  I grabbed my keys and I was headed out the door, when my foot stepped on something that wasn’t a carpet. I bent to pick up a tiny Ziploc bag. It was empty. Everyone and their mother knows what people store in tiny Ziploc bags.

  Suddenly, I was more than worried. I was pissed. I remembered that there was a club next to the place I’d first met Justin in that weird encounter. Maybe I’d find him there.

  It was worth a shot.

  Or he wants you to stay gone. He doesn’t want to be found, not by you.

  I kept driving.

  You know you’re just going to be disappointed. He doesn’t want you. You’re a nut job, and you tried to fuck him up. And you did it just to get your rocks off.

  Why the fuck was I running into that many red lights? It was almost as if the universe was conspiring against us, trying to keep us apart.

  Or, there is no ‘us.’

  And the universe isn’t conspiring so much as trying to save you gas money.

  You do have gas money, don’t you...

  I slammed the brakes when I realized I passed that place ten minutes ago. I seriously need to find a way to shut my brain. This can’t be normal...

  But first things first.

  I had to do some more driving and I guess I was afraid to find him or not find him. Well, the only way out of this was through this, so I got out of the car and reached the club entrance.

  For some reason, the guy let me in.

  The club was nice enough and not overly crowded. It’s not like I hated crowds, it just wouldn’t the convenient if I wanted to find him.

  I didn’t want to ask around for him, that might raise suspicion but when after a long half hour I had no luck, I finally stopped a patron and asked him about Justin.

  The guy looked at me knowingly. It was awkward and strange. “If you get tired of Justin, we have others.”

  Great. So much for not raising suspicion. I smiled at him and tried again. “Look, I just need to talk.”

  He grinned. “He’s ‘talking’ to someone else at the moment,” he said. Maybe you’d be interested in a three way?”

  The thought of him being with another didn’t just break me, it pissed me off. “Where?”

  The guy pointed to the back rooms and disappeared. My heart was beating fast and my body temperature was scalding.

  I made my way through the heavily making out people crowding the place, to find a boy’s familiar face.

  I found more than a face.

  “Justin?” I was going crazy with anger. The guy who was with him, predicted danger and got out of the way.

  “What do you want, Trent?”

  I grabbed his arm and dragged him through the crowd and the loud music, so I could hear what he had to say. Standing outside the club, I gave him a chance to come clean. “Who was that guy?”

  “Who the fuck cares!” I noticed he was slurring his speech. I pulled him close and checked his eyes. His pupils were severely dilated.

  “You’re high.”

  “It was the only way I could take a single step. I was in pain.”

  “Okay, but why did you come here?” I said. “You know the kind of fucked up scenarios my brain was conjuring up? Someone could have...”

  “Raped and molested me?”

  “Justin, if you’re pissed at me then talk it out!”

  Justin went all morose. “I can’t trust you anymore, Trent.”

  The words hit me like a ton of bricks. I wanted to tell him that I saw him with that guy taking the same shit I’d told him to stay away from and I got pissed. But he was saying that he couldn’t trust me anymore. How do you recover from that?

  “Just tell me what you mean, please.”

  Justin held up a bottle of pills and I saw what they were. “Where’d you find them?” I asked but knew the answer wasn’t important.

  “In that stupid car of yours, I was looking for a pack of smokes in the glove box. That’s when I saw these.”

  “It’s just medicine.”

  “They give these to cancer patients, Trent! How dumb do you think I am?”

  He was angry.

  And it wasn’t because of some stupid reason, it was because of my illness.

  “Did he leave you because you’re dying?” Justin had tears in his eyes and his voice was all choked up.

  “He left me when we found out I had cancer.”

  Justin rolled his eyes. “What kind of an asshole does that.”

  “It’s okay. I’m over it.”

  “When were you going to tell me, Trent? Did you think I was going to leave you? Is that what you think I am?”

  How could I tell him that I’d all this before. How could I tell them that they all left. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

  He paused and tool a deep breath but he kept choking up. I couldn’t bear how much it was hurting him.
It was absurd, right?

  “How...uh...how long do you have?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  “ You must have some idea?”

  “I guess we could Google it.”

  “What? No! First thing tomorrow, we’re going to visit your oncologist and get a clear picture.”

  “Here’s the thing. I don’t actually have an oncologist, because I never actually went to the hospital after my tests came back.”

  Justin stared blankly at me. “Come again?”

  I knew he would be furious but there was no point lying to him anymore. “Justin, I just wanted to die. It was my decision. It might seem crazy to you, but I have my reasons.”

  He glowered at me. “You have your reasons?” he repeated my words in a sarcastic tone. “Big dumb idiot has his reasons people! Please keep walking and let him die!”

  I couldn’t believe how loud he was saying all this and people on the street were constantly looking at us. “You know what,” Justin said, taking out a Ziploc bag that wasn’t empty. He took out a bunch of pills and was about to ingest them when I grabbed the bag and pushed him away.

  “You’re not going to take any more of this crap, Justin!”

  “First: you really think that is my only stash? Second,” he showed me his middle finger. “Fuck you!!!!”

  “Justin can we go to the motel and talk about it?”

  “I’m done with you dumb motherfucker. I always think you know more than me but you end up being fucking stupid. I just want to be alone and happy and finish my pills in one night.”

  “I’m not going to let you go.”

  “So, let me get this straight: you have the right to keep me from killing myself. But I don’t have the same rights when it comes to your life?”

  I knew it was ridiculous. I didn’t know what to do. But that night Justin proved he had more wisdom than any of us world weary folks.

  “You’re telling me that in all the time you’ve been with me,” Justin said. “From the day you saved me to doing all kinds of freaky shit, you never once wanted to live? Because if that’s your answer then we have nothing to fight about. Then I’m already lost to you and you’re lost to me, Trent.”

  He was crying, the stupid little fuck and it hurt me. “Of course I wanted to live.”

  “Not getting treated for terminal illness isn’t living, Trent!”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Then help me understand.”

  “Justin, this isn’t easy for me,” I said. “I could try to find a treatment and end up dying anyway!”

  “Plenty of people live long fulfilling lives after cancer. It’s not a death sentence for fuck sake. It’s a disease go get treatment for it!”

  “You don’t… fuck Justin I don’t think I can get my point across.”

  We both quieted down and Justin came toward me and took my hands in his. “You think I don’t know you,” he said. “You think I can’t save you. You don’t trust me.”

  “Justin...”

  “No, I’m not judging you. I get it. If you left me the day I got my tests back, I’d be mad at myself too. I’d want to leave this piece of shit place and these piece of shit people, and I’d want to rub it in their faces by not giving them permission to even mourn me. Trent, I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through. I don’t know what it’s like to have a terminal illness. But I do know pain, you can agree with that, right? And I know you’re in pain and that you’re suffering, and I want to help you but I can’t do it until you let me in,” he stared into my eyes. “So, I’m begging you, Trent. Please, let me in.”

  15

  In the car driving back to the motel, we were both quiet. I knew there was a lot I needed to think about. Five minutes back, I thought I had it all figured out, I was in control. Now, I’m not in control and it’s freaking me out.

  “I know you hate not knowing everything,” Justin said. “You probably hate not having control. But see, that’s where I come in. I’m going to let you control me so completely that you won’t feel the need to think about anything else.”

  “Justin. Just because I let you speak that way to me just now, doesn’t mean I’m going to let you continue to do it in the future.”

  “Whatever.”

  “So, how high are you?”

  “I would say pretty high. But the pain’s starting to come back.” “I don’t need to remind you again,” I said. “Don’t let me catch you taking that shit again.”

  “Fine.”

  “So, there’s probably some important stuff we need to talk about.”

  “What kind of important stuff?”

  “I have a brother who lives in New Jersey.”

  “I know, you told me that before.”

  “When I found out about the illness, I may have panicked and called him.”

  “So? What’s wrong with that? He’s your brother, he deserves to know.”

  “My brother and I, we have a strange relationship. When I was younger and every time I needed help, I knew I always had a place with Kevin.”

  “He sounds nice.”

  “He’s not,” I said. “He’s self-righteous and judgmental. He has tons of other faults, but if he helps us out of this mess, then we might have a fucking chance at beating this thing. I know I can get back on my feet, I just need a little help. And Kevin’s already offered so there’s that.”

  “You know I’m with you whatever you decide to do.”

  “Thanks, Justin.”

  “So, is your brother coming to New York?”

  “Actually, we’ll be going to New Jersey.”

  “Oh. Road trip!”

  16

  Whether you’re a writer or an actor or any creative person, you realize the importance of story. You realize that the only thing that separates the famously talented from the public is the fact that they are monumentally better at story telling.

  This isn’t rocket science. There are ways to get people to pay attention to us and there are ways to be better than everyone else.

  When you tell a story about anything and anyone, you are engaging a person who even though he has a million things on his mind, stops everything to give you time so they can find out what you have to say. We’re born with a curiosity that nothing else can surpass. We want to know not just the main facts but as much as possible about the people or the things that interest us.

  Things are never quiet in our head and our brains are constantly looking for patterns and storylines and conclusions.

  There is a valid reason for this kind of activity. That reason is simple. The world is full of inconveniences and inconsistencies that our brains can sometimes have trouble dealing with. That’s why our brains dramatize everything that’s in our past because fantasy is the ultimate endorphin rush.

  Being with Dominic was by far the biggest fantasy I’ve ever had. I have a vague idea that even when I was with him I was never truly that guy who would be his fantasy but he was always mine. Maybe he didn’t need fantasy as much as I did. Maybe he didn’t need someone to love as much as I did.

  The problem with fantasy is that if you have it long enough you start needing it.

  The touch of an imaginary hand will no longer be enough. You will need flesh and blood. Maybe that’s the case with you but that’s my biggest problem.

  I realized that this thing with Justin was getting out of hand. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, I don’t know where this will end.

  I really don’t know.

  I keep telling myself I’ll make it up to him. But I think that’s a lie I’ve started to tell myself rather frequently. Mostly because I don’t want to think of myself as a bad person. Is this what Dominic felt? This confusion? Did he struggle with it or was it just easy for him?

  Why do we always rationalize our own behavior and curse others for the same? If I murdered someone today and someone was to ask me what happened, I would begin, not by the victim’s story but my own. If, on the other hand
a random guy murdered someone I would find something within seconds that implicates them or the victim.

  So, it’s either victim blaming or blaming someone unfairly. And the thing is this stuff is wired into our brains so it’s not exactly easy trying to get our brains to go against centuries of training. That’s the cruel world of social psychology for you. There are no winners. You are either self-deprecatingly, self-effacingly, self-aware, or unfairly judgmental.

  I glanced at Justin’s sleeping form in the back seat and checked to see if he was breathing. It was a strange fear. I kept doing it for some reason.

  Maybe I’d never had an barely conscious guy in the back of my car before.

  I hadn’t mapped out my route. I didn’t want to shoot back in a straight line. I wanted to do whatever I could to forestall the next step along my journey of the inevitable. I crossed into New Jersey and saw nothing but emptiness. The town wasn’t dead but I was and it was becoming impossible not to think about what lay ahead.

  Streets lined by barren stores with For Rent signs in the windows. Abandoned houses on the outskirts had foreclosure signs slapped on the doors. The word itself made me tighten my fists on the steering wheel. We were looking at the days of the dust bowl gangsters again. When your average citizen was losing everything, they were forced into desperate, mad actions. Bank robbery attempts were at a thirty-year high. A husband and wife team had tried to take down my local bank and been wiped out by six cops in the parking lot, a couple thousand bucks in hand. The media replayed the surveillance footage for weeks. Just before they’d been cut down the couple wore expressions that said they wanted to take the whole thing back if only anyone would grant them a do-over.

  I sometimes woke up with Justin shivering, and I knew he’d been talking or crying in his sleep. It would take a long time for him to calm down again. Once more I’d get behind the wheel and drive the black roads leading me back into the shadows of my own past. It wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I knew it was going to all be another big mistake in a lifetime of gaffes.