For a long moment, I stood in the middle of the sunroom and glared into space. The questions about where Landon was and what he was doing tripled in my head, so loud and demanding that they even managed to yell at me over the sound of Luis and his family downstairs. I tried to fight that desire to find out, because I knew what would happen.
I’d find out he was just fine after having moved on with his shitty selfish life, and I’d hate myself for still fixating on our past. On becoming a weird hermit who had started using pharmacy shampoo on my hair. I knew all of that would happen, and yet I still strode out of the sunroom to grab my phone from the charging dock by the door.
I sat on the floor in the middle of my dance studio as music and the loud tangle of voices floated from Luis’ open windows. Focusing on them was the right thing to do, even it was weird and marginally pathetic to be comforted by my neighbor’s voice. Again, I told myself to put the phone down, but… I didn’t do it.
Within five minutes, I’d redownloaded all my social media apps.
Within ten, I’d scoured Landon’s accounts and was promptly filled with humiliation so intense it was amazing I didn’t burst into flames. On each account there was a steady mix of subs that had escalated to outright attacks… on me.
It had started right after our breakup. There were a series of vague posts about how “someone” had discarded him and abandoned him to find his own way, just like his parents had in the past. It led to dramatic posts implying he was living on the street despite the fact that the locations made it clear he was at his parent’s house, and then a series of overt rants about how I’d broken up with him before going on the cruise and had agreed to remain roommates.
It was a blatant lie. But the worst part?
It’s weird how the story changed when C failed… once again… at his dream, and needed someone to take it out on. We had an understanding, but when he once again gave up or quit, I became the whipping boy. He slept with the entire crew while on the cruise, but he found me hanging out with my neighbor and destroyed my belongings before kicking me into the street. How is that fair? How is that SANE? Anyone else would have called the police.
Once again… I let his tears and emotional manipulation guilt me into letting him off the hook. As usual… he had a meltdown that led to be being convinced *I* am the one who did wrong, even tho I know I didn’t. But here I am… with nothing… while he plays the victim.
When does it end?
I reread the rant over and over again, unable to believe my eyes.
How could someone be so narcissistic that they thought they could blatantly lie and get away with it? How could he think I was the one who was manipulative? Or that he was the goddamn whipping boy?
The reversal in facts had my head spinning. When I expanded the comments below to see the response, betrayal joined my humiliation until I felt like throwing up. There was plenty of support for him from his friends, which I’d expected, but there were also several likes and comments from people who had been mutuals.
A girl we’d once befriended at the gym had sent him broken heart emojis and a message that simply said “good for you for getting out of that toxic shit.”
One of our old neighbors, half of an older gay couple, commended him for finally walking away even if it would be hard for a while.
My old co-worker, the other bartender who I’d worked with for years, stated that everyone knew I’d never been faithful. Pretty sure he was fucking his teacher friend. Always had the suspicion, but didn’t know if it was my business to tell you…
Then another former colleague—a waitress at the bar. Um, yeah, he was probably fucking his rich friend too. [eyeroll emoji] Charles is good at playing victim, but eventually everyone will see the truth. Be strong.
They were just words. I knew they were. They were bullshit words, and those assholes were bullshit people, and I’d known Landon would do this. I’d known he would pull this card, go on the offense, and turn me into the villain. Part of me didn’t know if he did it to protect his status as a loveable pothead that his friends needed to take care of and protect, further extending his multiple gravy trains, or if he was just that deadset on punishing me.
He would have known how deep those betrayals cut. And he would have known that even though he was lying, the conviction in his text and those quick cosigns from our mutual friends, would have led to me doubting myself.
And they did.
I hunched forward with my forehead pressing against the floor and reminded myself of the facts. He’d lied to me. He’d admitted to cheating on me for years. He’d blatantly stated that he’d been running around behind my back when I was at work or with friends. He’d wanted to hit me when I’d called him out. He’d hit me before. He knew my deepest fear was my friends, my found family, abandoning me the way my biological family had. He was exploiting that fear even now.
Those reminders ran through my head like a chant until I was able to unclench myself from the tense ball I’d curled into.
I looked at the post and comments again. This time, rage swept up instead of a sinking feeling of dread. It made me feel better. Being angry was so much better than feeling worthless and alone.
“Fuck you, Landon,” I snarled at the screen. “Hope you swipe your fucking metro card straight to hell!”
My words were so loud in my quiet apartment that they projected out the window, and echoed in the damn walkway leading to the basement. The rapid Spanish-speaking below halted. I nearly slammed my head into the floor in embarrassment. Always making a scene.
“Who the hell is that?” someone’s voice floated up from Luis’ apartment. “Someone fighting?”
“Nah,” Luis’ deep voice said, amusement threading through his buoyant tone. “That’s just my boo.”
I had to put my hand over my mouth to muffle the bark of laughter that nearly popped out. Of course, it would be Luis to say something so random, so out of the way, that it was almost impossible for me to stay upset. Leave it to him to effortlessly light me up when I was feeling down.
Sighing softly, I shoved my phone to the side and rolled onto my back. Was it pathetic to be so comforted by Luis? By the sound of music and the smell of food floating up from his apartment? Maybe. But at the moment, his existence was giving me something to look forward to.
***
Luis
“So, when are you coming to visit?”
Hours had passed without mention of the Bronx, so I’d started to hope we could get through the visit without the conversation. Apparently not.
My mother looked at me from her perch in the arm chair, one leg crossed over the other and a cup of coffee in her hand. My dad was in the kitchen cleaning up the remnants of our feast, and likely packing away leftovers for me to have for the next few days, so it was just me, Mami, and Yaneris.
“Mami,” I groaned from my sprawl on the sofa. “Why do you have to go there?”
“It’s not just Linda,” Yaneris said, raising one perfectly crafted eyebrow. “I miss you coming by every weekend.”
My mom nodded her agreement. “It’s not the same without you. I miss our breakfasts and lunches, and cheering for you at the fights—”
I held up a hand. “Okay, hold it there. The fighting is over, and you know it. You know why.”
My mother sighed into her coffee cup, but Yaneris nodded. “Yes, we know, but that’s different. Coming to the Bronx is not the same as going to Cadet’s. That boxing gym isn’t the whole neighborhood.”
“But the people who go to it are,” I said sharply. “I have plans here. I’m happy here. I miss y’all, but I do not miss being harassed on a daily basis by Bronson and his boys.”
To that, my mother couldn’t argue. She set her cup down before folding her hands primly on her lap. “Do you want me to call my cousin?”
I snorted. “No. Isn’t he in jail?”
“Just released,” she said innocently. “I’m sure he has some time on his hands since he’s again sitting i
n my mother’s house waiting for the next felony. Might as well be on someone like Bronson.”
Yaneris hooted, clapping her hands, but I rolled my eyes. “No, mami, I do not want your cousin to assault Bronson. I’ll deal with that homophobe on my own.”
“But when?” Mami demanded. “I want my baby home, not avoiding my house because of that homophobe. Why is it fair that he still gets to loiter outside of Rite Aid while you hide in this ugly red borough?”
“I’m gonna have to disagree on Staten Island being ugly,” I muttered. “And besides that, there’s some good things here. I like it.”
“Bullshit.”
My mother inhaled deeply, then proceeded to release of mutters in Spanish that drew my father out of the kitchen. He hovered warily, looking between us, before backtracking while holding a stack of empty Tupperware.
“Wuss,” I muttered in his direction.
He raised an eyebrow then fled.
“I don’t know where you think you are going, Hector,” my mother snapped at him. “We just had this same conversation on the way here.”
“And I agreed with my son,” my dad’s voice floated inside.
I clutched my chest, nearly dying of shock.
Yaneris put a hand on my mother’s arm. “Give it time. If he’s happy here, we can keep visiting him here. He needs time to establish his new life, and feel good about it, before confronting the old one. It’s not easy, mama. Don’t be such an ass.”
Only Yaneris could get away with calling my mother an ass, but it was still dicey. I waited in anticipation, wondering if my mother would cool out or if they’d burst into an argument loud enough to rival Charles’ big mouth, but she sighed.
“Fine, fine.”
We spent the next hour watching dance videos, with my father doing his best to mimic my moves while Yaneris cat called. It turned into the three of them dancing while I sang along with the music, and my heart could not have been fuller. There were people in the world, even other queer people, who really thought it was no big thing to come out to your parents these days. Television had convinced them that everyone was accepting. That you would be safe. I had generally assumed those people had never known anyone outside of their own culture.
Even knowing my mother had been an ally for queer people, I’d worried about telling her. I’d feared telling my dad. I’d feared the ally talk flipping as soon as it came to their own son—the boxer who was supposed to be the pinnacle of masculinity. But they hadn’t. They’d gone above and beyond to support me, and I would never stop being grateful.
Maybe it was a problem that I felt grateful for my parents continuing to love me, but it could have all gone so differently.
Once they were walking out, and we were all in the vestibule, I took turns squeezing each of them so tight they gasped for breath.
“I love you,” I said, burying my face in my mother’s hair. “I’ll come visit soon, okay Mami? I won’t let that piece of shit keep me from my family, and my neighborhood.”
She pulled back, instantly worried despite having lobbied for it all day. “Be sure. I know I’m impatience, but I want you happy. I want you safe.”
I waved my hand, scoffing cockily. “I’ll be fine.”
Yaneris gave me a sharp-eyed glare, and murmured for me to be careful, before I herded them outside and into their car. It was once again starting to rain, and rush hour was going to be a bitch.
My mouth shouted her love for me out the window as they drove off. I stood there smiling, and waving, but my fondness turned to melancholy as soon as their taillights disappeared.
I missed them so much. They were always at the back of my mind, but it wasn’t until they visited did I really feel the hole in my chest at being so far from my family. Sure, we were all in the five boroughs, but the trek from the Bronx to Staten Island was no joke. Especially when they all worked full-time, and I refused to make the trip their way.
My mom was right. It had to end. Even if going back to the Bronx ended with me getting my ass whooped, I had to face that possibility and stop hiding. I just didn’t know when.
The door creaked open, and I looked over my shoulder to see Charles stepping out onto the steps. Almost instantly, my smile was back. This dude was seriously up there making an obvious show of checking the mail and not paying attention to me.
I crossed my arms over my chest and watched him pick through the mail, looking edible in a pair of shorts that barely covered his ass and a slouchy tank top that barely stayed on his shoulder. Only after I stared at him without speaking for a solid thirty seconds, did he glance over.
“What’s wrong with you?” Charles frowned as if he hadn’t meant to say that and shook his head. “I mean… why are you standing in the rain like a weirdo?”
“It’s barely raining.”
He made a face.
“I’m being emo and dramatic?” I tried again, moving closer. “My parents were here.”
“Oh?” Charles was not good at lying. In fact, he was so bad at it that I was convinced he wasn’t even trying. He probably just felt obligated to pretend he wasn’t paying attention to me. “You miss them or some sappy shit?”
I jogged up the stairs and stepped into the vestibule with him just as the rain picked up. “Yeah. I don’t go see them much in the Bronx, and I told you—they stopped visiting here as much. It’s far.”
Charles toed the door shut, still holding his mail. It was a single bright red envelope, which was interesting because I’d peeked inside earlier and had seen about a dozen envelopes with he or Landon’s name. In the past, I’d assumed his mail was an old tenant. Now, of course, I knew that wasn’t the case.
“Didn’t you check your mail already today?”
Charles pressed his lips together. “No.”
“Hmm. Weird, because you had stuff in there earlier, and I’m pretty sure that envelope is just addressed to any current resident.”
“Oh, shut up.” He rolled his eyes and threw the envelope at me. “Why don’t you go see your parents?”
“Because I’m avoiding my problems. My problems being… the homophobes who live on my block. Y’know, the assholes I told you about before?”
Charles scowled. “Fuck them. Just stay here and join the avoidant hermit club.”
“Does that mean you officially accept me as a member?”
He couldn’t hide the hint of a smile. If I was being honest with myself, I knew he was kind of a hot mess. His hair was wilder than usual, his eyes bloodshot from either lack of smoke or marijuana, and his lips were wine-stained. Yet, none of that changed that he was sometimes straight-up ethereal. A long-legged pothead fairy with a sinful mouth.
Charles cleared his throat, and I realized I’d just been standing and staring at him. He ran a hand through his hair, then took the smallest possible step towards his door. “Gotta get back to my Shameless marathon, so…”
“See you around?” I asked, taking a step towards my own apartment.
“Obviously. We live five feet apart according to Grindr.”
I snorted out a laugh. “Bye, lindo. Go eat something.”
Charles mimicked me silently, and didn’t protest when I drew him in for a kiss to his cheek. I’d planned to let him go, I really did, but my mouth instantly followed the peck with a firmer kiss on his lips.
“Mmm.” Charles reached for his doorknob with one hand, but the other was on my waist. We were still all in each other’s face, his gaze glued to my mouth. “See you.”
“Okay.”
I was addicted, so I followed my second goodbye with yet another kiss and told myself to move my goddamn feet. Get in your apartment, asshole! It was only a few steps away. I made the move, or at least I picked up my foot, but this time it was Charles who leaned in again. When I backed towards my door, it was because my ethereal pothead was pressing me against it with his tongue my mouth.
There was no telling whether it was a farewell or an invitation anymore, but we spent the next several minut
es kissing. His body molded to mine with his dick hard against my thigh, and my fingers wound in those tangled curls while our tongues tangled wetly. Neither of us made a move to escalate it, and for some reason that made my heart pound harder. This wasn’t about getting off. I wasn’t actually sure what this was about, but I was in love with how it made me feel.
We parted only when both our breathing had grown erratic. It was also getting difficult not to dry hump him, but I kept it under control.
“You really going this time?” I asked.
“Shut up.” Charles finally backed away from me. His erection looked obscene in his tiny shorts, but he just messed with his hair and acted like everything was cool. “You want to come up and watch Shameless with me?”
“Netflix and chill?”
He sneered. “Netflix and you share that food with me. I know you have some.”
“How do you know, little spy?”
Charles turned to his door. “Whatevs. Come up or not. It’s your life.”
“As long as I don’t come without food?”
“Exactly.”
He disappeared into his apartment, but kept his door open. It was more of an invitation than the actual words he’d used to ask me up. Maybe I was hiding in Staten Island, but at least I had Charles to keep me company.
North Shore ch 12
Chapter Twelve
Charles
“I’m starting to like Staten Island.”
I snorted at Stephanie as we walked along Forest Avenue with Jace and Meredith. They’d made the trek onto the island for our weekly (or what had been the weekly) super queer brunch since I was still in turtle mode and refusing to commute into the city. They’d surprised me with a Facebook invite, and the real surprise had been that brunch would be on my turf instead of theirs. Ashton had been unable to come due to a special event at Gateway—the youth center he volunteered at.
“You’re just saying that because you lazy assholes had Jace’s bodyguard drive you,” I said with a snort. “No ferry or bus.”
North Shore Page 12