by Marie Sexton
“I think Zach did too.”
What could I say? I couldn’t deny that I could never have sat back and watched another man touch Jared the way those men had touched Angelo. But Zach had barely blinked an eye. “They’re not like us,” I said to myself as much as to him.
“Holy fucking understatement of the year, Batman.”
He was getting annoyed now. I ran my hand down the not-quite-smooth skin of his arm, and kissed the patch of freckles on his shoulder.
“You were right,” I said gently, trying to make him relax again. “We shouldn’t have gone to the club.”
“Of course I was right,” he said, but the edge was gone from his voice. He elbowed me playfully in the ribs. “Say it again.”
I laughed, and slid my hand off of his arm and across his stomach.
“You were right,” I said quietly into his ear, and he smiled. “You know what else?”
“What?”
“If I ever see you dancing like that with another guy, I’ll go nuts.”
“If you ever see me dancing, you’ll know I’m way beyond drunk and it’s time to take me home.” For a few minutes we just lay there, silent and content. I let my hand wander over him. I knew every inch of him by heart: the exact texture of his skin, the smooth flat plane of his stomach, the curve of his hip, the hard muscles on his thighs. My fingers traced familiar paths through his freckles, over contours I had memorized long ago. He sighed as he relaxed against me. “Will they be okay?” he asked quietly.
“They better be.”
“Why?”
“Because if they’re not, it’s going to be one bitch of a drive home.”
…Angelo
I STAY out another two hours. I don’t leave that spot in front of the Bellagio, though. I know what Matt was thinkin’, but I’m not lookin’ to score. The last thing I want is to screw things up more.
Despite what Matt said, I know Jonathan was right. What the fuck do I have to offer Zach? The rest of ’em, they all have degrees. They all have real jobs. I don’t even have a fuckin’ high school diploma. I’ll spend the rest of my life workin’ for Zach, or baggin’ groceries. Just like Jonathan said.
And the part ’bout me bein’ an easy lay—that was true once too. It’s been a few years, but I know what I am. I know what I been. Sex was the only thing anybody ever wanted me for, ’til Zach. I try to tell myself now that I’ve changed, just ’cause I have Zach, and Matt, and even Jared. But is it true? I don’t know the answer.
I know I should go back. I know Zach’ll be worried sick. I just gotta get my bearings again. I stand there watchin’ the fountains ’til I finally decide I can face him again.
I can tell as soon as I walk in the door Zach’s been pacin’ the room the entire time. The look of relief on his face makes me feel even worse.
Wish he could be pissed at me. Make this all easier if we could scream and yell at each other and then fall to the floor and fuck each other’s brains out. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?
He crosses the room and wraps his arms ’round me before I even get two steps into the room.
“I’m so sorry, Ang.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“I didn’t want that to happen.”
“Can’t stand to see him touch you, Zach.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“You pissed ’bout me dancin’?”
“Not at all.”
“Doesn’t mean anything, Zach. I was just foolin’ ’round.”
“I know. It’s my fault. If Jonathan hadn’t kissed me—”
“I’ll fuckin’ kill him if he touches you again.”
“He won’t.”
“I’m sorry I was gone so long.”
“I knew you needed to be alone.”
“Zach?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He hesitates for a second, which he’s never done before. I wonder if it’s ’cause he thinks we should talk more or ’cause he really is pissed or ’cause he’s thinkin’ ’bout Jonathan. But then he takes my face in his hands, and his lips find mine. His tongue slides over my bottom lip, like it always does, and it still turns me on every time.
We get undressed, and I push him backward onto the bed and climb on top of him. “Tell me what you want, Zach,” I say.
He looks up at me, and I can tell it bothers him. Usually, he’s the one sayin’ that to me.
“I just want you, Ang,” he says in confusion.
He still doesn’t understand. I kiss his chest, flick my tongue over his nipple. He’s obviously turned on, but he’s still hesitant. “I’ll do anything you want, Zach,” I whisper. “Just tell me what.”
He goes stiff at that—not in a good way—and I know I’m doin’ somethin’ wrong, but I still don’t know what. “Why, Angelo?” he asks.
“’Cause he’s right, Zach. It’s the only thing I have to give you. At least let me do it right.”
There’s a flash of somethin’ on his face—anger or betrayal or shame—and then before I know what’s goin’ on, he pushes me off of him, hard enough that I almost fall off the bed. I’ve never seen him so mad. He doesn’t say a word, just goes to the other bed and climbs in. He turns his back on me and pulls the covers up to his ears.
“Zach?” I say, confused.
“You must not think much of me, Ang, if you think I’m only in this for the sex.” He reaches out and hits the switch on the bedside lamp hard enough that it slams into the wall. The light goes out, and the room goes dark.
“Zach—” I try to say again, but he doesn’t let me finish.
“Goodnight, Angelo.”
I lay there, alone in my bed, tryin’ to figure out how I managed to fuck things up so much.
I WAKE up early the next mornin’, just like always. Normally, I would move to Zach’s bed. Normally, he would pull me against him, and we would doze a little longer, cuddled together. Normally, I would wake up again later to him pushin’ me gently onto my stomach, his weight on my back, his lips on my neck, and his finger or his cock between my legs.
But not today.
I wonder what would happen if I got in bed with him anyway—if I pretended like nothin’ was wrong. Would he still wrap his arms around me and make love to me? Or would he turn his back? I’m too scared to find out. My head’s still a mess from last night, and the truth is, I’m afraid I’ll just end up doin’ somethin’ to make things worse.
I need to get away.
I get dressed. I find a pen and pad of paper in the drawer. Then I have to think ’bout what to say.
In the end, I write, “Spend the day with M and J. Don’t worry. Just need some time.” I want to finish it by telling him that I’m sorry or even better, that I love him. But I can’t. I drop the note on my empty bed and leave the motel.
I get onto the Strip and realize I got no clue where to go. Yesterday we went south, so today I go north. Not really thinkin’ much ’bout Zach yet. I know that’ll come. Right now, I’m just tryin’ to get back to that place inside that feels like me.
Turns out six in the mornin’ is a strange time to walk ’round Vegas.
Almost nobody out. Certainly none of those guys handin’ out the little cards with naked chicks on ’em. The sheer emptiness of the place makes the sound blarin’ out of the speakers by the cheesier casinos seem way too loud. There’s empty bottles and glasses everywhere. The magic of the place is wearin’ thin, and you can see the bullshit and lies underneath if you look too close.
I keep walkin’ and end up at the Venetian. I stop at that one ’cause even now, in the harsh morning light, it looks serene. It’s kinda beautiful.
The magic’s stronger here. I walk in the door that leads to the shops, and I’m a few steps in before I look up. And then I just stop.
The ceiling is amazing. It’s covered with paintings: all kinds of pictures, with elaborate gold frames. I don’t know if it’s supposed to be like anything in particular—the
Sistine Chapel, or maybe somethin’ else—
I got no clue. Whatever it is, it’s beautiful. Wish Zach was here with me to see it. Never really thought ’bout goin’ to Europe, but now all of a sudden, I wanna go more than anything. How fuckin’ stupid is it that it’s Sin City makes me feel that way? I spend a long, long time just standin’ there, starin’ up at that ceiling.
I finally start walkin’, just lookin’ ’round. The shops are all closed, but I look in the windows at other people’s lives. Five-hundred-dollar scarves and five-thousand-dollar suits. Silk ties, and artfully ripped jeans that I couldn’t afford to sit down in. None of it makes me feel any better.
A few of the restaurants are servin’ breakfast, and I’m startin’ to think ’bout gettin’ some coffee when my phone rings. ’Course it’s Matt.
Shoulda known. Zach and Jared will probably sleep ’til nine at least.
Maybe ten. I shoulda realized Matt would be lookin’ for me.
“Where the hell are you?” he snaps.
“At the Venetian.”
“Stay there. I’m already on my way.”
“Do I get a choice?”
“No.” I knew he was gonna say that. “I went to your room….”
“Yeah?” I say, when he doesn’t finish.
“Zach looks like shit. He’s pretty upset.”
I can’t fuckin’ deal with that right now. “You gonna tell me anything I don’t already know?”
He sighs, and then says in a softer tone, “You want to get something to eat?”
“I’m not talkin’ ’bout Zach.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not talkin’ ’bout last night at all.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, what?”
“Yeah, I wanna get somethin’ to eat.”
“Just once, could you not make things as complicated as possible?”
“Maybe,” I tell him, “but guess it won’t be today.”
We pick a place to meet, and then find a restaurant that’s servin’ breakfast. He’s good. He doesn’t mention Zach at all until after we’re done eating. Then he says, “Jared was talking about going to a show today, and Zach will probably go with him.”
“What about you?”
“If you’re not going, then I don’t have to go either.”
“What we gonna do then?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Any more roller coasters?”
He grins at me. “The Stratosphere. The roller coaster is kind of lame, but there are a couple of other rides there.”
“Are they good?”
“You’ll scream like a little girl.”
I almost smile at that. “We’ll see, tough guy.”
Wish I could say we have fun, but the truth is I’m terrible company the whole day. Can’t stop worryin’ ’bout Zach, and whether or not he’s still mad. I worry ’bout Jonathan and the things he said. I start wonderin’ what’s happened today while I been gone. What if Jonathan came to see Zach? What if Zach realized Jonathan was right? I imagine goin’ back to the motel to find Zach gone, only a note on the bed tellin’ me where he’s gone. I imagine them makin’ up and makin’ out and makin’ love. I imagine goin’ home to Coda alone. Part of me knows I’m bein’ an idiot, but it doesn’t stop my mind from dredgin’ up all the worst possible ways this could end.
Matt’s like a fuckin’ saint. Even though I’m miserable and snappin’ at him all day, he just keeps bein’ himself, sometimes tryin’ to cheer me up, sometimes just leavin’ me to sulk. Several hours and a few manly screams later, he finally says, “We should go back. They’ll be waiting for us.”
“I know.”
We start walkin’, and the closer we get, the less I talk. Every single step we take toward the hotel makes that knot of dread in my stomach heavier. Matt’s lookin’ at me outta the corner of his eye.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” he finally asks.
“Yeah.”
“You aren’t even going to tell me what happened last night?”
“No.”
“Okay.” He’s quiet for ’bout half a block, but then he says, “Did you and Zach have a fight?”
“Guess so.”
“Did you break up?”
“No.”
Another couple of minutes, and then, “Please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid last night.”
Obviously I did, but not what he’s thinkin’. “I didn’t.”
“Then what—”
“Told you I don’t wanna talk ’bout it, Matt.”
“Okay.” We go about another block before he starts talkin’ again.
“You want to know something?”
“No, but I bet you’re gonna tell me anyway.”
“Jared told me once that he has a compass inside of him, but instead of pointing north, it points west.”
“No wonder he gets lost so easy.”
“Zach has a compass inside of him too. You know where it points?”
“Toward Thai food?”
“It points at you.”
“That supposed to mean somethin’?”
“Yeah,” he says, smackin’ me on the back of the head. It hurts, but I’m not gonna let him know that. He just grins at me. “When you pull your head out of your ass, it will.”
I’M A little nervous walkin’ back into our room. It’s still light outside, but the curtains are closed and the room is pretty dark. Zach’s sittin’ on the edge of the bed starin’ at the TV, but I know him. I can tell he’s not really seein’ it.
He doesn’t acknowledge me, and I don’t say anything either. I take off my coat, and my boots. I sit on my bed and look down at the floor, like maybe somebody left some cue cards down there for me to go by. No such luck. Zach’s watchin’ me outta the corner of his eyes, ’bout the way a mouse watches a cat. He’s waitin’ to see if I’ll pounce on him or just scamper away.
We’ve had fights before, but always Zach’s the one who makes it right. He’ll come over to where I’m sittin’, and get down on his knees in front of me. He’ll put his head in my lap and tell me how much he loves me. And that’s usually the end of it. But this time, it’s pretty fuckin’ obvious he has no intention of makin’ the first move. It’s gotta be me.
I take a deep breath and go stand in front of him. He looks up at me, wary, ready for another fight.
I got no fuckin’ clue what to say. My instinct is to attack: to blame him for bringin’ us to Vegas or for makin’ that stupid dinner date with Jonathan. I could say it’s his fault for kissin’ his ex, or for not arguin’ when Jonathan called me an easy lay. I could say so many things to hurt him or to piss him off. Those are the things I know how to do.
I don’t know how to make amends.
I just want to touch him. I want to know he won’t push me away. I make myself reach out, and I put my fingers in his hair, my palm against his cheek. He tenses up. His jaw clenches, and his eyes close, like he can’t stand to have my hands on him. And it hurts more than I can say. It makes my chest so tight, I’m not sure I can even breathe.
“Zach?” I barely manage to make myself heard. I barely manage to keep my voice from cracking. I can’t stop it from shaking. I want to get down on my knees and put my head in his lap, the way he does to me. But I know if I do, I won’t be able to stop myself from burstin’ into tears and cryin’ like a little kid. “Zach, tell me what to do. ’Cause I have no idea how to make things right.”
For a second, I don’t think he’s gonna answer. He just sits there with his eyes shut tight and doesn’t move. Then he sort of sighs, and some of the tension goes out of him. My hand is still against his cheek, and he puts his hand on top of it. He turns toward it and kisses my fingers.
“That’s twice now,” he says quietly. His lips are against the palm of my hand. He’s not lookin’ at me. “Twice you’ve implied that the only thing you have to give me is sex.” The first time was months ago, at ho
me, the day I finally broke down and called my mom. The day I told him I loved him. I knew it had bothered him then, too, but not like this time.
“You’re breaking my heart, Angelo. Don’t you know how much you mean to me? Don’t you know how much I love you? Because if you don’t….”
He trails off, but he finally looks up at me, and I see in his eyes he’s as upset as I am. “I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to make you believe.”
Right now, I don’t care if I believe. I only care that we go back to how we were. I want to wake up in the dark of night and move into his bed. I want to make love in the mornin’ like we always do. I want to know that tomorrow he’ll want me to touch him again. “I can’t stand to have you mad at me,” I whisper.
“I can’t stand to be mad at you.” He stands up now, and steps up close to me. But he doesn’t touch me. “Promise me you won’t ever say it again.”
I still think I’m right. I don’t know if he’s foolin’ himself or just lyin’ to me to make me feel better. But I don’t care. He doesn’t want me to say it out loud again, so I won’t. “I promise,” I say.
“Good.” And then he pulls me tight against him and kisses me. And I know it hasn’t been that long—only since yesterday—but it feels like it’s been ages since he kissed me like this.
He pulls me over to the bed, his arms ’round me. One of his hands goes under my shirt and slides up my back. I start to unbutton his pants, but he stops me. “No sex, Ang. I just want to touch you.”
I know he’s tryin’ to make a point with the “no sex” thing, but I don’t mind. We undress each other. He kisses my eyes and my cheeks. His hands never go below my waist, but they caress my stomach and my back and my arms. They’re so soft, and he’s so gentle. I guess it’s been a while since I realized just how good it feels to have him touch me. And then he pulls me down on to the bed with him. I put my head on his chest and try to swallow the lump in my throat.
His hand slides up my back, stops on the back of my neck. His voice is low and coaxing, like he’s tryin’ to keep from scarin’ me away. “Talk to me, Angelo. I can’t make it better if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”