by Hayden Hunt
I was probably just responding positively because of how bad I felt today. Yeah, that had to be it. This was the first positive encounter I’d had with someone in weeks. The loneliness was probably getting to me.
Still, I didn’t want to give him the impression I was gay too. So I didn’t flirt back. Actually, as soon as I got that twinge of happiness at his smile, I started to become a little uncomfortable. I should probably shut this down before he got any of the wrong ideas.
“Well, I should probably get back to packing,” I said awkwardly.
“Oh.” The disappointment on his face was clear. “Well, okay then, I’ll leave you to it,” he said, setting his cup of tea down and walking toward the door. “But if you want to come on Wednesday, just drop on by.”
“Yeah.” I nodded as I opened up the door for him. “I’ll think about it.”
It was a complete 180 from what I had said a little while ago, that I was thankful for the invite. But I couldn’t help but show my reluctance. My discomfort was oozing in my voice but I couldn’t control it.
“Have a nice night,” he said as he walked away.
“You too,” I told him before shutting the door.
Damnit, had I just been rude a second time?
I knew I wasn’t a complete asshole like I had been last night. But this guy apologized, sent me flowers, and offered to help me unpack, and I shooed him out the door?
And no doubt he could see the sudden shift in my mood. He seemed like the kind of person who was perceptive to that kind of thing.
He probably wasn’t even flirting with me. I bet I was being oversensitive to his kindness because of my history. But that wasn’t an excuse to take it out on him. He probably wasn’t even really gay!
My first instinct was to tell myself I wouldn’t be going to that get together. Obviously it was out of my comfort zone. And I liked to stay in that zone at all costs.
But after I was just rude again, I probably should go, I thought. Make it clear that there was no awkwardness between us. And clearly, if I was intrigued by thinking a man was flirting with me, then I needed to do something about my obvious loneliness.
So I’d fight my discomfort. I’d go his house on Wednesday, meet some of his friends, get out of my shell a bit.
What was the worst that could happen?
16
Oliver
Damnit, I had done exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t. I had flirted with my cute neighbor and made him very uncomfortable in the process.
See, I knew it would be bad news to get romantically involved with someone who lived next door. But really, I wasn't even planning to have any romantic involvement. I just couldn’t help myself. He was cute, he seemed like he thought I was cute, and the flirting just happened!
I’d been told I had a naturally flirty personality anyway. But throw me in front of one of the cutest guys I’d ever seen? I was bound to slip up.
Ugh, and the apology had been going so well too! He seemed excited to come hang out with me and my friends, I actually thought that I’d be able to have a pretty positive relationship with this new neighbor.
But I screwed the pooch on that one. Ah, oh well, maybe with a little time he’d forget about my flirting if I stayed on my best behavior.
Still, I hated it when straight guys acted like that. If a woman hit on them, they got all excited even if they weren’t into her. It was a boost to their ego. But for some reason, if a man found them attractive, it was the complete opposite! It hurted their ego. As if my gayness was somehow an insult to their masculinity. It was really pretty insulting.
Later in the week I ended up being grateful that I had somewhat pissed off my neighbor, though. On Tuesday night, I went a little wild and drank way too much. I had a huge hangover on Wednesday morning and decided to cancel the weekly get together. I was feeling too shitty.
If things had gone well with my neighbor and I believed he might still show up, I would have felt obligated to host tonight despite feeling like crap. At least this way, I was off the hook. None of my friends were going to care about my cancellation; most of them were out with me last night and probably nursing their own hangovers.
Thankfully, I didn’t ever work Wednesdays. So after texting my friends in the morning that tonight was a no go, I ordered in some Chinese food and collapsed onto my black leather couch. It was a television marathon kind of day for me. There were a few shows I was behind on that I wanted to binge watch.
Normally, I wasn’t big on spending my days alone. I liked interacting with other people whenever possible, even if that included only going to the flower shop and talking to clients.
But today was actually a really nice day by myself. I had my food, I was drinking a ton of water, and I was starting to feel a lot better when the evening rolled around. I was thoroughly enjoying basking in the glow of my lazy day.
Which was why I was still in my pajamas when I heard a knock on my apartment door later that night. I hadn't so much as combed my hair, so I ran a few fingers through it before going to answer the door.
To my shock, it was Gabe. He was standing at my door, holding a bottle of wine, clearly expecting to meet some people, and here I was, standing before him in my pajamas with leftover Chinese food on the table.
Shit.
If I hadn’t made a bad enough impression yesterday, I surely had now.
He looked around my apartment, clearly seeing there was nobody around. Confusion crossed his face.
“I’m sorry, you said to come over Wednesday, right…? Did I get the day wrong or—”
“Oh, no, you didn’t, I… Uh, it’s kind of a long story. Something happened with one of my friends and we kind of had to cancel,” I lied. I didn’t know why; in my head it sounded better than ‘I was hungover.’
“Oh, okay,” he said, looking somewhat disappointed.
“I’m so sorry, I would have let you know, but I completely forgot I mentioned it to you.”
No, I hadn’t. But again, that sounded better than ‘I assumed me hitting on you pissed you off and that you wouldn’t show up.’ I didn’t want to specifically address the awkwardness between us the other day.
“You know, I know I’m not exactly dressed for company but you can still hang out if you want. If you have nothing else to do. You don’t have to, I know it’s no get together but we can watch some TV and crack open that bottle of wine.”
“Yeah, sure. That sounds great.”
He totally caught me off guard. First, by coming over here at all. And then again by agreeing to hang out, just me and him?
Maybe I had really misread him the other night. Perhaps I didn’t scare him off with my flirting. At least, this wasn’t how most straight men would react to their masculinity being threatened. He might have really been in a rush to unpack, who knew?
“Do you have a wine bottle opener?” he asked as he stepped into my apartment.
“Of course, one second,” I said, going into one of my kitchen drawers and handing it to him. I was glad he was the first one to suggest opening it up so quick. I was pretty nervous about this whole thing, and a little alcohol would help.
Apparently he was on the same page as me, because after I grabbed two glasses of wine and poured them, he downed his glass immediately. I wasn’t the only one who needed a little liquid courage.
I laughed. “Another glass?” I asked.
“Yes, please.” He smiled and held out his glass.
I also drank my glass fairly quickly. It probably wasn’t very responsible of me to drink at all. Just a few hours ago, I was reeling from a hangover. But I told myself I’d take it easy tonight. And a little alcohol helped a hangover, right? This glass of wine would be like my Bloody Mary.
We sat down on my couch and I brought the glass of wine with me, seeing that he was already sipping on his second glass. Only a few seconds after sitting down, he was pouring himself another glass. In a way, his obvious nervousness made me a little nervous.
“So,
how are you liking the complex so far?” I asked him.
“Oh, it’s good. People are nice, it’s quiet and clean. I like it a lot.”
“Good, glad to hear it. Yeah, I’ve never had any problems. What brings you here, by the way? Why’d you choose these apartments?”
I thought I was just making small talk but again, I managed to make him grimace at one of my questions.
“Actually,” he said, already sounding kind of buzzed to me, “this place kind of found me.”
“Oh? How so?”
He stared at me seriously, as if trying to figure out how to answer.
“I’m sorry, if this is some kind of personal situation you don’t have to tell me at all…” I said politely.
“It is,” he admitted. “It’s so personal that I haven’t spoken to even a single other person in my life about it.”
“Well, then, don’t even worry about it. I totally get why you’d be uncomfortable—”
“No.” He stopped me. “That’s the thing, I’m not uncomfortable. I haven't told anyone, but for some reason I want to tell you.” He sighed. “Maybe it’s all been a little much for me to keep in quietly.”
“Well, you can,” I told him. “If you want to vent, feel free. Really, you’ll get no judgement from me.”
The conversation was getting real heavy real quick but I liked it. I hated small talk. I hated the fact that humans forced themselves to say the bare minimum in order to look normal. We kept parts of ourselves hidden, always afraid to go too far with something. Well, I didn’t believe you could go too far in talking to another person.
I liked my conversations to be more real. And I was thrilled that this might be one of those awesome, genuine conversations you got to have very rarely with a complete stranger.
He nodded, as if he’d decided. “Okay, here’s the thing. Ever since I was a teenager, I dreamt about being successful. A huge point of success for me was supposed to be getting my first property. And I’ve done that now.”
I wasn’t following. “Which is great! Especially at your age…”
“But I didn’t earn it,” he confessed. “And it’s coming to me at the most tragic point in my life and… It just feels like shit.”
“I’m so sorry…” I said softly. “But surely you did earn it, Gabe.”
He looked at me, not breaking eye contact. “I didn’t. I inherited it. It belonged to my grandma. She passed away.”
My jaw dropped as this all hit me at once. That meant the old lady who lived here before him… Was actually his grandmother? And she passed? I had no idea and I kept bringing it up… No wonder he cringed every time I called her the ‘older woman who lived here before.’
“Oh my God, Gabe, I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine, shit happens…” he said, now brushing off the thing that was so tragic to him he hadn’t even bothered to tell anybody else.
“Don’t do that,” I told him. “Don’t downplay it. Obviously it’s deeply painful for you.”
He buried his head in his hands and took a deep breath. “It is, honestly. She was really the only person in my life who cared about me.” He looked up, eyes widened with regret. “Wow, that makes me sound depressing.” He laughed awkwardly.
“Like I said, I’m not here to judge. Really, don’t worry about that.”
He nodded. “It’s just that I haven’t made a very big effort to make friends. And she was the only family I had who really cared about me.”
“Really? You don’t have any siblings or parents that you talk to…?”
He shook his head. “I don’t speak to my parents. Or, rather, they don’t speak to me. I’m an only child.”
“Why won’t they talk to you?” I asked bluntly.
He shook his head. “It was stupid. Something I did in high school… It was a giant misunderstanding but they never saw it that way. So they disowned me, never to be spoken to again.”
“Seriously? You’re their only child and they disowned you?” My heart broke for him. This was unfathomable to me. My parents were always so supportive of me. “They didn’t even speak to you after your grandma died?”
“Nope. They weren’t talking to her either, simply because she refused to end her relationship with me. Since high school, she’s been a surrogate mother to me. She was really everything to me. She was so kind… I can’t think of a sweeter person. When it felt like my life was falling apart, she was always there for me.”
“Gabe, I’m so sorry,” I said seriously, reaching my hand out to hold his comfortingly.
Just this small touch seemed to set him off. He started to burst into tears.
I slid to his side of the couch and wrapped an arm around him.
“Gabe… Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He wiped his eyes, his voice still hoarse with his tears. “It’s just that… I didn’t know how much I was dying to tell somebody. I feel so bad, doing this to you now. I’m crying at a complete stranger’s house. But I’ve kept this so tightly inside that it was eating away at me. I don’t think I even knew that it was. But I feel it all now… I’m so lost without her.”
I pulled him close and his head fell onto my shoulders.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed at all. This is what being a human is all about, you know? Having these kinds of connections. Even with complete strangers, if that’s what it takes. You’re human, you need people. And I’m so, so sorry that you lost your person.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “For what it’s worth, she really did seem like a lovely lady.”
“God, you’re nice.” He let out an awkward chuckle as he wiped his eyes, pulling his head off my chest. “Seriously, I can’t believe I was such an ass to you that first night.”
I laughed. “Don’t mention it, seriously, you’re clearly going through a lot. It makes even more sense now.”
He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
“What is it?” I asked.
“This is weird for me. You know, it’s not that I don’t have friends simply because I can’t make them…”
“I figured that.” I smiled at him. “You seem socially aware, you’re a decent looking guy. I never envisioned you had trouble meeting people.”
He nodded. “That’s the thing, I don’t. It’s just that I don’t really care to socialize with people. I’ve never fostered any friendships, or relationships for that matter. I keep to myself. I do it on purpose.”
“Okay…” I said softly, unsure where he was going with this.
“I've never wanted to have any connections with people. I’ve never had the desire to talk to a complete stranger about my life, let alone cry on his shoulders. So this is strange. You are strangely easy to talk to. Why is that?”
I laughed. “I’m not sure, honestly.”
He continued to look at me very seriously.
“What?” I asked.
Without warning, he leaned in and kissed me.
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17
Noah
Noah
As I parked in front of the dilapidated old house, I had to search for the address numbers to make sure I was in the right place. They were hard to make out at first—the blue paint had all but chipped off of the ‘693,’ making the numbers blend into the house. But I was at the right place.
I got out of my squad car, slamming the door behind me loudly. This had been the first call of my shift, and I was still bleary-eyed and attempting to shake off the ache of tiredness. I hated working the late night shift, only to be followed by working an early morning shift.
Normally, this kind of scheduling was avoidable, but I was taking every bit of overtime that was offered to me in an attempt to position myself for a promotion in the near future.
I walked up to the house, carefully sliding the rusty black gate on i
ts hinges. The creaking screeched in my ears as it slid open. I had to admit, the closer I got to the house, the more confused I was about this call.
I had been told the owner of the house had called about a burglary being committed earlier in the day. Apparently, he had been asleep, and only noticed when he awoke that someone had been in the house.
But, for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine a robber sizing up this place as a decent possible target. Surely someone who couldn’t even afford a lawn mower to maintain the foot-long dead grass in their front yard didn’t have many valuables inside.
I stepped up onto the stained cement porch and rang the doorbell. But when I didn’t hear a noise ring out from the other side of the door, I assumed that it was broken and decided knocking would be a better option.
Within a minute, a frantic, gray-haired old man had arrived at the door. His eyes were nearly bulging out of his head.
“Sir?” I asked hesitantly.
“You’re the police,” he stated, as if he were observing the shade of blue that filled the sky today.
“Yes, I am. I’m Officer Noah Bryant. I’m here to take a report of a burglary. Did you call that in?”
His eyes lit up as if he suddenly remembered.
“Yes!” he nearly shouted. “I did! I called it! Someone has broken into my house! Come see!”
His entire demeanor had changed. He had gone from suspicious and shifty to downright excited. Why someone would be excited about a recent break in, I couldn’t tell you. But it was immediately clear something was off here.
Unfortunately, the inside of the house wasn’t much of an improvement on the outside. In fact, I thought it might actually be worse. I was physically stepping on trash as I walked inside the house. Old newspapers, empty cups, paper plates—pretty much any kind of trash you could imagine.
