A Love Song for the Sad Man in the White Coat

by Roe Horvat

  ***

  “Can I look at your porn?”

  What? Simon sputtered water on the counter and flung his head toward the living room. He couldn’t see Matěj but he guessed the man had made himself at home on Simon’s sofa, snooping through his laptop. Still a little shaken from their non-date at the gallery, Simon counted to ten in his head. It was the oldest trick and it worked. Good to know.

  “Knock yourself out,” he called back, his voice throaty.

  He refilled his glass and walked warily toward the living room, stopping behind the sofa to watch Matěj’s neck as he bent over the laptop on the dark glass coffee table. It was one of those spots on the man’s body that turned Simon on furiously and inexplicably—the fine line where the hair thickened and the trapezius muscle connected to the skull. One lean hand danced over the trackpad and the other scratched the very spot Simon was staring at. The soft dark hair there moved back into place like grass after a gust of wind. Simon was so easily distracted.

  “You’re all vanilla,” Matěj mumbled, skipping through some video.

  Simon smiled. Yes, he was. He had only ten or so short videos on his computer. Nothing hardcore. He’d seen his share of weird stuff, and it wasn’t his thing. Lately, he’d been mostly transfixed by the foreplay. The kissing, caressing, and appreciation of human bodies. That was how his collection evolved. He looked for believable affection, visible honest enjoyment. He wanted to see the intimacy and got off on watching lovers, not fuck-machines making practiced noises. If it made him a prude, well tough. It was his porn and it wasn’t meant for anybody else. Until this nosey bastard invaded his life.

  Matěj watched a dark man with studs in his ears kiss down a pale hairy chest.

  “Nice tattoo,” he said gesturing toward the computer.

  Simon stepped closer, crouched behind the sofa and rested his chin on Matěj’s shoulder, watching the familiar video. He could feel Matěj’s pulse through his skin, calm and steady.

  “Why did you download this one?” Matěj asked.

  “’Cause it’s vanilla,” Simon said, smirking.

  Matěj sighed. “You know what I mean.”

  “I liked the tattoo.” He stood and went toward the bedroom hoping Matěj would take the hint and follow.

  “I call bullshit!” Matěj said behind him.

  Simon’s mouth curved again at the sound of the laptop being shut and the sofa squeaking. Matěj caught up with him in the bedroom, hugging him from behind and nuzzling his neck.

  “Tell me,” he murmured. “I only clicked through three of them. Tell me. I want to know what makes you hot.”

  “Tattoos,” Simon joked stubbornly, and Matěj growled, biting Simon’s shoulder. Matěj was mostly having fun, and Simon knew if he admitted the truth it would kill the mood. He wanted the kisses on the chest and gentle fingers in his hair. He was way past feeling pathetic about it.

  Matěj was relentless. “Liar! I already know what you hide under this cold, tough exterior. How you get all soft and pliant underneath me.”

  “Are you trying to put me in a neat little drawer?”

  “But you love my cock inside you,” Matěj husked, biting the tender skin under Simon’s ear. He phrased it as a statement but a hint of uncertainty in his voice gave him away.

  “I do.” Simon’s eyes were already closed, and he was letting the conversation go. He surrendered himself to the sensations of roaming hands, a warm body pressed to his back and wet kisses on his neck. How long would Matěj stay? Could Simon say he didn’t really care who fucked whom as long as he was allowed to touch his beautiful boy? Simon wished there was a way to ask his lover to hold him until he fell asleep. Then Matěj could go, Simon wouldn’t mind. He only wanted to be held while falling asleep. He could imagine things then, and those things could spill over into his dreams. He could dream about being in love and about being loved back.

  Hell, this attempt at casual sex was an abysmal failure.

  Matěj didn’t say anything, but Simon decided to show him anyway. Matěj understood and didn’t protest when Simon straddled him on the bed, taking him inside and leading them both toward release slower than ever. He noticed when Matěj fought the urge to take over, struggling with his controlling nature. Simon took his hands and pinned them above Matěj’s head. “Don’t you dare,” he said, and his eyes widened when he saw Matěj’s face contort in the ultimate pleasure. The young man’s body arched under Simon’s, and Simon had to release his hands to help himself come too. They cleaned up halfheartedly, kissed lazily until Simon cradled Matěj’s head, hugging him close and breathing in the faint scent of shampoo and sex.

  “Okay, you’ve made your point,” Matěj said into the embrace, and Simon smiled. The admission made him unusually brave.

  Here goes another first, he thought as he plunged forward into the unknown and made himself more vulnerable than ever by asking, “Can you stay?” His own calm and composure surprised him. Well, once you’ve jumped there’s no way back. You’re falling. Might as well enjoy it. Falling and falling.

  Matěj’s whole body stiffened in a way too obvious in the tight embrace. It took maybe two seconds, though, and Simon could feel him relax again, then exhale deeply. Matěj pressed a chaste kiss on Simon’s breastbone. “Not today. I’m sorry.”

  And falling. “It’s okay,” Simon said.

  Except it wasn’t. Simon fell face first and it hurt.

  —Dejvice, Prague, March 2013—

  He was already in his pajamas when the text message dinged on his phone. He plopped down on the sofa, stretched his legs on the dark glass coffee table and bit into an apple. He pushed the tiny button on the old Ericsson and stared at it, surprised. Matěj’s name blinked back at him, and he raised his eyebrows. It was already half past ten in the evening, and they’d seen each other only two days ago.

  Miss you.

  Did he confuse numbers? His sister was away for a week skiing with her gymnasium classmates. Matěj confided in Simon a few weeks ago about the huge relief he always felt when she was away for a while, and he didn’t have to bother about having to deal with their father in front of her. There was a good chance the message was intended for her.

  He contemplated his options. Finally, he decided on a noncommittal:

  What’s going on?

  A moment later, the reply came:

  Meet me at the corner of Dlouhá and Rybná Street in half an hour.

  Simon stared at his phone, seriously befuddled. Somehow on his way from the kitchen to the living room he ended up in a parallel universe where Matěj voiced other feelings for Simon than simple lust. Hell. The bubbles in Simon’s veins and tingles in his fingers felt very much like hope. He took a deep breath to steady himself and picked dark jeans, a black Mark Sandman T-shirt, the only hoodie he owned, and a military-style gray coat with many more pockets than he’d ever have use for. He laced his most comfortable leather sneakers and pocketed his cigarettes. Was it immature of him to want to look closer to Matěj’s age? He couldn’t remember the last time he went out dressed quite so casual.

  With a last fleeting look at his reflection in the hall mirror—he looked good if he could judge for himself—Simon locked the door clumsily and scratched his scarred ear. Almost losing the rhythm twice, he ran down the stairs, not having the patience to wait for the elevator.

  ***

  Forty-five minutes later, he stood in front of the famous Roxy club wondering how he could have been so stupid. He was freezing and smoking his third cigarette, holding on to the last threads of hope, when finally Matěj bounced toward him and smacked a sloppy kiss on his frosty cheek.

  “You came! That’s great, honey. C’mon, c’mon! You have to meet everybody.”

  Simon snorted in disgust at his own naiveté. Matěj was high as a kite. Of course. There was no other way he would have sent Simon a miss-you text. Simon moved his head away when Matěj tried to kiss him on his lips.

  “No PDA. I know, I know. I needed to see you toda
y. I just looked around myself at all those people and thought, I need Simon. And here you are!” He was babbling at the speed of a game show host when he hooked an arm around Simon’s neck and tried to lead him toward the club. Since he was so out of it, he took longer to notice Simon’s resistance.

  “C’mon, old man. We’re gonna have fun. I’ll even suck you off in the men’s room!” He laughed hysterically, and Simon grimaced.

  “You sure are enthusiastic today. What did you take?”

  “Love elixir, baby. Love!” Matěj continued laughing and dragging Simon with him. Simon was betting on ecstasy pills. Probably not just one. And alcohol of course, judging by the smell. Not exactly the safest of combinations. He ducked under Matěj’s arm and stopped on the sidewalk.

  “I’m not going inside.” Simon eyed the club entrance fleetingly, noticing some heads in the crowd were turned toward them. Somebody they knew? Who knew them? This was a potential disaster for so many reasons.

  Matěj whirled around, his eyes huge in his face. His cheeks were red and his mouth hung open in a frozen smile which quickly turned into an annoyed grimace.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “You’re barely coherent, for fuck’s sake.” Simon tried to stay calm and push the disappointment aside. He had to keep it together to be able to deal with Matěj. He closed his eyes for a second and began talking soothingly. “Come home with me, we’ll take a walk to my place, you cool off, we can have a joint to help you on the ride down. I’ll even let you sleep the whole day tomorrow, but I’m not going into the Roxy with you when you’re buzzing like a queen bee.”

  Matěj threw his arms in the air in an exaggerated gesture. “The Cruel Doctor Frost has spoken,” he exclaimed. He gave out another laugh but this time it was torn, the sound edgy. He raked a hand through his shaggy hair and huffed out a breath.

  Simon watched the stranger in front of him warily. Anything was possible now. He was scared, terrified really. So, this was how it would feel to lose Matěj completely? He suspected he’d only brushed the surface of the looming dejection.

  “Simon.” Matěj reached out and stroked Simon’s cheek. His restless eyes grew soft for a split second. Simon hated when Matěj made a single gentle gesture under the influence. He would soak up the pleasure gladly any other time, but not like this. “I messaged you today because I wanted to be with you. No pressure, no expectations. Just you and me having fun. What’s wrong with that? Can’t you just share this with me?”

  Oh, the irony of it! “Share what exactly?” Simon was not with Matěj when Matěj was like this. He was next to him at best. He felt like a distant observer while Matěj flew around him—bursts of movement, colors and flashes of light which burned Simon’s eyes.

  The worst was Simon let himself hope for something, and the hurt was deeper than he should have ever allowed it to be. Matěj missing him? What a ridiculous notion.

  “Simon, Simon, Simon. You’re thinking again. Stop with the thinking. You’re bringing me down. Do. Not. Think!” He cupped Simon’s face, stepping closer.

  Simon gazed into those mesmerizing eyes and mourned the absence of the usual sharp awareness in them. He swallowed against the ache and pushed Matěj’s hands away.

  “I’m going home. You can come with me, but I’m not going inside,” he said with calm finality.

  The flash of anger across Matěj’s face was quickly replaced with mockery.

  “What the fuck did you expect, Mister I-don’t-have-time-for-this? It’s Saturday night!”

  “I’ll talk to you when you’ve sobered up. Have fun.” Simon turned to leave, feeling hollow.

  “You’re going? Really? I bare my soul here that I miss you, that I want to be with you somewhere else than between those four walls, and you…” He gestured angrily toward Simon, clearly incapable of finishing his thought. He looked around, shaking his head jerkily.

  Simon’s frustration peaked, making him snap. Compared to the young, breathtakingly beautiful and glamorously drugged boy in front of him, he felt fifty going on sixty-three years old. “And you seriously thought clubbing and popping pills together would be a better idea?”

  Matěj shrugged, his mouth opening and closing again a couple of times before his face twisted into a sad grimace. “You just need me to fuck you once a week. That’s it?”

  Did Matěj really feel those things? Or was it the MDMA talking? Simon admitted to himself a long time ago he wanted more. Much more. However, this was definitely not the version of Matěj he could have the conversation with. Simon dragged his hands over his face and shook his head. “I can’t talk about this with you when you’re on the shit.”

  Matěj’s features grew cold. “Go fuck yourself.” He snorted loudly and made his way toward the club entrance, beelining past the crowd there and disappearing inside. He must have known the bouncers personally.

  So much for wanting to be with Simon.

  Simon stood on the street trying to make sense of what just happened. Yet there was nothing to make sense of. Nothing happened. Just another regular Saturday night. And now he was worried whether Matěj would be all right with all the chemicals clashing in his body. He almost changed his mind because he wanted to keep an eye on him.

  He massaged his forehead with one hand, and reached for his cigarettes with the other. This night had gone positively straight to hell. How the fuck was he supposed to sleep knowing Matěj was getting trashed, maybe dehydrated, maybe hooking up with someone else…

  ***

  The phone call came late in the afternoon on Sunday. Simon was battling with himself for the whole day, equally sick with worry and annoyed at his own weakness. He shouldn’t have let Matěj be on his own drugged and angry, but he couldn’t follow him like a puppy whenever the man crooked his finger on a whim. Nevertheless, when he saw Matěj’s caller ID on his phone his whole body sagged with relief. He let the phone ring three times, just staring at it, before he picked up.

  “Hi.”

  “Simon? Hi.” Matěj hesitated, his voice hoarse after what must have been a very long night. “I just… I’m sorry for yesterday.”

  Simon didn’t know what to say so he was silent.

  “I know I dragged you out for some stupid reason.”

  Simon swallowed. For some stupid reason. “I…yeah.”

  Matěj breathed heavily, the sound crackled in the phone. “I barely remember what I did or said. I just know I pissed you off.” Another tired pause. “And I can’t imagine anything being your fault. So…I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I…well, I was out in the city anyway when you messaged. So, not really a problem.” Did he really feel the need to lie?

  “We’re good?”

  “Yeah, we’re good.”

  “I’ll see you later this week?”

  “I’ll text you.”

  “Great. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Simon stared at his phone and pulled on his crippled ear compulsively. He saw absolutely no way out of this mess. For the last few months, he had been sitting tied down in this endless rollercoaster ride feeling alternatively nauseous, thrilled, dizzy, and, of late, exhausted. Matěj’s words—“can’t imagine anything being your fault”—ran on a loop through his head. If the man only knew. So, Simon did what he always used to do when he felt trapped. He went for a punishing run.

  4: The Tears of The Cruel Doctor Frost

  —Dejvice, Prague, April 2013—

  Two weeks later, Simon was busy preparing dinner for one when he heard the doorbell. He hated the sound. He should have changed the damned machine long ago.

  He stalked toward the door expecting some nosey neighbor. Instead, Matěj stood in the hall, rocking on his heels nervously, his old messenger bag heavy with books.

  “I should have called,” he started. “But I…need to stay somewhere.” He looked down. “I really should have called.”

  Should Simon be worried about Matěj arriving unannounced? His main worry was if he had enou
gh pasta for two. He shook his head. “It’s fine, come in.”

  He headed back toward the kitchen, but Matěj caught his upper arm, turning him back to face him. The look in his eyes was strained, wary. He searched Simon’s features for something.

  “What’s wrong?” Simon asked, confused.

  Matěj didn’t answer. He scrutinized Simon for a few more seconds and then leaned in, kissing him hard and demanding. Simon almost stumbled but then he caught on, his right hand sinking in Matěj’s messy hair, his left diving under his T-shirt, stroking his waist and lower back, soaking up the warmth. Just a few hours ago, Simon had tried to convince himself to take a break from Matěj, to get some distance, gain some perspective. And yet, here he went again, head first, recklessly, stupidly, wonderfully crazy.

  He let his fingers smooth over Matěj’s shoulder, circle his biceps, skim his forearm. He intended to catch Matěj’s hand to stop for a while. There was pasta cooking on the stove, after all. As soon as he reached for Matěj’s hand, the young man cringed. Simon took a step back studying the bruised and scraped knuckles.

  “Shit. Again?” He asked on an annoyed exhale.

  Matěj shrugged self-consciously. “He didn’t even manage to get a good one in. I smashed his face against the kitchen door and left.”

  Simon looped his arms around Matěj, pulling him closer, his nose in Matěj’s hair, feeling him breathe heavily against Simon’s shoulder.

  “Marta is okay?”

  Matěj lifted his head, sending Simon a disbelieving scowl. “Of course!” he said sounding hurt. “She’s at a girlfriend’s. She’s supposed to check in with me in the morning, and I am meeting her after school.”

  Simon knew Matěj’s concern for his little sister was profound. He didn’t doubt him for a second. He just wanted to know the practicalities. Never mind.

  They ate dinner together, but it was strained. Simon was glad Matěj had sought him out when he felt threatened. Usually, he’d just go out with friends and get trashed. At the same time, Simon was afraid to read too much into it. This was supposed to be a fling, a casual arrangement of sorts. Lately, Simon was scared his feelings would show and send Matěj running. This was what a casual relationship looked like? Simon hadn’t touched anybody else in months. During the days, he counted the minutes until he could see Matěj again. Needy and pathetic, yes. Definitely not casual.