“Deck, you know you can be a little much sometimes,” Liebgott said. “Give him a chance to get used to the idea of you out of bed.”
Deck didn’t miss a beat. “Heh.” He grinned lecherously to himself and nodded.
“See. That. That’s why Naim isn’t here,” Laura accused, pointing at him.
“It is not,” he yelled back, then growled in frustration.
Liebgott signaled her to hush, and she huffed but didn’t say anything.
Deck slammed back a handful of gummy bears, took another pull off his beer, and gave Laura a filthy look. “I don’t do that to him anymore.” He shook his head. “I mean with him—fucking—you know what I mean.”
Laura looked like she was struggling not to giggle.
“I’ve been good. Mostly.” His face fell. “I mean…” He sighed and sat back while they let him talk.
“I know he’s skittish. And I know I’m a pain in the ass. I just… I’m an asshole, right?” He spoke to the ceiling again. “I don’t know what to do. The stupid shit I say that makes him uncomfortable. I’m better. I got better about that, and I try not to push. I really fucking do, but sometimes he just… He’s just fucking gone. Even when he’s there, he’s gone, and I don’t know what I did. And he’s not here now, and I don’t fucking know what I fucking did wrong.”
No one said anything for a moment, and Deck’s eyes grew suspiciously shiny.
Finally Laura spoke. “Maybe you didn’t do anything wrong, Deck. You fell for him knowing what he was like.”
Deck interrupted. “I couldn’t help it.” He sat up and gaped at them. “Have you fucking seen him? Have you fucking talked to him?” He waved his arms, and three gummy bears went flying. Sue jumped to chase after them.
Laura held up a hand. “Yes, Deck. We know. He is wonderful, and of course you fell for him. I’m just saying, you also knew how he was from day one; he’s worse than Sue.” Laura waved toward the cat, who provided a fine example of jumpy and skittish by happily bitch slapping the life out of a yellow gummy bear.
Deck gave all three of them a dirty look.
Laura breathed. “Just be patient. That’s all we were trying to say.”
“I. Know.” Deck gritted the words out. “But how the fuck am I supposed to be patient when I don’t know what I’m being patient for.” They both looked at him, confused, and he sighed, annoyed. The more anxious he got, the less articulate he got, which just frustrated him more. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, realized that position really hurt, then sat back again, even more irritated. “Fuck.”
After a bit of quiet, during which they let him collect his thoughts and he drank more beer, he tried again. “If I knew that he just needed time to feel comfortable, that would be okay. Like, if he just needed to go slow. Take him to dinner, not live in each other’s pockets for a while, give him some space or whatever. I could do that.” He shook his head and stared at his hands. “If I knew he wasn’t here now just because he needed space, I could…I could do that. But I don’t even know that. He’s… He doesn’t trust me. And I don’t know if he’s not here because he needs space or if he’s not here because he’s gonna tell me he can’t deal and he doesn’t want to see me now that shit got real.”
Deck looked up at his friends, eyes big and a little wet. “What if he says that? What if he decided that he doesn’t wanna see me? He doesn’t want to try this now.” His voice got higher and threatened to crack.
Laura stirred quietly, almost reaching for him. “Deck, you’re breaking my heart a little over here.”
“I think,” Liebgott started and cleared his throat. “I think that if you let it go for today, ya know, give him today…” Deck looked at him desperately, willing to listen to any advice offered. Liebgott didn’t finish, and Deck sat back, even more pitiful.
“Deck,” Laura picked up, throwing Lieb a glare, “I honestly don’t think that will happen. I don’t think he’s just going to turn around and say, oh never mind. I think it’s possible—not likely, mind you—but possible that he may try to say something like that.” Deck sat up, more panic spreading across his face, and Laura held up a hand to cut him off. “But. The way things have been going, if he were to do that, it would be a conversation, not just a…a…” She struggled.
“A decree,” Liebgott finished, nodding. “You’re essentially in a relationship, Deck. It may not be very old or very established but it is a relationship, and I don’t think Naim is the kind of guy to go running around arbitrarily throwing decisions out. At least not without talking about it first.”
Deck looked better but still shaky. “He gets really freaked.”
“Okay, but like Laura said, he might try to bail, but I think if you gave him a little space, then talked to him, it wouldn’t be as one-sided as that.”
Deck sighed heavily and was quiet, thinking it over for a minute. “So…you guys are saying that he really doesn’t get to just say, ‘Fuck this; I’m out’?”
“Well, maybe those aren’t the kind of stalky words I’d use,” Laura said, “but yeah.”
“But Deck.” She waited until he was looking at her and not the ceiling. “He really does have feelings for you. I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“You said a few weeks ago that you were in love with him, but you haven’t mentioned it again.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Naim’s panic had grown near debilitating, so Frannie did some shuffling and got him in that afternoon.
“Your feelings don’t matter?”
Naim blinked once, his face getting angrier and more twisted. He sat up suddenly. “Nope. They sure as fuck don’t.”
“But Naim—”
“No, Frannie. No.” He looked through her with cold and brittle eyes. “We can argue about this until the end of time, but the only thing that matters is that I had no business getting involved with him.”
“Why?”
“Frannie, please.”
“I’d like to hear why, Naim. I think it’s important to understand exactly why you feel the way you do so that you can explain it to him. I know you want to give him the respect of an explanation for ending things, so you need to understand it yourself. The present as well as the past.”
“The fuck is he going to need to know besides what I’ve done?”
“I don’t think he needs to know anything at all. We’re talking about you, what you think is best. If you think that’s ending this, then okay.”
Naim fidgeted in his chair, his leg bouncing, his teeth grinding.
“I do, however, think that you will feel better about ending it if you can explain to him how you feel about yourself now, in the present.”
Naim stayed silent for a minute, but the jumble of misery and rage and self-hatred made it impossible to think. “How does that matter?” He stopped and shook his head hard. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even know if I’m going to end it, because he may get to that first. Fuck, he may well beat the shit out of me.” He put his head in his hands.
“Do you think that’s really a possibility? Because your safety—”
“Stop, Frannie. Stop it.” He looked up at her, disgusted, and she tilted her head in concern. “I don’t know… No.” Naim sighed as he fought tears. He didn’t speak for a long time. “No. He wouldn’t. Ever. But he should,” he added quietly.
“Why?”
“You’re not fucking serious.” Naim sneered at her.
Frannie didn’t dignify that with a response.
Sighing again, Naim collapsed back into his chair. “Because.” He thought awhile, and the tears started to come again. “Because I’ve been lying to him. Pretending to be a real person.” He ground his palms into his eyes too hard and embraced the pain. “Letting him get all wrapped up and emotionally invested with only a half-truth.” He let out an ugly laugh. “Not even that fucking much. Just a lot of skittish bullshit. Stupid bastard thinks… He thinks I’m fucking shy or a prude or something.” He still laughed that low,
chilling laugh.
“Okay. But is it reasonable to expect anyone just entering a new romantic situation to share all of their most intimate personal details immediately? Quite often that’s considered oversharing.”
“Right. So it was a lose-lose for me regardless. Which is why I had no business getting involved with him in the first place, and why he has every right to beat the shit out of me.” Naim felt morbidly pleased that Frannie had helped him make his own, self-destructive point.
“Naim, no one has the right to beat the shit out of you.”
“Whatever.”
“Naim—”
“Whatever!” he shouted
“Naim, you do not deserve to be hurt.”
He glared at her.
“This is something we’ve discussed before. You know, and you have come to understand and accept so much already. So much good work. You know that none of what happened when you were a child was your fault.”
“I never said that,” he interrupted, his tone dead and cold and harsh. “I never said that. Some of what happened wasn’t my fault. But I made my own choices. And I was fucking responsible…for…”
“You were not responsible for Étienne.”
He snapped at her again. “Then who was?”
“Étienne.”
“Fuck you.” Naim spat, ignoring the tears. Frannie didn’t blink.
He looked at the wall silently for a while, then took a deep breath. “He won’t hate me for that,” he finally said. “Deck won’t hate me for that. He probably…he’d probably cry for me.” He shook his head and was silent again, seeing Deck and his big stupid grin and soft kind eyes. Naim loathed him in that moment. “Or some other stupid fucking shit.”
“Naim,” Frannie said after a time. He looked at her, sad and angry and lost. “Have you considered not sharing this part of yourself quite yet? Maybe you’re just not ready to tell him.”
“That’s not an option.”
She sighed. “Why not?”
“Because he deserves to know. He should know.” Naim stopped. Even with Frannie he was uncomfortable talking about it, thinking about it. “Because…he should be getting laid, and I don’t have any self-control left.” Another tear fell. “I…I cannot…I won’t do that to him.”
“So you think he needs to know your history before you take things any further physically?”
“Don’t you?”
“No. I don’t think it’s relevant. But you do, and that’s what we’re discussing.”
Silence.
“So you’re not going to tell him about Étienne?”
Naim made a disgusted face. “Why not?”
“If this is about your physical relationship, then Étienne doesn’t factor into that.”
“It speaks to the man I am.” He looked away.
“It speaks to a very small part of the boy you were. And it speaks to the fact that your capacity for love and self-hatred are equally powerful.”
“I was seventeen.” His nostrils flared. “And eighteen and nineteen.” He looked at her pointedly, his face still angry but pale and gray. “I was old enough to know better.”
“Do you say that to the kids you see in the hospital? At the clinic? That they’re old enough to know better, so they only have themselves to blame?”
“I bitch slapped a seventeen-year-old a few weeks ago. And you know that I did it because he knew better than what he was doing.” Despite the circumstances, it wasn’t something Naim was proud of. He considered himself lucky that Jen felt he was justified, and the boy wasn’t about to admit that it had happened at all.
“I know. But that situation was entirely different.”
“We’re never going to agree about this, Frannie. You keep trying, but I knew better. And if I didn’t when I left Marseille, I had five years after that to figure it the fuck out.” His knee was bouncing again.
Neither of them said anything for a while. Finally, Naim sighed and rubbed at his face, thinking about Deck again. Bitterness and sadness built further. “I’m going to try and see him tomorrow.” He looked at the floor. “Get this the fuck over with.” Frannie said nothing, and he continued to speak, more to himself than her. “I did this to myself. To him. Now I need to undo it as soon as fucking possible.”
Silence again.
Naim thought about calling Deck. Inviting him over to his flat, and just how wrong Deck would be about what was going to happen there. He imagined his face and what it might look like when Naim told him about Marseille. Naim felt ill, and his hands shook.
After a minute he let out a small, sick laugh. “I miss him.” He laughed louder, tears of grief in his eyes again. “It’s been one day, and I fucking miss him.” He stilled his face, but his cheek twitched slightly.
A moment later, he leaned over onto his knees again, put his face in his hands, and cried.
Chapter Nine
“Can I come over?” He’d thought about texting, but he wanted to hear Naim’s voice.
Naim went cold. Yes. That was best. They couldn’t talk in public; if Deck were at Naim’s, he could walk out whenever he felt like he needed to. It was only fair. Let him have that option.
“Yes,” he croaked out, unable to manage more. He could hear Deck’s grin, and his eyes felt cloudy and dark.
“I’ll be there in fifteen.” Deck misheard Naim’s voice, thinking it sounded downright sultry. He shivered, an ecstatic thrill, and had plans for when he got there.
Unfortunately, Naim had plans of his own. He would do the right thing if it sucked the life and whatever soul he had left out of him.
He fell into a chair, his legs unable to hold him up anymore, knowing with as much certainty as he knew his own name, that was exactly what was going to happen.
Deck stood there, leaning on the doorjamb, grinning like the idiot he was. Idiot, Naim thought. Stupid fucking idiot.
Naim didn’t say anything; he just opened the door, then turned and padded in bare feet back toward the kitchen. In the time between Deck’s call and his arrival, Naim felt he’d lost what little was left of his mind. His rage at everyone and everything, including Deck, grew by the second. He didn’t want to do this, but he was a stupid piece of shit who had left himself no choice.
Stupid fucking cunt, he referred to himself this time.
“Hey,” Deck said, following and reaching for him. “What’s wrong?” Naim shook away from him. “Naim, lo—What’s up?” Deck frowned, confusion and worry marking his face. The grin was gone.
Naim opened the fridge, pulled out two beers, then paused and put one back. He really needed a drink. He better not have one.
“Naim?” Deck stopped behind him and grasped his upper arms gently. “I missed you yesterday.”
Naim turned, pulled from Deck’s grasp, and shoved the beer at him. He felt sick already, and he couldn’t handle Deck touching him. He wanted a shower. He’d just taken one an hour ago, but he felt clammy. Like something on him smelled bad.
“Here, take this,” he mumbled, stepping away from Deck toward the balcony.
Deck followed him, his silence giving away his fear.
He frowned when Naim opened the balcony doors, produced a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and lit one like a pro.
Cold air blew in as Naim blew smoke out. He leaned against the door frame, staring at the floor, letting the cold wash the feeling of sweat and stink and filth off him.
He shuddered and swallowed back bile at the thought of looking at Deck.
Deck, not taking his eyes from Naim, helped himself to a chair at the small table off the balcony, sat down, took a long pull off his beer, and waited.
Naim blinked at his feet. He had no idea what to say; he’d played this out a thousand times, trying to find the right combination of sound and syllables to make it okay, but it wasn’t okay, and nothing he could say would change that, so he gave up and just let the words tumble.
“It’s not fair, ya know,” he started. “It’s not fair that I did this t
o you; I know that.”
“What?” Deck nearly shouted, panic and distress in his tone.
Naim realized what he wanted to say and decided that he owed it to Deck to look him in the eye. He also realized he wasn’t angry with Deck anymore. He just hated himself.
“I…I got involved with you. I let this happen, and I had no right to do that, Deck. I’m sorry.” He looked down again, taking a drag off his smoke.
“Okay, what the fuck, Naim?” Deck started to stand.
“Don’t do that!” Naim panicked. “Please. Please just…sit.”
Deck sat back down slowly and swallowed audibly. “Naim, what are you talking about?”
Naim closed his eyes, breathed, and tried to start again, his words choppy and hesitant. “There are things you need to know. About me. And I should have told you before you got…before we…” Naim could feel the tears coming already. “I should have told you before.” He took a deep drag. “I’m not going to ask you to forgive me for that, okay?” He glanced quickly at Deck. “I don’t want you to think…to think that’s what I’m doing.” He really wanted that drink. “It wouldn’t be respectful and I—” He stopped and gritted his teeth. Just fucking tell him.
“Fucking—Naim, you’re scaring the shit out of me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Deck went to say something else, but Naim interrupted. “Fuck.” He didn’t trust Deck to not say something that would make it worse. Something sweet and soft and kind.
Exhaling more smoke, Naim looked back to his feet and thought of something. “Do you remember the bathroom? Where you found me in the fire?”
“I uh, kinda,” Deck answered gently, clearly trying to stay calm. “It was…hard to see.”
“Yeah.” Naim inhaled again. “I almost didn’t go in there. I almost stayed in the corridor and just hoped for the best. I never went in that fucking bathroom. I fucking hated that bathroom.” He exhaled an angry and ugly snort. “I never used it. I never went in there,” he repeated, already somewhere else. He smiled, but it wasn’t a smile. “I think you were my hero as soon as you said, ‘Help me break through the wall.’ Beating the shit out of that wall felt fantastic.” Naim stared at nothing, took another drag from his cigarette, and, noticing that it was down to the filter, pulled out another and lit it with the butt of his first.
Smoke and Mirrors Page 14
