Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

  He used the chopsticks expertly, pausing as he lifted them to his mouth when he heard noises coming from Sloan’s bedroom. He supposed he’d have to have a discussion with him over last night’s incident, and now was as good a time as any. Sloan seemed to have no qualms about invading an otherwise private space, so he was going to have to set him straight. He needed to understand that there would be very clear boundaries between them, or he’d have to pack his bag and get the hell out, their fathers notwithstanding.

  Sloan stumbled into the kitchen, making a straight line toward the refrigerator. He mumbled a greeting of some sort and yanked open the door, cussing up a blue streak when he realized there was not one can of Coke inside.

  “Don’t you drink soda?” He slammed the door shut and turned to Cole, who continued to eat.

  “No.”

  “What about coffee?”

  “I don’t drink coffee, but I have tea if you’d like some.”

  “Shit!” Sloan muttered, throwing himself on a chair. “What the hell are you eating?”

  “I’m having my breakfast.”

  Sloan leaned over to get a good look at Cole’s meal and recoiled, disgusted. “What the hell is that anyway? It smells funny.”

  Cole put the bowl and his chopsticks down, trying to maintain some sort of civility. So far Sloan was doing everything possible to get on his nerves. “I’m having a donburi, a rice bowl, if you must know. It’s got chicken mixed in with scrambled eggs and a light sauce to enhance the flavor. It’s a combination of soy, sugar and ginger, like teriyaki sauce.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of Pop-Tarts?”

  Cole laughed despite his annoyance. “I prefer to have something a little more nutritious.”

  “Man, I’ve got to go grocery shopping. You don’t have shit in this place.”

  “I’ve got plenty of shit.”

  “Yeah, but it’s all this weirdo Japanese stuff,” Sloan accused.

  “It’s what I prefer,” Cole replied, directing his gaze at the figure in front of him. It was like looking through a straw, his circle of vision was so tiny. He couldn’t make out all of Sloan’s features, but he could feel his body language, and it was definitely agitated.

  “Do you even own a coffee pot?” Sloan was outraged that there was no caffeine in sight.

  “Sloan, you’re welcome to buy whatever you want, but I need to be here when you put things away. I have a system.”

  “No kidding,” Sloan grumbled; he’d noticed last night how everything was lined up as neatly as possible. “You really are anal, you know that?”

  “I prefer to call it organized.”

  “Why are you having rice for breakfast?” Sloan asked, changing the subject. “That’s not normal.”

  “I have my heavier meals in the morning and at lunch. I got used to eating this way when I was playing baseball.”

  “It’s weird.”

  “No weirder than having mountains of bacon, hash browns, and three eggs sunny-side up. I just prefer rice as my carbohydrate and lean meat as a side.”

  “Whatever, dude.”

  “Would you like a bowl?”

  “Hell no! What I want is a latte with a triple shot of espresso. Is there a Starbucks close by?”

  “Around the corner,” Cole replied, resuming his meal. He took another mouthful of food and began to chew slowly, waiting for Sloan to leave. Unfortunately, he didn’t.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” Sloan spat out, not sounding sorry at all. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but you were making all these noises, like you were in pain or something, so I had to find out what was going on.”

  “I don’t like people walking in on me when I’m fast asleep.”

  “Like I said, dude. Noises.”

  “Let’s get a few things straight, okay?” Cole stated, putting his bowl and chopsticks down once more. “You and I will have to work out some rules, so we’re not in each other’s business.”

  “Hey, I have no desire to be in your business.”

  “And I don’t care what you do, either, but I do care when you walk into my room unannounced. What if I had company?”

  “You didn’t, okay?” Sloan answered quickly. “Do you have a girlfriend? Should I be expecting some girl to show up here?”

  “I’m seeing someone, yes.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Her name is Juliana, but she doesn’t have a key to the apartment, so she’s not going to just ‘show up’,” Cole said, making quotation marks in the air. “I prefer to invite people into my life. I don’t like anyone to assume anything.”

  “Gads, have you always been this rigid?”

  “Who’s rigid?”

  Sloan snorted, “Whatever, dude.”

  “Getting back to my bedroom,” Cole started up again.

  “I’ve got it, Cole,” Sloan stopped him in mid-sentence. “It won’t happen again.” He stood up quickly and almost knocked over the chair. “I’ve got to get some coffee in me or I’ll be sick.”

  “Do you have plans for today?” Cole asked, trying to smooth things over.

  “I didn’t, but that’s changed. I’m going to the store to buy some real food. Then I think I’ll explore the neighborhood, get used to my surroundings. Tomorrow is Monday and I’ve got to be at Pratt around ten in the morning, so I’d like to walk around campus later on.”

  “You do realize that Pratt is only a few blocks from here. You can practically fall into your classroom,” Cole said.

  “Fuck, yeah. That means I won’t have to rush in the morning.”

  “What time is your first class?”

  “I’m certain it’s around nine or so, but I need to look at my schedule again. What about you? Do you work or go to school?”

  “I’m getting my master’s online, but I do attend a few classes on campus each week,” Cole replied, skipping all the details. Fortunately, Sloan was too caught up in his quest for caffeine to ask for more information.

  “Do you need anything from the store?” Sloan asked as an afterthought, “and don’t ask me to buy any weirdo shit like seaweed or dried eel.”

  Cole shook his head, smiling at the remark. “I’m good, Sloan. Thanks.”

  I SPUN around and headed toward the bathroom to wash my face, brush my teeth, and get the hell away from him. I had the shakes pretty bad, probably from the lack of coffee or the aftereffects of last night’s incident. Each time I gave in to my need to hurt myself, I paid for it the next day. The physical pain was bad enough, but the mental torture of knowing I’d lost control was even worse.

  The shrinks had prescribed antidepressants, telling me that the pills would help me to cope with my feelings and keep them at bay. I knew they were wrong. I’d been doing this to myself for years, and no happy pill was going to make me stop.

  I pushed down my sweats and stared at my thighs, looking at them almost dispassionately to see what kind of damage I’d caused. The angry S marks were a dull red, some of them crusting over where I’d broken skin.

  My legs were a study in the levels of torture I’d inflicted on myself through the years. Scar over scar had formed, almost to the point of becoming some intricate pattern from hell, a personalized tattoo that screamed, help me. I grabbed the antiseptic spray and doused myself with it, enduring the sting and hoping I wouldn’t get an infection. At least I hadn’t used a knife or blade last night, simply because they weren’t handy. I’d have to stock up on those as well.

  I pulled my sweats back up, opting to stay in the loose pants, so I could be pain free for at least an hour. I grabbed my wallet and cell phone and headed out.

  The Starbucks was literally a stone’s throw away, praise God. I’d never been so happy to smell coffee in my life. After ordering my latte, with the extra jolts of espresso, I moved over to a table by the window and sat down to savor every last drop of the morning pick-me-up.

  The joint was packed, quite normal for a Starbucks at nine in the morning. What was more interesting
to me was the number of gay men who were strolling in and out. My morning was starting to get better by the minute. Maybe I’d finally move from virtual sex to the real thing. I wondered, though, why Cole had chosen this location. He could have picked any part of Manhattan, but Fifteenth Street in Chelsea was on the border of the gayest part of town.

  My cell phone beeped at me, and the number on caller ID was my dad’s.

  “Hey,” I answered, knowing he’d be pissed ’cause I didn’t call him last night as promised.

  “I see you got there safe and sound.”

  “Sorry I didn’t call.”

  “Well, I figured you were in good shape. I didn’t read about any mad terrorists hijacking your plane.”

  “Not this time, Dad. Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Well, I don’t really know much about Cole, other than what Ken has told me. The boy is somewhat of a mystery.”

  “He’s pretty anal.”

  “I don’t mean that part. I’m talking about why no one will tell me why he quit playing baseball,” Joe replied. “He was quite good at it, almost as good as Junior.”

  I rolled my eyes and said, “No, really? You mean someone can actually come close?”

  “Stop it, Sloan.”

  “I’ve got to go, Dad. Talk to you later.” I disconnected before he could say another word. I had no desire to listen to him apologize for mentioning my brother.

  Junior Driscoll, my younger brother, was my dad’s pride and joy. He was a pitcher for the San Francisco Giants and proudly walking in our father’s footsteps. He was everything I wasn’t, and the biggest thorn in my side.

  We were eighteen months apart, but from the very beginning, he’d stolen the spotlight. He was better-looking for one thing. He had my father’s body structure, and by the time we were in our early teens, he’d passed me in the height and weight departments. It didn’t matter that I was ten times smarter, or that he had trouble passing a simple math class without my help. What mattered was that he could hit the ball out of the park and pitch till the cows came home.

  He was also straight and a ladies’ man. Like I said, everything I wasn’t.

  COLE PUT the phone down and waited for the cab to show up. The doorman said he would call him as soon as he could flag one down. He hoped that Sloan would be back by then. He’d forgotten to give him the keys to the apartment: a major sticking point, since he had a meeting with his counselor at Lighthouse International in about an hour. He couldn’t be late for that, and Sloan would just have to wait if he didn’t catch him before leaving.

  His weekly meetings were a great source of comfort to him. It was the one place he could be honest and not pretend that life was normal. Lighthouse International had all the help available to anyone who was suffering vision loss or who was already visually impaired. They had the finest doctors and counselors and every resource one could possibly want to help people cope.

  His counselor was also a psychiatrist, trained to work with the handicapped, but more importantly, good-natured and wise. Dr. John Butterman wasn’t condescending, nor was he overly optimistic, dishing out false hope. He was direct and grounded, but supportive and understanding of everything that Cole was going through. He was also legally blind and well able to relate.

  Cole’s phone rang, seconds before he heard the knock. He had the phone to his ear as he made his way to the entrance, listening to the doorman announcing the arrival of his cab. He yanked the door open and was relieved to see Sloan’s outline, standing there with an armful of something.

  “Thank goodness,” Cole exclaimed.

  “Why?”

  “I’ve got to go out for a while, and I realized that you didn’t have a key.”

  “Yeah, no kidding. That would have so sucked if you were gone, since I bought two gallons of ice cream.”

  “Jesus, Sloan. Didn’t you buy anything healthy?”

  “Ice cream is dairy,” Sloan spat out. “That’s healthy.”

  Cole shook his head. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  “What about the key?”

  “We’ll take care of it later.”

  “Okay. Should I put all my things away?”

  “Yeah. I’ll probably change everything around when I get back, but it can wait.”

  “Why don’t I just put away the perishables, and we’ll do the rest when you get home.”

  “Fine,” Cole muttered, already making his way out the door. He counted the ten steps down the hallway to the elevator. He stepped in and pressed the down button, which was on the lower left of the display panel. When the elevator stopped, he counted the five steps that took him out the door and then eight more to the curb where the taxi waited for him. He got into the cab, looking like any other sighted man.

  4

  I PUT away the ice cream and decided to take advantage of Cole’s absence by exploring the apartment. I knew he’d have a fit if he found out I was snooping, but I was a naturally inquisitive person, and I wanted a little more information about my mysterious roommate.

  The living room didn’t really tell me much other than the fact that he must have made money, because his entertainment center was huge and the sound system and TV were first-class. There was a computer on one side of the wall with shelves over it, filled with books and assorted binders. I assumed he had Internet, so that I could access the web off my laptop, but I’d probably need a password to hop on, and that would have to wait till he got home. Meantime, I decided to check my e-mail, hoping he hadn’t locked his PC or at least had a guest entry.

  I sat in front of the screen and turned on the monitor. When the image came up, I saw that it was a picture of Cole in a baseball uniform, looking straight at the camera. He had a slight smile on his face, and those deep blue eyes just stared right at me, making my blood boil and my cock swell instantly. There was no denying my attraction. The man was hot as fuck.

  The picture must have been taken a few years ago ’cause he looked younger, and his hair was much shorter than its current length. I wondered why I had never followed his career. Probably because Dad and Junior talked about baseball nonstop, and I’d learned to tune it all out. They may have mentioned Cole but I couldn’t remember. If he were still playing I’d attend his games, just to watch him walk out on the mound in that uniform that looked like it was spray-painted on him. His arms and shoulders bulged in all the right places. My thoughts went back to last night, and the image of his cock resting against his stomach made me groan out loud.

  I hit escape before I gave in to my desire and sprayed my spunk all over the screen. That would have Cole imploding big-time. I smirked, imagining the look on his face if he knew I was lusting after him.

  All thoughts of sex stopped when I was confronted with the outrageous font size that leaped up on the screen. It was five times larger than I was used to, and I was a little taken aback. What the fuck? It made me dizzy; the writing was so huge compared to the way I had my laptop set, on the smallest font. I’d have to ask Cole why he had it this way. It was nuts, and I ended up closing out and pushing away from the screen. I could have easily changed the settings, but I didn’t want to mess with his stuff.

  I went down the hallway to his bedroom, pushing the door open and walking right in without one twinge of guilt. I threw myself on his bed and buried my face in one of the pillows, inhaling his scent. It was subtle, but I made out a little bit of spice with a touch of musk, which only made my dick swell up again. I gave in this time and tore my sweatpants off, releasing my distended cock, rubbing my thumb over the head that was already wet. I imagined Cole hovering over me, his dark hair falling like silk over my face. I envisioned him panting as his hips thrust in and out of my ass. I could almost feel the sting of his cock pushing in and pegging me right in the prostate, causing me to come all over myself in a wave of blessed release. I made sure I missed the sheets, or I’d never hear the end of it
.

  When my heart rate finally slowed back down to a normal rhythm, I stood and entered the bathroom to clean up. I wiped off with a washcloth that I had run under the cool water, and when I was done, I went back into the bedroom.

  There were several books beside his bed. Most of them had to do with Japanese history, but one of them looked to be a regular novel and I picked it up. Shogun. I’d have to ask Cole about this as well. Maybe he’d let me read the book, so I could learn more about the Japanese culture, which seemed to be such a huge part of his life. He was only half-Japanese, but he was acting like he was one-hundred-percent Asian. I opened up Shogun and again was confronted with big print. I mean, fucking huge, first grader, baby block print! I put the book down quickly, afraid to hold it in my hands. I was creeped out for some reason. Something was very wrong here, and I was determined to get to the bottom of this as soon as I could.

  DR. BUTTERMAN’S office was small but functional. Everything was within reach, but more importantly for a sight-impaired person, easy to find. The colors were brighter, and the writing on his books and magazines was larger. The king-sized computer monitor was designed specifically for the vision impaired. It utilized a software program highly recommended by Lighthouse International and was the same one that Cole had on his PC at home.

  Cole looked up when the door pushed open and the doctor walked in.

  “Good morning, Cole.”

  “John,” Cole acknowledged with a slight nod. Dr. Butterman insisted that his patients call him by his first name.

  “How’s it going?” John asked, hefting his large body into the black leather chair.

  “Fine.”

  “Did you come on the bus or by subway?”

  Cole was silent, afraid to answer the question.

  Dr. Butterman sighed and pushed away from his desk. “Cole….”

  “Look, I’m not ready yet,” Cole said. His tone was heated, bracing for a fight. “I haven’t gotten all the steps down.”