by J P Barnaby
“You’re okay to ride?”
Ben thought about the question for several long seconds. Physically, he was fine. The pain lingering in his back and shoulders wouldn’t hamper him, not like the waves of heartbreak breaking again and again over his soul. Unable to force the lie from his mouth, Ben simply nodded and climbed onto the bike, the supple leather seat scratching against his sore ass, and avoided Kage’s gaze. He was crashing from the combined adrenaline and endorphin highs, and his hands shook as he kicked the engine to life. He didn’t let the destructive emotions show when he released the brake and rolled toward the main road. Barely even kicking up gravel from the driveway, Ben pulled his boots up onto the pegs and took off. In the rearview mirror, Kage’s frown followed him past the heavy brush that lined the front lawn.
Ben lost himself in the suburban landscape littered with arching oaks and isolated houses as he rode up the two-lane highway toward I-94 toward Chicago. The constant drone of his Twin Cam 96B engine lulled the frayed edges of his nerves. Exhausted and drained, Ben thought maybe he could go home and face Jude. They’d roomed together since Ben answered Jude’s ad for a roommate in the local paper, when his parents had decided they couldn’t stand living with Juliette’s ghost for another minute. Her laughter still rang as an echo around the solemn walls. They had begged him to go with them, but something in his soul wouldn’t allow him to walk away from her, even if it was just her grave. He needed to stay and look over her—couldn’t leave her alone again—not after failing her so completely. Ben wished he could explain it to Jude because more than just being his roommate, Jude had become a close friend and a balm on his broken life. Ben hid so much of how fucked up he really was, because without Jude’s friendship, he would be truly lost.
Jude didn’t know about Kage.
Jude didn’t know about Juliette.
Jude didn’t know about his addictions.
Jude didn’t know about the pain he needed in order to function.
Ben might be able to get Jude to stay if he found out about one of them, but their combined weight would send him running, probably screaming, out of their little two-bedroom apartment on the edge of insanity. With a tenuous hold on his ruined psyche, Ben pulled the bike onto the interstate and refused to think about what would happen to him if he lost Jude’s friendship. He’d lost Juliette. His parents had no idea how to deal with him. All he had left were Jude and Kage—the light and the dark.
Tilting the bike to the right, he reached the top of his exit ramp and waited while a silver Civic puttered past with a white-knuckled teenager behind the wheel. God, he remembered that phase of his life with such horrifying clarity—his mother, so free and lighthearted as she taught him to keep his hands at ten and two. The contrast to the shattered woman she’d become just a couple of years later staggered him.
The gate on their sprawling apartment complex sat open, as it usually did during the day, so Ben rolled through and turned onto the little fake street leading to their building. With names like Cypress Lane and Birchwood Circle, it should have been a wooded paradise instead of a run-down, ramshackle collection of seemingly random buildings with peeling façades and rusted railings. Ben didn’t care much about the state of the buildings, just that it was cheap and safe. The more money he could save, the sooner he could begin to build his dream. He would make them all proud—Jude, Kage, his parents, and most of all… Juliette.
They were on the first of three floors, so he passed through the archway and to the door of their apartment. Disengaging the locks on both the knob and the deadbolt, he threw the bike’s saddlebag over his shoulder and went in.
The pattering of paws met him as soon as the door swung shut, and Ben knelt to catch the ten or so pounds of fur that had launched itself into his arms. He cradled the sweet little Havanese and carried him into the living room, still balancing the saddlebag on his shoulder. Reluctant to give up the comfort in Max’s embrace, Ben pulled the little dog onto his lap even as he dropped the bag to the floor and collapsed on the couch. With little finesse, Ben stretched the tender skin on his back as he jerked the ties on his boots and finally got them off. The socks came next before he turned sideways on the couch and rested his legs along its length. Abusing his fucked-up back against the arm of the couch, he held Max to his chest and stroked the dog’s soft curls. His sweet little friend looked like an old dust mop, dulled with age and use. The core of his body gleamed white, but gray crept in around the edges, giving him an almost dirty appearance, despite his frequent baths. It didn’t matter; both Jude and Ben loved the little guy without reservation.
“Hey buddy, it’s been a really bad one today,” Ben sighed and pressed his lips to the dog’s head in a brief kiss. Max nuzzled against Ben’s chest, in for the long haul. Ben laid his head against the back cushion of the couch and continued to gain comfort from stroking the dog’s rich coat. It didn’t matter that cold sweat ran down his spine or that he still had spunk in his ass; Ben held Max and closed his eyes. Over the last year they’d had the little dog, he’d told Max each and every one of his secrets.
In the quiet living room, Ben noticed that Jude had picked up another lamp for the table next to the couch where he sat. He was good at that, picking up things for their place. Ben could not have cared less. The rustic blue pattern on their battered furniture only matched the room because Jude picked it out. A nice flat-panel television hung above the fireplace on the wall opposite their floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a small patio. The place was too small for a dining set, so they generally ate at the breakfast bar, but it was cozy and clean and theirs.
“You okay?”
The voice scared him so badly he nearly dropped Max when he jerked upright on the couch. Jude stood at the breakfast bar watching him. Ben first noticed that Jude had gotten a haircut. The sun-bleached golden locks stopped just above his eyes across the front, the rest was artfully spiked down to the white-blond tips. Clean-shaven, tan, and shirtless, he looked good. Sleek muscles framed his swimmer’s build, and for a moment, Ben followed Jude’s happy trail down to the top of his low-slung jeans. God I wish I could bury myself in Jude and just forget—but Jude and I aren’t that kind of friends. We only had that one night because I fucked everything up.
“Jesus fucking Christ, until you gave me a heart attack, maybe. Why?” Ben asked and focused on Max’s sweet coat, the supple fur slipping through his fingers. First, he stroked along the dog’s head, rubbing soft, furry ears between his fingers. Next, he petted underneath the custom collar Jude had bought Max the prior Christmas. He ran a hand along Max’s back and flank, doing his level best not to meet Jude’s reflective gaze, which was the color of carbonized steel.
“Well, you just told Maxie it had been a bad day, and before you tore out of here, post-douche, on your day off, you looked like someone ran over your… cat,” he said. It sounded like he caught himself before he could say dog because the thought of anything happening to Max ate at them both. A bead of sweat rolled down Jude’s chest, and Ben followed its progress along his pectoral. Then it hit Ben that Jude noticed he’d douched.
“I met a guy at a club last week, and I went to fuck him. It’s not a big deal.” He hated the lie as soon as it left his lips, but he couldn’t take it back. Jude couldn’t know about Kage, because he’d try to talk him out of going. Ben needed the pain to deal with all the other pain. The physical pain was easier for him to deal with than his loss.
She’s dead.
“If you’re gonna lie, at least make it good. If you were going to fuck some random guy, you wouldn’t have douched—he fucked you.” Jude scoffed and strode over to the couch where Ben lay unmoving with the desperate pain engulfing every part of him. Jude’s hand touched his head gently and then rubbed in small concentric circles over his skin. He wished he could stay in that moment forever, but his hands shook on Max as despair came closer and closer to drowning him. It filled his chest, choking off his air until his lungs ached, or maybe it was his hear
t. Ben didn’t deserve kindness or gentle hands, especially not Saint Jude’s.
“What’s all over your back?” Jude asked, suddenly dousing the warm glow of his affection like a candle left in the rain. Ben’s knee slammed into the table as he jerked his body forward, away from Jude’s fingers, which had begun to probe down the back of his shirt.
“Nothing, it’s nothing.”
“Did this guy hurt you? Did he… did he rape you?”
Ben’s mind turned off completely at the word “rape.” He couldn’t let the screaming into his head, not in front of Jude. Please not in front of Jude.
I have to get away.
Standing abruptly, Ben dropped Max onto the couch and brushed past Jude on his way to the hall; the heat of Jude’s body warming him as he passed. He didn’t say any more and didn’t feel Jude follow when he passed their small kitchen and walked into the bathroom. He needed a fucking shower. If Jude got close enough, he’d be able to smell Kage on him. In the grand scheme of things, it shouldn’t matter to Jude who Ben fucked, but Ben could see that it did. It had for a while, probably since that night, and Jude’s friendship meant everything to him. He wouldn’t risk it.
Ben’s sweaty T-shirt and come-stained boxers went into the bathroom hamper along with his favorite go-to pair of jeans. He’d have to do laundry sooner rather than later, but right then all he could think about was the beauty of hot water cascading down his body and washing away the sins of the day. God knew he had enough sins to atone for in his life.
I fuck up everything.
The sting of hot water against his abused flesh made him hiss out loud. Like he’d fallen asleep in the sun, his back flamed under the spray. More than anything, he wanted to turn away from the pain, but he couldn’t. He deserved it. It helped him remember. It stopped his heart from aching even for the second or so it took him to adjust. Jude’s voice above the sound of the pounding water startled him, and his body wash slipped from numb fingers and slammed against the floor of the tub.
“Please tell me what’s going on, Ben. If he hurt you, we need to go to the police.”
Ben said nothing as his mind scrambled for a response that wouldn’t reveal all of the fissures in his sanity.
“Please, we’ve been friends for years. Why can’t you talk to me?” The toilet creaked, and Ben assumed Jude was sitting down for the heart-to-heart he wanted to have. Ben bent down and grabbed the errant bottle before pouring a bit of soap into his palm. God, he needed to get the come and sweat off his skin before he could deal with Jude. Closing his eyes he put his head under the spray even as he swiped his soapy hands over his chest. Silence hung heavy in the steam while Ben washed his body with practiced efficiency. The soap and water felt like heaven, though when he scrubbed his hands over his head and the soap cascaded down his back, the sting took his breath away.
“You’re really not going to talk to me? Don’t think this is over, Ben. I can wait,” Jude said, and before Ben could say a word, the bathroom door slammed and the sand-colored shower curtain ruffled in its wake. The water scorched his back as he rinsed off quickly. He wanted to throw on some clothes and talk to Jude—try to salvage the situation before things got out of hand. All he could think about was those weeks after they’d ended up in bed when they tiptoed around each other. A knot formed in his stomach as he thought about going through that again.
Jude worried about him; he saw it in his friend’s eyes every time the depression got too much for him to take. During those times, Ben snapped at everyone, pulled away, retreated into himself, and sometimes just stayed in bed for a day or two until he got his shit under control. Jude brought him food, answered the phone, and generally kept people away until he could find a way to function again. He couldn’t have asked for a better friend and refused to think about losing him because of his own ineptitudes.
The towel scratched over the welts while he dried off and wrapped it around his waist. As he turned toward the sink to brush his teeth, Ben was glad the steam on the mirror obscured his reflection. At that moment, he couldn’t face himself or the guilt he would see in his eyes. It was better not to find the truth in his face.
He’s better off without me.
Jude wasn’t in the hall when Ben opened the bathroom door, and he was relieved. He shivered as goose bumps erupted on his damp skin at the rush of cold air from the air-conditioned apartment. The floor creaked under him as he snuck into his bedroom like a thief to dress. He didn’t want Jude to see the extent of the damage on his back. He didn’t want to answer those questions. It took just a few minutes to throw on briefs, shorts, and a T-shirt, but he sat on his bed for a while and tried to collect his thoughts. He was searching desperately for a plausible answer to the question of his sanity when his gaze fell on the doll. Within her hard plastic face dusted with tiny machine-drawn freckles, her unwavering green eyes stared at him. As Ben pulled her off the shelf, he wondered how many times Juliette had braided and rebraided the red yarn that posed as hair. Betsy had been Juliette’s constant companion until she became a teenager, then she sat on the shelf high above the bed. His sister never had the heart to get rid of her, just as Ben couldn’t after Juliette was gone. Aside from the hair tie safely stored in his saddlebag, the doll in its horrid blue gingham dress was the only thing he had of her, and he cherished it even as it made his heart hurt. He couldn’t decide if having more of her in his room with him hurt worse. Memories were bittersweet and burned him like acid.
My parents have a shrine for her; all I have is this doll.
He sighed and rested his chin on the doll’s head. It still smelled faintly of baby powder.
Jude’s face swam across his mind, angry and pained by Ben’s lack of trust. He didn’t talk about it… with anyone—not his parents, not high school friends, no one. Everyone from that part of his life had been cut off with a clean swipe of the blade that had cut out his heart. The pain hung heavy around his neck. Sharing the burden wouldn’t make it bearable, but he still owed Jude the truth. They’d been friends for over three years, and ever since he moved in, Jude had made his life bearable again.
He knew everything about Jude’s life, yet Jude knew only the barest essentials of his. With a heavy heart, and a fear choking him that he couldn’t quite articulate, Ben finally decided it was time to confide in Jude about Juliette. If he didn’t, Jude would fill in blanks himself and misinterpret everything he did from that moment forward. When he had bad dreams, Jude would think he’d been assaulted. He couldn’t do that to either of them.
Ben stood up and put the doll back on her shelf, though he wouldn’t have minded the company. As he opened his bedroom door and shuffled into the living room, he felt as if he were headed to the gallows instead of to find his best friend. The weight on his chest shifted and sank deeper into his bones. Jude sat on the couch with Max asleep in his lap.
“You’re right, I should have told you a long time ago. I don’t know why I didn’t. Believe me, it has everything to do with my fucked-up head and nothing to do with you. I trust you.” Ben sat down on the coffee table in front of Jude with his elbows on his knees. Fingers laced, almost as if in prayer, he looked up at Jude with a mixture of fear and acceptance.
“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” Jude sat up straighter on the couch and held Max a little tighter. He reached out, probably to take Ben’s hand, but pulled back almost immediately.
“He didn’t hurt me, well, any more than I asked for. I asked him to hit me. I wanted it.”
“Why would you—” Jude started to ask, but Ben held up a hand. He couldn’t stop, because if he hesitated to start talking, he’d never be able to get it out. With a deep, determined breath, he began again.
“My younger sister Juliette was raped and murdered four years ago today.”
THE AIR left Jude Archer’s lungs in a violent huff. Of all the things he’d expected Ben to say to break his heart, a murdered sister had been nowhere on the list. As he sat on the couch with Max in his lap, he’
d prepared himself to hear all about Ben’s abusive lover. He’d psyched himself up to offer support and comfort even though he didn’t know if he could take it. With Ben’s quiet admission, the jealousy dissipated, replaced by silent horror washing over him in suffocating waves as he thought of his own sister, Susan. She’d been the first one to guess his secret, the first one to tell him she loved him gay or not, and the one who listened each time Ben went on a date and left Jude at home to imagine every detail through a haze of beer.
His arms ached to hold Ben, and he wished he could find words of comfort, but instead he sat frozen on the couch, a sick kind of dread raising bile in his throat. Even the slow methodical stroking of Max stopped in the light of Ben’s confession. Time ceased to exist as they sat in awkward silence neither seemed able to break. Ben’s hands shook, almost imperceptibly, and he gripped them into tight fists. The air must have been stolen from the room because Jude found it hard to breathe as he watched the anguish, pain, and heartbreak on Ben’s beautiful face. God, he couldn’t stand it. Ben was one of the strongest men he knew, and he’d been carrying that secret around inside of him for their entire friendship. He’d known Ben for three years, been in love with him for two, and yet in that moment, he felt like he didn’t know Ben at all.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jude asked and his voice cracked with the pain he felt for Ben’s torment. Only after Ben frowned at him did he realize how unbelievably selfish the question was. His best friend had just bared his soul, and Jude’s first response came out as an accusation. That’s why Ben was such a better man than he.
