by Lisa Henry
Daniel was silent.
“I wanna go back, and I want to learn you. I wanna add the games later, when we’re both ready. When we both know what we’re doing.” Bel paused. “Can you be patient with me?”
No answer. But he thought he saw Daniel nod against the pillow. “I don’t know when I’m gonna have anything figured out.”
“That’s fine.” Bel was still standing awkwardly by the bed. He wondered if he ought to insist on cleaning Daniel up. He didn’t even know what you did for injuries like Daniel’s. Daniel didn’t have a bathtub, or Bel might have had him soak.
You don’t get to insist on anything anymore, remember?
Shit. Maybe this was gonna be harder than Bel thought.
“You need any help cleaning up?” Bel asked.
Daniel shook his head vehemently. “I got it.” He didn’t move. Just stayed huddled with the sheet around him, his back to Bel.
“Okay. I’m gonna sleep in the chair tonight. Give us both a little breathing room. But I’m here if you need me.”
No answer.
Fine. If that’s how he wanted it, that’s how it was going to be.
Bel sat in the chair and looked at his watch. Hell, it wasn’t even 6 p.m. yet. So much for his night off with Daniel.
He shifted, trying to get comfortable. On the bed, Daniel shifted too.
Bel could sit this out. All goddamn night if he had to.
Daniel didn’t sleep. Dozed maybe, but didn’t sleep. Didn’t slip far enough under that his unconscious was in control. He lay there instead, wrapped in the sheet with his back to Bel, and wondered what would happen if he did sleep. Wondered if he’d beg Bel to fuck him. Wondered if he’d try to hurt Bel. Or maybe he’d do something even crazier. Paint the cabin, make a sculpture out of cans, take the stuffing out of his pillows bit by bit and leave it all over the place. No fucking telling.
Bel didn’t understand that. He didn’t understand that there was a thing inside Daniel that was completely unpredictable. Random. It wasn’t just a push and pull between his ego and his id, or whatever the hell those facets of his mind were called. There was no method to it. No fucking equal and opposite reaction.
Kenny Cooper bashed him and threatened to kill him, so he’d burned down Kenny’s house with Kenny inside. Cause and effect. That was all Bel saw, and probably all most people saw. But once, when Daniel was eleven, his dad had run over their cat Smokey. That night Daniel had taken all the cutlery out of the kitchen drawers and laid it end-to-end all the way up the stairs. On his thirteenth birthday, Daniel had gotten the remote control helicopter he’d begged his parents for months to buy. He’d been ecstatic. And that night he’d taken a pair of scissors and cut the living room curtains into shreds.
So fucking explain that.
Daniel didn’t want pain because he thought he deserved it, or not just because of that. He wanted pain because it exhausted him. He wasn’t a masochist, but he needed it. Pain was more reliable than locks and chains—history had shown he could get out of most of those—and better than drugs that fucked with his head.
“But you don’t get off on it, do you? That’s why you couldn’t stick it out with your boyfriend in the city. You’re a fucking head case . . .”
It was something Daniel should have been accustomed to by now—the feeling of being misunderstood. Other people had always tried to tell him who or what he was, and it always stung a little, even once he was used to it. But it hurt to have Bel in on it. Bel, the only person who’d refused to buy into other people’s ideas of Daniel. Who’d seen what Daniel imagined was the closest thing to his real self that existed.
Daniel heard Bel get up at one point—Daniel checked his cell; it was only a little after eleven—and bang around in the kitchen. Something started sizzling on the stove, and whatever it was, it didn’t smell too bad. He tried to resent Bel for using his kitchen, eating his food, but he couldn’t. They’d been welcome to each other’s stuff for a while now. He listened to Bel eat, heard Bel put his dish in the sink when he was done. Heard him come back to the chair.
Daniel dozed, his stomach tight and empty.
When he opened his eyes again, there was gray light coming through the window. He’d hurt all night, still sore from the plug, and it had kept him awake. He liked it. Pain was good. Would have been better if Bel had fucked him hard and hurt him some more, worn him down until he slept. Maybe if they’d fucked, he wouldn’t be lying in bed alone. Maybe Bel would have wrapped his arms around him and he would have felt something else as well. Loved. He could pretend that, couldn’t he? At least he wouldn’t have felt so alone.
You don’t get that. You’re not normal. The man you love just spent a night sitting in a chair watching you instead of lying beside you, because . . . because . . .
“You’re a fucking head case.”
It shouldn’t have hurt to hear it. Everyone got there in the end, didn’t they? Pushed him away, couldn’t deal with him. Bel had been more patient than anyone, but it wouldn’t have lasted forever.
“Hey,” Bel said quietly. “You awake?”
“Yeah.” Daniel still didn’t roll over. Didn’t want to face him yet. Didn’t want to face the end.
The mattress dipped. “How you feeling?”
Tired, Bel. So fucking tired of everything. Always so close to slipping under.
Shit. Where was the anger he’d felt yesterday? The anger he’d need later to face Clayton?
“Okay.”
Bel stretched out next to him. They lay in silence for a moment. “I gotta get to work. Left you some eggs in the fridge.”
Daniel nodded.
“What you got planned for today?”
Daniel hated hearing Bel sound so forced. “Might go down the road and help with the garden. Needs weeding.”
Bel wrapped his arms around Daniel.
Fuck, no.
But Daniel rolled over and leaned into the embrace before he could help himself. Returned it.
He couldn’t afford to need this, couldn’t be weak now, not with what he had to do today. But being in Bel’s arms made everything in him relax, except his throat, which clenched tight. Even knowing what Bel thought of him couldn’t stop Daniel from loving him. Bel smoothed a hand down his back, stopping just above his ass. “You still hurting?”
“No, Bel,” Daniel murmured. “I don’t hurt anymore.”
Bel gave him a last squeeze and let go.
“If I see you tonight—” Daniel tried to smile. “—we ought to go walking.”
“You’ll see me tonight,” Bel said. “Don’t let what I said . . . I’m sorry I got pissed. I meant it when I said we ain’t done.”
That was almost enough to break Daniel. Bel would be here tonight.
I might not be.
Some part of Daniel knew, had known the moment Clayton suggested the fight, that it wouldn’t be a fair one. Wouldn’t be as simple as Clayton said. If Daniel lost, he just had to stay out of Logan? Bullshit. If Clayton got Daniel on the ground, he wouldn’t stop until Daniel was dead.
So he ain’t gonna get me on the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Bel asked.
“Nothin’.”
Wish I could tell you. Wish you could stop me from going.
Except Bel didn’t have any authority over Daniel anymore. And Daniel didn’t want anyone to stop him. He needed to finish this.
Something wasn’t right. Even though Bel was next to him, there was something cold and broken between them.
Bel rolled over and slid out of bed. Went to put on his shoes. “I’ll take you somewhere. If you don’t think you should be alone, I got people you can stay with.”
“No,” Daniel snapped, stung. “Christ, Bel. I can control myself.”
“Ain’t no shame in it if you can’t,” Bel said quietly.
What the fuck did he know about it?
Daniel turned away. “See you later then.”
“Yeah,” Bel said. “You have a good day.”
Bel finished tying his shoes and left.
When he was gone, Daniel got up and used the bathroom. His ass still hurt too much for him to shit. He took a quick shower to get the dried blood off his thighs. Fuck, he was a mess. No wonder Bel had freaked out.
He shaved, taking his time. Stared at himself in the mirror for a while, telling himself to remember his face the way it looked right now. Might look different later.
He walked out of the bathroom. There was a piece of paper on the table beside the chair. One of Daniel’s drawings—a new one. So he had slept after all.
It was just of Bel’s shoes, nothing else. No way of telling whether Bel had been awake when Daniel drew it. Daniel felt his throat tighten. Maybe Bel had been awake. Maybe they’d talked. He wished he knew.
Maybe he was stupid for wanting to imagine they’d apologized, that Bel had joked with him, that he’d called Daniel’s work beautiful. Maybe Bel had just sat there, asleep, and Daniel had drawn him.
He couldn’t afford to think bullshit like that. Not today. Today he had one goal: to beat Clayton.
Daniel went into the kitchen. Looked at the scrambled egg film on the pan in the sink.
He opened the fridge. Bel had put the leftovers in a plastic container with a note that said, FOR YOU.
Daniel removed the note, took the container out, and stuck it in the microwave. Microwaved it a little too long and then had to eat the too-hot, dried-out eggs. He washed the dishes and set them in the rack. Went into the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth. He looked in the trash for the bloody condom but didn’t see it. Bel must’ve buried it.
He should have known better.
Burying stuff didn’t help. It would always come back to haunt you anyhow.
Bel was climbing out of the shower when he heard the knock at the door. He wrapped his towel around his waist and went to answer it. Hoped it was Daniel. Hoped he was here, ready to talk even though Bel didn’t have the time for that. He’d make the time.
Instead he found Jim waiting in the doorway.
“Hey.” Bel unlatched the screen. He wandered into the living room, knowing Jim was behind him, and began to dig through his ironing basket. Pulled on a pair of sweatpants under the towel. “What’s up?”
Jim didn’t say anything.
Bel turned to face him. “Is Dad okay?”
Belman family code for How much money has he gambled this time? How much does Mama need?
“Not here about that,” Jim said uneasily.
Here it comes.
“Oh yeah?” Bel rubbed the towel over his hair.
“About Whitlock,” Jim said. “You, ah, you and him . . . You the same as him, Little Joe?”
“You asking if I’m gay, Jim?”
Jim shifted from foot to foot. “Yeah.”
Bel dumped the towel on the couch. “Yeah, I am.”
Jim got the same look on his face that Stump got when he was yelled at for stealing buns. He looked . . . wounded. Well, fuck him. Bel had finally got to the point where he could say it out loud. He sure as hell wasn’t gonna follow it up with an apology.
“That all you come to ask?” he growled.
“How come . . . how come you never said nothing?”
“What?”
Jim scratched his cheek. “Something big like that, Joey. You think you couldn’t trust us? Makes me feel like maybe we let you down.”
Bel’s anger drained away. “Wasn’t keeping secrets, not really. Just it was no one’s business but mine.”
“Dav told me,” Jim said. “I mean, I asked her and she told me. She knew.”
“She’s got eyes in her head,” Bel said. “Same as everyone, except Dav don’t only see what she wants to see.”
Strange. He’d thought she’d been blind about Daniel. Making him a martyr when he was just a crazy killer, because maybe in her job she needed to believe she had at least one offender like that. Someone redeemable. Bel had thought she was fooling herself, but it turned out Dav was just about the only person in Logan with twenty-twenty vision.
“Whitlock,” Jim said. “Is he your boyfriend?”
He said the word like it tasted strange.
“Yeah.”
“Dav says things about him too.” Jim’s gaze kept sliding away from Bel’s. “Says he ain’t just some crazy meth head. That true?”
“Wouldn’t be with him if he was.”
“Maybe you’re just with him because there ain’t nobody else in town,” Jim said quietly.
Bel snorted. “More men in town with a taste for cock than you think.”
Jim stepped back. “Fuck, Joe! Don’t say shit like that!”
“Why not? It’s true.”
Jim ran a hand through his scruffy hair. “You gotta stop seeing Whitlock. People are talking. I was down at the Shack last night, and they’re saying you been around town with him. He’s bad news, Joe. You know that.”
“What I know, Jim, and what this fucking town knows, are two different things. You want to hear what I know?”
Jim just stared.
Well, too bad. He’d started it.
“I know I ain’t met anyone like Daniel before,” Bel said, seeing how Jim flinched when he said his name. “I know he sleepwalks, and I know he does shit then that he doesn’t even remember doing. I know he has a real medical condition, and I know it’s not bullshit. I know what this town thinks of him, and I know he’s better than that. I know that he just wants to be left alone, and I know the sort of crap that he still puts up with over something he couldn’t help.”
“He killed a man,” Jim said. “You know that too.”
“Yeah.” Bel folded his arms across his chest. “I know that too.”
“He gonna do that to you one day?” Jim asked. “Maybe you piss him off, do the wrong thing. He gonna burn you in his sleep?”
“That won’t happen.”
Wouldn’t it? Now that Bel had said it, he didn’t know if it was true. He remembered the night that Daniel had gone for his gun. If Bel had been slower, caught off guard, what would have happened then? But they were different now, weren’t they? Knew one another now. Bel could get through to Daniel when he was sleeping. Talk him down, touch him, guide him gently back to bed.
“He’s seeing a shrink,” Bel said. “A good one. He’s getting better.”
“Yeah, I know about that too. You gonna tell him who’s really paying for that? ’Cause I know the taxpayers ain’t. Or, I guess they are, aren’t they? Just it’s coming through your salary first.”
“Dav tell you that too?” Fucking Dav and her big mouth.
“Yeah.” Jim shook his head. “Was gonna hit you up for a loan to buy into the auto shop with Mikey. Asked Dav about it, and she said you might be light on cash. You putting him before your own family now?”
“Fuck you,” Bel growled, heading for the kitchen. “You want a loan, I’ll go to the bank with you and sign for a fucking loan, but what I do with my money is my business.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Joe.” Jim followed. “Shit, I’m not saying anything right, am I? I’m worried for you, is all. Whitlock’s dangerous. You know that. We all know that. You think I want my kid hanging around his uncle if Whitlock’s gonna be there as well?”
Bel stopped. No. Fuck, Jim, don’t say that.
Taking sides between Daniel and the town? Well, he’d made his choice. Taking sides between Daniel and his own family? Some dumb part of him had never even considered it. Thought they’d understand. Thought they’d listen about Daniel. Because Bel had, so why wouldn’t they?
“You mean that?” he asked woodenly. “Because you ask me to make that choice, it might not go the way you expect.”
Jim opened his mouth, then closed it. He had the same look on his face as that time they were kids and their dad had been shouting at Mama something awful, and Billy punched him so hard in the guts that he went straight down. Jim and Bel had just stood there, not believing what they were seeing, before they’d bo
th hightailed it down to Uncle Joe’s place. When they came back a few hours later, it was like nothing had happened. Dad and Billy were working on the truck together, and after that, things weren’t ever so bad again.
“I’m glad Billy’s the oldest,” Jim had whispered to Bel that night. “Glad I didn’t have to do it.”
“Me too,” Bel had whispered back, and they’d both worshipped Billy a little more from that moment.
Bel almost wished Billy was here now, to tell them what to do, how to sort this out. Knock their heads together if that’s what it took. This must be how Daniel felt most times, needing someone to tell him. Needing to know someone could make it right.
Bel needed that right now. Someone who could give him advice. And not just about Jim, but about Daniel too. Last night still made him feel sick. The blood. The way Daniel had thought he wouldn’t notice, or maybe that he’d just keep going anyway. Mostly the way Daniel couldn’t tell the difference between needing pain and needing to feel safe, and getting them mixed up somehow in his head.
Probably wasn’t anyone on the planet Bel could talk to about that.
He wants to hurt, really hurt, and he wanted to make me the one who did it.
He wondered if Daniel’s ex from the city, Marcus, had felt sick like this.
“He matters to me,” Bel ground out, watching Jim’s face fall. “And that’s all I can tell you.”
“It don’t make sense, Joe,” Jim said, a note of pleading in his voice.
Bel shrugged. “Makes sense to me.”
Without another word, Jim turned and left.
Bel heard the screen door slam a few times behind him before the latch caught.
He sat down heavily on the couch.
Wondered if this was another bridge burned.
If eventually he’d be left standing in a pile of ashes with no place left to go.
Daniel opened his sketchbook and tore out a piece of paper. Sat on the bed and tapped his pen against his thigh. He’d wanted to make a list before he went, to ground or center himself or whatever John was always going on about. But every idea he came up with seemed stupid, inadequate.
