by Alan Conway
Luckily, Damon knows a thing or two. He tells me about creatine and whey protein and why I need to buy some to get the most out of exercise. I make a mental note to pick some up on my way home. We start off doing some stretches then workout chest and arms. Now, I must stress my arms are tiny. If I stick to it, my arms will be bigger, but as of right now, if Damon has guns, I have water pistols.
I'm able to keep up with him, though. We do machines for about an hour or so, then we decide to call it a day.
We say our goodbyes, but not before committing to this tortuous routine everyday for the next three months. After that, Damon says we'll drop down to three days a week. I can't wait.
I'm worried about him. We talk more about Larry and his situation at home. I tell him he should move in with me. I've been able to pay the rent myself and I don't see any reason why I shouldn't be able to with a roommate. He says he appreciates it and he'll think about it, but I know he won’t.
Today's been a good day. I feel pumped, ready for action. By the time I get home and sit on the couch for five minutes, I'm ready for a nap.
When I awake, I call Lauren and hear all about her heroic display of self-dismissal from Mobile Communications, Inc. Then she tells me about Heather.
“Yes, I remember her,” I say. “How could I forget?”
“I think she'll try to track him down, Brian,” Lauren says. “She might still have feelings for him, but I think she'll do it just because she's a bitch. Just keep an eye out for her. Trash washes up when the tide rolls in.”
I say I will, then I hang up. I forget to tell her about that kiss on the cheek. Hell, I've nearly forgotten about it myself, although I don't know how I could have. My hangover and headache are finally gone. Damon gave me a few of his Excedrin before we parted. That seems like a lifetime ago.
The next few days go by quickly. I go to work, head over to the gym and workout with Damon, and almost every night he and I rent a movie we haven't seen (or one we have nearly memorized because we've seen it so much). We stay up late, shoot the bull, have fun. We laugh, we cry sometimes. He stays over almost every night, but he dozes off on the couch (usually after fifteen minutes into the movie), so I just make sure he's comfortable before I turn out the lights and head to my room where he's the star of my dreams until my eyes open to a new day.
Then the day comes when I open my mouth again. I mean, really open it and let it all out. We're at my place. We have pizza and a new movie we've wanted to see for a while. He gets a text message, which activates some kind of panic mode inside me because I'm almost certain it's from a girl.
He writes her back with a little smile. This happens probably twenty times over the next hour. I haven't been paying attention to the movie at all because I think he's about to get in his car and go screw some girl who wants him less than I do.
“Hey man, this girl, Vanessa, I met her at a party a few weeks ago. She's fuckin fine, dude. A nine! A fuckin nine! She got my number and now she's saying she just broke up with the asshole she was dating and wants to meet up.”
I knew it. “Going?”
“Fuck yeah, man. I'm telling you she's a nine outta ten. Almost perfect, Brian!”
He leans over with his phone and shows me a picture she sent him. I admit, she's smoking hot – a gorgeous red head (I know he's crazy about red heads).
I don't want him to go.
“You all right, Brian?”
“Yeah, fine. Why?”
He shakes his finger just like Lauren. “I know you. Are you mad at me?”
“Why should I be mad?” I ask.
“I can't turn it down. I just can't. Look at her, Brian. Would you?”
“I guess not,” I say.
Damon frowns. “Brian is the saddest clown of them all.”
He gets another text message, but he's looking at me. I don't know if he's waiting for my approval or what.
“I'm sorry, I guess I'm just jealous,” I say as he responds to the text message.
“Why are you jealous? You're just as good-looking as I am and you could get a girl like–”
“I'm not jealous of you, I'm jealous of them.” If that's not clear enough, I don't know what else would be.
He jerks his eyes up at me. Suddenly everything inside of him is very still and quiet, and part of me is very afraid that he's angry because I just threw a spotlight on the elephant in the room.
“What?” I can't read him. I'm scared. But it's out now.
“If you didn't know that after all these years, then you're a fool,” I say, shaking. “You knew.”
“Wow. Wow.” He keeps saying it over and over. “So, you're saying…what? You still like me or something? Like that?”
“I thought you knew.”
“How could I have known?”
“I don't know. You don't notice things, you don't pay attention. I can't be subtle with you.”
“Apparently not! Goddammit, Brian, I don't need this right now.”
“Listen, I don't want you to be upset with me, okay? I know you've been through a lot lately, but it's been hard to keep quiet after wrestling with this for a while.”
“A while? How long? Tell me.”
“Day one. Since we met in that drama class in high school. And I’ve told you how I felt ever since then, so don’t act so surprised.”
“Oh my God! But we're friends, Brian. Really good friends. Best friends. I can't give you anything more than that. I won't. I'm not like that. You know this.”
“I realize that, but you needed to know. It's only fair.”
“Well, I wish you wouldn't have said anything at all. This is fucked up.”
He's right, Brian. You really fucked this one up, big time.
Damon paces around the room, red-faced. I reach out to him but he pushes my arm away. He finally stops at the window and looks out over the parking lot. I'm afraid to say anything. Hell, I'm afraid to breathe.
“All right,” he says. “I'm gonna go now. We're not going to talk about this again, okay?” He spins around and locks his eyes with mine. He's dead serious. “Okay? This conversation is over. I'll see you at the gym tomorrow.”
I nod slowly as he brushes past me and goes out the front door. The silence is thick and threatening. There's a huge knot in my stomach. Bile wells up in my throat. I run to the bathroom and vomit until my lunch is gone.
I have no idea of what to do now.
Damon
I should have seen it coming. He's right, though. I did know he had those kinds of feelings for me. I've always known. I just chose to ignore it. Thought maybe it would go away. I didn't deal with it back then like I should have, and now it's biting me in the ass.
I'm not mad at him. I don't hate him for what he said or how he feels – but dammit! Why now?
I text Vanessa and tell her I'm not coming over. I drive over to the marina instead to watch the boats and the lights and all the happy couples walking around laughing with their children. Good for them. Jolly fucking good for them.
It's getting late. Tomorrow's a new day. Breathe, Damon. Get a grip. I'm not gonna think about it. Not gonna think about it. Not gonna–
Fuck it. I text Vanessa and tell her I changed my mind. Her roommate is gone, so we can fuck on the couch in the living room.
Her long red curls tickle my waist while she's down there doing her thing, then I hear Bryan's voice: I'm jealous of them.
Goddammit.
I'm having a hard time keeping it up. I finally push her away and just sit there for a moment.
I feel like a fool lying back between the cushions with my pants around my ankles, my balls throbbing, my heart beating in my ears.
“What the fuck's your problem?” she asks and tries to go down on me again, but I draw back and shake my head. I don't feel right.
Vanessa leaves me in the living room. She's probably texting some other tool to come over after I'm gone. I pull up my pants and find my shirt and the next thing I know I'm driving. Just driving. I don't kn
ow where I'm going, and I don't care.
I wake up in the Shop-and-Save parking lot. It's almost six o'clock and the first signs of daylight are pushing through my windows. I check my phone. No messages. It's almost dead.
That's how I feel. Almost dead.
I try to start the engine. The car battery's dead, too. Might as well have a mass funeral.
I walk over to the vending machines and buy a soda and a candy bar. My head hurts. I'm starting to have awful migraines these days. My mind trips back to last night and how I turned down a nine named Vanessa. Maybe I'm just stressed. Yeah, that's it. But at the same time, I'm just so tired of it. It's getting old, boring. Loneliness creeps up on me as I stare out at the empty lot. Sex is great, don't get me wrong. I fuckin love it. But I want more than that. I don't try to have anything more than that, but still, I like to dream about having somebody that gets me. Someone who really cares. I'm not usually this sentimental, but a man can only go so long eating away a hole inside. It doesn't matter what I do, I just can't fill it. And now I'm not sure of anything. Maybe I've been going about it all wrong. Maybe I've snubbed romantic notions because I have this ideal of what a man is suppose to be, and soft isn't one of them.
I can't be vulnerable. Gotta keep it together and keep everyone out. It's easier that way. No one gets in here. My heart is off limits. I tried that some years ago and I almost died. I've got to protect myself now.
As for Brian, well, I appreciate his…feelings. But the fact remains–
A police cruiser swings around my car. The cop gets out and peeps in the windows. I call out to him and shake him up a bit. I can't tell if he missed his morning coffee or if he's had too much. I reel off about the battery until he's cool with me, and he even offers to give me a ride home. But I tell him home is Redwood Commons.
Where Brian lives. I don't even know why I said it.
The cop and I chat a while before he drops me off outside Building C. I feel a little sick after eating the candy bar. My phone has just enough juice for one more call. I need some advice, and I need it now.
Lauren
I'm surprised I even hear the phone ring at all. I barely slept a wink during the night. Brian and I had talked until nearly two in the morning. He told me what happened with Damon and I assured him everything would work out. I'm naturally optimistic, but I'm a girl who means what she says. And I say it will be fine.
Fingers crossed.
When Damon calls, I'm so out of it that I drop my phone behind the bed, but somehow the speakerphone turns on and we talk anyways. I just lie there and fight slipping off to la-la land.
I ask where he is and he tells me he's outside Brian's apartment. Brian doesn't know he's there, I'm guessing.
Then he tells me too much about his…problem while he was with some girl. Too much information, but it's interesting just the same.
“Can you come down here?” Damon asks. “I know it's a long drive, but I think–”
“You're in luck, sir,” I say. “Today's the beginning of a much needed vacation. Of course, I was planning on sleeping in, but–”
“Sorry about that,” he says.
“I'm just giving you a hard time. I'll clean up and pack a bag then I'll head south. What are you going to do in the meantime?”
He says he doesn't know. Then he goes silent.
“Damon? Are you there?”
“Oh shit. Shit. Shit.”
“What's going on? Are you all right?”
“I don't think so,” he says. Then I hear yelling in the background. A car door slams.
“It's Larry. He's here.”
“Damon, listen to me. Call the po–”
“I have to go. Pray for me.”
As the line goes dead, I pray to a God I haven't talked to in a long time.
Damon
The ride home seems to take forever. My left eye is already starting to swell up. Larry seems to think that even though he gave me permission to stay with my faggot friend, I should be punished for it just the same.
I've never seen Larry this drunk. He's still going since the night before. I'm not sure if he's already called in to work, but if he shows up on the job like this, they'll fire his ass on the spot.
He pushes me into the house. It's dark. I wonder if he forgot to pay the electric bill again. I need to piss. My head hurts. I almost bolt to my room when I feel something hard hit me in the ribs. It's not his fist. I've felt that plenty of times.
I look up at him from the floor and see my old baseball bat from little league. Brian was on a rival team, but I didn't know that until years later in high school. Larry pushes the nose of the bat into my chest. Something stabs me in my left ass cheek. I reach into my back pocket and pull out part of my cell phone.
“So, I'm guessing you've been out with that faggot all this time,” Larry says. “He sweet on ya? Huh?”
“Listen, Larry, I–”
He bends down and slaps his callused hand across my face. "Shut your mouth!" I can smell his breath – something stronger than whiskey. I'm surprised he's able to stand. I get up on all fours until I feel his steel-toe rape my gut. Jesus, please help me. Christ, I can't breathe–
“You like that Jamison boy, huh?” He kicks me again. I try to crawl but I have nowhere to go. “Yeah, I've been watching you, Damon. Is he a cock sucker like all those other sluts you've been fuckin with, huh?”
I feel the boot again and taste the metallic yuck of blood in my mouth, which almost makes me hurl right here. I try to speak…
“What's that?” Larry asks, bending down.
“I said you're the only cock sucker I know, you fucking asshole. You go to hell.”
I'm about to die. Right here, right now. This is my last breath. I take it, knowing the last thing I'll ever see is this bat raised in the air, aimed at my face, Larry's face red with alcohol and fury so intense that–
I hear something crack. I feel drunk. I see funny shapes and colors I can't describe. I don't know if I've gone deaf, blind, or what. The pain is gone and I can't feel anything. All I know is Damon Loveless just became lost in limbo, in flux somewhere in the great unknown.
Brian…help me.
Brian
I'm at work when I get the call from the county hospital. I don't even bother to tell my boss, I just go. Lauren is already there. I push past the ward nurses and try to find him on my own. That goddamn son of a bitch! How could–
Two of the floor security guards have me on the ground before I know it.
I'm so insane by this point that Lauren has to do all the talking. She convinces them to let me see him, although I have to be escorted into Intensive Care by Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.
Christ.
His face is wrapped, the bandages stained with rust-colored blotches. I wouldn't hurt a fly, but I want to kill Larry Martin. He's already in police custody, but I don't know that right now. I don't care. I just want him dead.
"Damon?" It comes out as a whisper. All I hear in reply is the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor.
Lauren
Brian and I sleep in the floor of the Intensive Care waiting room for two nights before Damon is moved to a normal room. We go in together. Damon's bandages are gone from his face. His nose and jaw are yellow and purple, stitches crawl from the side of his mouth up to his hairline. It's almost unbearable to look at him.
We're both crying like little babies when Damon starts rustling around in his bed.
Damon opens his eyes a little. He sees Brian.
“Hey,” he says groggily.
“Hey there, little buddy.” Brian's gonna lose it. I just know it.
“Where am I?” Damon asks, looking around. Then he sees the plastic bracelet around his wrist. “Larry put me here?”
Brian nods. I just watch them.
“Can I get you anything?” Brian asks.
“A mirror.” Damon says. Of all the things, Damon?
Brian hesitates. “I don't think–”
“Just give i
t to me, Brian. It doesn't feel pretty so I don't expect it to look pretty.”
Brian searches the drawers in the room and pulls out a hand mirror. He gives it to Damon.
Damon takes a long time looking over his bruised and battered face. He drops the mirror on the bed, turns away, and begins to sob. I watch Brian take his hand and squeeze it.
Brian says, “Do you want me to go?”
Damon shakes his head. “Nah, man. Just sit with me for a while if that's cool.”
I lean over and kiss Damon on the forehead, just inches from a scrawl of sutures. Then I leave them alone.
But I can I still hear them from outside the room.
“I came to your apartment. I wanted to tell you–”
“Shh,” Brian says. “Try not to talk. You have to get well, all right?” He comes outside the room and pulls the door closed.
“He's sleeping.”
“Did you tell him Larry's in jail?” I ask.
Brian shakes his head. “I'm just glad he's alive.”
I pull him close and wrap my arms around him, and we both cry until we have no more tears.
Two weeks later, Brian picks me up. Damon should be discharged today. We pull up to the front entrance of the hospital. Damon is being pushed out in a wheelchair by a male nurse, and I can't help but laugh at him.
“This isn't necessary, bro. I can walk.”
“Sorry, it's policy,” the male nurse says. Damon stands up and hobbles over to Brian's car. I help him get in.
He's grinning from ear to ear, and I can't wait to hear what he has to say.
Damon
I'm so happy to see these fuckers. I slide in the backseat and grab Brian's shoulders, ruffle his hair. And of course I can't resist a smooch on Lauren's cheek. She smells nice.
I tell them about the police stopping by for a chat and how Larry was apparently under suspicion of stealing tools and supplies from the job site, and after the home run he knocked to my face, well, let's just say he'll be living it up in a gray bar suite for a while. I'm not too happy about having to pay the rent and having to live in that shack by myself.
