Blue Jay

by A Zukowski

  you lie to everyone, don’t you? You really are a

  money-grabbing prostitute and nothing more. Here,

  have a fucking tip!”

  Leon throws some notes at Chris that land on his

  lap. The soon-to-be-lost client might as well have

  shot a spear at his pride.

  “I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.” Chris stands, letting

  Leon’s tip fall onto the floor. Leaving the upset

  client, he steps outside to face the chilly, dirty

  streets of London. He turns up his collar against the

  wind.

  “Well, that’s that, then,” he mutters to himself

  and pulls out his phone to arrange a taxi.

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  I don’t love you. I don’t want you.

  Evenings that ended with Chris being made to

  feel cheap and unworthy. Names that the men like

  to call him in bed. They play out their fantasies of

  power while Chris goes along with the role of the

  subservient, his insides hollower every time

  something like this happens. His job is to bring

  them happiness and fulfilment for a short time, and

  Chris believes he’s good at his role. He’s not the

  future or the long-term solution. That’s all.

  The job of an escort isn’t glamorous or at all

  exciting despite the number of literary pages and

  feature films devoted to it. Most of the time Chris

  feels adrift, and lately, he’s been thinking a lot about

  quitting. If only he had actual job-worthy skills and

  career options.

  Chris prays Alex is at home.

  He finds Alex in bed and collapses into his arms.

  Alex stirs and mumbles, “Hey.”

  “Hmm. I feel like shit. Give me a hug, will you?”

  Alex does, wrapping his massive limbs around to

  comfort Chris. “What’s the matter? Did something

  happen?”

  Chris sighs. “The client asked me out. I’m okay.”

  “What? Why? Does he know you well?”

  Alex sits up, and Chris follows suit, covering his

  knees with his arms. In that gesture, he hides his

  vulnerability.

  “No one knows me well.” Chris is not including

  Alex in this, but even Alex. Even Alex. Chris shakes

  his head to get rid of the thought. “He got angry

  when I said no.”

  Chris doesn’t like that nasty taste in his mouth.

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  There are times when deeply hidden emotions

  bubble up and make him go back to being a little kid

  before he was forced to grow up and face the

  contempt of the whole world. This kid would sit in

  his classroom among other shiny happy children

  and feel a jealous rage. His mother stole years from

  him, and he couldn’t bear to see the innocence and

  naivety of the other children. Leon’s hurt little face

  reminded Chris of his classmates: entitled kids

  thinking about their future.

  What are his classmates doing now? In their

  regular jobs, having romantic nights in with their

  partners? Fuck knows. If he hadn’t been trading his

  body, he might be one of those regular people

  worthy of someone. Not Leon, though. Not a client

  who has only ever seen the façade.

  “Wanker. Did he hurt you?” A deep V forms in

  Alex’s forehead as he considers Chris’s face.

  “Nothing like that. He shouted abuse. The usual—

  that I’m a greedy whore. Don’t worry. Let’s get back

  to sleep.”

  “How dare he!” Alex’s indignation on Chris’s

  behalf cheers him up.

  “I’ve heard it all before. You win some, you lose

  some.”

  Alex pulls him into a hug. “There are some

  wackos out there. I’m worried about you getting

  hurt.”

  Chris gazes at him. “It’s part of my job. I can take

  care of myself. Public workers get shouted at,

  verbally abused, don’t they?”

  Alex shakes his head. “But you’re not a public

  worker. You’re in people’s private homes and hotel

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  rooms. He could have murdered you then. How do I

  know you’re safe?”

  Chris knows the bad times, too, and wicked

  violent people. He’s vulnerable to their slurs and

  attacks. His head never clears of the memories of

  their kicks and fists. He remembers the sounds of

  footprints

  raining

  down,

  moments

  before

  everything fell silent and dark.

  But he smiles. “Don’t be dramatic. I’m safe, okay?

  I’ve done this for long enough to know. I share my

  schedule with another escort and we look out for

  each other. I have a pepper spray. I don’t ever drink

  on the job, et cetera. Plus, this guy was a regular. I

  should have seen it coming, but I hadn’t paid

  enough attention.”

  Chris blames himself for growing too complacent.

  He sighs, betraying weariness.

  Alex opens his mouth to say something but then

  shuts it.

  “Now, I am knackered. Can I sleep, pretty

  please?” Chris grins, flashing his teeth, and lies back

  down. He feels much better after seeing Alex’s

  reaction. Someone cares. Isn’t life tolerable?

  As Chris falls into a slumber, he finds brief

  happiness in his colourful, scattered dreams.

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  CHAPTER 8

  DRAG

  A LOUD THUMP and the sound of breaking glass cut

  through the quiet afternoon.

  “Fuck!” Alex has been in the bathroom for a

  while.

  Chris knocks on the door. “Alex, what are you

  doing in there? Everything all right?”

  “Uh, okay. I’m…fine,” comes the muffled reply.

  Chris hears him moving about. More expletives

  seep through the gap at the bottom of the door, like

  an involuntary SOS.

  “Chris, is there a first-aid kit in the flat?”

  “Shit. Have you hurt yourself?” Chris tries the

  door handle but it’s locked. His chest tightens.

  “Open the damn door, Alex.”

  He’s not dumb, not really, despite what everyone

  thinks. He is quite aware of Alex’s mental health,

  and he could be in there slitting his wrists.

  After a few beats, there’s a click and Alex opens

  from the inside. Chris quickly assesses the damage.

  Blood has splashed all over the sink. Pieces of the

  mirror from the bathroom cabinet are scattered

  around like shards from a broken heart, and there

  are white tablets amidst the carnage, as though Alex

  has sprinkled snow on the red and silver.

  Alex holds his bleeding left hand up and looks

  away in embarrassment.

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  Chris urges him out of the bathroom to the

  kitchen area. “I think there’s a first-aid box under

  the sink. Someone left it. Now, run your hand under

  the tap. The cold water will sting a little.”

  Alex does while Chris holds Alex’s forearm

  steady.

  “It’s starting to feel numb.”

  “Go and sit down on the sofa,” Chris directs when
/>
  he’s satisfied the bleeding has slowed enough.

  He finds the kit under the sink. Fuck knows how

  long it’s been there. He rummages further in the low

  cupboard but can’t find any clean cloths. Armed

  with the first-aid kit and a roll of paper towels, Chris

  sits next to Alex and dries his hand, dabbing it with

  care. It’s not as bad as the amount of blood

  suggests. It’s only a gash on his palm that will heal.

  Chris pats the cut dry with a towel soaked in

  saline solution. Then he finds the gauze and wraps

  up Alex’s hand. As he tends to him, he can feel the

  man’s breaths on his neck, their faces close

  together. He loves the callus on Alex’s hand and

  imagines how good it’d feel on his own skin. A

  lover’s touch, not strangers’ need, on his body. Heat

  rising inside of him, Chris shakes his head to clear

  his wandering mind.

  “Take the gauze. You’ll need to change this if the

  blood soaks through later,” he tells Alex after taping

  on the bandage.

  Alex takes the pack. Chris gazes at him and comes

  face-to-face with his own features reflected in Alex’s

  dark eyes, flinching from Alex’s intense look.

  “What were you doing to cause such chaos? Do

  you need to be bathroom-trained?” Chris smiles to

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  show he’s joking, anything to distract Alex from

  peering into his soul.

  “I…lost it.” Alex blinks and sulks.

  “So, you fought with a bathroom cabinet?” Chris

  chuckles.

  “I’m glad you find it funny. I always forget my

  own strength.” Alex shifts in the sofa. “The cabinet

  door wouldn’t shut. I dropped my bottle of pills and

  got frustrated. I tried pushing it shut, then the

  stupid mirror fell out.”

  Chris stares at Alex, returning a look so

  penetrating that Alex can’t hide from it and moves

  to stand. Chris stills him with a hand on Alex’s

  thigh.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To sort out the mess in the bathroom.”

  Chris stands up, too. “I’ll do it. How are you going

  to manage with one hand?”

  “But…” Alex looks up, but he has no argument for

  refusing Chris’s offer of help.

  In the bathroom, Chris crouches to pick up the

  broken mirror. Luckily, they are rather large pieces.

  “Be careful with that. You’ll cut yourself,” Alex

  tells him.

  He turns to see Alex leaning against the door

  frame, watching him while he picks up the glass

  fragments with a towel and then gathers the white

  diamond pills; some are in the sink, more on the

  floor. The small, white bottle lying empty shows a

  brand: Prozac. He puts the tablets back in the

  bottle.

  “You can’t take these now. They’ve been on the

  filthy floor. You’ll have to get another prescription.”

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  “They’ll be okay. I don’t think the doc would give

  me more of them in case I overdose.” Alex takes the

  bottle from Chris. Their fingers touch.

  “They’re for depression,” Alex explains.

  Of course, Chris knows they are antidepressants,

  given his mum’s history of taking prescribed and

  over-the-counter drugs. Annette used to take them

  all the time as though they were bloody love hearts.

  Chris is not around to see her on drugs anymore,

  but he suspects little has changed. To show his

  defiance, he hasn’t followed his mother and

  descended into drug and alcohol abuse—part of his

  inverse control mechanism.

  “I know. Still.” Chris finds a bottle of cleaning

  stuff and an old sponge and starts to mop up the

  blood.

  “Why are you cleaning my shit?” With his good

  hand, Alex takes the sponge from Chris and wipes

  the sink himself.

  Chris’s face is so close to Alex’s, again. He shrugs.

  “I don’t know. Because there’s blood and glass in

  the bathroom?”

  He watches the pink water disappear down the

  drain hole, the little eddy like the stirring in his

  heart. “It’s okay. I know you’re depressed. It doesn’t

  make you a lesser man,” Chris whispers. “Look, it’s

  done already.”

  Alex steals a glance at him. “Thank you.”

  Alex might mean Chris’s comment on his

  depression, for wrapping up his hand or the

  cleaning. Chris gives him an eye-roll anyway.

  “I won’t say ‘anytime’, cuz I’m not that fond of

  gore fests.” He flashes his bright white smile at Alex.

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  Alex coughs. “Well, I’ll get a new cabinet to

  replace this one.”

  Chris stands, distancing himself from Alex. “Just

  as well. We’ll have years to wait if we ask the

  landlord. And I want to see myself when I shave.”

  In the naked light of the bathroom, Chris

  imagines a world more perfect than theirs. “Magic

  mirror in my hand, who is the fairest in the land?”

  Just like that, Chris drops Alex’s hand and

  sashays back to his room, hoping Alex knows the

  answer to that question.

  Chris, of course.

  ~~~

  Since the day Chris had a fight with his last

  boyfriend, Alex and Chris have cuddled up and slept

  together most nights. A couple of times, Chris

  worked till two or three in the morning and woke

  Alex up to go to his room. They still haven’t done

  anything sexual, but Alex doesn’t mind. He worries

  about his libido, which has been affected by his

  depression and the medication, and he wonders

  what their relationship means, whether they’re

  officially together. Chris is everything to him right

  now, but they may also be nothing. He’s supposed

  to be a man of the world, and yet he is confused as

  hell. Whatever they are, Alex can’t help but smile

  when he thinks about Chris.

  Alex hasn’t slept at all, and it’s about two thirty in

  the morning when Chris comes home. He stares at

  the door in the dark, waiting patiently for Chris to

  wake him up like he’s done often lately.

  Hey, Big Blue.

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  Alex listens to the faint noises of Chris using the

  bathroom, but he is not coming for Alex tonight.

  Chris has not refused him so far, so why shouldn’t

  Alex go to him instead?

  Alex puts on a T-shirt and a pair of boxers and

  opens the door to Chris’s room. In the darkness, he

  can work out Chris’s shape in bed.

  “Don’t come in. I want to be alone tonight.”

  Alex doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, but if

  there’s one thing he’s guaranteed to do when Chris

  tells him not to it’s to behave in the exact opposite

  way. Alex approaches Chris, sits on the edge of the

  bed and puts his hand over the lump.

  “What’s the matter? Did I do something? Are you

  ill?”

  “I’m not ill. Fuck off.”

/>   Alex remains.

  Chris switches on the desk lamp and sits up in

  bed, pulling the cover over his body. Alex glimpses

  the marks on his neck.

  “What’s that? You’re hurt.” Alex tries to pull the

  duvet away.

  Chris holds on to it and scowls. “Alex Whale, if I

  tell you to move, can you do it? I want to sleep. I’m

  knackered.”

  “No, I won’t leave. What are the bruises on your

  neck?” Alex demands again.

  Chris lets the duvet drop a few inches. “It was the

  collar. I was in a scene.”

  Alex is confused, as though Chris is talking in

  another language. “Your client put a collar on you?

  What the fuck is that?”

  Chris sighs. “That’s what he asked for, among

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  other things. That was the job tonight. Can you

  leave me alone now?”

  Alex squeezes his nose bridge. “No, I’m not

  leaving until you tell me what’s going on. Where

  else did he hurt you?”

  He yanks the duvet away and takes a look at

  Chris, who struggles to pull the bedding back. Chris

  always sleeps only in a pair of knickers so Alex can

  see there are other faint finger marks. He turns

  Chris around roughly. Chris fights back but Alex is

  stronger.

  “Shit!” Alex can’t believe the angry lines on

  Chris’s back and the patches of dark bruises on his

  arse, his perfect skin marked by someone who paid

  for this kind of shit.

  “I thought you only have sex with them. Why did

  you do that? Did he force you?”

  Chris turns back, quite nonchalant. “No, and it’s

  not as bad as it looks, okay? I know what I’m doing.

  He’s a regular. Can you please forget about this

  already? I’ll speak to you tomorrow.” He starts to

  push Alex out of his room, but Alex wouldn’t budge.

  “No, I don’t understand. How often do you see

  this wacko?”

  Chris deflates. Alex won’t leave him alone until

  they’ve had a conversation about it.

  “I see him every few months. He pays well and he

  wants kinks. I don’t need to work for a week or two

  because he pays good money for a session. We do a

  scene, and we fuck. Do you want more details? It’s

  only an occasional special request. I’m not going to

  explain myself to you.” Chris’s voice cracks as

  though his anger is bubbling.

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  “I can’t believe you’d voluntarily get cuffed and

  flogged for money. It just seems dangerous to me.”