The Anatomy of Perception

by AJ Rose

  Holly stood near the hostess stand in a black cocktail dress, her bare shoulders covered with a fuzzy gray wrap. Her stockings had a flower pattern on them, and the only thing that might have kept her from totally fitting in here was the lavender streak in her black hair, framing her face. But she was so graceful no one would dare challenge her. Braden stood slightly behind her, looking ill at ease as he tugged at his tie. He saw us first and gently nudged her.

  Her eyes lit up. “Craig!” Extending her arms, she approached him, her laugh lines crinkling deeply with a genuine smile as she gripped his arms and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “So good to see you again.”

  Craig held her elbows and returned the kiss, then vigorously shook Braden’s hand. “You both look great,” he said.

  “Holly is stuck in time while the rest of us get old around her.” I winked.

  “Oh shush,” she teased, lightly smacking my shoulder even as she leaned in for a hug. “You’re only thirty-one.”

  “Didn’t you know? Thirty is gay-dead.”

  She only laughed and shook her head at me as the hostess led us to our table. The first half hour was taken up with negotiating what each of us was ordering and who might barter a morsel of braised lamb for a bite of Mediterranean clams and linguini. Holly and Braden bickered over the wine like they usually did, but this time they couldn’t get me to tiebreak for them, and Craig ordered his wine by the glass. Holly won, as usual. Once the appetizers were delivered, Holly and Braden shared what they’d been up to in the last two years—getting married, Braden’s decision to switch from oncology to pediatrics, Holly becoming the special collections supervisor at her library—and caught up on Craig’s life, which mainly consisted of him throwing himself into work and landing three gallery shows for his art.

  “Date anyone interesting?” Holly asked, popping an olive in her mouth.

  The smile slowly melted from Craig’s face and his eyes darted to me, then darted away. I glared at my best friend. She ignored me, leaning her chin on her palm with her elbow on the table.

  “I tried to move on about six months after Dane left, but I don’t know if any of them are interesting enough to talk about. There hasn’t been anyone serious.” His downplaying was diplomatic, but all I heard was the word “them.” I wished then for a drink or something to do with my hands. I grabbed a piece of garlic bread and shredded it.

  Braden cleared his throat. “So, where can we see the work you have for sale, Craig?”

  Craig opened his mouth to answer, but Holly cut him off.

  “How many were there?”

  My face heated, and I knew my cheeks were burning red. “Holly,” I warned.

  “No, Dane, I want to know. We talked about us getting married and our honeymoon, and you haven’t had a love life to speak of, so that leaves Craig. We’re all friends here, so why can’t we discuss it?”

  “Because it’s inappropriate,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Well, I don’t want you getting all your hopes up if he’s got an ex he’s not over or if there’s someone right now. Dane, you’re not in the best position to take any more hits.”

  “There’s not. An ex, I mean,” Craig said, relaxing, his dimples returning as he tried to reassure Holly with his usual charm. “Or a right now. Or,” he hesitated, looking at me, then quickly away. “There’s no one to show up and upset Dane. I promise.” He crossed his fingers over his heart and, with his other hand, squeezed my leg under the table. I quickly reached for him, appreciating the chance, so he’d know I hadn’t put Holly up to this. I was just as blindsided as he was.

  “So how many were there?”

  “Holly, that’s enough,” Braden cut in.

  She ignored him. “Because here’s the thing, Craig. I’ve always liked you. You’re a nice guy, and you got caught up in a shitty situation. You didn’t deserve that. But I don’t know if you have a clue how invested Dane is in reconciling with you now, and after what happened, even the nicest of people could use this opportunity to get a little revenge. You know, string out a little hope here and there, then slam the door in Dane’s face when he’s at his most vulnerable.”

  Craig’s eyes actually softened at that, and he opened his mouth to refute her, but I didn’t give him a chance.

  “Six years, Holly. That’s how long we were together. You’re describing what happened like I had no responsibility for it. Sure, there were moments when I wasn’t right in the head and I shouldn’t have been making serious decisions about anything, but what I did, I did after the doctors let me go home. I was fully aware of the consequences, and I did it anyway. I took six years of Craig’s life and lit them on fire, destroying them in minutes. You don’t know what he felt right then, or in the months after. You don’t even know what I felt. Not entirely.

  “So Craig gets time to be careful of me. He gets the chance to mull things over and see how he feels about all this. However quickly I want this fixed, I’m not pushing, because even if I have the excuse of a lifetime for why I behaved the way I did, I still chose to hurt him. Deliberately. No matter how much I thought I was doing him a favor, or however altruistic I tried to be, most normal people wouldn’t be able to forgive me. Most normal people would have slammed their doors in my face on day one.

  “Craig is different. He’s compassionate and has managed to turn what happened into fuel for his art. He’s already forgiven me, even if he’s not so sure he wants to share that much of himself with me again. He is entitled to that decision, and to take his time making it. Yeah, I’ve had some shit to overcome, but so has he. You’ve been remarkable to me, not rushing my recovery and forgiving me for the horror I rained down on not only myself, but also everyone I loved. Why can’t you be just as remarkable to him, especially since it’s only been a few weeks since I bombed my way back into his life? If you’re going to punish someone, Judge Judy, punish me. I’m the one who deserves it.”

  As my words rang to a close, I became aware of the entire restaurant looking at us. My voice had risen, not quite to a shout, but in the muted, respectful atmosphere of this place, I might as well have had a megaphone. Oh god. Fucking perfect. I stood hastily and tossed my napkin on the table, hurrying out of the room and into the bathroom, where I could hide in one of the stalls until my breathing slowed.

  Beautiful. I not only embarrassed the hell out of Craig in front of the entire restaurant, I just outed us to the world.

  But even as I leaned my hands on the stall door and hung my head, I realized something.

  I didn’t care.

  So fucking what if everyone in that restaurant knew I was gay? That I was in love with Craig? I was in love with him. I could shout it from the rooftops and not give a damn. In my paranoid college years, I’d taken boxing lessons and had some martial arts training. In the months since my diagnoses, I’d taken up the martial arts again for something to occupy my body when I became restless, as well as to gain confidence in the wake of the attack that had pushed me over the edge. Now, if such a thing were to happen, even taken by surprise, I would be able to defend myself.

  So, really, what did it matter if the world knew I loved men? That I loved Craig?

  A surge of affection for him for withstanding Holly’s barbed questions rose in my chest. The gentle knock on the stall door made me look up.

  “Dane?” Craig asked carefully.

  I unlocked the door and yanked him into the stall with me. He squeaked in protest, but I couldn’t help myself. I mashed him to the wall with my body, suddenly more aroused than I’d ever been. I knew he could feel my hard-on against his belly as he looked up at me, his expression surprised. I saw the moment awareness dawned, and I felt it too, his heart galloping against my chest in time with mine. I also felt the very deliberate shift of his hips against me, his dick plumping against the top of my thigh.

  “I came to see if you’re okay,” he said huskily, lips bare inches from mine.

  “Craig,” I murmured. “I’m not trying to rush you. I me
ant what I said to Holly. You deserve the space to decide. But I realized something.”

  “Yeah?” He tipped his chin, moving like he wanted to kiss me, but wanting more to know what I was thinking.

  “The entire restaurant heard what I said, and I don’t care if they know I’m gay.”

  “That’s good.” He smiled, inching closer. “Scary?”

  “Exhilarating,” I countered. “But something else.”

  “Mmm?” He parted his lips, his gaze dropping from my eyes to my mouth.

  “I love you, and I want the world to know it. Even if you need time, it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

  He kissed me, his hands threading into my hair and clenching into fists, my scalp stinging as he pulled me in. He devoured me, bringing his leg up and around my hip to trap me against him. He electrified me, delving with his tongue like my mouth was his breath of life, and he wanted to own me.

  He did own me. He always had.

  There was a discreet clearing of a throat outside the stall, and I wrenched my mouth away, though letting Craig go was not something I was capable of in that moment. I let my head fall to his shoulder, which heaved with his breathlessness.

  “Yes?” I asked, trying to sound normal.

  “Guys, I’m not sure Holly meant for her interrogation to result in you fucking in the men’s room of our favorite restaurant, but I also don’t know that it would be wise if we ever want to come back,” Braden said, clearly amused. Thank god it was him and not the maître d’, there to throw us all out.

  “No, probably not,” I answered, regaining most of my composure. Craig, on the other hand, still petted me, smoothing his hands up my arms and over my shoulders, cradling my neck and running his palm down my chest to stop over my wildly beating heart. When I moved to pull further away, he held on tighter, beseeching me with his eyes not to go just yet. I stopped.

  “I’ll give you a few minutes,” Braden said. “But if you’re not back to the table by then, I’m coming to get you no matter what state of dress you’re in.”

  “Thank you,” I said earnestly.

  The clack of Braden’s dress shoes leaving the bathroom followed by the soft whump of the door closing told us we were alone again. I smiled down at Craig, his face so open, almost astonished.

  He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, tried again, and failed. I couldn’t help but chuckle, which made him blow out a breath and laugh with me. The tension between us, however erotic, seeped away, leaving a shivering flutter of a spark in its wake. He took a breath, his thumb finding my cheekbone.

  “My brain says to slow down,” he began. I nodded, but he gripped my head with both hands to stop me. “No, just listen. My brain says whoa, but everything else about this feels right. You keep surprising me. I want to hold a grudge, but I can’t seem to, especially when every word you say is epic and exactly what I need to hear. That you’re willing to give me all the time in the world to decide what to do makes me not need it.” His brows furrowed, and he looked away for a second. When our eyes met again, his were haunted. “But I’m scared.”

  I leaned in and kissed his forehead, then pulled his hands away from my face by his wrists. “That’s why you need time. I can’t promise you that being with me again will be all rainbows and fireworks, but I can promise you my honesty. A good foundation to try and rebuild on.”

  “Isn’t that all anyone can ask?”

  I nodded mutely, hopeful and trying to keep it from showing on my face, lest he decide it was a bad idea after all.

  “Every beginning is a risk,” he said, this time walking me to the opposite wall of the stall until my back hit it. His hands landed on my shoulders, and he leaned against me. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

  Ice flooded my veins. “Yes,” I said, my voice shaking. “But I don’t have time to tell you in here, and I don’t want to tell you in front of Holly and Braden.”

  His face clouded with suspicion. “How bad is it?”

  “It’s the last thing you need to know about my family.”

  For reasons I couldn’t understand, his rigidity loosened, and his body against mine went pliant.

  “It’s in the past?”

  “For the most part, yes.”

  “You’re not going to tell me your dad was some undercover mob boss and you’re slated to take over the organization when his liver gives out, right?”

  I stared at him, incredulous at the twinkle in his eye, but hopeful once more. “No, nothing like that.”

  “You’re not secretly part of a religion where you’re in an arranged marriage, and I’m supposed to be your mistress?”

  “Uh, no. I’m atheist, like I always have been.”

  “Okay then. I’m going to stick around to hear what you have to say, and we’ll go from there.” The kiss he bestowed on me silenced any protest or plea for reassurance I might have voiced. This kiss, while not as scorching as those from a little bit ago, was not platonic like the kiss after the gallery showing. His tongue danced out to play against mine, caressing my lips and darting away before either of us could get too lost in it. He lingered, his fingertips playing with the hair at the nape of my neck, causing me to shiver.

  Then he pulled away and moved to unlatch the door. Outside the stall, he turned to look at me, then held out his hand.

  “I think our five minutes are up.”

  I took his hand and we returned to the table, only a few diners glancing at our clasped hands as we wound through the seating area. As we sat down, I frowned at Holly, who had the good sense to look abashed.

  “Dane, I—” she began, but I silenced her with a slash of my hand.

  “Let it go,” I warned.

  She dipped her head in concession and looked apologetically at Craig. Ever the gracious charmer, he reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

  “Don’t ever stop looking out for him,” he said to her, and for a moment, I thought she might cry. Taking her hand back, she picked up her wine glass and drained it. When she put it down, she was composed again.

  We spent the remainder of dinner chatting and laughing as if nothing had happened. No, that wasn’t right. We laughed as if we four had been in a near accident but had emerged unscathed, lucky to be intact, and well aware of the danger narrowly missed. Dessert was impossible, though Holly and I both decided an espresso would be nice. Braden fought me for the check and won, and we emerged into the chilly night air, full and spent.

  “Interested in a club?” Holly asked. The rest of us groaned at the thought.

  “If I don’t get to kick my feet up and digest all this food, it won’t be pretty,” I said, rubbing my stomach.

  She laughed and tucked her bag under her arm. “Okay. But next time we’re not giving in so early.”

  I grinned, happy that she wanted a next time, and my smile got wider when Craig gave her a cheek kiss and said, “You got it. Next time, pizza at my place, then we hit the clubs until the sun comes up.”

  We said our goodbyes and she and Braden turned in the opposite direction, disappearing into the foot traffic.

  “Well?” Craig asked, hooking his arm through mine. “What now?”

  “Wanna walk for a bit? Find a taxi back to the loft when one comes by?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We ambled in companionable silence, but the pall of expectation between us grew, and I coughed. “I suppose now is a good time to tell you the rest of the story,” I began, dreading it as well as wanting it to be finished.

  “I suppose,” he agreed, keeping our pace leisurely and our arms tightly clasped.

  “Okay, so you now know I had a brother, as well as a drunk for a father and all the glory that went with it.”

  “Right,” he said, letting me know I could pick up my narrative wherever I’d left off.

  “Remember when I got held up?”

  “How could I forget?” he grumbled. “Terrified me when I found out.”

  “It was the same week
when I got the news. My therapist says that combination of those two things, one right after the other, is what set me off.”

  “What news?”

  “The police in my hometown in West Virginia wanted to know if I’d heard from my father, and they sent NYPD to talk to me. Of course I told them I hadn’t, that we were estranged, and if anything had happened, I’d have been more likely to hear from Dylan, not Dad. That’s when they told me.

  “I guess Dylan had gone back to the house to check on things, like he had so many times before. Dad’s alcoholic coma hadn’t been quite deep enough, and he woke up when Dylan was unpacking a bag full of groceries into the fridge. I can only guess Dad took exception to Dylan showing up after being gone all those years, and to take care of him, of all things. Dad could look out for himself, a point I’m positive he made, just as he made it all the times anyone suggested he get help for his alcoholism or his depression and grief from Mom’s death.

  “Whatever words were spoken, Dad had the bottle in his hand, and when Dylan turned to leave, which is the only reason I can think of for him to turn his back on that crazy bastard, Dad clocked him on the head with the bottle. Real glass isn’t like in the movies. It doesn’t shatter easily and cause the victim to fall unconscious only to wake up hours later with a headache, none the worse for wear, except for giving the bad guy a head start. No, in reality, the base of the bottle fractured Dylan’s skull and caused a bleed in his brain.

  “Instead of calling for help, the old bastard packed a bag and ran. If he’d called someone, maybe something could have been done, but he didn’t. He left my brother on his dirty kitchen floor, a spilled bottle of Jack Daniels beside his head. By the time anyone came around, Dylan was dead.”