by Max Hudson
“But you haven't.”
“Still, it could come across as such.”
Marc nodded. “Which is precisely why I think we should get Floyd a recommendation for our sibling practice across town.”
“Oh?”
“If you get on top of that recommendation now, you'll be able to say you did everything you could.”
Ari sniffed curiously. “I hadn't thought of that. Did you just come up with that now?”
“Sure did.”
“Must be the coffee.”
Marc cackled. “Talking can do more than just blow air around a room.”
“And that's why we're therapists.”
“Absolutely. Is there anything I can do for you? I can't stand seeing you this sad. I mean, I'm used to a certain air of sorrow, but this is...”
“Depressing?”
Marc hummed in agreement. “Yes.”
“I'll do my best to fix my demeanor.”
“Don't do it on my behalf.”
Ari smirked. “Alright, I'll do it for myself.”
“That's the ticket.”
“I suppose I still have a lot more reflecting to do.”
Marc gestured around the office. “Do you want me to take your clients today? How many do you have?”
“No, I think having some work to focus on will be just the thing I need to help me gain a different perspective.”
“I can empathize with that.”
Ari nodded. “I appreciate you, Marc. You've been a good friend to me through the years and I hope our friendship never gets challenged in such a fashion.”
“Are you afraid of that?”
“Maybe.”
Marc smiled warmly. “I can assure you I would never let such a trivial matter come between our friendship.”
“Is it so trivial?”
“Maybe you should take the day off.”
Ari shook his head resolutely. “No, I need my work.”
“Very well. I'll leave you to it. Just let me know if you need anything, okay? I'm just a text and an office door away.”
“Of course.”
When Marc left, Ari sniffed the air curiously, noting the hints of spice that lingered from Marc's cologne. He recalled how Noah's cologne smelled similar, how the notes were a bit sharper than what Noah would have typically worn, but the scent reminded him of Noah nonetheless.
He sighed as he lifted his phone.
Soon, he thought. I'll call him soon.
But he knew in the very pit of his stomach that he wouldn't.
Chapter Twelve
Noah
Noah blinked lazily at the computer monitor as his right hand maneuvered the mouse across the screen. The air around him swirled with silence, imposing silence that reminded him he was alone in the office. It had been days since he had contacted Ari or Floyd, days since the incident at the Halloween event, hours since his last sip of water.
He swallowed, his throat closing together roughly like sandpaper. He was parched. He reached for his water bottle and took a few slow sips, closing his eyes at the sensation of liquid moistening his throat. As he sighed, he set the bottle down and focused again on the screen.
The clock above the door ticked away the evening hours. He had stayed behind to catch up on his tasks, to make sure that his shared project with Floyd wouldn't fall behind.
Floyd hasn't been in since Friday, he reflected while clicking mechanically through a few prompts. Which means I'm working for two. Maybe I should call the boss, let him know what's happening. He squeezed his eyes shut. No, then Floyd would lose his job.
He cracked his eyes open.
Is that really my problem?
After a few minutes in quiet reflection, he resumed his task. He ran the freshly typed code into a simulation program, checking it for bugs and errors. When it came back clean as a whistle, he submitted the portion to a file he shared with his boss. He was nearly done for the day. He just needed to check one more piece of code before—
A fresh email blinked at the bottom of the screen.
That's a company email. It might be important.
He clicked on the miniature envelope symbol to expand the window. A brief memo highlighted his name in bold letters followed by a horrible collection of letters strung together in Times New Roman font. Of all the fonts to have presented such a phrase, this had to be the worst of them all.
“Noah Tanner is gay.”
His eyes widened as his heart leaped into his throat. He could feel the strained muscle pumping madly, closing the one tube that allowed air to fill his lungs. He struggled to pull oxygen through his nostrils, switching to his mouth when his airways refused to expand properly. Nothing came in.
He choked.
He kicked up from his seat, sending his desk chair sprawling back. He frantically glanced about the office to find that it was still empty. No one was here. Nobody had witnessed his panic, his sheer terror. He ran his fingers through his oily straw hair, yanking the strands intermittently between feverish glances over the monitor.
Who did this? Who sent this? Who knows?
Heart occupying his throat and stomach thoroughly dropped into the space just beneath his scrotum, he snatched his phone from the left of his keyboard and clicked on the only name he knew would understand this horrible predicament: Floyd.
The line trilled endlessly. Noah repeatedly dragged his fingers through his hair, urgently tugged at his shirt collar, paced next to his overturned desk chair. One of the wheels spun idly while the others remained motionless. The squeak of the wheel filled the office, filled Noah's ears as well as the sound of the line ringing.
Click.
“Yellow,” Floyd drawled. “This is Floyd.”
“Floyd, did you get that memo? Did you get an email?”
“From where?”
Noah stared at the screen, thinking perhaps he had imagined it. But the black letters in the white window were brighter than ever.
“The company,” he replied. “SignetWorks email. Tell me you're seeing this right now.”
“Well, I'm not at work.”
“Neither is anyone else.”
Floyd sighed. “What's it say, Tanner? Is it scary?”
Noah's eyes darkened as he stared at the monitor. There was only one person at his job who was even privy to such information, who had any clue as to his true lifestyle beyond the doors of SignetWorks.
“You did this.”
The words rushed from his lips with far more intensity than he had originally planned, dripping with sure accusation at Floyd.
“Happy Halloween, Tanner,” Floyd said. “Enjoy your life.”
Click.
Noah involuntarily lowered his arm. He homed in on the memo, noticing that the point of the cursor was highlighting the exit button for the email window. He clicked it. The window disappeared from sight, the words gone, but the impression as striking as ever.
He just cost me my job.
With a robotic expression, he wrapped up his work, saved what needed saving, and logged out. He shut the computer down. He lifted his chair from the ground and nestled it into his desk, the arms and seat of the chair fitting snugly like a puzzle piece with the table. As he bit his lower lip, he gathered his items and dumped them into his satchel. He swung the satchel over his shoulder.
Another bleary glance around the office reminded him of that heart-stopping message. How many other people had seen it? What about his boss? He shook his head, headed for the exit, and smacked the light switch on the way out.
It wasn't until he reached his car that he broke. Hot tears trickled down his face in painful silence, pooling beneath his jaw before dipping down into the cave of his neck just above his sternum. Silent sobs wracked his body. He shuddered forward, gently resting his forehead against the steering wheel.
Thunder cracked above. The sound jolted him from his crying fit, yanking him up from the wheel to blink woefully at the droplets pecking his windshield. A shuddering sigh escaped him.
He lazily reached for his phone and scrolled through his messages to find Ari.
It was time to call Ari.
The line rang a few times before clicking. Ari's familiar voice filled Noah's ear with husky concern as he said, “Noah...Hello.”
“H-h-hey.”
“You sound upset. What's wrong?”
Noah parted his lips, soundlessly mouthing what he wanted to say. But he couldn't get the syllables to leave his throat. Instead, he squeaked.
“Are you okay?” Ari urged. “What's going on, Noah?”
“Floyd...”
“What about him?”
“He...” Noah swallowed hard, sandpaper scraping the inside of his throat. “He outed me at work.”
“What?”
Noah shook his head. The tears had returned, staining his hot cheeks with cool rivers. He licked his lips, glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror, and then slapped the mirror to angle it elsewhere.
“He sent a memo to the entire office,” he recounted. “Telling everyone that I'm gay.”
“That's awful.”
“I don't...I don't even know what to do. I've never had this happen. At all the places I've worked, I've been able to keep this under wraps.”
Ari hummed. “It sounds terrifying.”
“Have you ever had this happen?”
“I'm not exactly shy about my sexuality around the office.”
Noah chuckled lightly. “No, I guess you wouldn't be.”
“Did you confront him? Did he say anything to you?”
“Yeah, he wished me a happy Halloween and that was it.”
Ari sniffed curiously. “Dreadful.”
“I... I need to see you.”
“Are you sure that's a good idea?”
Noah shrugged wearily. “Does it matter? He's out of my life. I'm assuming the same for you. Did he talk to you?”
“He did.”
“What did he say?”
Silence filled the line. After a moment, Ari cleared his throat and replied, “I'm under strict confidence.”
“Damn it, Ari. I need to know what he said to you.”
“I simply can't share that information.”
Noah slammed the wheel with the ball of his thumb. Pain radiated through his palm and into his fingers, shocking them right down to the tips. He shook his hand and then his head.
“I just want to know,” he croaked. “Why won't you tell me?”
“Noah, I think you're in a heightened state of emotion right now. I think it's best you go home and get some rest.”
“I'm not a client, Jesus.”
Ari sighed. “I'm just trying to help.”
“It would help if you talked to me.”
“About my client's personal information? That still counts as a breach of trust even after he is no longer a client, Noah.”
Noah groaned. “I can't believe you would let this get between us.”
“I didn't allow anything to happen. These events unfolded naturally over time. There was nothing I could do to control them.”
“Neither could I.”
“So, don't you think you're being a little hard on me here? I have a certain level of confidence to keep. I'm firm about that.”
Noah blinked rapidly, trying to keep fresh tears from falling. He was tired of crying. He was sick of feeling like everything was just out of reach—including Ari. The world around him blurred as a curtain of rain surrounded him, the drops slamming against the windshield and the hood of his car.
He sighed. “I've lost my best friend. I can't lose you, too.”
“What makes you think you've lost me?”
“Because you haven't spoken to me since Saturday, Ari. It's Wednesday for Christ's sake. What took you so long?”
Ari audibly hesitated. “Phones work both ways.”
“I was giving you space.”
“And I was doing the same for you.”
Noah squeezed his eyes shut. “You could have texted...”
“And you could have done the same. Why are you pushing the entire weight of our communication on me?”
“I don't know.”
Ari huffed. “Well, it might be a good think piece. I can't imagine how much Floyd has affected your behavior. It's starting to sound like he was a huge influence on how you handle interpersonal relationships.”
Noah blinked, this time to keep himself from flying into a blind rage. “What did you say to me?”
“A person like Floyd can only keep so many friends. You told me yourself that he cut everyone else off and that you were the only one left. Bearing that kind of weight can have an effect on a person, no matter how much they try to resist.”
“Are you saying I'm acting like Floyd?”
Ari sniffed curiously. “Not those exact terms, no.”
“It sure sounds like it.”
“I'm just giving you my perspective.”
Noah scoffed. “A clinical perspective. And it sounds cold.”
“You know my line of work. I deal with these sorts of things for a living.”
“Well, it sure doesn't show, Ari. It sounds like you could have handled everything a lot better if you do handle these sorts of things for a living.”
Silence again. Ari cleared his throat and sniffed again.
Noah wasn't sure if Ari was crying or resisting anger.
“That was rude,” Ari stated flatly. “I'll leave you to think.”
The line warped briefly before disconnecting. Noah stared at the parked car in front of him, blurred by the curtain of rain. He closed his eyes again, took a deep breath, and then opened his eyes to set his phone aside. He fixed the rearview mirror, noticing his puffy eyes. He started his car and headed home.
It was the only thing he could think of doing.
Chapter Thirteen
Ari
Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Maybe I should have waited longer.
Ari sat on his porch with a cup of tea sitting close, inhaling the faint aroma of chamomile tinted with lavender. He idly lifted the mug and took a quick sip. As the soothing liquid coated his throat, he stared at the mist of rain taking over the city.
Or maybe I should have spoken to him sooner.
His phone was quiet. Most of the neighborhood reflected that silence, having long since gone to bed. But Ari was awake with his hammering thoughts, words whirling like a hurricane through his brain. The sky was dark, the clouds were thick, and the rain gave no hint at when it might let up.
And he didn't want it to let up. He felt much like the blackened clouds, swollen with unspoken emotions. If he so much as thought of contacting Noah, he might burst. As much as the fine spray of rain was calming, he felt his lingering anxiety fluff up like a peacock showing off its vivid feathers.
It's a defense mechanism: run and hide. While I'm aware of it, I can't always control it. He sipped his tea. Which makes it all the worse.
Halloween was just around the corner. His entire street was ready and had been ready for some time. Though he took pride in celebrating the spookiest night of the year, he had yet to drape his favorite orange lights around his balcony. The plant hooks above his head sported a few ghastly installations with eyes that blinked bright and tattered arms that reached out to the sky beyond.
Behind him, his apartment glowed with purple light, illuminating the all-year-round decorations he loved. Horror movie posters from every century hung in fine black frames in between heavy drapes, realistic bats, and anatomy charts. Shelves floated along the walls and sported various jars filled with dead bugs, fake eyeballs, and an assortment of animal bones.
There was a television, a couch, a chrome coffee table, and enough pillows to make royalty go green with jealousy. He turned to observe these things in his apartment, these items that he used to fill the void inside his dark heart. When he turned back to the cloudy sky, he noticed a sliver of moonlight peeking between the clouds.
Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.
&nbs
p; He sipped his tea.
My practice is at stake, although we haven't received any complaints. Maybe Floyd dropped it. He squinted at the dark buildings in front of him. Or maybe he's preparing to sabotage at a later date. After all, Halloween is a few days away. He did it to Noah. He could very well do it to me, too.
He chewed on his thoughts, tasting their bitterness, their uncertainty. Though he would typically spend most Fridays in such a reflective fashion, this Friday in particular was threaded with fear and despair. It seemed to match the holiday.
But it wasn't how he wanted to feel.
What about my other clients? What if they catch wind of this? He shook his head slowly. No, Floyd has no idea who my other clients are. He didn't stick around long enough to see who walked in. That's not possible.
He raised his eyebrows when the sound of rhythmic bass thumped through the air, his eyes focusing on the blue Chevy rolling by with its music blasting. The sound disappeared into the night long after the car had drifted beyond the buildings. He resumed his position. As he relaxed into his chair, the breeze caught his cheek, reminding him of the pumpkin patch.
He shivered.
I don't think I could ever recreate that with anyone, he thought sadly. Noah is special. He has a liveliness about him that appeals to me. Is it because I'm dead inside that I find it so attractive? He chuckled to himself. Hardly.
While lifting his mug again, he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. His thick hair hung in a far messier fashion than usual, needing to be brushed. But he hadn't minded it since he had gotten home. What was the use? No one was going to see him. He didn't need to perform.
Maybe that's the thing—I was performing with Noah. I dropped my guard at some point, but then it shot back up. He hummed. If I could get back to that vulnerable space, maybe we could—
He closed his eyes, sipped his tea, and returned the mug to the table next to him without looking. He listened to the night erupt around him: bugs chirped in the bushes below, a bird sang sweetly nearby, someone giggled in the distance, and traffic bustled lightly around the apartment building. Something about the way the sound met his ears felt eerie as if a greater noise were waiting on the horizon.
