“You shouldn’t mix anxiety meds and alcohol.”
John smiled with zero amusement. “You’re going to give me advice right now?”
He sighed.
“Your face looks like shit.”
Isaac knew and didn’t care.
“So when are you moving back to Charleston?”
“What?”
“Well, that’s why he’s here, right? To get you back.” Apparently annoyed with the empty glass in his hand, John grabbed the scotch bottle and took a loud gulp. “It’s no big deal, so go to him. We were just fucking.”
Isaac felt his pulse in his head. “Is that what you think this is? We’re just fucking?”
“You have no right to get angry at me right now.”
“This is not just fucking,” Isaac yelled.
“But it is a lie!” John stood and shoved him in the chest.
“I never lied to you.”
“You’ve been lying by omission since the day we met! ‘Yeah, I was married to a woman, but I’d love to suck your dick. I didn’t just leave Charleston; I fucking disappeared, and oh, yeah, I have a boyfriend!’”
Isaac reached out to touch, and John reared back.
“Don’t you dare. I have had a headache all fucking day because some jackass rammed my skull against a desk. Being touched by another jackass is the last thing I want right now.”
“I didn’t lie. I didn’t…want to lie.” Isaac folded his arms to keep from reaching out and fixing the beautiful mess of John’s hair. “What happened to me at Broad destroyed me. It made me so scared to be open about my sexuality, scared to let myself be happy, so when I met you, I did not plan…this. That’s why I never told you about Simon. I didn’t realize we…that I…”
“Use your fucking words.”
“I didn’t realize I was going to fall in love with you.”
John’s gasp turned into a quiet bawl, so Isaac reached for him, but John slapped his hand away. “Don’t.”
Isaac reached again, took hold of his wrists, and John fought hard to get away, curving his arms this way and that to escape Isaac’s hold.
“Let go,” John said.
“I can’t.”
John gave one more valiant effort to disentangle their bodies, out of breath with the futility of escaping someone much stronger—and someone terrified of letting go.
“John.” Isaac’s voice shook. “Please.”
John expunged a heaving breath before folding the top of his head against Isaac’s chest, and Isaac finally let go of his wrists. John’s shoulders shook as he clawed at Isaac’s shirt. “Today hurt so much.” He sobbed.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Isaac lifted John’s face and kissed his forehead, his tear-streaked cheeks.
“Don’t ever hurt me like that again.”
“I won’t. I’m sorry.” He wrapped John in his arms and held him until the crying stopped.
Back on the couch, John tended to Isaac’s wounds. Well, wound. His bottom lip was split, but there was nothing to be done for it. The cut under his eye, though, needed looking after. John used an alcohol swab to poke and prod.
“I’m sorry about the things Simon said today.”
John shrugged. So close, his breath smelled like vanilla and peat. “I know I’m not your type, Isaac. It’s no big deal.”
“You are literally my only type right now.”
John smiled—maybe a little. “That’s just because you love me.”
“I do. But there is some bad news.”
“Oh, goody.” John reached for a butterfly bandage. “I love bad news.”
“Simon is threatening our jobs.”
“Original.” He peeled back the sticky sides and gently pressed the bandage to Isaac’s face.
“We need to lie low for a little while. Not see each other. Simon is going to try to get evidence that we’re…us, so only official stuff. School stuff. We can’t go to each other’s houses.”
“You’re at my house right now.”
“And Simon is asleep at a hotel.”
John trailed his fingers down the edge of Isaac’s jaw. “Should I be scared of him?”
“No. He’s a good guy. I just fucked up.”
“Yeah. You did.” He kissed Isaac’s cheek. “Go home.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep without you.”
John shook his head. “You don’t deserve to sleep with me right now.”
John walked Isaac out, but the door closed behind him with an echoing finality—especially when the lock clicked. It was the first time Isaac had ever known John to lock his front door.
Chapter Eleven
WIND WHIPPED THE candles dead on College Green’s altar as Isaac swept past, late for the Tuesday night Being Frank meeting. Between classes, he and Simon had spent much of the afternoon talking in coffee shops and bars. Well, arguing. Mostly arguing. All he wanted was to wrap himself in John’s sheets and sleep cuddled together, but that was impossible for now. For the time being, they could barely look at each other.
He was out of breath by the time he reached Ellis Hall’s third floor. Thanks to the aging heaters, the whole place smelled like farts. He tore off his coat, too hot, as he walked down the hall to the sound of shouting. By the time he reached the classroom, he recognized the voices: Anthony and Janelle.
“This isn’t a political journal,” Anthony said. He’d shoved his Afro under a hat but looked ready to set his hair free and start tugging.
Janelle gestured to her computer. “It’s a well-written piece.”
“Yeah, about gun control!”
John didn’t even look up when Isaac walked in. He stood, leaned against the chalkboard with his arms crossed. Mouth turned down, his green eyes stared straight ahead—glazed, unseeing.
“Janelle. Girlfriend. Listen to me. We are not here to make political statements. We can’t publish a treatise on gun reform. We need art, not politics.”
Janelle, a little thing, seemed huge when she stood and got right in his face. “No, we need truth, and the truth is none of this shit would have happened if Chris hadn’t been able to buy a gun.”
Isaac waited for John to step in, but he didn’t. He just stood there, as did the literary magazine staff, frozen like nervous-looking ice sculptures.
“I’m not arguing that with you, but this piece has no place in a literary journal!”
Janelle flailed her hand, black bracelets clicking. “And the one you like does? Who cares what that psycho was thinking? John?”
He didn’t move.
“See, nobody cares!” she shouted.
“Are you even listening to yourself right now?” Anthony asked. “You named this literary magazine Being Frank because you wanted even Chris to have a voice because he’s dead, too, and he was our friend.”
“Hey,” Isaac said, but no one listened. John didn’t even look like he paid attention—John, who was usually so good at fixing things.
“Fuck Chris Frank,” Janelle said. “Forget about him. Forget the whole stupid thing.”
Anthony hit the desk with his fist, which at least made John flinch. “You wouldn’t be saying any of this shit if you weren’t so drunk all the time!”
“Enough,” Isaac yelled. “Anthony, Janelle, hallway. Now.” He threw his bag on the floor and didn’t wait.
Out in the hall, two of the most talented kids in the entire English Department looked like bombs ready to blow. Janelle violently chewed her thumbnail. A bit of her purple lipstick had smeared onto the side of her cheek, and old mascara melted under her eyes. Anthony tapped his foot until Janelle snapped at him to stop.
“What’s the matter with you two?” Isaac asked.
“What’s the matter with you?” Janelle spat. “Why are you getting into fistfights in classrooms? Your eye looks like shit, by the way.”
Isaac lifted a finger. “Watch it. I’m still your teacher.”
“Oh, fuck you.” She stomped down the hall.
“Jan
elle, get back here.” He’d never felt so much like a disrespected parent. “Anthony, talk to me.”
Anthony sighed, anger wilted like a wet flower. “It’s not you, Dr. Twain. It’s not me either. I don’t know why I let her get to me today.” He toed at linoleum. “It’s Demi’s birthday Thursday. Well, it would have been. Janelle isn’t doing all right.”
“Is she on antidepressants or anything?”
“Yeah. And she sees some head doctor.” He shrugged. “But she’s drinking so much, man. I get worried, then I get scared, then I get angry. You just saw angry.”
“Does John know about Demi’s birthday?”
Anthony scoffed. “Yeah, man, but…” He waved into the classroom where John looked like he barely breathed. “I had him this morning in class. He’s been like this all day. He won’t even, like, acknowledge my presence. Is he okay?” Exaggerated shrug. “I don’t know. It’s like everyone’s gone crazy.”
“All right, I’m going to cancel the meeting tonight. I think we’ve seen enough.”
“Sure, but, I mean, Janelle makes a good point that we’re going to have to discuss. Do we have an agenda? Is Being Frank a platform of some kind, or are we just looking for beautiful, emotional work?”
Isaac pressed his lips together, considering. “Say what you just said to me to them, and we’ll vote on it next week.”
“All right. Can you see if John’s all right? He’s freaking me out, man.”
Isaac nodded, although he had no right to question John’s mental health. God, he was probably the cause of the blank, hopeless look on his face.
Isaac dismissed the students after Anthony made his announcement, most of them rushing to get out the door. The whole room stank of tension with just a touch of John’s witch hazel lotion. When Isaac tried to approach the stock-still creative writing professor, John shook his head. “Just go home, Isaac.”
Broken-hearted, he texted John as he walked.
Do you know it’s Demi’s birthday Thursday? I don’t think Janelle should be alone.
John responded, She won’t be. Classes all day, and Anthony will stay at her place overnight. A bunch of us are going out to dinner for Demi.
Isaac crossed Union in the direction of his apartment and was about to reply when—
You can come, if you want.
I would love to, Isaac texted.
To be close to John, to see John, to maybe make John laugh just once. When was the last time he’d seen him laugh—really laugh—not the armored chuckle he used to deflect?
I miss you, John texted.
Isaac stopped on the sidewalk and tried to keep the punch of emotion from knocking him over. I miss you so much.
As if they hadn’t just seen each other. He would definitely need a long run that night.
He opened the door to his stairwell and took the steps two at a time only to find his front door open, the lock busted. Slivers of wood decorated the tiny, carpeted foyer, and Simon sat stretched out on his couch.
“What the hell?” Isaac said.
Simon drank whiskey—a bottle of expensive Japanese stuff John had brought over. “There is an awful lot of John Conlon hair in your shower.” He leaned his head back, eyes closed as though so very relaxed when his entire body screamed pent-up unease. “Not like I’m building a court case or anything. Hell, if you wanted to right now, you could probably get me disbarred—not that I give a shit anymore. Just saying, you used to be so much more careful. I couldn’t even be seen at your house, and now, you’re letting him stay here, shower here. He must feel real special.”
“I should call the police. And get you disbarred.”
Simon guffawed. “Yeah. Sure. Go ahead. I’ll make all sorts of noise if you do.”
“How do you know where I live?”
“Nice redheaded girl at your office.” He took a long gulp of whiskey from the bottle. “Told her I was an old friend, here to surprise you. Wasn’t she the sweetest? Didn’t know there were so many pretty, little things in Ohio.”
Isaac grabbed the bottle away from him. “Get out.”
“He went to Wisconsin, huh?”
Must have noticed the coffee mug.
Isaac said, “Stop making this about John.”
Simon crossed his shiny dress shoes on the coffee table. He always wore dress shoes, even now, when his clothes were a wreck and his black hair a mess in the back. “We’ve been talking in circles all day, Isaac. The thing that puts me at a loss is that I didn’t do anything to deserve your hate.”
Isaac shook his head. “I don’t hate you.”
“Really? You abandoned me, and now, you’re treating me like a stranger. You haven’t held me, kissed me. It doesn’t make me sad; it makes me livid.” His lip twitched, revealing his teeth. “Variables may have changed—geography and time—but those shouldn’t be enough to make you stop loving me. No, the biggest change is him, so I need to get rid of him.”
Isaac gawked. “Are you even listening to yourself?”
“Yes, and now, you need to listen.” He stood and poked a finger in Isaac’s chest. “I’m gonna tell the school about you and him.”
“Please, Simon—”
“Twenty-four hours.” His brows wrinkled over bloodshot eyes. “I’m giving you twenty-four hours, and you choose me and we get our life back. Or you choose him and ruin his.”
Isaac shook his head. “Either choice I make will ruin him.”
Simon took a huge breath and blinked his eyes wide. “Well, it sure is a shame after all he went through last year. I remember all the news coverage. Remember thinking he was cute.” With laughter like a cold breeze, he leaned close to Isaac and whispered, “You shouldn’t have left me.” Then, he was gone. Nothing but the scent of cigarettes betrayed his existence—that and the broken door.
Isaac slumped onto the sofa and finished the bottle of whiskey in twenty minutes. John would joke about being pissed it was gone, but Isaac supposed missing liquor was the least of their worries. Head floating, he stumbled into his bedroom and fell face-first into the pillow. Desperately, he sought to find just a bit of John’s sleep scent—that mix of earthiness and night sweat—but nothing. So he cried. He fell asleep gasping on his own snot, head pounding, and eyes burning with salt.
JOHN’S CLASSES STARTED late on Wednesday, so he wasn’t in Ellis Hall when Isaac arrived, but Meeks was, waiting by his office door. In an ugly business suit—a puke shade of green this time—she stood, arms crossed, cup of coffee in her hand. He wondered if she ever got headaches from wearing her hair tied back so tight.
“We need to talk.” She didn’t smile.
He unlocked the door and let her inside.
Meeks sat behind his desk like she owned the place, while Isaac sat in the cheap leather chair usually reserved for students. “I heard there was quite a tiff last night.”
Okay, so she was there to talk about the literary magazine, not Monday’s brawl. Breathe. “How did you know?”
“I don’t have spies at your meetings, if that’s what you’re asking. I have concerned students who have a right to be after last year.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
The chair squeaked when she leaned back into a tiny sliver of sun. “Janelle has always been unstable. Demi kept her in check. Now, it seems Anthony is doing his best to fill the void, but I still worry.”
Isaac folded his hands in his lap. “How nice of you.”
She grinned, shifting the too-much makeup on her face in a parody of emotion. “I know you don’t think very highly of me, Dr. Twain. I don’t think very highly of myself most days. I didn’t even want this job, but with Abby dead, I was most qualified. So now, I am trying to keep this fractured department together at any cost. I’m not here to make friends.” The chair creaked forward. “So, tell me. Do I have anything to worry about with Janelle?”
“I’ll have John check in with her.”
She clicked her tongue. “Because he’s the picture of stability.”
“They’re close,” he snapped. “I think she would tell him if something was wrong.”
“No, you’re right. I suppose the gays do stick together.”
He tried not to look horribly offended.
She poked at some student papers on his desk. “One other thing. I realize Tommy and John are reckless idiots, but aren’t you a little old for fistfights?”
Shit.
“Let me guess. Affair with a married woman and her husband found out?”
If only it were so simple. “It’s none of your business.”
Meeks smiled the way dogs do before they bite. “I’m your boss. Your whole life on campus is my business. Is the problem sorted?”
He thought about resigning right there, saving John the hell that might soon be coming, but he couldn’t get the words out. God, he was a coward. “It will be.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re friends with those madmen, but it would be nice if you could be a positive influence. Someone they can look up to.”
“If anyone should be looked up to, it’s John.”
She studied his face before humming. “We used to be friends, John and I. Good ones. Some would say we shared a similar entertaining ‘attitude problem.’ Then, Abby died, I became his boss, and we haven’t agreed on anything since.” She flipped one of Isaac’s pens around with her fingertips. “You would tell me if something was wrong with him. Wouldn’t you?”
If he was being honest, Meeks was the last person he would tell if he thought something was genuinely wrong with John. She seemed the sort to judge first, listen later, but he agreed just to get her the hell out of his office.
She did stand then, silhouetted against a dark window. The sun had gone, and storms threatened. “Just remember, Dr. Twain, I didn’t bring you here to cause trouble. No more on-campus drama. No more canceling classes. Try not to rock the boat.”
He nodded again. He was beginning to feel like a very tall bobblehead.
Once she was finally, blessedly gone, he almost broke the damn chair with the force of his slump. It was Elizabeth all over again—divorce, dishonesty, and the loss of everything good.
Like being caught in a waterfall, screaming all the way down.
We Still Live Page 12
