Beginning/End
I went home. I took off the shirt I wore for him.
It wasn't even that much of a surprise. But I'd hoped. Hoped.
I'd imagined our Christmas. It was stupid of me. Some silly fantasy. He wouldn't have come anyway. He might've fucked me at work on Christmas Eve when we shut early, but that would have been it. No turkey or presents or crap telly for us. Not this year. Probably not ever.
I wanted to lash out and cry and just fuck the whole lot and tell everyone about him. But Mike brought the kids back and Rae came home from Anita's asking me why I was home from work early and I could barely answer. I didn't want her there, asking me and caring about me, I just didn't want her. I was excited, I was ready to try something different. Be someone different. I didn't want to be in the flat watching her make beans on toast; I wanted to be back in that bar kissing him.
It was meant to be the beginning for us.
When I saw those blokes kissing in that bar, just like it was the most normal thing in the world, that's what I wanted. He twitched and grimaced but I thought – naively – that we could do it together, be there for each other, I could make him be ok with it, with us. I mean it was all brand new for me too wasn't it? That's what it's supposed to be about, relationships and stuff, working together.
I mangled through gloomy emotions of disappointment, anger, misery, fury, pain. He was never going to be ready. Not even if he wanted to be.
I wouldn't let myself feel anything.
I reached out, gave the cabbie a twenty with my shaking hands.
I was all business, I shook myself free of that tight, crushing grip around my lungs and quick paced to catch the ferry.
But the madness was loud, twisting, turning its way into the forefront of my mind.
Stephen.
He was driving me insane. In every way. And in there, that place where they were all on show and upfront. There with him, my hell – I couldn't breathe. But I tried. The only one I wanted to try for.
Stephen.
He was like a ticking in the head that wouldn't leave me alone.
Just sex. That's all it ever had been and would be. There's nothing normal or natural about two blokes together on a date. I won't be one of those vest-wearing queers with their lispy voices. I'm not one of them. What did he want? Fucking holding hands and some fucking civil whatever they call it. I've never been that kind of freak.
His eyes that glittered blue and his smile, they'd be dead by now. He'd be home with her. Happy families. Vowing never to see me again.
Even if I…if he wanted to.