Another morning without him at his side and it was starting to feel numb. Ha. Who was he kidding? Starting. Arthur had not felt a thing since it all started happening. It wasn't anything either of them were doing and it was nothing they could stop. It was happening whether Arthur was ready for it or not.
Their small, one bedroom apartment was nothing to really look at, but at least Francis had covered it with his paintings and filled the rooms with the smell of his cooking. It used to feel a lot brighter in there, but most mornings lately, Arthur woke to a dull reality. They were growing apart…
Arthur Kirkland and Francis Bonnefoy were both immigrates to America and met in college. They were both young and scared, but once they met one another they grew together, inch by inch. Francis struggled to learn English while Arthur knew only a bit of French to communicate with him. The both of them lived in dorms until getting enough money from various jobs to afford the dump they lived in at that point. Rent being three hundred and fifty a month, not including electric or utilities meant they were struggling. Arthur's ten dollar an hour job was not getting them anywhere and well… Francis's paintings weren't doing much better. It was hard to tell how they made it that long, but maybe it was just passion.
But passion wore off and all they seemed to do was fight. Both bitter over the other. Both sick of the other. Maybe it wasn't love, but Arthur thought it was so much more than it really was. He remembered how he used to think the slight stubble under the man's chin was so attractive. Now he couldn't stand the sight of it. But there were probably things like that for Francis. Things he hated about Arthur.
Arthur knew there must have been, from seeing how many other people the man was keeping in contact with. He was not proud of it, but he had been keeping an eye on that prepaid cellular phone Francis had gotten himself. No matter what they went without that phone was never cut off. Francis was sure to have the fifty dollars for that every month. And he was talking to everyone on it. There was one person in particular… a woman, Francis was becoming too close to. One that Arthur was sure had been in their bed before.
He was angry when he smelled the strange perfume on his own pillow, but really, could he blame Francis? It wasn't like Arthur was being good to him when it came to that bed. How could he possibly feel let down? He had not touched that man out of love in months.
They were not young anymore. They were men, adults. Arthur wanted more. He wanted more than those damn paintings! He wanted more than a boyfriend that slept with women in his own bed! Arthur wanted anything and anyone other than Francis!
At that moment Arthur could hear the whistle from the kettle on the stove. He let out a small sigh before getting up, slipping his feet into his slippers. He would have to deal with at least one more day. There was one bright side though… Francis made his tea perfectly.