Chapter 15
I didn't know what to say. My first instinct was to wrap my arms around him, but maybe he wouldn't want that. He just freaked out and told me the worst thing he could have told me. But usually he liked cuddling, and he liked everything else we'd done so far.
I got up and found the T-shirt and pyjama pants he liked to sleep in, then placed them on the bed next to him. "Do you want to put these on?"
Slowly, he sat up. I turned the other way and remained with my back to him while I lit two cigarettes. When I turned back, he had the clothes on and was sitting on the bed with his arms wrapped around his knees.
"You didn't have to turn your back. I've been naked in front of you before." He took the cigarette I offered him and drew smoke into his lungs, then blew it out of his nose.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do."
"I shouldn't have told you that."
"I think you kind of had to." I sat next to him on the bed again.
"I lied to you." Arthur sucked in another lungful of smoke. I waited for him to continue. "I said it would be my first time with you."
"You didn't lie." I rubbed the back of my neck, more uncomfortable than I'd ever been in my life. How would I talk to him about this? "With me, it's your first time wanting to, right?"
"I guess."
"Do you want to tell me anything about it?"
He shook his head. "Not really. Only enough so you understand. It wasn't recent."
"Okay."
"I was twelve. I was in one of the many care homes the system put me in. One of the managers—" He shuddered. "I was weak and skinny, and much smaller than I am now. I couldn't do anything about it. Penny's boyfriend did some stuff to me, too, but not that."
"Did you tell anyone? At the home?" I asked carefully.
"No. They wouldn't have believed me. I was the crazy one. Besides, he said he'd kill me if I breathed a word of it to anyone. It went on for about three months before they moved me somewhere else. I got more and more hysterical as time went on, and they couldn't handle me."
"Fuck, Arthur, I'm sorry," I groaned.
"No, I'm sorry. Even though I read it in that file, it was like reading about somebody else. I didn't feel anything. I thought I'd be okay tonight, but when we were—" He stopped and smoked the last of the cigarette. "When we were about to do it, I remembered what it felt like before. It hurt so much. So I couldn't let you. I panicked."
I couldn't think of anything to say except for "I'm sorry," so I didn't say anything. Instead, I reached for his hand and squeezed it. He pulled away and got up.
"Travis, I think I should leave. I'm no good for you. I can't give you what you want. You've done so much for me, and I'm too much trouble."
My already aching heart sank. How long had I known him? A couple of weeks? The days had all merged into one since we left Gotham. I doubted it was even that long. But somehow, he'd got under my skin and the thought of him leaving wasn't something I wanted to contemplate, or deal with. I got off the bed and cornered him in the small space between the cabinet and the bathroom door. "Listen to me, Arthur."
"It's for the best."
"Best for who? You?" I gripped his shoulders, not too tightly. "What are you gonna do, Arthur? You can't even afford a room on your own yet. You don't have anywhere to go, and you wouldn't make it out there. You'd end up back in a place like Arkham, or dead."
"It's better for you," he said dully.
"Is that what you think? Do you think that just because we can't have sex, I won't want you anymore?"
He shrugged.
"I didn't expect this to happen. I thought we'd share this place for a while until we got sorted and maybe move on separately later. I don't know. I hadn't thought beyond escaping being arrested. But now—I like you, Arthur. I care about you. I want you here, with me."
"But I can't—" He flushed and avoided my eyes. "I like being with you so much. You make me feel wanted. I feel safe here. I never had that. And I like what we do together. But it's not enough for you. Surely you want somebody who can give you more."
"It is enough," I said firmly. "Look at me." I gripped his chin and tilted his head up, so he met my eyes again. "It's enough. You're not going anywhere."
He stared back at me for a long moment, and I expected him to argue some more. But suddenly he slid both arms up around my neck and pressed his face against my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tight, sagging with relief. It meant more to me than I realised, that he was staying.
We stayed that way for a long time, holding each other, not talking anymore. Eventually, I loosened my grip on him and he lifted his head.
"You want to try and get some sleep?"
"Okay." He stepped away from me. "I'll take some pills."
I waited while he filled a cup at the sink and swallowed two sleeping pills. I didn't bother with them myself. I took off my trousers again and put my underwear back on. Arthur got into bed and I turned off the light before joining him.
As I lay there with him in my arms, his back to my chest as usual, I remembered we'd killed two men that evening. Two thugs lay dead in an alley and we hadn't even thought about it afterwards. All we'd wanted to do was get home and have sex, and then it had all been about Arthur's terrible past. He'd been manic on the drive back—his Joker character took over completely in the way he laughed and ranted, then pounced on me like a starving man.
I resolved to encourage him to start taking his other medication the next day. Episodes like that could bring a whole load of trouble on us. Who knew what he would do one day if the mood took him? He was the one to fire the first shot when we got attacked. Would I have done anything differently? Maybe; probably. I'd have pulled the gun and threatened them with it, tried to make them back off so I could get in the car, rather than pull the trigger without thinking. The way things were going, we could end up with a trail of dead bodies all over New York.
"You're not sleeping," Arthur said softly. He sounded drowsy, as if the pills were starting to draw him under.
"I'm just thinking."
"About me?"
"Yeah. And what started this tonight. You weren't yourself for a while."
"I know." He covered my hand where it rested on his chest. "It's like another person hidden inside me that comes out sometimes. It makes me feel confident, like I could do anything. That's what made everything go wrong tonight. You were right. We should have slowed down, but when I'm like that, I don't think about what happens next. Only how I feel at the time. And how I felt after we had dinner, and danced, was that I wanted you so much I couldn't think about anything else. I just wanted to get naked and for you to—you know." He paused and laced his fingers through mine before he continued. "Then that part of me vanished and I was just me again. Just plain old me. I remembered how awful it was before, and I thought it would be like that again.
"When I was younger, the doctors thought it was schizophrenia at first, that made me like two different people, but it's not. It's just the result of a head injury—the same thing that makes me laugh. I'll start taking the other pills tomorrow. They don't stop the laughing, but they stop me acting crazy."
"That's good." I hugged him tighter. "You won't ever have to worry about me hurting you like that. You know that, don't you? I love what we do, and it doesn't have to be any more than that. Just remember something. I've never done any of this before, so I'm not missing what I've never tried. I like just being with you."
"You're amazing," Arthur murmured. "Did I ever thank you for helping me that night?"
"Yeah, you did." I kissed his ear.
Suddenly, he turned onto his back and looked up at me. "Travis, we killed two men tonight. I don't even feel bad about it. In fact, I forgot about it the moment we got back here. Does that make me awful? They're dead and I don't care."
"They wanted to hurt us. I don't feel bad either," I admitted. "But we can't keep doing that. The intention was to leave all that behind in Gotham."
"Yeah. I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. I was the one who finished them off. I don't think there was any other choice at the time."
"Do you think the police will come after us?"
"I doubt it. As far as I know, nobody saw us park there or walk back to the car. It was a quiet evening. When they find them, because of where it was, they might just think they were a gay couple who were killed for what they were."
"Not if they have wives or girlfriends."
"That doesn't mean anything. Men with wives and girlfriends still go with other men on the quiet if they're that way inclined."
"Yes, I suppose." Arthur yawned, then fell silent. I closed my eyes and listened to his breathing slow and grow heavier. Eventually, I drifted away to join him.
Despite having taken sleeping pills, Arthur was up before me in the morning. A sound woke me, and I opened my eyes to see him making coffee. He was already eating a slice of toast. When he finished it, he took his anti-depressants, then opened another bottle of pills and took one.
"Hey." My voice croaked and I cleared my throat.
"Oh, you're awake." He poured another cup of coffee and brought it to me. "I took one of my pills—the anti-psychotic ones. I think it'll be about a month before they take full effect."
"That's okay." I sat up and took the coffee. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. I just worry that I'm too much trouble. Are you sure you want this in your life?"
I smiled. "I want you in my life."
"I don't think I'm worth it."
"You are to me. Come and sit down." He sat. I put my coffee on the cabinet and cupped his face in my hands. He closed his eyes with a sigh as I moved in to kiss him. His lips parted and his tongue brushed mine in response. I drew back. "I'm not going anywhere, Arthur. Nor are you."
The hint of a smile pulled at he corners of his mouth. "I'm glad I met you."
"Me too."
"Do you want some breakfast?"
"Yes, what is there?"
"Bacon sandwich?"
"Sounds good."
Arthur got up and started cooking bacon. I finished my coffee, lit a cigarette, and switched on the TV. The news was still reporting on the Gotham riots and the state of the country's economy. The two dead bodies found in the alley got a small segment at the end, as if they didn't matter. There were no witnesses and no explanation. We got away with it—again.
"It sounds like they don't even care," Arthur said. "Two people get shot in an alley, and no one cares?"
"There are seven million people in this city. If they're nobody important, they'll be forgotten if there's no evidence of what happened."
"They're still talking about Murray Franklin." Arthur snickered. "I should feel bad about that, at least, but I don't. One of my therapists once said I was a psychopath. I was asked about what I would do in certain situations, and they didn't like my answers. I was in Arkham then. It was before they got my meds sorted. They said I had a complete lack of empathy, and no sense of guilt or remorse."
"If that's the definition of a psychopath, then I'm with you." I decided it was time to change the subject. He'd started taking his medication again, and we would carry on as we were. Things would be okay—I was sure of it.
