Chapter 12

I slept until lunchtime, sprawled on top of my bed covers with my clothes still on. When I woke, I kept my eyes shut while I remembered waking with Arthur. It had been the first time I'd woken up with someone in my arms. I recalled the soft feel of his hair against my face; his warmth; the weight of his head on my chest. I could have stayed like that with him all day.

My dick swelled, and I unzipped my jeans. I imagined something different to Arthur getting up to make coffee and me going to the bathroom, hiding my erection from him and waiting for it to go down. In my fantasy, I rolled over to face him and tugged him against my body. He was hard too, and he welcomed me running my hands over him, under his T-shirt, down the back of his pyjama pants. I stroked myself as I thought about touching him, pulling his dick free of his pants and rubbing it against mine.

"Fuck!" I gasped. I was already close and if Arthur was really with me, letting me jerk us off together, I doubted I'd last even this long. My interactions with other people had been so few and far between due to my own nature and the mess that was in my head, and yet I longed for this. I ached for someone to be with, not just sexually, but for the company, the comfort, and to share things with. I wanted Arthur like that.

I came hard, spurting onto my shirt. Then I stripped off and took a shower. My fantasies were probably all I would get, but at least he wanted to have coffee with me. I could have the companionship part of it, and the comfort when I screamed from the nightmares and he came knocking on my door.

I put on one of the new shirts—the yellow one—and dark jeans. Then I tackled my journal again. I rewrote the pages I'd ripped out and set fire to, chain-smoking as I poured out my grief over Gerry yet again. Dr Kane had better fucking appreciate me sharing like this, because it was kicking me in the guts. I rambled on, adding a few paragraphs about "my neighbour." I didn't name him, or mention anything that could be connected to Arthur, such as his laughing. I wrote that I had a pie and coffee date with "the neighbour" but that my own lack of confidence and insecurities were probably going to ruin it. I wrote more in my personal journal.

"Want him to like me, but I think I still scare him. Wanted to kill those fucking kids that hurt him. He could probably see it in my face. In my eyes. I want that night again, when I slept in his bed. I actually slept. He helped me and doesn't even know it. I wanted to kiss him." My face heated and I drew hard on my cigarette. I wanted to do more than kiss him, but I couldn't bring myself to write it down. I put the notebook aside and checked my watch. It was almost time to go and meet Jazz.

An hour later, I met him, and we went to a bar. I unzipped my jacket, and he grinned. "Nice shirt. That new?"

"Yeah."

"Got a date later?"

"What makes you think this isn't a date?" I couldn't resist teasing him, and it might give me an idea of what he thought of guys like me. Better to find out now rather than later and have him shun me.

"Um—" His eyes widened. "I'm not, I mean, I'm married, um, not that I have anything against—"

"I'm joking. Obviously." I laughed. "I have a date later."

"Oh, that's good. Where'd you meet?"

"We live on the same floor."

"So, is it, um, a guy?"

"Does it matter?"

"No. I said I don't have anything against… that. Are you, um, you know, gay?"

"Not exactly. I had a date with a woman once."

"Just once?" Jazz grinned. "Did you not like her or something?"

"I liked her all right. She was beautiful and smart. She didn't like me. I haven't dated much. I'm pretty clueless. I had the bright idea of taking her to see a porn movie for our first date."

"No way!" Jazz snorted beer out of his nose. "I guess I can see why it didn't work out."

"Yeah. I was a jerk." I didn't elaborate on the fact that today's date was with a man, and he didn't ask, but at least he knew about me and didn't hate it. I was usually more secretive with anyone I spoke to and I'd never had friends to speak of besides Gerry, but I wanted Jazz to be my friend, and the last few minutes showed me he could be.

A couple of hours' later, we parted company and I went to the toilets in the bar to check I didn't look too bad. I was never going to look great unless I grew my hair out, but I still liked the mohawk, even if it did make me look like a thug. The shirt was nice, though, and I'd sprayed on a little cologne, so I smelled pleasant.

I checked the time again and walked to the diner. It was four forty-five when I arrived, so I ordered a coffee and picked a table where I could sit facing the door. I lit a cigarette and sipped the drink as I waited. My nervousness returned and I began to worry that he wouldn't show, or that he would, and I'd clam up and not be able to talk about anything. That was stupid, because we talked a lot already and spent a night together. But this was different. It was a date. At least I thought it was. Maybe he just saw it as friends meeting for a coffee. He'd never been on a date before. Shit.

I fretted about it for three more minutes before the door opened and he came in looking as nervous as I felt. He wore brown trousers and matching waistcoat over a cream shirt, the tan hooded jacket I'd seen him wearing before tucked under his arm. No one else was in the diner and he saw me right away, dragged a hand through his hair, then made his way over. I pushed the chair opposite me out a little with my foot, blew out a lungful of smoke, and smiled.

"Hey." He hung his jacket on the back of the chair and sat down.

"Hey, Arthur."

"I'm not late, am I?"

"No, I was early. Earlier than you." I grinned.

"What can I get you?" The waitress appeared with her notepad.

"Oh, I, um—" Arthur reached for the menu. "What are you having?" He glanced up at me.

"Apple pie," I said. "With a slice of cheese melted over it. And another coffee."

"Did you say cheese?" The waitress raised her eyebrows.

"Yes. You know, the yellow cheese that comes in those little slices wrapped in plastic?"

She smiled. "Yes, I know. I was just surprised you want cheese on apple pie, but that's fine. I can do that. And you?" she aimed at Arthur.

"I'll have apple pie, too. And coffee, please."

"You want cheese with that?"

"No, thank you." Arthur giggled a little. "I'll have cream."

"You don't have to say it. I'm weird," I said as the waitress headed off to get our order. "What can I say? One day I had nothing left in my refrigerator other than apple pie that was getting old and dry, and some cheese slices. I heated it up in the microwave and melted cheese on it. It was surprisingly good."

Arthur grinned. "Was this in New York?"

"Yeah. Not long after I left the marines."

"Why did you leave?"

"I got an honourable discharge after Vietnam. 'Cause of my PTSD." I finished the remains of my first coffee. "How are you feeling? After what happened yesterday."

"I'm okay. Like I said, it's just bruises. Travis—" He fidgeted and stared down at the tabletop. "Is this a, um, you know, a—?" Colour rushed into his face and he glanced around. No one was in sight, other than the waitress who was behind the counter, making a lot of noise with the coffee machine.

"A date?" I whispered.

He nodded.

"I hope so."

His lips twitched but didn't pull up into a smile. "It's my first."

"I know. It's my first in a long time. I only really had one other one, and that was a disaster."

He smiled properly. "You're not going to take me to the theatre, are you?"

"Jesus, no. Not that kind, anyway."

"Then this shouldn't be a disaster. I mean, if you did, I wouldn't ditch you, but I'd probably die of embarrassment." He stopped talking as the waitress walked over with a tray and placed the plates of pie and coffees on the table.

I picked up my fork and cut off a slice of pie with cheese dripping off the edges. "You want to try this?"

"No." Arthur laughed and shook his head. "I don't like cheese."

We ate, drank our coffees, then I lit two cigarettes and passed him one of them. My initial anxiety had vanished, but I still worried I might fuck up somehow.

"Did you get some sleep earlier?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, then I saw my friend."

"The taxi driver?"

"Yes. Jazz. We had a couple of beers in a bar."

"I don't have any friends. You're lucky. My mother—I mean Penny—always used to tell me I didn't need friends. I only needed her. I didn't have any friends anyway when she got out of Arkham. I don't find it easy to talk to people and they don't understand me, especially when I laugh. She made me more isolated that I was before. She's the reason I have all these problems. I'm sorry, I—" Loud laughter burst from him. He put his half-smoked cigarette down and covered his mouth with both hands.

"Arthur, it's okay." I stretched out my leg and nudged my calf against his.

"Sorry," he choked. "I'm spoiling things."

"You're not spoiling anything. It's fine." I checked no one else had come in, and that the waitress was busy. Then I rested my hand on his arm. "I know that sometimes if you get upset, you're gonna laugh. I don't care. Let people think what they want. It's what I think that matters, Arthur, and I like you, okay?"

He picked up his cigarette again and took a couple of drags, then blew the smoke out of his nose. "I like you, too," he said softly. "I kind of wish we were somewhere else."

"Why's that?" I slid my hand from his forearm to his hand and gave it a squeeze before I let go. "We can go anywhere you want."

"I wish we were somewhere that nobody else can see us." He flushed again and coughed. "I'd really like it if you would kiss me."