Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
brANDON
“There are worse things,” Casey Morrow says.
On the other end of the call, I have to pause for a moment to process what he’s said before I can find the words to respond. “You understand what that means, right?”
“Brandon, I understand. There are worse things than a blood test, okay?” he replies, soft and gentle in a way I don’t deserve.
“It’s not the blood test,” I offer, heart in my throat. “It’s what it means.”
“I know, but it’ll be okay. I trust that it will be okay.”
I slump down where I sit on my couch, leaning back against the fabric as I sink into the soft cushions beneath me. My shame spirals through me as I stare down at the prescription papers on my coffee table and my hand shakes where it clutches my phone. “Casey, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know. I…” My throat squeezes shut, and tears threaten from the corners of my eyes as I stumble and flail over these apologies I owe.
Funny.
I never wanted to cry before now. I didn’t shed a single tear when I was in the sterile little room with my doctor earlier listening to the news of my new diagnosis, but with Casey on the other end of a phone call I never thought I’d have to make, my entire body is screaming sadness out of every possible inch. I inhale slowly, the breath stuttery and shaky as it enters my lungs only to get caught there.
I hold onto it for a moment, afraid that if I let it go, I will start sobbing and screaming like a child with a broken toy, though that doesn’t quite capture the depth of what is inside me.
I am the toy.
I am the broken thing here in this room, and if I have, in turn, broken someone else, I don’t know if I will ever get the pieces of me to go back together again.
“Brandon?” Casey says, softly, gently. “I’ll be okay, I’m sure. We used a condom. I’m on PrEP. We talked about it before we even got naked, remember?”
“No,” I whisper, before the tears choke the rest of what was going to be another apology from my lips. I can’t remember anything right now. Not the conversation we may have had before the night we spent together curled around each other in my bed. Not him letting me know he was being safe or agreeing that I was also trying to be safe.
I tried to be safe.
My breath hitches and everything gives way, leaving me a shattered mess on the plush couch I have only owned for two weeks. A special purchase, to replace the old and battered one that used to sit in its place. I’m finally crawling out of the hole I fell into paying for school out of my own pocket, and with my last year of my automotive apprenticeship behind me, I am now able to afford nicer things than I had before.
Except what if I can’t anymore?
What if I have to give it back to the store because this takes away my ability to work? What if I shouldn’t even be at work anymore because I could infect people? I’ve smashed my knuckles open on car parts more times than I want to admit while fixing them, what if it happens again and I leave contaminated blood on one of them, and then someone else touches it?
What if?
Tears slip down my cheeks and I do my best to wipe them away, clearing my throat against the thickness my messy thoughts have brought me. Taking a deep breath, I run my hand over the soft fabric of this grey couch, feeling the ridges in it against my fingertips. There is nothing but silence on the other end of this call, but that is okay. I don’t deserve any more words from Casey Morrow, especially not the kind and comforting ones he is choosing to offer me when he does speak.
“I should let you go,” I say, finding words to offer him instead. “Will you let me know? Your results, I mean?”
“Shark attack,” Casey blurts out the moment I finish my question.
“What?”
“A shark attack would be worse than a blood test.”
I bite back the strangest laugh that tries to bubble up my thickened throat, letting loose some sort of stifled snorting noise instead.
“It’s true,” Casey insists. “Sharks are terrifying, dude. I’d rather face a blood test than sharks any day of the week. Or a bear attack, since we’re pretty landlocked here, I guess. Bears are more likely in Alberta, but I’d rather have a blood test than a bear attack my face.”
“We live in the prairies,” I respond, slow and sluggish as tears continue to fall down my cheeks.
“Okay, so maybe, it’s more likely that I’d be attacked by feral prairie dogs, but still. Worse than a blood test.”
I let loose a slight laugh followed by a slow breath, rubbing my hand on the couch still. I like the feel of it against my skin, soothing and soft when everything else just seems too harsh and cold. My tears have stopped, leaving my face heated and eyes sore. I take a deep breath as Casey snickers into the other end of the call, then sighs audibly. Still running my hand over the couch, I murmur, “You’ll tell me, right?”
“I will,” Casey responds. “I’ll be okay, Brandon.”
“Okay.”
He pauses for a moment then comes back with a question I don’t have an answer for. “Will you?”
Yes.
No.
Maybe so.
The truth is, I should be. If the medications work, and I pay close attention to every aspect of my life moving forward, I should be okay. The doctor rumbled on about a bunch of things, but I can’t really remember all of it. One of the nurses came in to give me a packet of information that probably has a bunch of answers to the many questions I have, but I haven’t opened it yet. He took down the name and number of my ex to notify him that someone he had been in contact with was diagnosed and he should go get tested himself. The nurse also offered to take a list of everyone else I had sex with to call them on my behalf, promising confidentiality, and while that would have probably been easier, my guilt wouldn’t let me take advantage of it. I’ve only had sex with one person since I parted ways with my former long-term boyfriend who was less faithful to our relationship than I was, and I needed him to know how sorry I was for bringing this disease into his life.
Casey Morrow, the only one-night stand I’ve ever had.
It’s been a handful of weeks since we eyed each other across the crowded dancefloor of The Verve and came together to dance in the middle of the flashing lights and thumping bass. We spent a few songs there, pressed against each other, hips rolling in time with the music, lips pressed together, and arms wrapped around each other’s necks. Casey had suggested finding a quiet place away from prying eyes, his hard cock rubbing against mine from behind the confines of our clothing, and I had eagerly agreed at the promise his eyes held.
Now, I wish I hadn’t.
I desperately wish I could take it all back.
“Brandon?” Casey asks, sounding concerned at my long pause. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I answer, cheeks sticky with dried tears and eyes burning. “I’ll be all right.”
“Not sure I believe you,” he responds, “but okay. I’ll grab a self-test from the pharmacy and let you know what my results are.”
“Okay.”
“There’s worse things, though, than a blood test, remember?”
Sharks. Bears. Feral prairie dogs.
And a positive result for HIV, though he doesn’t mention that. I don’t mention it either, but it hangs in the conversation unspoken as we say our goodbyes.