Chapter 7
Harvey
The following morning, I woke with a banging headache. I walked to the bathroom on unsteady legs. I ached all over, especially my face.
I peered at the colourful bruise on my cheek and the dark circle under my eye. How the fuck was I going to explain that to anyone?
I’d always tried to fly beneath the radar, keep myself to myself, but there’d be no disguising this. At least I hadn’t got it in a fight.
How in God’s name I’d taken such a fall, I didn’t know. It wasn’t like the sight of Killian had knocked me off my feet. Or had it?
Maybe I was coming down with something, but tempted as I was to stay in bed, I wouldn’t do that. I turned on the shower and stood under the hot spray, letting the needles of water prick my skin. I lathered up my body and inhaled sharply as pain shot through me.
Fuck, there was another patch of darkened skin on my hip, blending in with the myriad of coloured tattoos on my legs and body.
I pressed it and winced at the pain. Funny, I could cut myself and not flinch, but this fucking hurt more than any cut I’d made.
I checked out the small nick from a week ago. It had healed well, adding another scar to the hundreds I already carried. Some were no bigger than a fingernail; others were long and thin, the puckered skin raised.
The urge to cut often sat just out of reach, and most times, I could control it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done it, other than last week. It’d been months. Six or more, but the sight of Killian had all my old insecurities and self-hatred surging to the surface.
I checked my body for any more bruising and, other than a small one on my knee, there were no more.
Why had I gone last night, knowing it might lead to another night battling my demons?
But I’d gone anyway, desperate to see the man I couldn’t get out of my head.
Every night, he invaded my dreams. Most nights, I woke in a panic, my heart racing, sweat dripping from my prickly skin, but other nights, all my fears and insecurities disappeared.
We were lovers, inextricably entwined, our bodies connected. His lips were rough against my skin, teeth sharp as he nipped and sucked on my sensitive skin. His tongue was warm as it licked each scar, his kisses soft as he worshipped my body reverently.
I felt no shame then, no disgust or self-hatred. In those moments, my heart swelled with love, and I’d take hold of myself, my back arched from the bed as I’d bring myself to a much-needed release.
Then, of course, I’d crash, and the revulsion and self-degradation would start, swiftly followed by tears. Why couldn’t I be like others? Why couldn’t I accept myself for who I really was?
For too long, I’d wallowed in a pit of loathing.
I was an abomination, born to be unloved because of how I was.
I couldn’t even say the word, as much as Julie and my previous therapists had encouraged me to embrace it.
Others lived happily with who they were, but for me, that wasn’t an option. It would never be an option.
Having performed my usual ritual of berating myself for existing, I went about the business of getting ready.
I had another session with Julie. It’d be the same old discussion; the same one we had every week.
Was it worth it? Were they doing something, or was I just fooling myself into thinking I needed them every week?
Four years of doing this, and I was no further forward than I was at the very first session.
I was being stupid. Of course I’d made progress. The cutting was at a minimum, and seeing Killian and how he’d been with that other guy… could that be me?
The question had been playing on my mind since seeing him. I’d queried everything I imagined to be true. Being gay was wrong; I was a deviant, a freak of nature. That’s what my mind told me. But now I was seeing it everywhere.
Out on the street, men walked hand in hand, as did women. Books with happy ever afters, TV shows, and movies. Grandma would have been in her element, and perhaps we’d have watched them together. She accepted me for what I was, even if I couldn’t.
The session with Julie went much the same as before, except now Julie’s words about how I should step out of my comfort zone struck a chord.
I’d already done that by purposely going out last night.
Okay, it hadn’t gone to plan, but Killian had touched me.
Not sexually, but enough for me to realise that I wouldn’t self-combust if it happened again.
I’d shrunk back from him, though, and told him not to touch me, because if he’d done it again, I might have liked it far too much.
But what would be so wrong with that?
Remembering he’d put his number in my phone, I pulled it up, looking at it for far too long. Did I have the courage to call him? Text him?
I put it back on the coffee table and looked at it again. I reached for it more than once, but my nerves got the better of me. Butterflies invaded my stomach and chest.
Breathe, Harvey. Breathe.
I closed my eyes and took deep, calming breaths until my heart had slowed sufficiently, no longer threatening to beat out of my chest.
You can do this. What would Grandma say?
Funny how her opinion carried more weight than all my therapists.
“Go for it, Harvey,” she’d have said. “Only you have the power to change your future.”
With shaking hands, I picked up the phone. I tapped out a text and hit send before I could change my mind. It was nothing major, just thanks for looking after me. In all honesty, it was the least I could do.
Within minutes, he’d replied.
Killian: No problem. happy to help ya. How you doing today?
Harvey: Good, thanks. Bit sore. You were right about the eye.
Killian: Been there and got the fucking t-shirt to match.
Now what did I say?
Harvey: Ok, well that was all. Thanks again.
Killian: Look, if you’re free, we could go for that coffee. No pressure.
I nibbled on my thumbnail, tearing at it until it was down to the nailbed.
Should I go? Should I try to change my future? Should I step out of my comfort zone?
I put the phone down and walked into the kitchen. I looked out the window at the waterlogged garden. Mum and Dad had taken so much pride in it when they were alive. I did what I could, but out of a sense of duty, not because I enjoyed it.
I put the kettle on and waited for it to boil, all the time wondering what I should say. Ignoring him no longer seemed like an option. Hell, even last week I’d have deleted the text and moved on, so why was today different?
Fuck. I was getting as bad as Julie with all these questions.
I made tea and went back to check the phone.
Hmm, no more messages, but the telltale dots bouncing suggested he was typing something. Abruptly, it stopped, and I slumped. What had he wanted to say?
They started up again, and this time, my heart raced with anticipation, not dread.
Fuck it, Harvey. Answer the man back.
Before I could think any more about it, I typed out a reply.
Harvey: Time and place?
I hit send and waited.
Killian: Do you know the coffee shop next to the old cinema?
Did I? It was the one I frequented, but how did he know where I lived? The realisation finally dawned that he’d come home with me in the taxi last night. Sometimes, I was a fucking idiot, but in my defence, I’d not been at my best last night.
I rolled my shoulders and picked the phone up again.
Harvey: I know it. I’m free today.
Killian: Great. Meet you there at 2 before the school kids hit it.
I used the thumbs-up emoji and then the panic set in.
I had a couple of hours to calm myself down, but I paced the lounge all the same. What should I wear? What would we talk about?
But more importantly, would I manage? There was only one way to find out.
I sat on one of the raised stools in the coffee shop window with an unimpeded view of the street. So far, there had been no sign of Killian. I checked my watch again and sighed. It was a quarter past two. I bet he wasn’t coming.
I should have known better. After all, what did I have going for me? My grandma had always said I was handsome, but weren’t they obliged to say that? Wasn’t that in the job description?
I didn’t think I was good-looking at all, but then I had self-esteem issues along with everything else. I sipped my tea and eyed the cake on the counter.
Maybe I could have a piece to go. Was it carrot cake?
I drained the rest of my tea and slipped off the stool.
“Going somewhere?” His soft voice washed over me, dispelling every shred of doubt I’d had. How had I not seen him come in?
I turned and took in his appearance.
He looked much the same as last night: tight jeans he’d been poured into, well-worn leather boots he’d worn the first night I’d seen him, a padded blue flannel shirt, and a long scarf casually slung around his neck.
His cockiness demanded that people look at him, including me.
He took the stool next to the one I’d just vacated, his crystal blue eyes captivating mine.
Instinctively, I lifted my hand to my face and self-consciously touched the dark bruise on my cheek. He frowned, but as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared.
“Sorry I’m late. I missed the fucking bus. Can I get you another?”
He pointed at my empty cup, and I nodded. “Just tea, please.”
“Sure, no problem. Can I get you a slice of cake?” His Irish drawl seeped into my pores, warming me from the inside.
“No, um, I’m good, thanks.” I watched as he walked away with an effortless stride, his gait loose and fluid. Why couldn’t I be more like him instead of this awkward, clumsy person who could trip over their own feet?
Overwhelming anxiety filled me, like an elephant was sitting on my chest. I closed my eyes, barely able to fill my lungs, and my fingers tingled. What was I doing here?
Breathe, Harvey. What’s the worst that could happen?
I could crash and burn or make a complete fool of myself. I didn’t do this; this wasn’t me. What if he saw me for what I really was? An introverted gay man in denial.
Wow, Julie would be proud. I used the word ‘gay’ in connection to myself, something I never did. Freak, abomination, deviant, sinner. I used all of those. Gay was a word reserved for others, not me.
I jumped as his gentle hand on my shoulder brought me out of my head and back to the present.
“Just breathe, Harvey. Everything will be grand.”
Easy for him to say. I took a deep breath while my heart returned to something akin to normal.
“Tea, and I got you a piece of chocolate cake. It looks fucking incredible.” He set them down and took the stool next to me, his knee touching mine.
I clenched my jaw, unsure how to react. Should I move it? Leave it where it was?
I was in unknown territory.
“Now, how are you feeling today?” He took a sip of his coffee.
“Better than last night.”
“That bruise is a cracker. Does it hurt?”
I watched, speechless, as he took a bite of his brownie and licked the crumbs from his full lips.
What was it he said? Fuck, I was staring.
“Um, yeah, a little.” I touched my cheek again. It was still sore and would be for a few days at least.
He gulped his coffee. Why was watching him so beguiling? My attraction towards him was nothing like I’d experienced before. A pull, a tug in my chest. I glanced away and concentrated on my slice of cake.
“So, what happened last night? Who was the guy with you?”
“Ed? We work together. Sally is his girlfriend, I suppose now, and Vivian tagged along.”
“Double date?” He continued to eat the brownie as if he’d not eaten for days, barely chewing one mouthful before he took another bite.
“No. No double date.” I picked at the cake on my plate, not really hungry.
“She was a good-looking woman. You could do worse.”
“She’s um.” Fuck, just say it, Harvey. “She’s, um, not my type?”
“Let me guess. You like them blonde and leggy.” He cackled and took another swig of coffee. “Ignore me, I’m just teasing ya.”
“What’s your type?” I added sugar to my tea and stirred it slowly.
He tapped his lip, then shrugged. “I like men. You okay with that?”
I swallowed hard and nodded, unsurprised at his admission. I had no gaydar, couldn’t spot one at ten paces, but it never occurred to me that Killian would like anyone but men. How else could I explain his being here?
But he wasn’t finished. “Men like you.”
I frowned. “What do you mean, like me? You don’t know me.”
My heart raced, loud in my ears. No one knew me.
“I don’t, but I like what I see. I don’t mean looks. You have deep, soulful eyes that could tell a thousand stories, but I’m drawn to the person inside.” He tapped his chest. “That first night I met you, I recognised some of me in you, and I know how it feels.”
“How what feels? I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to, but I know.”
Instinctively, I tugged at the sleeves of my coat lest he see the scars. They were well covered as always, but he looked anyway.
“Sometimes we don’t have to see the scars to know they’re there.”