Chapter Sixteen
There was no grand, romantic gesture; no chasing me through the city streets, Flynn throwing himself in front of my truck, demanding I listen, that I accept his apology.
Just the bland room, and my few belongings stuffed back in my bag, and then the practiced smile of the woman at reception as I checked out.
An early start back had its advantages. Traffic cleared once I made it onto the highway proper, the truck settling into its ambling lope. Not fast, not exciting, but consistent. Something like the life I was returning to.
Telling Flynn about his boyfriend’s extracurricular activities felt like both a mistake and an inevitability. I’d no doubt that William would see it as some sort of betrayal; say that I’d tricked him, that both Flynn and I had, in not telling him of our prior connection in the first place.
A bullshit excuse, sure, but that didn’t stop some strange kernel of guilt from crystalizing in my chest. More, maybe, because I knew I’d hurt Flynn with the revelation.
I thumped the steering wheel, suddenly angry.
Frustrated at myself, for getting drawn into the crisis of someone else’s relationship.
For not simply saying “no, thanks,” when William had propositioned me.
Not to mention, if I was being honest with myself, for caring about Flynn’s feelings so much in the matter.
He’d made his bed, and then let his boyfriend bring strangers into it. Was it really my fault, if he’d not fully negotiated the rules about that play?
I could hear Catherine’s voice in my head, too.
Not scolding but not gentle, either. Pointing out that it was easy for me to be judgmental, to think of things in such black and white terms, when I’d not had a proper relationship myself.
Hadn’t experienced the dynamics, and the compromises, and the challenges; the way that everyone could have the very best of intentions, and still screw things up royally.
Lack of opportunity isn’t an excuse, my friend would probably tell me. Not when we’re each responsible for where we put up our walls.
I cranked up the radio, and tried to drown it all out. So loud, I very nearly didn’t hear my phone ringing.
Flynn’s name on the screen, when I fished it out of my pocket. For a moment my finger hovered over the “reject call” button.
It wasn’t like I owed him anything. It wasn’t like he could say anything which would make me regret leaving.
Grunting annoyance, I stabbed the “accept” button and tossed the phone down onto the passenger seat.
“Yeah?”
At first, I thought he was just tongue-tied. Had mustered the courage to call, but with none left over to actually say his piece. Then I heard the muffled shouting.
Almost unintelligible at first, only voices raised. But then Flynn’s voice, distant beyond just my phone’s speaker, but finally clear enough to make out the words.
“It’s a fair question.”
The sound of something slamming, a door perhaps, or a closet.
“Why can’t you just give me a straight answer?” Flynn sounded frustrated.
“I can’t believe you’d have the audacity, after everything I’ve done for you.” William’s voice, sharp and furious. “To... to accuse me!”
“Nobody’s ‘accusing’ anybody. I just want the truth.”
A laugh, that was more like a snarl. “Oh, please. As if you could even begin to handle truth. You’re a fucking mess.”
“That’s not fair.”
William snorted. “You don’t get to talk to me about ‘fair’; not when you’d have fallen apart completely, if I hadn’t been around to hold the pieces together.”
“And I appreciate that, but...”
“But, nothing.” William’s voice was venom-soaked. “We had an agreement, Flynn. One that was, I might remind you, all your idea.”
I gripped the steering wheel tighter. Wanting to hear the explanation, the details that my old friend had always been so reluctant to dig into. At the same time knowing that I should hang up, that this wasn’t my argument to listen to.
I didn’t hang up, though.
“My idea was that we bring in a third, yeah,” Flynn said, his tone flat. As though recounting the details of his arrangement with his boyfriend involved memories, motivations, that he’d rather forget. “I didn’t say it was okay for you to just go out and fuck whoever you liked.”
“Right, right,” William sneered. “So it’s all fine, as long as I’m performing for you. Putting on a show, while you sit there in the fucking corner like some sort of fucking pointless statue!”
His voice had been increasing in volume, in anger, until the last few, screamed words. Capped by a crashing sound, of things hitting the floor and glass shattering.
“William...”
“No, fuck you, Flynn!” The curse spat out. “Wake the hell up. Did I screw other guys? I sure fucking did, because at least they weren’t emotionally-stunted little robots, going through the damn motions every day. You think you’re easy to live with?”
Another smash, punctuation to William’s venom.
“I know I’m not always... the easiest...”
William’s sigh was more like weaponized exhalation.
“You know what, you were fun for a while. You even had me convinced, with all the big talk about your plans, and your ambitions, and how it was gonna be different. I should’ve known that was all bullshit, the first time I saw you sitting in that fucking corner.
Nothing to you but a grubby little voyeur, forever living vicariously through everyone else. ”
“You stuck around, though.” Flynn sounded angry now, too.
“Well, shit,” William said, “I guess I like putting on a show, then. But the curtain’s coming down now, asshole. You’ll have to get your kicks from porn, like all the other losers.”
“That’s not...”
“Save it!” Practically a screech. When he spoke again, William’s voice was shaking with emotion. “There’s literally nothing inside you that I want to hear, can you understand that?”
Another crashing sound, and then the line went dead.
#
I stared out of the windshield at the asphalt spooling ahead of me.
Hands still tight on the wheel, eyes almost unblinking.
Trying to process what I’d heard, while simultaneously recoiling from it.
Nauseous, even, at the sense that I’d eavesdropped on something private.
Yes, that had been unintentional, but I could’ve hung up, could’ve switched off the phone.
I watched the highway and thought about that final smash I’d heard. What might’ve happened, after the call ended.
My fingers were reaching for the turn signal even before I consciously registered the exit.
Acting on autopilot: the pause at the stop sign, blinker clicking; driving across the overpass; and then another left turn, down the ramp which would undo all the progress I’d made toward home.
No plan in mind and no ideas, really. Just the echo of that last, loud shattering.