Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Blake
Blake lay in bed in a pair of sweat shorts, hugging his stuffed duck and staring at the ceiling. Sometimes he’d get home after a show and collapse into bed, the smell of sweat and the club lingering on his skin. But tonight, he’d felt dirty, so he took a quick shower.
The steam and hot water had done nothing to relax him, though. He was wired, obsessively mulling over his final interaction with Ethan – the sense of desperation, and the sinking feeling in his stomach when Ethan’s eyes filled with tears from a combination of hurt and shock.
He hated himself for not telling Ethan sooner. He should have expected Ethan would eventually show up for a performance, to collect info for the business plan. Or, you know, to support his boyfriend.
Waiting to tell him had been a stupid decision.
No, not stupid. It was a selfish decision. He’d wanted to hold onto to what they had as long as possible, even if it meant holding back a part of his past – a past which he correctly assumed might ruin everything.
Blake played with the brim of Blathan’s tiny baseball cap. Ethan hadn’t broken up with him. Not really. He didn’t yell “it’s over” or “I never want to see you again.” He’d said, “I need some time.”
Maybe he just needed space to process the news? Maybe it wasn’t goodbye forever.
Although Ethan running out of the club with tears in his eyes had felt pretty final.
Was he fooling himself by thinking his past didn’t define him? The gay community loved to crow about its supposed sexual liberation, but had his porn career left him tainted? Undatable for all but the most promiscuous men?
Was he no longer serious boyfriend material for someone as amazing as Ethan?
When he rolled over to turn off his bedside lamp, he saw the black binder containing Ethan’s story. He propped Blathan up on the pillow next to him and slid the binder closer. Curious, he stood the binder on his chest and turned to the title page.
The Modern Prometheus
A Frankenstein Retelling
For fuck’s sake. There was already a word he didn’t know. He tried sounding it out. “Pro… meet… us?”
He groaned in frustration, hating how dumb and juvenile he sounded.
He closed his eyes and reminded himself of the appointment he’d had with his doctor. Although he hadn’t received the final diagnosis yet, his doctor assured him he most likely had dyslexia.
I’m not dumb. I have a learning disability. My brain just works different.
In the future, once the doctor had given him some guidance, reading might be easier for him. But right now, he’d just have to gut it out. He turned to the first page of the story.
The words blurred in and out of focus, his eyes jumping from line to line. He squinted and traced his finger under the sentences as he read.
The story opened in a makeshift lab in the basement of a suburban bungalow. Dr. Boris Stein hooked electrodes to a dead rabbit on a steel exam table. He injected it with epinephrine, and turned up the voltage on a battery, increasing the power until the lights in the basement dimmed.
The leg of the rabbit twitched as the electricity and adrenaline stirred up its life force.
After the solitary twitch, Dr. Stein turned off the power and typed notes into his laptop.
He stood, walking across his lab to a chest freezer. Inside was a beautiful male torso, with two muscular arms stitched into place.
Dr. Stein ran his hand down the chest of his creation. “Soon,” he said.
Blake yawned and glanced at his alarm clock. It was 2 AM. At this rate, it would take him a week to finish reading the story.
He wasn’t sure if he and Ethan were still together, but he wasn’t ready to let go yet. Ethan had believed in his dream and supported him. He wanted to support Ethan in the same way.
He continued reading until his heavy eyelids drifted closed and the manuscript fell to the side, landing softly on the mattress beside him.