19 Cutter #2
God, the sex.
Just thinking about it stirs my dick, and what the fuck? I do not need this right now.
I look around and lower my voice. “I, uh…don’t want to talk about it.” Certainly not here.
“Wait here.” He tosses his own coffee then grabs his jacket off the chair where he left it and slips it on before rejoining me.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
“Go where?”
“Red’s.”
Red’s is the greasy spoon diner across the street from the church where the AA meetings are held. I’ve spent many a night there, shoveling down bad eggs and good coffee while Sammy talked me off the ledge.
I don’t know if I’m on a ledge right now, but I’m damn sure not sitting anywhere comfortable. Still, Sammy has a family waiting for him. I’m the last thing he needs to worry about.
“Nah, man. You need to get home to the family.”
I start to walk away from him, but he catches up and steers me out the door. “I’ve got nothing more important to do right now than listen to your problems.”
I look at him. “Wow. I feel so wanted.”
“Don’t be a diva.”
“Diva?”
He pats me on the back and steps up to the curb outside, waiting for traffic to clear before crossing the street.
“You get that Poor Little Me vibe going sometimes and as much as I may want to, it’s hard to ignore. Call me a sucker.”
I gape at him, speechless, before darting across the street with him.
The diner is warm and loud and chaotic. It’s just what I need.
We thread our way to a booth in the back, sliding across the cracked pleather to huddle against the wall.
There are no menus here. Specials are written on the board above the grill, but nearly everyone here is a regular and knows what they want.
I realize I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and while I might pay for indulging here, the smell of bacon makes my stomach growl.
The harried waitress–Ingrid–fills our cups with coffee and pulls out her pad. “What’ll you have?”
I glance at Sammy, who points to his cup and shakes his head, then rattle off my order. “Two eggs over easy, hashed browns, bacon–extra crispy–and toast.”
“Sorry,” I tell Sammy after she bustles off. “I’m starving.”
“Not a problem. I’m hungry too but I can’t eat two dinners.”
Again I feel guilty. “You sure have a way of making a guy feel good.”
He raises his cup to his lips and regards me over the rim. “I’m not here to make you feel good.”
I take a sip of coffee. “Why are you here?”
“You tell me, genius. You’re the one who had an epiphany.”
“It wasn’t an epiphany. I just, well…I’m questioning some things I thought I knew about myself.”
I pretend to be very interested in my cup, spinning it around in my hands. The truth is, I’m rethinking this whole unburden my soul idea.
Sammy sits back and drapes his arm over the back of the seat. “What kinds of things?”
I still don’t meet his eyes. “What I want in life, whether or not to forgive Amber. My…sexuality.”
He seems to go over each in his head before delivering a response. I believe he told me once he’s a computer programmer. A logical thinker. I know he told me a lot more, but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to remember it back then.
“What you want out of life is above my pay grade,” he begins. “Yes, I’ve told you more than once you should forgive Amber if you ever want to move on. And what was that last one?”
Fuck. I wring my hands. “My sexuality.”
He nods. “That’s what I thought you said. Why is that suddenly an issue?”
My first reaction is to deflect. “Haven’t you ever thought about it?”
“Sure, when I was eighteen. I sampled the whole buffet, then made my choice.”
“Must be nice to be that certain.”
He sighs and sits forward, his dark eyes holding mine. “Look, it doesn’t matter how old you are, you’re still going to find things to learn about yourself.”
“This is shit I’m supposed to know,” I snap.
“Says who?”
Ingrid brings my food and I spend a couple of minutes prepping my plate and stuffing my mouth with a piece of bacon. Sammy reaches across the table and snatches another piece, crunching the evidence before I have a chance to protest.
He grins at me. “Told you I was hungry.”
My hope that I can just eat and avoid this whole conversation evaporates when Sammy says, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
“Bacon didn’t buy your silence?”
“Nice try. What brought all this on?”
I shovel a forkful of eggs in my mouth and finish chewing. “Is that really important?”
“You’re the one who came to a meeting tonight, so I’m going to say, yes.”
Jesus, he’s worse than Daryl. “It’s just a guy. One guy.”
He nods. “Okay. Was it something mutual?”
I snort. “Hardly.”
“Because it’s okay if it was,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “You’re a consenting adult, and I’m assuming he is too.”
“It’s not like that.”
His brow quirks up. “He’s not a consenting adult?”
“No. I mean, yes.” I grab at my beard, trying to get control of the situation. “He chased me.”
“Well, unless he raped you, in which case I’m not the one you should be talking to, it sounds like you were a willing participant. Eventually, anyway.”
“Eventually,” I nod.
“So what’s the problem?”
What’s the problem? Can’t he see it? It’s…Aubie.
Of course, he can’t see it because I haven’t told him who it was. Is. And I’m not going to.
“This can’t happen.” I can feel myself starting to spiral again.
He holds up his hand. “Okay, think about this. You can’t change what’s already happened. You can only change the future. So if you don’t want this to happen again, you’re the only one who can make that a reality.”
He makes it sound so easy. Like I’m going to snap my fingers and everything is going to go back to the way it was.
After knowing what I know.
After feeling what I felt.
This is worse than finding Amber with my brother. At least that was about them.
This is about me. Who I am. Who I thought I was.
I’m such a mess. Maybe I was right to go to a meeting, because right now a drink is starting to sound pretty good. Anything to numb my brain.
And yet I can’t get Aubie’s last words out of my head.
“Ball’s in your court.”
Why is he leaving this up to me? I don’t want responsibility for that.
I want…?
I don’t know what I want.
Or maybe I do and don’t want to admit it. I certainly don’t want to talk about it anymore.
“You’re right, of course.”
He narrows eyes at me. “I can’t tell if you’re agreeing with me or just want to shut me up.”
“You’re getting smart in your old age,” I quip as I take a sip of coffee.
“I can’t make you talk to me, but you need to talk to someone.”
“Why?” Silence has been working so far.
“Because the longer you ignore it, the worse it’s going to get.”
The problem with that is, the only person who would understand is the one I’m trying to avoid.