Chapter 24 #2
Tony. This was Tony all over again. Why couldn’t he fall in love with a man who wanted him just for himself, instead of one who needed to put out like a whore and screw anything that came his way?
He had been so in love with Tony, so patient at first. Kim hadn’t known about the early infidelities, never knew when or how many there were.
But at about the six-month mark, he started to become suspicious.
When he finally confronted Tony, they had the most almighty row, Tony swearing first that nothing had happened, and when Kim shot that one down in flames with hard evidence, telling him that he thought they’d always been in an open relationship.
True, they’d never sat down and talked about it—Kim had just assumed…
like an idiot. Perhaps Tony had also assumed…
the opposite. But in the rush of lust and the honeymoon of their romance, Kim hadn’t even thought about or wanted to look at another man, and he’d thought the feeling was mutual.
So it was like being punched in the stomach to learn that his boyfriend was being unfaithful, not just once but serially.
Their relationship continued, but it was clear the honeymoon period was over.
That row turned out to be just the first of many, happening on a regular basis, generally each time Kim caught Tony out with another infidelity—either consummated or attempted.
His thoughts were interrupted by the same waiter as before: late twenties, cute bum and chestnut eyes. To that description, Kim now added a brown complexion, smiling elfin face, and a mop of shining dark hair he was constantly flicking out of those come-hither eyes.
“Hello, welcome back! It’s lovely to see you again! Are you ready to order?” he asked in perfect English.
Kim didn’t even attempt to use his faltering Catalan. What was the point?
“Ah, I’ll have the same as last time I think: the sautéed spinach, and the oven-baked fish. They were delicious. And a glass of white wine.”
“Thanks, that’ll be right up.”
He watched the waiter spin away toward the kitchen serving counter beside them, appreciating the play of those athletic legs and cute ass, before his thoughts returned to Tony.
He had ended up becoming paranoid and irritable, alternating between exploding in anger at any and every little thing, far beyond Tony’s playing around, and sinking into depression for days at a time.
Even he could see that he wasn’t any fun to be with.
The result was that Tony began to spend more and more time away, seeking fun and friendship outside their relationship.
Kim couldn’t really blame him, but he hated himself for who he’d become.
The agreement to break up after they’d officially been together less than two years—Tony was by then spending so much time away from home they rarely saw each other, while Kim compensated by putting all his energies into the theater—was more of a formality than anything else.
The waiter returned, placing a small carafe of white wine on his table.
“This is an Albarino, slightly better than our house white, but it pairs spectacularly with the fish.”
“Thank you, I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”
The waiter winked at him before leaving.
Both Kim and Tony knew their relationship was doomed well before the final split.
Now, looking back, he saw that while their basic incompatibility couldn’t be denied, neither of them had put the sort of work into saving the relationship that it deserved.
But Kim blamed that on their mutual ignorance.
The knowledge helped him to forgive Tony, and seek out his friendship, a year or so after their split-up.
But he remained emotionally scorched. If he wanted to triumph in the theater industry, he needed to devote all his energies to it.
Romance was a distraction. Tony at least had taught him that, and until this point he had been successful in keeping personal relationships at bay.
Dídac was clearly another Tony, professing his passion to whomever he had in his sights at that particular moment.
A kind of serial monogamist. And Kim wasn’t about to get embroiled in some tacky sexual scandal here in Catalonia.
His career and his aspirations demanded more of him.
The waiter returned with his spinach, placing it before him on the table.
He seemed to move exceptionally close to Kim as he placed the dish before him, his dark cotton trousers almost grazing Kim’s shoulder.
Was that a come-on? He thought so. Kim’s eyes slid to what promised to be a full basket, just inches below eye level.
Well, why not? Why shouldn’t he? If Dídac was doing it…
It wasn’t as if they had any formal hold over each other, no marriage vows or anything.
Kim was learning the hard way that this was what men did. So why shouldn’t he?
But as he ate his spinach, Dídac’s face floated into his mind.
He couldn’t avoid thinking about him anymore, and with that the bitterness arose.
Dídac’s body, Dídac’s smell. Dídac laying on his bed below him, legs open, the love and trust effusing his features—he couldn’t fake that, could he?
Kim inside him, their eyes locked together as they moved in unison, both fully there in the moment.
And laying together in each other’s arms afterward.
That couldn’t be faked, could it? Wasn’t it real what they had?
Was Kim such an idiot, so gullible to fall for the first sweet boy who wagged his ass in Kim’s direction after Tony?
The waiter returned, bearing his fish, and Kim realized he’d barely touched his spinach.
“Is there a problem?” the waiter asked concerned. “We can do you something else if you’d rather?”
“No, this is delicious,” Kim stuttered. “Sorry, I’m just a bit… distracted.”
He dug into the spinach with his fork, determined not to waste such a nice meal.
“I’ll leave your fish in the warmer,” the waiter smiled down at him, bulging crotch again noticeably slightly too close. “Let me know when you want it.”
Yes, want it he did.
“Thanks.”