Chapter 12 #2
“I am. I just…tell him I’m sorry.” Joel hurried for the back door of the bar.
Quentin was still trying to figure out how soon he could appropriately get out of the conversation with Shelby and look for Joel when Henri pushed his way up to the bar and grabbed Quentin’s shoulder.
“Hi, can I steal him for a sec?” Henri said sweetly to the girl, already dragging Quentin away.
“Call me!” Shelby said, grinning.
“Don’t call her,” Henri hissed.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay? I was talking to her, and that was rude.”
Henri shoved Quentin into the bathroom. “Joel was here, and he left. It seemed like something was wrong, and I think you should go after him.”
It took a few seconds for Quentin’s brain to process what Henri had just told him. “He was here? In the bar?”
Henri leaned in a little bit. “I don’t know what happened. He, um, he saw you talking to that girl at the bar, and then he left.”
Quentin nodded. “Where did he go?”
“Out the back.”
“Fuck. Thank you.”
Quentin hurried to the back of the bar and out a stiff metal door, marked “Employees Only,” and burst into an alleyway. It was a dark night, and the Florida air was hot and viciously humid.
Quentin took a deep breath, his heart beating rapidly. He had run outside with hardly a thought. He had no plan and didn’t know what he would do if or when he saw Joel.
He didn’t see Joel in the alley. One way led to a dead end, but the other way led to the street, and Quentin went that way. He hoped a car hadn’t already come to get Joel.
The street was empty of cars and patrons, except for some people who were smoking outside the various bars.
And then Quentin saw Joel, recognizing him instantly, even from the back, walking with his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets. He wore a dark polo shirt and black pants.
Quentin hurried after him, not calling out his name because he didn’t want anyone else to know Joel was here.
“Wait,” he called in a loud whisper when he was closer to Joel. Joel spun around, his eyes wide.
“Quentin?”
Quentin caught his breath. “Where are you going? Henri said that you were here, and then you left. Why would you do that?” He was a little hurt and a little angry. “Why wouldn’t you say something to me? It doesn’t make sense.”
Joel seemed to be having an internal battle. “Don’t worry about it, Quentin.”
“Did I do something wrong?” Quentin asked. “I genuinely want to know.” How could he express what he actually wanted? He knew he couldn’t
have what he actually wanted, but he desperately wanted Joel to know that Quentin didn’t want him to leave. “I…I don’t want to lose you,” he said weakly.
Joel seemed to waver a bit. “Quentin, I’m sorry.” His expression looked briefly devastated. “It would be too hard to explain.”
Quentin looked around them quickly. No one was watching them, but still, he pulled Joel into another alley, this one cleaner and less scary than the first.
He and Joel were standing very close together, Joel almost pressed against the brick wall of the alley. Quentin hadn’t meant to bring them so close, but it had happened all the same.
“Explain it to me,” he whispered.
Joel’s eyes met his. “I can’t.”
Quentin wanted to hit the wall in frustration. There were things he wanted to say to Joel, things he couldn’t say. He had been worried about scaring Joel off, but Joel had run off anyway, and now Quentin feared he would lose Joel. He couldn’t lose Joel.
“Quentin,” Joel whispered. “I really wish I could explain, but I don’t think it would be wise for us to see each other anymore.”
“What?” Quentin said. The words were like a gut-punch. “I thought…I thought we were friends? I thought we both wanted that?”
“I wish it were that simple,” Joel said. “You don’t know what I want.”
The words echoed inside Quentin. He felt a brilliant flash of clarity, mixed with an electrifying jolt of terror. He felt that they were tiptoeing on the edge of a cliff together. His heart knocked loudly in his chest. His breathing was short, and his skin felt hot.
He took the tiniest step closer to Joel. Joel backed up against the brick wall. His eyes didn’t leave Quentin’s. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide.
“What do you want?” Quentin whispered. “You said I don’t know. So, tell me.”
“Quentin,” Joel breathed.
“What do you want?”
Joel just shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Goddamn it, Joel, what do you want?”
Joel cried out in exasperation. “Fucking hell, Quentin, you don’t know when to quit.” Then he seized Quentin’s face in both his hands and kissed him on the mouth.
When Quentin had been a junior in college, he had to have minor surgery on his ankle.
It wasn’t anything serious, mostly a preventative surgery to keep him from later injury, but they’d given him full anesthesia to simplify things and keep him from feeling pain.
While he’d been knocked out, he swore that he had been able to watch the surgery while it happened, as if he was floating above his body.
He could see himself unconscious on the table, see the tools they used to cut into him, and fix the tendons in his ankle.
He would swear later that he’d had an out-of-body experience, though no one really believed him.
When Joel kissed him, it was almost the same feeling.
Almost like Quentin floated out of his body and watched as Joel pulled him closer, as Quentin, wide-eyed and shocked at first, melted into the kiss, gripping Joel’s hips, pressing his body to Joel’s.
The kiss was hungry, hot, and deep, and Quentin’s hand skated up beneath Joel’s shirt, as Joel’s head fell back against the bricks and he moaned.
The moan did something feral to Quentin, and he licked a line from Joel’s collarbone to his ear.
“Tell me,” he whispered in Joel’s ear, “what you want.”
Joel let out a gasp, then, and broke apart from Quentin. “Quentin, I…” he whispered. He stared at Quentin, his cheeks flushed, his lips pink and swollen from kissing. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m so sorry.” He slipped out of Quentin’s grasp.
Quentin watched in dismay as Joel hurried out of the alley and cast one look behind him. “I’m so sorry,” he called over his shoulder, and then pulled his cap low over his head and disappeared into the night.