Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
CASEY
“Why do you always say there are worse things?” Brandon asks, placing a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of me.
“Because there are always worse things,” I reply, picking up the mug and blowing some of the heat off the top. It doesn’t really work, and I burn my mouth on the first sip anyway, but the effort was there. I wince as I swallow, the burn tracking down my throat.
“It’s hot,” Brandon offers with a small grin.
“No shit.” I take another sip anyway before putting the mug down on the table. I’m curled up on the couch in his living room beneath the blanket I brought him last month because he keeps this place impossibly cold all the time. “Burning your mouth with coffee is a worse thing.”
“Worse than sharks?” he asks, sitting down beside me.
“Not worse than sharks. Or bears. There’s always something worse.” It may seem like a flippant thing to say in light of what he’s been going through, but it’s something I’ve lived by since I was little. I used to get so upset when I failed tests or didn’t achieve to the level I thought I should. I was so hard on myself as a kid, forgoing playing at recess in favor of reading books by myself or scratching math problems into the dirt of the playground with a stick. I even got to the point in junior high where I wasn’t sleeping some nights, choosing to stay up and study with a flashlight, doing flashcards by myself in the darkness of my bedroom. My mom, at her wit’s end with trying to help me understand that one thing wrong on a math test wasn’t the end of the world, had given me those words, and for some reason, they’d stuck in my head. It took a lot of practice to realize what they really meant, but they help me keep things in perspective, I suppose.
I know there are worse things in the world than failing a math test, and I know that what Brandon has going on inside of him could potentially be one of them. He’s been taking his medication daily, though, for nearly a whole month, and we’ve been getting to know each other more and more each day. In this case, worse things could be that the medicines don’t work well, or that the doctor discovers he has a strain of HIV that doesn’t respond to them. Worse things means he dies young, like countless others have in the past from this disease. Worse means I don’t get to keep getting to know the quiet man filled with worry for everyone but himself that I am becoming quite fond of.
There are worse things, yes, but they don’t belong here in this space with us.
Brandon settles into the couch and grabs the remote for the TV, turning it on and gesturing meaningfully down at my abandoned textbook. “Still working?”
“Nope,” I reply. “We’re going to go out tonight.”
“Out?”
“Yes, somewhere outside of these four walls, Brandon. We’re going out.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere. Anywhere. I don’t really care where, but we’ve spent so much time together in this apartment that I’m starting to feel like I’m about to grow into the couch and become a permanent part of it.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad,” he replies with a small smile.
“It would be terrible,” I correct. “Becoming part of your life as a couch-Casey hybrid isn’t the vibe I’m trying for.” Brandon laughs and I grin at the sound of it. “So, where are we going?”
He hesitates, then offers a smile that seems hopeful. “You can say no, but a band I really like is playing a show tonight at The Warehouse.”
“Okay,” I agree, plastering a smile on my face. The Warehouse is the worst music venue in this city in my opinion, but I know he loves that screechy metal music so much that I won’t say no to going to a show with him. Brandon snorts out a laugh that nearly rattles the walls around us. “What’s so funny?’
“Your face looks like my suggestion was kicking puppies and burning buildings to the ground. We don’t have to go, it’s okay. We can do something else.”
“Oh no. We’re going. I have no other plans and if this is a band you really like, I won’t make you miss it for me.”
He smiles, leaning over to press a kiss on my cheek, and I revel for a moment in the feel of his lips against my skin. Brandon rarely kisses me or touches me without hesitation and whenever he lets himself move without thinking it through a thousand times first, it feels like the best gift I could possibly be given.
I’m about to let him know he’s going to have to lend me some clothes so I don’t stick out like a sore thumb when the alarm on his phone goes off and his expression sobers. It’s his reminder to take his medication, I know. Brandon rises from his spot on the couch and heads to the bathroom, giving me an apologetic smile over his shoulder as he goes.
I rise to follow him, my feet soft on the carpet beneath them as I go join him in the bathroom. He stands in front of the small counter, filling the plastic cup he keeps by the sink with water and pulling his three pill bottles from the shelf above the sink, the air around him suddenly heavier than it was just moments ago. It won’t always be these three, some people only have to take one a day, but this is where he’s starting, and so far, there’s been no side effects with them. Brandon uncaps the first bottle, and I reach around him to pluck it from his hand, shaking the first tablet into my own palm as he turns to watch.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I scoot between him and the counter. I hop up onto it, settling myself on the small ledge in front of the sink.
“Open up,” I say, holding the pill out to him.
His cheeks burn a little bit pink beneath his scruff on his cheeks, but he does as I’ve said, parting his lips and letting me place his first pill on his pink tongue. He swallows it down with a sip of water from his cup. I pop open the second bottle and then the third, adding the last two pills to my palm before leaning forward and kissing him gently on the lips.
He laughs softly, shaking his head at me, but opens his mouth again as I hold up the second pill. I place it on his tongue, waiting for him to swallow it with some water before rewarding him with another gentle kiss. We do the third one the same, but this time instead of ending the kiss, I hold onto him with my lips, placing my hands on his ribcage to feel the rise and fall of his breath. When I do let him go, he takes a small step back, offering me a small smile.
“There is nothing sexier than seeing you take care of yourself,” I whisper, hands still on his sides, his ribcage rising and falling with measured, even breaths beneath my touch. He leans forward and kisses me, breathing life into the space between us as I get lost in the touch of his skin against mine.
A reminder that there are worse things than taking pills.
“It’s so loud!” I shout as we walk into The Warehouse.
Brandon nods, grinning at me over his shoulder. We’re running a bit late, owing to me needing to change from my comfy blue hoodie with the logo for the college I attend on it into something more appropriate for the venue. I’m dressed in Brandon tonight, his tight black shirt with a white spraypainted rabbit on the front stretched across my chest and his studded leather belt wrapped around my waist, holding his loose dark wash jeans in place around my narrower hips. They almost fit me exactly right, and I was thrilled to find that we match a little bit in size. Despite everything that’s different between us, we match in some way, and that makes me smile.
Brandon holds tightly to my hand, and I let him take the lead, weaving through the people by the door and trusting that I’m safe with him here even if there are some scary looking people in the crowd ahead. He won’t take me into the pit, that much I know. He used to get in there, he’d said as we’d driven over here, but he can’t do that anymore. While eventually he may be able to hop into the pit again with the rest of the thrashing bodies, when he hopefully reaches undetectable and untransmittable through the daily use of his pills, it’s risky right now in a way he can’t afford. He can’t be in a position to be pushed, punched and pummeled into the ground.
That doesn’t mean he can’t afford to be here on the edge of the crowd though, and that is where we come to a stop, behind everyone else. In front of the stage, the floor is packed with jostling bodies and the lead singer screeches into the microphone, sending them higher into their flurry of movement. I wince, but when I glance over at Brandon, the smile on his face is so wide I wouldn’t give this up for all the money in the world.
He is at peace here in the chaos, his lips moving to mouth the lyrics to whatever song the singer is singing. I can’t make out what the words are, but I can watch Brandon and know that he does. He knows them all off by heart, he’d told me, and I don’t doubt that for a second. In the flash of the overhead lights and the strobes emanating from the stage, I can see him as he was the night we met at the club, but this is somehow more than even that.
I know the taste of him now. His touches that he hesitates to give and the ones that he doesn’t hold back from. I know his voice and as he mouths the words, I can imagine what they sound like falling from his lips. I know him more than I thought I ever would now that he’s no longer that hot as sin one-night stand in my past.
I could love him someday, but I don’t know if he’d want me to, so I keep that to myself.
The song changes and the bodies leave the crowd, sweat slicking their faces as they move towards the doors at the back of the hall. There’s a concourse out there with cold drinks and snacks, and as the door opens and closes letting bodies in and out, I catch little breezes on my skin from the space beyond them. We listen to a few more songs, Brandon mouthing the words to every single one of them as the heat in the space builds. Sweat drips down my face and I wipe it away, glancing at the door that leads to the concourse where I know there are cool drinks awaiting me.
“Thirsty?” Brandon asks, as I glance at the door again.
“Yeah,” I shout back, nodding.
“Let’s go grab something before the next song starts. This song is a bad one anyway. It’s from their newest album and it’s kind of shit.”
I don’t comment that it all sounds kind of shitty to me but nod my agreement to going to get a drink. I’m sure Brandon feels the same way about the soft, dreamy folk music I play sometimes when I’m studying, but he hasn’t complained once, and I will keep my thoughts to myself tonight for him.
We head through the doors to the concourse and make our way over to grab a couple bottles of water from one of the vendors. I’m tempted to grab a beer, but I know that alcohol is one of the things Brandon is trying to cut down on so I join him in a cool, crisp water. I uncap the bottle as we move to stand at a table by the doors to the venue and take a long sip. Brandon does the same, smiling as he swallows his mouthful.
“Thanks for coming,” he says as I sip my water again.
“Anytime.”
“We can pick your music next time as long as you promise that if my ears start bleeding, you’ll let me leave.”
“If your ears bleed?” I laugh, gesturing at the door. “What about your music, huh? I was being nice before, Tremblay, but if you’re gonna come at me about my music, all bets are off. I’ll be lucky if I can hear by the end of the night.”
“You’ll be fine,” Brandon responds, leaning in and kissing my sweaty cheek.
“Brandon?” a voice asks from my left as he pulls away from my skin. Brandon startles beside me and he whirls around to see who has said his name.
A man stands there, his black hair pulled off his face in a ponytail that cascades down his back like a waterfall and a friendly smile on his face. He is handsome and broad chested, his wide shoulders tapering down to a trim waist where a simple pair of jeans cling. His shirt carries a logo for a local tattoo shop, and he reaches out a heavily inked hand towards Brandon, who hesitates a moment before clasping it in his own.
“Nolan,” he says with a relieved smile. “I wondered if you’d be here.”
“Of course,” the man, Nolan, responds with a smile of his own. “Someone has to keep Chase safe.”
“And of course it has to be you.”
Nolan grins, shrugging his shoulders. “Best friend duties. You know how it is.”
“Best friends. Right.”
“Shut up, Tremblay,” Nolan says, shoving Brandon’s shoulder with a hand as he shakes his head. His cheeks are burning red though, so I gather that this Chase person isn’t exactly stuck in the friendzone. At least not as far as Nolan is concerned anyway.
Brandon catches my eye as I look between him and Nolan, then finally makes an introduction. “Casey, this is Nolan. He’s the one responsible for the ink on my body. Nolan, this is Casey. He’s my… boyfriend?”
“Yeah,” I reply, turning to face Nolan. “Boyfriend. You did all that work?”
“All of it.” Nolan nods, offering his hand out to me. “Nice to meet you, Casey.”
I shake his hand, then smile at the tall man. “It’s beautiful art.”
“It is. Still have some to finish up though. I’m surprised you cancelled off my booking sheet. When I got your email, I nearly called you to demand that you come in so I can finish the piece. If it’s a money thing, I can hold the cost or we can work out payments, Brandon. You know that.”
Brandon falls silent, glancing between the floor, me and Nolan. I can feel him quivering slightly beside me and the silence is deafening where it sits in our small circle, even with the music crashing from behind the doors of the ballroom.
“Unless I did bad work?” Nolan asks, clearly confused as to why Brandon is behaving odd.
Finally, Brandon takes a deep breath and gestures for Nolan to step closer. The taller man does, looking very confused. Brandon leans his head up to his ear, and though I can’t hear the words, I can make them out by the way his lips move.
“I’m HIV positive,” he says, and Nolan’s eyes widen as he steps away slightly, my heart aching as the space between them grows.
“For real?” Nolan asks, eyebrows raised in surprise. Brandon nods slowly, shame creeping onto his features, but Nolan surprises me then, reaching out a meaty hand to rest it on Brandon’s shoulder. “Sorry to hear, dude. But still, we take precautions, man. We treat everyone like they have something because they might. We’re all trained in that shit from the moment we pick up our first fake skin to practice. Certified and everything. You book in if you want to, I don’t give a fuck. I just want to finish the work I’ve started because it’s going to be fucking great when it’s done.” He cranes his neck upwards as the song ends behind the doors of the ball room. “You two heading back in?”
I nod, glancing at Brandon who nods as well. We follow Nolan into the ballroom as a new song starts, but he sighs as we walk in. A heavily tattooed blond-haired man emerges from the crowd by the stage, holding onto his bare ribcage and scowling back at the pit of people mashing their bodies together. Nolan smiles tenderly at the man, then turns to us again. “I’m gonna go see who slammed Chicken Little’s ribs. See you soon?”
Brandon nods, clearly relieved and a bit confused as Nolan takes off across the open area at the back of the arena. He meets up with the blond man, who I assume is both Chicken Little and possibly also this Chase person he mentioned before, and I watch them for a few seconds before turning to Brandon.
“Nolan has a crush,” I comment.
“Yeah,” Brandon responds, but I can tell his head is elsewhere.
“What’s going on?”
“Safe.” He shakes his head like he can’t quite understand that word. “Everyone seems to be so certain that things are just fine. That they’re totally safe around me. It’s strange, when all I can feel is this illness creeping around inside my blood.”
“So let it creep around. You’re killing it off and pushing it back day by day with those pills. Hopefully, it won’t be detectable in time. You’re fighting it off, but you’re also fighting yourself and what you think about you. We can be safe, Brandon, if you let us.” I take a chance and lift myself up to his ear so he can hear every single word I’m about to say. “You could fuck me, like you did before, and it will be safe.”
I lower myself down and look into his eyes, seeing the worry and doubt hidden inside them, but I also see desire. He scans my body slowly, like he is taking stock of every inch of me, then he slowly, carefully nods. I run my hand down my chest, then rest my fingers on the belt he loaned me for the night, tilting my head in question, my body an offering to him tonight.
Any night.
And this time, instead of shaking my offer away, he nods an agreement, his eyes filled with the same lust I know from the first night we met.