Chapter Nine
I’m assuming Gordy fell asleep a while ago, so it’s probably safe for me to start packing up my shit before I head down to the marina to move into my houseboat.
I will say, getting thrown out at the week mark is seven days later than I originally bet on.
Ya know, since I never saw the invite coming at all…
The good thing is, I hadn’t really ever unpacked much, so all I’ve got to toss in my truck is the few pairs of new clothes I bought. I think I’ll leave the Charlie Brown tree here for him. Out of anyone, he needs the Christmas cheer. Not that I’m much better, but that’s besides the point.
The point is, quite frankly, that I feel like a complete dingus, and I deserve to be shit-canned.
I mean, what the hell was I even thinking, bringing up the topic of what I’d seen on his TV earlier?
He’s right, it was a huge invasion of his privacy, even if it was unintentional.
I could have left well enough alone, and not even mentioned it.
But noooo, big ol' dumbass me just had to know. Just had to know if that’s why I’d felt guilty that Gordy saw Micah and I kiss, because I’d finally pulled my head out of my ass and admitted to myself that I fucking feel something for the fucked-up, pissed-off-at-me guy in the next room over.
The guy who always let me brag about my girls when I was at his bar.
Hell, the one who asked about their Christmas play, like he took an interest in them.
The man who has listened to me wax poetic about my abysmal existence, time and time again.
The one I choose to go to when I know I need a kick in the pants.
That asshole, who I’ve been giddily anticipating every chance encounter with over the past week here, has wormed his way into every freakin’ facet of my life!
And fuck, yes, I have been flirting with Gordy. I see that now. God, how have I been this goddamn stupid?
So, did I want to know if there was a slim chance he might possibly, just maybe, like guys too? Hell fuckin’ yeah! Did I go about it in the worst possible way and push him too far? Also hell fuckin’ yeah.
I need to get away, and get him out of my head. So maybe things didn’t pan out with Micah tonight, but that doesn’t mean it’s because Gordy’s in the forefront of my thoughts instead. I haven’t responded to Micah yet, so maybe there’s still a chance to try again—this time, blocking Gordy out.
Starting right now.
I zip up my bag and straighten up the bed, making it look just like I’d never been here.
I look around, sighing when I realize I’m living like a shell of a man.
Nothing but a few belongings to my name, and ready to pack up and leave on a moment’s notice.
Gah, it’s going to be so fuckin’ cold out on my boat, but Christmas is in a couple days, so maybe there’ll be some epic deals on space heaters…
because who doesn’t have a heater on Santa’s wish list, right?
A loud crash from Gordy’s room snaps me out of my downward spiral. Inching closer to the wall, I press my ear up against it.
“No! Get your fucking hands off me!” he yells, thrashing so hard that his bed slams hard against the wall, causing me to jolt backwards.
Shit, he’s having another night terror. He’s had a couple over this past week and a half now, but I can’t just put in earbuds and drown him out though.
At the expense of the sparse few hours I should spend sleeping, I lay awake, on the other side of the wall, agonizing over the want to go in there and break him out of his misery.
He told me not to, however, so—even though it’s been a hell of a test of restraint—I haven’t.
Tonight, on the other hand, it sounds worse than the others. It’s just as bad as that first one I’d stepped in on…
“I said stop!” he bellows again. “Please, just… stop,” he adds, this time sounding more like a muffled whimper.
I can’t help but feel terrible, knowing that what I did tonight probably triggered this one too.
I know he said to just let him ride these out, but damn—he’s actually crying now.
He’s never cried. The noises coming through these paper-thin walls—the visceral sobbing—is causing me to feel even more anguished.
“Please! No more! I-I promise I’ll b-behave.”
I can’t take it anymore. Without giving it another thought, I drop my bag and leave the guest bedroom, ready to cross over to his bedroom and break rule number one again.
Since that first night, he’s only let me break it one other time, but just to spar at the gym.
But I can’t just walk away either. There’s no way, with all his thrashing, he isn’t hurting himself…
Sure enough, when I barge in, he’s all tangled in his sheets—completely naked, covered in sweat, writhing around, and hitting himself.
I’m careful to try not to wake him as I slip onto the side of his mattress, dodging his flailing arms, until I can get them pinned down.
Scooting up behind him, I drape one of my legs over top of his to help still him.
It takes all my strength, with my body pressed firmly to his, but I manage to keep him restrained.
He burrows his face into his pillow. “J-just stop hurting me,” he sobs.
“Shh, it’s alright,” I whisper. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Who the hell is hurting him in his dreams, though?
That’s what I want to fuckin’ know. Is whatever he’s having nightmares about why he’s so touch-averse?
Are night terrors memories, or are they conjured by the subconscious mind—like how I somehow always dream about falling from a hundred-story window?
It takes a bit, but his whimpering starts to slow.
I can feel his body relaxing incrementally, so, little by little, I start to loosen my hold on him.
I’ll slip out and leave before he even has to find out I’ve been here, but first, I want to make sure he’s really through this night terror.
However, when I slowly start to shuffle myself back so I can observe him from the opposite edge of the bed, Gordy rolls over, facing me while still asleep.
Before I can slide off the bed, he reaches out and pulls me back beside him, burrowing his face in the crook of my neck.
I can still feel the wetness from the tears on his cheek dampening my shirt collar.
He huffs out a ragged breath and clings to me, like I’m some sort of lifeline.
Well, then. All I can hope for now is that, come morning, he doesn’t straight-up unalive my ass, because there’s no way I can get out of this death-grip.
Thanks to Gordy’s thin walls, I managed to hear my alarm go off from the other room just a couple of hours later.
I’m also thankful that he didn’t wake up before I was able to pry him off me, literally untangling myself from him so I could slip out and get ready for work—safe, sound, and one-hundred percent unscathed.
I also got to see Gulligan before I left, and gave him directions on how to get to my houseboat, should he ever want to come see me at my new temporary domicile.
I managed to drop my bags off there, leave a donut treat out for my boy, and make it over to the Lobsta Mobsta all on time. Marcus and Caleb were visibly shooketh but didn’t rib me about it. Though both still managed to comment on the bags under my eyes. Jerks.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Marcus notes on the trip back to shore, after putting in a solid ten hours. “Trouble in paradise?”
I snort. “Caleb’s quiet all the time, but I don’t hear you asking him what’s wrong.”
Caleb flips me off, and I blow him a kiss back.
“Well, pardon me for giving a shit. Was just wondering if everything’s alright with you, Cap,” Marcus huffs.
I sigh. “Not really, no. I’m going to be alone for Christmas.
I’m temporarily living out of my houseboat, since Gordy’s fuckin’ pissed at me.
I went out on a date with a guy last night, had this whole big epiphany about my sexuality, but I totally flopped in the connection department.
I just—gah, I want a drink so fuckin’ bad.
I won’t, though. I need to stay sober for my girls. Set a good example and whatnot.”
Both men go wide-eyed and blink at me, stunned. One, into silence.
Finally Caleb puffs out a breath, shaking his head. He signs something to Marcus, too quickly for me to understand, as usual. Marcus grumbles, then leans over to yank his wallet from his back pocket, produces a twenty dollar bill, and slaps it in Caleb’s hand.
I roll my eyes. “Which one of those things did you lose a bet on?” I ask Marcus.
“The fact that you aren’t having some epic, dramatic existential crisis over your epiphany,” he replies matter-of-factly.
“The rest was all pretty much inevitable. You’re stubborn as shit, so staying sober, despite the craving, is pretty much a given.
You share custody, so that’s how holidays are usually run—you take turns.
Gordy being pissed at you isn’t anything novel, since him being pissy is pretty much his entire personality—”
“That’s what I said too!” I snicker.
“And you having some sort of revelation about your sexuality? I can’t say as I’m entirely shocked,” he continues, then turns to Caleb. “Did it surprise you?”
Caleb shakes his head.
“Yeah, no. There’s no surprise there,” Marcus reiterates with a chortle.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. You don’t think we can’t spot one of our own out in the wild?”
Caleb huffs out a breathy laugh, then signs "newbie." I recognize that particular pairing of gestures, because he taught me that when Wagner hired his new guy on last year when Walter retired.
“I just thought that you’d be more freaked out about it than this. Caleb apparently had more faith in you.”