Chapter Eleven Our First Fight
I woke up to an empty bed, feeling worse than yesterday. I panicked until I heard the shower. I put my hand under my shirt and felt my ribs. They hurt everywhere. Even breathing hurt. I needed another ten hours of sleep.
A few minutes later, he came back into the bedroom, dressed and looking exhausted.
“How do you feel?” he said.
“Can you get me a another pill? And a bag of ice? Wrap it in a towel.”
While he was getting that, I tried to sit up properly, because I’d slid down the bed overnight. Moving made the pain a lot worse. He came back with a bag of ice, and I pressed it against my ribs. My chest felt cold and contracted.
“I’ve got to go to work,” he said.
I panicked. “Can you call in sick? I don’t want to be alone.”
“Sorry. It’s the last day of filming, and they can’t replace me. I’ll try to get home early. I’ll keep my phone on me. Call me if you need me. Or is there someone I can call to stay with you?”
“No.” Ben or Bexley would have come, but what if they came over, and he came home while they were here and opened the door with his key? I hadn’t told them about him, because I didn’t know what to tell them. I was still trying to figure things out myself.
He left the room and came back with a pitcher of water and a glass, and he set them on my bedside table. Then he leaned in and kissed me on the forehead. Not in a patronizing or sexy way, but tenderly. The expression on his face crushed me.
“What was that for?” I said.
“Dunno. For being a brave little soldier?”
Now, that was patronizing. “Fuck off.”
“Will do,” he said, and he did.
I had a bad day. The two trips I made to the bathroom exhausted me. I tried to sleep, but the pain kept me awake. The ice pack melted, and the ibuprofen wore off before he came home, and I was too wiped to get up again.
I was so happy when I heard his key in the door.
He got me my pills and a new ice pack, and he reheated yesterday’s pizza, and we watched a movie on my laptop in the bedroom.
When I told him I wanted some Coke, he went out and bought me some, even though it was late, and he must have been tired from work.
It was also his last day filming his commercial.
Instead of going for auditions, he stayed home to look after me for the next week.
After that, I could sit up for long enough to work on my laptop from home, but only for a few hours a day.
I had to tell Bexley and Ben what had happened because I couldn’t make our rehearsal nights, and until my ribs healed, I couldn’t stand up to play keyboards.
Bexley wanted to come over, but I told him I wasn’t up for it, because I still wasn’t ready to tell him about Eddie.
Which was how messed up this situation was.
After a week, he started looking for work, and I started making dinner for us again. We finished building my model and started painting it. He was amazing at that, so I let him do the detail work. Once it dried, I hung it from a hook in the ceiling above our bed.
I felt so comfortable with him now. When we watched TV, I’d put my arm along the back of the couch behind him, almost touching him.
Other times, I’d brush against him in the kitchen.
When we were working on the model, if our knees touched under the table, I didn’t pull away, and neither did he.
But he never tried to touch me. He didn’t seem angry with me.
He was great—better than great, the way he’d looked after me when I was healing and cleaned the apartment when it was too much for me.
It was six weeks before I could bend over or straighten up without pain.
But even after I healed, he gave me so much space I wondered if he was afraid I’d break if he touched me wrong. We were acting like friends.
Was he my best friend now? It felt that way.
When Bexley suggested we have a movie night at my place, I said let’s go out to see a movie instead.
And I didn’t invite Eddie. He didn’t seem to mind.
He didn’t mind when I went out for rehearsals or gigs with the band either.
Had he told his friends about me? What had he told them?
Was he turning down nights out with them to be with me?
Or did he go out with his friends on nights I went out?
I didn’t know, and I didn’t ask. Things were so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb the balance.
Then, one Thursday in early September while he was out late looking for work, I got this urge to watch his movie again.
He hadn’t hidden it; it was sitting on top of my DVDs, and, well, I wanted to watch it, so I did.
And maybe I stopped it a few times to get a better look at some of the places they’d filmed and, okay, to get a better look at him.
We lived together, and I could look at him whenever I wanted, but this way, I could stare at him without feeling guilty or self-conscious.
Then I got to that sex scene in the warehouse.
I just wanted to see him in that context, excited and hungry. He’d never looked at me like that.
I wondered if he’d fooled around with Edgar before or after they’d filmed that scene. I watched it a few times looking for tells, and then I heard his key in the door, and I panicked and hit pause instead of stop.
He came in. “Hey,” he said. And then he saw the TV.
“Uh,” I said. “I was...watching your...movie.... Sorry.” Real smooth, Porter.
And he laughed.
I should have been relieved he wasn’t mad at me. Instead, I was angry.
“What’s so funny?”
“You froze the frame on my ass,” he said. And he sat on the couch right beside me.
I fumbled the remote and turned off the TV. “I wasn’t checking out your ass.”
I’d totally been checking out his ass.
“Hey, whatever turns your crank,” he said.
“I wasn’t turning my crank! Shit.” I was insulted. I hadn’t jacked since he’d moved in.
“Why did you think I’d mind?”
I couldn’t look at him. “Because it’s you in a compromising position.”
“If it turns you on, I don’t mind. You’ve known me long enough to know that.”
“Oh god.” He’d noticed. I picked up one of the couch cushions, set it on my lap, and pressed my face into it, wishing I could disappear.
“You want to go get dinner? I’m okay either way. But since you watched my movie, and you’ve met my ex-girlfriend, you already know that.”
“How can you joke about this?” I tossed the cushion, which was probably a mistake since I was blushing like crazy.
“What’s up?” he said, still sounding flip.
“Do you want to have sex?” I said, without looking at him.
“What—with you?”
“Who else is here? Do you want to have sex with me or not?”
“Yeah.”
I wasn’t blushing anymore, because shit just got real.
“But not right now,” he said.
“Why not?” How did I go from oops to daring him to fuck me?
“Because of how you reacted when I came in,” he said. “If you can’t look me in the eye when you’ve got a hard-on, how am I supposed to have sex with you? What am I supposed to do? Wear a blindfold?”
“Shut up,” I said, but my heart wasn’t in it.
“Let’s go out to eat. We can talk about this once you’ve calmed down.”
I grabbed my keys. “Where do you want to go?”
“Clark’s Corner. We might run into some actors I know, and the food’s good.”
We took the subway downtown and then walked to the restaurant. He tried to start a conversation, but I didn’t want to talk. The restaurant wasn’t too busy, and we got a round booth by the window.
“You want to split some fajitas?” he said.
“Sure, whatever.”
He kept looking at me, but I still felt embarrassed about earlier. When the food came, I started eating right away, even though it was still sizzling, so I didn’t have to talk. Then he started eating too, but things were really awkward.
It got more awkward when two people I didn’t know came over to our booth and said “hi” to him.
Turned out he’d acted with them in a movie. Without anyone asking me, they joined us. Eddie slid around the booth to make room so he was sitting right beside me.
“This is Craig,” he said to them. “Craig, this is Andy and Cub.”
Cub was a chubby, smiley redheaded guy with a beard, and Andy was a rangy guy with a Newfoundland accent. They both shook hands with me. I couldn’t tell from their expressions if he’d told them about me.
I was super self-conscious because of what had happened at the apartment, and Eddie was sitting so close he was practically in my lap. I shifted away from him.
“Are you an actor too, Craig?” said Cub.
“No, I work in an animal behavior lab. We test products for dogs, like toys, treats, and beds.” I gauged their reactions.
If they were animal rights activists, I’d have to explain that we didn’t hurt or kill the dogs we worked with.
We got them from kill shelters, and we adopted them out once they’d finished their behavior trials.
But Cub and Andy had checked out, the way most nonscientists did when I talked about my job, which was why I never did with Eddie.
Then the two of them started talking shop with him. When he talked shop, he sounded like a different person, not the guy I’d been living with for the past five months.
“I hear Jack Lawson’s casting for his latest movie,” said Andy. “He hasn’t put out a call yet.”
“Jack Lawson,” said Cub. “Great guy to work with.”
“Great director,” said Andy. “Amazing screenwriter.”
“Easy on the eyes, too,” said Cub.
“It’s about the work,” said Andy.
“Yeah, but I’m not blind,” said Cub.
“You’ve worked with Jack before, Eddie,” said Andy. “Worth a shot calling him.”
Eddie said, “Thanks for the tip.”
The server came to take our empty glasses.
Eddie reached over to take mine, touching my arm in the process.
He’d touched me deliberately a total of five times since I’d met him.
And whenever he had—sparks. But I didn’t want to feel that way now.
Not in front of his friends, people I didn’t know.
We’d never been in public with other people before, except when he took me to his work and that second night at Deep Ice where everyone around us was drunk, and the lights were flashing, so no one really saw us.
Anyway, when he touched me, I jerked away from his hand so fast I knocked over the glass, and it rolled across the table.
Cub picked it up and handed it to the server. “We should head,” he said. “Going to London for an audition tomorrow. Music video. See ya, Eddie. Nice to meet you, Craig.”
Cub and Andy left. I slid along the booth so I was sitting across from him. I was still shaking.
“What’s wrong?” he said. “Why don’t you want me to touch you? You don’t mind at home.”
“We’re in public.”
“I didn’t grope you or anything.”
“Your friends could see. Did you tell them we’re living together?”
“No.” He sounded offended I’d asked.
That was when I knew I’d fucked up.
We didn’t talk till we got home. I turned on the TV to cut the silence. He stayed standing by the door.
“I’m confused as all fuck right now,” he said.
“Why?”
“We’ve been living together five months, and you’re not comfortable with us touching in public—just touching like two friends.”
“Well, I’m not, okay? I don’t want people to think I’m—”
“What?” he snapped. “A faggot? Like me? That’s what Trish called me. You want to hop on that train too?”
Oh fuck. “You’re not, though. You’re bi.”
Which made him even madder.
“You fucking asshole. I’ve been walking on eggshells around you for months because I didn’t want to do anything even slightly sexual with you.
Because I know you’re uncomfortable with your sexuality.
I know you’re still dealing with that. I would never put a hand on you that way without your consent.
But the one time, the one fucking time I touch you, innocently, in public, you act like I’m contaminated.
Don’t you dare dump your homophobia on me. ”
He left and slammed the door on his way out.
What are the neighbors going to think? Did they hear that?
Which was what my mom would have said. The way she’d wait to scream at me till we got home whenever I’d done something in public to make her angry.
I stared at the coffee table where the Wanton Town DVD still sat. Two hours ago, I was the one who was mad. But I hadn’t really been mad, just embarrassed about how I felt.
You fucked up, Porter.
I got my phone out and called him. It rang and then cut off.
So I sent him a text: I’m sorry. Please come back.
He didn’t answer. I wasn’t going to text him again. He was already pissed at me.
He’s not going to move out. His stuff is still here.
He doesn’t have anywhere else to go except the shelter.
He’ll be okay. He’ll come back. I just have to wait.
So I waited. I didn’t move an inch. I even held my breath. I felt like if I sat totally still, he’d come back.
He was gone for an hour. I heard his key in the door, and then he came in.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You should be.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“I want to sleep on the couch tonight.”
“Fuck, Eddie.”
“I need space. Like you did tonight. You should be okay with that. This way I won’t accidentally touch you.”
“Okay, whatever you want.”
I got up off the couch, and he went past me, making sure he didn’t come anywhere near me, and he went up the hall to the bedroom.
He came back with his backpack over his shoulder and an armful of blankets and his pillow.
I went into the bedroom and left him alone.
Because clearly, that was what he wanted.
Part of me was hoping he’d come to bed, so I left the bedroom door open.
I tried to sleep, but every time I heard a sound, I thought it was him coming back.
We’d slept beside each other every night for four months.
Not having him beside me felt wrong. I kept staring at where his pillow should have been.