Chapter Nineteen Therapy
Some days were harder than others. Some mornings, I had trouble getting out of bed.
I was seeing the therapist two or three times a week and taking pills to sleep.
I hated taking them. I’d be groggy the next day and unfocused at work, and then I found out they were habit-forming.
So I stopped taking them. Then I couldn’t fall asleep.
I’d hold Eddie in bed, but my thoughts kept spinning, and I’d try not to move so I wouldn’t wake him.
But it was worse when I did fall asleep because of the nightmares.
I didn’t know where I was, but it was dark, and something bad was in the dark, touching me, and I’d wake up screaming.
Then he’d turn on the light so I’d see where I was, and he’d hold me till I calmed down, and then I’d ask him to leave the light on, like I was a little kid.
I felt guilty for keeping him awake, because he was working long hours, and he’d leave in the morning looking exhausted.
Because of me. I said I should sleep on the couch so I didn’t wake him, and he got angry, but not at me.
He said I should sleep in my bed because I didn’t do anything wrong.
He told me I’d get better, but I didn’t see how.
Every day after work, I’d come home and check if he’d moved out. I couldn’t understand why he put up with me.
He was busy with work, and I barely saw him, because our schedules didn’t sync. I brought my tap board to work so I could practice in the basement for an hour before heading off for rehearsals or gigs, and by the time I came home, he’d be asleep.
And things with the band weren’t good. I didn’t tell Bex and Ben what was going on, because I wasn’t ready to talk about it with anyone but Eddie and my therapist. Bex kept asking me if I was okay. Brian—who was always a dick—was also, apparently, biphobic.
“Hey, guys,” he said one day, “How about we rename the band?”
He’d always hated the band’s name, but we’d had the name before he joined us.
“We’re not changing the name,” said Bex.
“How about DB3 Crew?” said Brian. “Stands for Dickback Dickback Dickback Crew.” Then he grinned in the way one of my ex-girlfriends had told me was “crazy sexy.”
Nobody laughed, which pissed Brian off because he thought he was some kind of comedian.
He made me regret coming out to him. He kept making snide remarks.
One night, we were figuring out song order for our set, and I said, “Whatever,” because I wanted them to stop arguing, and Brian said, “Make up your fucking mind, Porter. Pick one or the other.”
Alan wasn’t taking sides. But Bex and Ben jumped all over Brian and told him to shut his mouth and that it was a lot easier to find a lead singer than another keyboardist. But I was done by then.
The band was falling apart, and it was all my fault.
I considered quitting because it was too much to deal with on top of everything else.
One day, I found the ring box in my desk at work. I threw it back in the drawer, hoping it would break. I couldn’t believe I used to believe he might marry me.
My phone buzzed with a text notification.
It was him, and I didn’t want to deal. I picked up my phone and threw it in the drawer and slammed it shut. Then I went back to work.
But it kept bugging me. He didn’t normally text me at work. Something must be wrong. Was he dumping me? Had something happened to him? I went back to my desk and checked.
It wasn’t any of that. Just, what time do you have lunch?
I was angry. Why did he care?
I texted back, Not having lunch today.
I dropped the phone on my desk. I was on my way out the door when it rang. It was him. For fuck’s sake. Why couldn’t he leave me alone?
“What?” I said.
“You have to eat.”
“I didn’t bring any lunch.”
“I’ll bring you some,” he said. “What time?”
“Noon, I guess. But I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll see you at noon.”
I guess he knew what building I worked in because Trish must have mentioned it, but he’d never been to my lab before.
I didn’t know how he found me, but he did.
I heard a knock, and when I looked up he’d let himself in and shut the door behind him.
It was a three-person office and pretty cramped, but it was just me in there because Roger was at a conference, and Hilde was on vacation.
“Can you eat in here?” he said.
“We’re not supposed to, but I do, sometimes.”
He set a paper bag and a bottle of agave cactus juice on my desk in front of me.
“Thanks.” I pulled the sandwich out. A ham and cheese panini from my favorite sandwich shop.
“I haven’t seen you properly in days,” he said.
“Guess we’ve both been busy. Don’t you have a movie to shoot?”
“Day off.”
“Shouldn’t you be learning lines right now?”
“You’re more important,” he said.
“I’m not.”
I put the sandwich down. I didn’t want it anyway. I didn’t want to look at him, and I was about to cry, and I didn’t want to do that in front of him.
He knelt by my chair. “Hey.”
“I’m so fucked up.”
He touched my arm. “Hug?”
“I don’t deserve one.”
But he put his arms around me anyway.
“Why are you even here?”
“Craig, it fucking hurts to see you like this.”
“Then don’t look.”
“Not seeing you hurts worse,” he said, sounding really upset.
It hadn’t occurred to me that I might be hurting him too. I didn’t want to hurt him. So I put my arms around him, and we held each other, and I started to feel better. Not normal, but that thick, hard knot in my throat loosened, and it didn’t hurt as much.
“You have a gig tonight?” he said.
“No.”
“Why don’t we order delivery from that burger place you love and watch a movie?”
“Okay.” That sounded good.
He pulled back and kissed the tip of my fucked-up nose. Then he pushed my shoulder. “That’s my tapper.”
And I laughed. I hadn’t laughed for a long time, and my chest felt rusty.
He sat with me, and we ate lunch, and I could swallow properly for once.
Then I had to go back to work. He got up to leave.
As he was letting himself out, I said, “Hey.”
He stopped in the doorway.
“Thanks, honey kid.”
I’d always thought he was the best-looking guy I’d ever seen, but it was unreal how wonderful he looked just then when he smiled.
––––––––
I left work early, because I couldn’t wait to get home. He ordered the food, and we ate in front of the TV, like old times.
“Got you spumoni ice cream for dessert,” he said.
“That’s my favorite. Where did you get it? They don’t sell it at the grocery store.”
“There’s an Italian deli a mile away that does.”
“And you went and got some when you should have been reading lines?” I said.
He shrugged, like ain’t no thing. So I hugged him and kissed the side of his head. The first time I’d kissed him since...that night. Then I let him go, because I felt self-conscious.
“Sorry,” I said. I didn’t know why.
Later, while we were eating ice cream in front of the TV, I said, “You want to watch a movie?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Reservoir Dogs? Haven’t seen that in years.”
“Sure,” he said.
I put the DVD in, and we watched the movie.
After a while, I noticed something. “Is it me, or is there a lot of gay subtext in this movie?”
“It’s not subtext.”
“Why am I only noticing it now?”
“Why do you think?”
“Oh.” I wondered how many other movies had gone over my head at the time.
We kept watching, and I didn’t know if it was all that gay text, but I stole little glances at him sitting at the other end of the couch, that sexy slouch he had, the way his leg was bent with his foot braced on the coffee table.
Then I looked from him to the TV and back again.
“Holy shit. You look like—”
“Don’t say it,” he said.
“You do.”
“I’ve been told that before. I don’t see it.”
“How can you not see it? You even walk the same way he does. That’s how I recognized you at the bus station when we met up again.”
“Jack said the same thing. I think he’s got a thing for that actor. I think it’s why he casts me.”
“I knew there was something. When we first met, I felt like I recognized you. I thought it was fate.”
“Oh no,” he said. “You never really liked me. Guess we’ll have to break up.”
I paused the movie. “Do you mean that?”
“What? No. I was kidding.”
“’Cause lately, we’ve been like roommates. Seems like you don’t want to touch me.”
“I touch you all the time,” he said. “We sleep in the same bed.”
“Yeah, but not like we used to.”
“I could use a little touching right now,” he said, and he gave me that look.
We stared at each other for a few seconds.
“You done with that?” I nodded at his empty bowl.
He passed it to me, and our fingers touched for a second. I brought our bowls to the kitchen and washed them. When I came back, I sat right beside him and put my arm around him. He leaned into me.
We hadn’t fooled around since I’d started therapy. I hadn’t been able to contemplate doing that. Until tonight. I’d forgotten how hot he was.
I was worried he wasn’t interested. He hadn’t tried to make any moves on me since that night.
I stroked the nape of his neck where his hair was soft. I leaned in close. He glanced at my mouth, and that was all the prompting I needed. His mouth was cold and sticky from the ice cream, and he tasted of sweet cherries.
“I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” I said.
He moved my hand down to touch him. “Does it feel like I don’t want you?”
“Unless that’s a roll of toonies in your pocket?”
“It’s not.”
Next thing, we were full-on making out on the couch, getting right into each other’s business.
There was one hitch in the proceedings when he started to pull off his shirt, and I shook my head, because I didn’t want that.
He let go of his shirt and went back to making out with me like it hadn’t happened.
I let my hands wander all over him. I was used to going without sex, but not when I was in a relationship. It must have been hard for him too, but he’d never complained.
We only lasted a few minutes.
Afterward, he lay back on the couch. “Next time, let’s not go that long without doing it, huh?”
“No.” I rested my head on his chest. His heart was pounding against my ear.
“And next time, tell me what you want,” he said. “Or tell me now so I’ll know.”
“I want you to fuck me.” It was easier to say because I wasn’t looking at him.
He stopped panting for a second. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
I glanced at him. He looked serious.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“I’m thinking.”
“About?”
“How we’re gonna do it,” he said. “We’ll have to pick a day when we don’t have to work, no pressure, nothing else to worry about, and I’ve gotta get condoms and lube and—”
“I’ve probably got condoms left over from my last girlfriend. Why do we need them, though? We’re exclusive. Right?” I hadn’t thought to ask. I’d just assumed.
“Yeah, we’re exclusive,” he said. “You’ll see why we need them. But if we start to do it, and you want to stop, we can stop.”
“Can’t we be spontaneous and let it happen when it happens?”
“Not for your first time.”
“I get it. You want it to be special. It will be.”
“That’s not it. Everything we’ve done with each other so far has been safe, and it doesn’t require a lot of skill.”
“Are you dissing my blow jobs?”
“Fuck no. They’re off the charts. But if you fuck up a blow job, the worst that happens is the guy doesn’t come. With this, if you don’t do it right, it can damage you back there. So we have to be careful.”
“Does it hurt?” I’d heard straight sex could hurt if you did it too fast or if the woman wasn’t ready, but I’d never had that problem, because I’d never had sex with a woman who wasn’t fully on board. And I was fully onboard with him doing it to me, so...
“It won’t hurt if I do it right,” he said. “And I will.”
“So you won’t be fucking me up against a tree for my first time?”
“No.” He smiled. “Your second time, maybe.”
I laughed. “You’re making me hard again.”
“You used to get up and run for the shower right after we fooled around, remember?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Guess I got used to it. Anyway, if I have a shower now, I’ll have to stop touching you, and I want to shoot again, like pretty bad. I’ve missed this so much.”
I kissed him, and we started making out again. This time we took our time.