damien
TWENTY-TWO
NOW
The first thing I did after Callum and I reconnected was add him on all my social media accounts. I was more active on them than Callum had been over the years. Part of me had always wondered if he’d ever looked me up, but I hadn’t worked up the courage to ask. Besides, it didn’t matter now.
We talked every night. Really talked. We’d arrange to call at the same time every night, after we were both off work and home for the night.
Bowie tried to get me to go out Friday night, but I told him I had plans, to which he just raised an eyebrow and didn’t ask me to elaborate. He was a true friend.
There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between us that we wouldn’t see each other again so soon.
Not that it would be hard. All these years and Callum had practically been in my back yard.
But after our explosive reunion at the funeral, putting on the brakes seemed like the sensible thing to do. Even if it sucked.
While we talked, I’d scroll his social media and ask him questions about some of the photos. Callum out with friends. Callum and some guy draped all over him. The kissing selfies were the worst. I hated them.
“Who’s this guy?” I took a screenshot and sent it to him while we chatted.
“That’s Jake.”
“Like… Jake from State Farm?” I choked on a laugh. Maybe I was being unfair, but the guy was in khakis and a polo shirt. The joke practically wrote itself.
“No, like Jake from college. We were on-again off-again for sophomore year. He’s settled down now with a husband and a couple of kids.” Callum took a breath. “Jake and I knew it would never work in the long run, but we were both running from different things.”
Part of me hated Jake on sight because he had Callum.
He got time with him that I didn’t. Freedom.
Touch. Attention. He got to hold his hand and talk to him and do all the things with him that I missed out on.
And part of me was glad that Callum hadn’t been alone.
That he’d found people to love him even if it was temporary.
“Are you mad?” Callum’s voice was soft, like he was worried about what the answer would be.
“No, Cal, I’m not mad. Okay, I am. But at Sam. Not you. Never you.” I took a deep breath and raked my hand down my face. Times like this made me rethink the whole pet rock thing because it sure would be nice to have something to curl up next to me. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because I didn’t wait. I didn’t… there were other people, Damien.”
I rolled over and sat up, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Callum, of course there were other people. For both of us.” Mostly.
Because I still hadn’t told him that I hadn’t been able to bottom since him.
He was the only one I let have me like that.
The only one I’d let myself be vulnerable for.
There’d been toys and my fingers on occasion, but no other person had been inside me. I hadn’t even tried. Hadn’t wanted to.
“Hmmm, nope. I don’t like that.” Callum tried to put some humor into his voice, but it sounded hollow. Like the joke was more the truth than anything he’d spoken so far tonight.
“We don’t have to like it, Callum, but we both have pasts. And they’re not something we can wish away.”
“Do you think he knew that we’d start talking again?” Callum’s change of subject caught me off-guard. Clearly he was done thinking about our respective pasts and how unchangeable they were.
“I think Sam knew exactly what he was doing.” Whenever I thought about Sam, it stoked the fire of rage inside me.
“I think Sam was a selfish jackass. I think he manipulated people because he could. I think he would have kept getting away with it, but then he got sick. And most people, when faced with death like that, they want to atone for what they did. They think, like hey, I was pretty lousy to some people in my life. And still he kept manipulating things. Then he died and I don’t think he was particularly sorry about any of it. ”
“Do you need him to be?” Callum asked, sounding steadier now.
“I don’t need Sam’s apology because he’ll never earn my forgiveness, if that’s what you’re wondering. I know it sounds harsh.”
“No. No. It… I wish…” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He was my brother. And when we were kids, everything was so good, you know. And then it was like he woke up one day and a switch had flipped, and I spent years trying to figure out what I did wrong.”
Callum paused and cleared his throat. I could tell the conversation was starting to wear on his emotions. He was only a couple hours away. I could go to him and hold him through this, instead of lying around at home. Alone.
“I always wanted to fix things between us,” Callum continued. “But I don’t think that’s what he wanted. At all. Ever. Ugh.” He sniffled. “I hate this so much. I’m so pissed at him, but he’s not even here for me to be mad at.”
“I know.” I didn’t know how to tell Callum that I couldn’t mourn Sam.
That I’d mourned his friendship years ago and had all but written him off as a person.
That I’d gone through life as though he’d actually died when he cut me off.
For me, Sam had been dead for years and there was nothing left for me to mourn.
“Can I make a confession?” Callum asked a few minutes later once he’d collected himself.
Our conversations sometimes went like that.
They’d get too emotional, too strained, and we’d go quiet for a while.
Not willing to end the call, but needing a moment to breathe.
So we’d stay on the line and just listen to the other person go through the motions of living until they were ready to talk again.
“You can tell me anything. Always.”
“I don’t miss him. I’m not sure I ever will. He… he hated me, Damien. The way he’d look at me when no one else could see. He hated me down to my bones. How am I supposed to miss that?”
“You’re allowed to have your feelings, Callum. You’re allowed to grieve the brother you had when you were a kid and not be sad about the man who died.”
“It makes me feel like a bad person.”
“It’s not like you killed him. Emotions don’t dictate if you’re a good person or not.”
Callum sniffled again, and I wished I was there to pull him close to me and run my fingers through his hair.
I sat up in bed, realizing that I could be there if I wanted to be.
There was nothing keeping me away except for some idea that we’d had about not seeing each other in person again so soon.
But that was a dumb idea, and I think it was pretty much born out of us not wanting to feel guilty for having sex right after the funeral.
That thought gave me pause, and I had to think if I actually gave a shit about the timing of our reunion.
And I found that I didn’t. Callum and I were always going to be together.
Our reunion was an inevitability. One way or another, I had to believe that we’d always have made our way back to each other.
I didn’t want Callum to know I was coming, because if I didn’t tell him, he couldn’t say no. He couldn’t try and talk me out of it. I didn’t have his exact address, but he’d told me about where he lived, about the street he was on and once I got there, I’d improvise.
On the other end of the line, Callum yawned. He’d confessed that he hadn’t been sleeping well since the funeral.
“Why don’t you call it a night?” I told him even as I slipped my shoes on and grabbed my wallet.
“It’s so early, though.”
“But you’re exhausted. You should try to get some rest. We can talk later, I promise.
I’m not going anywhere.” That was a lie because I was going to him, whether he wanted me there or not.
I couldn’t be without him another day. My body ached for him.
My mind couldn’t focus on anything else.
He was always on my mind and trying to stay away was torture. Stupid, senseless torture.
After another jaw-cracking yawn, Callum relented. “Okay. Okay, I’ll try,” he said.
“Good boy. Text me if you wake up and can’t get back to sleep. I’ll keep you company.” I wanted to end the call by telling him I loved him, but I didn’t feel like we’d earned the right to say those words again yet. And Callum must have agreed because he didn’t say them either.
“I will,” he promised.
The line went dead. The call ended and I grabbed a jacket and stepped out the front door, locking it behind me.
On my way out of town, I stopped for gas and grabbed a coffee.
I didn’t tell Bowie what I was up to because I didn’t want him to tell me to be careful.
I didn’t want him to judge me for being stupidly, madly in love with a man that I hadn’t seen in years.
I didn’t want him to prod me to read the stupid fucking letter that was in my glovebox still. I almost threw it away at the gas station but thought better of it. I left it where it was, and it could stay there. I’d only open mine if Callum opened his. Maybe not even then.
Sam had years to say shit to me, so I wasn’t in that much of a hurry to hear him out from the great beyond. If he didn’t like it, he could haunt my ass.
The drive was quiet, and I felt peaceful in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
Maybe ever. I was on my way to see Callum, and there was no sneaking around behind anyone’s back to do it.
The traffic was light at this time of night, and I kept the music low enough for me to hear my off-key voice singing along.
The night held a sense of rightness. For once, I didn’t second-guess myself. I didn’t wonder if what I was doing was smart. Callum needed me, and I needed him right back, and staying away now seemed stupid.
If he told me to leave, I’d go, but I knew he wouldn’t.
Once I got to the city, it took me a minute to find Callum’s neighborhood. Once I did, I found his street. I pulled over and scrolled through his social media until I found a post about his new car. He’d recently bought a shiny new cherry red Mazda.
“Bingo,” I said, tossing my phone aside. I inched my way up the street until I came to a house with the exact car as in the post parked in the driveway. And the house looked like the one in the background. My heart did victory laps in my chest. Callum was just a few feet away now.
Like he sensed my arrival, my phone lit up with a text from him.
Callum
Are you awake?
I answered right away, trying to figure out how I wanted to play this.
I’m awake. Can’t sleep?
I slept a bit, but I woke up and can’t get back to sleep
I could tell you a secret
*suspicious emoji*
What secret?
Sometimes if you get cold and then get back into bed, as you warm up, you’ll go to sleep.
That’s… not a terrible idea.
You should go outside. Take a walk down the block and then try going back to sleep. I’ll walk with you
You’re a dork, but okay. You can walk with me
It’s a date
I got out of my car and waited. It took a minute or two, but then the front door of Callum’s house opened and the light sliced through the darkness.
Stepping outside, he pulled the door shut behind him and then looked down at his phone screen.
My phone buzzed with a text, and I spared it a glance before I approached.
Okay, I’m outside
I stepped out of the shadows and into the soft glow of the streetlight.
“Me too,” I said, answering his text. Callum’s head snapped up and he stared at me for a long moment before launching himself at me.
I opened my arms and caught him as he crashed into me.
He buried his face in the curve of my neck, and I breathed him in, clutching him close.
“You’re here,” Callum breathed, his voice unsteady. “I can’t believe you’re here. We said—”
I cut him off. “I know what we said, but I don’t agree with it.”
He laughed and held me tighter. “Me either.”