Razed - Chapter 19
[center][i]“Oops, I did it again I played with your heart Got lost in the game Oh baby, baby”[/i] [b]Britney Spears, ‘Oops!... I Did it Again’[/b][/center] Public transport. It’s been a while. It’s almost novel stuffing my way into cramped seating one minute and being hemmed in by a slim teenage lynx who won’t stop looking at his phone the next. He’s watching some kind of mind-numbing live stream with a canine exaggeratedly yapping and gesticulating, while thumbnails of other creator’s videos periodically flash up on the screen. A couple minutes of voyeuristic curiosity are all I can take until it provokes the familiar throbbing of an oncoming headache. I’m too old for whatever that is. The knowledge stings, but the pain is both mild and short lived. I’ve played out enough lives to know when it’s time to leave one behind. Instead I stare out the window, fast getting caught in history and spirits. Past lives seem to follow me wherever I look and my haunting is only intensified as the bus makes it downtown and runs past one of the theatres I used to perform in, the Berrato. Those gnawing thoughts of inadequacy come back, an intense sense of failure: I used to act. I gave it up. Why the hell did- No, I know why. But it chafes now to recall being up on stage, under the lights, giving the audience my all, embodying an imagined self, night after night. The praise, the applause. I was something of a talent, all told: a name in the making. And what have I traded that in for? Sitting on my ass all day? Fiddling on DAWs? I had flair, skill and charisma. I loved the stage, the attention. I loved the thrill of embodying somebody other than me over and again. Another name, another life, over and again. But dwelling on it inevitably leads to thoughts of him. His thick, dark fur; that wide, sturdy tail; the slimy, manipulative bullshit. He was incredible under the lights, better than I ever was. Acting alongside him lifted me up, made me more than I could’ve been alone. Every time I consider taking up acting again I can’t help reminiscing over the countless hours we spent playing across from one another, the intimacy and intensity of it, how it would often create a tension we’d fuck out into the night. And it was good, for a while. For a while, we were good. When I sit and organize my memories, put everything that happened in order, I can’t always figure out how things turned out the way they did. Sometimes I miss him. It never lasts. The café Kale chose—Lucy’s Stop—is new to me, and finds its home on a street I have only passing familiarity with. Small blessings. Kale is waiting outside, scrolling through his phone until he notices me. He looks up, smiles and waves, his hair and fur as perfectly unkempt as ever, providing contrast to his crisp work attire as he ventures out on this ‘extended lunch break’ of his. It’s a good look on him, but most of all I’m glad he didn’t follow through with the threat of a turtleneck. Following the briefest of greetings I motion us in, take Kale’s advice on what’s good and order with minimal fuss. We find a quiet corner to settle in, but already I know his game. “You only took me to a public place so that I can’t yell at you without making a scene.” He shows me his canines. “I’m not just a pretty face you know.” It’s worth a laugh, but I pass a minute or two not present afterwards, reciprocating small talk and watching passing cars until our drinks arrive, building up the mental muscle to say at least some of what’s been on my mind. He precedes me. “I’m sorry.” He exhales a quivering breath, then clenches his jaw and stares straight at me. “I’ve not said what I should have said. At least not straightforwardly enough, not without prodding, so let me. I’m sorry: for that holiday; for not being honest with you; for leaving you the way I did; for acting like nothing happened when I got home; for letting us drift apart. I’m sorry. It was callous, self-absorbed and cowardly, and in all the time since I never lifted a finger to make anything better. And-” His voice cracks, his pace wavers and his tail lashes, but he persists. “And I’m only here now, saying this because you flew down and came out with me. You let me in, despite everything, and if Adrian didn’t invite you I might have gone the rest of my life without making things right between us. Whatever else I may be feeling, god, I’m glad he invited you. I’m glad you’re here. I’m sorry. I fucked up, and I don’t deserve forgiveness, but you deserve an apology.” Holding my gaze for any longer proves too much for him. His shoulders shake, he sniffs and covers his eyes with a sleeve, dipping his head toward the table. Some people never stop surprising you, no matter how certain you are that you’ve got them figured out. I take a sip of my coffee and lean back. “I was looking forward to berating you,” I say, affecting dry humor, but feeling no mirth whatsoever. I take another sip. “God, what’s wrong with me? I see you like that, hear what you’ve said and I want to fucking [i]comfort[/i] you.” “You’re a better person than I am.” My tail whips behind me through the hole in my chair. I’m gripping my mug so tight it’s borderline painful. Our food comes out and I smile and nod at the server, Kale thanks them, polite and terse. They leave. “I’m still mad at you,” I say. “But I’m thankful for the apology. And confused. And fucking sad, because sitting here, listening, has me reliving what you put me through. God, Kale, it’s a lot to take in.” I shake my head. “You really went in hard over lunch, huh?” “I said I’d save a surprise for our meeting.” “Every single time I’ve been alone with you, you’ve surprised me. From the day I met you, you’ve been full of them,” I say, quiet and low, finding my past reflected in the inky surface of my coffee. There I am, years ago: throwing ass to thumping electronic music, baiting this hot wolf to follow me home. “Since the night we met, huh? The way I recall it, you were the one supplying the surprises.” “Well.” I try to find a smile, but fail. “I didn’t expect you to be so nice.” Kale stares right through me, frozen, then scrunches his eyes shut. “Fuck.” A sigh leaks from my muzzle as I return to consorting with my reflection. It shows my present now: a dumb, fat dog with no idea what he’s doing. “Cutting you out was one of the worst things I’ve ever done,” Kale says. As worn as the topic leaves me, as powerless as I’ve felt in the face of Kale’s humility, I find a fragment of the anger I’d held inside for years and launch it at him. “Cutting me off? Not cheating on your fiance?” He inhales sharply through his nose and rubs his temples. “I said [i]one of[/i]. And he wasn’t my fiance back then.” After so much openness, I didn’t expect the raised guard. “Don’t pretend. You’ve already told me you don’t regret what we did.” “It’s more complicated than that, you know better than anyone.” Deep breath in, relax my shoulders, breathe out, stop clenching my jaw. I have a job to do. “Tell me no part of you wants to do it all over again.” He jerks to attention and stares me down. “What are you saying?” “If we’re working it all out then lets work it all out. No point holding anything back.” He reclines. “What do you want to hear?” “The truth.” “I’m a stupid, horny dude. Of course there’s always gonna be a part of me that lusts after guys I find attractive.” I nod towards the restroom without breaking eye contact. “How about a quickie?” His eyes widen, he stutters then shakes his head before exploding into an all out belly-laugh. “God, Ash. You really had me going there.” I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure I’m joking?” “Come on, you’ve been scolding me since it happened. Do you really expect me to believe you want us to make the same mistakes again?” “I thought you said they weren’t mistakes.” “I said it was complicated.” “It was. I made the choice I made then, why do you think I won’t make it again?” He coughs. “Jesus, Ash. I guess I deserve the teasing, but...” His gaze runs over my face, my body. “We just have to keep one-upping each other don’t we? I surprise you, you surprise me.” “That’s how we’ve always done things, why change now?” He makes eye contact again, but can’t hold it for long. He picks at his food. After a beat, I follow his lead. “Okay.” He says. “I get it. I’m sorry.” “Get what?” “That you’re making a point.” “Am I? Do tell.” “That I was a shitty, opportunistic partner and a worse friend.” I nod, remaining focused on my food, letting him talk. “And that I’ve not been honest with you. That I’ve been holding out on you, even now. Well, you’re right,” he continues. I find myself frozen, gripping my fork with unnecessary force. “When I visited... When I was leaving, I made it seem like I was always planning to go back to Adrian, that what you and I did was nothing more than blowing off steam. That was a lie.” The fur on the back of my neck raises of its own accord. This confession isn’t what I’d been angling for, but his parting words have been a source of nagging doubt in the back of my mind for a long time. The anger I felt, the disappointment, that sense of complete betrayal all return in a single blinding moment. “Fuck you.” “I had no plan.” He plows on. “I had no idea what I was doing, other than enjoying myself, enjoying you. There were no ulterior motives because it was all instinct, all desire and lust. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t reasoned. I blocked out all thought of my life outside of us. I actively avoided reality again and again until the moment I no longer had that privilege, the moment I had to go. “That final day, those last hours and minutes we spent together... That was when it hit me. I was at a precipice, I couldn’t pretend any longer that going on like this would affect nothing. I had to make a decision.” “And you chose Adrian.” He nods. “I chose Adrian. And all that time I spent not thinking things through, I had been readying myself to throw an awful punch at you without even realizing it. But stupidity is no excuse for cruelty.” I close my eyes and slow my breathing, counting the seconds, centering myself. The only answer is to push through the pain: this is an opportunity, I can’t let it slip. “And how have things been between you and Adrian since? No more paw-waving. Be real. You owe me this.” “I suppose I do.” He straightens up. “I mean, things were a little rocky at the start, when I came home, and when I gave my incomplete confession. After that, the healing began. Adrian and I have had plenty of heart to hearts, he still struggles with his mental health at times, but we argue less.” Kale stares up and out of the window, losing himself to the open sky for a matter of seconds that ache like hours. “When we do, it’s almost always my fault—naturally—but I’ve been better, I think. I’m more aware of him and his states of mind, more diligent with helping around the house...” “More attentive?” “I, uh, I’d like to think so. Yeah.” [i]Sure[/i]. I lean in. There’s something here. I swear it, there’s [i]something[/i]. He goes on: “But I know when to step away too, when to give him space.” I clear my throat to rid the gravel from my tone. “And how did you feel when he proposed?” “Happy,” he says, but his jaw clenches shut right after. I let him think, each passing second an age. “And, as always, I thought: he’s too good for me. What did I do to deserve him? What the hell does he see in me?” “But you said yes.” “Of course I fucking did!” He matches my gaze with a sudden intensity of purpose. “I love him with my entire being.” If he’s lying now, I don’t know right from left. “Okay,” I say, nodding once. “Okay. Good.” “That’s the one thing I’ve been sure of all these years.” My shoulders slump, tension draining from my body. For once, my paranoia may have been nothing more than paranoia. I adopt a lazy smile. “I’m glad you’ve found somebody who makes you happy.” Kale scratches the back of his head and laughs, averting his gaze. “Thank you, but enough mushy stuff.” He clears his throat and regains focus. “Speaking of Adrian, the two of you seem closer than ever.” “Oh pssh, you’re exaggerating. He gave me a couple rides, doesn’t exactly make us besties.” “Maybe I’m exaggerating, but you’re deflecting.” Kale laughs. “You just want the tea, I know it.” Kale puts his paws up in surrender. “Guilty as charged.” “Come on Kale: if I had told him, you would know.” “I know,” he nods. “But that leaves me wondering what those two cute boys have been talking about instead.” A shrug. “You don’t have to tell me.” “I know, but you’ll sulk and guilt me into it if I don’t.” I put up a paw before he can protest. “We’ve just been talking our own shit through, you know? About how we lost contact when I left the country, about the time you and I spent together—though only what Adrian already knows—and trying to move on from all that. Aside from quashing our quarrels we’ve been getting to know one another again, learning to be friends, I guess.” I shrug. Kale nods, affects a smile. We return to our food. The quiet doesn’t last long. “Are you sure that’s everything?” He asks. “What are you so worried about?” His left elbow hits the table and he rests his head in his palm. “It’s just, this whole thing: him inviting you, going out of his way again and again to spend time with you... I confess: it’s got me a little paranoid.” “Have you talked to Adrian about it?” He rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, kind of? Not really. Not properly.” He sighs, lifts his head. “He passes it off as nothing and then I don’t know what else to say.” “Maybe that’s because it [i]is[/i] nothing.” “Okay,” he nods. “Alright. I’ll trust you.” He stabs at the remainder of his food. “And I know you haven’t told him, and I’m thankful for it, but you... You [i]could[/i] tell him.” “And that scares you?” “Of course it does.” He locks me in a wide-eyed stare, seeming to search the core of my person for any hint of insincerity. I don’t give away a thing. “I love him so much. I don’t want to lose him.” “We’re rekindling a lost friendship, Kale, that’s all it is.” It’s disgusting how easily lying comes back to me. “You have nothing to worry about.” A smile. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll trust you. For real this time.” I laugh, reach out and trace my fingers down the side of his arm. “Besides, I didn’t offer your [i]fiance[/i] a quickie.” I wink. “Do let me know if you change your mind.” Kale flinches, smirks, snorts, looks away, looks back. * Instead of heading back to Eve’s, I make my way downtown, walking streets studded with specters as I reflect on my time with Kale and his last-minute invitation to attend an evening out with him, Ross and Ami later in the week. I agreed, despite the mere thought of being around Ross bringing a twitch to my tail. I know that I should call Adrian and tell him how things went, but—for all my pondering—I’m not entirely sure myself. Kale loves him, I’m sure of that. I’m just not certain of much else. Meanwhile, I find myself automatically retracing old routes through the city, step by dreadful step, an echo of my former self. I walk in a hunch, head between my shoulders, feeling watched by every passer by, not recognizing a soul. I barely even recognize the city. It’s almost the same as it was, though a few store-fronts have changed, but it isn’t mine any more. It’s not home. It has become uncanny, like a spot-the-difference leaped out of the page and into real life, but the difference is not in the city, it’s in me. I walk by the Berrato Theatre—thinking of all the hours I spent rehearsing and performing inside—and put a paw to its concrete exterior. It’s like touching a hot plate. I recoil on contact, then cringe at my own weakness. There’s a compulsion telling me to go inside, and another telling me to run. I used to act. I was an actor. I had friends here, a second family. I ran from them once, I suppose it’s only natural I’d run again. Yet I neither run, nor approach. Instead I linger in place, allowing my eyes to wander, paws in my pockets just taking it all in: the posters, the lights, its gaudiness and its lure. I walk through its foyer, corridors and backrooms in my mind, scoping the place out and finding it an endless maze of memories. My disconcerting fantasy is so distracting that I fail to fully compute the presence of a man coming out of the place, cigarette clutched between fingers, lighter flickering in its approach, until he notices me. “Holy shit! Ryan?” He waves, his voice carrying the stereotypical, queenly lilt of a certain variety of older, city-dwelling gay man. Everything I’ve seen is processed in an instant: I know this man. I know why this sixty-something jaguar in a burgundy beanie is beaming at me. “That is you, right?” If the apparition of yet another poltergeist from my past wasn’t jarring enough, the name he aims at me chafes like a noose. I put on a brave face regardless. This is the theatre, after all. “Tim!” I approach at an unhurried pace, with altogether too much caution. “I’m visiting friends in the city and just so happened to be walking by, I...” I expel a laugh born more from tension than levity. “It’s good to see you, pup.” He offers a paw and I know what’s coming when I take it. Instead of a shake, he pulls me in to a fleeting, but bone-creaking hug, cigarette still in paw. He nods towards the Berrato. “You want a fresh tour of your old haunt?” “No, no.” I wave the suggestion away. “I have places to be, it’s just... when I walked past I couldn’t help but reminisce, you know?” “Of course! We all miss you. Well, apart from the newbies, but they don’t know anything.” He finally lights his cigarette and takes a drag. “I, uh... I heard about Marty. Obviously. I’m sorry for your loss.” My heart pounds away at my rib cage. Bile rises in my throat. What the fuck do I say to that? I knew this could happen. Why the fuck did I go out alone, here? What is my fucking problem? It’s like I want the punishment. It’s like- “You two played across from one another so beautifully,” Tim says. “And the way he looked at you off stage? It was obvious how much he loved you. It broke my heart when I heard what happened. I don’t blame you for leaving state. None of us do.” In spite of all the nights I’ve lost sleep Googling my old name, or Marty’s, obsessing over minor news and niche discourse, developing wild conspiracies about the truth somehow coming to light, here I am wanting nothing more than to blow my own cover, to scream at this poor old friend of mine: [i]Don’t be sorry, the cunt raped me, so I slit his bastard throat and I’d do it again if I could![/i] Swallowing that truth takes physical effort and leaves the aftertaste of venom on my tongue. I shove my paws back into my pockets and ball them into fists. Staring at the ground I can’t help but shake. Here I am, at the edge of an explosion, or implosion, but either way something spectacular and violent. I don’t feel right without my pocketknife. Tim interprets my shuddering as the result of wracking, silent sobs. “Oh pup, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to reopen old wounds.” He takes a long drag, exhales a weathered, smoke-fuelled sigh. “For what it’s worth, I know what it’s like. Back in the eighties we lost a lot of good people.” The way his tone hollows I know they’re still there with him, as Marty is for me. But having my tormentor compared to the poor gay men who lost their lives to AIDS by the thousand is making me want to punch concrete until my fist breaks. I exhale hard through my nose, grit my teeth, scrunch my eyes shut. “Thanks.” The single word is all I can manage. Tim places a paw on my shoulder. “I’m glad you fought through it, whatever it took. Stay strong, pup.” I nod, try to focus on the gentle breeze filtering through my fur, on the regularity of my breathing, on other places, other people, other times. I open my eyes. “It was good seeing you, Tim.” He frowns at the abrupt call to conclusion, but is wise enough to take the hint. After another drag he nods toward the Berrato again. “Just know that if you ever feel like coming back, you’re more than welcome.” “You never know,” I say, forcing a smile, knowing. “I’ve got to get going, but if I bump into you again we should grab a drink or something. We could go to The Glass House like old times, get some two-for-one-’tinis, if the old deal’s still on.” He nods, his face lighting up in the glow of nostalgia, his tail painting a wide arc in a single energetic swoosh. “Every Thursday! Sounds great. All the best with the rest of your day then, Ryan. I hope to see your pretty face around here again soon.” We rattle off our goodbyes, and I smile and wave as I move away, safe in the knowledge that I’ll never walk this street again.