Chapter 13
697 Words
The nerve of him. I hadn’t socialized with anyone in months and Nathan made feel guilty about making a new friend? The only people I ever saw were all in Nathan’s circle of power executives or divorced fag hags. One lousy happy hour and he flipped? Had I ever complained about his over-packed schedule, his weekend getaways, his evening meetings?
The man’s life was one big PR event.
I’d gone out for drinks with Jake again and had come home to find Ike Turner sitting in our living room.
Nathan hit me yesterday. Whacked me right across the mouth. Yes, and I hit him right back. How mature was that? The two of us rumbling in our living room like some kind of boxing exhibition.
“You crazy little elf!”
“You imperialistic bastard!”
The awful thing ended in a very anticlimactic manner. I stepped on the remote and Michael Bolton’s voice shot out of the sound system. Some corny love song Nathan always insisted was good.
At the sound of it, Nathan’s eyes filled up. “Baby.” His voice cracked. His lips quivered. I should have been moved, but I didn’t buy it for one second. Willing to let it go for the sake of peace, I tucked my shirt back into my pants and sucked in a long breath.
“Derek.” Nathan’s nose was running. “How can you accuse me of f*****g around on you? How, baby?” His pitch was high. Dramatic. “You know I would never do you like that. What we have is sacred to me. Der, look at me.”
He always made me look at him whenever he was lying.
“You know…” His tone had shifted. “Maybe I should be the suspicious one. I mean, I’m never home. And you have shown absolutely no interest in our wedding planning or the engagement.” His dark brown eyes sharpened as he sized me up. “Hell, you haven’t even told your aunt yet. I’m starting to think you might be having some doubts.” Then came the conveniently-slotted silence.
I picked up the remote to turn the abominable whining down and sat on the edge of the couch. My mind drifted for a moment, and binding itself to the past, guided my thoughts through a darkroom where pictures hung here and there. My inner eye roamed over them: Boone shooting down the hill on his bike. Johan pulling a fast checkmate on me. Aunt Frannie licking the back of a spoon full of vanilla frosting. Helga Lund’s strawberry jam lips. JF. David. Sebastian. Coach Angelos.
And Nick, my Nordic King, my blue-eyed warrior, singing “Heartbreak Hotel” into a broomstick.
“Derek? Where are you right now?”
I glanced up. “Huh?”
“What is up with you lately? You keep staring into space like you’re watching a f*****g movie in your head.” Nathan sat by me. “Talk to me. Let me in a little. Is that too much to ask out of you? For your trust, a little faith in my ability to understand you? You think I’m beneath it?”
Finally some authenticity in his voice. I began to warm.
“s**t, Derek.” He reached for my fingers, and I let him hold my hand. “You think I don’t hear you talking in your sleep? You think I don’t see the circles under your eyes? You’re fighting something. Let me fight it with you. Der, you can’t do everything alone all the time. You don’t need to be so secretive.”
“Nathan.” But that was all I had to say.
“Come here.” He pulled me close and kissed my head. “I love you. And I’m not messing around on you. I swear it, baby. I swear it on my father’s life.”
“You hate your father.”
He laughed and his chest shook against my cheek. “Good point,” he said. “Okay then, I swear it on our love.”
If you swore on the very thing you were destroying, wouldn’t that cancel everything out?
- Writer
