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rohansonDoesn’t taken long to sort the Brat out. When I open the door, the TV is still on, and the remains of a well chewed pizza and box lie on the floor. Least she didn’t starve. She bounds towards me, paws scrabbling on my knee as I bend down to pick her up, and looks curiously over at you. I ruffle her fur a bit more, then plonk her in your arms.
"You wanna let her out while I grab a quick shower?" I pick up the pizza box and the overturned beer bottle and head off to dump them in the kitchen before heading to the shower.
Jay: "Um," I've barely opened my mouth to protest before you've dumped the wrigglin' bundle of fur into my arms, and you give me a smirk as you walk off with the pizza box. Fucker. Dog'll probably piss on me as soon as you leave the room.
"So, what's up, Isean?" I look down at the dog as I make my way to the back door, "mauled any cats today?" The puppy wriggles, and I have to do some quick handwork to keep her from fallin' from my arms. "Yeah, yeah, can't wait to get away from ya either, hold your fuckin' horses." I open the door, and am ready to toss her onto the porch like a cat, before she looks up at me with the biggest pair of liquid eyes I've seen, and licks at my chin. Probably can smell the scrambled eggs. Or my intent. She whimpers, and I can't help but sigh. A little. "Yeah, yeah, you're a cute one." I plop her onto the deck, and I can't resist givin' her a rub behind the ears before standin' back up. "Now scram, ya manipulative little bitch."
I wander back inside, and almost immediately wish I was back outside with the dog. I feel weird bein' here again, a bit like an intruder as I pace around by the back door. Don't think the man himself has ever invited me over, and I already know the layout better than any other house in Wellington aside from my Dad's. Combine that with the memories, and the vibe Dave's house gives off is less than welcomin' to me. So, I decide it's best just to hang out here in the doorway to wait for Paris, too nervous to even have a smoke by the open door.
Paris: Five minutes is all it takes to scrub the smell of jail cell off my skin, and I wrap a towel round my waist while I go in search of clothes. You’re standing in the doorway. It looks like you’re not sure whether you want to be in the house or not and I can hear Isean barking from the woods. “She’s fine on her own. And you can relax, Dave’s not back until Monday.” When you turn round, there’s something in your gaze that reminds me that I’m standing here almost naked, and my hand twitches in the direction of my neck, knowing that Dave’s handiwork is still slowly healing, and the damage is a lot worse than the bruising you originally put there. “I’ll be right down!” And I head off up the stairs.
Jay: My breath hitches to see you standin' there drippin' wet in nothin' but a towel, and this time I can't help the crush of hot memories that slam into me. They bring with it the old pain in my chest, the chasm callin' for it's missin' piece, and the sharpness of the stab catches me off guard. Yeah, the ghosts are way to fuckin' strong in this house. I can't wait to leave. I push back hard against the memories, against the pain, and it becomes easier as my eyes catch the movement of your hand.
Holy fuck! Your neck! There's no way what I did to Theo coulda lasted this long! No, those marks are fresher, more violent, and a sick feelin' knots in my stomach as you turn away.
Yeah, I definitely wanna be out of this house if Dave's that fuckin' territorial. Just like a fuckin' dog. Mark over where the previous stray mutt left his scent on your turf, claim what's fuckin' yours.
Well, I'm not after your fuckin' boyfriend, Dave. So you can kiss my ass. I'm still gonna kick back with Paris, whether you like it or not.
Paris: Pulling on a clean white t-shirt, Theo’s voice in my head makes me jump.
I know why you shut me out last night.
“Yeah? That’s great, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
Why are you angry with me?
I let out a sigh. “I’m not angry with you, Theo, I’m angry with Dave, and mad at myself, not you.” He was silent for a moment.
You are spending time with Jay?
“Yeah, we’re gonna grab a couple of beers.” Then something occurs. “You wanna shift in later, spend some time with him?” I hear him sigh.
No, I would not put him through the pain of separation again, but thank you for the offer, my friend.
“Theo, if it was only you who felt it, would you go through it to spend some time here?”
Yes, I would.
“Then don’t you think he deserves the chance to make his own mind up about whether the pain is worth it?” I close the link to let him think on that one for a while, and head off down the stairs. Doesn’t take too long to convince you to leave the Harley here while we walk back into town in search of a pool table.
* * * * *
The white slams into the waiting triangle, sending balls spinning over the table, and a blue ball with a white spot rolls lazily towards a corner pocket, just tipping over the edge with a clunk. You grin at me manically from the other side of the table, smoking cigarette hanging from the corner of your mouth. Guess that means I’m stripes. I flash you my best “just wait” look, and pick up my beer. The bottle’s cold and wet to the touch and cool liquid slips down nicely. I watch as you pot another, then miss the next. Time for a smug grin as I line up my first shot, and it slips down slow and easy, but over confidence helps me miss the red, and I step back from the table with a groan, watching as you take your time to line up the next shot, squinting down the cue at the purple.
Jay: Been a while since I've played game of pool. Wednesday nights after classes at the Diesel, a few of the boys and me had made a ritual of killin' some time at the tables down at Bucky's Bar in the Red Hook. Though I was never as flash as Skate or Mike, I managed to hold my own, score a few bucks here and there, and I'm glad for the practice now as the purple bounces off the bank and slides smoothly into the middle pocket.
But that's the last clean shot I've got on the table, and the yellow misses the pocket by a good few inches as it clacks off one of the stripes, which are dottin' the table like landmines.
"Better clean up after yourself there, Paris," I smirk as I step back, "your balls are gettin' in my way." I pull my dyin' smoke out from between my lips and snuff it in the ashtray on the table, tradin' it for my beer. I eat my words a second later as you sink not one, not two, but three in a row, grazin' the eight with your last shot just to show off.
"Fuckin' A, man! Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"
Paris: I grin at your smirk. It’s been a while, and it took those first couple of shots to warm back into the game, but now the stripes just start rolling into the pockets.
“That would be the Lucky Shot Pool Saloon back in Auckland.” Another ball disappears, and I walk around the table sizing up the next shot.
“Me and some of the guys from the courier service hung around there after work when I was 17. One of the regulars, Luke, took a shine to me.” Bending low over the table, cue stretched out, memories of Luke, long lean body pressed against mine as he showed me how to line up a shot come flooding back. My grin widens as the end of the cue hits the white hard, and sends it spinning off at an angle, knocking the last of the stripes down.
“He was twice my age, had been playing for years. He taught me how to play like a pro.” I look back over my shoulder at you, winking. “He taught me a lot of other things too. A little hustling was an easy way to make a few bucks when I was broke.” I laugh as you choke on your beer, realising what you thought I meant. “A little POOL hustling!”
There is no way the black is gonna go down this time, so I shoot the white into the place you’re gonna have the hardest time getting it out of, and it’s my turn to smirk. “Table’s all yours!” I down my beer, and order another couple for us, and you’re still pacing round the table looking for a shot.
Jay: Takes me a minute to recover from that "hustlin'" comment, and my throat is still raspy from inhalin' my beer as I measure up the table. Yeah, I stand by my previous statement about you bein' an odd one, but I gotta give ya your props for not bein' afraid to give the shaft to the Man here and there.
Though you've definitely given me the shaft here with that little dick-wad move of yours with the cue ball, and I realize it's gonna take some fancy work to get outta this corner I'm in. I know I don't have a prayer of winnin' this one, but at least I can scrape up a few more points before makin' a complete ass of myself.
I'm still lookin' at the table when you come back with the beer, still wearin' that lazy grin. You don't need to be cocky, you're that good. Ah well, what the hell . . .
I put the cue behind my back and lean back over the table to get just the right angle. I fuckin' hate doin' this, miss more often than not, but I'm desperate at this point. I ignore the look you're givin' me, and concentrate on the shot. Just a little tap. . .
The yellow rides the bank and finally sinks in with a satisfying clunk, and I grin in equal parts relief and pride as you hand me my beer with a look of bemused respect. I manage to sink one more in before I fuckin' scratch, and I want to bang my head against the table as you line up perfectly for the eight ball.
When it slides into the left corner pocket with barely a whisper, all I can do is shake my head with a little grin and give a low whistle. We've been playin' all of five minutes, and you've already kicked my ass.
"You play nine-ball?" I ask as I rack the balls for the next game. You nod, and I step away to let you break as I light another smoke.
Paris: I’m impressed with the shot as you down the yellow. Tough one, and you pulled it off, but we both know how this game is gonna end, and I try not to look too smug at your appreciation as the black slips into the pocket. I knock back another mouthful of beer while you set up the next game.
I break, and get the first two down, but miss the third by a mile. I’m beginning to feel quite hazy. It’s a long time since I’ve had more than a beer or two, and if I drink much more, I’m gonna start really losing my edge here, and I wanna keep my winning streak going. Feels good though, letting the alcohol soak into me, taking me to a warmer place than I have been these last few days. You’re bending over the table, lining up your shot, and I’m watching you, looking at the curve of your ass, wanting to run my hands under your shirt until I can find the tattoo on your shoulder …
I come to with a start, almost dropping my beer, just stopping myself from saying the words out loud. “Theo! Fuck! Off! I can’t play this game if you keep doing that!” Shit! This shifting thing should come with an off switch. You look round at me as if I was deliberately trying to put you off your shot, so I just shrug in apology.
You miss anyway, so I head towards the table. There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you, and I’ll probably come off sounding like a country hick, but I’m curious. “So what’s New York like? I mean, how does it compare to Wellie? Always wanted to visit, just guess the time was never right.” You look like you’re having to think about what to say, so I sink the third and line up the forth.
Jay: I've got the three in my sights when my attention is pulled from the table by your sudden jerk. There's a slight tinge to your cheeks that could just be the beer, but there a sort of odd guilt in your gaze that makes me wonder if you were checking me out. But, no, there's more than a little annoyance, and my chest twitches again just thinkin' of what that might have been. No, not what. Who.
But Theo's not here, and I'm fuckin' losin', so I turn back to the game and try to push everythin' from my mind. But that rattled me hard, just thinkin' that he could be so close, could be watchin' me now, but I can't say anythin' to him, can't look at him, can't touch him. . .
The cue ball misses by a mile, and I sigh and relinquish the table to you. I don't even realize how tight my jaw is clenched until I pull my smoke out of my mouth and find I've almost bitten through the filter.
You ask me about New York, and I'm glad to have somethin' else to think about, and the wistful curiosity in your voice makes me smile. "Shit man, where to start. Well first things first, it's fuckin' hugeYou could live your whole life in the city and never explore it all. Been there twenty years, and I fuckin' see somethin' new every day."
I lean against the table, shakin' my head as you sink the five. "What, you playin' by yourself now, Paris?" I take a sip of my beer, lettin' the rich flavor roll across my tongue before continuin'. "Place is so big it's broken itself up into dozens of 'hoods just to sort itself out! But's all connected, still part of the same thrummin' web , held together with bridges cables and subway tunnels. Each place is different, it’s own little world. And it's got everythin' Paris. You name it, it's somewhere in New York. Artists and activists and business men and crooks. Filthy rich and dirt poor side by side. All of 'em just tryin' to get by, tryin' to make a fuckin' life in place that'll make or break ya. People from all over the fuckin' world, speakin' a hundred languages, doin' their thing, always movin', always flowin.' You can just lose yourself, become another blur in the crowd, nothin' more but another drop of blood pumpin' through New York's veins. You don't matter. You could die in the gutter and no-one would give a good god damn. But that means you can be whatever the fuck you wanna be and no-one gives a good god damn. You can let yourself be free there. Utterly fuckin' free."
I realize you're just standin' there, starin' at me, and the smoke in my fingers has burned itself completely into a neat column of ash. What the fuck? Now I'm William S. Burroughs? I trash my smoke, and you nod at the table. I hide my smile as I look at the table, and calmly do my little behind-the-back trick again to knock the seven into the nine, which slips into the corner pocket with a gentle swish. My game. "Oh yeah. Killer delis. Gimme good lox on a bagel over a steak any day of the fuckin' week."
Paris: Your love of the city comes over loud and clear, and as you talk, your face relaxes, and a slow, easy smile lingers on your face. I sink the six, still listening, and realise you’re not really here anymore, more lost in memories of a place you miss with all your heart. My shot at the seven goes wildly off course, but I’m happy to stand and take in the images you weave of a city I’ve always wanted to see, rather than remind you of the game. Then you’re done, and back in a pool hall in Wellie, and I smile and nod towards the table.
“Utterly fuckin’ free.” I can relate to that, and it pulls at my own heart, part of me longing to be on my way, off to the next place on the road, no ties, no commitments, just me and Leelu flying free and easy, the way it used to be. No shifting, no Dave, no Theo …
I shake my head as you slip the cue behind your back for that showy move you like so much, and the nine heads down into the pocket. You go off in search of beer, and I lean over the table, rolling the cue ball towards the cushion, and catching it as it heads back towards me.
Is there really anything to keep me here? Looking over to the bar, I watch as you flirt with the barmaid as she gets our beers. If you are heading back to the states in a few weeks, then there’s no reason for me to hang around for Theo’s sake, and my gut reaction tells me there’s gonna be no going back to the way it was before with Dave. The house in the woods, the first place I’ve called home in such a long time turned out not to be my home.
“Hey, Paris!”
I’m pulled from wallowing in self-pity by a beer being thrust into my hand, and I knock half of it back in one go. “So, you wanna play a decider, or you just gonna concede that I’ll beat you anyway?” The look on your face brings a grin to mine.
Jay: You ask if I want another game, and by the way you're slammin' your beer down I'm startin' to think I may have a shot at beatin' you at Eight Ball. But there's somethin' in your eyes that ain't sittin' right, a kinda haunted look that makes me realize you're drinkin' hard for a reason.
"Tell ya what," I say slowly, "let's take a break and let these fellas use the table," I point to a group of four guys millin' about, searchin' for an open table, "and if you feel like gettin' your ass beat later we can jump back in. I ain't concedin' nothin' to you yet!"
You nod and give me one of those "just you wait" looks again, and we find a couple of empty stools against the wall. The beer's makin' me a bit fuzzy, but it seems to be hittin' you harder than me. It surprises me a bit, seein' as how Theo was able to pack away the whiskey like there was no tomorrow, and he was usin' your body to filter that.
Your body. I cringe a little, thinkin' again about the marks on your neck, and about the trouble they musta caused between you and Dave. I didn't even know they would show up like that, I was really just caught up in that weird, ecstatic moment, when Theo and I completely merged into one bein' there, sharin' every thought, feelin', and memory in a five-minute eternity.
My stomach lurches as I think of somethin'. If Theo can see through your eyes . . .
"I got a question for you, man." I start pickin' at the label of my beer so I don't have to look at you, unsure if you're willin' to talk about this, "So, do you and Theo share the same thoughts? I mean, is it like you can read each other's minds, seein' as you share the same head when he's here? And I'm fuckin' curious to know," I rip the label off completely, "what you know about me from him."
Paris: “We don’t share the same thoughts. If I wanted, I could push into his, he could push into mine, end up with one hell of a headache, but he only gets the thoughts meant for him and vice versa. He kept me closed out the whole time he was here, so I don’t anything about you that you haven’t told me yourself. I know how he feels about you, but that’s different.”
I think I should try and explain how this works, even though I’m still learning myself. “If the link is open, like it has been lately, things mingle a bit. He’s got nothing to do, he’s sitting around Edoras with instructions from Wyn and Gandalf not to move an inch, and it’s driving him nuts. So I’ve been talking to him. We’ve had a lot of things to talk about.” I see your sharp glance, but shake my head. “He didn’t know how much his nightmares affected me, and after the other night,” when I shot awake crying out your name in Dave’s bed, “I can’t be certain that they’re gone for good, and I’m gonna need his help if they start up again.”
“He’s got a lot to say to you, but he won’t do it through me, understandably, and the only reason he won’t shift in is that he knows the pain you both go through when he leaves, and doesn’t want you to go through that again. Doesn’t care about himself ……” I wince as a sharp pain lances through my head. “Thanks!” Now you’re gonna think I’m a lunatic. I slam the link closed, making sure he can’t open it without me knowing.
“Okay, I’ve shut him out. You wanna talk, he can’t hear you.” I shoot you a look. “He told me about his Dad and your Dad, he told me you two had become close, but I didn’t need him to tell me that. I can pick up feelings from people, empathic, and that morning on the beach, the feelings were almost overwhelming, that and the bruising.” And I can’t tell you how Dave really feels about all this. “When I shifted back in, I fell through this bright light, it was the most …. It was amazing, and I have an idea of what it might be, but nothing certain.” Now you are gonna think I’m a lunatic.
Jay: Relief washes through me as you tell me you don't know what Theo knows; but hell, really Jaybird, would Paris still be sittin' here with you drinkin' a beer if he knew half the shit about you Theo does? But it's still good to know.
So when you offer to let me talk honestly about this thing with Theo, I start to consider it seriously. I haven't told anyone about it. Not a fuckin' word. Mostly 'cause I don't know how to explain it. I'd sound like a fuckin' madman. But really, mostly, I'm scared of it. I dunno what happened, or what it means. All I know is that it's there and I have to learn to live with it.
When you mention the bruisin', I cringe again. Yeah, if there's anyone who should know about this, it should be you. I can't pretend that what Theo and I have doesn't affect you. It's pretty fuckin' obvious it's put some tension between you and your weird-ass boyfriend, and I feel like I've already fucked up enough stuff since I arrived to have somethin' like that on my shoulders. Ah, what the hell. You look drunk enough to listen, and I'm tipsy enough to kiss and tell.
"Theo is a part of me," I start quietly, lookin' into your eyes, "it's like he's half my soul. Somethin' happened when we were together, I don't know what. I doubt he does either. But one minute we were just gettin' shit done, tryin' to fix the mess our Dads were in, and the next thing we know, we’re. . ." What? In love? Brothers? "Bonded. And when he shifted, it felt like took that half my soul with him. More than that. I could feel it through my whole fuckin' body, and even breathin' hurt so bad I wanted to die. Took me a whole day to even feel normal again." Yeah, a whole day and a lot of fucked up decisions. "I thought he was dead. And when I got your call. . .I felt like my life had fuckin' meanin' again. But it's weird. He's alive, I know it, but I can't feel him in me like I did when he was here. I used to know his every thought, every emotion. And now, nothin'."
Paris: “I think that’s what I fell through, the bond between you, and he felt the same as you. I honestly thought he was gone, knowing what his body had gone through, and then all that pain … After seeing what you went through that morning, I really didn’t hold out much hope for him.” And I’ve been thinking a lot about this bond thing recently. “I think maybe the bond breaks when he crosses back into Middle Earth, he takes part of you with him, part of him stays here, could be the cause of the pain, and why you can’t feel him when he’s not here, because the bond is incomplete.”
It’s obvious you miss him, and he misses you, so …
“Look, he’s bored out of his skull, and frankly, he’s driving me nuts! He was checking you out before. One minute, I’m enjoying my beer, the next …? Like I said, nuts.”
“If you want to see him, I’ll shift out when we get back to Dave's. He’s not back until Monday, so make yourselves at home, with my blessing. The beer in the fridge is mine, and the cheaper bottles of whiskey in the cabinet.” I shrug at your look. “He’s my shift. I want him to feel at home in my … home.” Well it still is for now. “In fact, knock yourselves out! Forget the couch, take the bed, it’s a lot more comfortable.” Gazing down at the beer in my hand, I run my finger down the neck, wiping away the condensation. “I could use a little oblivion this weekend, and slipping into nothing for a few days would fit the bill, you know?” I know I’ve got a sad smile on my face when I look up at you. I can’t help it.
Jay: I take a sip of my beer, lookin' away from your sad smile, lookin' away from your offer to let me see Theo again. I feel. . .guilty. Like I don't fuckin' deserve this. You're tryin' to be nice, I can see that, but I feel like there's more I need to say, more I need to get off my chest. Talk this crushin' guilt away.
"Look, I've gotta say somethin'. Just tell me to shut up at any time. But I need you to know. . .ah fuck." Just spit it out, Jay. I take a shaky breath before continuin'. "Things were crazy in those two days. I had no idea what was happenin'. Between dealin' with my Dad in the hospital, then findin' out it was the King, and then comin' to you for help, and findin' out you weren't you, things got confused. I dunno how this shiftin' thing works, I didn't even think about it bein' your body Theo was borrowin' until things were past too late." Another deep breath, sip of beer, not lookin' at your face. "And I'm sorry, Paris, that you got caught in this. You gave us what we needed, and we didn't even think of you and your life and how what we did would affect that. Really, man. I’m sorry."
I feel like such as asshole. Seal the deal, man. "I won't ask you for that again. I know you're offerin', but I obviously can't promise to return the car without any dents, if you know what I mean. Naw, man. I'd go through a whole year of that pain just to see Theo again for one hour. But only if I knew we weren't hurtin' anyone in the process. I don't want us to come between you and Dave. I don't wanna cause more trouble than I already have." Or more bruises.
I look back at you again, and I can't read the look in your eyes. Yeah, you're probably all weirded out by me now, or think I'm some pansy. But one way or another, I had to say that. I finish the rest of my warm beer, and wonder if I should get another, or if it's finally time to go and leave you in peace.
Paris: “Look, I’m fine with this. You don’t have to apologise. He talked to me on the beach the night before he shifted back. I didn’t even know he was with you then, but there was this peace, almost serenity about him that I’ve never felt before. And I know what his life’s been like, seen the horror, and the atrocity he’s lived through, I’ve felt his pain, and if I can give him some respite from that, I will. And I felt a little of what’s between you, it’s like I’m a conduit for it. Like it or not, the three of us are in this together, and we have to find a way to make it work.”
And there’s some thing you need to know, before you see him again. “You asked what I know about you from Theo. Well, there is one thing, but he didn’t tell me, I saw it. The first night I was back, I slipped into his nightmare, he literally pulled me in, pulled me down. He was dying, and I couldn’t pull him back. There was a blinding flash, and he tore himself back from the edge, and I saw what he saw.”
My voice lowers, so you have to move closer to hear me, and I have no idea what your reaction is gonna be. “You were looking into a broken mirror, blood on your face, and the guy behind you, the guy fucking you, cut you.” I glance at you, and your face is pale. “That’s what brought him back.”
Jay: Oh sweet fuckin' . . .
No. You didn't see that.
You couldn't have seen that. Of everythin' from that night for you to see. . .
Fuck.
And Theo. . .oh, fuck me. I didn't want him to know that. I didn't want him to see what I did. . .and it saved him? I, I don't understand. How could he see me? How did my gettin' fucked raw and cut by a john bring Theo back from the brink of death?
I can't even look at you, and I wish I had more beer to keep my hands busy, so all I can do is squeeze my hands together, the knuckles turnin' white. I'm not ashamed, not really, just. . .I don't know. I don't fuckin' know.
"I gotta give ya some mad respect for bein' honest with me, Paris, but damn if the truth don't hurt."
Paris: And after that revelation, I need something stronger. On the way to the bar, I squeeze your shoulder. “I don’t know what was going on, that’s your business, you just needed to know that’s what stopped him from dying.” Only takes a minute to get served, and I’m back with a couple of double whiskies. I hand you one, and down some of my own.
“And you can’t come between me and Dave, because as of last night, there is no me and Dave.” And before I know what I’m saying, it flows out. “Dave is spending the weekend fucking one of his rich actor friends at one of those fancy resorts up the coast, while his bit of rough stays home and looks after the dog. Right about now, he’s probably opening another bottle of champagne, or in a jacuzzi, or both.” I down the last of my beer, and slam the bottle down on the shelf. Talking about it has brought me straight out of heartbroken into mad as hell and totally pissed off, and that feels good. “After all the possessive fucking crap he spouted when I got back, all the things he said about you and Theo? He looked me right in the eyes and lied, and if he was standing here right now, I’d deck him!”
“Look, I’m handing you the keys and I’m not asking for any guarantees! I’m not made of glass, and bruises, they heal!” And now I know it’s not the pain that concerns either of you, one way or another, I’m shifting out tonight.
Jay: "Dave is what?!" I can't help the words as they tumble out, my tongue loosened by shock and booze. All traces of my own guilt and misery disappear, washed away by stone-cold disbelief. Wait, and sayin' shit about Theo and me? Lyin' to Paris? Who the fuck does this guy think he is?
I've never been one for monogamous relationships. There's a fuckin' reason. I know I can't keep my dick in my pants. Hell, most men in the world can't either. So I don't even pretend I can. The way I see it, if you're gonna be a slut, then be a fuckin' slut, and let everyone know it right up front. Lyin' about it is low. Very, very, fuckin' low. And after the day I've spent with you, and seein' how you handled this little revelation of me and the john, I know you’re a good kid. You don't deserve to be lied to. Not by a rich asshole like Dave.
My jaw is clenched as I watch you slam the rest of your beer. "That's not right, man," I say quietly, keepin' my voice even though for all the world I feel like yellin', "not right at all." You don't need more anger, you need to feel your own, and from the way you’re talkin' it sounds like this is the first time you've really gotten mad about it. I don't try to calm you down or anythin', I just let you rant.
I understand now why you want to shift, why you need to get away from this world, why you're willin' to give me and Theo the time we've been cravin' since we were ripped apart. I wish I could offer you more in return, but fuck, we just barely met. I bailed you outta jail, and I helped ya get your mind off this bullshit for a few hours. That's about all I can do.
"I know you're not made of glass, Paris," I give you look that I hope is encouraging, and clap you on the arm briefly, "'cause I sure as fuck can't see through you, man."
My heart is poundin' as we leave the pool hall, realizin' that each step back toward Dave's brings me closer to seein' Theo again. It's a weird combination of excitement and dread, and I'm terrified to know what Theo's gonna say about the vision he had. But hopefully, it'll all be worth it. Hopefully.
"You wanna let her out while I grab a quick shower?" I pick up the pizza box and the overturned beer bottle and head off to dump them in the kitchen before heading to the shower.
Jay: "Um," I've barely opened my mouth to protest before you've dumped the wrigglin' bundle of fur into my arms, and you give me a smirk as you walk off with the pizza box. Fucker. Dog'll probably piss on me as soon as you leave the room.
"So, what's up, Isean?" I look down at the dog as I make my way to the back door, "mauled any cats today?" The puppy wriggles, and I have to do some quick handwork to keep her from fallin' from my arms. "Yeah, yeah, can't wait to get away from ya either, hold your fuckin' horses." I open the door, and am ready to toss her onto the porch like a cat, before she looks up at me with the biggest pair of liquid eyes I've seen, and licks at my chin. Probably can smell the scrambled eggs. Or my intent. She whimpers, and I can't help but sigh. A little. "Yeah, yeah, you're a cute one." I plop her onto the deck, and I can't resist givin' her a rub behind the ears before standin' back up. "Now scram, ya manipulative little bitch."
I wander back inside, and almost immediately wish I was back outside with the dog. I feel weird bein' here again, a bit like an intruder as I pace around by the back door. Don't think the man himself has ever invited me over, and I already know the layout better than any other house in Wellington aside from my Dad's. Combine that with the memories, and the vibe Dave's house gives off is less than welcomin' to me. So, I decide it's best just to hang out here in the doorway to wait for Paris, too nervous to even have a smoke by the open door.
Paris: Five minutes is all it takes to scrub the smell of jail cell off my skin, and I wrap a towel round my waist while I go in search of clothes. You’re standing in the doorway. It looks like you’re not sure whether you want to be in the house or not and I can hear Isean barking from the woods. “She’s fine on her own. And you can relax, Dave’s not back until Monday.” When you turn round, there’s something in your gaze that reminds me that I’m standing here almost naked, and my hand twitches in the direction of my neck, knowing that Dave’s handiwork is still slowly healing, and the damage is a lot worse than the bruising you originally put there. “I’ll be right down!” And I head off up the stairs.
Jay: My breath hitches to see you standin' there drippin' wet in nothin' but a towel, and this time I can't help the crush of hot memories that slam into me. They bring with it the old pain in my chest, the chasm callin' for it's missin' piece, and the sharpness of the stab catches me off guard. Yeah, the ghosts are way to fuckin' strong in this house. I can't wait to leave. I push back hard against the memories, against the pain, and it becomes easier as my eyes catch the movement of your hand.
Holy fuck! Your neck! There's no way what I did to Theo coulda lasted this long! No, those marks are fresher, more violent, and a sick feelin' knots in my stomach as you turn away.
Yeah, I definitely wanna be out of this house if Dave's that fuckin' territorial. Just like a fuckin' dog. Mark over where the previous stray mutt left his scent on your turf, claim what's fuckin' yours.
Well, I'm not after your fuckin' boyfriend, Dave. So you can kiss my ass. I'm still gonna kick back with Paris, whether you like it or not.
Paris: Pulling on a clean white t-shirt, Theo’s voice in my head makes me jump.
I know why you shut me out last night.
“Yeah? That’s great, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
Why are you angry with me?
I let out a sigh. “I’m not angry with you, Theo, I’m angry with Dave, and mad at myself, not you.” He was silent for a moment.
You are spending time with Jay?
“Yeah, we’re gonna grab a couple of beers.” Then something occurs. “You wanna shift in later, spend some time with him?” I hear him sigh.
No, I would not put him through the pain of separation again, but thank you for the offer, my friend.
“Theo, if it was only you who felt it, would you go through it to spend some time here?”
Yes, I would.
“Then don’t you think he deserves the chance to make his own mind up about whether the pain is worth it?” I close the link to let him think on that one for a while, and head off down the stairs. Doesn’t take too long to convince you to leave the Harley here while we walk back into town in search of a pool table.
* * * * *
The white slams into the waiting triangle, sending balls spinning over the table, and a blue ball with a white spot rolls lazily towards a corner pocket, just tipping over the edge with a clunk. You grin at me manically from the other side of the table, smoking cigarette hanging from the corner of your mouth. Guess that means I’m stripes. I flash you my best “just wait” look, and pick up my beer. The bottle’s cold and wet to the touch and cool liquid slips down nicely. I watch as you pot another, then miss the next. Time for a smug grin as I line up my first shot, and it slips down slow and easy, but over confidence helps me miss the red, and I step back from the table with a groan, watching as you take your time to line up the next shot, squinting down the cue at the purple.
Jay: Been a while since I've played game of pool. Wednesday nights after classes at the Diesel, a few of the boys and me had made a ritual of killin' some time at the tables down at Bucky's Bar in the Red Hook. Though I was never as flash as Skate or Mike, I managed to hold my own, score a few bucks here and there, and I'm glad for the practice now as the purple bounces off the bank and slides smoothly into the middle pocket.
But that's the last clean shot I've got on the table, and the yellow misses the pocket by a good few inches as it clacks off one of the stripes, which are dottin' the table like landmines.
"Better clean up after yourself there, Paris," I smirk as I step back, "your balls are gettin' in my way." I pull my dyin' smoke out from between my lips and snuff it in the ashtray on the table, tradin' it for my beer. I eat my words a second later as you sink not one, not two, but three in a row, grazin' the eight with your last shot just to show off.
"Fuckin' A, man! Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"
Paris: I grin at your smirk. It’s been a while, and it took those first couple of shots to warm back into the game, but now the stripes just start rolling into the pockets.
“That would be the Lucky Shot Pool Saloon back in Auckland.” Another ball disappears, and I walk around the table sizing up the next shot.
“Me and some of the guys from the courier service hung around there after work when I was 17. One of the regulars, Luke, took a shine to me.” Bending low over the table, cue stretched out, memories of Luke, long lean body pressed against mine as he showed me how to line up a shot come flooding back. My grin widens as the end of the cue hits the white hard, and sends it spinning off at an angle, knocking the last of the stripes down.
“He was twice my age, had been playing for years. He taught me how to play like a pro.” I look back over my shoulder at you, winking. “He taught me a lot of other things too. A little hustling was an easy way to make a few bucks when I was broke.” I laugh as you choke on your beer, realising what you thought I meant. “A little POOL hustling!”
There is no way the black is gonna go down this time, so I shoot the white into the place you’re gonna have the hardest time getting it out of, and it’s my turn to smirk. “Table’s all yours!” I down my beer, and order another couple for us, and you’re still pacing round the table looking for a shot.
Jay: Takes me a minute to recover from that "hustlin'" comment, and my throat is still raspy from inhalin' my beer as I measure up the table. Yeah, I stand by my previous statement about you bein' an odd one, but I gotta give ya your props for not bein' afraid to give the shaft to the Man here and there.
Though you've definitely given me the shaft here with that little dick-wad move of yours with the cue ball, and I realize it's gonna take some fancy work to get outta this corner I'm in. I know I don't have a prayer of winnin' this one, but at least I can scrape up a few more points before makin' a complete ass of myself.
I'm still lookin' at the table when you come back with the beer, still wearin' that lazy grin. You don't need to be cocky, you're that good. Ah well, what the hell . . .
I put the cue behind my back and lean back over the table to get just the right angle. I fuckin' hate doin' this, miss more often than not, but I'm desperate at this point. I ignore the look you're givin' me, and concentrate on the shot. Just a little tap. . .
The yellow rides the bank and finally sinks in with a satisfying clunk, and I grin in equal parts relief and pride as you hand me my beer with a look of bemused respect. I manage to sink one more in before I fuckin' scratch, and I want to bang my head against the table as you line up perfectly for the eight ball.
When it slides into the left corner pocket with barely a whisper, all I can do is shake my head with a little grin and give a low whistle. We've been playin' all of five minutes, and you've already kicked my ass.
"You play nine-ball?" I ask as I rack the balls for the next game. You nod, and I step away to let you break as I light another smoke.
Paris: I’m impressed with the shot as you down the yellow. Tough one, and you pulled it off, but we both know how this game is gonna end, and I try not to look too smug at your appreciation as the black slips into the pocket. I knock back another mouthful of beer while you set up the next game.
I break, and get the first two down, but miss the third by a mile. I’m beginning to feel quite hazy. It’s a long time since I’ve had more than a beer or two, and if I drink much more, I’m gonna start really losing my edge here, and I wanna keep my winning streak going. Feels good though, letting the alcohol soak into me, taking me to a warmer place than I have been these last few days. You’re bending over the table, lining up your shot, and I’m watching you, looking at the curve of your ass, wanting to run my hands under your shirt until I can find the tattoo on your shoulder …
I come to with a start, almost dropping my beer, just stopping myself from saying the words out loud. “Theo! Fuck! Off! I can’t play this game if you keep doing that!” Shit! This shifting thing should come with an off switch. You look round at me as if I was deliberately trying to put you off your shot, so I just shrug in apology.
You miss anyway, so I head towards the table. There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you, and I’ll probably come off sounding like a country hick, but I’m curious. “So what’s New York like? I mean, how does it compare to Wellie? Always wanted to visit, just guess the time was never right.” You look like you’re having to think about what to say, so I sink the third and line up the forth.
Jay: I've got the three in my sights when my attention is pulled from the table by your sudden jerk. There's a slight tinge to your cheeks that could just be the beer, but there a sort of odd guilt in your gaze that makes me wonder if you were checking me out. But, no, there's more than a little annoyance, and my chest twitches again just thinkin' of what that might have been. No, not what. Who.
But Theo's not here, and I'm fuckin' losin', so I turn back to the game and try to push everythin' from my mind. But that rattled me hard, just thinkin' that he could be so close, could be watchin' me now, but I can't say anythin' to him, can't look at him, can't touch him. . .
The cue ball misses by a mile, and I sigh and relinquish the table to you. I don't even realize how tight my jaw is clenched until I pull my smoke out of my mouth and find I've almost bitten through the filter.
You ask me about New York, and I'm glad to have somethin' else to think about, and the wistful curiosity in your voice makes me smile. "Shit man, where to start. Well first things first, it's fuckin' hugeYou could live your whole life in the city and never explore it all. Been there twenty years, and I fuckin' see somethin' new every day."
I lean against the table, shakin' my head as you sink the five. "What, you playin' by yourself now, Paris?" I take a sip of my beer, lettin' the rich flavor roll across my tongue before continuin'. "Place is so big it's broken itself up into dozens of 'hoods just to sort itself out! But's all connected, still part of the same thrummin' web , held together with bridges cables and subway tunnels. Each place is different, it’s own little world. And it's got everythin' Paris. You name it, it's somewhere in New York. Artists and activists and business men and crooks. Filthy rich and dirt poor side by side. All of 'em just tryin' to get by, tryin' to make a fuckin' life in place that'll make or break ya. People from all over the fuckin' world, speakin' a hundred languages, doin' their thing, always movin', always flowin.' You can just lose yourself, become another blur in the crowd, nothin' more but another drop of blood pumpin' through New York's veins. You don't matter. You could die in the gutter and no-one would give a good god damn. But that means you can be whatever the fuck you wanna be and no-one gives a good god damn. You can let yourself be free there. Utterly fuckin' free."
I realize you're just standin' there, starin' at me, and the smoke in my fingers has burned itself completely into a neat column of ash. What the fuck? Now I'm William S. Burroughs? I trash my smoke, and you nod at the table. I hide my smile as I look at the table, and calmly do my little behind-the-back trick again to knock the seven into the nine, which slips into the corner pocket with a gentle swish. My game. "Oh yeah. Killer delis. Gimme good lox on a bagel over a steak any day of the fuckin' week."
Paris: Your love of the city comes over loud and clear, and as you talk, your face relaxes, and a slow, easy smile lingers on your face. I sink the six, still listening, and realise you’re not really here anymore, more lost in memories of a place you miss with all your heart. My shot at the seven goes wildly off course, but I’m happy to stand and take in the images you weave of a city I’ve always wanted to see, rather than remind you of the game. Then you’re done, and back in a pool hall in Wellie, and I smile and nod towards the table.
“Utterly fuckin’ free.” I can relate to that, and it pulls at my own heart, part of me longing to be on my way, off to the next place on the road, no ties, no commitments, just me and Leelu flying free and easy, the way it used to be. No shifting, no Dave, no Theo …
I shake my head as you slip the cue behind your back for that showy move you like so much, and the nine heads down into the pocket. You go off in search of beer, and I lean over the table, rolling the cue ball towards the cushion, and catching it as it heads back towards me.
Is there really anything to keep me here? Looking over to the bar, I watch as you flirt with the barmaid as she gets our beers. If you are heading back to the states in a few weeks, then there’s no reason for me to hang around for Theo’s sake, and my gut reaction tells me there’s gonna be no going back to the way it was before with Dave. The house in the woods, the first place I’ve called home in such a long time turned out not to be my home.
“Hey, Paris!”
I’m pulled from wallowing in self-pity by a beer being thrust into my hand, and I knock half of it back in one go. “So, you wanna play a decider, or you just gonna concede that I’ll beat you anyway?” The look on your face brings a grin to mine.
Jay: You ask if I want another game, and by the way you're slammin' your beer down I'm startin' to think I may have a shot at beatin' you at Eight Ball. But there's somethin' in your eyes that ain't sittin' right, a kinda haunted look that makes me realize you're drinkin' hard for a reason.
"Tell ya what," I say slowly, "let's take a break and let these fellas use the table," I point to a group of four guys millin' about, searchin' for an open table, "and if you feel like gettin' your ass beat later we can jump back in. I ain't concedin' nothin' to you yet!"
You nod and give me one of those "just you wait" looks again, and we find a couple of empty stools against the wall. The beer's makin' me a bit fuzzy, but it seems to be hittin' you harder than me. It surprises me a bit, seein' as how Theo was able to pack away the whiskey like there was no tomorrow, and he was usin' your body to filter that.
Your body. I cringe a little, thinkin' again about the marks on your neck, and about the trouble they musta caused between you and Dave. I didn't even know they would show up like that, I was really just caught up in that weird, ecstatic moment, when Theo and I completely merged into one bein' there, sharin' every thought, feelin', and memory in a five-minute eternity.
My stomach lurches as I think of somethin'. If Theo can see through your eyes . . .
"I got a question for you, man." I start pickin' at the label of my beer so I don't have to look at you, unsure if you're willin' to talk about this, "So, do you and Theo share the same thoughts? I mean, is it like you can read each other's minds, seein' as you share the same head when he's here? And I'm fuckin' curious to know," I rip the label off completely, "what you know about me from him."
Paris: “We don’t share the same thoughts. If I wanted, I could push into his, he could push into mine, end up with one hell of a headache, but he only gets the thoughts meant for him and vice versa. He kept me closed out the whole time he was here, so I don’t anything about you that you haven’t told me yourself. I know how he feels about you, but that’s different.”
I think I should try and explain how this works, even though I’m still learning myself. “If the link is open, like it has been lately, things mingle a bit. He’s got nothing to do, he’s sitting around Edoras with instructions from Wyn and Gandalf not to move an inch, and it’s driving him nuts. So I’ve been talking to him. We’ve had a lot of things to talk about.” I see your sharp glance, but shake my head. “He didn’t know how much his nightmares affected me, and after the other night,” when I shot awake crying out your name in Dave’s bed, “I can’t be certain that they’re gone for good, and I’m gonna need his help if they start up again.”
“He’s got a lot to say to you, but he won’t do it through me, understandably, and the only reason he won’t shift in is that he knows the pain you both go through when he leaves, and doesn’t want you to go through that again. Doesn’t care about himself ……” I wince as a sharp pain lances through my head. “Thanks!” Now you’re gonna think I’m a lunatic. I slam the link closed, making sure he can’t open it without me knowing.
“Okay, I’ve shut him out. You wanna talk, he can’t hear you.” I shoot you a look. “He told me about his Dad and your Dad, he told me you two had become close, but I didn’t need him to tell me that. I can pick up feelings from people, empathic, and that morning on the beach, the feelings were almost overwhelming, that and the bruising.” And I can’t tell you how Dave really feels about all this. “When I shifted back in, I fell through this bright light, it was the most …. It was amazing, and I have an idea of what it might be, but nothing certain.” Now you are gonna think I’m a lunatic.
Jay: Relief washes through me as you tell me you don't know what Theo knows; but hell, really Jaybird, would Paris still be sittin' here with you drinkin' a beer if he knew half the shit about you Theo does? But it's still good to know.
So when you offer to let me talk honestly about this thing with Theo, I start to consider it seriously. I haven't told anyone about it. Not a fuckin' word. Mostly 'cause I don't know how to explain it. I'd sound like a fuckin' madman. But really, mostly, I'm scared of it. I dunno what happened, or what it means. All I know is that it's there and I have to learn to live with it.
When you mention the bruisin', I cringe again. Yeah, if there's anyone who should know about this, it should be you. I can't pretend that what Theo and I have doesn't affect you. It's pretty fuckin' obvious it's put some tension between you and your weird-ass boyfriend, and I feel like I've already fucked up enough stuff since I arrived to have somethin' like that on my shoulders. Ah, what the hell. You look drunk enough to listen, and I'm tipsy enough to kiss and tell.
"Theo is a part of me," I start quietly, lookin' into your eyes, "it's like he's half my soul. Somethin' happened when we were together, I don't know what. I doubt he does either. But one minute we were just gettin' shit done, tryin' to fix the mess our Dads were in, and the next thing we know, we’re. . ." What? In love? Brothers? "Bonded. And when he shifted, it felt like took that half my soul with him. More than that. I could feel it through my whole fuckin' body, and even breathin' hurt so bad I wanted to die. Took me a whole day to even feel normal again." Yeah, a whole day and a lot of fucked up decisions. "I thought he was dead. And when I got your call. . .I felt like my life had fuckin' meanin' again. But it's weird. He's alive, I know it, but I can't feel him in me like I did when he was here. I used to know his every thought, every emotion. And now, nothin'."
Paris: “I think that’s what I fell through, the bond between you, and he felt the same as you. I honestly thought he was gone, knowing what his body had gone through, and then all that pain … After seeing what you went through that morning, I really didn’t hold out much hope for him.” And I’ve been thinking a lot about this bond thing recently. “I think maybe the bond breaks when he crosses back into Middle Earth, he takes part of you with him, part of him stays here, could be the cause of the pain, and why you can’t feel him when he’s not here, because the bond is incomplete.”
It’s obvious you miss him, and he misses you, so …
“Look, he’s bored out of his skull, and frankly, he’s driving me nuts! He was checking you out before. One minute, I’m enjoying my beer, the next …? Like I said, nuts.”
“If you want to see him, I’ll shift out when we get back to Dave's. He’s not back until Monday, so make yourselves at home, with my blessing. The beer in the fridge is mine, and the cheaper bottles of whiskey in the cabinet.” I shrug at your look. “He’s my shift. I want him to feel at home in my … home.” Well it still is for now. “In fact, knock yourselves out! Forget the couch, take the bed, it’s a lot more comfortable.” Gazing down at the beer in my hand, I run my finger down the neck, wiping away the condensation. “I could use a little oblivion this weekend, and slipping into nothing for a few days would fit the bill, you know?” I know I’ve got a sad smile on my face when I look up at you. I can’t help it.
Jay: I take a sip of my beer, lookin' away from your sad smile, lookin' away from your offer to let me see Theo again. I feel. . .guilty. Like I don't fuckin' deserve this. You're tryin' to be nice, I can see that, but I feel like there's more I need to say, more I need to get off my chest. Talk this crushin' guilt away.
"Look, I've gotta say somethin'. Just tell me to shut up at any time. But I need you to know. . .ah fuck." Just spit it out, Jay. I take a shaky breath before continuin'. "Things were crazy in those two days. I had no idea what was happenin'. Between dealin' with my Dad in the hospital, then findin' out it was the King, and then comin' to you for help, and findin' out you weren't you, things got confused. I dunno how this shiftin' thing works, I didn't even think about it bein' your body Theo was borrowin' until things were past too late." Another deep breath, sip of beer, not lookin' at your face. "And I'm sorry, Paris, that you got caught in this. You gave us what we needed, and we didn't even think of you and your life and how what we did would affect that. Really, man. I’m sorry."
I feel like such as asshole. Seal the deal, man. "I won't ask you for that again. I know you're offerin', but I obviously can't promise to return the car without any dents, if you know what I mean. Naw, man. I'd go through a whole year of that pain just to see Theo again for one hour. But only if I knew we weren't hurtin' anyone in the process. I don't want us to come between you and Dave. I don't wanna cause more trouble than I already have." Or more bruises.
I look back at you again, and I can't read the look in your eyes. Yeah, you're probably all weirded out by me now, or think I'm some pansy. But one way or another, I had to say that. I finish the rest of my warm beer, and wonder if I should get another, or if it's finally time to go and leave you in peace.
Paris: “Look, I’m fine with this. You don’t have to apologise. He talked to me on the beach the night before he shifted back. I didn’t even know he was with you then, but there was this peace, almost serenity about him that I’ve never felt before. And I know what his life’s been like, seen the horror, and the atrocity he’s lived through, I’ve felt his pain, and if I can give him some respite from that, I will. And I felt a little of what’s between you, it’s like I’m a conduit for it. Like it or not, the three of us are in this together, and we have to find a way to make it work.”
And there’s some thing you need to know, before you see him again. “You asked what I know about you from Theo. Well, there is one thing, but he didn’t tell me, I saw it. The first night I was back, I slipped into his nightmare, he literally pulled me in, pulled me down. He was dying, and I couldn’t pull him back. There was a blinding flash, and he tore himself back from the edge, and I saw what he saw.”
My voice lowers, so you have to move closer to hear me, and I have no idea what your reaction is gonna be. “You were looking into a broken mirror, blood on your face, and the guy behind you, the guy fucking you, cut you.” I glance at you, and your face is pale. “That’s what brought him back.”
Jay: Oh sweet fuckin' . . .
No. You didn't see that.
You couldn't have seen that. Of everythin' from that night for you to see. . .
Fuck.
And Theo. . .oh, fuck me. I didn't want him to know that. I didn't want him to see what I did. . .and it saved him? I, I don't understand. How could he see me? How did my gettin' fucked raw and cut by a john bring Theo back from the brink of death?
I can't even look at you, and I wish I had more beer to keep my hands busy, so all I can do is squeeze my hands together, the knuckles turnin' white. I'm not ashamed, not really, just. . .I don't know. I don't fuckin' know.
"I gotta give ya some mad respect for bein' honest with me, Paris, but damn if the truth don't hurt."
Paris: And after that revelation, I need something stronger. On the way to the bar, I squeeze your shoulder. “I don’t know what was going on, that’s your business, you just needed to know that’s what stopped him from dying.” Only takes a minute to get served, and I’m back with a couple of double whiskies. I hand you one, and down some of my own.
“And you can’t come between me and Dave, because as of last night, there is no me and Dave.” And before I know what I’m saying, it flows out. “Dave is spending the weekend fucking one of his rich actor friends at one of those fancy resorts up the coast, while his bit of rough stays home and looks after the dog. Right about now, he’s probably opening another bottle of champagne, or in a jacuzzi, or both.” I down the last of my beer, and slam the bottle down on the shelf. Talking about it has brought me straight out of heartbroken into mad as hell and totally pissed off, and that feels good. “After all the possessive fucking crap he spouted when I got back, all the things he said about you and Theo? He looked me right in the eyes and lied, and if he was standing here right now, I’d deck him!”
“Look, I’m handing you the keys and I’m not asking for any guarantees! I’m not made of glass, and bruises, they heal!” And now I know it’s not the pain that concerns either of you, one way or another, I’m shifting out tonight.
Jay: "Dave is what?!" I can't help the words as they tumble out, my tongue loosened by shock and booze. All traces of my own guilt and misery disappear, washed away by stone-cold disbelief. Wait, and sayin' shit about Theo and me? Lyin' to Paris? Who the fuck does this guy think he is?
I've never been one for monogamous relationships. There's a fuckin' reason. I know I can't keep my dick in my pants. Hell, most men in the world can't either. So I don't even pretend I can. The way I see it, if you're gonna be a slut, then be a fuckin' slut, and let everyone know it right up front. Lyin' about it is low. Very, very, fuckin' low. And after the day I've spent with you, and seein' how you handled this little revelation of me and the john, I know you’re a good kid. You don't deserve to be lied to. Not by a rich asshole like Dave.
My jaw is clenched as I watch you slam the rest of your beer. "That's not right, man," I say quietly, keepin' my voice even though for all the world I feel like yellin', "not right at all." You don't need more anger, you need to feel your own, and from the way you’re talkin' it sounds like this is the first time you've really gotten mad about it. I don't try to calm you down or anythin', I just let you rant.
I understand now why you want to shift, why you need to get away from this world, why you're willin' to give me and Theo the time we've been cravin' since we were ripped apart. I wish I could offer you more in return, but fuck, we just barely met. I bailed you outta jail, and I helped ya get your mind off this bullshit for a few hours. That's about all I can do.
"I know you're not made of glass, Paris," I give you look that I hope is encouraging, and clap you on the arm briefly, "'cause I sure as fuck can't see through you, man."
My heart is poundin' as we leave the pool hall, realizin' that each step back toward Dave's brings me closer to seein' Theo again. It's a weird combination of excitement and dread, and I'm terrified to know what Theo's gonna say about the vision he had. But hopefully, it'll all be worth it. Hopefully.
