Chapter 1 - Unfamiliar Images.

“Who are you?” I ask the person in the mirror.

I don’t recognize that man. He’s sad and dull and angry. He’s let himself go - his hair is untrimmed and dirty, he’s lost weight, there are bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, his skin is pocked with tension-induced acne, and even his fake smile is dull. He’s lost whatever sparkle he used to have. He looks defeated. He looks older than his years. Who is this person looking back at me from the ugly mirror?

I always thought I was smart. Not only am I naturally intelligent but I’ve had a good education. I thought I was too smart to become this person who’s now looking back at me from the mirror. How did I let this happen to me? Where did I go wrong?

I look back on the past few months and I can’t pinpoint when it happened. Everything I did seemed reasonable and rational at the time. I thought I was making the best decisions I could for myself, based on what was happening at the time, but seen in the aggregate, it’s horrifying. It’s like a death by a thousand cuts. And I was so busy worrying about each little injury, so laser focused on each tiny moment, that I never noticed how debased I had become.

Without even noticing anything was wrong, I LET this happen to me.

And now I feel like I have nothing left. I feel like I’m empty inside. I’m all used up and there will never again be anything worth loving inside this shell I call my body. What was the point again? Was there ever really a point? And, if this is all there is - all there can ever be, now that all I have is that ugly image staring back at me from the mirror - is there any point in going on?

Looking back, I still can’t figure out when, exactly, things got so bad. Yeah, Brian and I had our problems from day one, but seen from the distance of time, none of it looks so bad now. Leaving him for Ethan was probably the worst mistake of my entire life.

Which really sucks, you know? I’m not even twenty-one and I’ve already ruined my life. But, for the life of me, I still can’t pinpoint how I let it get to this point. At the time, everything I did seemed perfectly reasonable. I felt like I was doing the right thing - leaving him - like it was the only thing I COULD do. And every choice after that was only an extension of that perilous decision. A reaction to that awful decision. The rub of it, though, was that I was so busy dealing with one thing after another, from that point on, that I didn’t have time to stop and look at the big picture. So I didn’t realize where I was heading until it was too late to stop the train wreck of my life.

And now it’s too late to take it all back.

I suppose it would be unfair to blame Lindsey and Mel for my downfall. How could they have known that taking me to that damned recital for my birthday would end so badly? They were only trying to do something nice for me. But, regardless, I find that I still harbor a vague, unreasonable, anger towards them both. If it weren’t for their interfering, I would never have met Ethan. I would never have started down this path that seems likely to end only in black emptiness.

The thing is, he can be so damn charming. When you first meet him, all you see is the glamour. The impish smile. The way he almost radiates self-confidence. He flirts with everyone and that first impression can take in almost anyone. It’s deceptively attractive. At least at first. At first, all you see is the image he wants you to see. It’s only after he’s roped you in that you begin to see cracks in the facade. But by then it’s too late and you’re trapped.

Okay, I admit I was a little pissed off about Brian refusing to celebrate my birthday, but it’s not like that was unexpected. He’d explained the year before, when I turned eighteen, that he didn’t do birthdays. He only celebrated achievements, not inconsequential dates on the calendar. And I agreed with him in principle. Hell, I hate parties. It’s not like Brian didn’t do tons of other shit for me all the rest of the year, right? The way he made such a big deal about announcing his anti-birthday philosophy to his friends, though, got to me a little.

Even so, I should have never said anything to Mel and Lindz. If I hadn’t brought it up the night they invited me over for dinner, they wouldn’t have guilted me into going with them to that damn violin recital. I still have no idea why I accepted. I’d never been into classical music. They insisted, though, and made me feel like I’d be an ungrateful churl if I said I wasn’t interested. Besides, I had nothing better to do. So I went.

And, afterwards, everything changed.

To be completely honest. I was totally bored out of my mind at the recital itself. I occupied myself with doodling on my program just to stay awake. Granted, Ethan did make a great subject. I was fascinated by trying to capture the enthusiasm he exuded as he played his violin. You could tell HE was totally into the performance - even more so than the music itself. He was hamming it up for his audience so much he managed to sell himself to pretty much everyone. Even me.

And, yeah, Ethan is physically attractive, so can you really blame me that I went up to talk to him after the concert? I was nineteen years old, horny as hell, and I’d just spent the last two years studying at the feet of the Master. Brian would have been disappointed in me if I hadn’t at least tried to pick up the guy.

“I just wanted to say, I thought you were great,” I lied, flashing him my best blue-eyed ingenue smile.

He demurely criticized his own performance, but did it in a way that made it sound almost like bragging. Like he knew even his worst was better than anyone else’s best. And the careless disdain he radiated made him seem even more confident.

“The Ravel was passable, but the Brahms was for shit.”

“I didn’t notice,” I admitted.

He glanced up at me as he spoke and I experienced the usual frisson of approval as he gave me the once over. I was used to that. My blond boytoy appearance is a perennial favorite among most gay men. So much so that I usually dismiss anyone who approaches me on that basis alone.

“Well, you should have. It was all your fault,” he turned it around on me so fast I was caught off guard.

“Me?”

“Yes. The way you were staring at me was very distracting,” he accused, looking and sounding so serious that I didn’t know what to think.

“I’m sorry,” I stuttered and started to turn away.

“Although, not necessarily in a bad way,” he relented, finally glancing up from the programs he’d been autographing to look me directly in the eye.

I realize now that he’d undoubtedly been truthful with me then. Ethan really does hate it if I draw while he’s playing. It makes him insanely angry. He says the constant *scritch, scritch* of my pencil against the paper throws off his rhythm. Personally, I think it’s more that he can’t stand it when he isn’t the direct focus of everyone’s attention. He wants his audiences to sit, mesmerized by his enormous talent, unable to look away. The fact that I dare to look away from him, even if it’s to draw HIM, is a personal affront to his ego. Of course I didn’t know that about him at the time. I mistakenly thought that was his way of flirting. I thought he was teasing me. Stupid me.

I had smiled at him and extended my hand, “I’m Justin.”

“Ethan.”

“I know,” I had responded, waving my program in his face.

Which is when Ethan noticed the drawings I’d been scribbling away at during his performance. Unfortunately, that’s probably what drew him towards me. He always was a collector of pretty things - both art and artists. Artwork that depicted him in such a flattering light was probably the most desirous thing he’d ever seen. It fed his already healthy ego. Of course, I was so eager for praise back then that I happily handed over the pictures I’d drawn, offering to let him keep them so he could use them for his next CD. He seemed thrilled by that idea. Why wouldn’t he be? Personalized art showing him at his utmost best - for someone like Ethan, there couldn’t possibly be anything more appealing.

That was likely the moment he decided to acquire me.

Ethan’s tone changed in a heartbeat and he instantly turned on the charm. “It’s ME in five variations . . .”

Before you knew it he was flirting with me. He finally smiled at me. He asked if I went to school at PIFA and seemed impressed that I was an artist. He acted interested in me.

I’m not sure why I was so flattered by his attention - it’s not like I hadn’t had plenty of guys salivating over me before, all those times Brian and I went to the club or the baths - but I think it was because Ethan started by asking about my art. It’s one thing to be appreciated for your mere looks, and something altogether different to be sought after for your talent. No other man had ever evinced any interest in me for my ART before. It was a new experience and I’m afraid I fell for it hook, line and sinker.

So much so that I started babbling like a nutcase. I told him about it being my birthday. I accepted the CD he gave me as a ‘present’. I blushed at him like a prepubescent girl. If Brian had been there he’d have declared me absolutely pathetic. Thank fuck somebody interrupted us right then, pulling Ethan away before I made a total fool of myself.

As I was walking away, though, I looked back at the violinist, and caught him staring after me with a hungry look. An acquisitive look. Like he wanted something from me. Of course, silly me, I thought he just wanted in my pants. In reality, though, I now know it was more. I’ve seen that look on his face many times since. That’s his calculating look. The one that means he’s trying to figure out how he can work a situation - or a person - to his advantage. It’s a look that means you have just been made a special target.

I should have run away then and never looked back.

But I didn’t know Ethan back then. I was so naive. So romantic. So trusting. So fucking stupid.

I went back to the loft after that damned recital and popped Ethan’s CD in the player as soon as I got home. I bragged to Brian about how cultured I now was - after one fucking concert, for crying out loud - and tried to rub his face in the fact that I’d had so much fun without him. Okay, yeah, I was totally being a brat just to get back at him for refusing to celebrate my birthday. But it would probably all have blown over if it hadn’t been for the fucking hustler.

Damn it! I was so fucking excited when Brian hinted he HAD actually gotten me something for my birthday after all. I think I even squealed with glee. I’m not sure what I imagined it might be. I would have been thrilled with anything Brian gave me. Literally ANYTHING. A shirt, some art supplies, a new pair of shoelaces . . . The mere fact he’d relented and got me something was a present in and of itself. But a fucking hustler?

So, yeah, the guy WAS hot and he did look a lot like that underwear model we’d seen on tv a few weeks back that both Brian and I had agreed we liked. The hustler was also hung. Under any other circumstances I would have jumped on the chance to fuck the guy. But not THAT day. Not on my birthday.

I was still a young, romantic fool back then. I suppose I had some ridiculous notion in my head that Brian would give me a sentimental little token of his esteem, take me out to an elegant restaurant where we would spend the night staring into each other’s eyes over a candlelit dinner, and then spirit me home so he could make love to me deep into the night. Yeah, right . . . What was I thinking? That soooooo isn’t Brian.

I certainly wasn’t thinking he’d hire me a hustler, though. Brian, however, is nothing if not practical and I can sorta understand why he might think a sex worker would make a good present. Kinda. Maybe, in another context, it actually might have been a good thing. If we were talking ‘bachelor party’, it would’ve been totally appropriate. Just not for my nineteenth birthday, okay?

I mean, I knew Brian cared about me - he showed me he cared all the time, even though he never said the words. I guess I should have been flattered that he listened to me and that he even remembered what I’d said about the damn underwear model. Hell, I should have just been glad he tried to celebrate my birthday at all, given his avowed dislike of the practice. But no, I had to get all pissy about it. I let it eat at me. I stewed silently over Brian’s lack of tact even while I fucked the damn hustler till he screamed.

I could always have told Brian, ‘No, thanks’. I could have tried to explain to him what I was feeling - how disappointed I was - but I didn’t. I didn’t want to confront him, but I could have simply walked away. Somehow, though, I felt like I’d be letting him down if I didn’t follow through and fuck the guy. It would be like rejecting Brian himself, and I could never say no to Brian. So, instead of that romantic dinner I had imagined, I spent my birthday rogering the underwear model hustler while Brian watched and jacked off. It wasn’t what I’d hoped for but, then again, it was very much something Brian and I would normally do. With the wisdom of time, I’m not sure what was so horrible about it, to be honest.

At the time, though, I was pretty pissed off. But it was a quiet kind of anger. A passive/aggressive anger. I never said a word to Brian. In fact, I never complained about it to anyone, per se. I merely made a snide comment or two to our family lesbians and then waited. I knew Brian would get chewed out by those two without me ever having to say a word. What exactly that would accomplish, though . . . Well, I guess I didn’t think it through that far. It was mean of me; I realize that now. I shouldn’t have said anything to anyone else if I wasn’t going to be mature enough to actually talk to Brian directly. What can I say? I was a fucking idiot.

I was still silently simmering about the Birthday Blunder a week later when a friend of mine at PIFA came up to me while I was eating lunch in the cafeteria and told me Ethan had been asking around about me. Paul, my friend, told me that ‘some music guy’ had been looking for me. The way Paul talked, he made it sound like Ethan had a crush on me or something. He relayed the fact that Ethan had complimented my art, telling those he’d spoken to about my ‘amazing’ drawings at the recital. Again, I was flattered. And because I was still being a petulant little brat, I suppose I welcomed Ethan’s interest in me more than I would at another time. In my mind I was thumbing my nose and taunting, ‘see, Brian, at least SOMEONE appreciates me!’

Just to prove how much of a brat I was, I made a point of detouring through the music building after I finished my last class that afternoon. And, as my always bad luck would have it, I just happened to find Ethan in one of the practice rooms. I still have no idea what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn’t thinking at all. Ethan certainly seemed thrilled to see me, though, so I quashed all my misgivings as I walked into the room to meet my fate.

Ethan immediately turned on the metaphorical heat, coming onto me so strong it would have been laughable except for the mood I was in. “Maybe things will warm up now that you’re here,” he simpered, giving me the old elevator eyes as he spoke.

I remember I mumbled an excuse for why I’d shown up unannounced. Ethan just continued to leer at me with that charming hipster half-smile of his. Fuck, I must have looked like a total fool as I prattled on about how much I’d liked his CD. Being Ethan, though, he gladly accepted my praise.

“You’re incredible,” I offered.

“I know,” he replied without even a hint of coyness, like the approbation was his due.

And then, just to be perverse I guess, I tattled about how ‘my boyfriend’ hadn’t done anything for my birthday.

Which just set Ethan up for his next volley. “That sucks . . . I mean that you have a boyfriend,” he teased me. “Because, if I was your boyfriend I’d give you a birthday you’d never forget. First, I’d bring you breakfast in bed,” he promised, never letting go of my direct gaze. “And then I’d play for you . . . One of Ravel’s ‘Valse Noble et Sentimentales’. Because that’s how I picture you; noble and sentimental. And then we’d make love a couple hundred times . . .”

Even knowing Ethan as well as I do now, I have no idea how he gauged me so accurately that afternoon. It’s like he could read my thoughts, word for word, right out of my brain. Because those were the precise words that were needed right then to win me over. I’d been moping around, feeling sorry for myself and wishing Brian were just the tiniest little bit romantic, and in walks this cute young musician, playing passionate violin music, telling me how fucking ‘noble’ I was, and offering to ‘make love’ to me. Did I have the words ‘Sentimental Fool’ stamped on my forehead in indelible ink or something? I mean, yeah, Ethan has always been good at reading people and using their emotions to manipulate them, but did I have to make it so easy for him?

He had me from that moment on. It was only a matter of time. He’d played me just as masterfully as the violin he strummed to the ticking of the metronome in that practice room. I didn’t see it for another few weeks, of course, but my capitulation was already a foregone conclusion.

Because when Ethan wants something, he ALWAYS gets it, and right then, he wanted me.

Chapter 2 - Contagion

I’ve often wondered whether or not thoughts are infectious. Because, just like other diseases, sometimes it seems like you can catch a thought or emotion from someone else and then can’t get rid of it. And once you’re infected by that random thought, it can ruin your entire life.

In my case, I had been infected by romanticism. The symptoms came on fast, reaching maximum viral load within seconds after my meeting with Ethan that day in the music building at PIFA. I had a really bad case, too. I was practically drowning in it. I couldn’t think straight because everything I saw, heard, or felt was filtered through the lens of my affliction. I weighed everything I did, and everything others around me did as well, by how romantic or unromantic it was.

Before that day, I wouldn’t have described myself as particularly romantic. I’d always considered myself quite practical. It wasn’t that I was opposed to a little romance, but I’d never longed for it the way I did after I was infected by Ethan. Before, I had just focused on what I knew I wanted, worked out a logical way to get it, and did what had to be done to reach my goal.

My goal, from the very first night I ventured out onto Liberty Avenue, had always been Brian Kinney. And I had attained that goal though steady persistence. I knew from day one that Brian wasn’t the romantic type, but that didn’t matter because I’d wanted him a lot more than I wanted any sentimental bull shit romance. Only, after Ethan infected me with the IDEA of romance, I totally lost sight of my prior goals. After that, I wanted to force my acquired romance on Brian too.

Now, when I look back on that time, I can see exactly how sick I was. How I let the ideal of romantic love warp my thoughts. And for what? I now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that romance is a huge heaping pile of bull shit. Yeah, I’m cured of my romance infection. The cure was a bitch, though, and has left me permanently damaged.

At least I’m now immune from any subsequent infections of romance. Or any other emotion, for that matter. Now I just feel numb and empty. I wonder if I’ll ever heal enough to feel anything again?

After meeting Ethan that day in the Music Building at PIFA, I tried to forget about him. I really did. I redoubled my efforts to engage Brian in our relationship. I started pushing for more, even though I knew it was probably futile. But I was just so hungry for . . . What? Acknowledgment? Romance? Love? . . . Whatever it was, I felt I needed it so badly I was willing to finally speak up and challenge Brian. But, as expected, my emotionally stunted lover fought me every step of the way.

I started off by guilting him into agreeing to a snowboarding vacation in Vermont. I was actually surprised by how easily he capitulated. To be honest, I think Brian was almost as excited by the prospect of going away together for a week as I was. But, like everything else in that doomed relationship, our good intentions were scuttled by outside forces. Brian’s boss sold the advertising agency to Gardner Vance and his job was put at risk.

It's understandable that I was disappointed when Brian backed out of our trip in order to focus on work but I don’t know why I was acting like such a spoiled brat. I mean, on some level, I understood the seriousness of the situation. Brian’s job - his financial success - has always meant a lot to him. It’s how he measures his self-worth. But I was blinded by my own selfishness and need for attention so, instead of being supportive of my stressed out partner, I pouted and complained to all our friends.

“Anything’s possible . . . Except Brian and I spending any time together,” I sniped to Michael one afternoon as we went over plans for our comic book.

Of course Michael immediately defended his best friend, pointing out how hard Brian worked, how tough the merger was for him, and advising that I just needed to give him time.

“What about me? Where do I fit in?” I interrupted him snottily. Michael sat there mute, which only made me angrier. “I don’t want to wait. I want a boyfriend who only wants to be with me. Who wants to stay home every once in a while. Who at least gets jealous when some other guy is sucking my dick right in front of him.”

“That’s not Brian,” Michael, aka Captain Obvious, pointed out. But it was the next comment that really got to me, “it never will be.”

He was right too. Brian will never be anyone’s romantic ‘Knight in Shining Armor’. That’s not how Brian is. But, at the time, I was so caught up in my pursuit of romance that I didn’t stop to consider any of Brian’s other admirable qualities. I was blinded by my unrealistic, childish fantasies. And I was devastated by the thought that I’d never get what I THOUGHT I needed from the man I called my boyfriend.

So, when I - not unexpectedly - got no real sympathy from my friends, I acted out even more, going to Vermont without Brian just to spite him. Maybe I still harbored some romantic fantasy that Brian would come running after me, beg my forgiveness, and then spend the rest of the week demonstrating how sorry he was by indulging my every sexual whim. Of course that’s not Brian either. What did I expect? I was well aware of his rule about never running after anyone. So I spent my weekend alone, sulking, and not really enjoying myself despite my wintery wonderland surroundings.

I didn’t find out till much later how close Brian had come to losing his job, or that he’d come looking for me when he returned from Chicago so I’d be the first to hear the news that he made partner. If it weren’t for Michael cornering me upon my return, berating me about how I’d hurt Brian’s feelings by going on vacation without him, I might never have known. Brian never said a word to me about it at all. But that was to be expected; Brian doesn’t do explanations. So, instead of clearing the air by talking it out, we both remained silent, all our individual insecurities and petty animosities simmering in the background.  

It didn’t help matters much, either, that upon my return I walked in on Brian fucking some trick in our bed.

“You’re back,” was all the greeting I got as Brian anchored himself against the trick’s hips, enabling him to sink even deeper into the man’s ass.

“You noticed,” I replied, ignoring the groaning coming from the trick as I went about my business unpacking my duffle bag.

Brian didn’t miss a single beat in his fucking.

Needless to say, this gave Ethan plenty of fertile ground in which to plant the seeds of his seduction campaign. And, of course, he just happened to be performing on a street corner located along my usual path to school the very next day, ready to plant that seed. I’m still not sure if that was just a coincidence or if he’d somehow manipulated the events to arrange a meeting. It wouldn’t have been that difficult for him to figure out which route I usually followed or what classes I was taking and when. Neither would it be at all out of character for Ethan to arrange such a meeting, all the while making it appear a fortuitous happenstance. I’ve since seen him finagle much more elaborate ruses to get to people he wanted to meet for one reason or another. Looking back at that day, and judging by some of the things Ethan said, I’m pretty sure he’d checked me out beforehand. But, at the time, I felt like it was fate trying to send me a message.

Daphne had been with me that afternoon. She was playing the patient friend, listening to me bitch about Brian bugging out on our vacation. I’d just confessed to her how I’d waited for him to show up, or at least call, all week long. That’s when I picked up the first notes of Ethan’s violin. Even after all these months of living with Ethan, I’m still hopeless when it comes to being able to differentiate one classical piece from another, so I couldn’t tell you the name of the song he was playing. All I knew at the time was that it was a beautiful, emotionally stirring piece. And, of course, Ethan looked like the quintessential ‘starving artist’ standing there on the corner in his worn jacket and those ratty fingerless gloves, playing his heart out for the few coppers thrown into his violin case. Could there possibly be a more romantic image?

Ethan never looked up while he was playing, even though it should’ve been impossible for him to miss the fact that I was standing just a few feet away from him. When he’d finished, I clapped along with the others watching. But it wasn’t till I shouted ‘Bravo’ that he deigned to turn my way and acknowledge my presence with a smile.

Fuck he was suave. He played his part almost as well as he plays his violin. He smiled that quirky smile and looked up at me from under his lashes with those big, dark, soulful eyes of his. He was dressed casually, looking a bit threadbare, but that only enhanced his image as a tortured artist. His curly dark hair was wind blown and messy. I wasn’t sure about the hip little soul patch on his chin, but it seemed to fit the persona he was trying to project. Altogether, Ethan looked like the complete antithesis of Brian Kinney; casual, messy and unrestrained as opposed to neat, collected and controlled. I think it was that contrast, as much as anything else, that attracted me to him right then.

Ethan immediately started flirting with me but he wasn’t at all aggressive about it. If he’d pushed himself at me, I’d have run for sure. No, instead, he drew me in by making me work for it, showing just enough interest to keep my attention but acting like he respected my boundaries. I was intrigued, not to mention still smarting about Brian’s seeming disdain, so I flirted back. Rather blatantly, actually.

“Why are you playing on a street corner,” I asked as he collected praise and tips from his audience.

That was the first time he lied to me, although I didn’t find out the truth for months afterwards. “I need the cash,” he explained with a self-deprecating grin.

I chuckled, “there’s gotta he an easier way.”

“Well, yeah, I guess I could always be a go-go boy,” Ethan teased, pretending to do a little bump and grind dance for me as an example.

It struck me as odd that he’d comment on that particular choice of alternate employment, but I didn’t say anything other than to demure, “I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“Then I’ll stick to the fiddle,” he agreed.

I probably should have gone then, when it seemed like there was a natural break in the conversation. I really meant to politely end the discussion and take my leave. I remember I’d had some reading I needed to finish up for my next class and was already thinking about that assignment as we chatted. Besides, flirting was one thing, but even though I was mad at Brian I’d never intended to take things further. That’s when Ethan started bragging about how talented he was, counting out his tips for the day and packing up his instrument, and adding a comment that caught my attention.

“Eighty bucks. Not too bad,” he stated with a satisfied smirk, “you know, considering it’s not really ME playing.”

That odd, incongruous statement had me confused and forced me to take another look at him.

Ethan strode over till he was standing well within my personal space, a serious look on his handsome features, and declared, “it comes through me, from someplace else.”

“It’s amazing that you said that,” I replied, looking into his intense eyes. “When I draw, it feels the same way.”

We stood there in the cold, ignoring all the people rushing by us on the sidewalk, for another couple heartbeats, simply staring into each other’s eyes. I don’t know what I thought I was seeing. A kindred spirit? A fellow artist who could empathize with my creative heart? A possible alternative path?

Fuck, I was such a fool.

Maybe I shouldn’t beat myself up about how easily I fell prey to Ethan’s machinations. There’s no denying that he can be charming as fuck when he wants to be. Brian later taunted me, asking if I’d been the poor helpless victim of a ‘love bashing’, and of course I denied it. But maybe that’s what it really was. It almost felt like it at the time. I was completely taken in at that moment by Ethan’s mythos. I only saw the lonely, sensitive artist who was desperately looking for someone to love and understand him. I was overwhelmed by the sheer, unadulterated romanticism of him. He was showing me exactly what I wanted to see. How could the innocent, naive boy I was then have ever been expected to see beyond the facade?

But Ethan’s campaign to win me didn’t stop there, either. Before I could recollect myself and get away, he’d roped me into helping liberate a beat up old sofa saved from a garbage truck. I readily agreed to lend a hand, carrying it three blocks and up four flights of stairs to his tiny studio apartment.

If anything, the grungy little hole-in-the-wall enhanced Ethan’s starving artist image even better than the rumpled clothing had. The apartment came complete with peeling paint, broken down furniture, and the stench of over-cooked cabbage wafting up from a downstairs neighbor. It was a horrible, dirty, dump. And it was exactly what I’d always imagined the artists’ garretts of the French Impressionists to be like. So, of course I was immediately charmed. The sweet pussy cat that came with the apartment was an additional selling point.

Is it any wonder I felt so comfortable there? Comfortable enough to plop right down on that torn up old sofa and start babbling to this virtual stranger all about Brian. Which, now that I think about it, was totally strange and out of character for me. Brian and I had always had this unspoken agreement that our relationship was private. We didn’t talk about ourselves to others. With the exception of Daphne - who’d been my confident from the day we met in Kindergarten - I didn’t really tell even my friends much about my life with The Stud. I know Brian was the same. Oh, he might brag to the gang about fucking me, or some juicy three-way we’d had, but he’d never tell anyone about the real stuff. The emotional stuff. That was only for us. Neither of us ever said anything about our rather unique arrangement to strangers, though. Yet, here I was, with someone I barely knew, blabbing about my ‘older’ boyfriend and his expensive loft and how he didn’t want to celebrate my birthday and would never think of getting a pet . . .

Did I mention how charming Ethan could be?

It wasn’t till Ethan pushed it just a little too far - lavishing me with an almost jealous-sounding compliment about how Brian was lucky to have such beautiful things around him - that I realized what I’d been doing and stopped. That comment struck me as odd when I later thought about it. It seemed to equate me to just another of Brian’s expensive possessions. And the enviousness of Ethan’s tone was telling. It was almost like he wanted to possess me too. But those insights didn’t come to me for several weeks and, at the time, all I heard was another man calling me ‘beautiful’.

That over-the-top complement, however, was enough to prompt me to get up off Ethan’s newly rescued couch and get the hell out of there. Ethan must have realized his mistake because he became instantly contrite and resumed his mask of undemanding, slightly-nerdy artist, who was too awkward to know what to say. And I bought it, of course. He fumbled around for words as I made my way to his door, acting sheepish, and it was such a good performance that I found myself feeling a bit sorry for him. So, to throw the poor boy a bone, instead of just high-tailing it out of there I invited him to come to the Student Art Fair to see my work. In other words, I played right into his hand by leaving him that huge opening, which I now regret so badly.

If Brian hadn’t also been going through a ton of shit at work just then, the whole minor flirtation with Ethan would probably have blown over and been forgotten. But, after leaving Ethan’s apartment that afternoon, I came home to a grouchy, stressed out Brian, who was too caught up in his own drama to spare a thought for mine. He was too busy mumbling about some steakhouse account to talk about Vermont. And, in typical, snarky, Brian Kinney fashion, he teased me about my own pouting. It was so dismissive and so infuriating. Such a contrast to the time I’d spent with Ethan, where I’d felt like I was the focus of his attention. And, yeah, I knew that Brian was under a lot of pressure at work, but at the time I didn’t care. I wanted him to see ME. Pay attention to ME. ME, ME, ME. Like some two year old having a tantrum.

When I finally did get his attention, though, it still didn’t feel like it was enough. He wouldn’t give me the words I wanted. He refused to say he’d missed me while I was in Vermont. He refused to admit that he even cared that I’d gone without him. All he wanted from me, it seemed, was easy access to my ass. So, after he pressed me up against the support beam and fucked me from behind, I came away feeling used rather than wanted. It was the first time I’d ever felt that way after sex with Brian and it left me uneasy and borderline desperate. It made me want proof of his love even more than before. I was too much of a coward to say anything to him though, and Brian had other things to think about than his insecure teenage lover, so I stayed silent and let my disquiet fester.

And all the while, Ethan pressed on with his all out assault on my romantic little heart. He started showing up wherever I went all over campus. I saw him a couple times in the school cafeteria. He showed up almost daily along my route to and from school in his street performer role. I even thought I caught a glimpse of him one time at Woody’s - but seeing as Brian was with me that night, it’s not a surprise he didn’t approach me. Each time I did speak to him, though, Ethan abounded in praise for me and my art.

He also came to the Student Art Fair, of course, and gushed over the paintings I had on display. He smoldered at me. He called me ‘brilliant’ and intimated my work should sell for millions. He looked at me with such intensity that it felt like I was the center of the fucking universe. It was heady stuff for a kid who wanted nothing more than to be someone’s focus. Preferably Brian’s, but if Brian was too busy or distracted, I wasn’t going to be picky. When Ethan offered to buy one of my pieces, I impulsively answered that he could ‘have it for a song’, and he immediately jumped on the opening to invite me to come to his place to collect my payment.

I knew what I was doing was wrong. Despite having an ‘open’ relationship, Brian and I did have rules. Yeah, we could see anyone we wanted as long as it wasn’t the same guy twice, but we weren’t supposed to be messing around with anyone we knew. We’d agreed to ‘no names and no numbers’ to protect against just that. The idea had always been that fucking was just fucking and it didn’t mean anything. But what I was starting with Ethan clearly violated the spirit of those rules even before I let it get beyond the flirting stage. Because I was already starting to feel something for Ethan. This thing I was doing meant something to me. The intimacy of it, the fact that we were sharing something more than just our bodies, was what made it cheating.

And I knew it right from the start. But I was young and stupid and angry at Brian and hungry for attention . . .

So I went over to Ethan’s apartment after the Fair. We sat on the floor, ate bread, cheese and fruit, while drinking cheap red wine. Ethan lit a candle. We talked about our lives, our art and our families. Ethan told me a story about how his grandfather had survived Auschwitz. It was the epitome of romanticness. And it felt so good. So different. Because it was everything that Brian would never do. Brian hated to talk about his family, probably because he didn’t have any happy stories to tell. Brian would never have ruined his diet with a bunch of high calorie foods. He wouldn’t be caught dead in a dump like Ethan’s garrett. I, however, lapped it up. I told Ethan things I’d never told anyone before - not even Brian - including how my art was my one safe place. Ethan not only listened but he echoed my sentiments. He said exactly what I wanted to hear. It wasn’t surprising I fell for it.

All the while, though, Ethan was simply playing with me. I know this now, even though I was blind to it at the time. He is the consummate manipulator. If I’d looked hard enough I would have seen the way he strung me along. The way he told me exactly what I wanted to hear. The way he skillfully maneuvered the conversation around to the topics he wanted to delve into . . . Namely, my boyfriend; a topic he came back to again and again. And once he’d got me talking about it, he gave his most impressive performance to date.

“There was this guy,” he began, “and I was so fucking crazy about him . . . I can’t explain it.”

“You don’t have to,” I assured him, because I knew about crazy love.

“We were together for about a year,” Ethan continued, his story eerily mirroring my own in a way I didn’t think about until later. “But he liked to go to the clubs and party and bring guys home. And, for a while, I have to admit it was pretty exciting.”

“I suppose it can be,” I grudgingly admitted.

Then he hit me with the clincher. “But then I realized that’s not what I want.”

“What DO you want?” I felt compelled to ask.

He looked longingly up at me with his deep brown eyes and assumed a wistful expression, then answered with a defiance and earnestness that struck home. “I want to be with somebody who only wants to be with me. Who doesn’t need to see other people. Or be in the scene every night. I want to be with somebody I can have a picnic on the floor with, and tell things to that I’ve never told anybody.”

What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? Ethan had managed to tap into my deepest, most cherished longings. At the time it felt like I’d found the only person who completely understood me.

I totally bought it.

What I should have done was to run out of there screaming and never look back. Unfortunately, I was too stupid or too bewitched to realize the import of Ethan using those exact words. Hell, he was practically repeating, word for word, what I’d told Michael just a week or so earlier. I still don’t know how he found out about my little speech to Michael, although, knowing ‘Brian’s Best Friend’ I suppose it’s not hard to figure out. Michael’s inability to keep a secret and his penchant for spouting off - at the top of his lungs, in public, about pretty much everything - is the stuff of legend. I suspect all Ethan had to do was hang out in the Diner or Woody’s for a couple hours when Michael was there and he’d come away with all the personal information about me he needed to enact his plan. Now, when I look back on that moment, I find it incredibly creepy, but back then I was so blinded by all the flattery Ethan had thrown at me that I didn’t see it.

However, those words stuck with me for days afterwards. They haunted me. They infected me. And even though I tried to fight it, I couldn’t escape the draw of those romantic words. I still loved Brian - I’ve never stopped loving Brian, actually - but I loved the IDEA of Ethan too. So I tried to impose all those sentimental ideas onto my older, set-in-his-ways lover. I wanted Brian to be Brian but, at the same time, I wanted him to be something else. Something more like the Fantasy Brian I had built up in my head. It was an endeavor that was doomed to fail, of course, but I simply couldn’t help myself.

That night I tried to entice Brian into staying home with me and indulging in a reprise of the floor picnic scene. Not surprisingly, Brian wasn’t interested. Even more predictably, the more I tried to push him to do romantic things, the more he pushed back by becoming even more of a club boy. And the gap between us widened, the unspoken resentments suppurated, the emotional estrangement deepened. No wonder Ethan was able to just waltz in and take what he wanted.

One night I just couldn’t take it anymore. Brian had blown me off yet again, insisting that I go with him to the baths to celebrate some new account he’d won. When I’d declined, he left me with merely a shrug and a fleeting kiss to my forehead. It was like he didn’t care at all about me or what I did. It seemed to me like he always had time for his other friends and their problems, but couldn’t bear to spend one night alone in our home with me. So, as soon as Brian had left the loft, I ran out of there, heading straight for Ethan’s and what I thought was the love that I was missing.

When I arrived, I interrupted Ethan practicing, but for once he quashed his irritation and gave me his full attention.

“I came for my song,” I told him, offering up a nervous smile.

A smile of conquest bloomed across his face. “Right. Right, so what would you like to hear?” he asked jubilantly. “Something technically astonishing?”

I settled into a corner of the sofa, anxiously pulling a pillow into my lap as some sort of shield, and admitted that I’d prefer, “something astonishingly romantic,” instead.

Ethan looked down at me from where he was standing atop the platform of his bed, an exultant smirk on his lips as he raised his violin and began to play ‘Meditation From Thais’. It was perfect. Exactly what I had come to find. The sweet, slow, melodic notes rained down on me from the heights Ethan had assumed and I soaked it all in. I closed my eyes and let the music fill me. I could feel the romance of it percolating up through my body. I thought for a moment that I’d never heard anything more beautiful. It called to me. I almost felt like crying. Crying for whatever it was that I might have had with Brian and the relationship I knew I was probably throwing away with my actions that night.

But it was already too late to back out, it seemed. I had already cheated on Brian in my heart. I might as well go all the way and make it a fait accompli, right?

I rose from the couch and slowly padded across the small room till I was standing directly in front of Ethan. I tamped down the tears that were trying to escape and focused only on the musician playing to me. I stepped up on the bed, coming to a halt when I was only millimeters from him. Ethan stopped playing and put his violin down on the bed. Then he slowly leaned closer and closer till our lips met.

I knew in that instant that I’d ruined anything I had with Brian. The ‘no kissing’ rule was probably the most sacrosanct of all. I’d only broken it once before - kissing a guy whose virginity I’d taken, but that was only because I felt sorry for the poor kid and didn’t want him to have bad memories of his first time - and, as far as I knew, Brian had never broken it at all. Now, though, I was kissing another man with intent. I meant to kiss Ethan. And this kiss wasn’t just a random, meaningless thing; it was an outright act of betrayal. I knew that at the time and I did it anyway.

There’s no doubt I deserve everything that’s happened to me since then. I should never have cheated on Brian like that. He’s a good man, no matter how flawed or tortured, and I know he used to care for me. I shouldn’t have betrayed him like that.

With that one kiss I forfeited his love and don’t deserve to ever be redeemed.

Chapter 3 - Falling.

Why me? What did I ever do that was so bad it would justify the treatment I’ve been subjected to? I know I’ve been selfish and stupid, but I never meant to hurt anyone. All I ever wanted to do was find someone who could love me. Is that so bad?

Or maybe that’s the reason behind all this; the mere fact that I was so desperate for love.

I can see how my longing for attention would make me particularly vulnerable to someone like Ethan. I’ve always been the sensitive, kind, dedicated type. I was the kid who would bring injured animals to my mother, begging her to make them well. I was the youth who would always step up and be the first one to make friends with the new kid in school. I was the young man who continued to love his disapproving father even after the man turned his back on me. I’ve always had this bottomless capacity for love but struggled to find something or someone to return my sentiments.

So I guess it’s no wonder that I would make a perfect target for somebody looking to capitalize on a particular type of prey.

I think that’s one of the reasons that I let things get so out of hand. My need to find love made me easy to manipulate. It made me willing to turn myself into an emotional pretzel if that’s what I had to do to please my lover. It made me stay with him for longer than was good for me, because I kept thinking that if I just tried harder, acted differently, or bettered myself, he would come around. I wanted his love so much that I would do anything to keep the relationship from falling apart.

I would even forgive him for what, looking back, now seems unforgiveable - the fact that he’s taken from me my sense of self.

Maybe I’m just not meant for this cruel world. Maybe I’m too kind, too sympathetic, too loving. Maybe I care too much. If I were harder-hearted I’d be much better equipped to handle all the disappointments I’ve faced.

But, then again, if I weren’t me, I wouldn’t have fallen for this man in the first place.

Things moved pretty fast after that first night I went to Ethan. He seemed to turn up everywhere I went. As an experienced stalker, I probably should’ve seen the signs, but in my naïveté I passed it all off as merely Ethan‘s own excitement and desire to be with me. I basically couldn’t go anywhere on campus without him dogging my steps. The cafeteria, the library, the computer lab, even the student studio spaces; everywhere I looked, there he was. But in the first blush of a new romance, I found it endearing rather than creepy.

Granted, I wasn’t exactly telling him to leave me alone. In fact, we were all over each other anytime we met. And even though I tried to keep our new relationship on the down low, that didn’t stop us from sneaking off into any available dark corner or closet to make out, and occasionally even have a quick fuck. What can I say, I was nineteen and horny. Having sex everywhere and anywhere I could sounded like a great idea at the time. It only became problematic when Ethan insisted repeatedly that I come back to his apartment with him for more extensive play times.

That’s when my conscience would bother me the most. That’s when it would strike home exactly how wrong my actions were. Because every time I let myself be towed into Ethan’s bed, I would see Brian‘s image in my mind, watching us, wearing a hurt expression. But when I tried to say no, tried to make excuses for why I shouldn’t agree to Ethan‘s importuning, he’d get the exact same hurt look in his dark brown eyes. I felt like I was being forced to choose which man I would hurt the most. And, soft-hearted me, I was absolutely unable to make that choice. What I didn’t realize until later was that I was the one who would end up being the most hurt of all.

In the beginning, though, I managed to tamp down that underlying guilt and my trysts with Ethan were both exciting and enjoyable. He was an attentive lover, although not nearly as skilled as Brian. Sex with Ethan was always tender and gentle. Maybe even a little tame compared to what I was used to, but not bad. To be honest, I’ve always actually preferred a more robust - sometimes even aggressive - fuck, at least most of the time. Brian always seemed to know when my mood was trending that way and would indulge me. Ethan, though, didn’t want to go there. The few times I tried to spice things up a little with Ethan did not go over very well. He always managed to bring things down to the level he was comfortable with, petting and stroking me into quiescence.

That, by the way, was the one worrisome thing that I noted right from the start - the fact that Ethan ALWAYS had to be in charge when we were having sex. And I don’t mean just that he always insisted on topping. It was more than that. He had to control the whole situation from start to finish. He would resist any and all advances I made, brushing me off until he was ready, then simply take over. He would arrange the scene, almost as if he were staging a play, laying me out on the bed just so, placing pillows around me in a decorative fashion, and adjusting the ambience of the room accordingly. He also had to be the one in charge of deciding which position we fucked in. And if I tried to take back any control at all, even something as small as adjusting our pace or rhythm, he’d get annoyed.

I was used to being with a forceful lover, but even though Brian liked to be in control much of the time, he never subjugated me during sex in the same way Ethan would. Brian preferred his lovers to be active partners. He liked the fact that I gave as good as I took. Sex with Brian was always something of a game, a half-joking battle for dominance, that he often times let me win. Making love with Brian was a joyful experience, whereas, every time with Ethan was treated as some solemn, spiritual event, to be performed with intense seriousness. This difference definitely contributed to my slightly negative assessment of Ethan’s prowess. Not that I ever dared mention that to him.

If the sexual control thing bothered me at the beginning, though, I resolutely brushed aside my worries. I told myself it was unfair to compare my two, very different, lovers. I also, I suppose, thought that there’d be time later, if I continued this affair with Ethan, to explore a more versatile sex life. Not that I was planning on the thing with Ethan going anywhere in particular. I really wasn’t. I was still deeply in love with Brian, even though I was angry with him, and I had no intention of breaking off our relationship. I told myself my fling with Ethan was just for fun, and as soon as I got it out of my system I would confess my sins to Brian and make it all up to him. In the meantime, I just tried to accept things as they were, live in the moment, and enjoy my clandestine escapades for what they were.

Which wasn’t hard, seeing as Ethan gave me everything I thought I needed at the time. He gave me the romance I longed for, the over the top flattery, the intense attention, the emotionality, and the spice of the forbidden. Besides, Brian was so busy with his own life right then, it was easy for me to justify all the time I spent away from him. I wasn’t even sure he noticed I was gone most of the time. And it was several weeks before I got even the first tiny indication that Brian had noticed something wasn’t quite right.

That night I’d stayed later than I should have at Ethan’s place. We’d made love at least twice, but Ethan still seemed reluctant to let me leave. He kept pulling me back into bed when I’d try to get up, his hands all over me, groping at me possessively.

“You know, you make love like you play your violin,” I teased, trying to distract him before he started yet another round of sex.

“How? With an accompanist in front of a cheering audience. Or on the street corner for cash?” he asked, playing along as he drew little love runes on my skin and traced my lips and jaw with his index finger.

“Like you’re in a trance,” I explained, describing what I’d witnessed just a few minutes earlier. “With your eyes closed . . .”

“And you’re my instrument,” he insisted, kissing me and letting his left hand drift lower under the sheets till he’d reached something to hold onto. “First I tune you.” He stroked my half-hard dick, causing me to squirm since I was still oversensitive after our last go round. “And then I stroke you with my bow.” I tried to roll away but he circled me with his arms and held me against his chest. “And then I make beautiful sounds pour out of you.” He ended by kissing my cheek again, then relaxed, letting his head fall against my shoulder with a dramatic and well-calculated sigh.

I took advantage of this momentary pause in his attention to make my escape. “I have to go,” I reiterated, twisting my shoulders around so I could look up at him, letting him see how serious I was this time.

I could tell by the way he was laying there, propped up on one elbow, a frown on his face as he regarded me from beneath his lowered brows, that he was NOT happy with me. It was ridiculous that he was jealous, seeing as he was the one trying to steal me away from Brian. I’d never lied to him; he'd known about my other relationship from day one. But I got the distinct impression that Ethan was pissed off at me for choosing Brian over him.

As I was walking away towards the door, he spoke up again, trying one more time. “You know, if you stayed sometime, we could wake up together. Watch the sunrise. It makes everything red and gold . . .” Then he gave me his best sexy, simmering, sybarite look.

But I couldn’t stay. I was already late getting back to the loft and I still had to stop by the copy center to pick up the Rage posters I’d ordered. So I merely sighed, tried but failed to smile at him, and turned away without another word.

As late as it was, it wasn’t a big surprise to find Brian waiting for me when I got home. What did surprise me was the way Brian broke out of character to question me about where I’d been. He’d always insisted that there were no locks on our doors. Both of us were free to come and go as we pleased. If anything, he’d always encouraged me to go out and get my needs met, if that’s what I wanted. I must have been a lot more obvious than I’d thought if Brian had noticed my abrupt change in attitude.

“Where have you been?” he asked almost before I was in the door.

“Studying. And I had to get these.” I unrolled one of the Rage posters as my alibi. “What do you think?”

“My own little advertising genius.” I chuckled and he added, “I told you I’d help.”

I took back my poster and rolled it up as I tried to shoulder past his desk. “You were too busy.”

“Come here.” Brian grabbed hold of the hem of my shirt and pulled me closer,

“I have to shower. I stink,” I blurted out without thinking.

Brian let ME go but not the subject. “From studying?”

I chuckled nervously as I scrambled to explain my blunder. “I was sweating over a project,” I explained, groaning inside at how utterly lame that sounded.

Then I practically ran up the steps to the bathroom before Brian could question me more. I’d only been in the shower a minute or so, though, when the door clicked open again, the sound startling me. I hadn’t expected Brian to join me - he’d looked like he was busy with whatever work he’d been doing. Now here he was, following on my heels and pushing his way into the shower before I’d even finished scrubbing the dried dribbles of Ethan’s cum off my thighs. Brian was intent on his own purposes though, immediately enveloping me in his arms, taking the soap out of my hands, and pulling me into his chest as he claimed my lips with an uncharacteristic insistence.

There was something in that kiss that I’d never sensed in Brian before. A resoluteness combined with a question? Maybe it was just my guilty conscience, but it felt like he was asking me for reassurance with every touch, every caress, every single kiss. Brian always was much better at showing me how he felt than telling me with words. I could feel uncertainty and doubt in his very stance. And for a brief moment, I almost confessed everything to him.

I stood there, the warm shower water raining down on my face as I looked up at Brian, the acknowledgment of my sins waiting on the tip of my tongue. “Brian . . .”

He became perfectly still. Perfectly silent. His eyes never left my face as he waited for me to speak. It was like he already knew what I was going to tell him and was only awaiting confirmation.

But when I tried to speak, I didn’t know what to say. In the space of thirty seconds I ran through a dozen different sentences in my head but none of them seemed right.

‘I need to tell you something, Brian. I broke our rules. I’ve been fucking around on you behind your back’, sounded too blunt and at the same time incomplete. ‘I’m sorry’, would only earn me his contempt along with the standard complaint that ‘sorry’s bullshit’. ‘I didn’t mean for it to happen’, was far too trite. But begging him to, ‘please love me’, although that was what I wanted to say more than anything, would get me nowhere.

And so my nascent confession died on my lips unvoiced. I knew Brian knew I was hiding something from him, but he let me. I covered up my moment of indecision by pulling his face down for a kiss, but even that felt tentative and unfamiliar. It was a guilty kiss. It left me even more disconcerted than before. I couldn’t face Brian any longer and covered up by turning my back to him.

Brian chose to interpret my actions as an opportunity to engage in our usual showertime activities, and he proceeded to push me against the glass of the shower surround as he picked a condom out of the soap dish. I was glad that he couldn’t see my face because I knew I didn’t have my expression or my emotions under control. It was easier to let him have his way while I collected myself. He didn’t waste any time, either. He didn’t bother opening me - was that his way of intimating that he knew it would be unnecessary, seeing as I’d just come from another’s bed, who knows - but simply pressed his way inside me from behind. He didn’t say a single word as he claimed me. There was no playfulness, no joy, it was all desperation hidden behind a thin veneer of lust.

And even our kisses felt like a prelude to the end.

Two days later, when Michael and I were out postering Gayopolis with our Rage flyers, Ethan once again turned up out of the blue. I really was being stalked, it seemed; I’d never before seen Ethan out on Liberty Avenue, yet there he was. But rather than be creeped out by it, I was thrilled that he’d go to such lengths to be with me. Plus, I was bored - Michael and I had already been at the postering thing for a couple of hours by that point - so Ethan was a more than welcome distraction. I quickly made an excuse to Michael and trotted off down the street, following the sound of Ethan’s violin, till I came to a rest with the others listening to the performance.

Only this meeting was different from all our prior meetings. Back at school, my secret had been relatively safe; none of my friends would be any the wiser if I was messing around with someone at PIFA. This was Liberty Avenue. I was known here, and so was Brian. This was a much more aggressive act on Ethan’s part than anything he’d pressed for earlier. Of course I was blind to the risks, driven by lust to throw caution to the wind, and I stupidly trusted to luck that nobody would notice.

Ethan pretended to be surprised by my appearance and asked what I was doing there - as if the stack of Rage posters I was holding wasn’t a dead giveaway. I don’t know why I let him get away with such an obvious lie. Maybe it was because I was already lying to myself about what was going on, so what was a little more pretending? Whatever. It didn’t seem important enough to call him on it.

We chatted a little and he tried to pull we away, suggesting we go get a cup of coffee together - which I knew was code for getting me off alone so we could fuck - but I declined. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to shake Michael that easily, not when I’d already put him off the day before and promised him that we’d get these posters up that afternoon. When I told Ethan I couldn’t go get a latte with him, he covered up his disappointment pretty well, but used that moment to press me for something else that I’d been avoiding . . . an official date.

“Well, maybe this weekend we can go see a movie,” Ethan suggested casually. “You like French films?”

I’d successfully brushed off previous suggestions of the sort, but this time I felt caught. I didn’t want to take whatever this thing with Ethan was to the next level. I didn’t want to start making PLANS with him. Up till then we’d just been messing around. Up till then it had all been spontaneous and unplanned. I suppose it was easier for me to justify what I was doing if I could tell myself that it was all just a whim. But if I accepted his invitation to the movies, our fling would no longer be just a random thing. It would mean that I was consciously making a choice to be with him. And I was NOT ready for that.

I tried to nonchalantly demur without seeming like I was making a real choice. “I’ve never been to one,” I answered, referring to French films in general.

“Never been? You peasant,” Ethan replied, making it sound like he was teasing although his flippant insult still hurt a little.

I laughed it off, though, while he explained about the film he wanted to go see, pressing his case for the date he wanted to rope me into.

“They’re showing ‘Jules et Jim’,” he explained. “A story about two men in love with the same woman. Only, if you’ll notice, her name’s not in the title. Which leads me to believe that they’re secretly in love with each other.”

“It’s hard enough loving one person,” I blurted out before I could censor my words.

“But, if you’re the one the other two are in love with,” Ethan reasoned blithely as he laid a full-on guilt trip at my feet, “then you can break both their hearts.”

What the hell was I supposed to say to that? I just stood there, stunned that he’d put me on the spot like that. It was cruel to point out the predicament I was in. Especially when he was the one that was the proximate cause of our little love triangle. Ethan was the one pursuing me - unrelentingly - following me around, always pushing his way in, and now pressuring me to agree to this date. And yet he managed to make ME feel like I was the only one at fault. That I was the one causing all the hurt while he was blameless.

And I was gullible enough to accept that blame.

When I still said nothing, merely standing there locked in confusion and guilt, Ethan swooped in and asserted his position even more strongly by stealing a kiss. At first I resisted, not really kissing back. The thought that I shouldn’t be doing this here, in broad daylight, in the middle of Liberty Avenue, flittered through my mind. But he was insistent. He pressed his lips harder against mine and demanded entry with his tongue. I should have pulled away. I should have left. But that’s not my nature, I guess. Instead I let him take control of the kiss and eventually began kissing back. He only relented when it was clear that he had won - again - and then I was allowed to break off the kiss.

I pulled away from him, a little dazed and feeling like I’d somehow given away more than just a kiss. “I’ll call you about the weekend,” I muttered as I stepped away from him, trying to gain not only space but time to think.

“Sure. That’s cool,” Ethan acquiesced, having already won this round.

I quickly waved goodbye, moving off towards the building down the block where I was supposed to be hanging my posters. Ethan didn’t even really look at me. He seemed to be staring at something or someone across the street, but I was too flustered to think about it at the time. I was too busy trying to work out in my head where that conversation had gone so wrong and what the fuck I was doing with my life.

I suppose I should have known that things couldn’t go on the way they had been for much longer. I should have known I couldn’t get away with hiding my double life. I should have known that my lies would catch up with me.

I should have known that somebody who knew me might have seen that kiss . . .

Chapter 4 - Things Fall Apart.

I’ve often wondered not only why Ethan chose me as his next victim, but also how he knew that I was so ripe for the taking.

Was it just circumstance that he came along right at a time when I was struggling with so much self-doubt? Was I so obviously damaged that he knew I would be easy prey? Or, maybe, did he turn me into someone that he COULD prey on without me even realizing it?

Granted, Brian and I had always had our problems, but for a while at least, I had thought we’d worked them out. Or at least mostly so. Truthfully, I didn’t actually mind the occasional threesome, and I never expected Brian to change overnight into some monogamous zombie. Really, I didn’t.

I look back on that time, before Ethan, and I honestly can’t tell you now what was so bad about it. I had it all. I had the freedom to experiment sexually with whomever I wanted, with the full support of my partner. And I exercised that freedom at every opportunity, like any horny eighteen-year-old would. At the same time, I had Brian in my bed every night, which was more than anyone else had ever got from him. I got to enjoy both his body and his attentions.

That should have been enough, right? I mean, even though he rarely admitted our commitment out loud, I knew Brian cared about me. He supported me both financially and physically. He gave me everything he could. Why wasn’t I happy when I had all that?

I can’t even pinpoint the moment that my attitude changed. One day I was going along, perfectly content with my unconventional life, and the next I felt profoundly unsatisfied. When did I decide that I needed an exclusive relationship and, more importantly, why? That hadn’t ever been something *I* wanted before.

Maybe it started when I began hanging out with Michael while we were working on our comic book. I remember listening to him rhapsodizing for hours about his romance with Ben. Was that when I became infected by the idea of monogamy? Who knows.

Ethan, however, must have somehow sensed that longing in me - even before I’d fully acknowledged it myself - and he seized on it. He used that opening to get inside my defenses. That was the flaw that made me vulnerable. That was the opening that let him get an emotional hold on me. Before I knew it, I’d gone from a vague uncertainty about my relationship with Brian, to being outright fed up at Brian’s inability to commit to just me . . . Without ever really going through any intermediate stage.

So, maybe it wasn’t just a coincidence that Ethan came along at the perfect time to take advantage of my relationship with Brian starting to fall apart. Maybe he manipulated that circumstance. Like he’s manipulated me so often since. Ethan has always had  this way of making his ideas become your ideas, and he does it in such a sneaky fashion that you sometimes believe it was always your idea to begin with. Either way, within weeks of meeting the charismatic young musician, I’d become convinced that I needed to be with someone that was willing to commit to an exclusive relationship.

In other words, someone who was NOT Brian Kinney.

I guess, maybe, I’ve always been the perfect plaything for someone like Ethan.

It took almost a week after that unadvised kiss on Liberty Avenue for my bad luck to catch up with me. Meanwhile, Ethan and I went blithely along, fucking our way through life without a care in the world. Ethan continued to stalk me around school and even followed me a couple times to Liberty Avenue, but I didn’t care. I got a perverse little thrill out of the clandestine nature of our meetings.

However, it was getting more and more difficult for me to make up excuses for why I kept disappearing. Brian questioned me more than once about how much extra time I was spending ‘studying’ these days - it was actually sweet that he seemed worried about my workload and warned me not to overstress myself or my hand. I wonder if the fact that, regardless of all the extra ‘work’ I was supposedly doing, my hand didn’t seem to be adversely affected, was what tipped Brian off that I was lying? I’m sure that my later and later evenings away from the loft certainly did. But the clincher was probably when I begged off joining Deb’s gay bowling team. Granted, I was never a great athlete, and my bowling was atrocious, but normally I would have been there at least for moral support. Not now, though. Now, I was too busy using the time that Brian was distracted with bowling for my private rendez-vous with Ethan to bother cheering the gang on.

Those were definitely the ‘salad days’ of my time with Ethan. Fuck, he can be so damned charismatic when he wants to be. He totally swept me off my feet. He romanced the crap out of me. Not only was he always following me around, imploring me to come back to his apartment with him, but he’d leave me little love notes in my school locker. He’d bring me small, inexpensive presents - half-blown roses he told me he’d saved out of the trash behind the local florists, a single chocolate truffle from this fancy bakery we both loved, a small heart-shaped pebble he said he’d found while walking - stuff that didn’t have any actual value, but that seemed to mean so much. One day he even wrote me a poem that he claimed had just come to him in a dream, and which he insisted on reciting to me in the cafeteria at school in front of all my classmates. It was pretty much the most romantic thing I could think of and I ate it up.

Little did I know then that it was all just an act. The poem he claimed to have written for me came from a cheesy poetry book that I found in his apartment a few months later. He bought that heart-shaped pebble from a kitschy little gift shop just around the corner from PIFA. He had an account at the bakery and I later found out that he regularly bought the same kind of truffle he’d given me, and judging by what the sales clerk told me, he bought a lot more truffles than the ones I received. Even the love notes were a fabrication that he mass produced and then kept hidden in a drawer underneath his stacks of sheet music, pulling one out every so often when he needed to placate me. But, of course, I didn’t know any of this at the time.

At the time, all I could see was the alluring guise Ethan would put on for me. The way he would act like I was the only man in the world. All I could hear were the teeming compliments he heaped on me. He would tell me how beautiful I was, complimenting my eyes, my hair, my everything. He told me I was his ‘muse’ and that the very idea of me inspired him. He claimed that he had never played better in his life and would routinely demonstrate that fact by serenading me after we’d made love. Since I didn’t know shit about classical music, I had no reason to dispute these statements; all I cared about was the enchanting image we made as Ethan would waltz nakedly around the apartment, playing his violin for me, while I lounged on the ratty old sofa and made sketch after sketch of my musician. If nothing else, the pretence of our love was perfectly suited to my mood.

Looking back, though, I suppose there were tiny fissures in the facade which I noted even back then. It was clear from day one that Ethan was excessively self-absorbed and loved to monopolize the conversation. If you can believe it, Chatterbox Justin, the babbling boy wonder, could barely get a word in edgewise most days. Since he mostly talked about music and the world of musicians - a subject about which I knew nothing - I didn’t have much to add anyway, though, so I let him talk. I also noticed that even his compliments to me seemed to reflect back on him much of the time. He’d comment on my beauty, but it was always in the context of how my appearance inspired him. He’d praise my artwork more vehemently when he was the subject the drawings and virtually ignore my other sketches or more abstract pieces. He’d brag about my intelligence by emphasizing how smart HIS boyfriend was. It was almost like I was only an extension of Ethan and not a person in my own right. And, yeah, it was pretty obvious, but I guess we were new enough that it didn’t overly bother me at the time.

And, while things were good between us, life was wonderful. We fucked and laughed and frolicked together. We lived this separate, idealized, almost fairy-tale life, hidden away in Ethan’s little garrett. It was perfect and there was no reason for conflict between us. Everything seemed perfect.

At first.

Reality caught up with me the night Brian surprised me, lying in wait in the darkened loft as I dragged my ass home from yet another evening of blissful fantasy with my musician lover. I was still drifting along in a cloud of romanticism, humming a few bars of Ethan’s latest piece, as I pulled open the door and made my way into what I thought was an empty loft. As soon as I pulled the door closed, though, Brian appeared out of the gloom, scaring me with the way he seemed to materialize out of thin air behind my back.

I could tell right away that Brian had been drinking rather heavily. He had a tumbler of JB in his hand and was slurring his words. Still, he looked his usual, sexy self, even though he was only wearing a pair of old jeans and a plain white t-shirt, barefoot, his hair messed up and his jawline shaded by a day’s worth of stubble. He was obviously horny too, as evidenced by the bulge in his partially unbuttoned pants.

Normally, that was the kind of Brian I wouldn’t be able to resist. But I was fresh from Ethan’s bed and I hadn’t taken the time to clean myself afterwards - my starving artist lover only had a bathtub, not a shower, which made it problematic to bathe after our trysts, and I usually just waited till I got home to shower - so I tried to sidestep around Brian. He wasn’t having it though. He intercepted me and tried to steal a kiss. I turned my head to the side; probably the first time I’d ever rejected one of Brian’s kisses. My reaction seemed to immediately rile the half-drunk Brian.

“Where’re you going?” he demanded as I attempted to pull out of his grip.

“Taking a shower.”

He wasn’t buying it. “You sure are taking a LOT of showers lately,” Brian intimated, pulling me back towards him by my jacket even as I twisted to try and free myself.

I felt like I was being groped by an octopus; every time I tried to escape, Brian would grab hold of a different part of me. He started by encircling my waist with his arms, pulling my back closer to his chest. I turned in his grip and he looped his left arm around mine, so that I had to face him as I tried to extricate that limb. I tried to step back from him, but he hooked a finger in my sleeve and towed me back.

“Come here.”

“Later,” I insisted.

“Now.”

Brian leaned into me, his face only millimeters away, eyeing me with the kind of hungry look that would normally make me melt.

I tried to act casual as I patted his face dismissively. “Can’t we please do this AFTER I shower?”

He just wouldn’t let go of me, though. “I like smelling YOU, not soap.”

That statement caused me to freeze in place. I knew I was caught. I could no longer look him in the eye. All the struggle went out of me as I just stood there and waited to see what my punishment would be.

In typical Brian Kinney fashion, however, he didn’t do what you’d expect. Instead of yelling at me and throwing around accusations, he simply looked at me with the most tender expression. Then he reached up to caress my face. And then he sniffed at me, his flaring nostrils barely a centimeter from my bee-stung lips. It was a game we’d played before - joking that we could tell what each other’s tricks looked like merely by smelling their leftover scent - but this time it didn’t feel like fun and games. This time I could tell that Brian sensed my guilt. He knew that whatever man I’d been with hadn’t been just another trick.

Then, in a lightning quick change of mood, Brian’s calm shattered. He seized hold of me and slammed his mouth against mine. It wasn’t so much a kiss as a possession. He ate at my lips, sucking at them sloppily, as if hoping to replace the last touch on them with his own. Replacing Ethan’s scent with his. Marking me. Reminding me who I belonged to without uttering a word.

Despite how guilty and unquiet I felt, my body responded instantly to Brian’s assault. I was kissing him back, almost as violently, daring him to prove he actually cared. My hands were scrabbling at his skin, trying to dig their way in and establish a permanent hold on him. I wanted him to take me. To punish me. To PROVE that he loved me.

Things got heated pretty fast. Our bodies were pressed together and it was obvious how immediately aroused we both were. Brian yanked my jacket off and started to pull up my shirt but I didn’t want to leave off kissing him long enough to get the fabric off over my head. Instead, he tightened his hold around my waist and dragged us both down to our knees. Then he pushed me away long enough to get my shirt off before shoving me onto my back so I was lying on the bare, cold floorboards in front of him. And still he was kissing me, biting at my lips and neck, his hands twining so tightly in my hair it hurt.

I was loving every minute of it. I wanted him so badly right at that moment, that I couldn’t think straight. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be punished. Whatever. Just so long as he noticed me. Touched me with those ultra-sensitive hands that always knew how to give me what I wanted, even before I knew what that was myself. I wanted him to fill me and keep fucking me till I forgot all my doubts and insecurities.

I reached up, fumbling at the buttons of his jeans, desperate to hurry things along, but he viciously slapped my hands away and instead unzipped my own fly, yanking my pants down far enough to free my cock.

Then he lay down, covering my body with his own and asked, “you like that?”

I breathed out a raspy, “Yes!”

He seized my lips again, kissing me so hard I tasted blood, his hands tugging at my hair and his hips grinding against me with a series of violent jerks that caused me actual pain. It barely registered though. I wanted to feel that pain. I knew I deserved it. I wanted more, in fact.

But just when I thought I was going to get my wish - Brian fucking me all better - he stopped cold. Brian pulled away from my kiss, hands braced on the floor, one on each side of my face, and he raised up far enough to look me in the eyes. I didn’t want him to go so I kept trying to reach him with my mouth, kissing his chin since it was all I could reach. But he pulled away even more.

“Why’d you stop,” I asked breathily.

He just looked at me, this contemptuous look slowly overtaking the full-blown lust of only seconds before.

“Brian?”

Then Brian did the cruelest thing he’d ever done to me . . . something that I completely deserved but which was nonetheless unexpected enough to hurt like a stake driven through my heart.

He paused, looking directly into my eyes, his gaze raining down unspoken accusations on me for uncounted seconds. I could do nothing besides lie there, pinned in place by that icy stare. Then he inhaled, loudly, through his nostrils, moving his face slightly as if to take in a greater range of whatever he was smelling.

Before I could think of anything to say, he sneered at me and snarled, “go take a shower. You stink.”

After which, he got up and left me lying there on the floor, so devastated by his rejection that I felt like I’d been beaten, and he simply walked away. It was actually a surprise when, a minute later, I reached down to pull up my pants and felt no blood. There should have been blood, right? Anything that hurt that badly should leave some external indicator. I should be bleeding from the hole where he yanked out my heart. There should be something. But no. My body was in one piece. It was just my soul that had been ripped asunder.

And the worst part is that I’d done it all to myself.

Chapter 5 - Snake Charmer.

It was so easy, at first, to fall into Ethan’s world. He was so charming and charismatic. So enthusiastic about life in general. I was immediately captivated. And in the beginning, when everything was going Ethan’s way, it was all good.

I suppose it’s easy to be happy and charming when everything is going your way. He praised me, complimented me, and seemed interested in everything about me. We laughed and joked around all the time. And since I very rarely turned him down back then, for sex or any other request, there was no reason for him to criticize me or show any anger.

In the beginning everything was rainbows, roses, and unicorns. He played his fiddle and I danced along in his wake as if he were the Pied Piper. Maybe I should’ve paid closer attention to that fairytale when I was a child, though, because like that cautionary children’s tale, my own story was doomed to have an unhappy ending. Someone should’ve reminded me that the Primrose Path is always an illusion. You can ignore the realities of life for only so long before they intrude on your fantasy. And then the unpleasantries of the world come knocking insistently on your door.

So, yeah, when things were going well, Ethan was the most charming person you’d ever met. As long as I was giving him what he wanted - admiration, respect, attention - everything was hunky-dory. Roses fairly grew out of his ass. And he rewarded me during those good times by making me feel cherished and valued beyond anything I’ve experienced before.

But the moment things became difficult, whenever I found even the tiniest bit of fault with him, or when circumstances outside his control went south, that charm and wit could disappear in a snap.

That’s when I realized that the Pied Piper was leading me down a path from which I might never return.

After Brian’s little warning stunt I tried to stay away from Ethan. I really did. I know he hadn’t actually SAID anything - it wasn’t like Brian to make demands or impose restrictions on others - but I knew that had been his way of giving me an unspoken ultimatum. He was doing what he always did, communicating through his actions rather than his words. But the message was clear as day; he knew what I was up to and he wasn’t pleased.

After I’d crawled to the shower and washed Ethan’s stink off me, I emerged from the bathroom determined to fix the mess I’d made. I knew I was the one in the wrong. I was the one who’d broken our rules - again - not Brian. Brian hadn’t ever broken a promise he made to me. And if I didn’t want to lose him, I needed to figure out a way to make it up to him.

That proved difficult, however, because Brian wasn’t there when I finished my shower. I assumed he had gone out to blow off some steam. Probably to Babylon. I was actually glad for the respite, to be honest, and thought I could use the time to think through how I was going approach things with Brian when he returned. Unfortunately, I was asleep before Brian came in that night. He also left without waking me for our usual morning shower fuck the next day. And this pattern carried through for the rest of the week. We barely saw each other and, when we did, there was this chilling emotional distance between us that seemed impenetrable. Even worse, he didn’t touch me all week.

It seemed my punishment wasn’t over yet.

Meanwhile, Ethan refused to give up and leave me alone. The man was persistent as fuck. If I’d thought he was borderline stalking me before, there was no longer any doubt. He literally followed my every step from the moment I arrived on campus every day till I got on the bus to head home. Most days he also turned up on Liberty Avenue after school, watching me surreptitiously from across the street while I was working at the Diner or hiding in the shadows at Woody’s or Babylon when I was out with Brian and the gang. One night, while I was standing at the window having a smoke before heading to bed, I even caught a glimpse of Ethan lurking on the street corner across from the loft. Luckily, he wasn’t looking up when I saw him, so I was able to back away and hide behind the blinds before he saw me, otherwise he’d probably have tried to get me to let him in or something.

No matter how many times I told him I was no longer interested, though, he kept imploring me not to shut him out. To give him another chance. To not throw away our love. He even had the audacity to tell me that he thought he’d die without me; claimed he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t even play his violin, since I’d been gone. He was convincing too. He made me feel even worse than I had before, so now I wasn’t only feeling guilty about cheating on Brian, but also for causing Ethan pain. There I was, ruining two good men’s lives, and I still wasn’t satisfied. I had to be the biggest asshole ever born, right?

Things finally came to a head the morning the shipment of Rage comic books was delivered. Michael and I had been working on this project for months, and I’d really been looking forward to seeing the comic in print, but that accomplishment seemed hollow by the time it arrived. We were at his shop that morning, and we opened the first carton together, marveling at the sight of our creation come to life, so to speak. But, just when we were starting to talk over the possibilities this might lead to, Brian came through the door and brought with him that same air of distant chilliness I’d been suffering under all week. Suddenly, all the fun of seeing my comic in print evaporated and I once again felt uncomfortable and depressed.

Even Brian’s announcement about the marketing extravaganza he’d arranged to help launch the comic seemed to fall flat. Yeah, the party at Babylon he’d planned sounded great, and the advertising was spot on, but I couldn’t help feeling like it was all an extravagant bandaid slapped on top of our ailing relationship at the last minute. I was probably reading too much into it, I know. Brian had undoubtedly been planning this for weeks. In my mind, though, it felt like he was trying to buy my appeasement since he couldn’t show me love in any other way.

So I thanked Brian politely, promised I’d see him later that night, said goodbye to Michael, and then quickly made my exit with the excuse that I needed to get to class. Of course Ethan was there within moments after I stepped off the bus at PIFA and, without really even thinking about it, I gave into him that time. I let him lead me away to his  apartment. We skipped all our classes, spending the whole day in his bed, making love over and over.

Yes, I know it was stupid. Yes, I realize it was a huge mistake. I don’t have any excuse other than that I was weak and lazy. It seemed like the easiest course of action to give in to Ethan just then. I thought he was offering me what I needed. And I was still so hurt by Brian’s cold-shouldered, blatantly transactional, approach to our relationship, that I was a total pushover for Ethan’s more overt sentimentalism. So sue me; I was young and confused and way too easy to manipulate. But even I didn’t realize the full consequences of my actions back then.

That afternoon still stands out in my memory as an almost perfectly idyllic moment. With the golden spring sunlight streaming in through the windows and gilding the room, it almost seemed like a fairytale scene. Ethan was SO attentive. He pulled out all the stops to make it seem like I was the center of his universe. He worshipped my body. He offered me compliments and caresses and made me feel like a pampered princess. Did I mention how charming Ethan is when he wants to be? That afternoon his charm meter was turned up to ten. And I ate it all up, reveling in my moment in the sun.

It wasn’t until later in the day, lying there watching the dust motes drifting in and out of the rays still peeking through the windows, that the fantasy started to crumble. Ethan had cracked open a bottle of cheap white wine which he’d mixed with cranberry juice so as to make it drinkable, and we were sprawled atop the cum-stained bed covers as we sipped. His one hand was lazily playing in my pubes, creating spiral towers by twirling the curly hairs together in random patterns. I was too fucked out by that point to respond beyond the occasional approving purr. Which is when Ethan started pressing me for more.

“So, tell me . . . does your boyfriend make love to you like that?” he asked in a lazy, gloating drawl.

I had no interest whatsoever in answering that particular question. That was a completely unfair comparison to make. Brian was more than nine inches fully hard and his dick had a nice heft to it as well. He also knew exactly what to do with those nine inches. Ethan, on the other hand, was . . . adequate. He had a respectable seven inches or so, but his dick was slender and didn’t do much to fill me up. Even when he was concentrating solely on me, like he had been that afternoon, his sexual skills didn’t really stand up to Brian’s. But, then again, that’s not what I wanted from Ethan. If all I had wanted was a nice thick dick up my ass, I would never have left Brian’s bed. What I thought I wanted at the time was something much more esoteric. I wanted LOVE, or at least the outward trappings of love.

Of course, I wan’t about to insult Ethan by trying to explain that to him, so I simply shrugged and chuckled noncommittally. Blinded by his ego, like always, Ethan chose to accept my non-answer as assent. Of course I agreed that he was the best lover ever, why wouldn’t I? In Ethan’s mind, his opinion was always correct and he only heard people who agreed with him, all others were ignored.

“That’s what I’m talking about, Baby,” he quietly rejoiced and then toasted himself before drinking down the last of his glass of wine. “So tell me about him. What’s he like? Tell me all the ways I’m better than him.”

That demand caused me to snort, but I managed to hide my reaction in my glass of wine. The word ‘hubris’ came to mind. You definitely couldn’t fault Ethan for a lack of self-regard. But I wasn’t going to talk about Brian with my ‘piece on the side’, no matter how angry I was at him. Ethan might enjoy the challenge of trying to steal me away from Brian, but I certainly wasn’t going to indulge him by offering tips on how better to accomplish his goals.

Ethan took my wine glass away and set it on the floor next to the bed, then rearranged himself so he was lying with his head on my abdomen. He pulled my arm around so it was lying atop his chest and laced our fingers together. I could almost see the wheels in his head churning as he thought through the next step in his plan of seduction before he finally spoke.

“So, this Friday, instead of going club-hopping with your boyfriend, why don’t you drive to the country with me?” he suggested. “We’ll park under the stars and we’ll watch the meteor shower.” He lifted our conjoined hands above his head and wiggled our fingers together to demonstrate the falling stars he was promising me.

Put on the spot like that, I was finally forced to give him an actual answer. “I can’t. He’s giving me a party.”

“Don’t tell me he finally decided he believes in birthdays.” Ethan laughed at his own joke and I playfully slapped him in the head to get him to stop.

“No. It’s for the comic book,” I explained.

That got Ethan’s attention. He hadn’t really shown much interest in my comic book earlier - probably because it had nothing to do with him - except to comment on how proud he was of me for putting my talent to work like that. Now that he heard Brian was involved with the comic, though, Ethan was suddenly intrigued. I suppose he must have thought that if Brian was interested in the comic, he should be too, at least enough to counter his rival’s attentions.

Ethan twisted around so that he was propped up on one elbow, peering down at me from above, and pried deeper into the matter. “He must love you a lot.”

What was I supposed to say to that? It was such a random thing to say. It felt like he was again trying to get me to compare his love to that which Brian showed me. It made me very uncomfortable.

“In his way,” I responded vaguely.

“But not in yours,” Ethan added, turning the sentence into a statement of fact rather than a question and, at the same time, reaching over to caress my face in a possessive manner, as if to assert that only HE knew how to love me in the right fashion.

When I didn’t reply one way or the other, Ethan leaned in and kissed me to cover up the moment of silence. I must not have returned the gesture enthusiastically enough, though, because Ethan sighed and rolled back until he was lying flat again. I used the break to extricate myself, rolling out of bed as I announced, “I have to go.”

Even without looking at Ethan I could tell he was annoyed that I was again leaving him to return to Brian. Who could blame him, right? Although, it’s not like I had ever promised him anything or even suggested that I would leave Brian. But he kept pressing, nonetheless.

I was only half dressed when he crawled out of bed, walked over to his computer and then turned towards me with yet another gift in hand. “My latest CD. You’re the first person to have it,” he offered, handing me the CD in its casing.

I immediately noticed the cover art. “You used my drawing!”

He gave me a smug smile with a little shrug and directed me to, “check out the back.”

I flipped the case over. There was the usual list of the songs included on the CD along with all the typical disclaimers and legal notices. What immediately stood out, however, was the title at the top. It said only, ‘For Justin’.

“For Justin?” I read it again, this time aloud, blushing at the silly compliment.

Ethan stood there, so proud of himself, waiting for me to offer up the gratitude he knew this gesture merited. What could I do? I WAS flattered. So I kissed him . . . And ended up staying another hour before I finally took my leave.

The next few days were busy. I had a million and one things to do to get ready for the Rage launch party, not to mention a ton of homework and assignments to catch up on after my day of playing hooky with Ethan. This meant I only got to say a brief ‘hello’ to my musician before running off each day on my various errands. He was still following me around though, and I’d often find him playing on various street corners at random times, pretty much any time I wasn’t in class or studying.

On Thursday afternoon I was late to work because I’d had to wait around for a professor who’d asked me to come by his office to give him a status update on my term project. I half expected Ethan to still be waiting for me outside the Fine Arts building when I left. When I didn’t see him, I figured it was because the weather had turned colder that day, with a late spring snowstorm blowing through, and he’d probably given up waiting. So I hurried off down the street, catching the next bus downtown, and arriving at the Diner only about fifteen minutes past the time my shift had been scheduled to start.

I was in such a hurry when I came through the door, I almost didn’t notice Brian sitting at one of the booths till I was almost on top of him. It was still only late afternoon, so I really hadn’t expected to see him. He was, of course, dressed in his Armani best, looking every bit like the successful businessman he was. For a moment I was deceived by his unexpected appearance and happy that he’d seemingly made a special trip to see me. A flash of hope that maybe we’d make up speared through my heart.

That only lasted the few seconds it took me to approach the booth.

“Brian!” I greeted him heartily. “Brian, I thought you’d be at work still . . .”

Then I noticed the person sitting across from him and my stomach did an uncomfortable flip flop that left me slightly nauseous.

“We’re just having a business meeting,” Brian declared gesturing towards his guest . . . a shell-shocked looking Ethan. “Justin, this is Ethan. Ethan, Justin,” he introduced us.

I almost dropped the jacket I’d just taken off when I’d come in from outside. Ethan’s expression had morphed from shock to anger as he looked from me to Brian and back. I could tell he suspected I’d somehow set him up, although how that was possible when I’d had no idea he’d dare to follow me all the way to my work this time, I didn’t know.

Brian, meanwhile, sported a perfectly neutral expression, like he had no clue what he’d just done. I didn’t buy it for a minute. Brian was too cool a customer for that. I knew he knew about Ethan, I just hadn’t known how much he knew. Although, when I thought about it, I remembered that the new CD Ethan had given me only days before - the one with my artwork on the cover which was titled ‘For Justin’ - had mysteriously gone missing that morning. One guess how that had happened. Yeah, this chance meeting had all the earmarks of yet another ‘lesson’ arranged for me by my controlling non-boyfriend.

It worked, too. I felt like a rabbit caught between two birds of prey; I wasn’t sure which one would devour me first, but I knew I was toast either way. I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there, looking back and forth between the two men who I was currently sleeping with, while my mind remained perfectly blank. Ethan looked confused, like he wasn’t accustomed to being played with. Brian smiled at us both with that fake innocent smile he always used on his clients or his horrible mother. And we might have all gone on like that forever, an awkward triangle of guilt, if Ethan hadn’t finally picked up his violin case and started to slide out of the booth.

“I gotta get to class,” Ethan stated, directing a momentary flash of anger my way as he got to his feet.

I might have said something then - apologizing or pleading for mercy, I don’t know which - if Brian hadn’t interrupted again. “By the way, if you’re interested, the job’s yours.”

Ethan stopped in his tracks, looked back over his shoulder at Brian as if trying to figure him out, then frowned disdainfully before he silently turned and left. I could tell by the set of his shoulders Ethan was pissed as hell - at me or at Brian, I couldn’t yet tell. When I turned back to Brian, I could see his mask of indifference had finally fallen away, leaving me a glimpse of the pain and regret he was hiding inside. But it was a defiant regret, one he would never offer repentance for. And, in the end, he looked away without saying another word to me.

He was waiting for me at the loft when I finished my shift at the Diner. I’d spent the entire four hours I was working thinking of how I was going to approach him. At first I was going to go with accusations and anger, but that mood quickly dissipated. I knew that crying and throwing myself on his mercy would be useless - Brian had nothing but contempt for those who didn’t stand up for themselves. But what did that leave me? In the end, I decided to go with a plea for forgiveness and hope for the best.

“Brian, I’m sorry,” were the first words out of my mouth. “I didn’t mean for it to happen . . .”

And Brian, of course, proceeded to mock my apology. All the rest of my carefully prepared speech was immediately forgotten. He never could be serious about emotional shit. So, instead of actually talking about what had happened, and maybe even working out some of our problems, Brian proceeded to turn it all into a joke.

“So, how big is his dick?”

“That has nothing to do with it,” I spat.

“Since when?” he queried, jumping up to stop me when I started to walk away. “You love cock.” He gave me a little peck on my cheek. “You love it down your throat.” He shoved his hand down the front of my jeans and began to fondle me. “You love it up your ass. You love riding it.” He was slowly stroking me and I was already getting aroused despite my simmering anger. “And after you come, you love to fall asleep with it still inside you.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he purred the final words.

However, I wasn’t amused or in the mood to play games. “Cut it out,” I demanded, pulling his hand out of my pants. “Cut it out!”

“You’re hard.”

“So?”

“Don’t tell me it doesn’t matter.”

I pushed him away. Brian let me. He turned and walked into the kitchen, pretending to look for something in the fridge.

“There ARE other things,” I insisted.

“Flowers? Picnics?” he asked. Then his eyes darted to the kitchen counter where the missing CD was now waiting in full view. “Violin music?” he sneered.

He was taunting me and, all of a sudden, I’d just had enough. “He LOVES me,” I insisted, finally voicing the thing that had been bottled up in my throat so long it was a wonder I hadn’t strangled on it already.

Brian closed the fridge door and then paused a moment before facing me again. “Your dreamy-eyed schoolboy?”

“In ways that you can’t.”

“In ways that I won’t,” Brian corrected, now looking at me with a resigned sadness that sucked the anger right out of me.

“He told me that I’m all he wants,” I tried again, foolishly hoping that I might provoke some spark of reactionary emotion.

But Brian never was one to play games by anyone else’s rules. “They’re still using that one?” he teased dismissively.

I was choking back tears by that point, all but assured that I wasn’t going to get the ending I wanted, yet still not ready to give up. “It’s more than you’ve ever said,” I pressed.

Brian moved close enough to reach for me, taking my face in his big strong hands. The hands that had always, before, made me feel so secure. And then he broke me.

“And it’s more than I ever will.” Brian leaned even closer, his forehead touching my temple and his words dropping to a husky baritone whisper. “So . . . Uh . . . What the fuck are you still doing here?”

I gasped, feeling like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs. I refused to let him see me cry, though. I wasn’t going to let him see the full depth of the pain he’d caused me. And if he wanted me gone, he was going to have to have the balls to say it.

“Would you care if I wasn’t?” My voice cracked as I asked the question but at least I got it out.

He straightened up and looked me in the eye, his calmness making me even more frantic because I could tell I’d already lost him. “It’s your call where you want to be,” he declared, abdicating all responsibility for whatever was happening to us. “You decide.”

And then he just turned his back and walked away.

So, Brian, in his infinite wisdom, gave me the right to decide my own fate and left me with no choice. I mean, how could I stay with him after that? He as much as told me that he would never love me. He would never give me what it was I needed. Or at least what I thought I needed at the time. He refused to even say he’d miss me if I were gone.

When I walked out the door without saying another word, Brian didn’t even look up from his computer.

I raced across town as fast as the the public transportation system would take me, ending up at Ethan‘s door and still not having any clue what I was going to say. Luckily, I was still managing to hold back my tears, hanging onto the tendrils of my anger in an effort to stave off my spiraling emotions. And I was even more glad of that fact when Ethan finally opened the door, clearly in the middle of a towering rage.

“Your boyfriend is an asshole!” he screamed at me the minute I was inside and the door closed behind us.

“He’s not an asshole,” I immediately rushed to defend him, not even sure in my own mind why. “He’s honest . . . If . . . if anyone’s an asshole, I am, for lying.”

Unable to counter that assertion of fact, Ethan immediately switched tacks. “How did he find out?” As if that really mattered when we were both clearly guilty and had already been caught red-handed.

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t ask him?”

“He’d never tell me.”

This seemed to incense Ethan even more for some inexplicable reason. “Well you can tell him, from me, that he can keep his fucking donation to the arts,” he insisted, and tossed the $100 tip Brian had given him at my feet.

“Wait. He can afford to give it away. You can’t.” I held the bill out towards Ethan as he paced past me, swigging wine directly from a dusty bottle.

Ethan huffed a derisive scoff and sneered down at me. “At least now I know why you’re with him. Fuck, he’s beautiful!” he declared, the words coming out in an almost hungry growl. “He must be great in bed.”

Again with trying to compare himself to Brian? What did he expect me to say? I was tired from all the day’s shit and I wasn’t going to lie just to stroke Ethan’s ego.

“Yeah, he is.”

Not unexpectedly, my response didn’t go over so well. Ethan’s face contorted with anger and he reached out to snatch back the money I was still holding in my hand. I should’ve just got up and left then but, me and my big heart, I felt like I had to at least try and make things right. I’d already left one man angry at me that night; I didn’t need to alienate Ethan is well.

“It’s when we’re NOT in bed that’s the problem,” I tried to explain.

But apparently that wasn’t the correct answer because Ethan turned on me, set his wine bottle down on the milk crate that substituted for an end table, and snarled at me with such venom I almost didn’t recognize him.

“Well guess what? I’m not the answer. I have myself to think about.” He spun around and started shuffling through his sheet music as he continued to speak with his back to me. “The Heifitz competition is coming up. There’s a $25,000 first prize, touring dates, even a possible recording contract. I can’t be wasting my time thinking about YOU. Wishing that you were here. Hoping that tonight is going to be the night that you finally stay.”

“I want to stay,” I asserted, knowing that this time it was the truth.

“Well you can’t.” He shot me down so fast it left my head spinning. “You can’t! So just go back to your boyfriend!” I’d never seen Ethan so savage before and it actually scared me. “And I’ll go back to my violin.”

He picked up his instrument, tucked it under his chin, and proceeded to scrape the bow across the strings with such viciousness that the noise would’ve drowned out any protest I might’ve thought to make.

“Ethan. Ethan!” I tried to yell over the music, to no avail.

He had his back turned towards me and ignored my very presence. It was clear I wasn’t going to get anywhere with him like that. And once again, I was left to make a decision without having any real choice in the matter. So much for my failed attempt at romance, huh?

I turned around, tail between my legs, left behind my irate lover, and made my way back to the loft where I hoped I would still find a place to sleep for the night, if not true acceptance or love.

At least Brian hadn’t already changed the locks on the door. I slid the giant metal panel door open as quietly as I could and slipped inside. The only lights on in the loft were the security lights by the door and the small light over the kitchen sink - a sign Brian must’ve at least hoped I’d be coming back, because those were the lights we usually left on when one of us returned earlier than the other. Peering through the gloom of the darkened room, I could see Brian outlined by a moon beam illuminating his side of the bed. He was awake and there didn’t appear to be any other bodies in the bed with him. I supposed that was a good sign, for whatever it was worth.

Brian didn’t get up or say a word as I slowly padded across the floor and up the steps into the bedroom. He just looked at me. I didn’t see any expectation or judgment in his eyes, they just looked blank. Which, in a way, was good, because I’d already had enough humiliation for one night. And, since I didn’t have anywhere else to go, I took a deep breath, tried to bolster whatever fortitude I had left, and started to undress.

Brian remained silent the whole time, but when I had stripped down to only my briefs, I hesitated. Was I really going to do this? Did I have no shame at all? Was I seriously going to crawl after a man who had virtually dismissed me just a few hours before?

I almost changed my mind, but half a second before I was about to turn around and give up for good, Brian actually made a small gesture of reconciliation. Silently, without his expression changing a wit, he reached across and lifted the covers up on my side of the bed. The invitation was clear. So I swallowed my pride and crawled into bed next to him. Once I’d lain down, facing away from Brian with my head on the pillow, he resolutely pulled the covers up over me. Then he scooted close enough to spoon me, draping his arm across my body and resting his hand against the bare skin of my forearm so his fingers could tickle along the sensitive skin there.

It was a familiar stance - we’d slept that way a hundred times before - but this time it felt so alien to me that my skin was crawling. I knew I didn’t belong there any more. The problem was I didn’t belong anywhere. No one wanted me. My parents hadn't wanted me. Brian hadn’t really wanted me either; he only took me in after the bashing because my mother asked him to. Now Ethan didn’t want me either. I had nowhere to go and no one to go to. And at that low moment in my life, I thought I’d reached rock bottom.

So I laid there the rest of the night, unable to sleep, silent tears drenching my pillow, wondering how I’d managed to screw my life up so badly and where I would go come morning.

Chapter 6 - Rage Against The Machinations.

How is it that someone I once thought of as a hero of sorts, could eventually turn out to be the monster of my story?

Don’t get me wrong, Ethan can be incredibly altruistic when it suits his purposes. He loves to donate time and even, sometimes, money, to ‘good causes’, provided that the recipient of his beneficence is thoroughly appreciative of his noble generosity. It isn’t about the gift that is given or the need of the donee; it’s about Ethan portraying himself as the Giver. So, yes, Ethan can be generous, but only when his generosity will reflect back on him.

In a similar fashion, he’s always loved to play the swashbuckling champion of the downtrodden. He eats up all the gratitude his rescuees inevitably laud him with. Because that’s how he’s always thought of himself. He’s the hero, the daredevil, the brave, romantic prince, always the star of his own fantasies. He likes to pretend that he’s the type to swoop in and save the day. He’s the ONLY one who knows what to do and how to do it. He alone can fix whatever is wrong.

But all his heroism is about himself, not the person he supposedly saves.

So, naturally, he would have been drawn to me back then. He no doubt saw me as some romantically disadvantaged naif that needed saving from the big, bad Stud. In his mind Brian was always the bad guy. Brian was the abuser. I was the innocent that needed protecting. And Ethan was the bold adventurer who found me, took me under his wing, and protected me. My predicament, when we first met, fit into Ethan’s personal narrative so well it was ridiculous.

Of course, that wasn’t exactly the truth. I wasn’t actually as innocent as Ethan seemed to think I was. Hell, I was a lot more sexually experienced than he was - or will ever be, most likely. And the problems I was having with Brian weren’t all my older lover’s fault. I was young and stupid but I should have stood up for myself a lot more than I did. I know Brian was never one for talking, however he had repeatedly told me that if I wasn’t getting my needs met, I should do something about it. I think, despite his antipathy towards emotionality, he would have respected me more for stepping forward and voicing my concerns, than he did for sitting there meek and quiet while everything fell apart. But the bottom line was that we were BOTH at fault and I really didn’t need a savior as much as I THOUGHT I did.

Enter Ethan The Brave.

Ethan came into the picture at just the right time - or, depending on how you look at it, just the wrong time - to take full advantage of the mess I’d made of my relationship with Brian. I was ripe for the swooping and the protecting. And, in my moment of weakness, I even welcomed it. I guess, in my secretly romantic heart, I wanted to be rescued by the big, brave prince and carted off to live happily ever after. Who doesn’t at some point?

But, you see, that wasn’t really ME. It was just the me I was at that moment in time when Ethan found me. I actually used to be really independent and, at least before this mess, I chafed at at being under anyone’s control or protection for too long. Brian might have been controlling, but I had never let him control ME. We’d always been equals, despite the difference in our ages. I think that was one of the things that had attracted Brian to me from the beginning. And, while I seem to have lost my way since then, it’s not in my nature to play the obedient and grateful rescuee.

No wonder I wasn’t able to provide Ethan with the requisite gratitude he longed for after he swooped me up.

The mystery of how Brian found out about me and Ethan was solved the very next morning. After getting only a few short hours of sleep the night before, I was barely awake when I shambled through the door of Red Cape Comics in order to be there for the interview Brian had set up with Pittsburgh Out Magazine. I knew I looked like shit, so I didn’t really need Michael to point that fact out to me. But what did he expect? I didn’t feel like shaving - or even showering - when it seemed like my whole world was falling apart. He should have just been happy I managed to dress myself.

However, being Michael, he was incapable of just letting anything go. He had to poke and prod and castigate me.

“Couldn’t you have dressed up a little?” Michael complained.

“I’m an artist, not a businessman. I don’t need to wear a suit and tie to impress anyone.”

Michael, however, had the temerity to insert Brian into our conversation - because . . . Best Friend and all. “This is for Brian. He went to a lot of trouble for us.”

“It’s not for us. It’s for him,” I whinged angrily as I doctored my much-needed coffee. “Brian calls all the shots. Brian controls the show. Including us.”

Okay, I realize that sounded incredibly petty but I wasn’t in a very good place that morning, so I should be forgiven for being a pissy little brat, right? Not if you asked, Michael, though. Michael, being who he is, is incapable of seeing any wrong in Brian Kinney. And he regularly declares that fact to anyone in earshot.

“If you ask me, he’s been pretty good to you. I mean, he saved your life,” Michael insisted. “He took you in. He’s putting you through school. He protects you. He looks after you, you know.” All of which was absolutely true, but it only pissed me off more to hear Mikey reciting all the reasons why I was beholden to Brian. The next thing he added, though, was a sheer fabrication. “And, whether you believe it or not, he loves you. More than he’s ever loved anyone.”

That one hurt. “He doesn’t love me. He fucks me,” I admitted, my anger momentarily overshadowed by sadness again.

Michael apparently didn’t like that response, but he couldn’t come up with any facts to counter it either, so instead he went on the attack against me. “Well, then, why don’t you find somebody else . . . Or maybe you already have?”

“He told you?” I was surprised by that, because Brian had never been the type to air his dirty laundry in public - I couldn’t see him revealing the fact that he’d been cheated on, even to Michael.

“He never said a word,” Michael insisted. Then he revealed all by defiantly adding, “I told him.”

That left me speechless for a moment. How the fuck did Michael find out? And, even if he had, what fucking business was it of his to interfere? I was totally incensed.

“How did YOU know?” I asked, trying to hold in my temper.

“I saw the two of you kissing on the street.”

“You ASSHOLE!” I fumed at him.

And the conversation devolved from there to the point that I was yelling, “Fuck you, Michael. Fuck you!” as I fled the shop, not even stopping to give more than a dismissive curse to the journalists who were supposed to interview us, while I stormed past them and out the door.

So much for my tenuous business partnership with Michael Novotny.

I spent the rest of that day wandering around the city, immersed in my morose thoughts and not caring where I was going. It didn’t help though. Despite hours of fruitless wandering and hand wringing, I still didn’t come up with any answers.

Was I going to just stick around forever, taking whatever crumbs of affection Brian thought to drop me? What was the alternative? I didn’t have anywhere else to go. No way was I going to move back in with my mother. Or, worse yet, Debbie. But I didn’t make enough, working part time at the Diner to be able to afford a place of my own. The only way I could manage that would be to quit school and get a full time job, although, without a degree or any relevant experience, I didn’t know what kind of job I’d rate. And what about school - if I left Brian, who was paying my tuition, how would I manage that? There was no way in hell my homophobic dad was ever going to pony up the money to pay for PIFA despite the fact that I knew there was a perfectly good college savings account with my name on it just sitting there in his bank. Craig had washed his hands of me when I moved in with Brian the first time and he wasn’t likely to take me back now that I’d further debased myself. Begging Craig for money was something I wasn’t willing to do even under the straitened circumstances I now found myself in.

Fuck! I felt so trapped. And there was no good solution. It was either continue to play my role as Brian’s fuck toy or end up homeless, friendless and careerless. What was the point?

I was left with the realization that I didn’t have a choice and there was no point to fighting the inevitable. I had to stay with Brian, at least for the time being, and suck up my indignation at the humiliation I felt. It wasn’t fair, but who said life was supposed to be fair? Or happy? Or even bearable? What else was new? I was screwed and didn’t see any reasonable way out, so I would have to stay.

I managed to straggle back to the loft in time to get a shower and change before heading to Babylon. I was happy to see that Brian had already been there and gone - despite my earlier resolve, I wasn’t looking forward to seeing him. Maybe, eventually, I’d manage to swallow my resentment and anger, but I didn’t think it would be happening anytime soon.

Despite my gloomy mood, I was impressed with what Brian’s marketing genius had put together for the Rage Launch Party. The club was decked out with a forty foot tall Rage banner over the entrance and a stage set up to look like the pivotal street scene from the comic. All guests were handed Ragian-style masks as they arrived and were offered special drinks like ‘Rage-tinis’ or ‘Zephyr-politans’. The atmosphere was festive and expectant. And all my friends and acquaintances were there to cheer me on and celebrate my accomplishment.

I tried to get into the spirit of the evening. I really did. I wanted to forget the shitstorm of my romantic life for just one night. But it wasn’t easy. Mostly because I had to spend a significant amount of time with the man who’d betrayed me through his meddling, my soon-to-be-former creative partner, Michael Novotny. Luckily, there was enough noise and confusion all around us that nobody noticed Michael and I weren’t talking. And it was kinda cool to hear my mother and friends repeatedly telling me how proud they were of me. It was almost enough to make me forget my woes.

I’ve gotta admit that the stage show Brian scripted was pretty cool. He’d hired a group of actors to perform an abbreviated version of the comic’s main story. It was gratifying to see my comic - my vision - played out in front of a huge crowd of cheering people. They all seemed to like it. Especially the end where Rage uses his ‘other’ super powers to revive J.T. with a long, passionate kiss. From the way they all yammered for more at that point, it seemed chances were likely their enthusiasm might translate into people buying the comic. Which was the best news I could hope for. If I could just put a little bit of money aside, maybe I would be able to eventually get myself free of the trap I found myself in.

Brian, for one, was pleased as punch by the reaction he was getting. He was walking around as the play unfolded, bragging to everyone who would listen that he ‘wrote that copy’. When the lights came up and the confetti rained down, the audience literally screamed out their approval. It was looking like the party was a resounding hit on all fronts.

“Well, don’t thank me all at once,” Brian complained when he came up behind where Michael and I had been standing, silently, watching the show without much reaction.

“I think I’m gonna get a drink,” Michael, the coward, announced and immediately ran away.

“What’s his problem?” Brian asked me, yelling over the pounding of the music as I tried to brush the half a ton of glitter and confetti off of me.

“We’re not speaking,” I explained.

“Ah. Creative differences?” Brian conjectured with that condescending drawl of his that always grated on my nerves.

“Actually, we’re in total agreement . . . He thinks I’m an asshole and I think he’s one,” I replied, turning to look directly at my supposed ‘boyfriend’ for the first time since we’d had it out the night before.

Brian’s disdainful sneer didn’t disappoint. “Well, I just spent a fucking fortune on this . . .” he looked around him at the jubilation of the party, “. . . so, sort it out!”

I wasn’t in a very compliant mood, though, and dared to argue the point. “After what HE told you?” I snarled back, knowing that I didn’t have to elucidate on exactly what my reference to Michael ‘telling’ on me involved. No doubt the two ‘best friends’ had already convened to discuss my reaction from earlier that morning. I was sure Michael had enjoyed gloating to Brian about how I’d fucked up the interview by storming out, not to mention relating everything else I’d said to him, with appropriately derogatory commentary.

Brian treated my gibe with his usual demeaning humor, of course, teasing me in a sing-song voice. “Aww. He was just looking after me. Like Zephyr looks after Rage.”

The fucker. Of course he’d use the one thing that I was actually a little proud of to taunt me. I snorted a huff of unamused laughter but refused to give him the pleasure of any other reaction.

“You know, if you want your comic book to be a success,” he continued to lecture me like a child, “you should put your personal feelings aside, and don’t piss on your achievement.”

I felt like screaming back at him, ‘no. I don’t have to do that. You’re so much better at pissing on everything I do than I could ever be, aren’t you?’ Only I didn’t get the opportunity. Before I could say anything, Brian was off, striding boldly into the crowd, probably to soak up more admiration for all the many, many wonderful things he’d done for poor, hapless, little Sunshine.

If it hadn’t been for Daphne coming along just then and pulling me out onto the dance floor, distracting me from my black mood, I might have left and just gone home. I wished afterwards that I had. Maybe then things would have turned out differently. I know I was really, REALLY angry with Brian at the time, but maybe we would have eventually worked things out. Unfortunately, I stayed and things turned to total shit.

Daph and I were just coming off the dance floor three or four songs later, when we ran into Mel and Lindz. They were half-soused and having a great time, partying it up while child-free for a change. They once again complimented me and asked if I was having fun. I gave them some vague, unenthusiastic answer.

“You know, I think Brian’s looking for you,” Lindsey added before I could move off.

“He is?” I couldn’t think of why, since we didn’t really have anything more to say to each other.

“Well, of course he is!” Lindz insisted gleefully, which led me to think that the girls, at least, hadn’t been told about my recent indiscretions.

“It’s your big night, Sweetie. I’m sure he wants to share it with you,” Mel asserted.

And for a few minutes, I believed them. I thought - silly me - that maybe Brian had actually relayed that message to them. That, in spite of our troubles and all the evidence to the contrary, he WANTED to celebrate with ME. I guess I was still an optimist back then. Or maybe just gullible. But I believed the girls and so, with a glimmer of hope still flickering in my heart, I went off to find Brian.

It quickly became obvious that the girls’ statements had been more wishful projection than fact. Brian wasn’t looking for me. And he wasn’t anywhere to be found on the dance floor, sitting at one of the tables or even standing at the bar. Which left only one other place he COULD be . . . And, perversely, I went there to find him.

I don’t know what I was thinking. What was I going to do? Have it out with him in front of all these people? Scream at him till he admitted he loved me, fell down on his knees, and begged me to forgive him? I suppose I was either delusional or naive. Or maybe just at the end of my rope and without any other options? Whatever it was, I kept going, threading my way through the crowd, all the way down the darkened hallway to the infamous back room.

Which is where, of course, I found my errant boyfriend, lover, sugar daddy, whatever. It was always a foregone conclusion that Brian would be there. Who had I been kidding? And yet it was still a punch to the gut when I made my way around the various couples and threesomes, all fucking or sucking their brains out in sundry states of undress, to find Brian in one of the furthest recesses of that den of iniquity, kneeling on a couch behind the actor who had played Rage, fucking the man’s ass with his usual ruthless abandon.

I stood there and watched for a minute or two, strangely fascinated in the same way a person will repeatedly press on a wound even though it hurts. Brian was oblivious to everything around him, completely focused on achieving his own pleasure. Rage seemed to be enjoying himself too. The irony of watching the personification of my comic book hero essentially fuck himself wasn’t lost on me, but I didn’t have the heart to laugh. Not that I really needed any more proof, but this was even more evidence that Brian didn’t need me around. He was perfectly capable of - as he always put it - getting his needs met. Without me. Even at an event that was purportedly arranged to honor me and my artistic accomplishment, I was merely an afterthought to Brian Kinney. And maybe I didn’t really NEED endless professions of love or flowery romance, but I didn’t need to have Brian’s tricking shoved down my throat like this either.

I’d had enough. I was no longer in the mood to party. I was going to go home, crawl under the covers of Brian’s bed, in Brian’s loft, and cry myself to sleep. Then, the next day, I’d do it all over again. And probably the following day too. But then, when I was all cried out, I would sit down and make a plan about how I could extricate myself from under Brian’s control. Because there was no way I was going to stick around forever after that.

Of course, that was back when I still had at least a modicum of self-respect.

So, I was on my way out, after dodging yet more fans offering their congratulations, when the answer to what I was going to do and where I was going to go simply appeared before me. At the time, I thought it was the perfect solution. A benediction from the gay heavens. And I was too angry and upset and depressed after what had happened with Brian to even pause before I seized on the only out I thought I had.

He was standing just inside the main exit, right under the gigantic Rage banner. He looked a little lost amid the sea of sweaty, swaying, half-naked, dancing men. But to me he looked beautiful. He looked like a lifeline. A way out of the trap I felt was closing in around me.

Ethan was there!

When he caught sight of me he smiled that engaging smile of his and held up his Rage mask to his face. He was teasing me but this kind of teasing I liked. He must have forgiven me for the night before or he wouldn’t have shown up here. I felt the first real smile I’d had all day bloom on my face as I walked the last few paces towards him.

I pulled the mask away from his eyes so I could look at him and he gave me his ‘serious’ look. “I was practising the Beethoven,” he started off with what seemed like a total non sequitur. “It sounded like shit. And then I realized, it’s all your fault.”

I could tell by the hint of a smile on his face that he was kidding, despite the harsh words - words which echoed our first meeting at that recital so many weeks before.

“My fault?”

“I tried to forget about you, but I can’t,” he declared. “You’re ALL I think about.”

And my heart melted.

Before I knew it, we were kissing. Right there in the middle of Babylon. In the middle of the fucking party that Brian had spent all that money on to celebrate the launch of my comic book. In the midst of a couple hundred guys, all of whom knew me and knew that I was supposedly Brian’s property. But I didn’t care.

All I was aware of at the time was the way Ethan had pulled my face over to his own as he claimed my lips with a possessiveness that felt so good. He wanted me. I could feel it in his kiss. SOMEONE wanted ME! Finally! And he’d said that I was the only thing he could think about. That he couldn’t forget me. He had come there, that night, specifically to find and claim ME! The world vanished and all of a sudden it was just the two of us. I never wanted him to stop kissing me.

I have no idea how long Brian was standing there, behind us, watching the spectacle we were creating. I was too focused on Ethan’s kiss to care. It wasn’t until I realized that Ethan was looking over my shoulder while kissing me, that I became conscious of my surroundings once more. I was curious what Ethan was looking at, since it wasn’t me. I pulled back and twisted my neck around till I found what Ethan had been focused on.

It was Brian, of course.

My two lovers had been caught in a stare-off over my shoulder the whole time. Brian was wearing an unreadable expression, his eyes partially hidden by the silly Rage mask and his lips set in a neutral line that gave nothing away. Ethan, on the other hand, was smirking. With my hand resting against Ethan’s chest, I could feel his barely restrained glee over the fact that he had won. I had finally chosen HIM over Brian. I’m sure he got quite a thrill at the thought of stealing me away from a sex god like Brian Kinney. What he didn’t know, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to mention, was that he’d only really won by default after Brian had basically thrown me away. But I’d learned my lesson the night before and I wasn’t going to screw this up again.

Finally, Brian moved, reaching up to yank off the little mask. Then he turned back so he could look directly at me. He had this enigmatic little smile on his face that even I, with all my experience in reading Kinney expressions, couldn’t decipher. At the time I interpreted it as a sort of dare; something along the lines of, ‘are you sure this is what you want, Sonny Boy?’ When I later looked back on the moment, I realized I probably read him wrong. It was probably his attempt to cover up the fact that he was embarrassed by my blatant public rejection of him. His way of showing the crowd that he was too cool to care that his boyfriend was cheating on him. But either way, I don’t think I would have done anything differently right then. He’d told me it was up to me to decide where I wanted to be and I had just made my decision.

I hardened my heart, squared my shoulders, and finally showed everyone my choice.

I turned my back on Brian and everything that he had meant to me. Ethan pulled me away without another word, guiding me out the door and onward to the new life that awaited me. A life without Brian Kinney. A life that I thought would be everything I’d ever wanted.

A life under the exclusive control of Ethan Gold.

Chapter 7 - Inundated.

One of the basic premises of any good cult is psychological manipulation. They want you to feel a sense of unity within the confines of their group and thereby win your loyalty. This not only makes the inductee feel like they are part of the group, but serves to isolate them from ‘others’. Which, in turn, reinforces the unity, and on and on and on and on . . . until the victim of the cult has become so entrenched in the group that it’s impossible to leave.

Back in the 1970s, the Unification Church of Sun Myung Moon - otherwise known as the ‘Moonies’ - was particularly adept at using this type of unity-inducing manipulation. Their technique was to make sure that all cult members were always smiling, constantly projecting a positive image to the outside world. Their message was universal love and acceptance. And those they approached, especially disillusioned kids who hadn’t experienced a lot of love in their own lives, were easily taken in by that image. Who wouldn’t want to become a part of all that happiness? The desire to be loved is a basic human need so it isn’t surprising that giving someone tons of positive attention is a great way to win them over to your side. The Moonies’ success with this approach has since been followed up by other cult leaders like Charles Manson, Jim Jones and David Koresh.

Social anthropologists have a name for this cultish approach to winning over converts: ‘Love Bombing’.

Love Bombing is like weaponized affection. Cults aren’t the only ones who use Love Bombing to their advantage though. There are others who have become equally adept at using this technique on a more individualized basis. Human traffickers and pimps use Love Bombing to recruit sex workers by lavishing young men and women with expensive gifts and attention before gradually inducing them to perform sex acts in order to enrich the abusers. Gangs use a modified form of Love Bombing to make their street soldiers think that they will only ever find companionship and support among the like-minded members of the gang. In these cases, the love bombing is a coordinated group effort, with the group’s leader directing the followers to flood new members with feigned flattery, affection and praise, and then, once the newbie is roped in, they can do whatever they want with them.

When Love Bombing is used by an individual, however, that’s when its at its most insidious. Its most abusive. That’s when you get domestic abusers who intentionally use a victim’s emotional needs to take advantage of them both emotionally and physically. This group includes, not surprisingly, the malignant narcissists of the world - the kind of abusers who thrive off the love and devotion of their prey. These abusers tend to be particularly adept at Love Bombing to win the initial confidence of their partners. They idealize the love interest they go after, putting them up on a pedestal, and making the object of their attentions feel like the abuser adores them.

Of course, this Idealization phase never lasts. It can’t. Because the narcissist needs to be the center of their own world. They only pretend that the victim is important until they start to receive the attention they desire. Once they’ve won over their victim, all is good . . . until, inevitably, something happens to break apart the perfect illusion they’ve created. When the victim starts to notice the smothering attention they’re subjected to, and attempts to withdraw, then the narcissist gets angry.

Hence the Idealization phase morphs into the Devaluation phase.

The lesson here is that, when something’s too good to believe, don’t believe it. When someone bombards you with over-the-top love and affection, smothers you with verbal seduction, and pressures you for rapid and total commitment, you should be worried. Stop and think about things before you jump into such a relationship. Don’t let yourself be rushed. See the Love Bombing for what it is . . . just another tool that an abuser will use to control you.

Protect yourself while you can, or else you’ll end up like me.

That first night after I left the Rage party with Ethan was heaven.

Ethan was so considerate, so attentive, so solicitous of me. He kept asking if I was okay. He pressed me to talk about what had just happened. He told me how worried he was and that he understood how hard the decision I had made must have been. He said he just wanted to hold me and kiss me until I felt better.

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated all the attention and the show of support. The difference between Brian’s taciturn refusal to ever discuss ANYTHING emotional and Ethan’s effusions of sentiment wasn’t lost on me. Strangely enough, though, I didn’t really want to talk about it all that much. Yes, I was devastated by Brian’s seeming betrayal and the collapse of a relationship I’d been striving at for two long years, but I didn’t want to dwell on it. I had made my decision and going through the play-by-play afterwards wasn’t going to change things or make me feel any better. What I wanted was to get on with my life and move past that pain.

So it struck me as kind of odd that Ethan wanted to talk about it all so desperately. He simply refused to stop pressing. Apparently he wanted to hear all the gory details. So I relented enough to give him the basics - I told him how I’d found Brian fucking his alter-ego in the backroom on the one night that I thought should be about me and my achievement and how disillusioned that had left me.

Ethan voiced the appropriate amounts of sympathy, of course, but with a bit of gloating thrown in. He seemed thrilled by the fact that he’d ‘won’ me away from Brian. That he had been the better man. He was the caring, empathic one and Brian was the total asshole who couldn’t keep it in his pants for even one night. I was too tired and emotionally worn out to dispute Ethan’s skewed view of the events. I let him think what he would. I just wanted to move on.

“I don’t want to talk about Brian anymore,” I finally insisted, getting up from the ratty old sofa and turning to pull Ethan up after me. “I’m with YOU now and I want to start off our new life together on a positive note. I don’t want to think about anything negative. So, please, just take me to bed and make love to me until I completely forget about the bad parts of tonight.”

So he did. Ethan kissed me and led me to his bed. Then he spent the rest of the night making slow, tender, passionate love to me. And it was almost enough to make me forget about Brian.

Almost.

The next morning, the lovefest continued. Ethan was effusive with his praise about just how wonderful the night before had been. First he woke me with a naked violin serenade.

“I promised I’d serenade you awake, didn’t I?” he simpered, setting aside the fiddle and climbing back into bed with me as I stretched.  

We kissed, and I could feel how enthusiastic he was despite the early hour of the morning but, since I was too sore to indulge him yet again, I went with a tried and true distraction technique . . . Food.

“You also promised me breakfast in bed.”

“Aha!” he chuckled and then lifted up the tray he’d stashed on the floor next to the bed.

I shifted up onto my elbow so I could look over the edge of the large plastic tray draped elegantly with a white cloth napkin. On the tray was a display consisting of half a dozen chocolate truffles and one red rose. Okay, so, yeah it was romantic, but as breakfasts go it was . . . insufficient. I was fucking starving. Not that I would say something so rude to my new lover.

“Dark chocolate?” I asked as I reached for a truffle.

“Is there any other kind?” Ethan enthused.

I quickly popped one chocolate in my mouth, silently wishing instead for an extra large mocha and a cheese bagel with turkey and swiss. Brian had always kidded me about the monster that lived in my stomach and how it controlled my life. But, at the same time, he had always made sure to have food available in the loft when I was around, even though he didn’t eat that much himself. Brian also understood not to get between me and my breakfast - food was the one thing I would turn down sex for. That fact was something I supposed Ethan would have to learn about me over time.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here,” Ethan insisted, distracting me from my meager breakfast by running his hands through my hair. “That we actually spent the entire night together.”

He dove in and started kissing me yet again. So much for my truffle breakfast in bed, huh? But I couldn’t fault him for his eagerness. When my stomach growled in the middle of Ethan’s newest assault, though, I realized I needed to take action.

“I’m here, but I can’t stay,” I declared, tossing the little paper wrapper from the one truffle I’d been allowed to ingest back onto the tray and squirming out from under Ethan. Ethan grumbled but I ignored him as I gathered up my clothing. “I have to go to class, then to work . . . Oh, I also have to pick up my stuff.”

That seemed to finally get Ethan’s attention. “What if HE’S there?” Ethan asked, watching me with a pensive expression as I dressed.

“What if he is?” I rejoined, trying to sound nonchalant. “I don’t care. I’m with you now. Right?”

Ethan sighed but didn’t say anything. He did roll over, grab the rose off the breakfast tray and, after sniffing it briefly, handed it to me. I accepted his symbolic gesture, internally marvelling at the ease with which THIS man dealt out all manner of romantic tokens as compared to my last lover. Of course, I couldn’t just leave Ethan after that, no matter how hungry or busy I was. Without even a word, he had clearly and effectively asserted his new ascendancy over me. I knelt in front of Ethan on the bed, tossed aside the rose, and let him drag me back down to the bed one more time.

And, if I saw that this was just Ethan’s way to assert his ownership of me one last time before I went back to my old life, I didn’t fight it. I figured it was just further evidence of how much he cared about me. I chose to read his actions as overwhelming affection rather than possessiveness. I wanted to see only the positive in this new relationship I was now committed to. So I let him make love to me one last time and tried not to think about how hungry I was or that I was going to be late to class.

That afternoon I snuck into the loft to retrieve all my stuff. Thank fuck that Brian was out, because I don’t know what I would have said to him. It was difficult enough just being there without having to confront my ex-lover. I tried to simply grab all my clothing as quickly as possible while ignoring the memories that tried to assail me from every direction.

I wasn’t completely successful.

The problem was that, everywhere I looked, I saw US. I saw us fucking on the chaise lounge in the corner - a favorite place for Brian and I to indulge in a special dessert of ice cream kisses and blow jobs. I saw us in the bathroom, indulging in our usual morning (and sometimes evening too) ritual shower sex. And, of course, I saw us on the altar of Brian’s bed, in all the many permutations of our always satisfying sex life. Yes, there were bad memories hidden in the dark corners of this space as well, but the good memories far outnumbered them.

It was the good memories that I fled from as soon as I’d scrabbled together enough clothing and school supplies to get by for the time being. I figured I could always come back for the rest later. I simply had to get out of there as fast as I could, or risk my resolve to end that phase of my life crumbling to dust.

Not that Ethan would have let that happen. Nope, he wasn’t taking any chances. In fact, I found him waiting for me on the street outside the loft when I came out.

At the time I wasn’t sure if I should be worried or flattered. Ethan spouted off a quick explanation that he had missed me - even though we had been separated barely three hours by that point - and that he figured I might need some help carrying my stuff, so he’d come after me to offer a hand. I was glad of the assistance, to be honest, since I really did have my hands full. I handed off my duffle bag to him while I kept hold of my messenger bag and art portfolio.

What I was NOT prepared for was how upset Ethan got when he commented on how few possessions I had and I confessed that I hadn’t wanted to take the time to get everything just then so I’d just come back later for the rest. Apparently my new lover didn’t think much of that idea. He immediately stopped me and insisted we go back and get the rest right away. He was adamant about it too.

“It doesn’t make any sense to do multiple trips, Baby,” Ethan maintained even after I tried to explain that it was no big deal to come back another day. “It’s better to just get all your stuff now. That way you never have to think about that despicable asshole again. You’ve suffered enough abuse at his hands. Let’s just get this over with.”

Even as angry as I still was, I didn’t like hearing Brian spoken about that way. I almost spoke up to defend him. Maybe it was just too soon, but it felt wrong to have Ethan dissing Brian so ferociously. But I just bit my tongue and continued walking down the block.

“I can’t deal with that now. I have to get to work,” I excused myself. “Now that I don’t have Brian’s money to fall back on, I need to get in as many hours as I can. Maybe Deb will be able to schedule me for some more weekend hours . . .”

“You don’t need to worry about that, Sweetie. We’ll get by. We can live on love, right?” Ethan tried to reassure me, but his efforts fell immediately flat.

“Love doesn’t buy groceries, Ethan,” I argued, a little snippy maybe because I still hadn’t had a real meal and low blood sugar will do that to me.

I guess that was a good enough argument though, since Ethan shut up after that and just trotted along at my side for the rest of the short walk to the Diner. I was glad that he’d finally fallen silent because I was too stressed out to deal with inane chatter. I wasn’t looking forward to my shift. I knew that it was highly likely that the gang would be there - Saturday afternoons were a regular hangout time for them, once they’d all finished at the gym or accomplished whatever other errands they had planned for the day. It was going to be incredibly awkward. At the very least, I hoped that Brian might have become caught up at work or something, or maybe he’d do the considerate thing for once and not show up to spare my feelings. His presence was sure to take matters to a whole other level of embarrassing.

But, either way, what I really did NOT need was Ethan hanging out with me while I confronted Brian and my friends for the first time after I’d very publicly walked out on my former lover the night before. So I made a point of asking Ethan if he could take all my stuff back to his apartment for me. I fibbed a little, telling him that there wasn’t really anywhere for me to keep all my bags at the Diner. I even pretended that I was worried I’d get in trouble if I brought it inside. Thankfully, Ethan bought the act and readily agreed to take my bags back to his apartment for me. Thankful and ready to be temporarily rid of him, I kissed Ethan goodbye and handed off everything except my messenger bag before I squared my shoulders and resigned myself to heading into the Diner to meet my fate.

But, because my luck completely sucks even at the best of times, it wasn’t surprising that the entire gang - including even the girls - was there, all of them silently watching me as I walked through the door. The girls, Emmett and Ted were all sitting in one booth, busily noshing on their lunches as I walked by. Brian and Michael were in the next booth over, also watching me intently. My eyes met Brian’s right away - we’d always had a sort of sixth sense about each other - and I was unable to look away even then. But he didn’t say anything so I didn’t either. I could feel the unspoken criticism wafting in the air around me even as I picked up a clean apron from behind the counter and started to tie it around my waist. The silence was so heavy, it felt like you could drown in it.

Thankfully Debbie broke up the moment of tension. “You gonna just stand there, or you gonna get to work?” she asked me, popping her gum as she offered me up a half-smile of acceptance.

I sighed and moved off to go start unloading one of the bus tubs.

The rest of my shift passed by in a similar vein. Pretty much everywhere I looked I saw sympathetic expressions but nobody was ready to speak up or say anything about what had happened the night before at Babylon. Everyone was meticulously polite. Everyone was kind in a sort of arms-length way. But nobody SAID anything to me beyond giving me their orders or thanking me for their food. It felt so alien. The entire ambiance of the Diner was tilted towards the strange that afternoon. And there was nothing I could do about it.

The gang all cleared out fairly quickly after I appeared. Brian stayed only long enough to finish the cup of coffee he’d been drinking when I came in. He shrugged off Michael’s repeated - and overtly pointed - questions about whether he was ‘all right’, saying he wanted to get home and change. He did leave me a ten dollar tip for a two dollar cup of coffee though. Typical Brian. The rest of them ate up as quickly as they could and bustled off within minutes of Brian’s departure, voicing stilted goodbyes as they left. It seemed like Brian had won custody of all our friends in the breakup. I had expected as much, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt.

Debbie was the only one who refused to take sides. She made a point of not treating me any different than she would have on any other day - right down to making me take my turn on all the nastier chores, like cleaning the restrooms, scraping the grease traps on the huge industrial fryer, and taking out the mountain of trash that had accumulated by the kitchen door. Same old Debbie. At least I had her, right?

It wasn’t till right before the end of my shift that things really started to go south. I was on that trash run, lugging out the six huge garbage bags full of sludge to the dumpster in the back, when Michael reappeared behind me. I could tell the minute he spoke to me that this wasn’t going to be pleasant. Michael always did have a malicious temper. What had I expected? It was a given he’d come to the defense of his ‘Best Friend’ and give me the ‘talking to’ he figured I deserved.

“What do you want?” I asked as soon as I felt him hovering behind me, figuring I might as well get it over with.

“Well, it’s such a lovely day, I thought I’d go for a stroll,” he answered facetiously. “You know, take in the sights . . .”

“Like me, throwing out garbage?” I suggested as I hefted another of the heavy black plastic trash bags over my head and heaved it into the dumpster.

“Yeah, well, you’re so good at dumping things.”

I shot him a scornful glance over my shoulder but didn’t bother to answer him, knowing it would only exacerbate things. I didn’t have to wait more than fifteen seconds for his next salvo either. It was clear he was itching for an argument; standing there, leaning against the corner of the building, his arms crossed in an aggressive posture, and that more-righteous-than-thou judgmental smirk that I had always detested on his face.

“You didn’t have to walk out on him like that in front of everyone, you know,” Michael continued.

“I would have told him to go fuck himself, but he was already doing that in the back room with Rage,” I shot back, letting the anger that I thought I’d almost conquered bubble up again.

“How can you be such a shit?” Michael fumed, predictably taking Brian’s side without even considering how I had felt. “After all he’s done for you?”

I interrupted Michael before he could, once again, begin to list all the many reasons I owed Brian my gratitude. “I know what he’s done for me!”

“You knew who he was right from the beginning.”

“Yeah. You’re the one who told me,” I replied, already fed up with this conversation.

“Did you think that you could change him? That he would change for YOU?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I insisted as I tossed in the last of the trash bags and started to close the lid on the dumpster.

But Michael wasn’t ready to stop berating me yet. “Of course not. It’s over. On to the next. You got what you wanted . . .”

“So did you!” I turned on him, ready to go on the offensive if that’s what it would take to shut him the fuck up. “From the first night that we met, and he took me home and fucked me, you have wanted me gone.” I moved closer so I could shout my final words directly in his face. “Well, Mikey, you finally got your wish. There’s nothing standing in your way anymore. He’s all yours!”

Michael started spluttering, trying to come up with some lukewarm denial of a fact we both knew was true, but I wasn’t going to stand around and wait to hear his lies. I turned my back on him and took a step towards the entrance to the Diner. I guess I’d poked the bear one time too many, though, because Michael was more riled up than I’d ever seen him. He grabbed hold of my elbow, refusing to let me escape, and pulled me back around to face him.

“You know, since you’re no longer with Brian, there’s really no reason for you to be here, is there?” he growled at me, shooting daggers with his beady little black eyes. “So why don’t you just do us all a favor, including yourself, and disappear!”

What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? I can’t say it didn’t hurt. I know that Michael and I had never been close, but for a while there, when we were working together on the comic, I’d thought we were starting to develop a friendship of sorts. I’d thought I was becoming more than just Brian’s tag-a-long boytoy. I’d thought that Brian’s friends were, at least to some extent, my friends too. But not according to Michael. According to Michael, I was no longer needed and nobody would miss me if I were gone.

Michael couldn’t have found a more cutting way to attack me if he’d tried.

Since the night I’d met Brian, my life had been filled with chaos. He’d outed me at school the next morning when he dropped me off in a Jeep spray painted ‘Faggot’. That had led directly to my being bullied and ostracized at school and, indirectly, to first my mother and then my father finding out I was gay. As a result, I was kicked out of my home before I’d even graduated from high school. After that I’d gone from one unstable living situation to the next. First to Brian’s, then to Debbie’s, then back to my mother’s after I was bashed, then to Brian’s again. For the past two years I had never felt fully accepted anywhere I went. And now, it seemed, not only was I having to up end my living arrangements yet again, but I was also being cut out of the lives of the people that I’d thought were my friends. The one group that I thought would accept me for who I was. The people that I had assumed would stand by me. The only constant that I’d had since that momentous day when my whole life had started to change.

I was devastated. How could I not be? And, yeah, to a certain extent I knew that Michael was simply being his vindictive self, so I probably shouldn’t take what he was saying to heart, but it still hurt like fuck. And, because of the way the gang had given me the silent treatment earlier in the day, it seemed like Michael wasn’t the only one who held that opinion. They could have said something to me. They could have voiced some support. They could have offered me a tiny little olive branch. But they hadn’t. Not one of them had said a fucking word to me. Except for Michael, who purported to speak for the collective in telling me to disappear.

I didn’t want to believe Michael spoke for all the rest, but after the last few, tumultuous weeks, I felt so unsure of myself and my position amongst this group, that I just couldn’t fight it. I didn’t have the strength to argue with Michael. Fine. If he wanted me gone, who was I to quibble?

So I walked into the Diner, threw my apron in the laundry bin, and told Kiki that I was quitting. “Be sure and tell Debbie I said ‘goodbye’,” I reminded her as I picked up my messenger bag and walked out the door for what I assumed would be the last time.

The only thing that kept me from totally losing it as I walked away from a place that had come to feel like a safe haven was the fact that Ethan was waiting for me at the corner. He offered up a brilliant smile in welcome and held his arms out for me. I was so grateful that I at least had this one thing, that I willingly let him envelope me in his caring embrace. Right then I didn’t know what I would have done without Ethan to fall back on. It seemed like he was the only one still there for me. The only one I could rely on. My only friend.

So I let Ethan take me back to his apartment and lavish me with care. He made me dinner - or at least what passed for dinner when you only had a small hot plate and a toaster to cook with - filled me with enough cheap wine to get me semi-tipsy, and listened to me while I ranted on about how shitty my day had been. For once, Ethan simply sat and listened to me without saying much. Whenever he did speak up it was to tell me that I had been right to take offense at my friends’ actions. He called them names and told me I was too good for them. He told me that I didn’t need them.

When I’d finally got it all out, though, I immediately started to regret my hasty actions. It was bad enough that I’d just walked out on my lover and lost virtually all of my friends, but I’d also quit my job without having first found something else to tide me over. That meant I was effectively broke. What little I had in savings wouldn’t last me even a month, especially if I started paying my half of the living expenses with Ethan. What the fuck had I been thinking?

“Shit!” I moaned when this realization hit me.

“Shhh. It’ll be okay, Baby,” Ethan crooned, hugging me closer to his chest as we sat together on the ratty old sofa. “You don’t need those losers.”

“No. It’s not that,” I struggled to free myself from his embrace. “I don’t give a shit about them. But I DO need that fucking job.” I got up and started pacing around the tiny room as I worked through what I was going to do. “I can’t just quit and walk away. I have no other source of income. How am I going to pay for food and art shit and school and everything else? How am I going to help out with the expenses for this place if I don’t have a fucking job? Fuck! I’m going to have to just suck it and go back there tomorrow and beg Debbie to give me back my job. I don’t have any fucking choice.”

“You can’t do that!” Ethan got up from the couch, standing in my path and insisting I look at him. “You shouldn’t have to go back to that place and abase yourself to people that don’t appreciate you. They don’t deserve you, Baby. And you don’t need them or their fucking job. We’ll figure out another way to get by.” Ethan grabbed me again and took me in his arms. “You’ll find a new job. A better job. And in the meantime, I’ll take care of you, Jus. I promise. It’s just you and me, now. Right?”

What was I supposed to say to that? Ethan was my only remaining lifeline. He’d taken me in when Brian had betrayed me. He’d given me a place to live and total acceptance. How could I tell him no when he was offering to take care of me, even though I still had a lot of misgivings about that arrangement?

So I said nothing and simply let my new boyfriend bundle me off to bed where he spent the rest of the evening showing me, with his words and his body, how much he adored me. And it was good. He made me feel special. He made it seem like I was perfect and all those people who didn’t see it were blind. It was really nice. It was what I’d always wanted, right? To be pampered? To be deluged with endless support and love?  

Even though, in the back of my mind, there was this little voice that protested just a little bit at being so inundated with love that it felt like I was being smothered.

Chapter 8 - Salad Days.

We’ve probably all heard the parable of the boiling frog, right? The premise of the story goes that, if you place a frog in a pot of boiling water it will immediately react by jumping out and saving itself, but if, instead, you put a frog in a pot of tepid water and then slowly turn up the heat, it won’t realize how much danger it’s in till it’s too late. The slowly simmering frog will keep swimming around in the pot until it boils to death.

The analogy works the same for people too. We are usually so focused on getting through the day to day stuff, the everyday annoyances of regular life, that we often don’t stop to see the bigger picture. If you’re not paying attention, you might just brush off more gradual changes in behavior or relationships, not even seeing them for the warning signs they are. And, before you know it, the person you thought was a loving, caring, ‘soul mate’, has turned into someone who’s a controlling, manipulative abuser.

Admittedly, I hadn’t kissed many frogs myself, but then again, I’d started off by landing a Prince right off the bat. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t prepared to deal with the frog - boiling or otherwise. But it’s true. No matter how crass Brian could be, he was never anything other than honest and straightforward with me. He never promised me anything that he wasn’t prepared to follow through on. And he DID show me how much he cared by way of his actions, even at the same time as he refused to give me the words I begged for. And, no, Brian wasn’t perfect - he was FAR from perfect - but isn’t that normal for human beings? Nobody’s perfect. Not real people, at least.

So why wasn’t I more suspicious when I seemingly met someone that SEEMED perfect? Because that should have sent up warning signs, right? If someone seems perfect, they must be hiding something. There’s no such thing as a perfect lover - not in reality. We all have our faults and our foibles. Anyone that tries to hide those faults from you should be automatically suspect, right?

But I guess, in this story, I was the frog not the princess. I thought I’d stumbled on the perfect man for me. Ethan had swept me off my feet, professing love almost from day one, and I’d bought it. After which I blindly brushed aside and overlooked all the tiny inconsistencies, seeing only the perfect image he was trying to project. I didn’t want to see those imperfections. I WANTED my perfect prince. After being showered with flattery and attention, I didn’t want to admit that I could possibly have made a mistake by leaving Brian for Ethan. So I intentionally DIDN’T look at the cracks in the facade.

And the little changes were exceptionally easy to overlook, too. The professions of love gradually cooled, but that was normal in any relationship, right? The hardships of financial worry set in, but everyone goes through rough patches and we’d get over that.

The little arguments that every couple faces weren’t all that worrisome, even if Ethan’s reactions sometimes seemed a little overboard. And he’d always apologize profusely afterwards and we’d make up.

Unfortunately, it eventually became apparent that my life wasn’t a fairytale, it was a horror story, but while the temperature in my pot kept rising, I was happily oblivious.

Every couple argues occasionally, right? I knew that. Hell, Brian and I’d had some absolute blowouts over the years. That’s a normal part of every relationship. So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that, what with all the stress of me moving into Ethan’s apartment, we would have our first little tiff the very next morning. What did surprise me, though, was how quickly things blew up.

After my breakdown the night before, I woke up early on Sunday morning. Like the eternal optimist I used to be, I just wanted to put it all behind me and move on with my life. And my first order of business was to unpack and arrange all my belongings so I could finally settle in to my new living arrangements. This was problematic, however, because in Ethan’s tiny, hole-in-the-wall garrett, there wasn’t much space, even for the meager pile of my few worldly goods. However I did my best with what there was, as was my way.

Ethan seemed to have a ton of clothes - even though all of them looked like they were purchased at second-hand shops - and his drawers were packed. I figured I could talk to him later about going through them and thinning out his wardrobe a bit so we had more room. This hadn’t ever been a problem with Brian, who refused to wear anything that was ‘last season’ and was constantly editing his clothing to remove anything that was the least bit worn, frayed or faded.

But in the meantime, as Ethan continued to snore quietly in bed, I went ahead and cleared out one drawer of his bureau, refolding his clothing, and managing to somehow fit his stuff into the three remaining drawers. It was a tight fit, but doable, and it gave me one whole drawer for my drawers. The closet was even more difficult as, not only wasn’t there any room in the tiny space, but there wasn’t a single unused hanger. I didn’t need much room, though, seeing as I only had about five dressier items that needed hanging. So I pulled a couple of Ethan’s bulky coats out of the closet and double hung all my clothing on the two empty hangers. I figured we could just hang our jackets on the hooks by the door for the time being.

Once my clothing had been stowed away, I looked around to find a storage solution for my art stuff. Ethan didn’t have a desk or anything, but there were some makeshift shelves he’d fashioned out of old broken down packing crates and cinder blocks. I shifted around some of the knick-knacks on the shelves, enough to make a space for my neatly stacked art supplies and school books. I didn’t know what to do with my larger drawing pads and stacks of loose drawings, though. I didn’t want to leave my drawings out in the open where they’d be more likely to fade or get damaged, but the one cupboard with drawers seemed stuffed to the gills with Ethan’s sheet music, music books, and supplies for his violin.

I was just in the process of trying to organize some of this, so as to make room in one of the drawers for my artwork, when Ethan woke up.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he growled at me, jumping up out of bed and literally leaping across the room to pull a stack of sheet music out of my hands.

“I was just trying to straighten stuff up a little so there’d be room for my drawings.”

“I hate it when people touch my stuff. I’ve got my music sorted exactly the way I need it; if you mess with it, I won’t be able to find anything,” Ethan insisted, stuffing the disorganized sheaf of papers - some of which weren’t even aligned in the same direction, let alone being in any type of recognizable order - back into the drawer without even looking at it, and then glowering at me angrily.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to mess up your stuff,” I immediately apologized, a little taken aback by the strong reaction, but trying nonetheless to placate my new roommate. “I was just trying to put away my art supplies and clothes and crap. If you don’t want me to put my drawings in the cupboard, though, that’s fine. Just tell me where you want me to put it.”

Ethan was still looking at me belligerently, even though the scene was all kinds of ridiculous seeing as he was buck naked with his hair standing up on end. I didn’t think laughing at him would help matters much, though, so I bit my tongue. Meanwhile, Ethan looked around himself at the cramped little one-room apartment, apparently searching for some solution to my storage problem. Obviously, the pile of over-sized drawings in my hands wasn’t going to fit anywhere but in the cabinet where he also stored his music. But he didn’t seem willing to relent on that point.

“There’s no place to put all that shit,” Ethan decided with finality. “Can’t you just store it at school or maybe keep it in your portfolio?”

We both looked over at the large black leather portfolio case - a present from Brian on my first day at PIFA - which was lying open on the coffee table. “That would mean me having to lug all of my drawings with me everywhere I go, including back and forth to school everyday,” I tried to explain. “I usually only keep the stuff I’m working on for that day’s classes in my portfolio. The rest, I’d prefer to keep here, where it’s out of the way and safe.”

Ethan sighed and scrubbed at his face as if trying to wipe away the remaining cobwebs of sleep. “I don’t know, Justin. There’s just not a lot of room for this shit. But . . . You know, I can’t deal with this kinda crap first thing in the morning.” He looked over at the small alarm clock on the milk crate that served as a nightstand and groaned. “Shit. I’ve got orchestra rehearsal with Sanders in twenty minutes. If I don’t book it now, I’ll be late.” He turned and started pulling on clothing and gathering up his music stuff like a goatee’d whirlwind. “We’ll . . . we’ll figure something out about all your shit later. Just, please, don’t touch my music in the meantime. Okay?”

I was getting a little annoyed at the way he was calling my artwork ‘shit’ over and over. As a fellow artist, Ethan should have more respect for my creative output, right? How could he expect me to haul all my finished work around with me everywhere I go? Not only would that be a literal pain, but the risk of my art being damaged or destroyed while I was carting around all my creations, would go up exponentially. How did he not see that?

But, as irritated as I was, it didn’t seem like the time to bring these issues up. Ethan was already mostly dressed and pulling on his coat while babbling about whatever his plans were for the day. All I had time to do was set aside my pile of drawings on the table before he trotted over - almost tripping over Wolfram in the process - taking my face in both hands, and giving me a long, deep, possessive kiss. Then he gathered up his violin - ‘Misha’ - and was out the door without another thought.

“So, what should we do now, Wolfram?” I asked the cat who jumped into my lap for a cuddle as soon as I sat down.

I was at a loss for how to spend the rest of my day. Normally, I would be at work by now, having always worked the Sunday Brunch shift - one of the most lucrative of the week - but since I’d thoughtlessly quit my job, I didn’t have any plans. Ethan didn’t want me to mess with his stuff, so I couldn’t finish putting my possessions away. It also didn’t make sense to go get the rest of my stuff from Brian’s until I knew there would be someplace to put it all. I had a couple of assignments for school I could work on, but nothing pressing. So, there I was with the whole day free, but no plans and no money. Not how I had expected to spend my day.

Just when I was starting to get totally stressed out about what a mess I’d made of things, I was interrupted by the buzzing of my phone. A quick glance at the screen showed that it was my mother calling. I groaned. I had been hoping to put off talking to her for a few more days, at least until I had figured things out a bit more. But, seeing as I had nothing to do and no excuse NOT to talk to her, I tapped the icon on the screen to accept the call.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Justin. How ARE you? I just talked to Debbie . . .”

I groaned, realizing this call was going to be even worse than I’d anticipated. “I’m fine, Mom. Really.”

“She said you and Brian broke up? And you’ve moved in with some other boy? AND you quit your job? That doesn’t sound ‘fine’ to me, Justin!”

“I thought you, of all people, would be happy to hear that Brian and I broke up,” I accused. “You never liked him.”

“That’s not true, Justin. I admit I never really understood him, or your attraction to someone like that, but Brian did a lot for you after the Prom Incident, and I have to give him credit for stepping up back then. I’ve come to respect him since then. So what happened? You didn’t say anything on Friday night at the Rage party. Tell me what’s going on, Honey.”

I sighed and sank back against the threadbare upholstery of the old couch. “It’s a long story, Mom.”

“Well, Mothers like long stories,” she insisted, and I could hear the determination in her voice, meaning that I wasn’t going to be able to escape without giving her all the details. “How about I come pick you up and take you out to lunch and you can enlighten me?”

I looked down at Wolfram, hoping that he’d offer some viable alternative, but the cat only purred at me. “Sure, Mom. Sounds good. But not the Diner, okay?”

A half hour later I was sitting in a little cafe just off the PIFA campus with my mother. Which was good, actually, because I was starving and Ethan didn’t have any real food in the apartment. But the price of my meal was having to explain to my Mom all about the break up with Brian. Thankfully, Debbie had already given her the basics so I only had to fill in the gaps, which I tried to do as succinctly as possible.

“Brian and I have been having some problems for a while now, Mom,” I explained. “I don’t want to get into it all, but suffice it to say, I just couldn’t put up with his casual approach to relationships any more.” That was technically correct and still vague enough not to be embarrassing, I thought. “And things sorta came to a head at the Rage party the other night. So, when Ethan showed up and offered me a better alternative, I just . . . I just want more than Brian was willing to offer, you know?”

Mom placed her hand on my forearm in one of those wordless motherly gestures of empathy and smiled sadly at me.

“It doesn’t matter, though, because I’m with Ethan now,” I declared with finality.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Mom responded, sounding unconvinced but trying to be supportive. “It’s just that all this seems so sudden, Justin. I’d never even heard of this new boy and now you’re living with him? And you’ve quit your job? Do you have something else lined up? Isn’t that a little bit reckless? From what Debbie said, it doesn’t sound like this new boyfriend will be able to help support you the way Brian did - aren’t you going to need that job?”

I’m not sure how to begin responding to the bombardment of questions, but luckily we’re interrupted right then by the appearance of the ‘New Boyfriend’ himself.

“Hey, Baby. I thought that was you,” Ethan gushed, leaning in through doorway of the cafe to smile at me and my mother. When I returned his smile, he took it as an invitation to join us. “I was on my way home from rehearsal and I saw you through the window. I didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

“My mother called and offered to take me to brunch, so here we are,” I explained briefly, wondering how he’d managed to track me down here at this out of the way place. “Ethan, this is my mother, Jennifer Taylor. Mom, this is Ethan Gold,” I made the introductions, noting the way Ethan turned his charm on my mother as soon as I announced the connection between us. “Ethan is a violinist in the Performing Arts Program at PIFA.”

“It’s nice to meet the mother of my favorite artist,” Ethan intoned, giving my Mom’s hand a special little squeeze before releasing it.

“Well! It’s lovely to meet you too, Ethan. Justin was just telling me all about you,” my WASPish mother replied politely, even though I hadn’t really said anything at all about him yet. “Would you like to join us for breakfast, Ethan? We’ve only just ordered ourselves.”

“That would be great. I’m famished. I had to run off to rehearsal this morning without breakfast.”

“Rehearsal?” Mother asked, again with the politeness.

“Yeah, I’m first seat violin with the PIFA Philharmonic Orchestra and we have a performance tonight. We’re doing a Tchaikovsky program. It’s not that complicated - I could play those pieces in my sleep - but the wind section can’t seem to figure it out for some reason. That’s woodwinds for you, right? I think it has something to do with all the hot air they blow all the time.”

Ethan and my mother chuckled together over this little joke like old friends. I just sat back and watched while the two of them bonded like there was no tomorrow. Ethan seemed to be laying it on extra thick - complimenting my mother as well as me to an extent that was almost embarrassing. I mean, it was one thing to have him telling ME how beautiful I am, but it felt kinda hinky to have him saying those things about me to my mother. Mom definitely liked it though. She was smiling at him and doing that thing where she touched his arm in an almost flirty way. Hell, I felt almost like I wasn’t needed at the table, what with the way those two hit it off right from the start. Thankfully, I was able to hide my disquiet by focusing on my breakfast while they talked about and around me for the next twenty minutes or so.

“Well, sorry to eat and run like this,” Ethan said the minute he’d finished his Spanish omelet, “but I have to get going. I need to work on my competition piece this afternoon.”

“Competition?” Mom looked over at me questioningly.

“Ethan is a finalist in the Heiffitz Competition,” I explain.

“Wow, that sounds impressive. You sound like a musical genius.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to say that.” Ethan was always agreeable when his talent was being discussed. “But I like to think I inherited it from my Grandfather.”

“He was in a concentration camp,” I interject, just so I could be part of the conversation for a change, but all I got for my efforts was confused looks from both my mother and Ethan.

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry . . .” Mom started to apologize.

“It’s okay. Luckily, he survived, and he taught me how to play,” Ethan elaborated with a condescending look my way before he turned his attention back to mom with a smile. “I’m also fortunate to have had parents who paid for all those lessons.” Then he turned to look at me again, almost as if he’d momentarily forgotten I was there, and added, “even though they didn’t have much money.”

“Well, how nice to hear someone praising their parents for a change,” my mother commented with a critical smile aimed my way.

“I say nice things about you all the time, Mom,” I objected, receiving a disbelieving look from the parent in question. “You’re just not around to hear it.”

“Well, anyways, I gotta go. Even us geniuses gotta practice if we’re going to win the Heiffitz, right?” Ethan pushed back his chair and bent to pick up his instrument and his bag.

“Good luck. I hope you win,” my mother offered genially.

“Me too. Although, just between you and me, I think it’s in the bag,” Ethan asserted with a conspiratorial wink. Then he reached out a hand again, “it was so nice to meet you, Mrs. Taylor.”

My mother accepted his hand and then, when Ethan leaned in to kiss her cheek deferentially, she actually giggled like a girl. “My pleasure,” Mom replied.

“Thanks again for lunch.” Ethan then turned to me, almost as if I was an afterthought. “And you,” he leaned in to kiss me ostentatiously, despite my mother being present, “I’ll see you at home.”

“Yeah,” I answered, not sure how I was supposed to respond in a situation like this, seeing as I’d never actually kissed another man in front of my mother before.

Ethan didn’t seem to notice my awkwardness, though, and he bustled out of the cafe without looking back. When I looked over at my mother - worried that she’d be echoing my unease - she was practically beaming at me. Not what I’d expected, at all.

“Well . . .” she chuckled. “He seems like an accomplished young man.”

Ethan had obviously won over the mother in law. “Don’t leave out ‘cute’,” I suggested with my own smug grin.

“Very . . .  cute, that is,” Mom agreed with me. But then she had to ruin our moment of rapport by adding, “and certainly more appropriate for you than Brian. Not that I have anything against Brian. If it hadn’t been for him, I don’t know what either one of us would have done . . .”

“Do you mind if we don’t talk about him?” I checked her halting recriminations, still not comfortable hearing anyone other than myself criticizing my Ex. “I’m with Ethan now and that’s all that matters.”

“Of course,” Mom agreed with me but, of course, she couldn’t just leave it there. “However, we probably DO need to discuss what you’re going to do about your finances, Justin. I’m worried about you quitting your job. You shouldn’t let Brian chase you away from the Diner just because you broke up. You’re going to need that income.” Then she grabbed hold of my hand in that concerned motherly way and looked me in the eyes. “I can help you out a bit, at least for a while, but things are still tight and your father is behind with child support again . . .”

“Save your money, Mom. You need to take care of you and Molly,” I insist, giving her hand a squeeze before withdrawing from her. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure I can find another job.”

“I hope so, Honey. But what about PIFA? Wasn’t Brian helping you with that?”

And what was I supposed to say to that inquiry? I hadn’t actually thought about that aspect of this mess yet. Without Brian, there was no way I would be able to pay for school next term. Fuck . . .

“I’ll . . . I’ll figure something out, I guess,” I tried to reassure her, putting on my ‘brave’ face even though I felt nothing like brave. “I’ve got a couple months. I’m sure something will turn up. And I can talk to the financial aid office at school, maybe, too.”

“Okay. I hope it works out, Honey. But if you need my help, please let me know.”

And that’s how we left things for the time being. Mom insisted on dropping me off back at Ethan’s apartment, just to see where I was living. I could tell she wasn’t impressed with the accommodations, but she didn’t say anything. Granted, Ethan’s place was a huge step down from Brian’s spacious and tastefully appointed loft. After her previously effusive praise of my new love interest, though, Mom at least had the good grace not to complain about the tacky little studio where I was now living. I mean, what did she expect; if she wanted me to be with the more ‘appropriate’ boyfriend - meaning a kid my own age - she had to expect similar adjustments to my living arrangements.

Ethan, whose practicing had been interrupted when Mom and I entered, paused only long enough to shoot an exasperated look my way and then turned his back so he could ignore us while he continued playing. I shrugged at Mom. Oh well, it’s not like I needed to give her a long tour or anything - she could see the entire one-room studio from the doorway, for fuck’s sake. Being a good little WASP, though, Mom took the hint, kissed me goodbye without saying anything more, and then was gone.

After Mom left, I promptly sat down at the kitchen table, pulled out my phone and used it to start on my job search. My options were limited not only by my school schedule and my transportation limitations, but also by the fact that the only prior job experience I had was working part time at the Diner. This was not going to be easy. Not having a real computer made it even more difficult - I couldn’t really prepare a resume using only my phone - but I managed a few online applications that didn’t require any additional paperwork and made a mental note to set aside time to use the computer lab at school the following afternoon.

“Argh!” I heard a particularly ear-splitting screech from the fiddle player in the corner of the room and looked up to find Ethan glaring at me. “You know, it’s not easy to concentrate with you sighing and grumbling under your breath every ten seconds,” he complained.

“Sorry. I’m just frustrated by trying to find another job. There’s not a ton out there,” I explained, looking up at him with what I’m sure was a hopeless expression.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you; I may have found you something. Something that’s way better than that greasy spoon Diner you used to slave away at,” Ethan brags with a superior smile. “My buddy, Jeff - he’s second chair oboe in the orchestra - told me the catering service that has the contract at Carnegie Hall is looking for people. Jeff works there sometimes as a bartender, but he can’t work tonight, of course, because we’ll be performing. He said to bring you along tonight and he’ll introduce you to Luke, the manager. So, problem solved, right?”

“Catering service? What does that entail?”

“They’re the ones who sell concessions - you know, wine, beer, coffee and stuff - before the show and during intermission. They also do all the special events that are booked at the hall. Jeff says the money kinda sucks but the work is easy. It’s mostly evenings and weekends so it won’t interfere with school. And I’m sure it’s a lot less of a slog than that nasty greasy spoon you were working at. Just think about all those rich old men and women; I’m sure, with a little judicious flirting, you’ll be able to totally score in the tips department. Plus, the best part is, you’ll be able to see me when I’m playing there.”

The few times I’d been to the kind of events Ethan was talking about, and seen the catering people, I thought their job looked pretty stressful. They were mobbed by a swarm of stuffy concert goers at intermission, all of whom were in a rush and not very polite. Maybe I was wrong and the concert set was great to work for, though. What the fuck did I know? I probably wouldn’t ever find another casual, amusing, and flexible job like the Diner, no matter how long I looked. And it wasn’t like I had a ton of other options right then.

“Okay. I guess I can try that for a while. Thanks, Ethan,” I accepted the proffered job tip with a bit of a forced smile.

“Didn’t I say I was going to take care of you, Baby?” Ethan smiled down on me with a self-satisfied air. “Now, I really need to finish practicing. I have to get through this piece at least one more time, then I can stop and get ready for my concert tonight. And, if you’re a good little boy and don’t interrupt me again, I’ll probably have time to make love to you before we leave. How does that sound?”

To be honest, it sounded a lot like when my mother used to tell me to sit still and be quiet when we were in church when I was a child . . . but I wasn’t going to tell my lover that. So, I picked up one of my school books and read quietly while Ethan plowed through a long and rather complicated piece of music. I could tell that the song was technically challenging, but it wasn’t very pleasant to listen to. I didn’t know anything about violin competitions, but if anyone had asked me, I would have advised them to pick something a little less jarring as their selection. But, whatever. Ethan and I were still too new for me to venture such an uneducated opinion. However, it did make it quite difficult for me to study while that caterwauling was going on in the background.

And when Ethan finished playing, he did make good on that offer to make love to me. Which was fine. I mean, after the day’s rocky start and the unsettling feelings caused by my foggy employment situation, I wasn’t exactly in the mood. Strange, huh? When had I ever not been in the mood for sex before? With Brian, all he had to do was look at me with that smoldering gaze of his and I was instantly hard.

The realization that I was again comparing Ethan to Brian, though, shocked me enough that I insistently tamped down whatever qualms I had. I needed to move on. I needed to stop comparing what I had then to what I’d had before with Brian. The best way to do that was to seize hold of the moment and go with it. Right?

So I let Ethan make love to me, and then we took a bath together and got ready to go to Carnegie Hall, where Ethan introduced me to my new boss while he went off to wow the audiences with his musical genius.

That was my new life. That’s what I had wanted, right? I’d finally got everything that I thought I needed . . .

Chapter 9 - Adjustments.

Have you ever noticed that, very often, those who come across as incredibly strong, extroverted, confident, and dominant, are actually quite insecure? It seems to be particularly true of those that profess their own superiority the loudest and most vociferously. I wonder if there’s some kind of inverse statistical correlation between how much a person brags about themselves and how seriously insecure they are? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just my personal experience talking. But, regardless, that’s always seemed to be the case for the men in my own life.

Because these types are so incredibly insecure, they’ll never admit this to you or even to themselves, however this internal insecurity is always reflected in a person’s outward behaviors. They may not acknowledge their self-doubt, but their actions always give them away. Perhaps not at first - at first all you see is the braggadociousness, the self-appointed expert, the charmer who lures you in with his wiles. It’s not till much, much later that you start to see the flaws in the perfect exterior.

The narcissist secretly knows, or at least suspects, his own flaws, though. So, since he isn't sure of his own worth, he generally feels compelled to bolster his perceived superiority however he can. To do this, he will often surround himself with people that clearly ARE worthy, insinuating himself in the lives of others to such an extent that he feels like there is worthiness all around him. It’s a narcissist’s way of gaining some much needed respect. It’s why narcissists tend to prey on the beautiful, the intelligent, the talented, and the deserving.

Of course even this is never really enough. Especially since surrounding oneself with the truly stellar eventually highlights the unworthiness of the narcissist himself. And his insecurity just can’t handle that comparison. He needs to be the center of attention. The most admired. The best and brightest. Better than anyone else in his sphere of influence. Which isn’t easy when others are judging you and comparing you to someone else all the time.

Hence the dichotomy between the narcissist’s need to surround themselves with perfection and yet want to be perceived as the most perfect of all.

One way to accomplish that - at least for the short term - is to make sure that there’s nobody else around to make that judgment call. He will keep his victim close to him, revelling in the status that connection imparts, but at the same time he wants to keep his partner all to himself. He wants to be the only person in his victim’s life. It makes him feel powerful. It allows him to control what his victim experiences, filter what he wants in their life, manipulate what they experience, overhear all conversations and correct them later. It also allows him to closely monitor his partner’s actions and behaviors in order to judge and discipline them.

So, is it any wonder that one of the first things people like that do, is try and separate you from your old friends and family?

Despite the uncertain start, the next few days rolled by without too much further outward drama.

I had easily landed the job with the Carnegie Hall catering service - in no small part because of Ethan’s enthusiastic reference - and had worked Sunday and Tuesday nights. I had been right that it wasn’t nearly as fun or as lucrative as working at the Liberty Diner, but at least it was a job, right? I figured it would at least tide me over till I could find something better. And Ethan seemed happy to have me around to show off to his friends in the orchestra when I met up with him after the concert.

I wasn’t so sure about Ethan’s friends, though. I did get a thrill out of the way Ethan introduced me to them; he made a point of telling everyone I was his BOYFRIEND and emphasized repeatedly that I was an extremely talented artist. That felt especially nice as Brian had rarely bothered to take me anywhere and had never introduced me to anyone important, let alone praised my art in public like that. But Ethan’s friends didn’t seem impressed. Actually, they seemed really snobbish and judgmental, but maybe that was just a bad first impression. The bottom line was that they didn’t know anything about visual arts and I didn’t really know anything about music, so there wasn’t much for us to talk about. I figured that was probably a good thing, though, because I really didn’t want to talk about Shostakovich and Locatelli anyway. Mostly I just stood around, smiling inanely, while Ethan chattered, his arm looped possessively around my waist the whole time.

Ethan’s good mood lasted well past the time we arrived home late that Sunday evening. He grumbled a little about me having moved his clothing around, claiming he couldn’t find anything the way I’d stuffed everything into the drawers so tightly, but he let it go pretty quickly. And then he took me to bed and I kept him so busy for the rest of the night that he didn’t have time to grouse any more.

Monday and Tuesday were taken up with classes for both of us so we were out of the apartment most of the day. Ethan made a point of showing up to eat lunch with me, crowing to all who would listen about how we were ‘officially’ together now. It was nice not to have to hide our relationship any longer - the whole sneaking around and kissing in doorways thing was never my style - but it was getting a bit annoying to hear Ethan bragging over and over again about how he’d ‘stolen’ me away from Brian. He made it sound like I was merely some trophy he’d won at the county fair. To hear Ethan tell it, it was almost like he’d challenged Brian to a deadly duel for my hand or something. He even made it sound like Brian was abusing me, reiterating how much better off I’d be without him. It actually got annoying enough that I had to get up and walk away at one point before I lost it.

Ethan didn’t seem fazed at all, merely trotting after me and half apologizing for bragging too much. “I can’t help it, Baby. I’m just so happy that you finally came to your senses and realized how perfect we’d be together. And I want to share my happiness with the world. Don’t be angry at me, Babe.”

I shook my head and bit back the rebuke I’d meant to levy at him, unable to dash the gleeful puppy dog exuberance I saw. “Can we please just not talk about Brian anymore?” I begged. “He wasn’t the only one at fault in our relationship; I screwed up too. But it doesn’t help to think about it all the time.”

“Sorry, Babe.” Ethan was quick to let the topic die, moving on to a discussion about the shift I was working that night for the catering service. “You want me to come by and pick you up after you’re done?”

“Why?”

“It’ll be late. I don’t want you walking home all alone at that hour,” Ethan asserted.

“Ethan . . . I’m not a child. I’m perfectly able to get myself home from work on my own. Shit, I used to work the late shift at the Diner all the time and I wouldn’t get off till after one in the morning. I always made it home fine from there.”

“I know, but now that you’ve got me, you don’t have to do shit like that anymore. I care about you, Babe . . . unlike that loser you used to be with.” Ethan just couldn’t seem to let the comments about Brian go. “Which is why I’ll be there to pick you up after work. Okay?”

“It’s really NOT necessary, Ethan,” I maintained, trying to be as emphatic as possible without letting my annoyance show too much. “And PLEASE stop calling me ‘Babe’, okay? I hate stupid nicknames.”

“Sorry, Ba . . . Jus,” Ethan laughed at his little slip up but didn’t make a big deal about my annoyance.

And before he could try and press me again about the work thing, my phone started to buzz with an incoming call. I looked at the caller ID, sighing audibly when I saw the name Melanie Marcus on the screen. I hadn't talked to any of the gang since the afternoon I’d walked out of the Diner and I really wasn't in the mood to start now. Mel was likely to just exacerbate the annoyance that Ethan had engendered with all his smack talk about Brian. I really didn't want to listen to her condemning Brian and trying to empathize with me. Not right then. So, instead of accepting the call I tapped on the icon to ignore it and just kept walking towards the building that housed my Animation Basics class.

"Who was that?” Ethan demanded, trying to peek over my shoulder to get a glimpse of my phone.

I quickly shoved the phone into my pocket. “Nobody,” I answered.

“Nobody? If it was ‘nobody’ you wouldn't be hiding it from me,” Ethan stated, his voice edging into anger. “It’s HIM isn’t it?”

By ‘HIM’ I knew he meant Brian, but it didn’t explain why Ethan thought my former lover would bother calling me. “Brian wouldn’t call me - not after what I did to him,” I explained. “Hell, he barely even called me back when we were together, why the fuck would he be calling me now?”

“To steal you back, of course,” Ethan responded, the tone of his voice indicating I must be stupid if I didn’t get that too. “I knew that bastard wasn’t going to give up this easily.”

“Ethan . . .” I sighed, turning to face him so I could look him in the eye while I dispelled his obvious misconception. “Brian is NOT going to try and get me back. That’s not Brian. Not at all. He couldn’t give a shit what the fuck I do or who I’m with. He told me as much the night before the Rage party. He said it was my decision where I wanted to be. So you really don’t need to be worried, Ethan. Brian’s never going to chase after me.”

Ethan didn’t seem convinced by this assertion, but I was done arguing with him. And thankfully we had arrived at my classroom by that point so I had a good excuse to escape. Before he could interject another word I leaned in, gave him a kiss, and then ducked through the door of the Animation classroom, leaving him scowling in the hallway. Even better, when I was done with that class I managed to slip away from campus without another Ethan encounter - heading off to my new catering job before my musician’s Advanced Music Theory class let out - giving me at least a few hours respite from anyone nagging at me about Brian or my relationship choices.

The event that night at Carnegie Hall had been a science lecture about new advances in Genomics that I found quite intriguing. I managed to listen in to a good portion of the discussion in between my catering duties. It was a lot more interesting than the classical concert from my first night, and I figured if there were more events like this I might actually end up liking the job. Plus, since Ethan and his buddies weren’t around to usurp my attention, I actually got a chance to introduce myself to a few of my co-workers, all of whom seemed like an okay bunch. But, just about the time that a few of them offered an invitation to join them for a drink after we finished the last of the clean up, Ethan appeared at my elbow and insinuated himself into the conversation.

“You weren’t planning on going out tonight, were you, Jus?” he queried, rudely cutting off another speaker in the process. “I mean, it IS kinda late and we both have early classes. I’d think you’d be ready to head home by now, Babe.”

I caught a glimpse of Roddy, the shift manager, standing over Ethan’s shoulder and giving my boyfriend a disparaging look. I felt pretty much the same about the way Ethan was so obviously trying to manipulate my time. But we were so new, and my position in his life still felt so tenuous, that I didn’t feel bold enough to stand up to him just then. I also didn’t want to air any dispute we might have in front of my brand new co-workers. So, instead of asserting my independence and insisting on going out, I capitulated and let myself be led away from the rest of the group with only a token offer to go out with them ‘some other time’.

Having got his way, Ethan was all smiles and doting attention for the rest of the walk back to his apartment. He even insisted on carrying my bag for me like I was some 1950s darling he needed to court. If I hadn’t been so irritated by him I might have found it endearing. As it was, I found it to be a tiny bit demeaning. Like I wasn’t capable of carrying my own shit. Or walking home by myself. Or managing my own schedule and knowing when I needed to be home or whether or not it was wise to go out for a drink with friends on a school night. I mean, there was a fine line between concerned caring and smothering behavior, right?

Unfortunately, the smothering seemed to win out. As soon as we got home, Ethan was practically all over me. He dumped my bag just inside the door, pinned me to the wall in the entryway, and began kissing me voraciously as he pawed at my clothing. And, not that I wasn’t interested in a little sexual release, but I guess I was still feeling a bit feisty after his performance in front of my co-workers; I definitely wasn’t in the mood to let him control me any longer.

By the time we’d made it over to the bed, I had already determined how I wanted this particular fuck to go. Ethan tried to push me backwards onto the lumpy, old mattress, but I stepped aside, twisting around so that I could use his own momentum against him, letting him fall into the piled up bedding instead of me. The look of surprise on Ethan’s face was comical and I laughed quietly to myself as I dug around in the nightstand for a condom and the tube of KY. As soon as I found what I’d been looking for, I climbed onto the bed and crawled over so that I could straddle my lovers hips. Ethan immediately reached up to try and snatch the condom out of my hands but I raised my fist into the air high enough that he couldn’t reach it.

“Relax, Babe.” In my snarky mood, I could be forgiven if the pet name came out more like a pejorative than an endearment, right? “This one’s on me.”

Ethan broke out laughing. “Yeah, right. Hand that shit over here, bottom boy.”

“Not tonight. Tonight I’m going to treat you to a Justin Taylor special. You get to just lay back, relax, and enjoy, while I do all the work,” I explained while I tore open the condom packet and quickly sheathed myself.

But as I started to reach for the lube in order to prepare him, Ethan completely freaked out. He grabbed my wrist and squeezed hard enough that I dropped the KY tube. If his grip hadn’t been so tight it was hurting me, I might’ve actually laughed at the confused and alarmed expression on his face.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Well, I was planning on fucking you, unless you’re no longer in the mood and want to just go straight to sleep,” I explained patiently.

“Don’t play stupid. You know what I mean,” Ethan persisted, looking down at my rubber-clad dick with disdain.

If he wanted me to spell it out, fine . . . “I’m a top, Ethan,” I insisted, which did nothing to dispel his look of utter disbelief.

“No you’re not. You can’t be.”

“I am. I know I’ve bottomed for you up to this point - mostly because it seemed like you preferred it that way - but that’s not really my nature. To be completely honest with you, I’ve always preferred to top.”

“Come on, Justin, you don’t expect me to believe that,” Ethan complained, scooting away and sitting up on the bed so he could glower at me more effectively. “There’s no way you actually topped the Stud of Liberty Avenue. Brian Kinney’s not the type to let some inexperienced twink plow his perfect little ass.”

I thought briefly about the many times I HAD topped Brian, and it was certainly tempting to trot out all those examples in order to set Ethan straight, but then I hesitated. Brian and I had always had an unspoken agreement that we wouldn’t discuss that particular topic. He’d never told me, in so many words, that I COULDN’T discuss the versatility in our unconventional relationship, but I knew, nonetheless, that Brian wouldn’t appreciate me tattling on him about his willingness to bottom for me. Besides, it was nobody’s business but ours what we had done in bed. Ethan certainly didn’t need to know about it.

“Brian’s a special case,” I equivocated without elaborating. “Other than with him, though, I’ve rarely ever bottomed. Generally speaking, I don’t like to give up that much control.”

That news apparently gave Ethan pause. Why did it surprise him so much that I wasn’t a dedicated bottom? I was actually kind of insulted. It seemed almost like he assumed I COULDN’T top. Did he think this thing between my legs was just for show? Apparently so, considering how unconvinced he still acted.

“Look, Ethan, the bottom line - no pun intended - is that I’m just more comfortable being a top. That’s who I am. And I couldn’t change who I am even if I wanted to. So, if we’re going to be together, you’re gonna have to acknowledge that and work with me. Okay?”

“So, what you’re saying is, you’ll bottom for HIM but not for me. Is that it?” Ethan growled, sounding so hurt and betrayed it was almost like I’d physically wounded him. “Well, if that’s how you feel, you can just get the fuck out. Because I’m not gonna play second chair to any man. If I’m not good enough to top you, then there’s no reason for you to stick around, is there?”

“Shit, Ethan. That’s not what I meant! I didn’t say I would NEVER bottom. And I’m not comparing you to Brian; me wanting to occasionally top has nothing to do with him . . .”

“You bottomed for HIM because you loved him, right?”

“Well, yeah, I guess . . .”

Of course he didn’t let me finish my thought. Which was probably for the best because Ethan didn’t need me explaining that the other reason I bottomed for Brian was because he was such a phenomenally amazing fucker. There was a good reason why Brian was known around town as the Stud of Liberty Avenue. Sex with Brian, regardless of whether I was on top or bottom, was always memorable. Something I couldn’t say about Ethan. My failure to explain myself fully, however, left the matter open for Ethan’s incorrect assumptions.

“But you don’t want to bottom for me. Ergo, you must not love me,” Ethan concluded, scowling at me with his arms crossed over his skinny, naked chest, his posture reminiscent of an angry five-year-old who’d been told he couldn’t have an ice cream cone, assuming, that is, that five-year-olds used pompous words like ‘ergo’.

“Ethan,” I groaned with frustration, “you know that’s not true. I wouldn’t be here, with you, if I didn’t care for you.”

“Look at you! You won’t even say it. ‘I care for you’? That’s all you’ve got? I’ve flat out said ‘I love you’ a dozen times and you’ve never once said it back. Why are you even here, Justin? Fuck this! Get the hell out . . . just get the hell out of my life!”.

Ethan jumped off the bed, stalking around the limited space in the tiny apartment, spitting these harsh words at me, his face getting more and more red as his anger mounted. Meanwhile, I was at a complete loss as to how the situation had escalated so out of control so quickly. How had me wanting to make love to my boyfriend turned into a referendum on whether or not I loved my Ex more than him? I wanted to scream. I wanted to strangle Ethan. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to storm out of there and never come back. But none of those would solve anything. Also, by that point it was after one in the morning and I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I had no choice. I had to bite back my own anger and try to placate the Raging Ravel before the situation deteriorated even more.

“Ethan. Ethan, please. ETHAN!” I finally had to shout to get his attention, he was that wrapped up in his own angry thoughts. “Ethan, please, let’s not do this. I DO love you. I left Brian to be here with you, didn’t I? Doesn’t that tell you how much you mean to me?”

“But you won’t bottom for me . . .” Ethan seemed absolutely stuck on that particular point.

“I never said that, Ethan,” I responded with a defeated sigh. “I didn’t realize this was such a big deal for you. I mean, it’s not like YOU haven’t bottomed before yourself, right?”

“That’s not the point,” Ethan grumbled, stamping his foot to emphasize his point - which, by the way, looks utterly ridiculous when you’re butt naked. “The point is that you don’t love me enough to bottom for me. You did it for HIM but you won’t do it for ME. Can’t you see how much that hurts me, Justin? If you really loved me, this wouldn’t even be an issue.”

What was I supposed to say to that? The entire premise of this argument was illogical and petty. But it was late, I was tired, and I didn’t want to argue over something so fucking idiotic. And, maybe, he did have a point. I HAD bottomed regularly for Brian. I could see why that fact would make someone like Ethan a little jealous.

It’s not like I objected to bottoming for Ethan - we’d had some decent fucks even if the sex wasn’t phenomenal or anything. But that wasn’t the reason I was with Ethan; if I’d wanted only mind-blowing sex, I would have stayed with Brian. Ethan gave me something other than sex - something I’d thought I needed. He gave me emotion and romance. So what if I didn’t get all my sexual needs met? So what if I didn’t get to top? I would still get off even if I bottomed for him. Any maybe he had a point that, if I REALLY loved him, I wouldn’t feel the need to top? I just couldn’t shake off that little whiff of guilt and self-doubt.

So, to avoid what I perceived as a fruitless argument about something where my lover might conceivably have a point, I caved. I told myself it wasn’t worth fighting about. I also figured that capituating this one time didn’t mean we couldn’t reopen the discussion again later, preferably when my lover was feeling less combative about things.

Taking a deep breath and letting the air out in a long, resigned whoosh, I turned to face my still-irate lover. “You know what, Ethan, you’re right. I don’t need to top if you feel so strongly about it. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to show how much you mean to me by making love to YOU for a change. But, if you’re not comfortable with that, it’s okay. I don’t need to top that badly.” I crawled off the bed and walked close enough to reach out and pull apart his intransigently crossed arms. “Please don’t be mad, okay? I really don’t want to argue. Can’t we start over?”

I managed to grab hold of both his hands and started to tow him back over to the bed. He resisted at first, but I persisted. Thankfully, his sulking didn’t last for long. And why should it when I was giving in to what he’d wanted all along? By the time I’d maneuvered him back onto the mattress, he was reluctantly smiling again.

It didn’t take long after I had stripped the unused condom off my deflated dick, laid myself down in front of him, and handed him a fresh condom, before Ethan seemed to have completely forgotten the argument. If anything, he was even more enthusiastic about our coupling than usual. It felt like he was pulling out all the stops. Maybe he was trying to show me how great he could make it for me? Or maybe he was just reveling in the fact that he was getting his way? But, regardless, Ethan seem to be thoroughly enjoying his time on top.

Meanwhile, I was having a difficult time getting into the mood. I don’t know if it was because I was still keyed up from our argument or if it was just the natural let down after the empty anticipation of getting to top for a change, but I just wasn’t feeling it. The fact that we’d just spent a significant period of time discussing Brian, which had inevitably brought to mind my former lover’s prowess in bed, didn’t help resign me to the less than stellar ministrations of my current lover. So, while Ethan was doing his best to coax me towards what he envisioned as the perfect climax, I was struggling just to stay in the moment. No matter how hard I tried to fight it, though, visions of Brian kept creeping into my mind; the memories of better times easily overshadowing Ethan’s best efforts.

After about fifteen minutes of lackluster results, I finally gave up and let myself wallow in my Brian fantasies. Ethan‘s soft, scruffy face, dark eyes, and unwashed curls were replaced in my mind’s eye by a clean-shaven, chiseled jaw, elegantly coiffed hair, and a sparkling hazel-eyed grin. Even better, the skinny, delicate, unathletic body draped over the top of me was swapped out for a much firmer, well-toned, harder body, that owed it’s musculature to long hours spent in the gym rather than days spent sitting around in the music room. And in my imagination that lean, taut body was furiously pounding into me, driving me hard and fast, in a way I’d always loved and which never failed to make me crazy.

Thankfully, that fantasy was more than enough to allow me to ignore Ethan’s more tender, yet tepid, attentions - if not, it probably would have taken hours for us to finish. As it was, I came pretty quickly, with a shout of ecstasy that seemed to trigger Ethan’s own release a minute later. Frankly, I was just glad the whole disconcerting and disappointing day was over so I could roll over and go to sleep.

The next day I decided to take my lunch and go hide out in a little park just around the corner from campus instead of going to the cafeteria like I normally would. I realized at the time that it was silly, and I couldn’t escape all my problems that way, but I was just feeling so antisocial. The thought of sitting through yet another lunch with Ethan and all of his musician friends was too much for me. The quiet and solitude of the park was a welcome break.

My phone beeped just as I was unpacking the bag full of junk food I’d snagged from a local convenience store, but I really didn’t want to talk to anyone so I let it go to voicemail. All I wanted to do was sit there on the picnic bench in the shade, eat an entire can of Pringles and drink a gargantuan-sized bottle of Diet Coke, while I sketched. Which is what I did, for at least a half hour or so, until I finally felt serene enough to deal with the twenty or so voicemails that I’d been ignoring all week.

Reluctantly, I pushed the speaker button on my phone so I could keep drawing while I listened, and then dialed into my voicemail, hitting ‘play’ on the oldest message first.

“Sunshine, you little shit, how dare you quit without even saying one word to me . . .” Debbie Novotny‘s voice shrilled angrily out of the speaker.

I tapped at the phone to delete the message without even listening to the rest of it. Then I did the same with the next five calls from Debbie. I knew it wasn’t fair to take out my anger at Michael on his mother, but I still wasn’t ready to deal with either of them. I did listen to the message from my mother, but it was nothing important and I figured I’d just call her back later. There was one short message from Emmett, simply voicing his support and asking me to give him a call later; which was nice, although I wasn’t sure how sincere he was, and right then I was feeling too dispirited to deal with Em’s brand of over-the-top, rosie-hued optimism. The rest of the messages were all about school or work, none of which required a return call, except for the three messages from Brian‘s lesbians.

“Hey, Sweetie. It’s Mel again,” the woman’s voice echoed out of the tiny phone speaker, making her sound brassier than normal. “You know, just because you finally kicked the asshole to the curb - like he deserved, I might add - it doesn’t mean you have to go into witness protection and hide out forever. Lindz has been worrying about you all week. We don’t even know where you’re living these days. So please, at least give us call back and let us know you’re still alive. Oh, and don’t forget, you’re still invited to the anniversary party this weekend. It’s Saturday, at 11:00, at the house. We expect to see you there. Don’t make me track you down and find you. Talk to you later. Bye.”

“Who was that?” the quiet voice coming up from behind me without warning startled me so badly that I actually jumped up off the bench at the picnic table where I’d been sitting.

“Ethan! Shit! You scared the fuck out of me,” I complained when I my heart finally stopped pounding out of my chest.

“Sorry, Babe, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled, taking up a seat on the bench next to me.

“What are you doing here? I thought you had rehearsal all afternoon.”

“I was looking for you, of course. I missed you at lunch today in the cafeteria. Is everything okay? Why are you hiding out over here?”

“I’m not hiding,” I lied. “I just had an assignment I need to work on and I didn’t want to be bugged.”

“You could’ve told me where you were going so I wouldn’t worry.” Ethan gave me this look that reminded me so much of my mother chastising me as a child for running off without telling her, that it instantly sparked a moment of resentment.

“Gee, I guess I forgot to put on my GPS ankle monitor when I left the apartment this morning. Speaking of which, how DID you track me down?”

“Sheesh. Somebody is in a mood today,” he grumbled pissily as he started to get back to his feet. “Well, excuse me, for actually being worried about my boyfriend when he didn’t show up on time for lunch. I promise never to bother caring again.”

For about ten seconds I was tempted to let him go - I guess he was right about me being in a rotten mood - but I just couldn’t do it. It’s just my nature to try and please people, I suppose. Either that or it’s my WASP upbringing that won’t let me be deliberately rude to people. Either way, before Ethan had taken more than two steps I was up, reaching for his hand, and towing him back to the bench with me.

“I’m sorry, Ethan. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I just really wanted some peace and quiet to work on my art, you know? Things have been so crazy ever since . . . I was kinda looking for some alone time so I could process it all.”

“Aww. Sorry, Babe. I know this has been tough on you. But I can’t help it that I worry about you,” Ethan easily relented, putting his arm around my shoulders to comfort me. “Just tell me if you’re going to run off and hide again, okay?” I sighed and nodded, which seemed enough to placate him. “So, who was that on the phone?”

“Just a friend.” I didn’t want to get into the fact that Mel and Lindz were really more Brian’s friends than mine.

“A friend, huh?” Ethan obviously knew there was more that I wasn't telling him. “So what about this party she was inviting you to? You know the orchestra has a performance Saturday night and I’ll be rehearsing all Saturday afternoon, right? We probably can’t make it to any parties.”

After all the years of fighting with Brian to get him to even acknowledge that we were a ‘we’, it was surprising how resentful I felt when Ethan just automatically assumed he was included in the invitation. “I can’t just blow them off. Mel and Lindz have been really good friends. Lindsey was instrumental in helping me get into PIFA to start with - she wrote one of my references for me. I can’t miss their Anniversary party.”

“Anniversary? They’re married? How old are these friends of yours?”

Leave it to Ethan to immediately pick up on the one topic I didn’t want to discuss. “They’re older,” was all I offered.

“Hmmm . . . So, that means they’re HIS friends, right? Shit, Justin. How are you ever going to move on with Brian and all his friends constantly trying to lure you back? Well, you’ve got a real life now - you’ve got me - and you don’t have to run after him or his friends looking for scraps of attention. You’ll just have to tell them you’re not going to their fucking party.”

I was speechless after that little rant. Mel and Lindz weren’t like that. Hell, Brian wasn’t like that either, for what it was worth. Where did I start in order to dispel all Ethan’s misconceptions? Fuck. So much for my relaxing, peaceful lunch alone, huh?

“Ethan, Mel and Lindz have done a lot for me over the years. I’m not going to just bail on their anniversary. But if it bothers you, you don’t have to come with me. I’m perfectly fine going on my own.”

“Yeah, right. That’s probably exactly what HE wants - to get you all alone to himself again so he can win you back. Nope. Not gonna happen,” Ethan insisted with a determined glare directed at me, as if I was the one advocating for a reunion with Brian.

I wanted to run away but, since that wasn’t practical, I instead tried once more to enlighten my current lover about the state of affairs with my former lover. “Brian isn’t going to try and win me back, Ethan. That’s not Brian. How many times do I have to explain? Brian would never bother with shit like that. And even if he did, it wouldn’t work. I’m with YOU now, Ethan. I chose YOU.” I knew in my heart that there was no going back after what I’d done to Brian, although it seemed like it was going to be a real struggle to try and convince Ethan of that fact. “But, I’m not going to rudely ignore Mel and Lindz’s invitation just because I’m worried about Brian maybe being there. I owe them too much to do that.”

“Okay, fine . . . How about this - you can take them over a bottle of wine or some other little gift before the party and make your excuses. I’m sure they’ll understand that you can’t be there the day of. Just tell them you have to work or something. It won’t be a total lie - you are working that night, right? That way they’ll be happy and you won’t have to risk running into HIM. Problem solved, right?”

And so it was settled - albeit without much input from me. At the time, I wasn’t sure if I was glad to be getting out of a party that I hadn’t really wanted to go to or not. Granted, I hadn’t been eager to be thrown back in with a group where I’d inevitably have to answer all sorts of uncomfortable questions. But to, in effect, just cut myself off from all of them so abruptly didn’t seem right either. Ethan seemed so confident, though, that his plan was the right way to handle things. He seemed convinced that he was helping me out of a tough situation by getting me out of the party. Meanwhile, I was too confused to think things through myself - especially not while Ethan was hovering, not giving me any time to myself to actually do any thinking. Besides, it WAS easier to just go with the flow and not argue with him. Was it any surprise that I let him arrange things for me?

At the time, I guess I just didn’t notice that I’d already fallen into the pattern of letting Ethan decide my life for me.

Chapter 10 - It’s Not Me, It’s You.

These days, it seems we’re all amateur psychologists to some extent, myself included. We’ve all watched enough television and movies that everyone has at least some grasp of basic psychology terms and concepts. Hell, even just watching the news today will expose you to a myriad of pundits discussing in great deal the various mental ills of the world and the bad actors we see every day around us. So, it’s not surprising that pretty much everyone has some general understanding of psychological terms like ‘Narcissism’.

Another of these increasingly familiar terms is ‘Projection’. The theory behind this concept is simple: a bad person will subconsciously deny his own negative characteristics while at the same time attributing them to another. Any thoughts, motivations, or desires that one can’t accept in oneself are dealt with by being placed in the outside world where they can be derided without injury to the offender’s own, fragile, ego.

We’ve all seen it. The less than brilliant person laughing at another and calling them ‘stupid’. Someone who’s widely known to be completely classless throwing a fit and accusing his hostess of being rude over some relatively minor incident. The liar who’s always suspicious that everyone else isn’t being honest. A criminal accusing those around him of the very crimes he’s committed in order to try and deflect blame. Projection is the underlying cause for so many of our societal ills, including bullying, victim blaming and even infidelity.

What armchair psychologists don’t realize, is that this projection can go the other way as well. It’s not just the bad guys that project their faults onto good people. It’s also the victims of the bad guys who project their own empathy and compassion onto the people abusing them. We expect to see our own conscience and value systems in others so we just assume that our abusers are basically good people. We want to see good in people and so we do, even if they really are NOT good people.

In this way, the victims of abusers end up facilitating their own exploitation. We accept the toxicity of the narcissist and still try to find the good in them. We enable them. We stay with them far longer than we should because we think that we’re just misinterpreting the danger signs and that, deep down, they really love us and care about us.

Of course that’s not true. They really are as malicious as they seem. But we’re just as good at projecting as they are, so we stay until we’re broken.

“Oh, hey, Sweetie! Come on in,” Mel gushed as soon as she saw me standing there on her doorstep. “Look who’s here, Honey.”

Mel quickly grabbed me by the shoulder and ushered me inside, closing the door behind me as if she was scared I’d escape again if not corralled.

“Justin! It’s about time you turned up,” Lindsey echoed her partner’s greetings, jumping up from the dining table and trotting over to envelope me in a floral-scented hug. “We were starting to get worried - nobody’s heard word one from you all week. Are you okay? Where are you living? And why did you quit the Diner? Debbie’s been railing about that every time I’ve seen her.”

“Why don’t you let the boy get a word in edgewise, Lindz, and maybe he’ll answer you,” Mel laughed with an amused look aimed at my tall blonde inquisitor. “Come on in, Justin, and make yourself at home.”

“I hope it’s not too late?” I asked as I let Mel womanhandle me further into the comfortable and cozy home. “Hey there, Gus. How’s my favorite not-quite-two-year-old?”

The toddler giggled when I poked a finger into his belly to tickle him and then reached up with both arms in a silent plea for me to hold him. Of course, I couldn’t say no to that sweet little gamin. So I sat down in a spare dining chair and let Lindsey deposit her son in my lap.

“I’m sure Gus is better now that his favorite babysitter is here,” Lindsey assured me. “And of course it’s not too late. We’re just setting up for the party tomorrow.”

“You will be there, won’t you?” Mel asked pointedly.

“Actually, I have other plans.” While I made sure Gus wasn’t going to topple over, cinching my left arm securely around the boy’s belly, I reached down with my free hand and pulled the gift wrapped bottle of wine out of my messenger bag. “But I wanted to stop by and give you this. Happy Anniversary, guys.”

“You didn’t have to bring us anything,” Lindsey insisted politely as Mel accepted the bottle.

“Lindsey is right,” Mel chimed in. “This is sweet, but the present we’d rather receive is you, celebrating with us, at our party tomorrow.”

“I . . . I can’t. Sorry.”

I offered up an awkward smile as I shifted Gus back towards Lindsey and scrambled to get to my own feet. All I really wanted was to get out of there at that point. These women that I’d once felt so comfortable around - comfortable enough to go to when I needed career advice, a shoulder to cry on, or even a couch to sleep on for the night - suddenly seemed almost like strangers to me. I was unsure how to act around them. I’d never had a boyfriend before, let alone one I’d broken up with, so I just didn’t have any clue how to deal with the redistribution of former friends after leaving Brian. I guess I just assumed that, since I had been the transgressor, I didn’t have a right to keep any of these people as my friends. And instead of feeling comfortable in the familiar surroundings that had once seemed so welcoming, I felt like an intruder.

“I should go. I hope your party is a success. See you around,” I mumbled a quick goodbye as I backed away towards the door.

“Where are you going? You just got here,” Mel complained, rushing to intercept me before I could make good my retreat.

“Um . . . Ethan’s waiting for me,” I explained as I pointed towards the door.

“Why don’t you invite him in?” Lindsey interrupted, moving around me to add her body to the barricade formed between me and the door by Mel. “Better yet, bring him along to the party tomorrow.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea . . .”

“If you’re worried about running into Brian, forget it,” Mel declared. “You know Brian - this is the last place he’ll be. He detests parties.”

“Unless there’s an orgy involved,” Lindsey joked.

That got me smiling at last because, yeah, we all knew Brian’s opinions on things like Anniversary Parties.

“It isn’t just that,” I spoke up, trying to explain myself. “I . . . I figured it would just be easier on you guys if I wasn’t around. I don’t want to force myself into the middle of things, you know?”

“Where’d you come up with that bullshit?” Mel shook her head and smiled at me like an indulgent, foul-mouthed, aunt.

“You were HIS friends first.”

“But you’re our friend too, Justin,” Lindsey spoke up. “We love you the same as him.”

“If not more,” Mel interjected with her own wry sense of humor.

“So, why don’t you hold on to that bottle of wine . . . And give it to us at the party?” Lindsey insisted as Mel attempted to shove the gift back into my hands.

For the first time since I’d walked out of the Rage party the week before, I felt like something in my life was the same. There WAS some stable ground underneath me. Not EVERYTHING had changed. I smiled at these two women who had become friends to me over the previous two years and let my relief show.

And I was just about to accept their invitation when there was a knock on the door behind me.

“That’s probably Ethan, wondering what happened to me,” I explained.

Mel stepped over and pulled the door open. “Hello. You must be Ethan, right? Well, get your ass in here so we can get a good look at you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ethan seemed surprised to find himself being towed into the house by a complete stranger.

“Please come in. We’re so glad to finally meet you,” Lindsey took over the introductions. “I’m Lindsey and that’s my wife, Melanie. Oh, and this is our son, Gus.” She bounced the baby on her hip sufficiently to get a giggle out of him, but it didn’t engender the smile she expected from Ethan, who seemed a bit shell shocked. “So, can you stay a while? We’d love to get to know you a little better. We can’t have Justin dating just anyone, you know?”

Lindsey was joking, of course, but it appeared that Ethan didn’t understand the humor. His return smile was pinched and obviously insincere. I felt him reaching for my hand and then subtly tugging me backwards along with him. It didn’t look like we were going to be staying.

“Thanks, but we have to go,” Ethan answered brusquely.

“We’re meeting some friends of Ethan’s for drinks,” I offered in explanation, trying to soften my boyfriend’s harsh reaction a little.

“Oh. That’s too bad,” Lindsey responded, genuinely upset that she wouldn’t get to interrogate the new beau. “But that’s okay. You can come with Justin to the party tomorrow, right? We can talk more then.”

I was just about to turn to Ethan and explain that the girls had talked me into coming to the party after all, adding the reassurance that Brian wouldn’t be there, when my new boyfriend spoke out and answered for me.

“Sorry, ladies. We can’t make it. I’ve got a performance tomorrow and Justin’s working,” Ethan stated, his tone leaving no room for discussion.

“You’re working? I thought you quit the Diner?” Mel enquired, quickly seizing on the pertinent fact like the good lawyer she was.

“Uh, yeah, Ethan got me a job working for the Carnegie Hall catering service,” I explained, leaving out the part about how my shift didn’t start till about four hours after the girls’ party was scheduled to end. “The PIFA orchestra is performing in conjunction with the Pittsburgh Philharmonic. Ethan is first chair violin and even has a solo.”

“A soloist? Wow. That sounds impressive,” Mel graciously offered.

“I used to go to the symphony all the time with my parents when I was a child. They still have season tickets,” Lindsey added, although anyone that knew her well could tell she wasn’t all that enthusiastic about the topic and was only saying what she had to be polite. “They’ll probably be there to hear you tomorrow.”

“Great. I promise to put on the best show for them that I can manage,” Ethan responded with the first glint of interest I’d seen from him since he entered the house. “So, you understand, there’s no way we can be at your party. We appreciate the invitation though.” Ethan gave the girls his usual killer smile and pulled at my hand a little harder. “You ready to go, Babe? We’re going to be late if we don’t get a move on.”

“Sure.” I resisted his pull long enough to shoot the girls one last apologetic smile. “Sorry about the party.”

“We’ll miss you but it’s understandable if you’re just starting a new job,” Mel answered, giving me an easy out. “Don’t be a stranger though, you hear? We expect a call every now and then.”

“And don’t forget, you still owe us a night of babysitting,” Lindsey added, leaning in to give me a hug before Ethan could get me all the way out the door.

“I won’t forget. Just call and let me know when you need me,” I promised. “Hope the party turns out well. Sorry I can’t make it. Talk to you guys later.”

I’d had to yell the last few words over my shoulder as I trotted along at Ethan’s side down the walk. He seemed rather determined to get me out of there as fast as possible. I didn't know what had spooked him, but it was clear that Ethan wanted to get away from the girls as fast as he could. At the time it didn’t make any sense - what was so threatening about two lesbians and a baby? Ethan, though, was walking so fast that I was having a tough time keeping up with him and didn’t have time to question him about it.

However, we really did have someplace we were supposed to have been that night. Ethan was taking me to meet more of his musician friends at a house party off campus. Since we didn’t have a car it took us a while to get to the place and, judging by the lights and noise coming out of the house, the party was well underway before we arrived. Everyone seemed thrilled to see Ethan as we made our way into the thick of the throng. He got hugs and kisses from pretty much every person we passed. I was momentarily forgotten, at least until we got into the living room and were handed drinks.

“Everyone, I’d like you all to meet the man of my dreams,” Ethan announced with all due pomposity. “This vision on two legs,” he stood back and gestured towards me with a dramatic flourish, “is the inestimable Justin Taylor.”

The crowd around us all smiled and laughed, a few of them nodding approvingly. Personally, I felt like a zoo exhibit on display as they all sized me up. Ever since the bashing I’d had this lingering dislike of crowds, and especially of crowds that were all focused on me. Situations like this were particularly difficult and I could feel my anxiety level rising. Meanwhile Ethan, completely oblivious to my predicament, seemed to be happily soaking up the attention and approbation he was getting from displaying me to his fawning public. But he kept smiling on me with so much pride lighting up his features that I felt compelled to fight back against my nervousness. So I plastered on what I hoped was an acceptable smile and tried to pretend I cared about their names as Ethan introduced everyone to me.

As soon as they were all satisfied with their examinations of me, the talk quickly turned back to musician stuff and I was essentially forgotten. At first I was glad that I was no longer being singled out as the primary object of everyone’s attention, but pretty soon I found myself getting bored. The group around Ethan spent a good fifteen minutes or so discussing another violinist, Marta, and weighing her performance during a recent competition. How they could spend so much time and mental energy talking about such esoteric shit completely escaped me. I suppose I’d have viewed things differently if they were discussing painting, but since I knew nothing about musical composition or technique, I had a hard time focusing on the conversation. Eventually the discussion devolved to merely dissing the poor girl - who had apparently been eliminated from the ranks of the competitors - and I discovered exactly how petty musicians could be. Ethan’s remarks were especially cutting and dismissive, but since I didn’t know this Marta, I wasn’t sure whether or not the rancor was merited.

Either way, by that point I was so utterly bored I was hoping that the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

Seeing as Ethan was completely caught up in the conversation, I was eventually able to make a quiet excuse and scuttle off to an unoccupied corner of the front porch to have a smoke. The rush of nicotine through my bloodstream helped steady my nerves a little, but I still felt like making a run for it. I couldn’t imagine a scene I wanted to be in less than the one I was forced to endure right then. Of course I wasn’t even allowed that one little moment of peace to myself, though.

“Having fun?” Ethan asked, coming up behind me without warning, slipping his arms around my waist and gripping the porch railing with both hands, as if to cage me in place.

“Yeah. It’s great,” I lied, not even bothering to look at him as I replied.

“Liar.”

I was obviously going to have to do a better job with my insincere prevarications. “No, your friends are really smart and funny. I guess I’m just . . . nervous, that’s all.”

“Don’t be,” Ethan insisted, reaching up to run his hands through my hair and ending with his fingers curled in a half-nelson vice grip to the back of my neck. “You’re with me. They’re all jealous.”

I let him pull me around into a long, possessive kiss that almost quelled my disquiet.

Before things could get too heated, though, we were interrupted by the arrival of yet another of Ethan’s acquaintances. “So, this is the imaginary boyfriend?” I looked up to see a rather plain man, a little older than Ethan, with unruly, long, curly auburn hair and an urbane demeanor that seemed to scream ‘pompous nerd’. “Well, you’re definitely better looking than his last obsession. How long did that one last? A month? Two?” The guy looked over at Ethan with a teasing smile and a little laugh as if to indicate he didn’t mean anything by the barb. Then the noob redirected his attention back to me. “So, Ethan tells me you’re an artist.”

“Yep. That’s right,” I answered, glad that somebody seemed to finally be taking an interest in me for something other than how decorative I was.

“So, what kind of stuff do you do?” Friend Guy asked.

“Lately, I’ve been manipulating classical forms using digital imagery,” I explained succinctly, wondering at the same time if the guy had any background in art at all.

Apparently not, since my explanation didn’t seem to spark any real interest in him at all; instead he just gave me this smarmy grin and elevator-eyed me. “Hmm. It seems you’re not just a pretty face after all.”

For some reason, that particular comment got to me like nothing else and, for a moment or two, I felt a familiar spark of anger urging me to respond, “No. I’ve got a pretty big cock as well. And I give one hell of a blow job. Right, Ethan?”

The flirty little flip of my head as I spoke the words did nothing to placate my boyfriend, who immediately flushed red with embarrassment.

“Um . . .” He took my hand and started to guide me off to the other side of the porch with a quick, “Excuse us for a minute, Rory.” As soon as we were far enough away to have a private word, though, Ethan turned on me angrily. “What the fuck was that about, huh?”

“What? The guy was an ass, Ethan. He was ogling me like I was a piece of meat. I wasn’t going to let him get away with that shit,” I hissed back just as heatedly.

“These people are my friends and colleagues, Justin. I have to work with them every day. You can’t go around insulting them like that.”

“Yeah? But it’s okay if they insult me, huh?”

“I don’t think what he was saying was insulting. All Rory did was complement you and comment on how beautiful you are. Which, I happen to agree with, for what it’s worth.”

“But you’re my boyfriend, Ethan. You’re allowed to say that kind of shit. Total strangers aren't.”

“Come on, Justin. He didn’t mean anything by it,” Ethan maintained. “And even if he did, there’s got to be a more appropriate way for you to respond than to spout off with vulgarities and totally embarrass me like that. I have a reputation to maintain, Babe, and I can’t have my boyfriend, of all people, undermining me that way. You need to learn to control your temper, Justin.”

While I kinda understood why Ethan might be a little ticked at me for laying into his friend like I had, I hated the condescending tone he was using as he lectured me. I was also pretty miffed that he wasn’t standing up for me and that he seemed okay with his friend’s demeaning approach. The old Justin probably would have just stormed out of there after being talked down to like that. But the new Justin was still feeling raw and unsure of himself. So I clamped my lips shut and swallowed the retort that wanted to come out. I’d already let my temper and sense of personal outrage ruin one relationship that week, I didn’t need to tank what I had with Ethan too. Maybe he was right and I really did need to get a better grip on my combative tendencies?

So I took a deep breath, forced the comeback that was on the tip of my tongue back down, and said nothing.

Ethan kissed me again, this time with a little extra force, as if he were trying to make a point, and then led me back inside to the heart of the party.

And I was good little boy for the next forty minutes or so. I kept a tight hold on my snarky tongue and fought against the urges that kept trying to compel me to say something negative. I let Ethan lead me around and show me off like a prize hog at the fair without comment. I even smiled when appropriate and answered when comments were directed my way, as infrequently as that happened. All of which seemed to please Ethan, who eventually loosened up and seemed to start enjoying himself more and more with every beer he consumed.

Finally, though, I could take it no more.

“Zing, Ethan, zing!” Ethan was relating some story to yet another admiring group of listeners when I came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, I’m going to take off, okay?”

“What? Already?”

“Yeah, I’m beat,” I offered as an excuse.

I could tell that Ethan was less than enthused with the idea of leaving so soon but he still offered. “All right. I’ll go with you.”

“No. No, you can stay here. I’m just going to go home and crash. I’ll see you at home later,” I suggested, almost desperate to get some alone time by that point.

“You sure?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I nodded and gave him my best reassuring smile.

“Okay.” He relented too easily, obviously eager to get back to his friends. Of course, he still had to make a production of my leaving early, pulling me closer and proclaiming loudly enough that half the room would hear, “Love you, Babe.”

“You too,” I answered, a lot less fervently.

But since he seemed unconvinced, I made a point of leaning in to offer a lusty kiss before I scampered off.

I remember what a relief it was to get back to Ethan’s ratty little apartment and finally have a couple hours to myself. It felt like I hadn’t had more than a minute or two of privacy since before the Rage party fiasco; which meant I really hadn’t completely processed all the recent changes to my life. And huge fucking changes they were, too. Changes that should have necessitated hours and hours of deep contemplation. However, between school, starting a new job, and Ethan dogging my every step, I hadn’t even started. So I was more than grateful to leave Ethan with his friends at the party, hoping they would keep him occupied and out of my hair for a while.

Back at the apartment I quickly poured myself a glass of cheap cabernet - the last of a bottle Ethan had opened the night before with dinner - and settled on the couch with Wolfram on my lap. The small, furry, warm body, whose contented purring only enhanced my thought processes, seemed to ground me in a way that I hadn’t experienced in a long, long while. I found myself thinking that the cat was probably the best part of starting a relationship with Ethan, and then I quickly chided myself for being so uncharitable. Ethan had done so much for me and been so understanding about my fucked up life - I really needed to give him more credit. It wasn’t his fault that I was feeling a bit stressed out. Or, at least, not wholly his fault.

The prior week - actually the whole prior month, if I was being honest with myself - had been a total circus. So many highs and lows it was impossible to count. I was still reeling and none of it felt real.

Shit . . . Did I really walk out on Brian, publicly snubbing him in front of hundreds of people, and leave the Rage party with the guy I’d been cheating on him with?

Wow! I still couldn’t believe I’d done that. I mean, yeah, I had been pissed off at Brian for ignoring me and refusing to tell me that he cared about me, but to actually LEAVE him? Did I really do that? Seriously? Not to mention the WAY I’d gone about it - walking out on him in the middle of a party he’d shelled out hundreds of dollars for, one meant to help promote a comic book I’d created and which I was still, conceivably, going to profit from. Talk about drama queen moments, right?

Did I just make the worst mistake of my life?

Sitting there thinking it all through, I realized that I had probably blown things completely out of proportion. Brian hadn’t actually DONE anything to me - well, except for that little scene at the loft where he’d worked me all up and then rejected me when he smelled Ethan on me. That was probably my fault though, since I had broken our rules and was, in effect, cheating on him. And, yes, he’d pissed me off - hell, I was still pissed off at him, to be honest - but we’d fought before and still managed to work things out. Why had I overreacted so much this time? What the fuck was I doing? Did I REALLY want to abandon everything that Brian and I had fought so hard to build just like that?

Of course, the difference between this fight and all the previous fights was Ethan. I’d never before had any other love interest that might intervene when Brian and I were fighting. I’d never even known someone like Ethan before. He was everything Brian was not; Ethan was sappy and romantic and ostentatious in his love for me. He was possessive in a way I’d been craving for a long time. And he was appreciative of me in a very vocal way. Maybe too appreciative and possessive, actually.

In thinking back over the evening, I found myself being more than a little annoyed by the way Ethan had been acting. Yeah, he’d been very happy to introduce me to all his friends, but sometimes it had felt like he was merely showing me off - bragging on me like he did about all the other competitions he’d won. I didn’t like feeling like arm candy for Ethan. Which was strange because that’s what everyone had always teased me about being when I was with Brian and it had never bothered me then - I’d just laughed about it and used it to tease Brian about his age. But while Brian had played along with the joking, Ethan seemed to take matters so much more seriously. Maybe that’s why I resented it more when the subject came up around Ethan.

Or maybe I was just being way too judgmental. I mean, Ethan had just turned his OWN life upside down for me. He’d taken me in when I didn’t have anywhere to go, had helped me find a job after Michael made it clear I wasn’t needed at the Diner any longer, and had repeatedly told me how much he loved me and how happy he was that we were now officially together. And he’d been so nice to me, so understanding about all I was going through with Brian. He seemed like the first person I’d met - other than Daphne - who really understood me.

“What do you think, Wolfram?” I asked my furry lap warmer. “I’m probably just being a bitch, right? I mean, Ethan has been great to me so far and he’s so outspoken about how much he loves me. I need to stop being so crabby all the time. I guess I’m just not used to hearing my boyfriend SAY he loves me all the time, which is, no doubt, why I’m doubting him . . .”

Wolfram and I might have had further discussions on the subject if left to ourselves, but that happened to be when Ethan arrived home. He sauntered in, bringing the scent of the springtime rain, which had just started outside, with him. He leaned down to kiss my cheek as he passed. It felt so nice to be acknowledged like that, that I immediately shoved my prior annoyance down. This was the relationship that I’d wanted - the one that I’d chosen - and I wasn’t going to start rethinking it now that I was already committed. It was time for me to grow up and stop yearning after something that it seemed I never really had anyway.

“So, how was the rest of the party?” I asked as soon as Ethan joined me and Wolfram on the sofa.

“Totally tedious. If I had to listen to Victor moan about his Heiffitz performance for another minute I was going to slit my wrists right then and there.” Then he reached out to run his fingers through Wolfram’s long fur and asked, “and what have you two boys been up to here without me?”

“Nothing much. Just enjoying some cat therapy. It’s amazing how calming it is to just sit around with a pussy on your lap.”

“I didn’t know you were so into ‘pussy’,” Ethan teased, leaning over to shoulder bump me in a friendly, familiar way. “No wonder you’re friends with those two lesbians. I think I better keep you away from them from here on out.”

We both laughed at the ridiculous notion, even though I still wasn’t happy about bugging out on the girls’ party the next day. “I promise, I’m not interested in them for THAT. But I really do think I should at least make an appearance at their party. I would hate for it to get back to them that I wasn’t being completely honest about having to miss the party because of work. Mel and Lindsey have been good friends to me and I really should support them . . .”

However, I didn’t even get to voice my full argument in favor of going to the party before Ethan interrupted me. “Justin . . . *sigh* . . . I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to that damn party. You need to make a clean break from that whole group and dragging it out is only going to make it harder for you. I mean, let’s face it, those people aren’t really YOUR friends. They were his friends first and no matter what you think they will always be HIS friends. I don’t want to see you hurt by running after their affection like this and then getting slammed when you find out they’re always going to take your ex’s side over yours.” Ethan pushed Wolfram off my lap so he could scoot over and take me in his arms. “You know you can’t trust them, Babe. No matter what they say, they’ll be loyal to HIM, not you. You know this, right? Isn’t it better to just move on and make a new life for yourself? What good does it do to hang on to something that’s obviously over?”

Ethan sounded so sincere. He sounded like he really was worried about me being hurt. And he made it seem so plausible that, no matter how much my old friends might claim that they still wanted to maintain a relationship with me, they would end up taking sides. It made perfect sense when Ethan said it like that. I didn’t want to get hurt even more, did I? So, even though I retained lingering doubts - and a deep desire not to lose the friends that had come to mean so much to me over the prior two years - I figured Ethan must be right. I should just cut my losses, move on, and make some new friends and a new life.

When I finally shrugged, indicating that I accepted Ethan’s decision that I not go to the girls’ party, he kissed my temple, gave my shoulder a satisfied squeeze and added, “good. I’m glad that’s settled. Now I don’t have to worry about you getting hurt or that bastard trying to use your old friends to win you back. Because from here on out, you’re all MINE. Right?”

And I just smiled at him weakly, trying to convince myself that Ethan’s kind of love was endearing and not just overly possessive, as he led me off to the bed where he proceeded to make love to me until I forgot all my potential protests.

Chapter 11 - Control.

How do you differentiate between a concerned partner who does things for you because they care and want to help, and an abuser who takes control of everything to serve their own purposes?

Outwardly, the two acts may look the same. An abuser rarely admits that the reason they’re smothering you with attention is so that they can keep you under their control. A caring partner might comment on how tired you look, order you to put down the project you’re working on, and urge you to go to bed. An abuser might do the same thing, but it’s not out of concern for your health. Rather, it’s because they’re annoyed that you’re spending too much time concentrating on something other than them. But how do you tell the difference between those two? Especially when you’re young, naïve, and desperate to earn the love of that person?

What makes this analysis even more complicated is that, though the narcissist clearly does not have your best interests in mind - primarily because they’re missing any sense of empathy or compassion - they do have the ability to love you, if only for their own purposes. However, that love somehow always feels conditional; that they’ll only love you if you do what they say. Or, as it’s more commonly framed from the narcissist’s point of view, if you love them you’ll WANT to do what they ask. And because you do, truly, want that love, you always capitulate. You always end up giving in. Sometimes you don’t even realize you’re giving in until weeks down the road, because that’s just how manipulative they are. Any way you look at it, though, it’s not a healthy kind of love.

However, it’s very difficult for a victim of a narcissist to gauge the motives behind that love. Even when something feels off - when you somehow sense there’s an ulterior motive for the outwardly caring action - you doubt yourself. You ascribe beneficent motives to the controlling behavior. It doesn’t help that the abuser always has a rational and seemingly altruistic reason ready to offer any time you might object to being controlled. It’s always turned around on you. You’re the one being unreasonable. You’re the one that’s causing the strife in the relationship. They are never to blame, even when they are. 

Maybe it’s only in hindsight that one learns to see the real motivation behind an abuser’s controlling actions? Maybe you have to have the wisdom of distance to see the patterns of behavior clearly? From that perspective, perhaps, you’ll be able to see the way he seeks to dominate every individual and every group with which he interacts. That his obsessive desire for control is not just about control for control's sake, but an essential element of that person’s character. A defense mechanism, if you will, designed to bolster the abuser’s own fear of lack of control. And, because a narcissist is always the preeminent expert in knowing best how things should turn out and how people should behave, they feel justified in controlling others even if they have to use threats, coercion, advice giving, helplessness, guilt, manipulation, or domination. They know best, so you should welcome their guidance, right?

Unfortunately, for most victims, though, that kind of insight - the ability to tell the difference between the abuser and the caregiver - comes much too late. 

At least it did for me.

As it was, I could’ve easily managed to go to Mel and Lindz’ anniversary party the next day since I ended up at home alone with no real plans. 

After being up late the night before, Ethan and I slept in on Sunday morning until almost ten o’clock. When he did wake up, and noticed the time, Ethan was in a panic. He insisted he had to get to the concert hall early - he and a couple friends were meeting up so they could get in a little extra practice before that evening’s performance. He picked through a pile of dirty laundry on the floor, extracting the least soiled items he could find, and threw them on as he was running for the door. Right before he reached the exit, though, he seemed to remember my presence and turned back to offer me a parting kiss.

“Sorry, Babe. I don’t mean to run out on you like this, but you understand right? It’s all about the Art. And I just want to make sure I get that fifth movement of the Berlioz down pat before tonight’s solo.” He reached out to trail his fingers down my cheek with what I took to be affection and then looked around with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Hey, while I’m gone, could you maybe clean up around here a bit. It’s a total pigsty. Now that there’s two of us here, it seems like there’s more than twice the mess, huh?” He chuckled deprecatingly, almost as if me being there was some kind of trial for him, but one he’d bear because he loved me . . . or something. “Well, see you at the theater. Don’t be late. Love you, Babe.”

And then he was gone in a whirl of self-importance, leaving me sitting there, still in bed, without having got in a single word. 

“Good morning to you too, Ethan. I slept fine, thanks for asking. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine on my own today . . .” I grumbled as I crawled out of bed and scowled around at the messy apartment I was supposed to clean while my partner was off doing something he enjoyed.

I know Brian always used to give me shit about living with a teenage slob, but the reality is that I’m actually a pretty neat person by nature. Yes, I’d occasionally kick my trainers off by the door, or leave a school book on the table, or spread my art out when I was working on a big project, or even, if you can believe it, leave the clothing Brian would strip off when he was ravishing me on the floor until the next morning. All in all, though, I was fairly good at tidying up after myself, so I always took Brian’s comments the way they were offered; more as an inside joke than anything. It was just Brian’s way of teasing me - and making fun of himself at the same time - about the difference in our ages. He’d kid me about being a messy teen and I’d joke about how he was old and set in his ways. And I won’t even comment on the messes Brian occasionally made when he would go on a bender. Mostly, though, we both kept our messiness under control without the other having to comment.

So, to be summarily ordered to clean up Ethan‘s pit of an apartment - before I’d even had a cup of coffee, no less - really wrankled. Especially when I looked around me and noticed that ninety percent of the mess wasn’t even mine. Yes, I’d left my clothing from the night before draped over the arm of the couch, and my school books were piled on the table, but other than that, everything else I saw strewn around the room belonged to Ethan. His clothing was in various piles on the floor and furniture, his sheet music was scattered over every piece of furniture and large portions of the floor, all the dishes he’d used to eat off during the week were piled on the sideboard next to the sink, and there was a hodgepodge of shoes and jackets near the front door that had just been shoved to the side instead of being hung up or put away. On top of that, Wolfram’s litter box was in serious need of attention and pretty much everything in sight was covered in long, grey cat hair. He hadn’t been wrong about the place looking like a pigsty; not that the tiny studio furnished with other people’s junk had ever been what you’d call pristine. 

Contemplating the task ahead of me was daunting. I briefly thought about blowing it off and going to Mel and Lindsey’s party anyway. But, after the way I’d flat out lied to them the night before with my lame excuse for why I COULDN’T come to the party, I just couldn’t do it. It would mean making up another lie to cover for the first, and I just didn’t want to go there. Plus, I’d have to explain myself to Ethan afterwards and I suspected that would end up being even more of an ordeal than the cleaning. And, since I didn’t actually relish living in squalor myself, it looked like, if I wanted a clean living space, it would be up to me to make it that way. 

So, instead of spending my day hanging out with my friends at a social gathering, I was slaving away at menial chores. I gathered up all the dirty clothing and trucked it down the block to the laundromat. While the wash loads were running, I ran back to the apartment and picked up the rest of the clutter until I could finally see large swathes of the dingy brown carpet. Then I ran back down the street, threw the laundry into dryers, and returned to the apartment to empty the cat box and take out all the trash and recycling. I even got a good start on washing the dishes before I had to dash back to the laundromat, fold the clothing, and haul it back to be put away. I remade the bed. I even borrowed a vacuum from one of our neighbors - I couldn’t believe Ethan didn’t own one, although that would explain the state of the grungy carpet - and spent a good hour vacuuming, dusting and sweeping the floors. Finally, I scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom and mopped the floors till you could actually see that the tiling had once been a light yellow instead of the dingy brown I’d thought they were. It was disgusting, back-breaking work which obviously hadn’t been done in a while - probably not since Ethan had moved in - and took me the entire day to complete.

I was just returning after taking the vacuum back to the folks I’d borrowed it from when Ethan arrived. He was all smiles and looked like he’d had a good time with his friends. I, on the other hand, was sweaty and dirty and in a pretty foul mood overall. 

“Hey, Babe!” he greeted me, leaning in for a kiss but then pulling back abruptly when he got a whiff of how bad I smelled. “Why aren’t you ready to go already, Hon? You’re supposed to be at Carnegie Hall for your shift in, like, twenty minutes. I just came home to pick up my suit - I forgot to grab it when I left this morning - but I didn’t expect to see you here still. Didn’t I warn you not to be late?”

Was it any wonder I completely lost it after a greeting like that? I was exhausted, dirty, hungry, and my back hurt from crawling on the floor scrubbing tiles on my hands and knees because Ethan didn’t own a mop. I was also suffering through one of the worst allergy attacks I’d had in years, as a consequence of my time spent excavating out the layers upon layers of cat hair and dust from under Ethan‘s bed. I was in no mood for criticism. And the most infuriating part of it all, was that Ethan hadn’t said one word about how nice the apartment now looked. As I thought at the time, my response was not only predictable but justified.

“Fuck you, Ethan,” I hissed at him, getting right up in his face. “How dare you come in here and lecture me after I’ve spent the entire day cleaning up after your shit. You think you can just order me to clean up after you while you waltz out the door to spend the entire day goofing off with your friends? And then you come home and criticize me? Well fuck you, Ethan. I’m not your fucking maid!”

I brushed angrily past him, pulling off my sweat stained T-shirt as I headed towards the bathroom to wash up. Ethan, surprisingly, didn’t say anything at first. I guess he’d never seen Angry Justin before. Up to that point, I’d always been meek, submissive, and polite. Little did he know, under that country club exterior, there was a bit of a hotheaded rebel. If he’d compared notes with Brian before stealing me away, he would’ve known that. 

But my furious reaction didn’t play well with Ethan’s self-narrative of being my protector and guide and it took him awhile to figure out how to handle me.

Meanwhile I was busy in the tiny toilet cubicle, doing my best to clean up as quickly as possible. I gave myself what my dear old dad would’ve called a whore’s bath - briefly running the bar of soap across my chest under my pits and my over crotch - which was all I really had time for. Unfortunately it had been a few days since I’d shaved, though, and I knew my boss at the catering service wouldn’t be happy if I showed up looking all shaggy. So I took the time to lather up my face and hastily scraped at the scruff on my cheeks and chin. But all the time I was getting ready, I was still fuming about Ethan’s entrance and his lack of appreciation for all my hard work. 

“Justin, Babe, stop for a second,” Ethan ordered, pulling the towel out of my hand as soon as I’d mopped off the last wisps of shaving cream. 

I turned around to confront him, still not at all placated, only to find Ethan looking at me with this super sad expression on his face. He looked so contrite and . . . Wounded was the only term that came to mind. Which confused me. I guess I was used to the roof-raisingly loud arguments Brian and I used to have. We’d had a few regular screaming matches in the day - not that we argued much, but when we did it was always very vocal - each of which was followed by glorious make up sex. So I wasn’t prepared for Ethan’s cool-headed, conciliatory approach.

“I don’t think that’s fair, Babe,” Ethan was saying in a calm, disapproving tone. “I wasn’t just goofing off with my friends all day. I was practicing. Perfecting my performance for tonight. I figured you, of all people, would understand how hard an artist has to work to create his vision. And I don’t appreciate you denigrating my work like that, Justin.” 

Of course I wasn’t completely appeased, even if I did have to concede that Ethan had a point about his music being more than just goofing off, but I was still angry . . . “Whatever, you still didn’t need to come in here lecturing me about running late. I’m a fucking adult and I’ve been taking care of myself since my dad kicked me out of the house at seventeen. I’m perfectly capable of managing my own time and getting to my job on time. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if I didn’t have to play the fucking maid, cleaning up after you!” I literally spat the words in his face, the little fleck of spittal that hit his cheek providing a nice emphasis, I thought. 

“Justin . . . Babe . . .” Ethan approached me with this condescending look that made my blood boil even more, but then his words hit me and I immediately felt chastened. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little bit here?” He took a step forward so that he was close enough to rest his hands familiarly on my hips. “I never said you had to be my maid. All I said was that it would be nice if you picked up a bit. I didn’t mean for you to go all Mr. Clean on me and spend your whole day scrubbing the floors or anything. Don’t blame me if you went totally overboard. And besides, you DO live here now too; I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you help out with the chores, is it? Especially since you aren’t working much and didn’t have anything else planned today. Right”

Damn it! I hated when people were rational and logical when I really just wanted to pick a fight. But he wasn’t exactly wrong; I may have gone a little overboard. Ethan had never asked me to scrub the bathroom floor or delve a year’s worth of cat hair out from under his bed. Still, he could’ve at least shown a little appreciation for my efforts. Did he actually enjoy living in total squalor? He was also right about the fact that I wasn’t working very much these days, and I’d had plenty of time on my hands that afternoon, so I suppose it wasn’t unreasonable for him to ask that I use some of that time to clean up our living space. I just didn’t like the way he seemed to assume that was now my responsibility.

I might’ve even continued to argue the point if I wasn’t overtaken right then by another attack of sneezing brought on by my allergies. “Shit,” I wheezed, running to grab a wad of tissues. “On top of everything else, I’m all out of allergy pills. I’ll have to stop by the all-night pharmacy on my way home and pick up my refill. Good thing I get paid tonight.” Then I happened to look at the clock hanging on the wall over the tiny kitchen sink, and realized how late it had gotten. “Fuck. That’s assuming that I’m not fired on the spot when I show up late.”

Ethan grabbed his suit from the closet along with my jacket, handing the latter off to me as he led the way to the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Luke for you. He’s a decent guy. I’m sure he’ll understand,” Ethan assured as he ushered me out of the apartment with a guiding hand resting against my lower back. Apparently, our argument was already forgotten, and since we didn’t have time to get into it further, I let it go. “In fact, if you want to sign your paycheck over to me, I’ll run to the pharmacy for you. I have more than enough time to do that before the concert starts.”

If I hadn’t been so desperate to stop sneezing my brains out, I might’ve even argued about this plan. Somewhere in the back of my mind I recognize that my boyfriend was once again being over-solicitous and controlling. I was perfectly capable of explaining to my boss why I was late or picking up my own medication. But the day had already been such a shit show, and I was so exhausted, not to mention that allergy attacks always made me a little muzzy-headed, that I just didn’t feel up to debating the matter right then. So I let Ethan take charge once again. 

We arrived at Carnegie Hall ten minutes late and were met by a glaring Luke. Ethan stepped in and turned on his charm, suavely making sincere-sounding apologies that luckily seemed to placate him. He grumbled a little and warned me not to ever be late again before handing over my paycheck, which I quickly endorsed on the back and handed over to Ethan. Then I scrambled off to join the rest of the catering staff engaged in the usual pre-event preparations. I didn’t even have time to say goodbye to Ethan or explain which pharmacy my prescription was waiting at, so I was surprised when Ethan showed up again about a half hour later with a little white pharmacy bag in hand.

I was so grateful to get the meds that I completely forgot I had meant to continue to be mad at him. “Thank you! Shit, you don’t know how badly I needed one of these.” I grabbed a napkin from the top of the nearby bar, dabbed at my nose for the 10,000th time, and then dry swallowed one of the little white pills from the prescription vial. “You’re a lifesaver, Ethan.” I shoved the bottle of pills in my pocket and started to turn away, intent on getting back to my job unloading a cart full of freshly washed wine glasses, when I remembered one other thing. “Hey, did the pharmacy give you shit about my insurance? I haven’t had time to figure out what to do about that and I wasn’t sure if Brian had already canceled me off his plan.”

“Nope. It was covered. I only had to pay the $20 co-pay for you,” Ethan replied, already a few steps down the lobby from me, obviously headed towards the stage door.

“Great,” I yelled after him, privately wondering how long my ex was going to let me coast on his insurance, but quickly coming to the conclusion that I didn’t have time to worry about that then. “So, do you have the rest of my money?”

That question stopped Ethan in his tracks and he turned around to look back at me with an air of  confusion. “Oh, I just deposited the whole check in my account and used my debit card to pay for the prescription. We can sort out the money later, right?”

“Taylor! Why don’t you have those glasses set up yet?” Luke asked, still sounding a bit crusty. “The box office opens in ten minutes. Get a move on!”

“I’m on it,” I promised my boss.

And when I looked around, Ethan was long gone.

Chapter 12 - Little Lies.

Have you heard the joke about the man who comes home early and finds his wife half naked by the pool with their handsome young gardener on top of her? The wife says: ‘It’s not what you think! I got dizzy and started to pass out. Juan saved my life by giving me CPR.’ Afterwards, she sticks to her story so convincingly that her husband starts to believe her version of the truth and not his own eyes. He ends up thanking the gardener and tipping him generously for saving his wife’s life.

It’s funny right? You hear that joke and you think, what a rube. How could anyone be THAT clueless? 

Except, that’s exactly how gaslighting makes you behave. 

If you’ve ever spent any time around a narcissist, you’ll know what I mean. They’re so good at lying, they make you think you couldn’t possibly have seen what you thought you saw. You must have misunderstood. Maybe he goes so far as to make you think you’re losing your mind. 

They seem SO convinced they’re right that you doubt your own senses.

Apparently the term - ‘gaslighting’ - comes from some old movie from back in the 1940s where a man sets about to systematically drive his wife mad by making her doubt her own perceptions. I’m way too young to have ever seen that flick, but after my time living with Ethan I now understand the concept pretty well. I understand how a manipulative relationship can make you doubt your own sanity. Make you disbelieve your own eyes and ears. Make you question reality itself. 

And the craziest part of it is that it’s usually not even about a big lie. Gaslighting can be about virtually anything. In fact, it’s the smaller things that they lie about that make you the craziest. You could almost understand covering up for the big lies. But why lie about something small and easily disprovable? Why lie about something inconsequential?

The answer can be found in the fact that a narcissist simply can’t bear being wrong about anything. The narcissist always has to be right. They always have to be in control of everything. They have to be perfect. 

The corollary of that principle is that you, as their victim, are never allowed to be right if your position is contrary to their own.

So, while you might not think it’s worth it to argue over some petty little slip up, they will fight you to the death just to prove that they’re never wrong. And they’re so good at arguing and manipulating you that eventually you start to buy into their assumption that they are always right and you are always wrong. In that way, all the little lies serve to condition you to believe the big lies. 

Before you know it, you too are tipping the gardener for fucking your partner, and don’t understand how you became the butt of the joke.

The following week was a little better. Things seemed to settle down a bit. I was adjusting to my new, post-Brian life. 

It wasn’t easy, though. I quickly realized how pampered I’d been, first growing up in my parents’ wealthy suburban enclave and then moving into Brian’s luxurious loft. Even my brief stint occupying Debbie’s spare room hadn’t quite prepared me for the austerity of Ethan’s starving artist life. 

It was the little things that got to me, you know? Like not having a washer/dryer in the apartment and not being able to run a load of wash at the laundromat because I’d run out of change. Or running out of shaving cream and toothpaste but not having the money to pick up more. I guess I’d taken for granted Brian’s cleaning and grocery delivery services. But I was resilient and I made do and it was okay. I guess.

The only other argument - well, it was more of a question on my part than a real argument actually - Ethan and I had that week was over the money thing. See, after Sunday night, when I’d given him my paycheck to use to pick up my meds, he never gave me the rest of my money back. I only remembered that fact on Monday when I went to the cafeteria to grab some lunch, and realized I had a mere $5 in my wallet. Of course, Ethan showed up not five minutes later and found me sitting at a table eating a power bar, looking glum.

“Why the long face, Babe?” He asked, pulling up the chair next to me. “You know, you shouldn’t frown all the time - people are gonna think I’m not keeping you satisfied.” 

The way he said it, he made it sound like a joke, but the words themselves kinda struck me as odd. Like he didn’t care if I was in a bad mood, as long as it didn’t reflect back on him? Like, somehow, after only being officially together for a week, I had somehow been transformed into an extension of him. A mere accessory. One that was meant to be decorative at all times. Or, was I being too prickly and simply overreacting to his little joke? 

Setting that matter aside, though, I broached the much more important topic of my paycheck. “I didn’t have enough cash on me to get a real lunch,” I explained, waving my power bar in his face. “Can we stop by an atm on the way home so you can give me back the rest of the money from my paycheck - minus the copay you’re out, of course?”

“Oh, well, I’m afraid all that money is gone,” Ethan answered matter-of-factly, completely ignoring my look of consternation. “It really wasn’t that much to start with, you know. So I just used what was left to pay the electric bill and the internet service. After that, there’s only, maybe, fifty bucks left, and I thought we could use that to pick up some groceries on the way home.”

“Seriously?” I grumbled. “So what am I gonna use to live on all week? I don’t even have enough cash to buy lunches.”

“No problem. That’s why you have a talented and resourceful boyfriend on hand,” Ethan declared, taking out his wallet and demonstrating the way it was practically overflowing with greenbacks. “One of the perks of being a street performer; I happened to make some pretty good tips last week. And I’m more than happy to buy my beautiful boyfriend lunch. What do you want?”

Okay, I was a little miffed that Ethan had used my money to pay bills without asking me first, but I was too hungry right then to get into it. I let Ethan buy me a burger, fries, and a coke, and while I ate, I tried to frame how I wanted to approach him about the money thing. Knowing how easily offended he could be, I didn’t want to just accuse him of anything. Plus, I didn’t want him to think I was some kind of freeloader who didn’t intend to help out by paying my share of the bills. But that didn’t mean he could just spend my money without asking me, either. Especially not when money was so ridiculously tight. We needed to establish some rules. Some boundaries. Maybe even sit down and work out a budget so I could plan my finances a little better. 

Before I’d worked out what I wanted to say, though, a gaggle of Ethan’s music school friends arrived in the cafeteria and immediately joined our table. I didn’t want to discuss money problems in front of all of them, so I held my tongue. I made a mental note to bring the issue up later that night, after we got home.

Unfortunately, Rory, from Saturday’s party, was one of the new arrivals that had joined us. There was something about the guy that just totally creeped me out. The way he kept staring at me was disconcerting. I mean, I was used to appreciative looks from men - after two years as Brian Kinney’s arm candy, I had mostly become inured to those sorts of looks - but this was something more. There was something knowing in those looks. Something threatening. To be honest, it freaked me out.

I moved my chair so I was sitting closer to Ethan, but my boyfriend wasn’t much comfort. Instead of telling his leering friend to fuck off, Ethan seemed to be egging Rory on. He kept making bragging comments about my looks that, maybe, he assumed would be flattering, but just felt out of place. He even went so far as to make up a little story about how I’d agreed to grow my hair out because he’d told me I would look much better with long hair; something we’d never even discussed, but whatever. 

And then, I’m not sure how, but for some reason the conversation migrated back to Ethan again bragging about having ‘rescued’ me from Brian’s nefarious clutches. He was embellishing the story, of course, making it sound almost like Brian had been pimping me out to all the men in Babylon’s backroom. I might have corrected him but I really didn’t know any of these people and I didn’t feel comfortable discussing my sex life with them; it didn’t seem appropriate to start explaining that I actually didn’t mind public sex or even the occasional thee-way. Suffice it to say, though, that this particular topic of conversation did nothing to quell Rory’s prurient interests.

“That bastard never appreciated Justin's true beauty or his talent,” Ethan summed up his argument, putting his arm around my shoulders and giving a proprietary squeeze. “Not like I do. And, thankfully, Justin finally realized it too. Now he’s got me to protect him. Right, Babe?”

“Uh, yeah,” I answered, wishing I could disappear.

“And quite a prodigious talent it is, too, from what I can see,” Rory added with a suggestive wink.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it, Roar!” Ethan chuckled. “Justin’s by far the MOST talented boyfriend I've ever had . . . And his art isn’t bad either.”

The entire table burst into raucous laughter. The uproar was so boisterous that it caused neighboring tables to look over. I blushed so hard it felt like my cheeks were on fire. Ethan seemed to think it was all hilarious, and leaned over to deposit a kiss on my cheek, which only earned us more clapping and laughter. I don’t think I’d ever been more embarrassed in my life.

Which was a strange reaction, right? Because I’d never been ashamed when I’d been with Brian. I’d had more public sex in my short life than almost anyone I knew and never felt the least bit embarrassed about it. Hell, both Brian and I had been known to brag - explicitly and with graphic details - about some of our juicier exploits. And Brian’s friends had always teased us relentlessly about our sex life. So what was different now? Why did Ethan’s fairly tame words make me feel so mortified? Maybe it was that Brian, when he’d been bragging about us, had always sounded proud of ME, whereas Ethan sounded proud of HIMSELF for having acquired me? I’d never really felt like a mere accessory around Brian, despite some people assuming that’s all I was, but Ethan seemed just fine with categorizing me in that light to his friends. 

Either way, Ethan’s words made me uncomfortable enough that I scarfed down the rest of my lunch and immediately left without further comment.

I’d meant to bring up the subject later that night but Luke called me just as I was leaving my Life Drawing class, saying somebody had called in sick that night, and offering me the shift. I jumped at the opportunity. I’d never needed money so badly in my life, so I wasn’t going to turn down any work. And by the time I got home that night, Ethan was already asleep. 

Somehow, the discussion about both the money issues and the Rory thing just seemed to get forgotten in the hustle and bustle of the rest of the week. 

The only other significant development that week had occurred on Friday, when Debbie Novotny managed to track me down on the PIFA campus.

I’d just left the studio after spending some time working on a project that was due on Monday for my Contemporary Painting Techniques practicum when Ethan‘s friend Jeff came up to me. “Hey, Taylor. There’s some weird lady wandering around campus looking for you,” he announced.

“Weird lady?” I repeated, completely taken off guard.

“Yeah. Real loud, plus sized, red hair, wearing a shirt that says ‘Got Lube?’”

“Ohhhhhhh.” Anybody who’d ever met the woman would recognize Debbie from that description.

“I told her, if I saw you, I’d send you her way. She’s waiting outside the west entrance,” Jeff pointed me in the right direction and then hurried along on his way.

I thought about doing a runner or maybe hiding in the studio until she’d left. I was reluctant to face the confrontation I was pretty sure was waiting for me. But if she’d gone to the trouble of tracking me down at school, it wasn’t likely she’d give up. So my options were to put this talk off till later, when she’d probably be even more annoyed at me, or just man up and go find her now. Now would probably hurt the least. At least that’s what I hoped.

She was right where Jeff had said she’d be, pacing back and forth outside the art building, the hood of her jacket pulled up to fend off the drizzle, and looking damp but determined. “Debbie? What are you doing here?”

“Trying to confirm you’re still alive, that’s what!” Debbie brayed as she rounded on me with a long red talon pointing admonishingly in my face. “Where do you get off quitting without even saying goodbye and then dropping off the face of the earth? Nobody even knows where the hell you’re living, Sunshine. I’ve been calling you for two weeks now. What the hell’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Deb,” I answered, but since she still didn’t look convinced I added, “I swear. I just . . . well, I didn’t think I’d still be welcomed after what happened so I just . . .”

“Not welcomed? What kind of crap is that? Why wouldn’t you be welcomed? You’re family, Sunshine. Of course you’re welcome. I don’t give a flying fuck what went on between you and Brian - that’s between you two boys - but it doesn’t mean I’m gonna care about you any less. Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

Deb cursing me out to prove she still loved me made me smile, at least until I remembered what Michael had said to me that last day at the Diner. “That’s not what everybody else thinks, I’m afraid.” Since Deb looked confused, I explained, “your son made it very clear that, now that I’m no longer with Brian, he didn’t need to see my face ever again.”

“Well, my son - that little asshole - doesn’t speak for me,” Debbie insisted with hands on hips and a stern look. “And judging by what happened at the girls’ party last weekend, I don't think he speaks for anyone else either.” 

“Something happened at the party?” My curiosity got the better of me and I had to ask.

“You could say that,” Deb shook her head disapprovingly before she explained further. “Michael, the meddling twerp, made an inappropriate comment and Brian ended up decking him.”

I gotta admit I was pretty surprised by that news; Brian might be a lot of things, but he was never violent. Growing up the way he had, with an abusive dad, had taught him to abhor violence. Brian might get mad and yell at you, but he’d never hit anyone.

“Seriously? What the hell could Michael say that would make Brian hit him?” 

“Well, nobody knew what he’d said at the time. All we saw was the fallout when Brian let loose with a right cross and totally floored Michael. You can be sure we were all pretty pissed off at him after that, too. The girls had Brian escorted out of the party pretty damn quick,” Debbie related. “But you and I both know, Sunshine, that it would take a lot to get Brian mad enough to slug his best friend like that, so it got me to thinking. Mind you, it took me threatening Michael with castration by way of the Diner’s rusty meat cleaver before he confessed. But when he told me what he said, *I* wanted to deck him too.”

I didn’t have to say a word - apparently the look of concern on my face was enough to get Deb to finally confess all.

“The little shit . . . I don’t know what the hell got into him, but you can be sure I gave him hell for it, Sunshine . . .” Debbie hesitated even then before finally fessing up. “He was spouting off about how he was glad you hadn’t come to the party, even though the girls said they’d tried to convince you to come. Then, apparently, he told Brian that he was better off without you in his life and . . . He said . . . He said that maybe everyone would have been better off if Brian had just left you lying there on that garage floor . . .”

That hurt. I mean, it really, really hurt. I knew that Michael was pissed off at me on Brian’s behalf, but shit . . . It’s not every day that someone you thought of as a friend announces that the world would be better off with you dead. Fuck Michael.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed off at Brian for punching my son, but I guess I can sorta understand why he’d do it,” Debbie continued, getting a thoughtful look on her face. “Brian still hasn’t completely recovered from you getting bashed, Sunshine. That . . . That changed him in ways I don’t think anybody’s fully realized yet.” And then she looked over at me with a sad expression. “But, just so you know, not everybody agrees with Michael.”

I really didn’t know how to respond to Debbie’s tale. I felt torn. I mean, it was painful to hear how deeply Michael hated me but, at the same time, it was good to know that Brian didn’t feel the same. We might have been broken up but he obviously didn’t totally hate me, even after everything I did to him, or he wouldn’t have belted Michael for what he’d said. But did that really change anything? Probably not. Just because Brian wasn’t willing to listen to Michael’s crass comments, it didn’t mean he wanted me back. Not when I’d cheated on him and then topped it off by embarrassing him in front of everyone in Babylon. It didn’t mean that Brian still had any feelings for me. 

“So what the fuck have you been doing with yourself, Sunshine?” Debbie asked, moving on. “And how do you get off quitting the Diner without even saying goodbye, huh? You could have knocked me over with a feather when Kiki told me you’d just up and quit without any notice.” That long red-enameled fingertip was poking in my face again, telling me that Deb was serious about her next statement. “By the way, your resignation is NOT accepted. You don’t get to quit by proxy. I’m still holding your job open until I get your personal explanation about what’s going on.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, Ma’am, but Justin’s already found another job,” Ethan announced on my behalf, coming up from out of nowhere and wrapping one arm possessively around my waist. “I managed to get him a job with the catering service at Carnegie Hall.”

“Well, la-dee-dah,” Debbie replied, sounding completely unimpressed. Then, addressing her next remarks to me, she asked, “this the new squeeze?” I nodded with a smile. “Cute,” she declared. “He got a name?”

“Debbie, Ethan. Ethan, Debbie,” I did the honors. 

“Nice to meet you, Ethan,” Debbie responded with the appropriately polite response but then added a directive. “You taking good care of our Justin here?”

“I’m trying my best,” Ethan confirmed.

“Well, you better,” Debbie ordered. “We expect our Sunshine to be kept happy and healthy.”

“Debbie, I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” I insisted adamantly. 

“You may not need it, but you still deserve it,” Debbie insisted. “Don’t ever forget that there are people who love you, Sunshine. And we won’t condone anyone,” she stabbed Ethan with a telling glare, “who doesn’t treat you with the respect that you deserve.”

“You don’t need to worry, Ma’am. I fully appreciate how lucky I am to have won Justin away from that asshole,” Ethan maintained. 

“Good. Make sure you do,” Debbie admonished waving one of her talons in Ethan’s face. “Well, I’m late for my next shift so I need to get going. But I won’t stand for you just up and disappearing, Sunshine. You’re still expected to come by every so often and check in. You hear me?”

“I will, Deb.”

“Good. Now, don’t be a fucking stranger, you hear?”

“I promise.”

Without any further drama, Debbie retreated, leaving me with a solid bear hug in parting. My boyfriend stood there watching the whole proceeding and then offered Debbie a polite smile and a nod of his head as she left. 

“Sunshine?” Ethan asked, with an amused flick of one unruly brow, the moment Deb was gone. “I like that.”

For some reason I didn’t like hearing the nickname on Ethan’s lips. There were only two people who’d ever called me that: Debbie and Brian. Nobody else was allowed to use that name. Besides, most of the time I really didn’t like pet names. 

“Deb’s the only one who can get away with that,” I advised Ethan. “I told you, I don’t like nicknames.”

“Okay, I’ll just stick with ‘Babe’,” Ethan teased with a wink.

I just sighed and shook my head but didn’t argue the point. I’d already told Ethan, about a dozen times, that I hated being called ‘Babe’, but he’d persisted. It seemed like a petty thing to argue about, though, so I tried not to let it get to me. And anyways, I’d prefer that he call me ‘Babe’ to using the name ‘Sunshine’, so whatever. 

“You ready to get out of here?” Ethan asked when I’d started walking away. 

“Yeah,” I picked up my bag and started to head towards the bus stop. “I’m bushed. It’s been a long week. But I want to stop and get a haircut on my way home so can you spot me $20 and I’ll pay you back on Sunday when I get paid?”

That brought Ethan up short. “A haircut? You don’t need a haircut, Babe. Besides, you agreed you were going to grow it out.”

“No I didn’t. I hate long hair. It’s already getting annoying; my bangs keep getting in my eyes and when I’m painting I can’t push it back without getting paint in it. It gets gross. Besides, when my hair gets too long I look like a girl,” I argued, demonstrating how long my hair already was by pushing one shank of heavy blond behind my ear.

“Well, I love it longer,” Ethan insisted, reaching up to free the tress of hair I’d just pushed back. “I love to grab hold of it while I’m fucking you.” His voice had gotten lower and more sultry and there was a glint of lust in his eyes as he emphasised his point by pulling on the hair he’d grabbed. Then he added, “You’re not going back on your promise to let it grow, are you, Babe?”

“I never promised to let it grow, Ethan,” I maintained.

“Yes, you did, Babe. You said it while we were making love that first night after you left the asshole. I told you I loved how your hair felt, how thick and heavy it was, and you said you’d let it grow out for me.”

I seriously did not remember saying anything of the sort, but Ethan sounded so sure of it that I started to doubt myself. I mean, you say a lot of shit in the throes of passion, right? Maybe I had said something along the lines of what Ethan was saying? I didn’t think so, because I really didn’t like it when my hair got too long, but I suppose it was always possible I said something vague about him pulling my hair and he just extrapolated from there? I didn’t know, although it didn’t sound like me . . .

“Anyway, we can’t do that tonight because I’m broke too, Babe. I’ve been too busy lately practicing for the Heifitz to play around town much. I’ll have to spend a couple hours busking this weekend and see what I can scrounge up for us. Don’t worry, though, I always manage to get by.” 

“Fuck,” I grumbled, unhappy that I’d have to put off a haircut for another weekend, but at least I would get paid again on Sunday so maybe I’d have time after classes on Monday? Too bad the catering gig rarely resulted in any tips, because if so, I would have at least had a few bucks in my pocket after the shift I was due to work that evening. “You know, maybe I should take Debbie up on getting my job at the Diner back,” I broached the topic to Ethan as we walked. “When you add in the tips, it definitely pays better than the catering job, and we really could use the money right now.”

“No. I don’t want you going back there,” Ethan was adamant. 

“Why? It was a good job and the customers there always tipped really well, especially if you worked the weekend brunch shifts.”

“I said, no, Justin,” Ethan responded, sounding a bit like my father forbidding me to do something. “I don’t want you getting mixed up with those people again. They didn’t care about you or how that bastard was treating you. You’re better off making a clean break from that whole scene.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, totally confused. “Debbie was always good to me. Hell, when my dad kicked me out, I even lived with Debbie for awhile. And she helped me out a lot after the bashing - held my job open for me and took it easy on me when I was having trouble with my hand - I’m not just going to make a ‘clean break’ from her.”

Ethan stopped walking and pulled my arm to get me to stop as well. Then he positioned himself in front of me so he could look directly at me. I could see from his expression that this was going to be one of THOSE talks - the kind where he was all no-nonsense and sincere. 

“Babe, stop and listen to yourself; the way you’re always defending them.” I started to interrupt, ready to argue the point, but Ethan wasn’t going to let me get a word in edgewise. “You seriously don’t even realize how codependent you are, do you?” My confusion must have been obvious because Ethan went on to explain. “Those people - those friend’s of Brian’s - they were all part of the problem. They were the ones keeping you there with the man who was taking advantage of you. They made you think it was okay to abase yourself like that in order to keep his love. That it was NORMAL. But it isn’t, Babe. You don’t need to lower yourself for any man. Brian made you think that joining him in his promiscuous lifestyle was the price you had to pay to keep his love and all the people around him went along with that fallacy. They didn’t have YOUR best interests at heart, Babe. And now that you’ve finally broken away from that degradation, you don’t need them either. They’ll only drag you back down.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Ethan. I’m not codependent,” I replied.

“Which is what every codependent victim always says,” Ethan smiled sadly at me. “At least until they finally take a step away and look at things from a healthier perspective. Until you’re ready to do that, though, I’m not going to let you get pulled back into that lifestyle. Which is why you just need to keep your distance from everyone in that old life.”

“Ethan, I think you’re way off base,” I started to argue some more but I could already see him closing himself off and knew I wasn’t going to win him over right then. “But even if you were right about me, it’s still a job that pays good money and we aren’t in a position to turn away money right now.”

“Things aren’t that bad. We’ll get by,” Ethan assured me as he began walking down the sidewalk again, as if convinced the discussion was already over. “Something always turns up.”

Well, you couldn’t fault the man for his optimism, I thought, as I trotted after him. There wasn’t much conversation the rest of the way home, though. He’d given me something to think about that I hadn’t ever contemplated before; was I really codependent? Were Debbie and the gang actually part of what had made me so unhappy those last few months with Brian? Had the people I always thought of as my friends actually been part of the problem? I’d never looked at it that way before, but maybe Ethan was right. Maybe, as an outsider, he saw things more clearly than I had? 

Ethan, at least, seemed so convinced he was right, that it made me rethink everything.

Chapter 13 - The Mind Of The Mark.

I read somewhere once that the reason that we have no reliable statistics on fraud is because most victims don't come forward. It's a very underreported crime. And the reason for that is because society judges victims of fraud-type crimes so harshly. Society, as a whole, treats these victims like they were somehow responsible for their own victimhood. Maybe they deserved what they got if they were so easy to fool? So people just keep quiet, hide the fact that they were duped, and refuse to report the crime to the police.

To a large extent, the same goes for victims of abuse.

No one likes to admit they weren't strong enough to stand up for themselves. That they were stupid. Gullible. That they should have known better. And that sense of shame, it helps the abuser, because we’d rather believe the abuser than admit we've been abused.

I know this sounds counterintuitive. I remember, back when I was just a kid, my mom consoling a friend of hers who’d just left an abusive relationship. Listening in, I kept thinking to myself, why did she stay? Why didn’t she leave his ass the first time he hit her? Doesn’t she have any self-respect? And her excuses about how he’d always seemed so sorry afterwards and promised it would never happen again sounded to lame to me. 

So Credulous.

You tell yourself that you’re too smart to get into a situation like that. You’re a strong person who wouldn’t put up with any shit. You’re way too intelligent to get taken in by the conman or the fraud. Or the abuser.

But that’s the framing the abuser wants you to use. Being a victim of abuse has nothing to do with how intelligent or strong YOU are. If anything, a manipulative person will use those very traits against you. 

You tell yourself there’s no way you could be taken in, you’re not a gullible person, and you’re smart enough to know who to trust and who not to trust. Ergo, because you trust your own judgment, this person who you’ve fallen for MUST be alright. You would have known right away if there was something off with them, right? I trusted this person before, so there’s no reason to distrust them now either.

Although it’s never quite that simple. It's not a conscious choice. It's not like you're sitting there asking yourself, do I admit that I've been deceived? No, all this goes on in your subconscious. It’s kinda your brain’s way of protecting itself. When facing reality means facing something unpleasant about ourselves, we simply ignore reality. You really don't even see the red flag because, in your mind, it's inconceivable that you were wrong about this person in the first place.

Accepting that you’ve been taken in means accepting that you’ve made the biggest mistake ever and nobody wants to do that.

So you let the first little thing pass, assuring yourself it’s not that bad. There’s some other explanation. It won’t happen again. You make excuses. And when it does happen again, there’s even more shame because you should have seen it coming after the first time, but by then you're so invested you can’t just walk away, and you are determined to ‘fix it’. And then it happens again . . . Each time, the shame you feel for ‘letting this happen’ gets worse and worse. You almost HAVE to double down on your denial to protect against that much compounded shame.

So, can you imagine how much worse the embarrassment is when someone else - someone outside - notices what’s been happening and calls you out on it . . .

“Hey, you!” Daphne’s voice burbled out of the phone line as exuberantly as always. “It’s about time you actually answered your phone!”

“Sorry, Daph. I’ve been so busy lately, between work and school, that I just haven’t had a chance to call you back.”

“That’s okay. It’s your turn to buy lunch anyway, so you can beg my forgiveness over sandwiches at the cafe.”

“I’d love to but I’m afraid I’m totally broke,” I confessed.

“How can you be so busy working you don’t have time to call me back and still be broke?”

“That’s a good question, actually,” I half-answered her. “I guess I never knew how expensive shit is until I was living completely on my own.”

“Tell me about it,” Daphne sympathized, although I happened to know that Daph’s folks were more than comfortable and gave her a generous allowance while she was attending university. “No matter. I’m happy to buy again if that’s the price of spending time with my favorite blond boy. Just tell me when you’re available and what you want to eat.”

We arranged to get together on Thursday at Daph’s favorite cafe just off Allequippa up by the University of Pittsburgh. I was looking forward to it, actually. Daph and I had talked a few times after the Rage Party Debacle, but that had been more than a month ago and we hadn’t spent any real quality time together since. I was really looking forward to what we always jokingly called ‘girl time’. 

It truly had been a whirlwind month, though. My entire world had changed in those thirty-some days and I was still sorta reeling from the abruptness of it all. It would be really good to talk things over with Daphne. She’d given me great advice in the past and she was always supportive; I definitely needed some time with my bestie. But first, I still had two crazy days of classes and work to get through before our lunch date. 

“Who was that on the phone?” Ethan asked, the question causing me to jump because I hadn’t actually heard him coming up behind me. 

“Just Daphne,” I replied, scooting over on the bench where I was sitting so my boyfriend could join me. “We’re doing lunch on Thursday.”

“You know I have practice on Thursdays, Babe. You’re gonna have to call her back and cancel.”

“What?”

“I can’t make it on Thursday so you’re gonna have to reschedule.”

“Uh . . . It’s Daph’s treat, Ethan, and I don’t think she meant to buy for you too,” I corrected him.

Ethan didn’t say anything more, but I could tell from his disgruntled silence that he wasn’t happy about being left out. But, come on. The two of us are practically joined at the hip most days: we live together, go to school together, he even performs at the place where I work some days. I was actually looking forward to a little alone time with a friend who wasn’t part of Ethan’s clique. 

“Oh, Justin! Look at your hair! You've gone full Meg Ryan on me!” Were the first words out of Daphne‘s mouth when she saw me.

“Ha fucking ha! Have you seen my best friend around here? Because I’m sure if she were here she would not be making fun of my hair.”

“Sorry, Jus, but I just wasn’t  expecting . . . This . . . I mean, haven’t we already talked about this before? Remember back in sophomore year, when you went temporarily insane and decided to grow your hair out and then got so disgusted with it you shaved your head? If I remember correctly, you made me swear that if you ever threatened to grow your hair out again I should take whatever steps were necessary to stop you.”

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it, although I could feel my cheeks burning with a blush. “Ethan likes it longer.”

“Yeah, well, if he likes long hair let him use his own head to grow it,” Daphne laughed at me. “You don’t have to keep your hair styled the way your boyfriend likes, you know?”

“It’s not that bad,” I countered trying not to feel offended by Daphne‘s doubtful look in response.

Instead of saying anything, though, she simply reached up and picked a little flake of blue paint out of the lock of hair that had fallen forward across my forehead, holding the tiny gobbet of paint up as Exhibit A.

“Can we just order already and you can make fun of my hair later?” I pleaded, earning myself a laugh from my friend.

We went up to the counter and ordered our food. Daphne got this yummy pasta salad with grilled chicken and I ordered a bacon and egg croissant with a cup of tomato bisque on the side. I was actually starving so the conversation flagged for the first few minutes after we got back to the table with our food while I scarfed down everything in sight. I ended up eating all my food and half of Daphne’s pasta. Thankfully, she didn’t comment on my less than stellar table manners.

“So, what have you been up to? Daphne asked as soon as my food consumption rate had slowed down enough to allow for conversation. “It feels like we haven’t talked in forever. Are you adjusting to life with Ethan?”

“Yeah, mostly. It’s definitely been a big change . . .”

“I bet. But are you happier? Because that’s all that matters, right?”

Daphne’s question kind of shook me. Nobody had yet asked me that question in the month since I’d left Brian. So far, everyone I’d talked to since the Rage party had merely informed me of their opinion about what I did. My mom had, as expected, commented on the fact that Ethan was a more appropriate choice for someone my age. Debbie had refused to take sides, her only concern being that I hadn’t kept in touch with her afterward. Michael, of course, didn’t care how I felt and only looked at my actions in light of how they reflected on Brian. Ethan was overjoyed with my decision and made sure to tell me about it at least a dozen times a day. But not one person had asked me if I was happier now than I’d been before. Hell, I hadn’t even asked myself that question.

“I guess . . . yeah,” I answered, a little ambivalently.

“You don’t know?” Daph pressed.

“I don’t think I’ve actually had time to think about it. Everything just happened so fast, you know. It’s not like I actually even planned to leave Brian until I just did it. And since then, things have been so crazy busy that I . . . I don’t really know. I guess I'm happier. Sorta.” 

“Oh, Jus,” Daphne looked at me with these big, concerned, brown eyes, and it made me feel almost like I’d let her down somehow.

I quickly rushed on, trying to reassure my friend and maybe even myself. “But things are sort of starting to settle down now, so I’m sure it’ll get better. The money thing has definitely been an issue, though. I suppose it’s just gonna take me awhile to get used to being poor,” I explained, forcing a little laugh at the end. 

“Well you can’t be too poor,” Daphne commented as she pushed the rest of her plate of pasta all the way across the table towards me. “You’ve been working practically nonstop for the past month. Every time I call you’re either on your way to work or just leaving work or planning to go to work again in a few hours. What have you been doing other than working?”

“Nothing. There’s no time for anything besides classes and work, it seems. And even if I had the time, I don’t have any money so I can’t afford to do anything . . .” I heard the whiny words coming out of my mouth before I even realized I’d spoken, but didn’t like the implications I’d voiced so I just stopped.

“I thought you said this catering job paid okay?”

“It’s alright. It’s basically the same hourly wage I was making at the diner, but we don’t get tips so it ends up being a little less in the end. If I was over 21, and I could work the bar, then I’d get some decent tips and a raise, but that’s a ways down the road,” I explained.

“But with all the hours you’ve been working, it should add up a little, right?”

“You’d think, right? But after Ethan and I pay all our bills, it doesn’t seem like there’s anything left over.”

“It sounds to me like you need to budget better, young man,” Daphne lectured using a pseudo-parental voice and shaking her finger at me. Then she actually pulled a pen out of her purse and started making notations on her napkin just like she used to back when we were in high school and we had a tricky calc problem that we had to figure out together. ”Okay, let’s figure this out. First, how much are you bringing home after taxes each paycheck?”

I had to smile at my efficient and rational friend, always ready to help, but kind of a nerd at the same time. “I get paid weekly,” I answered, “and my checks have been about $400, maybe $450 on a good week.”

“That’s not that bad. So, altogether, you’re bringing home about $1,600.” She scribbled that number at the top of her napkin. “Now, what are your expenses?”

“I don’t really know exactly . . .”

“And that’s why you have no money left over at the end of the month - because you don’t know what you’re spending,” Daphne declaimed. “Which is why we're doing this exercise. So, work with me here. Let’s start with your rent.”

I must’ve looked completely dumbfounded because Daphne sighed and gave me that disappointed look she sometimes got. “I don’t know exactly,” I confessed. “The lease is in Ethan‘s name and I never really asked.”

“Justin . . .” she sounded absolutely disgusted with me. “I can’t believe you’re living someplace and you don’t even know what the rent is.”

“Well I never asked what the rent was when I was living with Brian either.

“Yeah, but Brian wasn’t asking you to cough up a contribution towards his mortgage payment either.” All I could do was shrug because I honestly didn’t know what the rent was and her lecturing me wasn’t going to help. “Okay, we’ll estimate. A fourth floor walk-up studio apartment in a so-so neighborhood and a building that looks like it’s about to fall down . . . There’s no way your rent could be more than $800 in that dump.” She scribbled the figure at the top of her napkin, right beneath where she’d listed my salary. “Now, utilities?” I shrugged and shook my head again. Daphne sighed, “well, my roommates and I pay anywhere between $225 and $250 a month for gas and electric combined. But that’s for a two bedroom house. You guys only have one tiny room to heat, so it couldn’t be more than $75 a month. Do you pay water too or is that included in the rent?”

“I don’t know,” I responded, getting a little annoyed - at her but also at myself - because I should know these things right?

“I think, for most places around here, the water is included in your rent. So we’ll skip that. What other utilities do you pay for?”

Finally, something I could answer. “Phone and Internet. Ethan managed to put me on his plan, because it would be cheaper than me paying my own. I think it’s about $150 a month combined.”

Daphne added that number to the rest. “Good. We’re moving along quite nicely, here. Now food . . . If you still eat the way you used to when we were in high school, I’m guessing groceries cost you at least 100 bucks a week and maybe another 10 bucks for toiletries and personal items. Which leaves only art supplies and school stuff. How much do you spend a month on that?“

“Lately? Nothing. I haven’t had the money for any art supplies since I left Brian’s.”

“You can’t skimp on your education, Justin. This is going to be your profession eventually - at least that’s what we both hope - so you’ve gotta make it a priority. I’m going to budget $50 a month for art supplies.” Daphne quickly looked over her numbers, thinking to see if she missed anything and then nodding at the end, obviously satisfied. “I’ll add another $50 in for miscellaneous and entertainment and that should be good.“

I looked at the napkin from my upside down perspective, and it looked like a lot to me.

She quickly added up the figures and jotted down the total at the bottom. “So, your total monthly household expenses, according to my estimate, are $1,565, of which you would owe half. So, give or take, that’s about $800/mo.” Daphne wrote a division sign and the number ‘2’ below the total of all the expenses, drew a line under that, and wrote ~$800. Then she drew another line under that number and wrote, ‘Estimated discretionary income after expenses’ with a great big $800 that she quadruple underlined. “So, where is all the rest of this going, huh?”

“That’s a really good question . . .” I replied, completely staggered. 

“You don’t know?” Daphne seemed a little confused by my lack of a good response. “Come on, Justin. That’s a lot of money. You’ve got to have some idea where it all went. Unless you’ve taken up online gambling or started doing inordinate amounts of drugs, you shouldn’t be struggling for cash right now.”

And the thing was, she was 100% right. I SHOULD have known what happened to all that money. Only, the reason I didn’t know was because I, apparently, was a total idiot. I wasn’t looking forward to explaining that to my friend though. 

“Justin?” Daphne clearly wasn’t going to let me get away with staying mute. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s just that . . .” I groaned, looking everywhere BUT at my friend. “I don’t actually know where the money went because . . .” I screwed up my courage, and my face, and just blurted it all out. “. . . Because I’ve just been signing my checks over to Ethan to deposit in his bank account so he could pay all the bills for the both of us.”

“What? Why on earth would you do that, Justin?”

“Because it just seemed easier and I was always so busy, working all the time, so I didn’t have time to go do the grocery shopping or anything and Ethan offered to do it and . . . ugh.”

“That’s totally whacked, Justin,” Daphne wasn’t buying my lame explanation. In fact, she was so angry on my behalf that you could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. “So, he’s basically been stealing your money all month.”

“No.” I was adamant on that point. “Ethan wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t steal my money. I’m sure there’s some other explanation. Maybe your estimates are off or something? Or maybe he just made a mistake and thought there was less money left over after paying the bills than is really there?”

“Or maybe he’s freeloading off you while you work yourself to the bone?” Daphne wouldn’t let it go. “I mean, come on, Justin? How stupid do you have to be to overlook $800 extra in one month?” 

“Stop, Daph. You don’t know that it was intentional. There has to be a mistake.”

“Fine . . . Okay, then answer me this; where does Ethan work? How much is HE bringing in every month?”

“He . . . he doesn’t really work, per se,” I admitted. “I mean, he gets paid for some of his gigs, I think. There’s a stipend for the times he plays at the symphony and sometimes he and his friends pick up paying gigs playing at weddings and stuff. And he busks for cash around town sometimes.”

“That’s it? How much could that bring in? A couple hundred or so a week, tops?” There she went with her impeccable logic.

“Last Saturday he made $75 playing by the park,” I offered lamely.

“So how did he afford his rent and utilities and stuff before you moved in?” Daph asked the next logical question.

“I don’t know.”

“Well you better find out, Justin. And you better not let him have any more of YOUR money until you do.” Daphne was already clearing away the plates from our lunch. “Sheesh, Jus. This is like, ‘Relationship 101’ stuff here. You NEVER let anyone else control your money. I don’t care how much you love them or trust them. You keep your finances separate. Period.”

Thankfully, Daphne ended her lecture there. I wasn’t sure I would have been able to listen to much more. I was feeling really embarrassed by all these revelations and there was a heavy ball of dread lodged in the pit my stomach. She couldn’t be right, could she? There HAD to be some explanation. Ethan wouldn’t just take my money like that and then lie to me about how broke we were. He wouldn’t do that. He loved me. It had to be a mistake.

“Come on, broke boy,” Daphne had finally relented and was smiling at me again. “I’ve still got about an hour before I have to leave to get to my biology class. How ‘bout I buy you an ice cream to go with your lunch and we can talk about something other than personal finances for a while?”

“Deal,” I accepted with a half-hearted smile in return and we headed out of the cafe together.

Only to find Ethan standing there on the corner waiting for us as we left the cafe. “There you are, Babe! Did you guys have a nice lunch?” He immediately put his arms around my waist and swooped in for a long, deep kiss that was sort of rude considering that Daphne was just standing there waiting for us the whole time. “Damn, I missed you.”

“What are you doing here, Ethan? Didn’t you have rehearsals this afternoon?” was the first thing I asked as soon as I was released from the kiss.

Ethan smiled at me like he was offering me a special prize. “I rearranged things with my professor. He let me do a private rehearsal earlier in the day so I could come join you two after all. This way I get to meet my boyfriend’s best friend.” Then he turned to face the concerned woman standing at my shoulder with one of his extra-charismatic smiles. “You must be Daphne. Justin talks about you all the time. I’m excited to finally get to meet you.”

Daphne accepted the hand he held out to her, but the handshake was brief. “Justin was telling me all about you over lunch, too.”

I discreetly elbowed her in an effort to get her to hold her tongue. I did not want to get into the money thing with Ethan right that moment. Daphne gave me a stern look, her mouth all puckered up in a disapproving moue, but when I refused to back down, she shook her head, rolled her eyes, and eventually relented. 

“We were just heading over to get an ice cream. Would you like to join us, Ethan?” Daph offered, trying to be at least ostensibly polite.

“Sounds great!” Ethan accepted with alacrity and we all headed off together down the block. “So, how was lunch? I’ve never been to that cafe before but the menu sounds delicious.”

Okay, that comment struck me as odd. How would Ethan know about the menu in the cafe? As far as I knew, they didn’t have any sort of internet presence. 

And then another question popped into my head. 

“How did you know where Daph and I were having lunch?”

Ethan hesitated for just a second too long before he answered, “you told me last night where you were meeting.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Or course you did, Babe. You were going on and on about the place and how much Daphne loves it. How else would I have known where to find you?” Ethan concluded so glibly that it was almost impossible to doubt his assertions. 

Only, I was pretty sure I hadn’t mentioned where we were going for lunch. And even if I had, it was kinda off the beaten path, and not easy to find. Tucked in between a bookstore and a Korean market, it was almost literally a hole in the wall. And yet, Ethan had managed to track me down there? That just seemed . . . improbable. But maybe I HAD said something and just forgot I mentioned it to him? I’m not sure how I would have forgotten something like that, though. 

However, I didn’t say anything more right then. Daphne already thought I was a moron after I’d admitted to her that I wasn’t paying close enough attention to our finances, and I didn’t need to fuel her distrust of Ethan any further. Plus, I was already going to have to confront Ethan about the money thing, so there was no need to set him off about the surprise cafe meeting too, was there? No. What I needed to do was strategize and then find a way to broach the topic of our budget. I was sure we could work things out if we just talked about it. Yes, that’s what I would do. As soon as we got home that evening. 

But, of course, best laid plans and all . . . 

After Ethan magnanimously paid for ice cream for all three of us, we chatted for a little while longer and then Daph had to leave to get to her next class. Ethan and I headed back to PIFA and then, later I had another shift at Carnegie Hall. When I got home, I found a note from Ethan explaining that he’d gone out for drinks with his friends and I shouldn’t wait up for him. Which meant that there wasn’t any chance to talk to him about the money thing that evening after all. 

And, somehow, there didn’t seem to be any opportunity the next night either. Or the next. Or on Sunday.

But even more concerning, when I went to see Luke after my shift on Sunday to pick up my paycheck, he informed me he’d already put through the automatic deposit request I’d submitted. I had to ask him a second time what he meant before I understood what he was saying. Apparently Ethan had dropped off the automatic deposit form I’d signed earlier that week, so my paycheck had been electronically deposited directly to the bank. 

And when I asked to see the form, it clearly showed what looked to be my signature . . . directing all future paychecks to be deposited into Ethan's bank account. 

Chapter 14 - Fighting An Octopus.

Once upon a time I saw this really cool YouTube video of two octopi fighting over possession of a hole in a coral reef. It was bizarre and fascinating at the same time. The one trying to steal the hole away from the other would sneak attack from behind, coming up over the ridge of rocks and wrapping it’s tentacles around the defender. The other octopus immediately reacted by contorting its body, making itself physically larger, while it went through a series of rapid-paced color changes. The texture of the defender’s skin went from a smooth grey, to this bumpy, dark-brown, to an almost pulsing purple, and then back to prickly brown again. The color fluctuations happened so fast and were so unpredictable it was hard to actually tell what was going on with the fighting tentacles. Then, when you weren’t really looking, the bigger of the two whipped out one snaky tentacle, wrapped it around the other’s body, and threw the attacker over its head. The loser slinked off somewhere while the winner draped itself over its roch, his body morphing to mimic the craggy black coral of its home. 

That’s what it feels like to argue with a narcissist.

You start off arguing a valid point and before you know it, they’ve got you so turned around and distracted you don’t even notice when they go in for the kill. They can’t just argue the point you wanted to address. They are unable or unwilling to resolve a conflict in a normal, healthy manner. They don't play fair. They inherently argue in bad faith. But they do it in a way that leaves you so confused you sometimes don’t even realize you’ve lost the argument. 

Face it, an abusive and manipulative person doesn’t really care about your point of view. They don’t want to see things reasonably. They don’t want to listen to your side. The only thing a narcissist cares about is winning. Because it’s ALL about them. ALWAYS.

So most arguments with that kind of person don’t go the way you’d expect. They’ll lie, gaslight, provoke, and bully you into giving in. They’ll try to shift the blame to you or others. They’ll deflect, attack, and project. In other words, they fight dirty. 

So, if you start a discussion about something you don’t like or find to be untrue and problematic, instead of addressing it or taking responsibility for it, your narcissist will quickly deflect and go into attack mode. This means he will use his toxic tactics to quickly shift attention away from whatever he’s done and instead bring up something that you may, or may not, have said or done. That way you’re always on the defensive. He will accuse you of all sorts of wild stuff, some of which includes the things he is actually doing himself, just to keep you off balance.

And then, once they’ve got YOU framed as the bad guy, the unreasonable one, the unfeeling cad, they can play the victim. They cry. They complain how misunderstood they are. And, of course, you feel like shit because, how could you be so cruel when all they wanted was to LOVE you? 

Before you’re even aware of what’s happening, that octopus has shifted through a dozen different color changes and textualizations and reframed the whole argument to their own benefit. Then, while you’re still too dazed by the dizzying display, one sneaky tentacle will zap out and strangle you. After which they go back to their rock in victory, hiding behind their deceptive camouflage again, king of the sea, completely unperturbed, and you’re still not sure what hit you.

I was so upset by that damned auto deposit form that I couldn’t concentrate on my work. After dropping a rack of glassware, which was bad enough, I actually knocked an almost full tray of hors d’oeuvres off a buffet table I was trying to set up. Luke was livid. I apologized profusely, claimed I wasn’t feeling well - which wasn’t exactly a lie - and told my boss I needed to leave. 

Since all this happened while Ethan was still performing, he had no way of knowing I was heading home early. This meant that, for once, I didn’t have my usual boyfriendly escort on the way home from work. I was glad for the solitude, to be honest. I even decided to skip the bus altogether and instead walked the entire distance, using the time to think. 

Because I walked, however, Ethan managed to make it home before me, and he was waiting impatiently by the door as I trudged up the last few steps to the fourth floor landing. I ignored him as I shouldered my way inside, hung up my coat, and dropped my bag next to the door. I even took a moment to pull my phone out of my pocket, meaning to check the time, but noting that I’d obviously forgotten to charge it so the battery was totally dead. Ethan was there, hovering a step away, ready to pounce the second after I’d plugged in the phone and finally turned to face him.

“Where have you been? Luke said you weren’t feeling well and left early. I rushed home to make sure you were okay but you were nowhere to be found. I was starting to get really worried about you, you know?” Ethan didn’t sound worried; he sounded angry. “You should have waited for me, Justin, or at least called to tell me where you were. It was cruel to leave me there, worrying about you, not knowing if you were okay or not. I don’t like not knowing where you are, Babe.”

For once, Ethan had totally miscalculated and his attempt to portray himself as the injured party just left me even more spitting mad. “I’m perfectly capable of getting home by myself, Ethan,” I rounded on him with a cold, hard glare that could have cut through glass. “And, for your information, I didn’t leave work because I was sick. I left early because I was so angry I couldn’t think straight!”

“What are you talking about, Justin?” Ethan tried to play dumb. 

“I’m talking about THIS, you asshole!” I practically screamed at him, holding up my phone so he could see the picture I’d taken of that damned auto deposit form, shoving it in his face with righteous fury.

Ethan took the phone out of my hand so he could look at the picture more clearly. Or maybe he was just stalling for time, who knew? There was half a second there where I might have detected a shadow of a doubt flickering across his face. But then it was gone and he had his usual mask of supreme confidence in place again.

“I don’t understand . . .” he calmly returned my angry stare, all innocence and put-upon confusion. “Isn’t that the form you asked me to drop off with Luke? Why would that make you angry?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Ethan!” I exploded. “I never asked you any such thing and I sure as hell wouldn’t have permanently directed all my paychecks to be deposited in YOUR account!”

“It looks like you did,” Ethan maintained patiently, glancing down at the photo one more time. “That’s your signature, isn’t it?”

Somehow, Ethan‘s totally calm and unemotional response completely threw me. I guess I’d expected him to look guilty, to try and argue with me, to yell back, maybe - I don’t know - to confess and show remorse. What I got instead was this total blank. He wasn’t even denying it, per se. He was just quietly defiant. But because I didn’t get anything close to the response I’d expected, it shut me up.

I looked back down at the image on my phone. The signature really did look like mine. I remembered getting this form along with a bunch of other paperwork back when I first started at Carnegie Hall, and I’d really meant to turn it in, but I’d gotten busy and forgotten it. Last I knew, it had still been sitting somewhere amid the pile of my books and schoolwork and other odds and ends over on the bookcase. For the life of me, I didn’t remember filling it out and, even if I had, I wouldn’t have directed my paychecks to Ethan’s account. Would I? No, I wouldn’t have done that.

Ethan must have noticed when my internal debate had reached the point that I was about to dispute him again, so he took the offensive before I could get another word out. “Don’t you remember, Babe? Last Tuesday? I was on my way out to rehearsals, and you asked me to stop and pick up your allergy meds on the way since I was gonna be over that direction anyways?”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“And then, right as I’m leaving, you handed that paper to me and said, ‘oh, drop this off too’.” He pointed at the picture of the form.

I raked my memory. Tuesday had been super busy. Plus, I’d been rushing to finish this huge report that was due the next day in my Art History class. While Ethan was at rehearsals that night, I had planned to go back to the computer lab at school to finish and print out my report. I remembered being glad that Ethan had agreed to pick up my meds for me, since it would allow me more time at the computer lab, which closes at 9:00pm. We were both running around, gathering up our stuff, trying to get out of there quickly. It had been kinda chaotic. I truthfully didn’t remember exactly what I said to him as he was leaving.

“But I didn’t do this. I didn’t fill out this form. Not this way.” I protested, although my insistence sounded a lot less sure by that point. 

“So . . . what? You’re saying I made the whole thing up? That I’m lying to you?” Ethan sounded so indignant and hurt that it made me cringe. “Shit, Justin, you’ve got some balls accusing me of lying when all I’ve ever done, from day one, is look out for you! Love you! Cherish you!”

“Ethan, please, this isn’t about that . . .” I tried to interrupt but Ethan already had a head of sanctimonious steam behind him and just barrelled on.

“After everything I’ve done for you, you’re accusing ME of something underhanded?” Ethan turned his back on me and stomped off across the length of our tiny studio. “Shit, Justin! I can’t believe you. I turn my whole life upside down for you. I let you move in here at the drop of a hat. I take time out of my day - every single day - to help you out with all your shit. I’ve had to take time out of my rehearsals for you. Even my practice for the Heifitz has had to be put on the back burner for you. But you don’t appreciate anything, do you?” He finally turned back around so he was facing me and his face was all screwed up with hurt  and betrayal. “Well, you know what? I don’t need this shit. I had a life before you came along, you know? I don’t need to take time out of MY day to run errands for you - not if you’re going to jump down my throat about them later.”

Ethan angrily walked over to the table where his violin was waiting and began to undo the clasps on the case. He was clearly done with this conversation and, maybe, with me. I was left standing there wondering where the fuck this whole conversation had veered off course. 

“Listen, Ethan,” I tried to assume a slightly more conciliatory tone. “I don’t want to argue but I am really upset about this. I don’t know how this happened - and I’m not accusing you of anything - but this damn form has really screwed things up for me. Luke said that Corporate has a policy that they won’t let you change your payroll directions more than once every quarter; which means that I’m stuck with all my money going into your bank account until June. And I’m just not comfortable with that,” I could see the anger and denial starting to rise up in my boyfriend again, so I rushed to head that argument off. “And it’s not because I don’t trust you. Really. But no matter how much I love you, I need to be in charge of my own life. You can understand that, right? I need to be in control of my own finances and know where MY money is going.”

“Fine. So how do you propose we fix this, then?” Ethan asked, still not sounding all that sympathetic. 

“Well, since I can’t change it back, I’m going to need you to be a lot more transparent with our joint finances.” 

“So we’re back to you saying I’m lying to you again?” 

Ethan turned his back on me, picked up his bow and began to play an angry scree on his violin that pretty effectively drowned out anything more I might have wanted to say. 

I put a hand on his shoulder and used it to pry his bow away from the instrument. “I’m not saying that, Ethan.” He refused to look at me. “Please, Ethan? Can we just talk about this? It’s really important to me.”

“Fine. Talk,” he ordered, setting Misha aside with an exasperated huff. 

I tried to marshal my thoughts into some kind of rational order but it was hard with him staring at me that way. “Okay, so I honestly don’t remember filling out that form or asking you to take it to Luke.” Before he could turn away again, I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m NOT accusing you of anything, Ethan. I just . . . I don’t remember doing that. I mean, I remember getting the form, along with all the other employee paperwork, when I started, and I had planned to turn in the auto-deposit form; I just don’t remember completing it or giving it to you the other night. BUT, even if I did, I’m not happy about it, okay?” Ethan simply shrugged without comment. “I don’t like not having control over my own money. You can understand that, right?”

“I thought we already talked about this, Justin,” Ethan was still obdurate and combative. “You’re the one who said it was easier to let me pay all the bills at the same time. That’s why we put your last couple checks in my account. I don’t see why this is any different.”

“Well, it’s different because I can’t change it back easily. Which means that, going forward, at least until June when I can change it back if I decide to, we need to make some changes, because I want a lot more of a say in the joint finances.” I could already tell that Ethan was going to argue the point, so I hurried on with my next point, trying to head him off. “I’ve been going over our budget and it just doesn’t add up, Ethan.” I took out the piece of scratch paper where I’d copied what Daphne had started at our lunch the other day, with the additions I’d made after looking at some of the exact numbers on the bills that had come in the mail over the past few days, and I offered it to Ethan. “This is the rough budget I’ve put together, and you can see that, based on our expenses, there really should be a lot more money left over at the end of the month.”

“Where’d you get these numbers from?”

“Some of them are based off last month’s bills, but most are just estimates because I didn’t really know all the numbers.”

“Well, you’re way off on a lot of this,” Ethan insisted, tossing my budget aside dismissively. “For one thing, the rent is a lot higher than that. And the number you listed for groceries is really low; do you have any idea how much you eat? This whole thing is a piece of crap.”

“Which just goes to prove my point that I need more transparency about what our budget really is,” I assert, my annoyance levels ramping back up again when I thought of how clueless I had been. “How can I be sure all my money isn’t being wasted if I don’t even know what our bills are?” 

“This is all your little gal pal’s doing, isn’t it?” Ethan accused, jumping completely off topic and blindsiding me again. “Daphne.” The way he said the name it sounded like he was tasting something sour. “She never liked me; she’s always acted like a snippy little cunt every time I’ve met her. And she’s obviously trying to turn you against me. Well, fuck that! I don’t have to stick around for this shit!” 

In a burst of fury, he packed up his violin, grabbed his coat and bag, and headed for the door, screaming at me over his shoulder the whole way. 

“If you’re gonna believe your fag hag over me, then you might as well just pack up your crap and get the hell out! Go on! Go crawling back to Brian, for all I care. I’m sure Mr. Moneybags can take care of your pampered ass better than I can . . . as long as you don’t mind that he won’t ever love you the way I do. But, whatever. I don’t care. Go ahead and just stomp on my love for you. I’m through busting my butt, day in and day out, for someone who doesn’t give a shit about me. You decide where you want to be! I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ANYMORE, JUSTIN!”

And before I’d even caught my breath, he was gone, and I was left standing there in the middle of the room feeling dazed.

I spent the rest of the night pacing the floor, yelling at the walls, and, eventually, crying my eyes out. 

I was so angry I wanted to scream, but at the same time I felt guilty for the poor way I’d handled the whole debacle. I should have known better than to confront him when I was in such a bad mood. My mother always said that you shouldn’t tackle any problem when you’re angry; you should sleep on it, work out what you want to say on paper, and only then approach the subject. But me, I’d just come in here, hurling accusations, and yelling. And where had it got me? 

I was scared that I was totally blowing my relationship with Ethan. It had only been a little over a month since I’d melted down over Brian and here I was, already nuking my next relationship? Could I suck at this shit any more than I apparently already did? What was my problem? Why did I drive everyone away from me? And where would I go next if Ethan and I broke up? I’d be friendless and homeless if I wasn’t careful. I knew I had to somehow make this right. I had to fix this.

Ethan never came home at all, though, so I couldn’t even apologize.

I got myself so worked up that, by the time daylight began to peek through the grungy curtains, I had pretty much forgotten the initial reason I’d been angry at Ethan. I felt like an ungrateful loser. All I could think about were Ethan’s final words - words that almost echoed the same phrase Brian had used at the end - ‘decide where you want to be’. Did I even know where I wanted to be anymore? Why couldn’t I ever be satisfied with what I had? Why did I always push too hard, trying to get more, when I should be happy with what I’d already been given. I had a boyfriend who professed his love for me on a daily basis and I’d basically just thrown that back in his face? What was my problem?

I eventually dragged myself to school and sleep-walked through my classes. I didn’t see Ethan all day. My gut was so tied up with anxiety that I didn’t even really mind that I didn’t have money for lunch that day; instead of eating I went to the studio and spent the hour slapping paint haphazardly onto a canvas, trying to work out my demons. When Ethan still hadn’t shown up by the time my last class of the day was over, I trudged back to the apartment, alone, dreading what I’d find when I finally got there.

So I was unprepared for the response I DID get when I finally opened the door and found Ethan sitting at the little desk in the corner smiling at me. 

“There you are! I was wondering when you’d get home.” Ethan got up from where he was sitting and handed me a little pastel-blue sheet of cardstock covered with carefully calligraphed writing. “I’m sorry I got so angry last night, Babe,” he stated, looking up at me with a sheepish grin. “I know I sometimes have a bit of a temper. And, since I’m terrible at apologies, I wrote you this instead.” 

I looked down at the card he’d given me and discovered it was another poem:

Words I say don't always come out right,

and they always seem to start a fight.

I know what I say can hurt you,

and believe me, I don't mean to.

The last thing I want to see is you sad

because I can't control myself when I get mad.

I know all you want from me is my best,

but right now I need time to rest.

Everything is happening so fast.

How long will it all last?

Everything is falling apart.

It's ripping my heart.

“Please don’t rip out my heart, Babe,” Ethan begged, looking so contrite that I actually believed him. “I thought about what you said about the bills and shit, and I realized you’re right. We both need to be onboard with what the expenses are around here. So, from now on I’ll make sure to show you all the bills. Okay?”

I was bowled over by this 180 degree reversal. Ethan was not only apologizing for the fight, but he was giving me exactly what I’d asked for; he was going to be more transparent about the expenses and money. That was all I’d really wanted. Of course, it made me even more embarrassed about the way I’d totally attacked him the night before and all the shit I’d accused him of. Clearly, I’d been wrong to think he could have acted underhandedly. He wouldn’t do anything wrong or sneaky; not if he was now so willing to be open. I had obviously overreacted. We both had. Thankfully that seemed to be over now.

“I know it’s been a big adjustment for you this past month, Babe,” Ethan’s apology continued as he reached down to take my hand in his. “It hasn’t been easy for me either, you know. But it’s going to get better. I promise. I’m going to watch what I spend and we’ll work things out so money isn’t so tight going forward. Okay?”

“That sounds great, Ethan.”

“Good. And I know I probably spent a little too much last month, - although I really needed that new bow or my competition performance would have suffered - but that wasn’t so much an expense as it is an investment, right? Unfortunately, though, that tapped me out completely. Plus, I’ve been working so hard to prepare for the Heifitz that I just haven’t had the energy to work on anything else,” he explained while walking me over to sit with him on the bed. “After this competition is over, though, things will be so much better, Babe. I’ll have more time to play some gigs and busk and money won’t be such a problem. Plus, WHEN I win, we won’t ever have to worry about money again - once I get that recording contract, we’ll be rolling in dough. So, please, just bear with me for a little longer, here. Okay?”

“That sounds great, Ethan, but you know we can’t count on that money yet, right? We still need to watch our money for the time being and not overspend,” I cautioned, unwilling to get too caught up in his enthusiasm. “If you win, and you start to make some real money, THEN we can loosen up a bit. But in the meantime, we need to budget as carefully as possible.”

“Agreed,” Ethan replied without hesitation. “Now, can we please not argue anymore?”

I nodded, happily. I was ridiculously relieved that we’d made up - that I hadn’t ruined this relationship too - and I’m sure it showed on my face. Ethan leaned in and kissed me, long and tenderly. I was so overjoyed that we were back on solid ground that I might have even let loose a few happy tears. Ethan noticed right away and pulled back so that he could kiss the spot where one tear had begun to roll down my cheek. 

“Oh, Babe. Don’t cry. It hurts my heart when you’re sad,” Ethan professed. “Besides, you can’t be sad anymore because I got you a present.”

Before I could protest that I didn’t need any presents - especially not when we’d just agreed to watch our finances more carefully - Ethan stretched around so he could pick up a small cardboard box that had been sitting unnoticed at the foot of the bed. I couldn’t immediately see what was inside, but then I picked up a strange, low, rumbling noise coming from the box. When Ethan held it out to me, I unfolded one of the top flaps and was surprised by the tiny, furry head that immediately popped up. 

“Mew,” said the most precious brown-grey tabby kitten I’d ever seen.

“A kitten?” I exclaimed as I reached inside and pulled the small, wiggling body out. 

“Yep. I was walking past the Bodega over on Clarkson at lunchtime and the owner was giving away all the kittens their resident cat had a few weeks back. Of course, I thought of you right away. I know how much you love Wolfram, and that the dickhead you used to be with would never let you have a pet, so I just decided right then and there that you deserved your own furry friend,” Ethan announced as he joined me in scratching at the pretty little kitty. “So, what are you going to name her?’

I didn’t even have to think about it. I picked up the little purr-machine, looked in her bright green eyes, and proclaimed, “Felicity, because she makes me so happy.”

And the whole topic of the auto deposit form that I didn’t remember filling out was just conveniently forgotten.

Chapter 15 - Considering Your Limitations.

According to legend, Narcissus was this Greek dude who was so beautiful he actually fell in love with his own reflection in a pond of water. But because he couldn’t look away, he ended up planted next to that pond for long enough that he was magically transformed into a flower. Hence, the origins of the word narcissist; someone who loves himself so much that he can’t see anything else.

Which is why it’s often hard to grasp the fact that most narcissists don’t actually like themselves very much. 

It’s counterintuitive, but it’s true. The classical narcissist knows there’s something wrong with him. He knows he’s deficient in some respect. But he loves himself so much that he refuses to believe even his own intuition. A narcissist can’t accept that there’s anything wrong with him, which is why he’s always so conflicted.

But in order to disprove that niggling worry that he’s not perfect, not the GOAT, he will surround himself with the best and the brightest in the hopes that this will reflect well on him for having acquired all these wonderful companions. 

‘See how great I am? All these other great people think I’m great. Otherwise they wouldn’t associate with me. See how beautiful I am; my gorgeous boyfriend would never be seen with anyone less beautiful than him. See how smart I am; did you know my boyfriend is a veritable genius? See how talented I am; look at all the talented people I associate with.’ 

As he brags on his compatriots, the narcissist is in essence bragging on himself. He basks in the reflected beauty and intelligence and talent of those around him. Is it any wonder, therefore, that he chooses his victims from amongst the most beautiful, the most intelligent, the most talented, and the most extraordinary?

But therein lies the rub. If those around you are so amazing, how do you keep up with them? How can you be the most perfect, when you surround yourself with perfection? Which is why the narcissist is always, ALWAYS, jealous of everyone else’s beauty and perfection. And it’s also why he can never stop denigrating the associates he’s gathered around him.

A narcissist can’t bear to be alone. He needs that narcissistic supply of continuous adulation. He needs you to know that everything about him is the best, including all the friends he associates with, but at the same time he can’t tolerate being shown up by anyone. Which is why he’ll eventually find a way to drag you down.

Because no one could possibly be more beautiful than Narcissus right?

Over the next six weeks things calmed down a little. We made up from our first big fight and Ethan made a point of showing me all the bills that came in over the following couple of weeks. I still wasn’t sure I was getting a full picture of our financial situation, but at least he was trying, right? Whenever I began to doubt him, I simply looked over at my sweet little Felicity, and reminded myself that my boyfriend really must love me. 

Ethan was away from the apartment a lot more as the day of the final Heifetz Competition performance neared. To be honest, I was actually grateful that his busier schedule meant he wasn’t dogging my every step, day in and day out, but I did wonder why he was staying out so late at night. He couldn’t possibly be rehearsing till one or two in the morning could he? When I asked about the late nights, however, he either blew me off or gave vague excuses about hanging out with his friends after they’d finished practicing. But, since I was pretty busy myself right then, I didn’t make a big deal out of it.

Meanwhile, the school year was winding down, and I was hustling to get all my end of term projects done, study for finals, and finish up a piece I’d been working on that I hoped to submit for the freshman art showcase. My gimp hand had been acting up on me a lot, though, which had slowed everything down. It finally got so bad that I broke down and called Brian, leaving a message on his voice mail, asking if I could please borrow my old computer with all the drawing apps. 

‘It’s yours. Pick it up anytime you like’, Brian texted back not an hour later. 

And, since I knew Ethan had another practice with his violin ‘coach’ that night, I figured there was no time like the present. 

By that point, I hadn’t had any contact with Brian, or any of the rest of the gang, for more than two months. Based on the way my life had changed, it felt like even longer. So I guess I’d expected to find everything else around me changed too and was a little surprised that the neighborhood, the street, even the building, looked the same as always. I was the only thing that had changed, but I’d changed so much it felt like I no longer fit into this world. I shouldn’t be here. I no longer belonged. I hesitated before knocking on the big, gray, metal door of the loft, only seconds away from turning around and fleeing. If my hand hadn’t chosen that exact second to cramp up, I might have. 

But then Brian was there, pulling the door open before I’d even knocked, and deciding things for me. 

“Hey,” Brian’s terse greeting was typical Kinney, but it was said in a soft tone that surprised me. 

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to react. Here was my Ex, standing there in front of me, looking so fucking gorgeous in a simple white tee and faded old jeans - barefoot, of course - that I was left speechless. He looked so good. So quintessentially Brian. My traitorous body reacted immediately; my heart rate sped up and my dick twitched in my pants. At the same time, my brain went offline, leaving me momentarily wondering why I’d come.

“I boxed the computer up for you,” Brian announced with a small smile, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to point out the boxes piled on the dining table. “All the rest of your shit’s there too. ‘Bout time you got your ass over here to pick it all up.”

“I-I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered, trying to remember how to put words together into a comprehensible sentence. “I’ve been, um, busy and, um . . .”

Brian gave an amused huff as he stepped back, holding his hand out in a gesture inviting me in. “No biggie.”

I stepped inside and waited while my host pulled the door closed. Then I followed him past the kitchen island to where all my stuff was accumulated. It was a lot more than I’d expected. I really didn’t think I’d left that much shit here. 

“Thanks for letting me borrow this,” I pointed to the biggest box, the one holding the computer itself. “I thought my hand was getting better, but I guess I’ve been overworking it lately. I wasn’t sure how I was gonna get by without this. I’ll get it back to you after the semester is over.”

“Bullshit. I bought it for you. It’s your computer. What the fuck am I gonna do with it?” Brian replied with that stern, no-nonsense look I was so used to seeing when he wanted to deflect from someone noting a kindness he’d done.

“I figured you could always sell it. Maybe recoup some of the cost . . .”

“It’s just money, Sunshine,” Brian waved off my suggestion dismissively.

“Says the guy who actually HAS enough money to pay all his bills,” I muttered under my breath.

But for a guy who spends way too much time in clubs surrounded by deafening dance music, Brian had excellent hearing. “I thought Deb said you had a good job and were getting by okay?”

“I do . . . I am, but, well . . .” I smiled up at the concern that was rolling off my former lover, trying to reassure him. “We get by. Mostly.”

“If you ever need anything . . .” he offered.

I shook my head and chuckled. “Ethan would LOVE that. Me taking a loan from my Ex? That argument would be . . . Fun.”

Brian chuckled along for a minute but the concern never left his eyes. “Yeah, still . . . If you need it, just say the word . . .” And then, as if to cover up the fact that he was being unaccountably considerate, he added, “You know Deb would have my balls if anything happened to you.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him, sounding quite sure of the fact despite how unsure I might feel. Then, mostly to change the subject, I added, “I’ve got no idea how I’m gonna get all this back to the apartment though. It’ll take me, like, ten trips. I shoulda borrowed the neighbor kid’s wagon or something.”

Brian picked up one of the boxes and tilted his head to point me towards the next one in the pile. “I’ll give you a lift. Grab a box.”

I thought about arguing the point, but knew Brian wouldn’t let me win. Besides, I really didn’t have any idea how I'd get all this back to Ethan’s apartment. Even just the computer box alone was so big and heavy that it would be almost impossible to get it home via the bus. If I didn’t let Brian drive me, it would take a half dozen more trips to get all this and . . . Well, it was awkward enough seeing Brian this one time and I didn’t want to have to do this again. So, with a smile of thanks, I grabbed another box and the two of us proceeded to load up the elevator. 

Considering how antagonistic our break up had been, it was surprising how easily we fell into an amicable cooperation now. We worked together so well, needing few words to convey a direction or pose a question as we loaded up the Jeep. Everything felt so familiar and comfortable. It was so strange. So unexpected. Where was the anger and recrimination I’d anticipated? Where was the embarrassment? Where was the disquiet that had marked the last few months of our tumultuous relationship? All that was gone now, leaving me wondering if I’d imagined all that unpleasantness.

With Brian’s help it took practically no time to get everything stowed in the back of the Jeep. The drive over to Ethan’s apartment took less than fifteen minutes. Brian even helped me unload everything, leaving it sitting in the lobby of the building. I didn’t feel comfortable asking him to carry it all up the stairs to the apartment, though, so once it was all inside, I turned, thanked him, and waited till he’d got back in the Jeep to leave. He offered a nod in goodbye as he pulled out into traffic and I waved in response. When he was gone I shook my head, not knowing how I should feel about that odd encounter. 

Thankfully, Ethan didn’t get home till late that night, so I had plenty of time to put all my stuff away before he arrived. Well, saying I put it away was really not completely accurate, since there wasn’t nearly enough room for all that additional shit in Ethan’s tiny studio. I ended up pulling most of my heavier winter clothing out of the chest of drawers and replacing them with lighter-weight clothing from the boxes Brian had packed up. Then I repacked the boxes and stowed them in the back of the small closet. I was really happy to be reacquainted with all the art supplies I’d left at Brian’s, though, and piled that stuff on the bookshelf next to my school books. The computer was a bit of a problem - seeing as it was so huge - meaning that it took up most of the small kitchen table, but there wasn’t anywhere else to put it. And, when I’d unpacked all the rest of the boxes, I discovered that Brian had apparently bought me a new wireless printer to go with my computer, which would have to live on the floor in the corner for lack of any other place to put it. 

But, as soon as everything was set up, I happily dove into the project I’d been trying to finish for my Life Drawing class. It was so much easier with the computer to assist me and amplify what I’d managed by hand. In my head I was thanking Brian the whole time for his generosity. And, when I’d finished, I was able to print the final results out right there in my own apartment rather than having to trudge all the way to school to use the printers in the computer lab. Not to mention that Brian had, of course, obtained a top-of-the-line printer that was far better than the school’s older equipment and which made my project look even more spectacular. I took a picture of the final result and texted it to Brian as a thank you for the thoughtful addition. 

“What the fuck is all this shit?” Ethan erupted, coming in just after I’d sent the text to Brian, and clearly not happy with all the new additions to our meager living space. 

“I went and got my computer out of storage this afternoon,” I hedged, not wanting to get into the fact that ‘storage’ equated to Brian’s loft just then. “I needed it to complete my end of term project for Professor Grande.” Ethan continued to scowl at the the contraption that had taken over most of our table, so I thought to distract him by showing him my latest masterpiece. “What do you think? It turned out pretty good.”

The picture I’d just finished was a computer manipulation of a sketch I’d done of one of the models from the prior semester. The model had been lounged on a couch with artistically draped sheets accentuating his mostly-unclothed figure. I’d managed a rough drawing of the man himself, but my hand had given out before I’d been able to finish the more detailed, and more complicated, depiction of that damned drapery. But my professor, who was a bitch, was one of those art snobs who swore you couldn’t be a real artist if you couldn’t do drapery, so I’d been totally sweating that aspect of my final project. With my hand as gimpy as it was, I had been struggling to finish. However, with the assist from Brian’s wonderful software programs, I’d just cranked out the whole project in less than three hours. And it wasn’t half bad, even if I did say so myself.

Ethan looked at the printed out drawing and his nose scrunched up. “Why does this part look different than the rest?” he asked, pointing to the bed and drapery under the model.

“I did that part on the computer,” I explained. “My hand just isn’t up to doing that much fine detail work so, instead of struggling through it and doing a half-assed job, I used the computer to do all the finish work. I kinda like the contrast between the hand-drawn figure and the computer drawn couch, actually.”

“Well, it’s certainly unique,” Ethan offered, sounding not completely approving. “Is your professor going to let you get away with that, though? I thought they were pretty strict about the criteria for the drawing classes? Don’t they emphasize classical competence in that discipline?”

Ethan’s comments left me a little annoyed and I bristled as I responded. “I already got Ryerson’s approval to use computer assistance back in the fall. The school agreed to accommodate my disability until my hand was better. They have to, you know; It’s the law.”

“Oh, that’s good. I didn’t know they’d do that,” Ethan shrugged. “Although they’d never let anyone in the music school get away with that. Can you imagine a musician trying to get through the program saying they couldn’t play without the help of a synthesizer? They’d laugh you out of the building. But it’s nice that they’re accommodating you.” Ethan took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the couch before setting his violin next to the computer. “Considering your limitations, it’s actually not bad.”

Ethan’s less than glowing critique to my drawing left me a little annoyed. He’d sounded so dismissive of my art and my ‘limitations’. Did he not understand how hard I’d struggled to get back to this level of fine motor skills? Just because I wasn’t all the way back to my former competence, didn’t mean I wasn’t a good artist. I looked at the project I’d just finished - one I’d been quite proud of mere seconds before - and frowned at it. Now that Ethan had mentioned it, I found that I was second guessing whether the contrasting styles of the hand-drawn section and the computer-assisted portions really complimented each other the way I’d previously thought. Maybe I was deluding myself about the final quality? But what else could I do with my hand acting up the way it had been lately?

“Anyway, I guess if you NEED the computer, we’ll have to leave it where it is. At least for the time being.” Ethan was already unpacking Misha, the conversation about my art quickly forgotten in favor of his own pursuits. “By the way, I was absolutely brilliant tonight. You should have heard me. Maestro Pettit helped me work through that tricky passage in the third movement and now I’ve got it down so much better. Listen to this . . .”

He set off into yet another musical exercise, glowing as he ran through the passage he’d previously claimed to have been struggling with. I couldn’t really tell the difference between how he’d played it the thousand times before and this rendition, but I didn’t tell him that. I played the dutiful boyfriend and praised him as if it was the best music I’d ever heard. That’s what boyfriends did, right? They supported each other’s endeavors without qualification. 

Unfortunately, Professor Grande ended up agreeing with Ethan’s opinion about my end of term project. He gave me a ‘C’ on my drawing, commenting that the contrast between the computer assisted portion and the hand-drawn portion was ‘disconcerting to the eye’. And, since my professor was on the panel who got to decide which students were selected to show their work in the end of year showcase, and the work I’d submitted for that was computer-assisted as well, I wasn't chosen. It was a huge blow to my artistic ego, to say the least. I was so angry about it I even went back to Ryerson to complain, but was shot down.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor, but while I’m required to offer you accommodation for your particular disability, I don’t control the individual professors’ grading for such projects,” Ryerson hedged. “If a professor doesn’t feel your work is as good as the other students’ - even with the accommodations we are allowing you - there’s nothing I can do about that. You have to compete on the same playing field as everyone else, you know. I can’t force them to show you any favoritism.”

So that was that and I was excluded from the year end showcase. 

I came home in a real temper that afternoon, but Ethan wasn’t being very sympathetic. He was too distracted by the fact that the Heifetz Finals were only five days away. He let me rant about Grande for only about ten minutes before he cut me off. 

“I tried to warn you, Babe,” Ethan said with a dismissive shrug. “Grande is known as a real stickler for technique. Maybe you should just concentrate on your animation stuff for now, you know? You’re really good at that and it doesn’t matter as much that you’re not able to draw that well.”

“I draw just fine!” I growled, throwing down my sketchpad in frustration. “I just can’t do it as fast as Grande demanded. If I’d had more time, I could have done it all by hand, but she wouldn’t give me an extension.” I picked up Felicity and plopped down dejectedly on the couch while I petted my cat. “Besides, my work was fine. The concept and balance were perfect. There was nothing wrong with my technique on the portions that I did by hand. Grande is just prejudiced against modern technology. Hell, she’d probably have failed Warhol too. And I don’t want to just do animation; I want to be able to create whatever art moves me.”

Ethan had already tuned me out, though, and was digging through one of his piles of sheet music. “Have you seen my copy of Dvorak’s Symphony No. 8? I was thinking I might work on that for the next CD compilation I’m putting together.”

I didn’t bother explaining to him that I wouldn't know Dvorak from Debussy. He seemed to have already found what he was looking for anyways and was lost in his music. Meanwhile, I was left to wonder if maybe they were all right and I was kidding myself about my quest to be an artist. 

I looked over at the computer that I’d been so happy to get back just a few days before and frowned. Was it just a crutch? Was I fooling myself about the level of my talent? Was my father right; was this whole art school thing just a pipe dream that would never pan out? 

With a growl of discouragement, I tossed Felicity off my lap and got up. I just couldn’t handle sitting around all evening and listening to Ethan’s violin caterwauling. I needed some fresh scenery. I needed a friendly ear; someone who would listen to me bemoan my fate and offer some sympathy. 

I needed my best friend.

“Of course I have time for a beer with my favorite blond artist!” Daphne immediately agreed when I called her as I fled the apartment. “Come on over. I’ve got a six-pack with your name on it.”

Two hours later I was more than half drunk and still moaning about my damned professor. Daphne, though was far more supportive than Ethan had been. She seemed almost more pissed off at my treatment than I was. 

“That’s just a myopic view of art, if you ask me,” Daphne insisted for the twentieth time. “Doesn’t she understand that computers are the future? If she can’t see the benefit of including computer-driven art in the modern world, she shouldn’t be teaching.”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m just not cut out to be an artist,” I grumbled. “I mean, she must know the art market better than me. Maybe she’s right about the contrast between the hand-drawn stuff and the computer-generated stuff being ‘disconcerting’? What the fuck do I know other than the fact that, at this rate, I’ll never be able to support myself with my art.” I chugged the last of the beer I’d been working on and tossed the empty onto the table with the rest of the dead soldiers there. “Maybe I should just give up, quit school, and work full-time. At least then I’d wouldn’t be wasting my time struggling to make art that nobody wants to see.”

“No way!” Daph insisted, going so far as to slap my biceps with her hand to emphasize her point. “You can’t just give up. Who cares what one stupid teacher thinks. She’s not the arbiter of the art world. I love your stuff.”

“Well you’re the only one who does,” I bemoaned. “Even Ethan didn’t really like that drawing.”

“Well that’s pretty shitty of him,” Daphne insisted. “If anyone, your fucking boyfriend should stand up for you.” I merely shrugged, “You know what, fuck Ethan! What does he know? The prick.”

I chuckled at Daphne’s immediate repudiation of Ethan. She was such a great friend. I could always count on her to support me against all-comers no matter what.

“Well, that’s not precisely true,” I admitted, feeling like I should stand up for my boyfriend at least a little. “He didn’t SAY he didn’t like the picture; not in so many words, at least. He just . . . I don’t know . . . I just got the impression that he didn’t think it was that great, you know?” Daphne was still scowling and ready to jump on Ethan for not being 100% supportive, so I rushed to defend him. “Lately he’s been too distracted by preparing for the competition to really care much about what I’ve been going through, so I suppose I shouldn’t give him too hard a time. He spends every spare minute practicing. He really wants to win this thing - he keeps making all these grandiose plans about what we’ll do with the money if he wins, you know? - and he’s putting all his energy into that. I can’t be too hard on him that he’s not being more supportive of me and my art struggles right now.”

“That’s bullshit, Justin. I don’t care what HE’S working on right now - he should still be supportive of YOU. If not, what’s the point of even being in a relationship at all?” Daph maintained adamantly. Then she paused a minute, thinking through what she wanted to say next, before seemingly just giving up and launching into the subject. “While Ethan’s putting all his efforts into this competition, and his pie-in-the-sky plans for his winnings, has he been doing anything at all to contribute to the bills and rent and shit? Because the last time we talked, it seemed like he was letting you take on all of that and . . . Well, you still seem pretty stressed out and sorta tired looking and . . . Did you at least talk about the budget thing?”

“Yeah, we talked about it,” I assured my concerned friend. “That whole missing money thing was a total mistake. He admitted he’d had to buy a new bow for the Heifitz and that’s why our finances were so skewed that month. But he’s been better this month. He’s been showing me the bills that are coming in . . .” I could tell that she wasn’t totally convinced, though, so I tried to reassure her as well as myself. “Really, he’s been much better. I mean, I’m still working, like, a ton, and money is still tight, but at least he’s trying, right?”

“Trying isn’t good enough, Justin,” Daphne refused to relent. “You look exhausted.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t been sleeping that well lately,” I confessed with a shrug. “But now that classes are done for the summer I should be a little less swamped. I’m only taking one seminar class over the summer, which shouldn’t be as tough as the class load I was taking this semester. And I’ll be able to pick up more hours at work, so things should be easier.”

Daphne still didn’t seem totally convinced, but at least she didn’t give me any more shit, and the conversation turned to other topics for the rest of the night. It wasn’t till much, much later in the evening, when I was admittedly a little sloshed, that I disclosed to her about my trip to go see Brian to pick up my computer. She was sympathetic about that too and I might have admitted to her how nice it felt to see my Ex again. How generous and kind he’d been - buying me that printer and even driving all my stuff over to Ethan’s for me - and how I’d felt so at ease with him. Daphne kiddingly hypothesized about how Brian was still sweet on me. We both got a good laugh at that because, that soooo wasn’t Brian. But whatever, it was nice to laugh about something.

I ended up sleeping over at Daph’s because I was too drunk to walk and too broke to afford a cab. I just barely remembered to text Ethan to let him know where I was before I passed out in Daph’s bed. But when I did finally make it home the next morning, I was greeted at the door by a seething Ethan.

“How dare you go see that slut behind my back, Justin! I don’t care if he did buy you a fucking computer. If you’re going to sneak around on me, fucking your Ex, then you can just get the fuck out now!” He was screaming at me before I’d even made it all the way up to the top floor landing.

Since I didn’t have a clue what to say, or how to defend myself, I just stood there and let him scream at me for a good ten minutes.

Chapter 16 - Stay Mad.

Back in the day of classic television, the sitcom dad who was on the outs with the sitcom mom would stride home the next day with a huge bouquet of flowers and a heart-shaped box of chocolates and then all would be well. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right? The grand gesture. That’s how we’re conditioned to see an apology work.

But that’s not how a narcissist apologizes. 

You see, that apology is all part of the narcissistic game. It’s just another way to keep you off balance. He’s not sorry and he doesn’t really care about your feelings, but he wants you to THINK he does. An apology is part of the illusion of ‘good’ in the relationship. It makes you feel like he understands you. You get hooked in with the emotions of hopefulness and relief when your narcissist apologizes after hurting you. That hope is something that you need because, prior to the apology, you were hurt and shut out. So you lap it up when it’s offered. After the apology, you feel relieved and can relax again. And once you relax and stop paying attention, he’ll do whatever it was you objected to all over again. It’s a vicious cycle.

An apology to the average person means: I’m sorry, let’s make up. But an apology to a narcissist means: look how good I am, our relationship is still on my terms but see how I appear to care about your feelings, now you owe me forgiveness, we will forget that this ever happened and won’t talk about this again. 

Oh, and don’t forget that ‘Projection’ thing either, because it usually plays a big part in the argument/apology cycle. 

While you might actually mean it when you say you’re sorry, he really isn’t sorry and doesn’t for even a minute plan to stop doing whatever engendered the argument. He’s only saying he’s sorry to get himself off the hook for whatever he got caught doing. And since, in his mind, the apology is a total sham, he will project that on you, assuming you are equally insincere. He knows his apology is fake and he has no intention to follow through on his promises, so of course he thinks you are doing the same. That’s why he’ll never believe you when you make a promise. Promises mean even less to him than apologies.

In other words, be very wary of the narcissist bearing hearts and flowers and apologetic words because they’re just as much make-believe as those sitcom husbands of yore.

If I’d thought the argument over the budget stuff was bad, that was nothing compared to Ethan going off on me for seeing Brian without telling him. He was completely apoplectic with rage. It got bad enough that one of the neighbors from downstairs came up and threatened to call the cops if Ethan didn’t tone it down. All that did was make Ethan more angry, although he did stop yelling and moved on to just hissing at me. 

“How DARE you go see him behind my back!” Ethan repeated for about the tenth time.

“I didn’t SEE him,” I interrupted, finally fed up with all the invective being hurled at me. “I went to get my computer, which happened to be in storage at his place. It’s not like I went over there to fuck him!”

“That’s what you say, but how can I trust you, huh? After you lied? After you hid the fact that you even saw him? How do I know you’re not lying now too?”

“I didn’t lie to you; I told you I went to get my stuff out of storage. Why does it even matter that Brian was there?” I asked getting pretty teed off myself by that point.

“It’s a lie of omission. You should have told me!” Ethan refused to let go of that point.

“Yeah, well, look at the way you’re completely overreacting,” I gestured towards the figure stomping back and forth in the apartment and fuming at me. “And you wonder why I wouldn’t want to tell you shit?”

“Aha! So you admit you’re not telling me stuff?” Ethan totally missed my point and then ran with it. “What else aren’t you telling me, Justin? What else are you hiding? Or should I ask WHO you’re hiding? Huh? Tell me! TELL ME!” he screamed again, this time with his face only inches from mine. “You’re probably fucking around on me behind my back every time I’m out of the apartment. Aren’t you? Once a slut, always a slut, right? Well, fuck you, Justin! Fuck you!”

“Whoa! What the hell, Ethan? How do you jump from me getting my shit from Brian’s storage to me fucking around on you? That’s insane, you know that, right?”

“Yeah? Is it really such a stretch? Between you and your former lover, you’ve already fucked half of Pittsburgh, so what’s to stop you now? I mean, you constantly cheated on him too, so why wouldn’t you cheat on me?”

“That’s total bullshit and you know it!” I yelled back, then started to put my jacket back on and grabbed my bag because I’d had enough. “My relationship with Brian was totally different. We had an open relationship and we BOTH fucked other people. But I made a commitment to you, Ethan, and I wouldn’t break that by sleeping around on you. I wouldn’t. If you don’t believe me, though, then fine. I guess that commitment I thought we had wasn’t worth it after all.”

With that said, I left. I wasn’t going to stick around and be called a slut by anyone. I wasn’t going to let him hold my past up as an accusation against me. How dare he suspect me of fucking around on him. Like I even had the time to have an affair between school and work and Ethan’s constant presence. It was all total bullshit.

I was so angry and so busy replaying the whole nasty scene over and over in my head that I was almost all the way to school - where I planned to take my temper out on a canvas in the student studio space there - before it finally occurred to me to wonder how it was that Ethan had discovered I’d seen Brian when I went to pick up my computer.

Painting helped me work out most of my anger, so I was at least reasonably calm when Ethan finally tracked me down at school to apologize. 

I was just cleaning up my brushes when another student came into the studio I was using and asked if I was Justin Taylor. When I said, yeah, she giggled and said I should look out the window. When I did, I saw my sorry-assed boyfriend standing outside, on the sidewalk, a bouquet of heart-shaped balloons in one hand, and his other hand holding up a sign that read, “DON’T BE MAD. I NEED YOU, BABE!” On the ground, surrounding the spot where he was standing, he’d made a heart-shape with red rose petals. There were already a number of spectators standing around, looking at Ethan, a few taking photos with their phones. 

I groaned. The girl who’d been sent to come get me looked at me with confusion; clearly that was not the response she’d expected. But I just wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. Of course, with Ethan making such an over-the-top spectacle of his apology I was put on the spot. Only an ass would refuse to accept such a romantic gesture, right? 

With a huge sigh, I let the girl lead me downstairs and out the side door to where Ethan was waiting. The crowd waiting nearby broke into spontaneous applause at my appearance, already presupposing my response would be favorable. I felt so fucking trapped. I had a momentary fantasy of just taking off and running away down the sidewalk. But that wouldn’t solve anything, and I was supposed to be an adult now, so I needed to approach this like an adult. Right?

“You gotta forgive me, Babe. I know I shouldn’t have yelled, but the thought of losing you just makes me crazy,” were the first words out of Ethan’s mouth. “You’re my muse, Justin. My inspiration. I can’t go on without you. Please don’t stay mad.” 

I just stood there, biting at my lower lip, trying to hold back all the angry things I still wanted to say to him. But what good would that do? It would only perpetuate the argument, which had been stupid to start with. Did I really want to keep fighting? 

“Here, I got these for you,” Ethan pushed, forcing me to take hold of the fistful of balloons. 

There was a collective ‘Awww’ from the bystanders. Ethan graced his audience with a sheepish smile, gesturing towards the crowd as if to include them all in as part of the apology. He always was great with a live audience. I wasn’t totally sold on the performance though and he clearly knew it.

“Please, Babe,” he whispered, coming close enough to grab my free hand and give it a squeeze. “I was outta line. I shouldn’t have called you a slut. It’s just that . . . Picturing you and HIM together makes me crazy. You gotta understand that, right? I just love you so much, and I still can barely believe that I was lucky enough to win you away from him, so I guess I just want to make sure you don’t go back. You get that, right?”

“Ethan . . .” How many times did I have to repeat myself on this issue? “I’ve told you that you have nothing to worry about with Brian. I’m with YOU now. I’ve made a commitment to YOU. Why can’t you just believe me?”

“I do believe you, Babe. I do,” Ethan insisted, although it felt like there was still a hidden ‘but’ in there. “So, can you just forgive me already so we can move on to the really great make up sex?”

I hesitated, not completely mollified yet, but then, from over Ethan’s shoulder, one of the onlookers yelled out, “Awww, go on and kiss him already!”

Ethan giggled, gave the girl who’d yelled this directive a saucy grin, and proceeded to take her advice by wrapping his arms around me and practically bending me backwards as he took my lips in a possessive kiss. 

What could I do? I had to kiss him back. Even though I was still mad, he was apologizing and he seemed truly sorry. The balloons and rose petals were a bit much, but that was kinda Ethan’s MO, right? I just hoped that this meant he’d seen the error of his ways and things would get better because I couldn’t take being called a slut all the time. 

“Come on, Babe. Let’s go home. I’m going to make love to you all afternoon and then we can just forget all about this stupid argument,” Ethan directed, already guiding me down the street in the direction of the bus stop and home. 

We didn’t really have a lot of time to spend on our making up, though, because by that point the finals for the Heifetz were only two days away and Ethan was in a tizzy. He oscillated back and forth between ultimate certainty that he was going to fuck it all up and supreme confidence that he was clearly the best violinist in the universe. I had a tough time keeping up with his mood swings but I did my best to be as supportive as possible. 

It was a lucky thing that this year’s competition was being held in Philadelphia, so we were able to borrow a car from one of Ethan’s friends and drive, otherwise the cost might have been prohibitive. Ethan was adamant, though, that I HAD to be there, even though I’d tried a couple of times to bow out. Personally, I would have preferred just staying home and enjoying a well-needed day off, but he insisted I accompany him so I could be there to inspire him. I admit, I was a little flattered by all this. I’d never been someone’s ‘Muse’ before. Not that I really understood anything at all about classical music, but I supposed I could stand there and look inspiring for my boyfriend, despite the fact that I was likely to be bored all day. 

The competition was being held at the Boyer College of Music and Dance, which was a part of Temple University. I enjoyed walking around the beautiful campus as we made our way around to the various performance venues. There were two other PIFA students there that morning and we all congregated together while we waited through the earlier rounds of the competition. There were over seventy-five ‘semi-finalists’ to be winnowed down and that process took hours. We had to traipse all over the place, from one stage area to another. Ethan and Marta, both from PIFA, easily made it through the first round of cuts, but poor Petrov was eliminated early on and left not long after. By lunchtime, however, there were only twenty-five contestants left.

Ethan was, not surprisingly, too wound up to stop for lunch. He and Marta opted to go use one of the practice rooms that had been set up in the Music building for one last trial run. I was starving, however, and begged off listening to him going through his Cantabile yet again. Instead, I headed off towards the main part of the campus to find some food. 

I was standing in line at the grill - planning to use the $20 that Ethan had handed me as I left to pig out a little on a double cheeseburger, fries and a chocolate milkshake - when I noticed someone staring at me from the nearby salad bar line. The guy was pretty cute, so at first I thought he was just flirting with me, but when I shook my head, indicating I wasn’t interested, he just kept staring. I decided to ignore him.

I’d barely set my tray down at a table before the guy came over and took the seat next to me without invitation. “So, you’re this year’s muse, huh?” the guy said with a shake of his head. “I suppose you’ve gotta give Ethan points for always staying true to type.”

I had no idea how to respond to that comment so I just sat there in my confusion, trying to figure out what this guy was angling after. 

The dude who’d so precipitately joined me was really rather handsome. He was a little shorter than me, maybe 5’8”, and thin to the point that he looked almost gaunt, but with a wiry build that countered any hint of fragility. His long, dark-blond hair was pulled back in a pony-tail to keep it out of his grey-blue eyes. His features were regular, with a sculpted chin and dainty little nose that turned up at the end. The two matching dimples in his cheeks countered the severity of his expression. He was quite beautiful, actually. But he was very obviously not in a jovial mood.

“So, are you a dancer too?” he asked.

“Um, no . . . I’m an artist,” I answered. 

“Ah, that makes sense. You don’t really have the build for dance and with those ham-hands you couldn’t possibly be a musician. I guess Ethan’s branching out into other arts these days?”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I asked, cutting off the guy’s rude remarks about my boyfriend. 

“No. You don’t. But I know you,” my unwelcome guest said with an unamused chuckle. “I’m you in about two more years.”

I put my burger down and turned to look at the guy more directly. “What the hell are you talking about?” I was through trying to be polite. 

The other blond held out his hand and introduced himself. “I’m Whitney Hardin. I used to be in the dance program at Point Park University in the Pitts before I transferred here to Boyer.” I accepted his proffered hand and shook it briefly. Then he added, “and I used to be Ethan’s muse too.”

“You’re Ethan’s ex?” I pulled back my hand quickly, unsure how I was supposed to feel about this meeting.

“One of his many exes, to be precise. He does tend to go through them pretty regularly, a fact you should probably be aware of,” Whitney answered with a tinge of sadness in his tone. “I saw the two of you over at Boyer and, when I saw he was actually letting you out of his sight for a bit, I thought maybe I’d come introduce myself and offer you a warning.”

That presumptuous statement made me bridle a bit. I mean, why would I want to talk to one of Ethan’s exes? Especially one who, it seemed, had an axe to grind. 

“Thanks, but, I don’t think I need any warnings. Ethan and I are doing just fine.”

“Of course you are. How long have you been together? A few months, tops? You’re still in the Idealization phase." Whitney huffed a little laugh at my surprise that he’d accurately pegged how long we’d been together without really even knowing me. “Right now you feel like he idolizes you. He’s showering you with love and attention all the time. And why wouldn’t he; you’re beautiful and I’m sure you’re super talented on top of it. Anyone would think the two of you would make the perfect couple. But I’m telling you now that won’t last. Pretty soon you’ll start into the Devaluation stage and the mask will begin to fall. Once you realize he’s not perfect, and point that out to him, he’ll get nasty pretty fast. Just be prepared, okay? And if you do manage to break away, don’t let him hoover you back in without a fight. Don’t let him gaslight you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I contended, feeling a little prickly. “But I don’t think I appreciate your comments. So, if you’re done, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

The man started to lift up his tray - it contained nothing except a small salad and a vitamin water so it was pretty light - but hesitated before leaving. “I get that you’re not ready to hear what I have to say. In your place, I wouldn’t have wanted to hear me either. But my conscience won’t let me NOT say something. Not when I know how bad it’s gonna get.” His expression looked so sad and thoughtful . . . And it really wigged me out. “Just keep in mind that you’re not alone and, when you are ready to talk, you know where to find me.”

With that he was gone, leaving me sitting there feeling totally weirded out. I didn’t know what to make of that confrontation. Was the guy for real, or was he just bitter after a bad breakup? Ethan hadn’t really talked much about any of his prior boyfriends, except to assure me repeatedly that I was the most beautiful and talented man he’d ever been with. So this guy and his ‘warning’ could just be the product of sour grapes. Still, it was disconcerting.

I quickly scarfed down the rest of my lunch, grabbed an apple and some water for Ethan, and then made my way back to the music school to find my musician. Ethan was too distracted to do more than offer a brusque ‘thanks’ for the snack I’d brought him. He was chattering away with another violinist, talking about esoteric things that I couldn’t begin to follow along with, so I just found a chair in the back of the room and waited. Before long, though, we were off to the next performance locale. 

Ethan, as expected, made it through the second round of elimination cuts as well. There were now only ten final-finalists left and they would all be performing their best pieces before the full panel of judges in the main auditorium beginning at four pm. Ethan was elated and practically bouncing off the ceiling after reading the list posted by the judges around two pm. The remaining contestants were practically swarmed by well-wishers for the next half hour or so. I let myself melt into the background, just trying to stay out of the way, while my boyfriend’s fans congratulated him and offered encouragement. 

And boy were there a LOT of fans, too. I noted, not happily, that the circling masses were comprised of more than a few attractive young men, all of whom were flirting with Ethan. At first I wasn’t that concerned by what I saw, but when a particularly pretty blond youth, who looked even younger than me, came up to shake Ethan’s hand I started to pay attention. Ethan held onto this one’s hand just a little bit too long. He also did that thing where he batted his long, dark eyelashes at the boy and gave him a rakish grin. They chatted together for quite a while, the young man even leaning in at the end to whisper something in Ethan’s ear. But what got me really steamed was the way Ethan laughed back at whatever the kid had whispered to him. That didn’t sound like a laugh you’d make if you were just laughing off a joke about Beethoven’s Last Movement, either. It was flirty. It was interested. It was not a laugh anyone should hear but me.

“Hey, Ethan. You want to go get something to eat since you skipped lunch?” I asked, shouldering my way up to where Ethan and his new admirer were still canoodling. “We’ve got a good forty-five mintues before you play again and you really should have more than an apple.”

Ethan looked up guiltily and took a step back from the boy still waiting next to his elbow. “Thanks, Mark. If you email me I can give you some more tips about that scherzo,” Ethan advised the youth with an obviously dismissive nod. 

The boy looked over at me with open hostility but apparently got the message and left. Ethan grabbed my hand and started leading me in the opposite direction, adding by way of explanation, “he’s not a bad musician, just a little green. He might even make it to the finals next year if he practices. I offered to give him some advice.”

“Uh huh,” I laughed. “I don’t think that was the kind of tip he was looking for, Eth.”

Ethan laughed but didn’t bother to reply and that was that. I didn’t think I needed to belabor the issue and Ethen was happy to let it die. We headed off to the dining hall, got some dinner, and then were back at the music school in plenty of time for Ethan’s final performance. 

“Nervous?” I asked as we stood in a huddle with the other finalists. 

“I'll take, ‘Questions whose answers are painfully obvious’, for 100, Alex,” Ethan joked as he rubbed his sweaty palms against the legs of his slacks.

Playing along with the Jeopardy theme I put on my best game show host voice and narrated, “This devastatingly handsome violinist dazzled the judges at the semi-finals and consistently takes Justin Taylor's breath away." 

With a laugh, my musician answered, “Who is Ethan Gold?”

“Ding, Ding, Ding!”

Ethan encircled my waist with his arms, and gave me a nice juicy kiss. “You really are my muse. You know that, right? I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Sure you could,” I said, being my usual supportive self.

He shook his head emphatically. “When my mom called and said my grandfather was too sick to travel, I almost didn't come. I've been playing for him my whole life, practicing day and night for this moment. Without him, who was I doing it for?” Ethan recited, something he’d actually said to me a couple of times already that day. 

We were interrupted when one of the ushers came up to us just then. “You're next, Mr. Gold.”

“I better take my seat,” I said, starting to move away towards the steps that led down into the auditorium. 

Ethan grabbed my arm to stop me. “No, stay here, where I can see you,” he demanded. “I'll be playing for you.” 

So, of course, I did what my man asked and remained in the wings, watching as the announcer introduced him. 

“Next up, playing the ‘Scherzo-tarantella, Opus 16’ by Wieniawski, Ethan Gold.”

Ethan played beautifully. Watching him up there on stage, he looked like another person. You could see that he was eating up the adulation coming from his audience and returning it to them a hundred fold. He truly was in his element when he was performing. He was beautiful.

And I obviously wasn’t the only one who thought so. The minute he was done playing there was yet another horde of folks coming up to bask in his radiated glory. They all wanted to be near him. To touch him. They wanted him to direct all that charm their way.

Including that same blond kid, Mark, who’d been so blatantly flirting with Ethan during the prior break. This time, though, he went a little further. This time he slipped Ethan a folded up piece of paper. Ethan gave the boy one of his best snake charmer smiles as he pocketed the missive, not even looking around to see if I had noticed. 

It kinda made me wonder about what that guy Whitney had said about Ethan going through exes pretty frequently. But then I told myself I was just being ridiculous and letting my imagination get away from me. Still, I made my way over to stand next to my boyfriend so I could fend off any other possible admirers. 

Chapter 17 - Inferno of Rage.

You know how some cartoon characters’ heads literally explode when they get angry? That’s the image I always saw in my mind whenever my ex used to fly into one of his rages. It was basically the same effect; one moment all would be relatively normal and then, without any real warning, he would explode, rocking the foundations of my world and leaving me standing there like some refugee of a nuclear blast.  

Welcome to ‘Narcissistic Rage’.

If you read the literature on narcissism, they’ll recite all sorts of freudian psychobabble about the phenomenon known as Narcissistic Rage, but all you really need to know is that it’s a real thing. Any time a narcissist experiences a ‘fall from grace’, such as when they get caught and their hidden behaviors or motivations are revealed, or when their importance is brought into question and their tender ego gets bruised, they’re likely to completely lose it. Completely. Like, head exploding, lose it. 

The most difficult part of dealing with a raging narcissist, though, isn’t the anger itself, although that can get bad and sometimes even turn violent. It isn’t the embarrassment you feel being associated with someone who can’t control their temper in public. It isn’t even the fallout that comes after the rage, when you have to explain yourself to the cops checking out a domestic dispute complaint or placate offended friends. It’s the fucking unpredictability of it all. The uncertainty about just WHEN the rage will erupt. Because you can never just relax. Anything can set them off; usually it isn’t something you could even see coming. Which means that every minute of every day you have to be prepared to deal with the rage. 

It’s fucking exhausting. 

“Yeah, so, there I was, dreading the drive home because Ethan was completely devastated that he didn’t win, you know? But then this old bald guy comes up to us and says he’s with Erato Records and offers to take us out for dinner.”

“That sounds promising,” Daphne replied, sounding suitably excited even through the tiny speakers of my ear buds.

“It is more than promising, Daph, it’s amazing. Just listen.” I stepped out of the art building into the early summer morning and took a deep breath of the fresh air before I continued my phone call. “This guy says to Ethan that he’s not interested in Cho Li, the winner, because he’s not looking for technical perfection, he’s looking for a true performer. Someone who has charisma. Someone who is young and vibrant and has a certain look, you know? And he thinks that’s Ethan!”

“Well, Ethan definitely has the ‘musician look’ down,” Daph interjected. “It’s that weird beard patch thing on his chin, I think.”

I laughed, even though I knew I shouldn’t. “Stop, Daph.”

“Hey, as long as you don’t mind the dead rat on his chin, what do I know?” she teased.

“I think it makes him look rebellious,” I told my BFF, and then added, “and I don’t mind the way it tickles my balls when he goes down on me either.”

“Gross!” I could hear her fake gagging in the background, which made me laugh even harder. “Don’t put that kind of image in my head, Justin! It’ll scar me for life!” 

“Serves you right for making fun of my boyfriend,” I pointed out. “But, anyway, this record label guy takes us out to dinner and we talk and then at the end of the evening, he says he wants to sign Ethan! They’re drawing up all the paperwork this week. Can you believe it? Ethan’s gonna get an official recording contract with tour dates and everything!”

“That’s really good news, Jus! I’m happy for you guys,” Daph congratulated me. 

“Thanks. Ethan’s, like, over the moon, you know? You should hear all the plans he’s already making.” 

“Well, the first plan he needs to make is to pay you back for all the money you’ve spent supporting his ass for the past few months,” Daph insisted, throwing a bit of cold water on my elation.

“Daph . . .”

“Fine. I’ll shut up,” she finally relented. Sorta. “Even though you know I’m right about the money thing.”

“I told you we’d worked that out, Daphne. Ethan’s been much better since we talked about it.”

“I know. But you still need to make sure you follow through and change your payroll deposits back to your own account now that it’s June.”

“I plan to, Daph. I just keep forgetting to talk to Luke,” I assured her. “But can we please not talk about that right now? Can’t I just enjoy being happy over my boyfriend’s big triumph for a while?”

“Of course you can. And to prove just how supportive a friend I am, how about I take you both out to dinner to celebrate?”

“Really? Wow. That would be great, Daph.” My friend’s generosity never disappointed. “Oh, hey, here’s Ethan now. Let me ask him when he’s available. Hang on.”

I muted the phone and leaned in to greet my boyfriend, who’d just come around the corner of the music building to join me. “Hey. Daph wants to take us out to dinner to celebrate Erato. Can I tell her we’re free tonight?”

Ethan scrunched up his face into a frown, clearly not enthused about the idea. “Do we have to?”

“Stop, you!” I ordered. “She’s trying to be nice. Making a gesture. You need to at least meet her halfway.”

Ethan shook his head, then rubbed his mouth as if thinking, and ended up with his fingers worrying at the little soul patch he sometimes liked to play with. “She hates me, you know. Don’t know why she’d want to take me out to dinner. Unless, maybe, to make fun of me some more.”

“Come on. Don’t be like that,” I chided him with a little backhanded swat to his stomach. “Please, Ethan. Daphne just wants to celebrate with us. And she offered to pay, too, so . . .”

“You’re such a slave to your stomach,” he teased with a shake of his head. “I bet you’d sell me out for a steak dinner, wouldn’t you?”

“Hell yeah. I’d sell out my mother for a nice juicy filet mignon. Any. Fucking. Day!” I replied with a churlish grin. 

“Well, never let it be said that I stood between you and your stomach,” Ethan relented. “Fine. Tell your gal pal we can do dinner tonight.”

I rewarded him with a kiss before unmuting the call and finishing the arrangements with Daphne. The plan was for Daphne to pick us up and then head out together to Joselito’s Cabana for mexican food, something I had been craving for a while now. I was excited because, not only was I going to get my favorite ethnic food, but I was gonna have a chance to hang with Daph, which I hadn’t been able to do for way longer than I liked. I made a mental note to myself to be better at connecting to my friends, no matter how busy I got.

Unfortunately, the entire evening ended up being a disaster almost from the very start.

First, we discovered that Joselito’s was closed on Sunday nights - totally ridiculous, right? What restaurant closes on Sundays? - which meant we had to come up with an alternative on the spot. Since Daph knew the neighborhood better than the rest of us, we listened to her suggestion that we try this new Lebanese pizza place that was only a few blocks away. But when we got there, we found a line that went clear around the corner. Since I was starving, I begged the others to go someplace else close by and they reluctantly agreed. We checked out the pub a couple blocks over, but their menu was pathetic, and the sushi place next door was ridiculously expensive, and even the sports bar on the corner, which looked dangerously Hetero for a couple of Art school fags. 

By that point none of us were in a great mood anymore. I was getting to that stage of low blood sugar ‘hangry’ where I’d eat pretty much anything. Daph pulled out her phone and searched for ‘food’ nearby but the only place within a five mile radius that we hadn’t yet tried was the Red Robin. Ethan wasn’t exactly thrilled with that bourgeoise option, however I threatened to pass out if I wasn’t fed immediately, so he gave in, albeit with poor grace.

Apparently, though, everybody else in the city had the same idea for dinner that night and there was a huge waiting list even at Red Robin. We put our names in and then retreated to the bar where Daph and I employed our fake IDs to order beers. Ethan, surprisingly, admitted he didn’t have a fake, so he was forced to go the soft drink route, and clearly wasn’t happy to be left out in that respect. He grumbled the whole time me and Daph were sipping at our beers.

Finally, after a good twenty minutes, we were shown to a dinky little table right next to the kitchen. Ethan tried to get the hostess to seat us somewhere else, but it was way too busy and we would have had to wait again, so I intervened and told the harried woman the table she’d offered would be fine. Even once we were seated, though, things didn’t go any better. The place was seriously understaffed that evening; we had to wait ten minutes just to get a waiter’s attention and another fifteen before he came back and apologized that the kitchen was backed up, offering us a basket of free onion rings to tide us over. By that point I would have eaten the plastic basket, but Ethan turned his nose up at the appetizer, complaining that he didn’t like onions; something I hadn’t known about him yet.

At least, while Daph and I nibbled on the onion rings, Ethan finally got a chance to brag about the ongoing contract discussions with his soon-to-be recording label. Erato sounded like the perfect place for Ethan; it was a newer label that was trying to cultivate an edgier reputation. They wanted hot, young, rising stars to represent them, not stodgy oldsters that looked like they’d swallowed a cello. They were hoping to use Ethan as a vehicle to make bigger inroads into the online music world and planned to market him heavily on social media. It all sounded pretty fantastic, although he was rather vague on how all this would translate on the financial side of things. 

“Jacob thinks I could be the next big thing on the classical circuit. Maybe even the catalyst to bring a new wave of young people back to classical music,” he boasted with his chin held high and the stars in his eyes so bright it almost blinded me too. 

Daph wasn’t exactly buying it though. “Yeah, good luck with that,” she snorted into her beer. “I think I’ll stick with my hip hop, rap, and good old-fashioned rock. Thank you very much.”

“Well, you would say that,” Ethan replied dismissively. 

“What does that mean,” Daphne asked, her tone prickly.

“Nothing,” Ethan answered quickly, and then ruined it all by elucidating. “It’s just that, most blacks don’t have the education to appreciate classical music. That’s why there aren’t any decent black classical composers. I wouldn’t expect someone like YOU to understand the appeal of a sophisticated music palate.”

I groaned and prepared myself to watch my best friend - who was not only extremely intelligent but better educated than Ethan and who’d taken ten years of classical piano lessons as a child - hand my boorish boyfriend his ass.

“Is that so?” Daphne challenged. Then she turned to me and casually asked, “don’t they require the music students at PIFA to take any musical history classes at all?”

“Of course I took musical history,” Ethan spoke up before I could say anything. “I’m quite well versed in all the great composers, clear back to antiquity, and I rather resent you implying otherwise.”

“Well, your teachers must have sucked then. Or maybe you just skipped the day they talked about my great, great uncle, Mr. Samuel Coleridge-Taylor?” Daph smirked at the look of astonishment on the chastised musician’s face. “So, please, don’t talk shit about a subject you obviously know nothing about.” She picked up her beer and raised it in a toast to the still speechless man sitting across the table from her. “But, for what it’s worth, I still prefer hip hop, and I’m pretty sure, if he’d been alive today, so would Uncle Sammy.”

Thankfully, Ethan held his tongue and didn’t try to argue with her. Daph might seem like an easy-going and polite young lady, but you did NOT want to get on her bad side. Her tongue had a razor-edge that would flay you alive if you weren’t careful. And, while the uneasy silence that followed wasn’t exactly pleasant, on the whole, I thought it was preferable to the bloodshed that might have ensued if Ethan had tried to take on the esteemed Ms. Chanders.

The final straw that completely tanked the night, however, was when the food finally arrived and Ethan’s burger turned out to be just barely beyond raw. 

“What the fuck?” Ethan roared, standing up so fast that his chair toppled over into the aisle, startling the occupants of the table next to us. “This is unacceptable!”

“I’m sorry, Sir. Is there a problem?” the waiter immediately bustled back over to see what was what. 

“Yes. I’d say this is a fucking problem alright!” Ethan growled and picked up his plate with the raw hamburger on it and shoved it into the waiter’s face. “I ordered my burger medium well. Does this LOOK medium well to you?”

“No. It doesn’t. I’m so sorry. I’ll take it right back . . .” the waiter apologized, grabbing hold of the plate.

“You know what, that’s not good enough,” Ethan argued, refusing to let go of the plate. “I have been waiting around in this sorry excuse for a restaurant for almost an hour now and when I finally do get served you can’t even cook the fucking food right? How the hell do you get away with shit like that, huh? Is this how you treat paying customers? Is it? Answer me, damn it!”

Ethan’s rage was at incendiary levels by that point. He was yelling at the poor, defeated-looking waiter at the top of his lungs. The other tables full of diners were all staring at Ethan, and by extension, me and Daphne too. I could tell that the father with three young kids sitting across the aisle from us wasn’t happy with the string of f-bombs Ethan was dropping at full volume. Meanwhile the harassed and clearly overworked waiter was trying to calm Ethan, explaining how two of the cooks had called in sick at the last minute, and offering to comp his dinner for him. Ethan wasn’t having any of it. He was beyond being placated by free food.

“No, I’m not going to sit down. I don’t care if I’m disturbing the other customers. I demand to see the manager right now, damn it!” Ethan bellowed obstinately. “I’ve never been treated this shitily in any restaurant in my whole life. I don’t care what your fucking excuse is; I’m not going to let you get away with this kind of crap. Now, get me the fucking manager!”

There was no need to call the manager, however, as the person in question had already detected the commotion and hustled over to see what in the name of creation was going on. “Can I help you, Sir?” the man said with an edge to his voice that implied he wasn’t really in a very helpful mood.

Ethan proceeded to scream out his complaints yet again. By that point I was so embarrassed and felt so badly for the poor, stressed out waiter, that I wanted to just slink under the table and hide. I could tell that Daphne was at least as mortified as I was. I mean, yeah, we hadn’t had the best dining experience of all time, but Ethan’s reaction was so overboard that it was insane. On top of everything else, he was yelling at the wrong people; it wasn’t the waiter’s fault that the kitchen was understaffed. He also didn’t need to be so crass or foul-mouthed in a family restaurant. 

“Listen, Mister.” After listening to Ethan’s full diatribe for another couple minutes the manager had finally had enough. “Both your server and myself have already tried to apologize to you. You’ve been offered your meal comp. But it seems like that’s not good enough for you? So, what is it you actually want?”

“I want RESPECT, damn it! That’s what I want,” Ethan shrieked, so red in the face by that point that he looked like he was about to have a stroke.

Suffice it to say that the manager was convinced by this reply that he wasn’t dealing with a reasonable person. “You know what? I think it’s time you and your party leave, Sir.”

“What? What the fuck? You’re throwing me out now? Seriously? After the way I’ve already been treated, you’re throwing ME out? Well, fuck that!” Ethan shoved the manager out of the way - which was pretty impressive considering the guy was at least a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier than the diminutive musician - and stomped off towards the door. “Justin! Let’s go!”

I started to get up, but Daphne put out her hand to stop me. “Just let him go, Justin. He’s being an ass. You don’t need to run after him and coddle him. You’ll just be feeding into his bad behavior.”

I looked after Ethan’s retreating back - even from a distance I could tell by the set line of his shoulders that he was still fuming - and I was tempted to sit back down next to my friend. Dealing with Ethan in that kind of mood would be a nightmare. And I knew she was right, that his behavior was deplorable, and by rushing to placate him I was basically condoning it. But he was my boyfriend; I was supposed to stand by him, right? 

“Sorry, Daph, but I have to go after him.” She gave me this disappointed look. “If I don’t he’ll be even more of a bitch to deal with later,” I added, to which she shrugged an acknowledgment. “I’ll call you later.”

As expected, Ethan was a towering inferno of rage for about the next hour or so. Luckily, he didn’t require any support from me other than to just sit there and act as a sounding board while he ranted about the damn restaurant. And I guess I understood why he was angry - the service was lousy and the burger was inedible - but I couldn’t help thinking that his reaction was totally out of proportion to the crime. Wouldn’t it have been enough to send the food back and take the comped meal? Why did he seem to take it so personally? Did he really have to throw a public fit and embarrass us all? I probably couldn’t ever show my face in that restaurant again, not after Ethan’s performance today. But whatever. My immediate problem was just dousing the flames of my infuriated boyfriend long enough to get him to stop shouting. 

So I sat there on the couch, with Felicity purring away in my lap and totally oblivious to the uproar going on around her, pretending to listen, while Ethan worked himself up into a lather. Then, thankfully, he finally turned to his violin and spent the next hour or so taking his temper out on it. I continued to sit there quietly, not even drawing because I knew, in his current mood, the scratching of my pencil on the paper would push him over the edge again. Instead, I spent the time loving on my sweet little kitten. Eventually Wolfram hopped up on the couch and joined us, giving me two cats to pet. Which was great for my frazzled nerves, but terrible for my allergies, especially when I was running low on allergy meds again. I would have to ask Ethan to pick some more up for me soon or I’d end up a mess.

When even his music didn’t seem to be enough to quell all of Ethan’s pique, he gave up and put Misha away. “I’m too worked up; I’m so tense, my fingers keep tightening up on the strings and it’s causing me to screw up the transition. I can’t play like this. I need some air.”

With that, he was gone, not even having said goodbye let alone telling me where he was going or when he’d be back. Frankly, though, I was glad he left. I felt like I could finally relax after an evening that had been way too stressful. Funny, I didn’t remember any other dinners out with my friends that had felt quite so taxing. It made me wonder why almost everything I did anymore seemed so enervating. I wasn’t even twenty yet and sometimes I felt like a hundred year old man. 

So I just sat there with my harem of cats and, for at least a few minutes, I reveled in the quiet and calm. 

Until my phone rang, interrupting the peaceful atmosphere. “Hey, Daph. Sorry to leave you hanging there at the restaurant. Did you get out of there okay after we left?” I said as I answered.

“Yeah, everything was fine once the big dramatic queen left,” Daph replied, still sounding a little put out despite her statement.

“Sorry about that, Daph,” I repeated, not really knowing what else I could say.

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing, Justin,” she continued. “I mean, what the fuck is Ethan’s problem? He was a total ass from the moment I first picked you guys up. First the racist comments and then he just goes off on that poor waiter. He has a serious anger management problem.”

“Yeah, I did feel a little bad for the waiter,” I admitted. “My dad used to lord it over the waiters at the club like that all the time and it always made my mom cringe.”

“But at least your dad didn’t throw a temper tantrum worthy of a preschooler in the middle of the dining room and end up getting kicked out.” 

“I guess it WAS a little much,” I conceded.

And I might have continued to agree with her if Daphne hadn’t proceeded to tear into Ethan nonstop for the next twenty minutes or so. 

I understood why she was so angry; I really did. Ethan’s behavior was not at all what we’d been brought up to tolerate. He had been rude - to both her and to the waiter - and there was no disputing that he obviously could have handled the situation better. The comments he’d made about black composers were downright racist and understandably offensive. I didn’t dispute any of that. Not really. But the more Daphne complained about Ethan, the more I felt like *I* was the one on the spot. I was caught in the middle. Before long the discussion turned into something where I felt like the one getting dissed, at least by association. So, eventually, I found myself contradicting Daphne, defending Ethan, and offering up excuses for him.

“Why are you always defending him, Justin?” Daphne finally got fed up with my rationalizations. “Ethan is a racist, and an idiot, and a boor, and you know it. I can’t believe you’re trying to justify how reprehensible he acted tonight. The Justin I know would never tolerate that kind of shit.” When I didn’t know what to say in response to that statement, Daphne’s anger seemed to erupt onto me as well. “You know what, Justin? I don’t even recognize you anymore. I hate what Ethan’s turned you into. I hate that MY friend would stick up for someone who is so detestable. And you’re just letting him do it. You’re buying all his bullshit.”

“I am not. But . . . He’s my boyfriend, Daph. I may not agree with everything he says, but . . .”

She cut me off. “He’s not good for you, Justin. You need to cut bait and run. Now. Before you become just like him.”

Of course that warning just pissed me off completely. “You go too far, Daphne. You always do,” I spat back stubbornly.

Then I hung up on my oldest friend and I didn’t talk to her again for a long, long time.

Chapter 18 - Just Going Along.

Everybody knows about the fight or flight response. That’s your primitive brain‘s way of reacting to a dangerous situation; you can either stand up and fight, or you can run away and save yourself. But did you know there’s a third option? 

Surrender.

Instead of fighting back or running away, you can just give in. Give up. Lay there in a little ball on the floor and accept whatever unrelenting attacks are being leveled at you. Which is exactly what your narcissistic abuser wants. He wants you to become so exhausted, so stressed out, so overwhelmed by the constant drama, that you give up.

It makes their job so much easier.

But it’s not like abuse victims really have any choice. Between the gaslighting and manipulation, the constant uncertainty, the emotional blackmail, the lying, and the isolation, abuse victims are living under so much constant stress that their brains are virtually flooded with cortisol, day in and day out. Cortisol, in turn, does some freaky weird shit to your brain. 

That cortisol causes the amygdala - the reptilian part of your brian responsible for that flight or fight thing - to be constantly triggered. Over time this constant stimulus actually causes the amygdala to swell and become super-sensitized. As a result, your overactive amygdala creates a permanent state of anxiety and fear . . . which causes more cortisol to be released, which causes your amygdala to react more, and on and on and on. Long term stress at that level can result in physiological changes including increased heart rate and changes to other organs. On the emotional side, this leads to increased phobias, panic attacks, and even Complex PTSD. 

At the same time, those super-high levels of cortisol emanating from your overreacting Amygdala cause the brain’s hippocampus to physically shrink. The hormones actually attack the organ’s neural pathways. And a shrunken hippocampus - the part of the brian that’s responsible for critical thinking and short-term memory - makes it harder for victims to think clearly. Harder for them to learn and make wise decisions.

In other words, this kind of abuse results in an abuse victim living in a near-constant state of fear, which in turn causes changes to their brain chemistry, all of which makes it harder for the victim to think for themselves.

In order to protect themselves, and reduce the unbearable stress, victims often use reality-bending defense mechanisms that make it easier to cope. Maybe we convince ourselves that the abuser really has some good characteristics and intentions, projecting our own trusting nature onto them. Maybe we compartmentalize the situation so we can set aside the abusive moments and forget about them. Maybe we deny, to others as well as to ourselves, that the abuse is really happening. Maybe we blame ourselves and internalize it all. 

Or, maybe, we just give up and lose ourselves completely, becoming some new, always scared, unthinking shell of a person that we don’t even recognize.

As soon as the contract between Ethan and Erato was signed, life started to get even busier for the Gold/Taylor household. 

The summer seemed to just fly by. I was enjoying the Drawing & Painting Composition Seminar I was taking that summer, but it was taking a lot to keep up, especially since my hand was still acting up. When I wasn’t in class, or struggling to complete a new painting or drawing according to my professor’s exacting requirements, I was working. Summer was the busiest season of all in the catering business, which meant that there were events scheduled almost every day - sometimes more than one a day - so I was able to pick up as many shifts as I wanted. The work wasn’t challenging, and it didn’t pay all that great, but it was steady and we needed all the income we could get.

Despite the promise of all the riches that would be pouring in as soon as he signed with Erato, Ethan still wasn’t contributing much to the household finances. He seemed to be busy all the time but for some reason that hadn’t yet equated to much in the way of earnings. He assured me that it would all come, sooner or later, and then we’d be rolling in dough. 

If only we could live on Ethan’s sky-high optimism.

For the time being, however, Ethan’s days were mostly taken up with studio work for a promised album, making appearances at other folks’ concerts in order to build up name recognition, and seemingly endless ‘meetings’ with his new manager, Glen. Unfortunately, because of all the time he was spending on those tasks, he was barely taking ANY paying gigs. Granted, the symphony season didn’t start till the fall, so he wouldn’t have been performing much in that capacity anyway, but he wasn’t working weddings or parties or busking much either. 

Which meant all the money worries were falling back on my shoulders; hence my working all those extra hours. 

Because my schedule was so insane, my mother and I hadn’t seen much of each other that summer either. I’d had to cancel lunch plans with her multiple times. Finally, near the end of June, she pinned me down and insisted I could at least join her for breakfast before I headed off to work. We agreed to meet at my favorite bakery, Ste. Honore, the following morning. 

As I was getting ready to leave for the bakery, Ethan surprised me by announcing, at the last moment, that he’d moved some of his other obligations around so he could join us. I didn’t know what to say; he seemed to just assume that he had been included in the breakfast invitation, and I didn’t want him to think I didn’t want him there, so I stayed mute. Mom seemed a little surprised by the additional mouth to feed when we showed up as a duo, but of course she was far too refined to say anything. 

“Hi, Mom,” I greeted her with a hug as soon as we arrived. “Sorry we’re a little late.”

I didn’t mention that the reason we were late was because Ethan had melted down just before we were about to head out, upset that the dry cleaner hadn’t managed to get the red wine stain out of the shirt he wanted to wear. I’d had to wait while he changed. The bitching had continued all the way to the front door of the restaurant, leaving me very uneasy that we were about to have a repeat of the Red Robin Debacle. All I could do, though, was just mentally cross my fingers and hope things would blow over.

“It’s no problem, Honey. It gave me time to have my first cup of coffee and read the paper,” Mom assured me with a smile as she set aside her newspaper.

“Hello, Mrs. Taylor,” Ethan spoke up, giving my mother his most charming smile. “Thank you so much for inviting us to breakfast. I love this place.”

“Well, I’m just glad Justin could finally fit me into his schedule,” she replied with an indulgent smile aimed in my direction. “If I hadn’t heard back from him soon, I was going to track him down and kidnap him.”

“I already said I was sorry for cancelling last time, Mom.”

“And the time before that. And the time before that. And . . .” she teased me. 

Luckily my mother’s nagging was cut off by Ethan suggesting we go order at the counter to speed things along. My growling stomach thought that was a brilliant idea. I rushed up, beating the other two to the front of the line, and ordered myself a bacon and egg croissant sandwich AND a grille aux pommes, along with a bowl-sized cup of whipped-cream-topped hot chocolate. By the time my breakfast companions had brought their own food back to the table, I was already halfway through my croissant. It was delicious and I didn’t care how rude it was to scarf down my food the way I was. I only slowed down in my consumption when the croissant sandwich was done and I could move on to my other pastry.

When I finally tuned back into the conversation, Ethan was regaling my mother with all the developments related to his new recording contract. “There have been some really exciting developments. In fact, I haven't even told Justin this yet, but I just heard from Glen last night and it seems that Yosef Treblek, the lead violinist with the Harrisburg Symphony, went in for a triple-bypass yesterday and won’t be able to play for at least three months.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” my mother was quick to jump in and offer condolences.

“No, that’s actually great news. For me at least,” Ethan corrected her with a smug smile. “See, the Harrisburg Symphony is scheduled to play this big Concert in the Park thing at ZooAmerica next month and, since Yosef is out of commission, they want me, the Silver Medalist in this year’s Heifetz Competition, to sub in for him as a Special Guest Performer. I’ll even have a major solo.”

“Wow! That’s fantastic, Ethan,” I leaned over to give him a kiss on his cheek in congratulations. 

My mother echoed my sentiments, praising Ethan’s good luck, and asking a few pertinent questions. I went back to my breakfast, zoning out the detailed discussion, which I was sure I’d hear about ad nauseum later. Frankly, I really hadn’t ever been interested in the technical details of Ethan’s music, and it all sorta bored me. Not that I’d ever tell him that, of course. But, when I’d finished my food and was sipping at my cooling chocolate, and they were still talking music, I found myself yawning out of tedium.

The second or third yawn apparently got my mother’s attention. “Are you okay, Honey? You seem so tired this morning.”

“Sorry. Yeah, I’m pretty bushed, I guess,” I admitted. “I haven’t been sleeping all that well lately and, between stressing out over this big project that my professor wants me to redo and all the hours I’ve been working, I’m a little drained.”

My mother did the requisite fussing over my little admission of insomnia but I waved off all her concerns. Then she asked me about the project that I was revising and I spent a few more minutes bitching about my professor and how he was being such a stickler. That led into a discussion about how my hand had been acting up; Mom tried to convince me to go back to physical therapy for a while, but I put her off, citing the fact that I didn’t have the time or the money for that shit. The inevitable response from my mother was, of course, that she would help Ethan and I out if money was an issue.

The second she brought up the money thing, I mentally flinched, and looked sideways at Ethan. From his closed-off expression I could tell he wasn’t happy with the direction the conversation was heading. Not only had his recitation about all the benefits of his new music contract gotten derailed by my yawning, but now my mother was focused on our money woes. I felt my shoulders tensing up in anticipation of the expected backlash even as my mother pressed for more info. 

“You seem to be working all the time, Justin. Every time I call you’re either at work or on your way to work, and you’ve cancelled our lunch dates how many times? I don’t understand why you two are having so much trouble on the money front,” Mom pried. “In fact, Debbie and I were just talking about you the other day, and she was complaining about the same thing. She says she’s left you half a dozen messages that you haven’t returned. If you’re so busy you can’t even return a call or two, you shouldn’t be so broke that you can’t pay for necessary healthcare expenses like physical therapy . . .”

To shut her up, I quickly promised that I would call and make an appointment with my old PT, but even so the tenor of the dialog after that seemed a little stilted. I could tell that Ethan had had enough mom time for one morning and was ready to go. I hurried to finish my hot chocolate as Ethan stood up and started to say his goodbyes. 

Before we could escape, though, my mother got in a few more motherly directives. “Please don’t be working yourself into the ground, Justin,” she admonished with a peck to my cheek. “You need to concentrate on school and not working so much you make yourself sick. Okay?”

“Okay, Mom.”

“Good. And stop ignoring Debbie’s voice mail messages,” she added with a chuckle. “Whenever you don’t call her back, she calls me to complain.”

“I think Deb’s exaggerating, Mom. I haven’t gotten any messages from her in quite a while,” I assured her. “She might have called while I was working and just didn’t leave a message - I don’t usually check those calls - but I at least try to return calls to anybody that goes to the trouble of leaving a message.”

“Well, either way, you should call her and just check in every so often. Please. She worries about you almost as much as I do, you know.”

“I know and I promise I’ll call.”

“Good boy.” I held Mom’s chair for her while she got up. “And DON’T forget to call about the physical therapy, either.”

I promised about that too and then we made plans to do breakfast again the following week. Ethan said a polite goodbye as well. Mom hugged us both and then headed off to a client’s open house. Ethan and I walked the opposite direction towards home.

We were halfway there before I succumbed to the brooding tension emanating from my companion and asked him what was wrong. 

“I’m a little annoyed at your mother, if you want to know the truth,” Ethan stated, his frown deepening. 

I was lost. I’d thought it had been a perfectly nice meal; my mother and my boyfriend had seemed to be getting along just fine and there hadn’t been any serious drama at all. I’d counted that a win, myself. So I was totally confused by Ethan’s complaint. 

“I can’t believe your mother is trying to push you back into that abusive and unhealthy life again,” Ethan continued on. 

“What are you talking about, Ethan?” I was still not following what my boyfriend was complaining about this time.

“I’m talking about your mother telling you to call that Debbie woman back.” I could hear the budding anger in Ethan’s voice and it immediately raised my blood pressure. “Isn’t she part of that whole Kinney sphere of influence? Why the hell would your mother, of all people, want you to maintain contact with any of those people?”

“Ethan . . .” I sighed. He was so myopic when it came to ANYTHING to do with Brian and it was so tiresome. 

“Don’t say ‘Ethan’ in that tone!” he bristled, raising his voice. “I’m only telling you the truth and you know it! Those people and that life weren’t good for you, Justin. I don’t care if she is your mother; I’m not gonna sit there, say nothing, and watch as you get pulled back into the same trap that I saved you from once already. Your mother should know better.”

As exasperating as Ethan’s criticisms were, I told myself that he was only saying all that because he cared about me. Still, it felt kinda like he was asking me to choose between him and my own mother. If I didn’t say something, I’d be disloyal to my mom. If I tried to correct his misperceptions, though, Ethan was sure to take it the wrong way. 

“She’s a good mother,” I offered lamely, trying to straddle the fence of my conflicting sympathies. “She’s always tried to do her best for me.”

“How good of a mother could she be if she’s pushing you back towards Kinney again!” Ethan complained, stopping in his tracks and turning to face me head on. “Not to mention all the other shit she’s done in the past. You’re the one who told me how she basically sat there and let your dad kick you out of the house at seventeen. Then she handed you over to Kinney after you got out of the hospital, even knowing what a horrible influence he’d been on you. She might just as well have pimped you out herself. And now that you’ve finally escaped that life, your so-called ‘good mother’ is trying to drag you right back there?” Ethan held his hands out in a beseeching gesture. “Please, Babe. Just try and take a step back and look at it from a different perspective. How is ANY of that good parenting?”

Okay, so, yeah, when you put it that way, my mom certainly had made some mistakes. The thing about letting my dad make me leave all those years ago still rankled. Not so much the stuff about her letting me go live with Brian after the bashing, though - I’d actually thought that was one of Mom’s better decisions - of course I wouldn’t bother trying to argue that point with an already irate Ethan. But I suppose I could see where Ethan was coming from. Maybe. 

Ethan grabbed my hand in his and started walking again. “All I’m saying, Babe, is that it wouldn’t hurt to put a little distance between you and your mother for a while. You need a bit of healthy perspective. And you definitely need to think twice before you follow any more of her advice.” He made scare quotes around the word ‘advice’ just to emphasize his point. 

I didn’t completely agree with what Ethan was saying, but it did make me think. Ethan always seemed so sure of his opinions. Was I too close to the situation to see it clearly? Not that I really thought my mother’s intentions were bad, but maybe her advice really wasn’t all that well thought out sometimes. Her past screwups had hurt me before; Ethan wasn’t wrong about that. Plus, when you factored in the unpleasantness that would befall me if I took my mother’s side over Ethan’s, it just seemed easier to listen to my boyfriend on this particular topic. Maybe a little distance from Mom wasn’t a bad thing.

So, when my mother called the following week to schedule another breakfast, I made up an excuse to get out of it. Ethan, who’d been sitting next to me on the couch while I was talking to my mom, smiled at me approvingly. There was no drama and no argument; instead I got instant approval. 

See, wasn’t that easier than arguing with him about it?

“Hey, Babe,” Ethan waylaid me right as I was heading out on my way to class about a week later. “I’m gonna need the apartment for a few hours this afternoon.”

“Okay . . .” I didn’t exactly know what that meant.

“I just wanted to warn you so you don’t come barging in.”

“Barging in on what?” I asked, feeling a little niggle of worry starting up in my gut. “You’re not asking me to get lost while you have an afternoon quickie, are you?” I tried to make it sound like a joke but I really wasn't sure.

Ethan laughed. “Hell no. At least not with Alexa Scott.” I must have looked a little confused so he continued, “she’s the entertainment editor for the Pittsburgh Gazette. She’s interviewing me about the ZooAmerica concert. Glen set it up. It’s all part of the publicity tour they’re pushing to get my name out there.”

“Wow! That’s great!” I raved, coming back over to where Ethan was sitting at our little table and offering him a congratulatory kiss. “My boyfriend is going to be famous!”

“I know, right? Things are really starting to happen,” Ethan was beamingly happy. “She’s meeting me here about one. Glen thought it would be good for my image to do the interview in our ‘quaint’ little artist’s loft. More romantic and all that shit.”

I chuckled at that. Yeah, romantic wasn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe the dump we lived in. More like ‘tenement’. But I supposed, if you squinted, it might qualify as ‘quaint’. 

“We should be done by 2:00 - 2:30. You can come back after that,” Ethan advised, again confusing me.

“Why can’t I come back earlier?” I asked. “If this reporter wants to know all about your quaint life, wouldn’t that include your artistic partner?”

“Definitely not!” Ethan replied adamantly. “You CAN’T be here, Justin. Glen would throw a fucking fit.”

“What? I don’t understand . . .”

Ethan looked a little embarrassed for just a second - an expression that was not at all common for the supremely confident musician - but then he took a deep breath and explained. “For all intents and purposes, as far as my career is concerned, I have to pretend to be straight.”

“Straight? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I can't be out. Nobody can know I’m gay. That was one of the conditions of my contract. Glen said I couldn't be seen with you in public, or acknowledge you in any way.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. But Ethan merely shrugged without retracting anything. “What . . . That's totally fucked, Ethan! Your sexual orientation is none of his business. What does that even have to do with playing the violin?”

“Absolutely nothing. It’s all about the album cover; the label wants some hot young stud with tousled hair, shirt unbuttoned down to here, stroking his violin,” Ethan mimed the actions as he spoke, rocking his hips as he pretended to stoke an imaginary violin, a sexy smirk gracing his lips through it all. 

“But you're a serious artist. It shouldn’t matter what you look like or who you sleep with,” I insisted.

“Yeah, well, if that's all he cared about, he'd be talking to Cho Li,” Ethan shook his head as if resigned. “You know as well as I do that all Glen and the record company care about is purse power. All those young women who spend billions a year on music downloads, who probably think Paganini is a brand of frozen pizza, and who might not buy Ethan Gold's latest CD if they knew he was a fag.” I must have still looked horrified because Ethan got up from his seat and came over to offer what he must have assumed was a reassuring hug. “It’s no biggie, Babe. I just have to play the game, you know? At least until I make it big enough that nobody will care anymore. It won’t be that bad. Besides, it was either this or no contract at all, and there's nothing noble about being poor, right?” 

I was flabbergasted. I couldn’t believe that Ethan would sell out like that. That he would deny his sexuality. Deny me. But he had already returned to his seat at the table where he was leafing through some catalog full of musician paraphernalia, completely unconcerned. Pretending to be straight didn’t seem to bother him at all. 

And I didn’t know what to think or say, so I just left for class. 

Like the obedient, dick-whipped, idiot that I was, I followed orders and stayed away from the apartment until after 2:30. I couldn’t wait much longer than that because I had to get changed and head off to work. I still hadn’t figured out what to say to Ethan, or even how I really felt about all this, but that would all have to wait because I never had time to think about anything between all my various obligations.

I knew the second I opened the door that I’d fucked up. 

“So how do you feel about your first concert appearance? Scared, confident, excited?” a woman’s voice was speaking.

Ethan replied with a seductive chuckle, “definitely all of the above.”  

It seemed that the interview was running a lot later than Ethan had anticipated.

The reporter laughed along with Ethan’s little joke and added, “you know, it's quite a remarkable achievement for someone so young, and obviously so gifted, to have such sudden success. I understand that, until recently, you were performing on street corners?” 

“Well, you gotta pay the rent.” 

I hesitated, knowing that I should really just turn around and go, but then I looked at my phone and noticed the time. If I didn’t grab my work clothes and get out of there in the next ten minutes I was going to be late. And that thing Ethan had said about paying the rent . . . Well, since I was the one paying all our bills at the moment, if I lost my job because I was late, the rent wouldn’t be getting paid. So, even though I knew Ethan might blow his top, I pushed the door all the way open.

“Hey! Sorry to interrupt. Don’t mind me. I just stopped by to pick up my stuff,” I announced, trying to be as vague as possible.

Ethan looked gobsmacked but quickly covered it up and turned to the journalist. “This is Justin . . . my cousin . . . He sometimes stays over if him and his girlfriend have had a fight,” he lied glibly. “Justin, this is Alexa Scott. She's interviewing me for the paper.” 

“Right. Sorry again,” I demurred and quickly grabbed my work pants and shoes out of the closet. “Just forgot my work clothes.”

“No problem. See you later, Justin,” Ethan replied, sounding all matter of fact, like he wasn’t just blowing off his lover for some skanky reporter who was sitting so close to him that their knees were touching. 

The reporter woman had already mentally dismissed me. Before I was even out of the door, she’d moved on with her interview. “Just a couple more questions. Do you have a girlfriend?” 

As I was closing the door behind me I heard my boyfriend answer, “I’d prefer not to talk about that, Alexa.”

“Oh . . . That usually means yes,” she tittered.

I quickly closed the door, pulling it harder than was necessary, so that it slammed against the jamb. "Girlfriend?" I muttered as I pounded down the stairs. “What the fuck was that, Ethan?” 

All the way to work I was stewing. His agent didn't want anyone to know he was gay; he thought it would hurt his career. Fine. Whatever. But to fucking flirt with that bitch right in front of me? And to imply that I was his straight cousin? Seriously? Was anyone really dumb enough to believe that? And why the fuck did I agree to go along with this again? I almost died when I first came out of the closet and now my boyfriend was trying to stuff me back in there again? That was seriously fucked. What the hell was I doing? Why would Ethan even consider going this route?

I was so worked up that I actually missed my stop on the bus, meaning I was probably going to be late after all. Great. So there I was, rushing off to work to support my now-closeted boyfriend, while he was home flirting with some bimbo, and I was probably gonna get fired because of it. Remind me again why I thought being with Ethan would be so much better? I gave up my cushy life with Brian for this? I mean, Brian might not have been everything I wanted in a boyfriend, but at least he never asked me to lie about my sexuality. Even if Ethan wanted to do this, because he thought it was the only way to launch his career, it was just so fucking unfair to make ME pretend along with him. 

But, after running the five blocks back to work, begging forgiveness from Luke for being late, and then working a five hour shift serving rubber chicken at some bigwig corporate retreat, I finally ran out of energy to be angry anymore. 

Yes, it was totally fucking unfair. No, I wasn’t happy with Ethan. I thought about calling Daphne, or maybe even my mom, and asking their advice, but since I was currently on the outs with both of them, that option wasn’t all that appealing. Besides, what exactly was I going to do? Did I care enough about this issue to defy Ethan? Was I willing to put my foot down and in the process tank Ethan’s career? If I did, Ethan would likely just tell me to get the fuck out and I didn’t have anywhere else to go. So, either way you looked at it, I was fucked.

It seemed like I didn’t really have any alternative other than to just go along with Ethan’s stupid scheme, so I took the path of least resistence and said nothing at all.

Chapter 19 - You Trust Me, Right?

Back in the day, when there was only one major brand of vacuum cleaner, every housewife had a Hoover. Those things were huge monstrosities, so loud you almost needed earplugs to work them, but boy could they suck. One pass with a Hoover and every bit of dirt in your carpet - along with any stray pets or small children left unsupervised nearby - would be suctioned up into the vacuum bag to be summarily tossed out in the trash the following day.

Hence the term ‘hoovering’ as applied to your average narcissist.

Hoovering is a manipulation tactic that someone might use to prevent you from leaving a toxic relationship or to reacquire you if you have managed to flee. See, despite having no empathy themselves, a narcissist is an expert on reading YOUR moods and emotions. They understand what makes you tick. Anytime they feel like a victim has reached a level of dissatisfaction where he or she might try to escape, they will do whatever is needed to keep the victim under their thumb. In other words, they suck you back in. Just like one of those old Hoovers.

The most insidious thing about hoovering, though, is that it’s really difficult to distinguish from a sincere attempt at reconciliation. Narcissists are consummate actors. They can make you believe anything they choose. Especially if they’re telling you something you WANT to hear. Face it, if someone is showering you with gifts, acting truly repentant, and promising undying love, you’re gonna want to believe them, right? You want to be loved. You want to forgive them and end the stress of an argument. Sometimes they even break into tears, triggering your sympathy and your natural inclination to comfort someone in pain. You, being the normally caring and empathic person you are, practically fall over yourself in your rush to give them whatever they ask. Which is exactly what they were counting on.

The narcissist will promise you the moon, if that’s what it takes to keep you under their thrall. 

Just one word of warning, though . . . Because narcissists HATE apologizing or succumbing to emotion, they’re gonna resent the hell out of you for forcing them to go to these extremes. So, once they have you safely back under their control, prepare for them to redouble the abuse. And the nicer, the more lavish, their gifts or promises are during the hoovering phase, the more horrible the repercussions are likely to be afterwards.

Even though I’d opted not to make a big stink about the interview, and was going along with Ethan’s decision to play it straight for his career, I wasn’t exactly happy about any of it. And, while I hadn’t said anything out loud, I suppose my indignation showed. I couldn’t get rid of the smoldering resentment hiding just under the surface. Even when Ethan wasn’t off at one of the events arranged by his manager, we barely spoke that week. When he was home, I felt distant from him. Hell, even our sex life had petered out to practically nothing; but I just couldn’t get enthusiastic about getting it on with someone who I knew was going to deny my very existence come morning.

Therefore, I wasn’t expecting the surprise I got when I came home on Monday, my first full night off work since the interview, and found the apartment awash with the light from at least fifty candles. I looked around in astonishment and noted that Ethan had cleaned the place up, on his own initiative no less. There was a big bouquet of roses in a vase on the table - my computer had been moved off and was sitting on the floor in the corner - and the table was nicely set for the two of us. I thought I smelled the aroma of my favorite spicy Thai coconut peanut soup emanating from one of the covered dishes waiting there. Over on the small packing crate we used as a coffee table - which had been draped with a sheet to hide the bare wood - there were more candles, a bottle of not-inexpensive red wine, our only two wine glasses, and a little silver gift box bearing the name of Ethan’s favorite chocolateer. It was all very lovely and very romantic.

My first thought was, was I in trouble for something? Did I do something wrong? Or had Ethan done something?

I knew that was a totally cynical reaction, but by that point in our relationship I’d already become conditioned to expect that overt displays of this type usually only came after a big argument. Or when Ethan was trying to butter me up to ask for something. He hadn’t done anything so completely romantic since back before he’d won me away from Brian. It was understandable that I was a bit nervous, right? 

“What's all this?” I asked hesitantly. 

“A celebration,” Ethan intoned, grabbing my hand to lead me over to the couch. 

“What are we celebrating?”

“Us!” Ethan answered as he poured out two glasses of the rich-colored Zinfandel. 

“That stuff's not cheap,” I warned as he handed me one of the glasses.

“Cost me all the tips I made busking today, but you are worth it.” Ethan tapped the rim of his glass to mine and then took a sip, smiling sexily at me all the while. 

I reluctantly followed his example, noting in passing that the wine really was excellent. “So, why, exactly, are we celebrating ‘us’?” I knew I was being a buzzkill but I couldn’t let go of the uneasy feeling I had.

“No reason. I just wanted to do something nice, you know? To remind you how much I love you. How much I cherish you. How happy it makes me - you and me, being together . . .” 

He reached over with his free hand to caress the side of my face. He was looking at me with that charming, boyish grin that was almost impossible to resist. I felt the icy dread shielding my heart begin to melt.

“I'll drink to that,” I replied and held my glass aloft in a silent toast.

“Here, try a piece of chocolate with that.” He picked up the silver foil-wrapped gift box, opened the lid and held it out for me to select from one of the four yummy-looking treats inside. “I recommend the dark chocolate one on the end. It’ll make the tannins in the wine pop.”

I followed his advice, taking a nibble at the luscious truffle, and then a sip of my wine. I moaned at how good the combination tasted. The flavors were so rich it was like my mouth was bathed in drinkable velvet. 

“Sweets for my sweet,” Ethan pronounced as he took a chocolate himself and followed suit. 

We sat and sipped our wine, finishing off the other two chocolates, in silence. But for once it was a content, comfortable silence. Either the wine or the chocolate or both had allayed my trepidation. This was the sweet, romantic, attentive Ethan who had wooed me away from Brian. The man who made me feel special. The man who said all the right things. I finally relaxed all the way and offered him a true smile.

“There’s my beautiful angel,” Ethan praised me, leaning in for a tender kiss. “I’ve missed seeing that smile lately.”

I shrugged. “I guess I have been feeling a little off lately,” I admitted as Ethan refilled my wine glass.

“I know. It was the interview, wasn’t it?”

“No,” I immediately denied it, but then felt compelled to be more truthful. “Well, maybe. A little. I mean, passing me off as your cousin and implying *I* was straight too . . .”

“Well, come on. I had to think of something on the spot,” Ethan seemed to think it was funny, which threw me a little again, but since I didn’t want to ruin the moment, I tamped down my unease. “Listen, Babe, I know you’re not completely happy about this. I’m not either. But I can’t screw this up; it’s my big break, you know? I mean, I can't play on street corners forever, right?”

“No one expects you to,” I assured him. “But Glen wants you to deny who you are; to deny us. I just . . . I just hate that you think you have to do something so unconscionable simply to get ahead. It’s not right. It’s . . . living a lie.”

Ethan heaved a huge sigh, as if tired of explaining the same thing over and over again to someone who just didn’t seem to get it. “It’s what I have to do, at least for now, Babe. It won’t be like that forever. But right now we can’t afford to take a principled stand. You can’t eat principles and there's nothing noble about being poor.”

“Yeah, but . . .” I just couldn’t seem to let it go. “Is this how it's going to be from now on? Lying. Playing games. Pretending to be someone you’re not?” I set my glass down so I could concentrate on the point I was trying to make. “Now you're even going away and, because I’m not allowed to be seen with you, I can’t come see your big debut performance. I’m afraid this is going to drive us apart, Ethan.”

“It’s only Harrisburg. And it’s only for one week,” he protested. “It's not like I’m going on a world tour.”

I smiled sadly, “that's next.”

“I wish.” Ethan chuckled, but I wasn’t feeling amused so I didn’t join in, which caused my boyfriend to get serious again too. “Look, Babe . . . Who knows what's going to happen? I could bomb, and that would be the end of it. But if this works, and I become a success, we could have this totally amazing life. I was even thinking, maybe we could buy a farmhouse, with a studio for you and a practice room for me . . .”

“You dream big.”

“Why not? It doesn’t cost anything,” Ethan smiled at me, his eyes twinkling with what I assumed was undying love. “Come on. It won’t be so bad. We'll make it an adventure. We can plan secret rendez-vous and torrid encounters.” I must have looked skeptical because Ethan rushed on. “All I’m saying, Babe, is that other people don't need to know who we are or what we mean to each other. All that matters is that WE know. That YOU know you’re the one I’m secretly playing for.”

Then Ethan did something that blew me away and totally dispelled even the merest wisp of lingering doubt I might have been holding onto. He dug under the pillow sitting behind him on the couch and retrieved another gift box. This one was adorned with red foil and was even smaller than the one that had held the chocolates. There was a small parchment scroll tied to the top with a big red bow. He took my hand, peeled open my fingers, and laid the pretty package on my palm. 

With trembling fingers I tugged at one end of the ribbon and freed the scroll. It was, of course, another poem. I was too agitated to do more than scan through the syrupy words of love he’d written, but the sentiment was clear; I was his muse and every performance would be done with me in mind. I set the scrap of paper aside with a smile and turned to the much more interesting gift box.

Ethan, who apparently couldn’t bear my slow progress, pulled open the top of the box for me. “Ta da!” he exclaimed, revealing two matching, white-gold rings, nestled in a satin-lined container. “I’ve been planning to give you this for a while now - I got it about a week after you moved in - but I was waiting for the perfect occasion.” 

He took out one of the rings and held it up to the light. I could see it was etched with a delicate pattern of intertwined circles. It was very handsome. I held up my hand and he slid the small silver circlet on the ring finger of my left hand, precisely where a wedding ring would have gone.

Then he took the other ring out of the box and put it on his own finger. “I bought two of them so we’d match. They weren't very expensive, but the guy at the store swore to me that they were one of a kind. I thought it would be a way for us to be together, even when we're apart. A symbol of our commitment. What do you think?”

“Oh, Ethan! They’re beautiful.” I fell on him, squeezing him joyfully.

He held his hand up and admired the candlelight glinting off the small piece of metal. “Now I’ll always have you with me no matter how far apart we are . . . Still, I hate that you're not going to be there with me.”

“Not as much as me,” I assured him. “But your agent would flip out if I was there.”

“How am I ever going to perform without my muse?” He held up the poem he’d given me, waving it in the air with an impish smile.

“You'll do fine. I know you will. You’re always amazing.”

“Well, that’s true,” he laughed and stood up. “Are you hungry? I ordered dinner from your favorite Thai place.” He gestured towards the table and just the mention of food had my stomach gurgling. “Of course you’re hungry. Come on, Mr. Bottomless Pit.”

So we sat, and we ate the delicious food, and we laughed and talked and flirted. It was the perfect evening. Ethan was so attentive. He pulled out all the stops. Everything was flawless. It was the kind of romantic dinner I’d always dreamed of having; just like you’d see in some Hollywood movie.

After dinner he insisted on drawing a bath for us to share. He poured in some fragrant bath oil and, while I was in the other room making sure all the candles were out, he sprinkled a handful of rose petals on the water. I kidded him about being a romantic fool, but secretly I loved it. He tenderly undressed me and then helped me into the tub, joining me as soon as he was naked too. We spent the next fifteen minutes fooling around, pretending to wash each other, while mostly just enjoying the physical contact. By the time the water was cold enough to drive us out, we were both fully aroused and ready to move the proceedings to our bed. 

Once there he kissed me and then carefully pushed me down till I was spread out atop the quilt, on full display for him. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He leaned down to nibble at my lips, eliciting a low moan of pleasure. “You’re like the perfect instrument; I can play you almost as well as I play Misha. Pulling the most beautiful sounds out of you upon demand.” I giggled right on cue. “Shit, you have no idea how much I love to make love to you, Babe.”

“Well, then, what are you waiting for?” I asked, reaching over to the nightstand for a condom and holding it up in order to encourage my boyfriend to hurry

With a mischievous grin Ethan snatched the condom out of my hand and ostentatiously tossed it over his shoulder before crawling up the bed to straddle me.

“What . . .” I questioned, holding up one hand to stop my lover’s progress.

“We don’t need those anymore,” Ethan insisted, waving his ring-adorned hand in my face. “It’s just you and me, Babe. Forever.”

Still, I resisted. My mind flashed back to a conversation I’d had not so very long ago with another man I had assumed I’d be with forever. My suggestion that we go without condoms had enraged Brian. It was one of the few times when he’d gotten a tiny bit physical with me. But the incident had certainly made an impact. And his words were blasting through my mind right then, accompanied by metaphorical warning sirens.

‘We could do it raw if we wanted to. We’re both negative‘, I had suggested.

‘You want me to fuck you without a condom, huh? Is that what you want? You want me to shove my dick up your tight little ass and come inside you?’

‘Yes. Do it!’ I pressed him.

‘You stupid little twat!’ Brian had growled at me, taking my face in his hand and holding my jaw with a pincher-like grip so I was forced to look him in the eye. ‘You NEVER let anyone fuck you without a condom, Justin! I don’t care what pretty little promises they offer you. You don’t trust your life to anyone like that. You hear me?’

I had pulled away from him, turning my head so I didn’t have to look at those intense hazel eyes. But he was unrelenting.

‘Promise me, Justin! Promise me you will never do something as stupid as letting anyone fuck you without a condom.’

And I had given him my promise.

“What’s wrong?” Ethan interrupted my trip down memory lane. “We both got tested only a month ago. It’s completely safe.” But I still didn’t move the hand that was stopping him from moving forward. “Justin, Babe, you trust me, right?”

I looked at the restraining hand that I still had pressed against his chest and saw the silver ring gleaming there. It was a symbol of commitment. Ethan had gone out of his way to do this special thing for me. To reassure me and relieve the insecurities related to his going out of town without me. That was a big fucking deal. He loved me; he’d proved it with this ring. It would be churlish not to trust him, right?

So I took my hand off Ethan’s chest and smiled uncertainly up at the man I’d just made this huge commitment to and tried not to listen to the pesky doubts that never completely went away even after my partner began to make sweet, passionate love to my body.

Ethan was beyond attentive to me for the next couple of days. He brought me breakfast in bed in the mornings, he bought me little presents, he gave me extra money and told me to buy myself something nice, and he even took pains to pick up after himself around the apartment. I, of course, happily accepted all these tokens of his affection. 

But even so I couldn’t completely get rid of this uneasy feeling in my gut. I kept picturing the face of that fawning fan who had been flirting with Ethan during the Heifetz Competition. It made me even more uncomfortable with the fact that Ethan would be in Harrisburg without me for almost a whole week. But I had nobody I could voice any of my worries to so I just internalized it all. 

Was it any wonder that my insomnia was worse than ever? 

Not sleeping wasn’t helping me at school much either. The summer seminar I was taking had turned out to be a lot more work than I had anticipated; the professor seemed to think, because it was summer, his students had all the time in the world to work on his almost daily assignments. Because my gimp hand was acting up worse than ever, it took me almost double the time it took the rest of the students to complete the work we were assigned, and I still had to work as well. I repeatedly found myself staying up till the middle of the night, slaving away on one project or another, so even if I had been able to sleep, I wouldn't have been getting much of it. 

Finally, two days after Ethan’s big, romantic dinner, I broke down and admitted - to myself at least - that I couldn’t do the most recent assignment purely by hand. After work that night I cleared away the remains of the bouquet of roses that was still sitting in the vase in the center of our tiny table, and I lugged my computer back over. Only, when I got it all hooked up and plugged in, the fucking thing wouldn’t boot up. I tried two or three times without any luck. When I took a step back and looked at the casing to try and figure out if there was something that wasn’t properly connected, I noticed that there was a big dent in the back rear corner of the tower. A dent that looked suspiciously like someone had dropped the computer from a rather great height. When I lifted the box up and carefully shook it, I was disheartened to hear something inside rattling loosely. 

“Fuck!” I grumbled, sitting the useless thing down on the table again.

“What’s wrong, Babe?” Ethan asked as he was coming in from the bathroom.

“My computer isn’t working and I need it for this assignment,” I explained. “You didn’t drop it when you moved it the other day, did you?”

“No,” Ethan answered succinctly.

“Then how did it get this huge dent in the back?” I pointed to the spot.

“No idea. You sure it wasn’t always like that?” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” I maintained with a frown, but knew it was useless to accuse him of something without proof. I took out the project I was supposed to have finished by ten AM the next morning and groaned. “Now what am I going to do? My fucking hand will never hold up long enough to finish this and Lashley already warned the class that he wasn’t going to give any extensions.”

Ethan came to look over my shoulder at the sketch I’d been working on. “What is it supposed to be?”

“It’s supposed to be a drawing of water cascading out of a fountain,” I explained as I too examined the picture. “The assignment was to focus on perfecting the water features but that’s not easy with my hand acting up. Water is tricky, you know? The amount of shading and the detail work is a bitch. And I didn’t even start on the foliage and greenery that Lashley suggested to balance out the composition.” I flopped down on the couch in defeat. “It’s gonna take me hours to finish this without my computer.”

“You know, Babe, you’ve done nothing but bitch about this damn class all summer,” Ethan interceded. “And judging by that,” he pointed to the unfinished drawing, “you’re not learning much.” 

Ethan chuckled, trying to make a joke out of his comment, but it really rankled anyway. I knew the sketch wasn’t very good, but it was still unfinished. If I’d had more time to work on it - or if my computer was still functional - I could make it much better. Or at least recognizable. But it felt like Ethan was judging my artistic talent, as a whole, on this one partially finished school assignment. Right then, however, I was too discouraged and too tired to explain that to him, so I just sat there on the couch and wallowed in my growing depression.

Ethan, who probably sensed that I wasn’t happy with his comment, sat down next to me and put one consoling arm around my shoulders. “I hate seeing you this upset, Babe,” he commiserated. “If this class is giving you so much trouble, you should just drop it. You don’t need the added aggravation.”

“I can’t just drop it,” I argued. “I’m already a little behind since I took less than a full load of classes last fall. If I drop this class, there’s no way I’ll graduate on time. Besides, it’s too late to get my money back if I withdraw.” Of course that brought to mind the whole money issue in general, and the frustration about how I was going to pay for my tuition come fall, which only heightened my depression. “Damn it!”

I threw the sketchpad across the room.

“Babe, stop,” Ethan ordered and grabbed both my hands in his. “Maybe this just isn’t your best medium. I told you to take the animation class instead of this seminar.”

“But the animation class isn’t part of the core curriculum and wouldn’t have applied towards the credits I need to graduate,” I reminded him. “Besides, I need this class. I need more experience working on composition. And the topics we’ve discussed have been really interesting. If it weren’t for the professor being a total bitch, I’d probably be enjoying the class. I just need more time to work on the assignments is all.”

“Couldn’t you take it another time then? With a different professor.”

“I suppose,” I conceded but with ill grace.

“Then drop it. You don’t need the headaches this Lashley guy is causing,” Ethan pushed. “Take the rest of the summer off. You can work more and save up for the fall and take the classes you want then.” He gave me a familiar squeeze and then got up off the couch to pick up the fallen sketch pad. “Plus, if you’re not wasting your time in that useless class, I’ll get to have more time with my favorite blond boy.” 

That did make sense. I really wasn’t going to do well in this class with my hand the way it was anyway, so why bother? And if I didn't have to take time out to go to class or study, I could work even more. That would solve the problem of how I was going to save up enough to cover tuition for the fall. Maybe I’d even find some spare money to get my computer fixed before classes started. Hopefully by fall Ethan would also be bringing in some real income from his recording contract and concerts, which would allow me to cut back on work and really concentrate on school for a change. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I finally answered. “I can’t turn in crap like this anyway; I might as well drop the fucking class.” 

So, the next morning, instead of going to class, I went straight to the registrar's office and effectively dropped out of school. 

Chapter 20 - Abandoned and Rejected. 

You know how, in fairytales, the princess will meet her prince and after they look at each other‘s eyes for the first time they fall hopelessly in love? They somehow know in that first instance that they’re true soulmates. It’s love at first sight.

Yeah, this is why I no longer believe in fairytales.

I’m pretty sure that the Grimm Brothers must’ve been psychopathic narcissists themselves to write that kind of crap. Real life doesn’t work like that. I mean, yes, sometimes you do just click with someone, either on a physical or an emotional level. That’s valid. I’ve felt like that a time or two myself. But I’ve also learned to be very wary of anyone trying to sweep me off my feet with promises of forever romance, palaces of gold, and endless happiness. Because anyone professing their undying love to you within the first few hours or days after you meet is just plain full of shit.

What the fairytales don’t tell you about is that, after the prince has won his princess and carried her away into the sunset, he gets bored with her pretty damn fast. This is known as the Devaluation Phase. Once they’ve acquired you, and you’re no longer an interesting challenge, the narcissist has no incentive to keep up any pretenses. They let the mask of their perfection fall and you begin to see the flaws. However, the process goes two ways, and he’ll also begin to point out your flaws. Usually, in quite a nasty way.

At the start of the devaluing phase the romantic fantasy is still intact because your prince sincerely believes that you are still potentially perfect, just in need of a bit of guidance. So he begins to subtly try to change you. To make you over into whatever he thinks is ideal; someone who will be subservient, loyal, and always cognizant of his perfection. He will begin to make suggestions on how you might improve yourself; how you can better fit into the script of HIS fairytale.

And because you want his love, his approval, you eagerly go along with all his suggestions. Even better, you anticipate what he’ll want and change yourself without even being asked. You probably even convince yourself all these changes were YOUR idea. 

But since nobody’s perfect, eventually you’ll either fail to meet all his expectations or, even worse, he’ll go too far and you’ll start to resist. You decide you want out of the fairytale. Now the prince no longer sees you as the perfect embodiment of all his relationship fantasies. You have fallen off your pedestal. You have lost whatever value you might once have had.

In my personal fairytale, the ogre isn’t the owner of the tower I was ‘rescued’ from; the ogre is what the prince turns into once he concludes the princess isn’t perfect.

Luke was thrilled when I told him I would be able to work full time after I dropped out of my seminar class. So thrilled that he actually promoted me to a team lead position and gave me a modest raise. I was finally making above minimum wage. Hooray! The downside, though, was that my new job was still mind-numbingly boring but came with a heap of new responsibilities that often kept me at work even beyond my allotted forty hours a week. Hooray?

At the same time, Ethan was busy getting ready for his big debut performance. He was either practicing or meeting with Glen most of the day. He usually left before I did in the mornings and was already asleep by the time I got back home after working one late event or another. With our conflicting and hectic schedules the only time we even connected was when one of us would wake the other for brief, and somewhat unsatisfying, sexual encounters. I was too exhausted to complain much, though. 

What I did complain about was that Ethan’s crazy schedule meant he was shirking a lot of the household chores I had come to rely on him to assist with. He’d completely given up any pretense of helping out with cleaning the apartment, emptying the cats’ litter box, doing laundry, or even just picking up after himself. I’d had to practically beg him to stop and pick up groceries - thank fuck I got to eat at work most days or I would have starved to death - before the cats ran out of food and started eating us instead. But the worst inconvenience of all was when I ran out of allegory meds and Ethan kept forgetting to go to the pharmacy for me. 

Of course this led to yet another argument and Ethan getting all bent out of shape about how I was constantly nagging at him. But since he still had control of all our money, it’s not like I could do any of these things myself. I mentally kicked myself for procrastinating about changing my payroll deposits back, and kept promising myself I’d get around to it the following day, but then I’d inevitably get too busy at work and forget. After a few days of this, Ethan lost his temper and stomped out of the apartment in a huff claiming I didn’t appreciate how much stress he was under. He didn’t come home that night. But in the morning, when he did return, he brought with him several bags of groceries, cat food, and litter, so I had to forgive him, right? And I tried not to sound too naggy when I reminded him I still needed my allergy meds. Mostly, I was just too tired to argue with him anymore.

Between my usual summer hay fever, the apartment being a mess with everything covered in cat hair, and me having to ration my meds, not to mention the fact that I still wasn’t sleeping well and was working like a madman, I suppose it shouldn’t have been a big surprise that I got sick just three days before Ethan was due to leave for his Harrisburg trip. It ended up being one of those horrible summer colds that make you feel like shit but aren’t so debilitating that you can justify calling off from work. I dosed up on over-the-counter cold meds and dragged my sagging ass through my days as best I could, but it wasn’t pretty. 

“Fuck. It smells like something died in here,” Ethan complained when he stopped in to drop off his violin before heading off to another meeting that afternoon. 

I was still in bed since I was nursing my cold and didn’t have to be to work for another ninety minutes. “Sorry. I haven’t had time to clean the cat box.”

“Shit, Justin. Could you be more lazy? I mean, you’re not going to school anymore, and you don’t have to be to work until two; couldn’t you at least get out of bed long enough to clean up around here once in awhile?” Ethan growled, stomping across the room to open the window, presumably to let in some fresh air.

“Please don’t leave the window open, Ethan,” I jumped up to rush over and close the window not ten seconds later, triggering another coughing attack due to the abrupt movement. “I caught Felicity pulling at that ripped section of the window screen yesterday. It’s almost big enough now for her to get her whole body through, and I don’t want her getting out of the apartment,” I explained when the coughing let up enough for me to speak again. “I’ve put a call in to the building super to come fix it but I don’t know when he’ll get here.”

“So, what? We’re supposed to die of heat exhaustion in this stiflingly hot room because of your stupid cat?” Ethan complained with an accusatory glance at my kitten. “I used to let Wolfram go in and out the window all the time, Justin. He was fine. I don’t see why you’re so worried about Felicity.”

“She’s just a kitten, Ethan. She’s too little to go out. Besides, both PETA and the ASPCA recommend that cats stay completely indoors - it’s safer for them and they’re less likely to contract diseases, which means they live longer,” I opined in typical PSA fashion.

Ethan, however, wasn’t in the mood for a helpful lecture. “Well, if you’re gonna keep her inside all the time, you’re damn sure gonna have to do a better job at cleaning out the fucking litter box.”

I was sneezing too hard to argue with him. 

“Well, I’m out of here. I’ve got to meet Glenn for a late lunch, and then I’m going to pick up my new tux,” Ethan announced as he headed back towards the door.

“New tux?” I asked.

“Of course. You don’t expect the guest soloist for the Harrisburg Symphony to show up in some crappy rental tux, do you? I’ve got to look the part. Besides, it’s an investment. Hopefully, I’ll be getting a lot of use out of it in the coming months,” he expounded, already out the door before I could comment further.

“Fuck,” I muttered to myself, thinking that a new tux didn’t sound like a negligible expense; I hoped he was getting an advance from Harrisburg to cover that cost because we certainly didn’t have room for it in our budget. Then I remembered what I’d needed to ask Ethan and had to run to the door so I could yell down the stairwell after him. “Ethan! Don’t forget my allergy meds! Please, I’m dying here.”

I heard a faint, “yeah, yeah, if I have time . . .” drifting back up the stairs at me.

I was not reassured that I would be getting my allergy meds anytime in the near future.

Ethan was in a jubilant mood the day I dropped him off at the train station for his departure to Harrisburg. He was babbling non-stop the entire way, regaling me with every factoid under the sun about the pieces he’d be playing at the concert. He was looking forward to meeting the conductor he’d be working with and said he was glad he was arriving early enough to get in several days of rehearsals before the performance proper. Glen had assured him that he’d make tons of important industry contacts that way. All in all, it sounded like it would be quite the adventure.

Of course, I wouldn’t be sharing in that adventure so all Ethan’s expostulating left me feeling blasé at best. I wasn’t part of Ethan’s glamorous new life, so why should I care? I wasn’t even allowed to attend the performance. Needless to say, I wasn’t feeling even a tenth of the excitement my partner was experiencing. 

When we got to the train station I was about to jump out of the taxi and go inside with him but he stopped me. “You don’t need to come in, Babe. I know you need to get to work. Besides, I’m just going to pick up a copy of Billboard and read that while I’m waiting. Got to stay up with the industry news, you know.”

“You sure? I don't mind waiting with you and I’ve still got a few minutes before I have to head to work.”

“I’m sure.” The cabbie had already got Ethan’s bags out of the trunk, so Ethan handed the guy a tip, before looking back my way. “Here.” He handed me a small money envelope that he’d pulled out of his pocket. “I didn’t have time to go get your allergy prescription for you but there’s $250 in there. That should be enough to pay for the meds and get you through to the end of the week.”

“Thank you, Ethan.” I was so happy that he’d at least remembered I still existed that I instantly forgave him for forgetting to pick up the actual prescription. 

“Okay. I’ve got my phone, my wallet, my ticket,” he said as he felt his pockets to make sure of each item. “I think that’s all. So, wish me luck and I’m off.”

“You don’t need luck. You’re going to be wonderful,” I assured him like the dutiful partner I was. 

“When you’re right, you’re right.” He hefted Misha up and started to get out of the cab. “See you in six days, Babe.”

Before he could get all the way out I pulled him back, leaning over and raising my face to kiss him goodbye, but he recoiled away from me.

“Sorry, Babe, but I can’t afford to catch your cold. Not right before a big performance.” Instead he lowered my head and left a very quick kiss on the crown of my head. “That’ll have to suffice till I get back. Bye!”

And then, without another word, he was gone. He didn’t even look back at the cab before he entered the station. I felt abandoned and rejected. 

Instead of stewing about it, though, I decided to splurge and take myself out to lunch. I had the cab drive me to a little bakery a few blocks away from where I worked. After paying the cabbie, I still had over $200 left, which was the most money I’d had in my pocket at one time in months. It felt good to be flush for a change. I treated myself to Little T’s world famous roast turkey breast sandwich served on focaccia bread with spinach pesto and arugula; it’s the best sandwich in town and I always looked forward to having one. By the time I made it into work I was in a much better mood.

However, work that evening was a total bitch. Two of the servers on my team didn’t show so we were woefully understaffed and had to hustle twice as hard to make sure that everyone at the UPMC medical conference dinner was fed. By the way, doctors are some of the worst customers ever known to the dining industry; they were all short tempered and complained vocally about the slow service. By the end of the night, I was seriously thinking of stabbing one old, silver-haired coot, who threatened to tell on me to the manager, with a fork.

Luckily, doctors tend to go to bed early, so the dinner ended at a reasonable hour and I made it home before eleven. The apartment seemed ridiculously empty and dark. Which was silly, right? How could that tiny studio apartment, filled with a human and two cats, feel empty? On top of everything else, I hadn’t had time to pick up my allergy meds and even the over-the-counter stuff was beginning to wear off, so I was a sneezy, drippy, coughing mess. Basically, I was miserable AND lonely.

Figuring it was still early enough to call Ethan - which would at least fix my loneliness problem - I picked up my phone, only to discover that I had no service.

“What the fuck?”

I crawled back out of bed and went over to the table where there was a huge stack of mail that had been piling up unread all week. Near the bottom of the stack, I found an envelope with red-dyed edges from our phone service provider. With a groan, I tore open the envelope, noting the word ‘Urgent’ stamped on the front, and confirmed that Ethan had apparently neglected to pay the phone bill. No wonder the phones had been cut off. According to the bill, the only way to restore service was to go to the office, in person, during business hours, and pay the entire $183 that was past due. 

Fuck my life.

By the time I’d taken the bus downtown and paid the phone bill, I had only $9.50 left out of the $250 Ethan had given me. And that had to last me the entire week. I marched over to Carnegie Hall, walked up to Luke’s office and knocked, intending to finally reverse the auto-deposit of my paychecks into Ethan’s account. But it apparently wasn’t my day. I discovered that Luke was gone on vacation - his replacement telling me that Luke was traveling back to Ohio for his grandparents wedding anniversary - and he wouldn’t be back till the following Tuesday. Tim, one of my fellow team leads and the guy covering for Luke that week, didn’t know where the payroll deposit forms were. It looked like I’d have to wait at least one more pay cycle to fix my banking woes.

Which did nothing to help my money problems in the meantime. 

I didn’t know what to do. I still needed my allergy meds and I was almost out of regular cold medicine now too. I could scrounge food at work most days, but there wasn’t much in the way of groceries at home, and what was I gonna do the two days I wasn’t scheduled to work. The $9.50 in my pocket wasn’t even enough to get me to and from work on the bus for the week. I supposed I could call mom and beg her for a short-term loan, but that would be so embarrassing, especially since, on Ethan’s urging, I’d been blowing her off and not returning her calls for the past three weeks. I didn’t have many other alternatives, though.

In desperation, I tried to call Ethan a couple times that day. My hope was that he might be able to have his bank transfer money to me; I still had my old savings account, although it only had the $25 minimum in it required to keep the account open, which wasn’t enough to pay for my meds. Unfortunately, Ethan didn’t answer; all my calls went straight to voicemail. I left messages, but still hadn’t heard back by the time I went to bed that night. 

I called at least twice a day for the next three days but could never get through to Ethan. Finally, on Friday afternoon, I called Erato Records, told them I was Ethan’s ‘cousin’ and that it was a family emergency, and begged them to please get a message to him to call me immediately. That seemed to do the trick. A half hour later, Ethan called me back.

“What the fuck are you doing, Justin,” he hissed at me angrily through the phone. “You can’t be calling Erato! If Glen had been there when you called he’d have flipped out!”

“Well, if you'd returned any of my messages, I wouldn’t have had to call Erato,” I grumbled back at him. 

“I didn’t get any messages,” Ethan stated point blank. 

“What? I’ve been calling all week,” I replied, totally confused, but then decided not to waste time on that issue and just plow ahead with the real reason I called. “Listen, Ethan, there was a problem with the phone bill and our service was cut off on Monday. Maybe, for some reason, your voicemail service wasn’t turned back on with the rest? I don’t know. Anyway, I had to use all the money you left to pay that and now I don’t have anything . . .”

I broke off when I realized Ethan was no longer listening to me. There were voices in the background on his end and I could hear him speaking to someone in a muffled voice, “yeah. Sorry. Just gimme one minute.” Then he said to me, “I’ve gotta go; break is over and I’m due back in rehearsal. Please don’t call Erato again, Justin.” After which he hung up on me.

I was still grumbling at my phone five minutes later when Ethan’s buddy, Jeff, walked by. “Problems, Taylor?”

I didn’t want to share all my dirty laundry, or my money woes, with Jeff or anybody else, but the guy had become a friend of sorts, so I had to tell him something. “Just that Ethan’s in Harrisburg for his symphony debut tomorrow and I’m stuck here,” I offered, even though it was only a half-truth.

“That sucks,” Jeff commiserated, then added helpfully, “but you know, if you wanted to go, I’d be happy to cover your shift for you.”

“Thanks, but I’m kinda broke, so I have no way of getting there.”

“No problem, dude. You can borrow my car,” Jeff offered magnanimously. “Can’t keep the world’s greatest love birds apart, right?”