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.