Ch 02 - The Police

Spencer shook his head.  He’d made up his mind.

“I have to do something first,” Spencer said.

“Okay,” Bobby said before turning back into the bedroom.

Spencer picked up his phone.  He found his ex-boyfriend’s number and dialed.  He waited until it went to voicemail.

“This is Spence.  I just wanted to let you know I think you’re a fucking jerk if you post the tape somewhere or share it with anyone.  That was something we made in private.  If you want to do it then do it but if you think it’s some way to blackmail me so we get back together you’re wrong.  That’s about the worst thing you could do.  I think we both need to move on with our lives.”

He ended the call, powered off the phone, and set it down on the table.  He felt relieved.  It was the best thing he could have done.  He felt as if he had given something up.  He knew he needed sleep.  He rolled to his side, pulled the blanket from the top of the sofa down over himself.

Four hours of sleep and Spencer was awake feeling as if his brain had been refreshed.  It was the strange thing he always felt about himself, that after binge drinking he slept so much better.  He pushed himself to his feet and noted his possessions on the coffee table.  He remembered taking them out of his pockets shortly after falling asleep.  He was pleased he had gotten them to the top of the table instead of dropping them on the floor or worse having them fall out into the sofa cushions.

He wiped at his eyes, got to his feet, and stretched.  He felt awake but he was still full of liquor and bad food.  His clothes stuck to him in odd places so he decided to shower.  He got towels from the cupboard where he knew they were and went into the bathroom.  He looked at himself in the mirror.

“What life am I living?” he said aloud to himself.

Showering was quick and he was disappointed to find his old clothes on the floor where he had left them.  He picked up his underwear.  He didn’t want to put them back on but he did.  He pulled on his jeans and then his shirt.  He looked at himself again, checked his eyebrows and his hair. 

He walked to the bedroom doorway where he peeked in to see the guys still asleep.  He smiled at them.  He was feeling good but he had a slight headache.  He knew he wasn’t hydrated enough but there was still a risk of feeling sick.  He thought a joint might calm him down.  He knew Triston kept some weed and papers in a drawer in the bedroom.  He went to it as quietly as he could, pulled open the drawer, and moved aside the underwear to find the weed and papers in the very back.

You’re not supposed to keep your drugs with your clothes, he thought.  He picked up the bag and the papers then went to the living room coffee table where he rolled himself a joint.  He snuck back into the bedroom and returned the stash. 

The living room felt too boring, too familiar, he thought to step outside somewhere but as he contemplated the illegal nature of what he was about to do he thought there were few places he could do it.  If someone smelled the weed it could be trouble but then he thought about his life of regrets and not taking risks.  I’m an adult, he told himself.

He tucked the joint behind his ear, found himself a lighter, and headed out of the apartment.  He made sure the door wasn’t locked.  Just a quick toke and then he’d be back.  He closed the door and walked away down the hall.

He remembered the side exit to the apartment building and made his way through the cavernous halls and one way doors until he reached the alleyway that led back to the front of the building.  He took the joint from his ear, made sure no one was around then lit up.  He always hated the first puff but he held it in his lungs anyway.

After a few hits he was feeling better, feeling hungry in fact.  He was delighted by his act when the side door opened and he looked to see a handsome man step out tapping a pack of cigarettes against the palm of his hand.

The man set off his gaydar if not by being a homosexual then wishing he was.  Spencer remembered the joint in his fingers and for a moment he felt a panic to run.  Toss it away and run, he told himself but he couldn’t find the determination to look foolish.

“Have to smoke outside too?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” Spencer said.

“My wife thinks the kids will get cancer.”  The man walked down the alley, unwrapped the cigarettes, and opened them.  He was muscled.  Spencer felt a tingling sensation from the sight of the man’s chest and veins in his forearms.

“I grew up in a house of smokers and I don’t have cancer.  I jog every morning.”

“That’s important,” Spencer said.  He wondered if the guy was ex-army by the way he looked. 

“What’s that you’re smoking?  Is that weed?” the man asked stopping a foot away. 

“Uh,” Spencer said.

“Can I get a hit?”

“It’s just a cigarette,” Spencer said.

“Come on, I won’t tell anyone,” the man smiled.

Spencer felt trapped and for some reason he felt he could trust the man.  He offered the remains of the joint in his hand.  The man took it, looked it over then went to the cement wall and knocked off the cherry.

“Hey what are you doing?”

“What’s your name?”

“Mike,” Spencer said.  He didn’t know why he picked the name Mike.  He always picked the name Mike.

“Well Mike you’re going to have to come with me.  You’re under arrest.”