Ch 19 - Hating Home

Dinner was easy even if they didn’t talk much.  They felt comfortable with each other not saying anything.  They had a few drinks with the meal, walked home, and saw the vodka still on the coffee table so Spencer invited him for a drink.

“I shouldn’t but I really want to,” Josh said.

“A small one,” Spencer said.

They went into the living room and sat.  Spencer poured a drink for each of them, Josh’s first then his own, set down the bottle and picked up his glass.  They clinked them together before touching the glass to their lips.  Josh downed his in gulp and Spencer sipped a little, set it down.

“One thing,” Spencer said.

“What?”

“It’s not for shots.  This is sipping.  It’s top shelf.”

“Really?” Josh asked.

“Here try another one but drink it more slowly this time,” Spencer said.

Spencer poured him another drink and Josh raised it again, they clinked glasses, but this time Josh sipped at the vodka.

“That’s pretty good,” Josh said.

“Thanks,” Spencer said.

“My boyfriend, Paul, likes this kind of stuff.  God, I guess I shouldn’t be calling him my boyfriend, although it’s not official.”

“You moved out,” Spencer said.

“I guess,” Josh said.

“Did you say anything to him?”

“I left him a note,” Josh said.  “It was tough.  We’ve been together over two years.”

Spencer didn’t say anything.  He wanted to say the relationship was over when his boyfriend hit him.  He wanted to say it was over when he moved out.  He wanted to say it was dead and couldn’t be repaired.  He sat back against the sofa, his glass on his thigh he let himself relax.

Josh set his glass on the coffee table and began to run his finger along the lip of the glass.

“I didn’t want to do it.  I feel bad.  I feel like I should have said something but I also kind of feel like both of us knew it was over.  It’s tearing me apart but I shouldn’t hate to go home,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” Spencer said.

It’s easy, he thought, you can be anything you want to be, go anywhere you want to go, and all those lies we tell each other but really a person’s life is small, their group of friends is small, their family... did he have a family?  Were they for him after he came out?

“He’s not a bad guy.  It’s as much my fault as it is his.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s dumb but we’d challenge each other, say stupid things, and you know how there’s some things you know you shouldn’t say but you do it anyways.  I’ve done it.  I’ve said those stupid things.”

“But did you attack him?  Did you actually start the violence?”

Josh clenched his jaw at the thought, at the insinuation.  They had wrestled, struggled, but no he had never hit Paul first, but he did set him off sometimes.  And at first it had been just some small accident but each time the boundary got thinner.  It was some mixture of discipline and humiliation.

“I didn’t start it.  Sometimes I’d hit him back, at first anyway, but then even that got out of control.  I knew he’d win.  I knew he had it in him.  I always restrained myself.”

He thought about when he’d hit Paul back and Paul would return with more force, more intensity.  He thought about the look in the man’s eyes.  He felt like crying but stopped himself.  He didn’t want to show weakness over the man, not here, and not now.

“Hey Josh, you don’t have to go anywhere.  You don’t have to go back.  The pot was a little thing, I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but you still owe me one, brand new, no thrift store one with scratches in it.”

Josh let out a nervous laugh.  He downed his drink and set the glass down.  He felt tired and drunk.  He sat back against the sofa.

“I should get up and go finish my workout,” Josh said.

“Why don’t you stay here and watch some television?” Spencer asked.

“That sounds so much better,” Josh said.  He kicked off his shoes and put his socked feet on the coffee table next to the bottle.

Spencer looked to the socked feet.  It was a minor annoyance.  He’d say something later.  He downed his drink, put the glass on the table, and picked up the remote.  He turned on the television and they were both illuminated by the images there.  He looked to Josh.  There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do. 

Was he a wounded puppy?  Was he being too protective?  What was it like to be in a relationship with someone with that kind of past?  But his thoughts were silenced by the alcohol and the sound of the television as he looked up to the screen.