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By *rgeo OP Man
8 hours ago
WOLVERHAMPTON |
We were about twenty minutes from home, coming up to a favourite café where the cakes and pastries were excellent. We would often stop here. I pulled into a space at the side of the road. Probably, if there had been no parking space, I would have carried on home.
“But you can take your pick here,” I said, “My treat. Consider it your proper reward.”
I pointed to the cafe. Donuts were his favourite. I preferred the flaky pastries with raisins. He grinned and we got out of the car. It wasn’t until we got into the cafe that I realised he was still wearing his Apostle uniform as we had come straight from home earlier that morning. There was then no need for him to change again at work. He turned a few heads as we went in and found a seat. Normally, his facial features alone were enough to gain him approving glances, but, with the addition of the smart yellow and black jacket with its military insignia, everything about him attracted attention.
We found a table in the corner, away from people, and ordered our drinks and cakes. Something inside my head had altered recently and I wanted a chance to articulate it, look at it and get to see it better. Sometimes something spoken turns out to be completely different from what it looked like before it was said.
“You know I love all the Apostles, don’t you?” I asked him, spilling it out as soon as the waiter had taken our order.
“Of course,” said James. “That’s obvious. You look after everyone so well. You’ve looked after me very well.”
I looked into his eyes. Today they looked more blue than green, because of the light behind me which reflected in them.
“I love you, James, but in a different way from all the others.” I blurted it out. I could feel the water coming to my eyes. I had to be careful not to go down a sentimental path.
His face went serious, brooding almost. He blinked a few times in rapid succession. His throat tightened and he swallowed.
“You know what happened a few weeks ago,” he said, referring to the time when he’d found me on his bed, “What was that all about?” I didn’t know whether he was deflecting away from my comment or going to the heart of it.
I drew in one long heavy breath and then exhaled slowly.
“That was about power,” I said. “When you love someone, you lose all your power. I wanted you to hurt me.” The tears were welling up now. I blinked to dispel them.
“Hurt you?” he said, “But I thought you enjoyed yourself.”
“I did enjoy myself,” I explained, “But I wouldn’t have minded being hurt, destroyed.”
I paused and looked at him again.
“Why were you so gentle with me, James? It felt like someone else was in the room, not you.”
He frowned.
“That’s what I thought too,” James said. “I didn’t think you were really there. It was like I was being given a blank canvas to make love to. It really turned me on that you never looked at me once that afternoon in bed. It allowed me to be myself.”
Our coffee and cakes arrived. He had chosen a huge caramel donut with a frosted sugar coating.
“Why did you want to be hurt?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”
I took a few sips of the coffee. It was hot, strong, and creamy.
“Then I could hate you. Then I could be afraid of you. Then I could blame you. Then I could relate to you on my terms,” I said, pouring out things I had never understood until now.
His eyes were open wide in wonder at what I was saying. He hadn’t touched his food.
“Then I could control exactly who and what you are to me,” I finished.
We both went silent and we both picked up our cups. He was thinking about what I had said, processing it. I was doing the same thing, trying to find a way to put it clearly.
“It’s a lonely life for all of us,” I said. “I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t want it to be like this, but it is. Sex helps me escape from loneliness. The Apostles help me escape. Working at the club helps me escape. Living with you and Luke helps me escape.”
I was starting to feel a little lost, unsure of whether what I was saying had any basis in truth. Sitting with him in this familiar place, eating food we both enjoyed and drinking our favourite type of coffee, talking about loneliness seemed absurd.
“So loving me makes you feel lonely?” he asked. “But if I can give you a reason not to love me, that would stop the loneliness.”
He had got it all in those two sentences.
“Why not just tell me you love me?” he said.
My face crumbled and I was close to sobbing.
He took my hand. He squeezed it tightly.
“Because it spoils things,“ I said. “It’s like a trap. It’s like laying down a bomb in a minefield.”
“Not if you mean it,” he said. “If you mean it at the time, in the moment, then it helps you.”
There was a very long pause. I took a bite of my pastry and another swig of coffee. James bit into the donut, having to open his mouth wide to accommodate it. As he put it back on his plate, he had a trace of sugar dust on his nose.
“I love you, James,” I said. “I love you. I have loved you from the first time I met you. That’s why I want you to beat me up. I want you to be that thug you were with Darren, when you pushed that other guy outside the club. Then I don’t have to bear the pain of loving you.”
By now I was having to wipe the tears away with a handkerchief. Fortunately, there was music playing and our corner of the café was empty. No-one else was aware of my emotional state.
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