I wanted to accuse him of being childish, but that most well-hidden part of me, my conscience, warned me off. A more hypocritical allegation would have been hard for me to make, given that I was seriously considering doing a hundred hours’ overtime in the office every week just to avoid coming home to the look on his face. He was avoiding me, I was avoiding him, and together we completely failed because we kept running into each other.
We did live in the same house, after all, and here we were.
Here we were. Exactly where I’d predicted we’d end up. Skin crawling with guilt and irritation every time we made the mistake of entering the same room and noticing there was only one fucking exit which the other always seemed to be blocking.
And no way out.
“I should never have got involved with you,” I blurted out one evening. Masochism, exhaustion and an angry fucking erection Steven would refuse to do anything about drew me into the kitchen five minutes after he’d announced an urge to make coffee and get the hell away from me.
I could have made my way upstairs and spent the few hours before bedtime making sweet love to my right hand, reacquainting myself with my Supernatural DVDs and planning a night out to find some fresh meat. Could have, but I liked to bottom, I liked to be fucked hard and I liked to make it hurt. Why not carry that through to everyday life as well, just to really twist the knife in my own guts?
Steven thudded the coffee mug down on the worktop.
“I mean—” I began, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed in a typical I-mean-business pose my thundering heart failed to back up.
“Yes. “ Though his back was turned, I could tell he spoke through gritted teeth. “I know what you mean, thank you. You’ve already made it abundantly clear.”
“Hasn’t it all come about?” I asked, wanting him to admit it, wanting to be right more than I wanted to fix things.
As if they were even fixable.
Steven flinched, his head beginning to turn, but stopping before he looked over his shoulder. His instinct was to look at me but indignation kept his back turned.
“I knew it was a mistake fooling around with someone I lived with.”
“Far be it from you to say you told me so, right?” he snapped.
“Am I wrong?”
Gripping the edge of the countertop with both hands shoulder-width apart, Steven hung his head and groaned.
“I said it would—”
“No.” He whipped around in a nanosecond and after crossing his arms and thinking again about such an aggressive stance, stood with hands on hips. “No, you’re not wrong. You were completely right and I should never have touched you. I apologise from the bottom of my cold, black heart and would do anything in my power to make you understand you’ve made your point. Don’t worry, Christopher.” His use of my full name sent chills through me, but it was nothing compared to the coolness in his voice, the way he didn’t cross his arms again. He didn’t need to be aggressive or standoffish or more hostile than he already was. The damage was done. We both knew it was completely fucked up. This idiotic excuse for a conversation was just drawing a line under it then scoring through a few times, blotting it out with Tipp-Ex, tearing up the page and burning the scraps to ashes.
All or nothing, Kit, remember? If there’s nothing left, let there be nothing.
“I get the message,” Steven said. “As much as I liked to think you enjoyed what I did to you, I get the message.”
“I did. I did, “ I said again, when his eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Physically. It was…”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He spoke gently and nodded softly, but it felt to me like the calm before the storm. Agreement before the insult. “I made the mistake of thinking you weren’t ashamed of me, but oh well. Live and learn.” He shrugged and turned back to whatever he’d been doing. Staring at the coffee jar and not making a hot drink, nor flicking the kettle on.
“Ashamed? I wasn’t ashamed—”
“Then perhaps you could tell me why you spent the best part of, oh, every moment since we fucked panicking over being discovered, or avoiding me?”
“Because it wouldn’t have looked—”
“Actually, I’d really rather you forget I asked that question. I don’t want to look as if I actually give a shit, do I?” Steven half-turned his head again, letting me see him in profile but no more. “I mean, you’ve already had enough opportunities to insult me, no need to overegg the pudding, eh?”
I wasn’t expecting the playful—no doubt forced—laugh, but he gave one all the same.
“Insult? I didn’t… I mean…”
“Let’s see, shall we?” Braver now, Steven turned, leant back against the countertop and mirrored my stance—arms crossed again. Ankles too. “I wanked you off; you were worried about Gary hearing. I sucked you off; you were worried about him and Gemma coming home early. I fucked you, you—”
“With him right across the hall? Of course I was worried he’d—”
“Oh, the worry was understandable.” He rolled his shoulders, either working out a kink or shrugging away the weight of my confusion. “What was the final nail in the coffin was the fact you couldn’t even bear to look at me.”
“Didn’t stop you fucking me, though, did it?”
Steven’s eyes widened momentarily. “No.” He bobbed his head in what could have been agreement but which looked more like resignation. “No, it didn’t. Thanks for the reminder. Oh, and I also appreciate your first words to me all evening being
