Page 50 of The Invisible Roommate

“Practice makes … well, not perfect. I don’t believe in perfect. Not really. Practice makes … possible?” Gerard’s voice was still sheeted by sleep, crinkly like balling-up paper. It was endearing to see this man who commanded stages across the globe so unwound.

“Practice makes possible. I like that,” Emory said, relaxing a bit. “I…” His mouth and mind hovered over finishing with like you, but he swallowed that back. “Am sorry. Truly. I threw out the food because I thought you stood me up. It was silly of me.”

Gerard looked at him, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like Gerard was looking at the place where Emory’s eyes should be. It was as if he knew exactly where they were to lock in. As if there were some cosmic tether between them. “It’s okay. I’ve eaten, and I can buy more food. I’m just glad you’re all right. I was worried you ran off because of…”

Flashbacks to earlier in the day reminded him that he was still standing there naked. He trotted over to retrieve clothes from the wardrobe. “I’ll hang a sock next time,” he half-heartedly joked, recalling what his college classmates used to do when keeping their roommates out during hookups.

“You sound tired,” Gerard said.

“I did a lot of running.”

“Do you need to rest?”

“If I do, I’ll curl up on the love seat.”

“You can use the bed.”

“It’s not my turn to sleep.”

“We can share.”

“It’s not that big,” Emory replied, a different kind of tension mounting in his chest.

“It’s plenty big enough.” The words were void of expectation.

“I might get up in the middle of the night and work,” Emory said.

Gerard shrugged and stepped closer. “You won’t wake me. If I could sleep like a baby on our tiny first tour bus, I can sleep through anything.”

Convinced and sagging, Emory crept slowly toward the bed and lay down, keeping to one side. Seconds after he closed his eyes, Gerard shook him. “Drink this,” Gerard said, holding out a small glass of water to him. “The last thing you want to do is wake up dehydrated and with a headache.”

It took every ounce of energy he had left to sit up and sip, but the water quenched a thirst he didn’t know he’d had, and Gerard’s care filled a void he’d never acknowledged. He wiped his wet mouth on the back of his hand and asked, “Can we listen to your last album tomorrow night?”

“Of course. Whatever you want, Emory,” Gerard said in a way that suggested he might reach out and caress Emory’s face if he could see it. Part of Emory truly wished he could, so Gerard could see in his peaceful expression all that he couldn’t bring himself to say.

23Gerard

A sign creaked in the breeze above the door of a nondescript white house. The word GIFTS etched across the swaying board on rusty chains caught Gerard’s attention on his mind-clearing walk through the misty morning streets of Iping.

A fence with posts painted every color of the rainbow contained a horde of rambunctious, mewling cats. A sign staked to the right of the pen said IPING CAT RESCUE. A gray cat with white paws and a smaller all-black cat tumbled over one another, performing playful somersaults. Others pushed their way to the front of a pack around a food bowl. He wondered how they kept their heads on straight with the smell of fish constantly in the air.

Nobody was around. He could’ve easily scooped up one of those adorable creatures and cuddled it until its soft fur and patient purrs made him feel better, but cuddling was how he found himself out and about early in the morning, power walking away from his apartment and his own escalating feelings.

In need of the distraction, he pushed inside the empty store. Not even a clerk stood behind the counter. Christian rock rumbled out of old-school speakers posted in the upper corners of the ceiling. The place was stuffed to the brim with knickknacks, T-shirts, and spinning keychain stands. An entire display had been set up with Halloween decorations and a rack of polyester kids’ costumes of characters from TV shows and movies Gerard was unfamiliar with. Perfect—there were enough colorful shiny objects to keep him occupied and to distract him from the position he’d woken up in.

When the sun’s orange arm had finally weaseled through a crack in the curtains and poked him awake, his hands had been wrapped around Emory’s body. Warmth had radiated off his unexpected little spoon. Judging only by the rise and fall of his chest, Emory had seemed so peaceful in Gerard’s arms that, at first, he hadn’t dared move a muscle, even though he was aware that this was not how roommates behaved.

He hoped his empathetic actions from the previous night hadn’t crossed a line and threatened their arrangement. Any time he’d wanted to be intimate with someone in the previous six years, his father had their lawyers draw up complex documents that protected him from …

What exactly were they protecting him from?

Was it really so wrong to want the comfort of another human being every now and then?

On their first tour, loose from drink and high from the rush of newfound success, Gerard had attempted to bring a fan or two back to his hotel room after a show, but as soon as he took a beautiful woman by the hand and started leading her toward an elevator bay, his dad stepped into their path. Legalese is already a mood killer, but having it hand delivered by your father? Hard pass.

After his third attempt, Gerard washed his hands of it. He was only trying to maintain a chauvinist illusion anyway, the movie-crafted ideal of a rising musician. Those women, while sparkling conversationalists and flashy dressers, were not his type, despite him forcing himself for a time to think they were.

The most they’d have ended up doing was having champagne on the balcony with the gorgeous city or ocean view, talking until the sun came up, and maybe kissing goodbye because he considered himself a gentleman. Half the time he’d only invited them up because the bar or greenroom or club they ended up in after a big show was too loud and had too many strobing lights. Sensory overload made it impossible to connect with anyone, let alone hear himself think without feeling his heartbeat behind his eyeballs.