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“Things have been great. I have this job. Drew over there is my best friend and housemate. I couldn’t be happier.”
He eyed me with suspicion, and rightly so. Every word was an untruth. Well, except for the part about Drew, the job, and the house. I was far from happy.
The look on his face said he didn’t believe me, which wasn’t an enormous leap of faith. I was gaunt, hiding the black circles beneath my dull, lifeless eyes each day with concealer. How could I expect him to believe me when I had no faith in myself, when I was still full of self-loathing at what I had allowed to happen?
People had told me I was a victim, but I knew better. I was a dumb kid. A little who wanted a Daddy to look after him because he was too lazy to do it himself. Don’t get me wrong. I’d loved it at first, but I realised later that I was looking for replacement love and attention. Stuart hadn’t been the person to give me that.
After it had happened, I’d moved away from the scene, and I had no desire to return. Sex hadn’t been a big part of our relationship. I’d enjoyed the childish innocence that being a little brought. The stuffies, the nappies, being fed and taken care of. It had resonated with me…until it didn’t.
Now sex was a punishment, the rougher, the better. I didn’t deserve care and devotion. I deserved everything I’d got. Dirty sex while high as a kite, not caring who or what went up my arse as long as I could feel something. It never worked that way, and after each encounter, I searched for the next high to make me forget all the horror and despicable behaviour of those I chose to give myself to.
A throat cleared. Dammit, I was losing myself to my memories again. I shook myself mentally and concentrated on the task at hand: giving Detective John Palmer the best haircut possible.
We spoke very little for the rest of the appointment, and when I’d finished, I applied a little product to his hair. The haircut had taken years off his appearance.
He looked good.
Better than good, actually.
What might life with a nice man be like? Although I’d always got the impression that Detective Palmer disapproved of my lifestyle. I couldn’t forget the looks he’d given me during the police interviews.
He wouldn’t be the one for me, as much as I found him attractive to look at. A fucked-up little like me wouldn’t register on his radar at all. Plus, he didn’t strike me as gay.
We walked back to the reception desk, and I handed him his coat.
“How much?” He took out his wallet.
“Just fifteen, but we only take cash, sorry,” I said as he gave me his debit card.
“Oh, shit. I don’t have any on me.” He made a show of patting down his pockets.
“It’s okay. I know where to find you, but there’s a cashpoint at the post office across the road. I trust you not to run away.”
“Here, keep this as collateral.” He removed his watch.
“You don’t have to do that. Seriously, John. You’re a police officer. If I can’t trust you, who can I trust?”
Drew stepped up beside me. “It’s fine, man. If Liam here says he trusts you, then so do I. Why don’t you go with him and grab us a couple of coffees while you’re out? It’s pretty quiet here, and I can manage until you get back.”
I grabbed my coat, and we stepped out into the cold air. November was no fun. Strong winds and heavy rain had battered the city for days and showed no signs of letting up. A car drove past, sending a spray of water up, soaking us both.
“Fuck,” I shouted after the speeding vehicle. “Did you not see us standing here?”
I was drenched, as was John.
“Wanker,” I muttered under my breath.
“Come on, let’s get the money and buy some coffee. We can sit inside and dry ourselves. Will Drew mind if you’re a little longer?”
John guided me across the road, his hand on my elbow, and the familiar feeling of being cared for surged through me. It had been a while, but some things you never forgot.
After grabbing the cash, we lined up at the coffee shop next door.
“Hey, Liam. The usual?” the barista, Sally, asked as we approached the counter.
“Yes, and whatever John wants.”
“Just a black coffee for me.”
