A Note in the Margin (9 page)

John stretched around to the bedside table and grabbed a condom from the drawer. It took him a moment longer to rummage and find the lubricant. He turned back to find David lying on his stomach, his head resting on his folded arms facing away from John. The bruises were fading, but still very obvious along the pale skin of David’s lower back. The reality of it slowed John’s need.
Not like this….
He stroked his hand softly over the blemished skin and said quietly, “On your side, Dave. I could hurt you this way.”

David silently turned over.

John forced his breathing to slow and leaned down; he tenderly kissed David’s shoulder and whispered, “Lift your hips a bit,” while he pushed David’s track pants the rest of the way. John quickly discarded his own pants and shuffled close along the bare back. His hand cupped protectively over David’s hip bone, just holding him while John gently nuzzled into the already damp hairline.

“You have to let me know if this is okay,” John breathed into David’s ear. David gave a small nod and nothing more, because he knew better than to speak. But John hesitated. This wasn’t going to be a quick shag just to get off; he wanted more and needed to hear David wanted it too.

“You have to tell me, Dave. I have to hear you.”

David had learned that sex was something to be done in silence; either rough in a public toilet or fast by his own hand before he was seen. But under John’s gentle touch he started to feel safe enough to find his voice. “Yes,” he murmured and reinforced the single word with a slight push back against the hot skin behind him. “Yes,” John repeated before he squeezed lubricant on his fingers and gently eased one finger into David.

When David emitted a small grunt, John slowed his progress and watched carefully as he slid the finger to its full length. With slight twists of his finger the initial resistance soon dissipated quickly and John added a second and then a third, his eyes moving from what he could see of David’s face to the hand that was now bunching the sheet between clenched fingers.

John carefully slid his fingers out and was surprised when David let go of the sheet, gripped his wrist, and said breathlessly, “Condom, John. I might not be safe.”

“It’s okay, Dave. I’ve got one,” John assured him, trying to put aside the fear that suddenly constricted his chest.
Deal with that later. David will be okay.

John rolled on the condom and stroked himself a couple of times, more out of habit than need. He was already so hard it hurt. He smoothed his hand along the clear skin of David’s hip and down his thigh, urging him to bend his knee and move his leg forward.

John wanted this so badly and could see the tremors of his hand as he guided his cock between David’s cheeks. Sex was usually something done with little thought for the other person, but not this time. John was in new territory here. He pushed carefully but deliberately, taking his time to force the swell of the head past the muscle noting David’s small moan when he finally slipped in. John paused to exhale and take another breath before sliding in the rest of the way.

Buried deep in David, John was momentarily overwhelmed by the swirl of thoughts and emotions fighting for supremacy over his desire to simply thrust his way to release. He tucked his chin over David’s shoulder and kissed the tender skin below his ear before asking, “What do you need, David?”

David groaned at the unexpected question, laid his head back against John, and whispered, “Move… please.”

John pulled back slowly and curled his hip to push in with a little more force; David gasped and clenched around him. “Oh fuck, you feel good,” John muttered. “So good.” He stretched his arm up along the pillow and found David’s hand twining their fingers together as he began an easy rocking motion.

It was not what David had come to expect of sex; there was no pain or regret. In its place was the heat and sensation of desire. His head fell back against their arms as he was barely able to resist moaning as lips and tongue marked a path up his throat.

With each push John knew his resolve was weakening and he wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer. “Need to come, Dave,” he gasped in warning before wrapping his fingers around David’s hipbone to begin a faster rhythm of deep, but not brutal, thrusts.

David’s legs twitched restlessly against the sheets as he rocked back into John, his own cock dripping onto the bed and aching to be touched. He knew he was close. He wanted John’s hand on him, but dropped his own between his legs instead. He moaned as his fingers began to squeeze and slide along the ridges of his shaft in time with John’s thrusts, then hesitated at the feel of fingers enclosing his. This touch was enough and he gasped what might have been John’s name before coming in his hand.

“Oh fuck, David…,” was all John managed to moan before he crushed his face into David’s neck and let go with a series of shuddering grunts.

They lay together in silence, John’s arm wrapped tightly around David’s chest, their fingers still entwined. He knew it had been more than lust; he’d needed it to be good for David too. He’d needed him to know that he… that he what? John instantly shied away from that train of thought, released David, and pulled out carefully, gripping the rim of the condom. He tugged it off before leaving the bed and going into the bathroom.

When he returned, David had barely moved. John sat on the bed behind him and gently wiped off the remnants of lube and come with a damp washcloth. When they were both clean John threw the cloth on the floor and snuggled down behind David, pulling the bedclothes up around them both.

Neither spoke.

John’s
arm held him and he could feel the steady breath of peaceful sleep against his neck, but David lay awake. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt such intense pleasure and joy as under John’s touch, but now there was that small seed of doubt building in his chest.

John murmured in his sleep and rubbed his face absently along David’s neck.
Oh God
. He knew he loved this man and it was too much. David suddenly found it difficult to breathe. His lungs had no room to expand. He had to sit, get away from John’s touch.

He carefully, but quickly, slid from under John’s arm and sat on the edge of the bed. His hands and forearms were numb as he compulsively rubbed them. The need to stand up, to move, became overwhelming.

David stood away from the bed and looked at John; he knew he couldn’t stay only to hear John say that he didn’t love him.

It was in the early hours of the morning when David quietly closed the door as he left.

“Come
on, old man. Profits wait for no one.” Jamie banged on the door with one hand while fiddling through his bundle of keys with the other. He knew he still had a key for the apartment, but he had so many keepsakes and “found objects” weighing down the key ring, finding it was another story.

John sat in the chair and looked at the empty bed. The sheets were rumpled and one of the corners had been pulled away from the mattress. The evidence of sex was clear… but the bed was very empty.

The banging on the door finally penetrated John’s thoughts and he could hear Jamie’s impatient calls.
Not today, Jamie. Please not today
. John ran his hand through his hair, let his head fall back against the chair, and exhaled a shaky breath.

Jamie was just about to start on another round of impatient knocks when he heard the latch being thrown on the other side of the door.
Fuck! What’s wrong?
was the first thought that hit him when he looked at John.

John opened the door and instantly turned back into the apartment; Jamie followed him, anxious to find out what was going on. He glanced around the room to see if he could spot David and asked, “John? What’s wrong, man? Where’s David?”

“I fucked up, Jamie. Literally.” John shook his head, gave a small bitter laugh, and flopped down on the couch.

A sense of dread filled Jamie as he sat next to John. “What happened?”

“I kissed him. We made love.” John blushed and avoided looking at Jamie.
This is all too fucking hard.

The wording “made love” didn’t escape Jamie’s notice; neither did the fact that John kissed David, whereas he didn’t kiss Jamie once the night they fucked. He put his hand on John’s shoulder and squeezed enough to let him know that it was okay to continue.

“I don’t know what went wrong, what I did wrong, but he was gone when I woke up. Shit, he even left behind the clothes I bought for him. He only took his bloody sketchbook.” John rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “It was my fault; I obviously pushed him too hard. When will I learn to keep my cock in my fucking pants?”

“Maybe you did nothing wrong, John? He left his things, which could mean he’s coming back,” Jamie offered, trying to sound more hopeful than he actually felt.

“I don’t know why he left, but I doubt very much that he’s coming back,” John said, his voice rough and defeated. Jamie didn’t know what else to say so he just sat in what he hoped was a companionable silence.

After a few minutes John pushed out another heavy breath, rubbed his hand across his mouth, and said abruptly, “Fuck this! I’ll go change and we can get the store open.”

Jamie
tried very hard to stay out of John’s way and be patient as he watched John spend the morning vacillating between obsessive organizing and snapping at him for no particular reason. But by the time Jamie brought the sandwiches John had run out of things to occupy his mind and was sitting silently at the small table in the kitchen. He gave a slight twitch of his lips as Jamie put the brown paper bag containing his sandwich in front of him. He looked at the bag, but made no move to open it. Jamie sat down quietly at the table and pulled his own sandwich out of its bag. He folded back the greaseproof paper and looked at the two triangles.
This is wrong.

He sighed and picked one up, while saying quietly, “Eat your lunch, John.” John gave a disgusted grimace and pushed the bag away. Jamie sat silently and chewed on his sandwich, not tasting any of it, until both triangles were gone. By the last mouthful he felt sick to his stomach.

Eventually John broke the silence and groaned, “I can’t believe I fucked up like that.”

“Shit, John!” Jamie exclaimed in an exasperated voice. “Stop bloody saying that.”

John just lowered his head, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Jamie leaned forward and asked slowly, “
Did
you force him, John?”

John quickly looked up and glared at Jamie. “Of course I didn’t force him!”

“I know that… but I think you needed to say it out loud,” Jamie countered.

John was about to answer, but stopped himself.
When did Jamie get so fucking smart?
Instead he simply gave a small nod. Jamie rubbed his hand over John’s shoulder and suggested, “How about I go and ask around, yeah? Someone might have seen him.”

“You couldn’t find him last time,” John said softly. “And what makes you think he would come back with you anyway?”

Jamie frowned and narrowed his eyes at John, understanding that that was the real reason John didn’t want to look for David. He thought carefully for a moment and then said, “Think about it, John. After he was bashed, it was the middle of the night, he was frightened and in pain, where did he go? He went to you. Even after what had happened before, he still turned up on your doorstep.”

John could feel the tightness in his chest increase and the heat behind his eyes threatening to turn into tears.
Not gonna happen.
He stood up abruptly, fished his car keys out of his pocket, and growled, “I’m going for a drive.”

Jamie watched his retreating back and called after him, “Try the shelter, John.”

John
wandered around the dining room of the shelter as they cleared the lunch plates from the rows of trestle tables.
So many empty plates.
The last of the men were shuffling out as John approached a middle-aged woman stacking plates on a well-worn trolley. “Excuse me?”

She looked at him with vague suspicion before answering. “Yes, what can I do for you?”

John suddenly felt nervous and fidgeted as he asked if she’d seen David. She shook her head and said curtly, “Sorry, I don’t know a lot of names. Best not to ask.”

“Please, um… he is about my age and height, he has light brown shoulder-length hair. Um, pale blue-gray eyes.” John was starting to feel desperate; she had to have noticed David. “He has a scar near his lip… and… and a sketchbook. He always has his sketchbook with him.”

She smiled briefly at the mention of the book. “I know who you mean. Keeps to himself as much as you can in these places. I didn’t ever see him talking to anyone. A lot of them are like that.” She paused, squinted slightly in thought, and then added, “He’s sometimes here at night, I think, but not a regular. Rarely here during the day.”

John nodded. Even though David wasn’t there he felt inexplicably relieved that this person remembered him. “Can I leave my number? In case he comes in… you could call me?”

“Listen, love, if you have a problem it may be best to report it to the police,” she said, still trying to understand what someone like John was doing looking for that man.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. I’m just worried; that’s all,” John said quickly.

She looked at him for a moment and then said in a sympathetic voice, “These men can be very good at disappearing when they want to, but try again tonight… or try over at Saint Mark’s around eight. We sometimes serve soup from the back of a station wagon there, although the authorities often move us on because the locals don’t want the homeless in their neighborhood. Brings down property values, you know.” She gave a disgusted shake of her head and then added, “I hope you find him.”

John thanked her and headed back to his car.
I’ll drive around a bit longer. Just a bit longer.

John
slammed the drawer of the register shut; he just couldn’t get the takings to balance tonight. The last customer had left an hour earlier and the door had been locked for nearly that long, but neither John nor Jamie seemed willing to leave the store and go home. Jamie looked at him from a shelf he had already tidied, sighed and called over to the counter, “I think it’s time we went home, John.”

John glanced at his watch. Another hour until eight, but he knew it was past time to finish up. He closed the ledger and was about to answer Jamie when he heard the distinctive and annoying ring tone of Jamie’s phone.

With an apologetic look, Jamie fished his phone out of his pocket and looked at the display; he didn’t recognize the number but put it to his ear and said “Hello?” He paused for a while, obviously listening, and then replied, “Yeah, I remember.”

John went to walk past him to start turning off the lights when Jamie grabbed his arm and continued talking into the phone. “When was that? Yeah, I know where that is.” John gave him a look, but Jamie simply gripped tighter and said in an excited voice, “Listen, thanks, man…. Yeah, look, come round to the store sometime…. The bookstore on Bellevue Street. Yeah, that’s the one, and I’ll shout you a meal. Thanks again, man.” He flipped the phone and grinned at John. “They didn’t all just spend the ten dollars, John. Someone spotted David at the central bus station!”

When John didn’t move, Jamie gave him a shove and said in an urgent voice, “Go, John! I’ll lock up, but make sure you call me… either way, yeah?”

John’s fingers fumbled numbly around his car keys. He stood and looked at the car door. S
hit. What if David refuses to come back?
John leaned his hand on the roof and ran that scenario around and around his head until he slammed his palm down on the car and walked back to his apartment. He unlocked the front door, but only made it as far as the couch, where he picked up the white bag and jogged back to the car.

By the time he had parked at the bus station John’s head was thumping and he’d convinced himself that David would be gone. Most of the travelers were leaving the building, heading home after their day’s work, as John entered the main transit area. His eyes darted around the room for any sign of David until they finally settled on a figure sitting alone in one of the corners well away from the ticketing area.

David sat on the uncomfortable molded plastic seat, his sketchbook shoved inside his jacket so that only a tattered corner peeped out, and his head resting wearily in his hand. He knew it was getting late and the transit police would move him on soon but right then he didn’t have the energy to move. The row of connected chairs shuddered slightly as someone sat down next to him. A softly spoken voice said, “Hey, Dave. Where’re you going?”

David’s heart slammed in his chest. He didn’t know what to do so he simply opened his hand and showed John the few coins he’d been clutching and said in a small tired voice, “Nowhere, I guess.”

John leaned forward, forearms on his knees, eyes staring down at his shoes, and asked, “Why did you leave last night?”

David winced before whispering, “Scared.”

John turned quickly at the single word and looked at David; he frowned at its implication. “Scared of me?”

David refused to look at him; he gave a barely visible shrug and answered shakily. “Everything.”

John had no idea how to take that comment or why it felt like a slap. He was confused and more than a little hurt. Reaching into his pocket, John pulled out his wallet. His hand shook as he shoved several notes into David’s palm and said, “You can go now if you need to.”

David stared at the money in his hand and slowly closed his fingers around it. He looked at John and noticed the bag of things that had been bought for him. His sense of exhaustion was crushing as he admitted, “I’m lost, John. I don’t know where to go.”

“Then don’t go anywhere,” John murmured and lowered his eyes, not able to look at the expression on David’s face. “Come back with me, David. We can work something out.” He rubbed his thumb compulsively across his palm as if trying to relieve a nonexistent itch, closely focusing on its movement.

Neither broke the new silence. But as it drew on, desperation took hold of John until his eyes closed and he whispered, “Please, David.”

He felt movement and then several notes and coins, still hot from being so tightly held, fell into his hand. John opened his eyes and saw both his and David’s money. He swallowed hard, hoping like hell he was right in his assumption of what that meant. He stood up, and when David stood beside him John handed him the bag.

John smiled when David took the bag from him, but the smile wasn’t returned. David looked confused and unsure.

“Come on, David,” John said gently and gave him the briefest touch on the shoulder. “Let’s get to the car before the rain starts.” David glanced toward the window overlooking the car park, but the darkness outside created a mirror and he was faced with the dim image of his own reflection. He quickly looked away and clutched tighter onto the raffia handles of the bag.

David’s reaction didn’t go unnoticed and, not for the first time, John wondered what could instill such self-loathing. Was it there before he became homeless or a product of what he had to do to survive on the streets? With clenched teeth, John began to walk to the door. It seemed an eternity before David took the first steps to follow him.

The drive home was spent in silence; David either stared out the window or at the white bag sitting between his feet. John ached to talk to him, but had no clue what could be said. How could he tell David all the things he felt without scaring the man off again? John’s knuckles were white around the steering wheel by the time they reached his parking spot; he was sure David would leave again. He killed the engine and sat still in his seat. Words tumbled through his head, but with David sitting quietly beside him, none seemed right.