Well, at least somebody is happy to see me.
Keith is waving from the doorway. I’m already beginning to think this whole trip was a colossal mistake.
I felt like a first-class loser getting out of the cab alone, already rejected by the one person that I had come all the way to Pollux to see. You probably read the look in my eyes as I took in your scrawny form, taking pity on you while at the same time the part of me that makes me hate myself was wondering how all those bones would attach themselves to the curves of my ample body. I’m sorry, Pidge, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. There are a lot of things about myself that I’d like to change, still. And yet, I’m not the same man whose bed you left empty on that fateful morning.
That man is gone. How long can I continue to exist as an empty shell? I look up at the castle spires. They’re high enough, I think. Would I have the nerve to jump?
Would you even stop me?
I force the thought out of my brain. If I’d really wanted to die, I would have done it right a long time ago.
Keith is waiting. He greets me warmly. He doesn’t act surprised that you bolted on me. I can’t escape the haunted sadness in his eyes. We don’t talk much- who needs words at a time like this? We’ve come down the same road, he and I. Lost in our addictions, only to wake up one morning ready to face the chilling reality that in this world, you are only as happy as you make up your mind to be.
Too bad neither of us is any good at putting that idea into practice.
Still, it makes me smile, hearing his familiar voice again, although it’s somewhat different now, having been so far removed from the military atmosphere. He fills me in on what’s been going on here on Pollux. When I mention you, he hesitates. It’s then that I realize the two of you have been seeing each other. I bury the jealousy; after all, who am I to talk?
He misses Lance, of course.
He doesn’t say it out loud, but I know he’s thinking it. He and Lance, me and you. Too many parallels between the four of us. He’s hurting, just as much as I’m hurting, and in this big empty world of pain and hurt we cling to each other’s voices in the silence and understand each other completely. At length he goes to bed, and I’m left alone in the dimness of the parlor.
Sven materializes. He’s a ghost of a man, his footsteps mere whispers on the carpet, his distant eyes haunted by the specter of a loveless marriage. He’s just gotten up, of course; he’s freshly showered and shaven, ready for another night of cruising the Polluxian sex clubs. I wonder if I should tell him to keep an eye out for you.
We sit and talk for a while. Sven’s willing to fill me in on the bits no one else likes to talk about; most of it I know already. It’s painfully obvious to me now that you’re sharing at least some of your nights with the two of them, Keith and Sven. I refuse to let it get to me. Sven offers me bourbon, and I even manage to turn it down. I haven’t had a drink since that horrible night, the night I tried to kill myself for the last time, the night that Coran came to me in the hospital and at first I thought it was you, I could have sworn it was your fingers running through my hair. I should have known better, should have known you wouldn’t have come. I begin to feel angry again, and I try to push the thought out of my head, but it still nags me.
It nags me even worse when Sven casts me that suggestive look. Yeah, I know he’s a sex addict. I guess I am, too, to a certain extent. If I were to take him downstairs for a little spanking session, would it hurt you? Hell, I don’t know, maybe you need to get stung, maybe I need to shock you out of whatever reverie you’re lost in. I want to do it, somehow, in a purely evil way; part of me wants the physical release of slapping Sven around for a while. I want to hurt you, too; want you to watch me bury myself to the hilt inside his willing flesh and pulse my seed into his core, the very essence of me that is never spilled without at least a fleeting thought of what we could have had.
I reject his advances. Sven is not my fuck toy, and he’s not a tool. I will not take my frustrations out on him, no matter how willing he is. He excuses himself, muttering something about an appointment, and I leave him to his addictions and the slow meandering downward journey his life is taking towards rock bottom.
It’s late, and I’m tired from traveling. I almost miss your return. Fortunately I hadn’t fallen asleep by the time you snuck back into the castle, and I heard the door open and shut, quickly. Your light footsteps are the same as ever, and it gives me a queer sense of déjà vu as I listen to your approach in the darkness. I lurk in the shadows. You see me just an instant before I step in front of you.
“Jesus, Hunk, you scared me.” Indignant. You step back and cross your arms, looking away. “Figured you’d be in bed by now. Jet lag and all that.”
I ignore your comments. “We got to talk.”
“Maybe in the morning?”
I shake my head. I know this ploy too well. You’ll be either gone or in a stupor by morning. “Now.”
You try to stare me down, but I know this trick of yours. You sidestep, and I block your path.
“Pidge, we both know why I came here.”
“You shouldn’t have come.”
Anger. Red heat behind my eyeballs, rising in my cheeks. I’ve always had a temper. I let you see it glitter in my eyes. “Dammit, Pidge, I came all this way to see you. Can’t we at least sit down and talk?”
“I’m tired.”
“Bullshit.”
I narrow my eyes at you. Not only did you sleep all day, but you’re also sober as a judge. I wonder why you didn’t take a hit tonight.
And then I see it, the slight waver in your gaze, the minute parting of your lips. You’re about to give up. I refuse to look away. I will not remove the pressure. I will badger you until you cave in and talk to me.
“Fine, whatever.” I win. You go to the couch and flop down like a petulant teenager who’s just been grounded. “Talk away.”
I pull up a chair and sit across from you. No escape now, unless you want to go through me. I’m going to say what I need to say. After that, one of two things can happen. You can talk back to me, or I hop on the next ship to Arus, bound for cool sheets and good food and long nights spent in delirious carnality. I desperately hope for the former.
“Pidge, I came here because I missed you. I had to see you. I know you don’t believe me, but I still care about you. It hurt me when you didn’t write or call, and you didn’t even visit me in the hospital. I need to know. Are we still friends? Or do you hate me? Just tell me to get the fuck out of your life, and I promise you’ll never see me again.”
Your emerald eyes glitter at me for an eternity before you answer. “I don’t hate you.”
I let you gather your thoughts. It’s your turn to speak, and I won’t back down until you do.
“I’m not worth it, Hunk.”
“Bullfuckingshit.”
I can’t believe this. I think you’re actually ready to cry.
“It killed me seeing you like that, Hunk.”
I blink. “Like what?”
“In the hospital. Your hair- it- it was all matted and sweaty. Your arms were bleeding. You- you- couldn’t- breathe- the doctor said you’d be fine, but-“ You begin to choke on your words, but I can’t move. My blood has frozen. I let you continue, unable to speak for the sudden dryness in my mouth.
“I- caused that, you did that to yourself over me… I’m not worth it, Hunk, I’m just not worth it.” A tear, only one, on your cheek, but if you only knew that there is a flood of them waiting in my eyes.
“Then it was you.” My voice is uncontrollably husky. I remember seeing an angel that looked like you, an angel that turned into Coran. Now I know.
A nod.
“I thought it was a dream.”
You shake your head.
My hand trembles as I reach out, gingerly, as if you’re poised to bite me. I expect you to leap up and bolt when my fingers close over yours, but you don’t. Your hand is cool and hard, like polished granite. I look down and your fingers are gray, your arm needletracked. Your scars look remarkably different from mine, but underneath it all, they mean the same thing.
You’re looking at my scars now. Your cool finger slides gingerly along the prominent white lines raking their way up towards my elbow, a constant reminder to me of my own foolishness, my own weakness. You shake your head. “You should have forgotten about me. I can’t believe you did that over me.”
“I could never forget you, Pidge.” Fuck, I’m about to cry. Stop it, Hunk. Swallow that big-ass lump in your throat. But my voice wavers anyway as I speak the three words that sum everything up, the three words that I traveled light-years just so I could say them to your face.
“I need you.”
Shock. That look on your face is unmistakable, and I regret saying the words already. But I've chosen that path, and I might as well say what I want to say, so you can kick my sorry ass out of here. And then I realize I can't go back to Arus after all; I can't go anywhere, if you won't have me.
"I'm sorry I'm putting you through this, Pidge, but that's how it is. I know you want me to scram. But I just wanted you to know that I forgive you."
Your expression softens. Is that a smile I see in your emerald eyes, hidden somewhere behind the veil of your face?
And then I open my arms for you just like I did when you were a kid, and I already expect you to fall into them, but it’s still a surprise when you do. For a moment, I’m just big ol’ Hunk again, and you’re my best friend in the whole universe, and nothing can shake our bond. I close my arms over your bony form and remind myself that you’ll probably shove away and dart up the stairs at any moment, but you don't, and I start weeping into your hair.
“I love you, Pidge.” The words form themselves in my mouth, but I refuse to speak them. I don’t think you’re ready to hear them yet.
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