Page 40 of Tell Me Lies: Manlove Edition

Fuck. I drop my head back to the floor and don’t answer.

“It’s Larry Trockel.”

Ignoring him won’t work. “I’m not in good shape right now. Can we meet next week?”

Too soon. You can’t crawl out of this pit—

“Yeah, Jude mentioned you’d been off since … uh, last time I saw you. Can I come in?”

No. I really need a shower. “I don’t think you’ll like me this way.” I know he won’t.

“Down?”

It’s a simple word, but it speaks volumes to his understanding. Had he researched bipolar and learned it like a new language?

“Well, I know, Sunshine Boy. Let’s meet the rest of you.”

Don’t let him fool you. No one can stand you like this, Jeremy. No matter how beautiful you are the rest of the time. This is the real you and everyone hates it.

Yeah. He’d been gone a half hour, tops. But it is actually very sweet.

Let him in at least.

I say nothing.

After another minute passes in silence, he says, “I got your keys and I’m coming in.”

I get off the floor and flop onto the bed—pointless exercise in failure. My hair is greasy and it hurts my scalp to run my hands through it.

“Don’t get up on my account.” Laur doesn’t turn on the lights. “I found your spare key under the fake plant.”

I thought of his house, so full of life and light and plants. “I have enough trouble keeping myself alive, I can’t bother with a living plant.”

“Ooh, dark.” He takes off his coat and throws it over a chair. He has a brown bag from the bar and the whiskey sour. “Eat anything today?”

Pathetic. “No.”

“Mind if I do?”

I consider sinking to the floor where a worm like me belongs. Instead I stand up and walk over to him.

“Sorry. I won’t be good company. Can I get you any—”

“Nope. Don’t apologize.” Laur chugs his whiskey by the sink then fills the tumbler with water. “Just sit with me for a bit.”

I sit at the kitchen table. I know what he’s doing as soon as he opens the bag. The cheesesteak smells so good. He puts half in front of me and I pick it up.

“If you can stand it, drink some water, too.” Laur pushes the tumbler nearer to me.

So stupid.

Of course I can stand it. Water is probably what I need more than food. Hadn’t I been thirsty while I sprawled there on the floor and just too damn… “Thanks.”

I drain the little glass in one go and it feels so good in my parched throat that I look at the sink. A million years ago, while waiting for pizza to heat—was that yesterday?—I had stared at the wet metal. Maybe hydration had been the answer to the numbness of existence.

What are the steps to get another glass? Stand. Walk to the sink. Pour the water.

“Want more?” Laur takes the empty glass.

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