Page 47 of Tied

Chris

I still haven’t looked at my phone. I’m being a bitch. If I’m being honest, I’m scared. I like this job. I think I’ve done a good job of it.

What would I do without it if they take it away?

When I left the Marines, the incumbent governor was horribly inept and corrupt. I’d bitched about how awful he was, what could be done, and what should be done. I assumed it was up to me to make it right. So I ran against him and won. That was two years ago. Things have gotten better in Indiana. I’d hate for my cock to get me fired. Not because of cover-ups, not because of corruption, collusion or the likes, but because I couldn’t hide the fact any longer that I love men.

Saying goodbye to Tyler at the airport, I was left with a void as soon as I found myself alone. It was almost exhaustingly quiet. The air around me was full of what-ifs, and what could’ve beens, and what will it be like when I get home? What I truly wanted was more time with Tyler. I was enjoying the light that surrounds him.

He hasn’t had to hide who he is, and that makes him easy to be myself around. His friends too, but that’s beside the point. Carli accepts me, but they embraced me.

I arrived in Indy two hours ago, and after a fast exit with the help of a quick taxi driver, I’m home. Pulling up to my house in Greenwood, a suburb of the great city, I’ve been sitting on a stool in the kitchen, staring at the blinking light on my phone that says sixty-eight missed messages. The house feels vacant. Elaine cleared out the place. I don’t begrudge her as I didn’t come out here often. With the text from her lawyer that she’d taken her things, I figured I should check it out.

The mail stacked up on the counter was mostly bills for the house and my condo in the city. There were self-addressed envelopes with handwritten names scrawled across them. My expectation is that the majority will be death threats, resignation requests, a few ‘church going’ constituents telling me how I’ll go to hell, and possibly one or two nice ones. I’ve avoided the shit out of them.

Resigning myself to the fact that I have to address it all, I walk to the fridge and grab one of the last things left in it—a lone beer. Not my poison of choice, but it’ll do. Sorting through the cupboards and drawers until I find a pen and note pad, I take a seat. My only thought is to relish the liquid slowly as I listen to the demise of my life in Indiana.

Thanking all that is rainbows and unicorns, I pull up the messages in my phone first. With visual messages, I peruse the names. Of the almost one hundred messages, ten are from Carli, three from New York (who could be Jim, Charlie, or Julia), and at least one from Tyler. When I’m good and beaten I’ll need that one, so I save it.

Guzzling a large mouthful, I hit the replay button. “Here goes nothing, I guess,” I say to the empty house. As if there’s someone hiding around a corner to answer.

With the first beep, I listen to the first of many.

“Hi, Governor Rock. You don’t know me. My name is Christina Blonde. I just wanted to tell ya’ I think it’s just fine what you’ve done for our state. I’m sorry you’re dealing with some trouble, but I stand behind you.”

Well, that one was sweet. Hitting the button for the next message, I don’t feel so awful and foreboding.

“You cocksucker!”

I whack the delete button fast. I stand corrected. The warm fuzzy feeling is short-lived.

As I scroll through them one by one, there are thankfully more of the Christina’s than there are of the belligerent assholes that want to see me buried to the neck and kicked while I’m down. By the time I’m through the worst of it, I find the sweet one’s actually outweighed the bad. Unfortunately, it took longer than I’d hoped and my crisp refreshing beer is gone. Searching out the wine cellar for more, I instead uncork a bottle of red. Elaine thankfully left me those, as she could have smashed them or taken them all. At least I know when she left she wasn’t looking to be vindictive. Just disappointed and embarrassed.

Finishing the voicemails, I quickly panned the emails. Not many asked for my resignation, which still has me expecting the other shoe to drop. Hell hath no fury like that of a fairly Republican state. One main value of their core is man and woman. Though I’m not a Republican, the majority of my state is still rooted in that belief. The biggest surprise is that no one from the party specifically left me emails stating I should be looking for a job.

“Guess I should open the mail and totally depress myself.” Grabbing up my half-filled glass with the half-full bottle, I tear into the last things left. Though some are pretty strongly suggesting I should stick a gun in my mouth and pull, most were supportive.

Wandering off to the back of my now vacant house, I sit to watch the sunset. Leaving New York pretty early and arriving here midday, I’m amazed that reading all of those letters took so much time. Remembering the voicemails, I open the app and start through them.

Carli, with her chirpy, chipper voice, instantly cheers me up.

“Hey, cock swallower. Yeah, you’re the one I’m talking to. Stop moping because I know you are. Quit wallowing in regrets you can’t fix, and whack off in any room you want, as much as you want.”

Wondering how she knew I’d come here first, her voice answers me. “Yeah, I knew you’d go to the house first.” Her voice softens. “I get it, Chris. You’re disappointed she left you. Your best friend from high school has up and left you at the imaginary altar. Being the softhearted guy I know you are, you’re upset. It was all a sham anyway.”

Clearing her throat, the hard-ass Carli is back. “Now suck up those minuscule man balls. Toss on a sparkly outfit and hit the gay clubs. You’re a free man. You’re a free gay man. No use in hiding it now.”

With a shout from Jamieson in the background, grumbling something unintelligible, she says, “Tata for now, manwhore. Girls are squealing for the boob. I gotta run. Love you.”

Deleting her call and the subsequent calls that state literally the same thing, but in more flourishing ways, I move onto the rest.

“Chris. It’s Jim from New York. I just wanted to say it was a pleasure meeting you. I think you’re a fabulous person, very sweet, and I hope everything works out when you get home. I have hope for humanity. I have hope they can be nice and not menacing. Take care of yourself. If you’re ever in New York, remember, brunch Sundays.”

Awe, such a nice man.

The next is from Julia. Honestly, I’m afraid of what she’s about to say. Anyone should be.

“Chris. I’m only going to say this one time. Don’t get into bed with another reporter—like, ever again. I think I’ll fly to Indy to castrate you myself if you do. PS. Tyler is moping. Whatever you did to my boy, you better not hurt his feelings. I will send Rush out. Just sayin’.”

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