Page 6 of My Saintly Demon

Slowly, I exit the hallway, pulling a t-shirt on as he stands in the living room, jaw on the floor, surveying the mess I left behind last night.

Guess I should have made a better attempt to hide all that stuff. The lighter and marijuana still sit on the coffee table and the scent of it still hangs in the air. Matthew’s face crumples like he swallowed sour milk, and it's funny for him to judge me like that.

"Do you always let yourself into houses that aren't yours?"

"It's church property, not yours, Charles."

"You know, I liked it better when you called me Charlie. Especially when you had your dick in my ass. You sounded all breathy and hot. It was nice."

His head snaps back as if I slapped him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Flopping on the sofa, I noticed some dried jizz on the edge. Guess I really don’t give a fuck anymore about this place.

"There’s nothing wrong with me."

He should ask himself that question. He’s the one who gives zero fucks about me after all we’ve done and said. Asshole.

"You're to be packed and out of this place today. That was the agreement."

"There was no agreement! You threw me under the bus to protect your own job! Your own…. you! That's not a fucking agreement!"

I want to stand right in his face and spray angry saliva on him. But I remain seated. I don’t want to give him the pleasure of knowing I’m unraveling and he’s the last thread to cut off and make it stop.

His cheeks turn red, and he at least has the decency to look embarrassed. He knows I’m right and this whole thing was never anything mutually agreed upon. A little voice inside still blames me, though. If I hadn’t tried to be romantic and tell him how I felt, we wouldn’t be here arguing.

"Charles. If you don't honour the letter, we’re both going to look bad."

Ah, more confirmation it’s only about him.

"So? Sounds like a you problem."

I chuckle as I pack up my laptop and make a show of stuffing the extra large bottle of lube inside.

"The only way you get the payout is to leave as agreed." He pulls an envelope from his pocket with a smug grin. "What's it gonna be?"

"Gee, Matt, let me think. I've got a few things to tie up and then I'm going to pack my shit and get out of here. Since I've discovered I really like gay sex and gin… oh, and that superb weed… I'm probably going to be unhinged for a while. I might have loose lips. I might not."

The blood drains from his face.

“And I have some savings so...”

"You promised." He seethes.

"Yeah, well, you promised you loved me and would never sell me out, so…. seems like a good trade."

He drops the envelope on the table and stomps to the door.

"If you're still here when I come by at 8PM tonight, that cheque will be canceled."

I give him the old middle finger salute.

"No problemo, Matt. You have a good day now."

The hollow silence now that I’m alone once again closes in. Sometimes it’s too loud and I need to push the deafening quiet out of my head. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I wait for my breathing to return to normal.

There’s still lots for me to accomplish before I leave here forever, and as much as I want to say I can’t wait to get out of here, I’m… scared. This is like starting my life all over and while I’m elated to finally be myself, I’m going to be doing it alone. For the first time in thirty-five years.

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