Page 111 of King of Pain
Lexi’s expression softens further. “People handle grief differently. He’ll realize this is silly and come back.”
I nod slowly, wiping my eyes again. “Wow. Some coming out party this is. I’m gay, if that part wasn’t clear.”
Jen lets out a small laugh and grabs my chin, turning my gaze to hers. “Hey. I’ve always seen every beautiful color inyour rainbow, babes.” She hands me my tequila. “You know my gaydar is never wrong, but you could’ve been bi, pan, ace, or just into Chance.”
I chuckle weakly, a memory flooding in. “Well, that last one is very true. I told him I’m Chansexual.” The girls laugh as that now bittersweet memory floats through my mind. “But I’m now sure I’m gay. There’s just some things from my past that made me question it. Until he came along.”
Jen rubs my shoulder. “I figured. Working through that is more important than a label. You’ve taken some big steps, but I’m sure you have a lot more to work through.”
I let out a watery laugh. “Yeah. A fuck-ton more. Especially now. He unlocked every bolted door in my heart and then he left. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover.”
Lexi hesitates before saying, “Tell me if I’m overstepping, but have you ever considered therapy? I thinkeveryoneshould be in therapy. Life is fucking hard. I go weekly.”
I blink at her. “Really?”
“Mmhmm.”
I exhale. “I think I need to. I don’t want to shut down again. Whether he’s here or not.”
Lexi smiles. “Would you like the information for my therapist? He’s very good and quite reasonable. He specializes in young adults of color and the queer community, mostly.”
I nod. “Yeah, I’d like his information. Thanks, Lex.”
Two weeks have passed. No calls. No texts. Nothing. I texted Chance at least a hundred times the night of his last message.
Unread.
I tried calling him the morning after that shitty last message, but I got an automated response:“The number you called has been disconnected, changed, or is no longer in service.”
Out of necessity, I’ve fallen back into my routine: classes, preparing for graduation, working shifts at Devil Records. Everyone's been kind, but the constant looks of pity are starting to suffocate me.
I move around the kitchen, frying eggs, toasting bread, brewing coffee. My mind swirls with thoughts of Chance. How could he just vanish like that? How could he leave when he needed me by his side the most?
A knock at the door startles me. I wipe my hands on a towel and head over, Little G trotting beside me. When I open it, a middle-aged man stands there, holding a manila folder.
“You must be Anthony.”
I nod cautiously. “I am. Can I help you?”
The man puts out his hand. “My name is Mike. Mike Janovich. I'm the landlord.”
My stomach twists. Eviction. Without Chance here, I’m probably getting kicked out. I shake his hand anyway. “Hey, Mike, nice to, uh, meet you.” I step aside. “Would you like to come in?”
Mike glances down at Guinness, who’s sitting attentively by my feet. I quickly add, “Oh, don't worry about Little G, he's very friendly... uh, unless he's not on the lease, in which case, he's visiting. And very cranky.”
Mike chuckles. “He's on the lease, don’t stress. And yes, I’ll come in if you don’t mind. I need to go over some things with you.”
Confused, I shake my head and step aside, motioning him in. “Have a seat at the dining table. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Just water, thanks.”
I grab a bottled water from the fridge and sit across from him at the table. He nods his thanks and gets straight to business.
“I got a call from someone named Murph. He was vague about circumstances, but said Chance wouldn’t be living here.”
I slump in my chair, bracing myself.
“This, uh, Murph, he asked if I would extend the lease by six months beyond the existing term, and add you as a tenant.”
