Page 37 of Me Three
“I’m sorry?”
“That’s the name of the asshole who broke Carter’s heart and made him the man he is today,” I tell them.
Tru purses their lips and sits back again, their head bumping onto the cupboard behind them, but they barely even flinch.
“Tell me,” they ask, and it’s not demanding or bossy. It’s quiet and hesitant, and a little bit sad, which is how I end up telling them everything even though it’s not my story to tell.
By the time I’m done, the food is simmering and my own stomach is grumbling just as loud as Tru’s, and they hop off the counter and take out some plates and silverware under my instruction to set the table.
“So, as you can see, my friend is an idiot.” I force a laugh as I turn off the gas and remove the pan from the hot stove.
“It sounds like he needs help,” they say all serious, which makes me feel bad for even attempting to make light of the situation, so my face darkens, too, and my shoulders tense up.
“Yeah,” I say.
Tru helps themself to a soda and passes me a can of beer.
“And it sounds like you’re in love with him.”
Our eyes meet and they give away the answer before my mouth does.
“I can’t help it. I’ve been in love with him since I was fourteen and realized I’m gay,”
Their hand rubs the small of my back, and I feel the need to lean on them and let them make me forget all this crap.
“Why haven’t you ever told him?” they ask and so we end up standing there by the oven, me with a ladle in my hand trying to not break down in front of them.
“I was scared. Afraid he’d never see me that way. His boyfriends never looked like me. And his life was always a lot more social than mine. He was always the life of the party. Knew everyone and everyone knew him. I didn’t fit in his world as much as I tried. That’s why I left. Went to Paris, lived a little, and came back to a broken man.”
My head’s resting against Tru’s forehead and their arms envelop me. I don’t know why or how, but I feel good next to them. I feel seen. Warm. Loved, almost.
We stay there a while, the silence building between us, breathing in unison until my stomach complains and I move away from them so I can serve us dinner.
When we sit down, Tru takes a sip of their soda and turns to me.
“If you never told him how you feel, how did you…”
“How did we end up on a benefits scheme?”
Tru chuckles and nods.
“When I came back from Paris, we moved in together straight away. Considering every friend he had either slept with Ian or abandoned him, he didn’t have much of a choice short of moving back in with his parents. And I wanted to be there for him. I felt guilty for not being there to help him before, so I thought living together would help us both.
“So one night we got wasted and we crashed on the couch and, I don’t know, we started talking about shit, and then he kissed me. And since then we’ve agreed to help each other out whenever we need to blow off some steam,” I say.
Tru rocks back and forth in their chair, their eyes processing everything by glancing at one side of the room to the other.
“Who suggested the benefits thing first?” they ask after a moment’s pause.
“Carter did,” I say. “I think, anyway. He said it’s easy and hassle-free, so why not?”
They pick up their spoon and take a scoop of the rice with the coconut curry. One would think they’d never tasted anything better in their life, the way their lids drop heavy over their eyes and the orgasmic moan that leaves their lips.
“Probably not the best idea for you, though, right? It doesn’t help you get over him,” they say.
“I don’t want to,” I spill before I can even help myself, and Tru smiles at me with that beautiful, kind smile of theirs. “But enough about me. Tell me about yourself. Why painting? What drove you to the arts?”
Tru laughs and sits back, their finger running circles around the rim of their soda can.
