Page 62 of Your Only Fan
I look at the bowl in Freddy’s hands, Harry’s pajamas, the TV on pause, the curtains drawn.
“This is a terrible time. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come,” I say and pivot myself around.
I’ve got every intention of leaving and just going back to my apartment. But…
“Ezra Dixon-slash-Anderson, sit your ass down and tell us what’s wrong,” Freddy says with a raised voice I’ve not heard from him, ever.
I look at them and the TV. It’s only four in the afternoon, but it does look pitch black in here. But then again, I’d probably also sit at home and watch movies with my love. If I had one.
“It’s just a movie, Ezra. For fuck’s sake. We can watchLucalater,” Freddy says, opening the curtains beside the TV.
I smudge my lips at that and tilt my head.
“Isn’t that a kids’ movie?” I ask.
“Well, yeah. Your point?” Freddy asks.
“No point. Just checking,” I say and look from one to the other. “I love kids’ movies.”
And how adorable are they that they’re spending their Friday afternoon watching animated movies, in their pajamas, with a huge bowl of popcorn—seasoned with cinnamon and sugar from what I can see and smell?
“Don’t digress. Sit!” my friend orders me, and Harry nudges my shoulder while pointing at the couch.
It’s a large, grey sectional with a bunch of vibrant cushions. I can certainly tell what belonged to whom before the move.
Freddy pushes me down to the middle, the corner of the sectional, and he and Harry sit on either side of me.
Freddy takes my hand in his and leans closer, pushing his brows down over his eyes.
“Now tell Uncle Freddy and Uncle Harry what happened?” he says.
“Uncle?” I raise an eyebrow. “I’molderthan you, dude.”
“Shut up andtalk,” he snaps.
“Freddy. Be nice,” Harry hums.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Ezra, sweetie, stop digressing. And spill it. What’s up? What’s going on?”
They don’t know about Isaac. No one does. I haven’t had the chance or the balls to tell anyone. It’s all been such a mess in my head the last couple days, and to add to that, I’ve been too busy preparing for my cruise.
They didn’t know about Isaac. Until now. So I tell them. Everything. I tell them about CumJunkie and Mr. X and about “the night.” I tell them about the tattoos and the airport. All of it. I don’t leave anything out.
I thought I’d feel dirty sharing it all. Or that it’d be weird telling them about my sex life—yes, I know. I’m a porn star. Whatever. Still. I didn’t think any of it would help. But boy does sharing get a load off me.
And to their credit, both of them listen. They don’t interrupt. They don’t judge. They don’t make faces.
“So… yeah. And then I left the airport, took a cab, and came straight… here. I don’t know why,” I say.
Well, I know why.
Because Freddy is my friend. And because Harry is his boyfriend. Who used to be his teacher.
“How fucked up do you think all of this is?” I ask.
Freddy stares at Harry for a few moments. It’s like they’re communicating telepathically. I wish I could be privy to their “discussion.” Or to have what they have.
“Why aren’t you talking? Is it that bad?”
