Page 13 of Nights Without Night
“Survive, like everybody else,” I say. His expression sobers as he looks at me.
“Not everybody survives.”
The phrase makes me cold. There’s not much I can say to that.
“I just…I need…I want…fuck,” Isadoro says, shaking his head and turning it away from me.
Suddenly, with the clarity gained from knowing someone this long, I understand. What Isadoro wants is a middleman between him and reality.
“So…you can’t with a stranger, so you want us to…sleep together to, like, desensitize you. Get you ready for the real world. Like a halfway house,” I say slowly.
“Sounds kind of fucked up when you put it like that,” Isadoro mutters.
“Kind of is,” I reply truthfully.
“Fuck. It’s—I don’t want you to do this out of fucking pity but, just…you’re my—you’ve always…there’s no one I trust like I trust you and I’ve put my life in people’s hands—I’ve fought alongside people I’d give anything to but you…I feel like I’m going to fall into a hole if I don’t keep going. We’ve done it before, so I just thought—but forget it. Forget it.”
This is the first time in years Isadoro has asked me for any kind of help, that he’s really shared something about what’s going on inside him. I can’t breathe, for a moment, at the sound of the desperation in his voice. This isn’t about sex. Not really. It’s about him feeling he isn’t defective in his definition of the word. About gaining some sense of control over himself.
I wish I could say all my motivations for wanting to say yes are selfless, but the sudden desire that lays heavy in my stomach says otherwise. I want him to, to—I justwanthim.
“Okay,” I say. Isadoro looks at me. “Okay. We can…But we need to sleep on this. Tomorrow,youbring it up if you still want to…do it. And I’ll tell you if I do. Okay?”
It’s the best I can do to assuage my conscience. Maybe by tomorrow, I’ll have come to my senses.
“Okay,” he says. We look at each other, electric.
We let the moment pass.
All my drunkenness becomes apparent the moment I get up. I sway for a moment before stumbling to the kitchen. I put away what little we left of the vodka and return to the living room, collapsing beside Isadoro on the couch, pressed against him. He turns the TV on and I close my eyes.
“Why did we drink so much, again?” I groan.
“Everything sucks.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Isadoro snorts and a moment later I feel the ghost-press of his fingers against my wrist.
“If you’re gonna hold my hand don’t be fucking weird about it,” I grouse, grabbing his hand. Isadoro snorts again and we stare at the flickering colours on the TV.
It’s warm, here. I let the night take me under.
**********
I shuffle to the kitchen praying for death. Or coffee. Either would do for my hangover.
I’m just putting some coffee in a paper filter when Isadoro comes out of his bedroom. I turn to look at him. He looks perfectly awake and hangover-free.
“Bitch,” I tell him, just for how pretty he is.
“You told me to bring it up today,” he says abruptly, not even giving me a minute to be alive on this horrible morning.
“God, let me wake up, will you?” I groan. He just stands there, watching me as I put the filter in place, add water, turn it on. The pot fills up slowly and he just stands there, looking at me.
“Fucking weirdo,” I mutter as I finally pour some coffee into the cup, treating myself to some milk so it cools down enough to drink straight away.
I take a sip and sigh. I turn to Isadoro, leaning my back against the counter with the mug in my hands.
