Page 88 of Take My Breath Away
Jesus, but I’d nearly…
I pull my hands away from my face and open my eyes. Aiden’s staring at me, studying me, assessing me under the weak lamplight. His mouth lifts into a slow smile, but like the shine in his eyes it’s hard and cold.
“No, James, you’ve not changed. Haven’t you just proved that? It really didn’t take very much to tempt you from your newfound straight and narrow, did it? Men like you don’t change; they never do. Don’t fool yourself you’re any different.”
A moment later he’s gone. I scratch at my skin, feeling dirtier, filthier than I ever have before, wanting to scrub it all away until I bleed.
The champagne, the cigarette, and what I almost did, burn a hole in my stomach. I double up and vomit it all out on the pavement, emptying myself of everything except his words which clamour in my head with a dark and undeniable truth.
* * *
I don’t go back into the bar, but I don’t go straight home either. I walk around the busy, winding, twisting Soho streets, my footsteps getting faster as Aiden’s words seem to chase me down.
Clearer headed, but not by much, I tell myself I should bat what he said aside, that he’s wrong, that I have changed, but it doesn’t stop his words burrowing under my skin like a stinking parasite.
I can’t go home, not yet, because I’m ashamed. Ashamed of what I nearly let happen. It would have been easy, so, so bloody easy. A filthy kiss, a fumble for the belt and the zip, and then…
The sickness rises up in me again, but there’s nothing left to leave splattered on the pavement. Temptation, easy temptation I could never resist, grabbing it and gorging like a greedy child. This time I did resist, but what about the next time, or the time after that? I should go home, shower, clean my teeth and wash it all away, all the grubbiness I know is more than skin deep.
Lifting my hands to my face I sniff. I can smell Aiden on me, I’m sure of it. Cigarettes, sweat, and cum, the stench of clubs and bars and temptation. It makes me gag, and I stop for a moment, in a shop doorway, taking deep breaths to steady myself.
I’ve been walking the streets blindly with no idea where I’ve been going, but up ahead is a comforting neon sign, known and familiar. Café Alberto, where I found a drunk and dejected Perry all those weeks ago. His clumsy flirting, almost boyish, it made me laugh but even then it struck a match inside me lighting up a dark little corner of my heart. A chance encounter. I took him not just into my home, but into my heart, and everything changed.
But men like me don’t change.Idon’t change.
I barge in and seek out the table in the shadows where I found Perry. It’s occupied, by lovers smiling and kissing half hidden in the gloom, and instead I stumble into a seat up against the large plate glass window overlooking the busy street. I order a coffee but barely taste it as I stare out at the life tumbling around outside.
A couple of young guys come in, laughing aloud in between whispering and giggling all over each other. Mid-twenties, Perry’s age or thereabouts. They flop down at one of the tables, kissing and whispering and kissing again, totally wrapped up in one another.
This is what Perry should be doing, with a guy his own age. He shouldn’t be with me, he shouldn’t be having anything to do with a man like me.
Don’t screw this up, is what Elliot said to me. My friend knows me so, so well. It’s exactly what I’m doing. The guy in the pub, the men in the bar tonight. And Aiden, let’s not forget Aiden, but there’s another man I should never forget.
Alex, the man I betrayed over and over, to my everlasting shame. The man I didn’t love enough. I ditched my slutty ways for him, that’s what I told myself, all those years ago. And I did, for a little while, until temptation crooked its finger and I didn’t think twice about following. I broke his heart and I vowed I’d never do that to another man.
I won’t do that to Perry.
As one, the two guys turn and look at me because I’ve been staring. One of them throws the other a questioning glance before he smiles at me. I stagger up, almost knocking over my seat, wanting to get out to escape their sudden sharp scrutiny, and the light in their eyes that tells me they know the kind of man I am.
I’ve made choices tonight, and they’ve been the right ones, but will I be able to make the right choices next week, or next month, or next year? Will I be able to shake my head and turn away from future temptation when I’ve never done so in the past? I don’t know, and that’s what frightens me. But there’s one thing I do know, and that it’s men like me don’t change.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
PERRY
“James? I’m home.”
The weather’s turned very cold overnight, but the house is lovely and warm and I shrug off my coat and hang it up in the hallway cupboard.
I call out for James again but there’s no answer and as I walk through to the kitchen I instinctively know the house is empty.
Nothing’s out of place in the kitchen, except for a mug that contains the last dregs of coffee. I can do with a hot drink. The journey across London, south to north, from Greenwich to Highgate, has been long and difficult, but I’m home now and that’s what matters. I glance up at the clock; it’s lunchtime and I wondering where James is, on a cold and blustery Saturday.
Work, I guess. He must have been called in. He seems to be on call pretty much 24/7, and late evening or weekend calls or meetings aren’t that uncommon. I check my phone to see if there’s a text, but there’s nothing.
I can’t be bothered to fire up the coffee machine. Flipping the kettle on, I hear the slam of the front door. He’s back and that fills me with a warmth that’s hotter than the central heating pumping out. Seconds later he’s standing on the threshold of the kitchen, his running gear soaking wet and splashed with mud. He normally runs early in the morning but it’s getting on for one o’clock. And then I remember. Of course, he’d have been out late last night. He looks tired, with dark shadows under his eyes, the tell-tale sign of too little sleep and too much booze.
“Hey.” I stride over to him.
