I remember the way his hair smelled of sweat and the tears I had cried into it.

He looked up at the ceiling and took slow, deep breaths. I could see the sweat glistening off of his top lip as I waited for him to make his next move.

I don't know what I was expecting from him but all he did was turn over. Turned his back to me.

"Why didn't you look at me?" I asked, startling us both.

He turned his head just enough to glance at me. He sighed, and left me to stare at his bare back. That was his answer.

"You never loved me." Andrew said, coldly.

A burning fire began to rise inside of Jason. Anger filled his brown eyes. He wanted to lunge out and attack Andrew for even making such allegations. He could not believe he would act like such a spoiled, rotten child. He had no idea where Andrew's new, bratty attitude had come from. "You know that's bullshit." Jason muttered in response. He could not bear to even glance in Andrew's direction, for he felt far too hurt and betrayed.

"Is it? Is it?" Andrew exclaimed, his tone growing louder. "I don't understand how you can love somebody the way you claim to love me, and still manage to leave them. I don't understand how you can stand there and act as though this is so easy for you. It should be tearing you up inside."

"Maybe it is Andrew. But maybe I am better at concealing my pain and my anger than you are. Maybe I don't need to rip open an artory everytime something goes remotely wrong. And maybe, I don't know, maybe I don't have to wear my new badge of heartache as though it's something to be proud of. Maybe I am just not searching for attention and pity everytime something gets fucked up in my life."

"Maybe that's your problem."

"Maybe it is."

Silence fell over the room, and still the two men could not manage to look at each other. Andrew stared down at his rough hands, picking at his cuticles. He was secretly hoping to rip one open, make himself bleed. Jason knew exactly what he was doing, and deep inside he was begging him to stop. This is what caused their problems; Andrew's desire to not just hurt, but hurt himself.

"Then maybe you shouldn't leave." Andrew whispered, weakly, hoping Jason would not hear him.

Jason sighed, already feeling visibly defeated. "This isn't going to work! No matter how hard we try, and no matter how much we promise each other to change, this is not going to work."

"You never loved me." Andrew repeated, full of malice and disgust.

Jason opened his mouth and quickly shut it, giving up on his attempt to defend himself. Instead he decided to play along with Andrew's little game. "Maybe you're right. Don't you think I'd want to stay with someone I was in love with?" He asked slyly.

Andrew's brown eyes grew wide with disbelief. He could not manage to speak, allowing for Jason to continue. "Maybe it wasn't love I felt for you. Maybe it was pity. Isn't that what you wanted? Pity? Maybe...I knew exactly who you were. I knew all about you. I guess...well, I don't know really. I was drawn to your tragic nature I suppose. I thought maybe I could fix you--"

"Fix me? You wanted to fix me?"

"I thought I could help you. I was wrong. Pity and sorrow, they only last for so long. What happens when they're gone? And you realize why this can't keep going?"

"Bullshit. You fucking little liar. You know that's not true!" Andrew yelled, startling Jason. He had never heard Andrew so upset, so angry. "You only brought me home that night because you didn't want to show anyone you had been defeated. That you couldn't find anyone to fuck you that night. I was your last resort. You didn't want another night alone."

Jason whinced, which caused Andrew to smirk. Andrew knew he had hit a nerve. "Yeah Andrew. You're right. I was just desperate."

Shit.

How the fuck am I going to explain this?

How long can I hide this? Three, four months? Maybe longer? Maybe he won't notice?

Except, I keep...throwing up. Everything I smell makes me throw up. After I eat, straight to the toilet. I don't think he's noticed. He's too much in his own little world.

Or so I thought.

As I stood on my knees, clutching the toilet, my insides burning from bile, he stood behind me in the bathroom doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Are you okay?" he asked, startling me.

I continued to stare into the toilet's water, thinking it best not to look at him.

"Mmh, yeah, I'm fine," I said, into the bowl.

"You sure?" he asked, refusing to budge from his position. "You've been throwing up all week. You're not pregnant are you?" he asked with an awkward laugh.

I turned my head, slightly, and shot a harsh look at him. I slowly shook my head and managed to sit on the cold, tile floor. I rubbed my heavy eyes, doing all I could to avoid looking at him. I knew he was staring down at me, and I knew he wasn't convinced. He sat down beside me, and for the first time in weeks, looked into my eyes. "You are! You are pregnant."

I said nothing, worrying about the next words to come out of his mouth. Would he call me a liar? A manipulator? Accuse me of purposely getting pregnant to get what I want when he was so adamant about not wanting kids?

"How did this happen?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"You were on the pill, weren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Were you taking it?"

"Yes, I was taking it. God, are you accusing me of purposely not taking my birth control?"

His eyes filled with remorse. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

"These things happen, you know? It's rare but it happens."

"I know."

I put my hand on his. "Tell me. Are you okay?"

"Am I okay? Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question?" He paused. "I know what you mean."

"And?"

He threw up his hands with a sense of defeat. "What can I do?"

I shut my eyes and put my hand to my mouth, biting my skin. He certainly was infuriating. Could never give me a straight answer. And me, like a fool, accepted it. "So, what, you're just going to act like you don't care? You're going to make this my problem? I'm the one that's going to have to deal with this all by myself?"

"No," he replied, quickly.

"Then what?"

"There's nothing to deal with. There is no problem."

"Yes, there is. You don't want kids, and yet here I am, knocked up. That's a conflict of interest if I ever saw one, eh?"

He sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm just...scared. God, you know that."

I couldn't help but laugh. "I'm sorry but do you think I'm not? There's a person inside of me! And it's going to grow! Skin stretches and things are...never the same."

He laughed, heartily, which made me feel absolutely incredible. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that." He took my face in his hands and kissed my temple. "I can't make any promises but I will try my best."

I thought things would get better after the truth came out.

They just got awkward.

I grew uncomfortable with the knowledge of the fact that he had been going to people and telling them about their problems. No, it wasn't just other people, it was another woman.

I know, he's paying her, which in a sense, makes it worse. If you have that sort of sense of humor. But I just...wish he would've come to me and said, "Look, I have these problems, and I need to talk." No, he needed to pay $125 an hour to talk about them.

I've been so stupid. How the hell did I not know $125 a week was being taken out of our bank account? I never questioned it. But you know, I don't think he would've told me the truth had I asked. He simply would've mumbled and averted his eyes to the floor and completely avoided the situation.

I guess what I'm most uncomfortable about is that he's talking about me to her. He says the doctor, I think her name is Norton, says it's a good thing I'm there for him. Really? Because I've never felt any bit helpful to him. I never felt like our relationship was beneficial to him. If it was, he never showed it.

And it kills me because I'm dying to know what he's saying to her. What is he saying to her about me? Maybe I should start seeing her too. Although, there's the whole "patient confidenitality" thing, right? And he would never tell me. He won't even answer a question like "How are you?" or "What do you want for dinner?" much less "What do you say to your therapist about me?"

Maybe I need to stop thinking about the negative things. Stop being so paranoid. Stop worrying. Count my blessings.

For one, he came out to me and told me that he could no longer handle himself. That he sought help from an outsider. That perhaps he's sick.

And that scares the shit out of me. I'm not going to lie. Manic depression means you're bipolar. And well, bipolar means you have constant mood swings. Which he already has. His father was bipolar. If you ask him about his father, a glazed look just comes over his face and his eyes become completely empty. "I'd rather not talk about him," he responds. I met the man once, and he was relatively harmless but there was definite tension between the father and son. They shared the same dark eyes, and when they locked, it was as though all the air was sucked out of the room. I think my husband has always known he was sick. He knew what manic depression looked like, he lived with it his entire childhood. I think that's why he resents his father so much. His father is just a portal to the truth, and when he looks into the older man's eyes, he sees himself.

You know, manic depression isn't genetic. At least, they don't think it is.

I don't think his father's sickness has anything to do with his own.

So, he avoids his father. Why would you want your future sitting around beside you anyway? I wonder if he talks to her about him. Probably, right? She'll probably ask, "When did you first start noticing, you know, your mood swings? Your outbreaks?"

Outbreak is probably not a good word for it. My husband doesn't have Herpes. And outbreak makes me think of that Rene Russo movie...didn't that have to do with monkies? My husband isn't a monkey either.

And I don't know why, but I always imagine their sessions as something kind of sexual. She talks to him in a breathy whisper, and a slight smile comes over his face to show that he's aroused but not willing to give in just yet.

There are a lot of things I have to learn now. The first is probably to realize that my husband and his therapist are not having an affair.

I have to just count my blessings. And without a doubt, no matter what happens, he's one of them.

"Congratulations Jason, you finally get it."

I walked off of the elevator and straight to our apartment. I took a deep breath and paused in front of its door. I smelled my collar, my sleeves, praying there was still remnents of my own cologne on my clothing. I button my top button, straighten out my tie, and run my fingers through my hair. Something is still not right. My hand. My ring. I reach into my pocket and slip it back onto my finger. It felt out of place. Almost as though my body was rejecting it. Because both my head and my heart knew it only represented a lie. I had broken the promise it sought to express.

My hand trembled as I turned my key in the lock, as I slowly turned the knob and entered the apartment. Andrew sat on the couch, his eyes fixated on the television. He glanced in my direction and his face lit up. My heart began to sink into the pit of my stomach. I didn't deserve to be welcomed home in this way. I didn't deserve Andrew.

He jumped off the couch and wrapped his arms around me. His touch sent shivers up and down my spine. I managed to smile as he softly kissed my cheek. "I missed you." He whispered into my ear.

I say nothing, only nod to show I understood his words. "I'm exhausted Andrew. I'm just going to shower and go to bed."

He raised his eyebrow in suspicion. "You're going to shower? You never shower when you come home from work."

My heart began to race as I quickly searched my head for an explanation. "Look, it's been a long day. A nice hot shower would really make me feel better right about now."

Andrew shrugged, retreating back to the couch. "Fine. Not that it matters to me if you want to get naked and wet." He said with a laugh. I forced out a fake laugh and headed to the bathroom.

I locked the door behind me, tossing off my navy blue tie and yellow, button-down shirt. I reach into the pockets of my pants to empty their contents. A gum wrapper. A receipt from the ATM. Some loose change. An empty condom wrapper. The empty condom wrapper. I couldn't let Andrew find it. It would easily give me away. He would know right away. I began to unravel toilet paper and wrapped the wrapper into a thick wad until it was unrecognizable. I burried it deep into the trash can. I finished undressing and turned the water on, as hot as it could possibly get. I let the bathroom fill up with steam, letting it cover the mirror and distort my reflection. I couldn't bear to look at myself. I wasn't myself. I would never do this to Andrew. No, this person that stood in the steam filled, sweltering bathroom was just a stranger. An intruder in my own body.

As I stepped into the shower, the scolding hot water burned my skin. I stood there motionless, letting it bounce off my skin and flow down the drain. I expected some sort of solace from the shower, as though it were going to absolve my sins but it only made me feel miserable. It only helped me to dwell on the day's actions. My hand trembled as I struggled to turn off the faucet. What I had hoped would be a comfort was only torture.

I quickly dressed and attempted to sneak out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, in hopes Andrew would not catch me. As I reached the doorway of the bedroom, I heard his voice. "Feeling better?" He asked.

I paused for a moment, trying to gather the thoughts in my head. "Uh, yeah...I'm just going to go to sleep now."

"Alright. Good night."

"'Night." I replied, walking into the bedroom.

"I love you Jason."

A sharp pain developed in my chest, as though those three words tore at my heart. I hung my head low and took a deep breath, saying nothing in return. I waited a moment and Andrew was quiet. Maybe he just assumed I didn't hear him. Maybe he hasn't yet realized something is wrong.

I quickly drifted off to consciousness, but discovered myself plagued by horrible nightmares. Andrew always swears I never dream, I never have nightmares. I've always made it a point to show him I do by telling him every one of my dreams and nightmares the next morning, no matter how absurd. But these nightmares, I could never tell him.

I dreamt of him, he was sitting on the bare, wooden floor of a bedroom. It wasn't our bedroom. He was staring up at me with those big, brown eyes and he was covered in blood. I kept asking him what he had done. I kept shouting the question over and over again. "What did you do Andrew!? What did you do!?" And he just continued to stare at me, blood dripping from his arms and down his thighs, and onto the floor. After a moment, he smiled and said, "I didn't do anything. You did this to me."

I immediately jumped out of bed but could not forget the sight of those eyes staring up at me. That smile. The blood. The words "you did this to me" were carved into my head. I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't meditate in the darkness of my bedroom, and lay in the bed where I made love to Andrew night after night. It made me sick to my stomach. But I couldn't go out into the apartment and see him, it would only cause me to bust open at the seems. I needed to escape for awhile, wander the cold, dark streets of Manhattan. Get lost. Ride the subway without a destination.

I creeped out of the room, and found the living room empty. The bathroom door was locked, which caused a wave of panic to come over me. If Andrew discovered anything, and by anything I mean the condom wrapper, he would lose it. He would slice his arms from wrist to elbow and flood the entire bathroom with crimson liquid. It would be something I did to him. I would be forced to not only live with the guilt of infidelity but the guilt of throwing Andrew right off the edge. Being responsible for Andrew finishing what he sought out to accomplish time and time again.

I stood motionless in the middle of the living room, as though I were bracing myself for disaster. Relishing in the calm before the storm. The bathroom door slowly creaked open, and Andrew emerged, looking as calm as ever. But I caught a glimpse into his eyes, and they were full of fire. He said nothing but kept his eyes glued on me. He plopped down on his position on the sofa, watching my every move, every breath, every twitch and wince.

"Jason?" He asked, calmly.

"Yes Andrew?"

"When was the last time we had sex?"

I didn't know what this question meant, or why he was asking it. It just made my head spin and my heart race. "Uhh I think Monday, right?" I replied, stumbling over my words.

He nodded as a smile came over his face. "Yeah. You're right. It was the day before yesterday. It was really great, wasn't it? I gave you a blow job, and then you fucked the piss out of me. And then you did something you never do...you let me fuck you. Didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Yes." He got up off the couch and walked up to me, so close I could feel his breath on my skin. He pulled his hand out from behind his back and in it was the wrapper. He brought it close to my face and said, "I didn't use a condom. And neither did you." before flinging it onto the floor.

"Andrew..." I muttered, the only word I could think to say.

He laughed. "No. Don't you dare say anything, especially my name. No this is my time now for you to listen to me. Because I've been listening to you for years now and all you've done is shit on me. I can't believe you'd come in here, pretending that nothing is wrong, meanwhile you went out and fucked some random guy. How did you think I wouldn't find out? I know everything. I know when you're pissed off, when you're depressed, and especially when you've got something big on your mind, like a secret...something you don't want me to know. Don't you think I realized you didn't say 'I love you too' when I told you I loved you before? What kind of dumb asshole do you take me for?"

I stood there in shock, waiting for my head and my mouth to reconnect and allow me to speak. But Andrew continued. "Tell me, please, who the fuck was he? Some piece of shit you met at Domain? Someone I know? Or just some cheap trick you found in the subway?"

"It wasn't a guy." I blurted out, even shocking myself. Andrew's eyes caught fire. They were angrier than I'd ever seen them. He mouth tightened up and he clenched his hands in fists at his side, as though to stop them from trembling.

"Are you telling me that you fucked a woman?" He asked, his voice shaking, attempting to hold back the tears I wished so desperately he would cry.

He didn't wait for me to respond. "You did. You did fuck a woman. Holy shit Jason!" He threw his hands up in the air in disbelief. "What the fuck was I to you? Is that it? Are we done? Do you no longer want me?"

He grabbed his jacket and messanger bag and hurried towards the front door. I knew in my heart I needed to stop him from leaving. We needed to talk this out. I needed to tell my side of the story. I needed to let him know I still wanted and needed him. Instead, I could only manage to blurt one sentence out. "I still love you Andrew!"

He turned and shot me a pathetic look. "Fuck you Jason. Fuck you!" He yelled, before slamming the door behind him.

I lay on the bed, staring off into space, running my fingers again and again through my already knotted hair. I think about getting up to shower. But shrug that idea off.

I think about getting up to smoke a cigarette. I even turn to look at the carton of Marlboros on the nightstand. But I shrug that idea off too. It would require me walking all the way into the living room, through the double, French doors, onto the balcony, lighting up, and actually performing the act of smoking. Man, that just sounded like a lot of work at the moment.

I could draw. Okay, no, even I roll my eyes at that idea. What would I possibly draw? What the fuck was I doing with this "art" nonsense?

No, right about now all I want to do is lay on this bed in this dimly lit bedroom and feel sorry for myself.

I turn over onto my side and hear footsteps from out in the hallway. They get closer and closer until they finally reach the doorway of the room. I don't even turn to look at the person they belong to. He takes it upon himself to enter the room and sit on the other side of the mattress. Still, I stare at the wall.

"You're lying in bed. At five thirty in the afternoon." He says flatly.

I say nothing in response. Still staring at the wall, I realize there's a stain on it resembling a pear. Ha.

"Hey," He continues, putting his hand on my shoulder. I suppose he wants me to acknowledge his presence? So I turn my head slightly and glance at him. He gives me that look. You know, that look. The look that says...hey, Andrew, I fucking love you. And you know what? I immediately think, hey, Jason, I fucking love you too.

"I fucking love you." I respond, thinking aloud. He suddenly seems taken aback, and even I find myself startled.

"Random, Andrew. Really random." He says with a laugh.

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and shake my head in a sort of embarrassment. He realizes this and quickly adds. "But I fucking love you too?" Something about his tone seems interrogative. Like he's unsure of what he's saying, like he's unsure of whether it's the right thing to say. But you know what? I meant what I said. I fucking love you, Jason. You dumb asshole.

I guess a look of shock came over my face because a look of horror came over Jason's. I lean over and kiss his adorable mouth, and he laughs. He laughs right into my mouth. That's kind of...kinky. Kind of. Just kind of. Just a little. A wee bit.

"Ew. You laughed right in my mouth!" I say, giggling.

He grabs the side of my face and plants a slow, loving kiss on my lips. "I love you Andrew." He says, and this time it sounds sincere. The truth.

"What's wrong Andrew?" He asks, his tone now full of concern.

I sigh. "I am...depressed."

"Depressed? About what?"

"My life. Where am I going Jason? Where am I going?"

"Nowhere if you don't get the hell out of this bed and out of your pajamas."

"Leave my pajamas alone! I'm sad! I'm allowed to wear my pajamas when I'm sad!"

"Oh? Now you're sad? Over what?"

I playfully shrug. "Don't be sad! I'm here!" He says with a laugh.

"Hey! I'm trying to be heartfelt here! Obviously my depression and unhappiness means nothing to you!"

"Yes it. I'm very concerned about your sadness and your depression. I'm sorry you're sad and depressed Andrew."

"Thank you, that's much better."

He lays down beside me and wraps his arms around my waist, gently grazing his fingers over my stomach. I close my eyes and exhale. He can do something so simple as touch my stomach and I am immediately taken. I'm his.

I put my head on his shoulder and kiss his neck. I can feel his breath on my skin, and it sort of dissovles any terrible, depressed feeling I had. I inch closer to his body, my stomach on his, my legs entangled within his legs. He kisses me again, running his fingers through my hair. His other hand, which was rubbing my stomach, is now traveling down the crotch of my sweatpants. He encircles his fingers around me and I cry out in pleasure. A smile spreads across his face as I pull my red t-shirt over my head. He kisses my chest, my neck, and nestles his face in the crook of it. He rests his head on my body for a moment, and I can feel him breathe. I can feel his heartbeat. God, do I want him. He rips off his own navy blue sweater, unbuckles his leather belt, and quickly unzips his jeans. I secrety smile to myself. He wants me too.

I feel like a fool so I'm going to stop troubling you
buried in my yard, a letter to send to you
and if I forget, or God-forbid die too soon
hope that you hear me
know that I wrote to you

Andrew spent ten minutes staring at the apartment's door. It was a simple wooden door, with a shiny, brass knob. The gold "7G" that was situated in its center shone in the brightly-lit hallway. And Andrew kept staring. If he closed his eyes, he could probably still picture it, complete with every little imperfection in the wood, every scratch on the knob, and every chip in the gold painted numbers.

But who the fuck gave a shit about a fucking door?

Of course, it was what was behind it that Andrew cared about most.

Every time he reached out to grab the knob, to turn it, he'd retreat. Maybe he were just waiting for Jason to emerge from out behind it, so he could feign surprise. Then he could exclaim, "Oh! Jason! What a shock to see you here, right in front of your own apartment!" But of course, that would be too easy. And well, too pathetic.

But Toby said Jason was miserable, right? So, maybe Jason was sitting in there, alone, in the dark, crying into his half-empty bottle of Tequila. Or Rum. Or whatever the fuck his poison was, Andrew couldn't remember. It almost made him smile to think of Jason so damn depressed.

Or...it could be the total opposite. He could be in there...with her. Having hot, wild, passionate sex, not giving a fuck about Andrew. Andrew wouldn't even cross his mind.

He put his ear to the door. Silence. No. There was no sex going on in there. It sounded as though the apartment was completely empty.

They could be at her place. Destroying it with their writhing, naked, beautiful bodies. He was probably making her scream with intense, excrutiating pleasure, something she probably wasn't prepared for. Something Andrew had experienced time and time again.

Except, Andrew wasn't so sure how one would fuck a woman, or whether a woman could feel the same exact pleasure as a man. He shrugged. He really didn't give a shit either way. He just knew it was possible Jason and his girlfriend (the word made him shudder) were somewhere, behind the door, in a hotel, in her apartment, it didn't matter, they were somewhere fucking each other's brains out.

He glanced at his watch. It was 4:15 in the afternoon. If he knew Jason, he knew Jason didn't have sex before eleven PM. It was one of his weird idosyncracies. He, like...couldn't have sex while the sun was still the sky. It made Andrew giggle. Jason always had some pretty odd hang ups, didn't he?

Well, that was the gay Jason. Andrew wasn't sure the new, girl-fucking Jason was a neurotic, night-sex-having was the same person he spent the last five years in a relationship with.

He suddenly remembered he no longer had a key to the apartment. He gave it back to Jason on the day he came back to get his stuff. Andrew had no choice but knock. And he did so, so softly, as though he were desperately hoping Jason wouldn't hear. Then he could pretend the reason they didn't speak was because Jason wasn't home to answer the door.

Andrew waited a moment, no answer. He hestitated before knocking again, this time louder, with far more confidence. A good minute passed before Andrew heard any activity occurring from behind the door. They were definitely scrambling to get dressed, Andrew thought.

But to his surprise, a clothed Jason answered the door, and behind him, the apartment was empty. He looked better than he did the last time Andrew had seen him. He appeared to have gotten some sleep. His eyes weren't as puffy, his skin not as grey, his hair not as dull. He wasn't wearing those same, dirty pajamas. He was now dressed in his usual jeans and a black, long-sleeved, button-downed shirt. Andrew hated to admit it, but Jason looked gorgeous. This was, perhaps, due to the fact Andrew was truly beginning to miss him, and absence makes the heart grow founder, doesn't it?

Jason was taken aback by his visitor at the door. "Andrew." He said with a hint of surprise in his tone.

Andrew nervously bit down on his bottom lip, unsure of what to say. He could feel his hands begin to tremble and clam up with sweat. His stomach began to tie into knots. What does one say to the person who caused him the most pain in their lives?

Jason did not wait for Andrew to respond. He continued. "I guess Toby told you I came to check up on you."

"No. I knew it was you all along. I could hear your voice from the hallway. And wait, wait--what do you mean came to check up on me!?" Andrew asked, unsure of whether he was relieved or infuriated by Jason at the moment.

Jason shrugged. "Look, I was worried about you. I know how you get."

"What do you mean, 'how you get'?" But Andrew knew exactly what Jason meant.

Jason shot him a "you've-got-to-be-kidding-me" look. "You know what I mean. I just...wouldn't be able to live with myself if you...if anything happened to you."

"Please, don't flatter yourself."

"God, Andrew, why the hell did you come here? To yell and curse at me some more?"

Andrew paused a moment. "No." He said, slowly. "That's exactly what I didn't want. I didn't want to come here and fight. I don't think you, or I...we deserve it."

Jason slowly nodded. He exhaled. "Well, don't just stand out in the hallway. Come in. Please."

Andrew obliged, walking into the living room as though he were walking into the enemy's territory. It was all so strange. He didn't live there anymore. And that was by far the strangest thing of all. He stood beside the green sofa, uncertain of whether he should take another step into the apartment. Jason sat before him, staring up at him with his sad, brown eyes. Andrew didn't know what he could possibly say to break the silence. A thousand thoughts were drowning in his head but none of them seemed right. None of them strong enough.

"Andrew." Jason began. "Why did you come here?"

"I guess, well, I was sick of just sitting around in Toby's apartment, feeling like shit." Andrew stopped, closing his eyes. "Wait, wait, I gotta know something. Just answer this, and then I'll know whether this is all going to be worth it."

"What is it?"

He paused, as though he were trying to connect his brain to his tongue. "Have you...um," he said, unable to formulate a coherant sentence.

"Have I what?"

"How many times did you sleep with her?" Andrew asked, wincing as his own words.

"Once. Just once." Jason replied, hanging his head in shame.

Andrew nodded. "Have you seen her since?"

"Only in the office."

"Was she expecting more from you?"

Jason paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. He found it just as difficult to talk about this as Andrew did. "She was."

Andrew raised an eyebrow, unsure of how to handle that response. He couldn't manage to speak, and stood, impatiently waiting for Jason to continue.

"She uh, she came to me a few days after it happened, like she wanted me."

"Then whhat did you do?" Andrew asked, his voice cracking.

"I told her 'no'. There was no way I was going to do anything else with her. Not after how shitty I felt after the first time. Not after how much pain I caused you." Jason paused, catching his breath. "I told her about you."

Andrew's heart skipped a beat, and it felt as though air stopped entering his lungs. "You uh," He muttered, struggling to get the words of his mouth. "You told her about me?" He continued, in an extremely small voice.

"Yeah. I told her I was with someone. Someone I love. Someone I hurt. And that she would never, ever make me feel the same way as you make me feel."

"Did that upset her?"

"Yeah. I guess it did. She told me to go to hell. She seemed to be sort of...sad about it."

Andrew suddenly felt a bit better. "Good. Serves the bitch right."

"Andrew."

"What?"

Jason smiled. "Nothing. You have ever right to hate her."

"You know, it's funny, whenever I heard about someone cheating on a person, I always thought, well, you can't blame the other person. They were just the third party. They probably had no idea they were the 'other woman' or the 'other man'. But man, you have no idea how much I fucking hate her. Because she's the reason I hurt so much."

"You should be hating me."

"Oh, I do. Believe me I do. I hate you as much as I love you. And you know that's a lot. That's what makes this so much worse. Because no matter how many times I try to convince myself you are a piece of shit, I still manage to love you. God Jason! You were the only person I ever loved. Ever! I trusted you! I believed in you! I believed you could've...I don't know, saved me, or some shit like that."

"Well, you shouldn't have! You never should have."

"You're right; I shouldn't have. Because I went eighteen years living on my own, not depending on any other soul, and then you came along and fucked everything up. And it felt so good. God dammit! It felt amazing! That's what makes this so hard. I believed you were...infallable. Like you could do no wrong."

"But I did."

"But you did. It hurt more than when you left me. It did. You know why? Because the other time, I knew it was me who was the problem. Now? I dunno what the hell I did to make you want someone else. I ask myself that every minute of the day. Why Andrew? What the hell did you do? And the same answer crosses my mind; nothing. I did nothing."

"No, you didn't. This isn't about you! It's about me! I can't explain it, I'm sorry. I can't tell you why this happened because I myself don't know. But I know this had nothing to do with you. And I know you're not going to believe this but I need you in my life. Without you, I'm nothing. Fucking miserable. Depressed. Drinking away my liver. Because I have no reason to be any better."

"Please Jason, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Feel sorry for me."

"I do! And that's why I'm so fucking miserable. Not because I had sex with someone else. Because I fucked you over. It's not fair to you at all. I know that. I just...don't want this to end. It's not over. It can't be over."

"No. It can't be over." It could have been over, it's just neither Andrew nor Jason wanted to admit it.

"So, move back in."

"Nah, Jason, I don't know about that." Andrew did not want to give into Jason so easily. Jason truly deserved to be miserable.

"Come on! She's out of my life, for good. I promise."

"This isn't just about her."

"But you still love me, don't you?"

Andrew hesitated. "Of course I do. But...every time I look at you I am reminded of what you did. So it hurts even more. I don't know if I can live in the same apartment with you. Sleep in the same bed. Oh, God." He suddenly broke down in tears, feeling a fool for appearing so vulnerable in front of Jason. Jason had no idea what to do with him. Was it his place to comfort him? Did he still possess that right? After a moment, he discovered he could no longer watch the man he loves fall apart before his eyes. He wrapped his strong arms around Andrew's wide shoulders. At first, it just felt odd to be in Jason's embrace but he had no choice but to give into him. Something about it felt right. Like Andrew truly believed it was where he belonged.

"Why did you just do that?" Andrew asked through the tears.

"I don't know." Jason replied with an awkward, uncomfortable laugh. "It's just...what I felt I should do. It's what I've always done. You cry, I comfort you."

"Fuck." Andrew said, his voice shaking. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. I feel like such an asshole now."

"Why?" Jason asked, pulling away from him.

"Because...now I think I need to move back in. I think this needs to be made right again."

"Yeah. I think it does." Jason smiled, sadly. "You don't have to sleep in the same bed. Take the other bedroom."

"No. I think we need to share a bed."

I stuffed my hand in the pocket of my jeans and pulled out a wad of crumpled, old bills. The alleyway was dark and silent, the faint light of the streetlamp made it difficult to make out the numbers on the bills. I quickly tried to count it, every so often glancing behind my shoulder to ensure I was alone. The moment would've made a great headline; "Young Gay Man Robbed and Beaten to Death Outside of Gay Nightclub". Gay activists and civil liberties groups will mourn my death, as though I was just some poor, unsuspecting homo, making sure he had enough money to cab back to his dorm. Until they would discover I was not as innocent as I seemed. How could you mourn the death of someone as dispicable as I am? Someone who was trying to get his late night fix and insure he wouldn't get his ass kicked by his already pissed off dealer? But I guess it's true...all people are immaculate in death. Even when they don't deserve to be.

I heard footsteps approaching from behind me as I prayed to God there was $60 in my hand. I knew that was not possible but I had to retain some hope. My skin was crawling and I had been experiencing a prepetual cold sweat since yesterday morning. I felt like I wanted to rip out all of my hair and bash my head against the wall. I took a freezing cold shower in hopes of killing whatever the feeling was (and I knew exactly what it was) but it just left me weaker and more miserable. It just left me with my teeth chattering and my lips blue and my skin appearing even more pailer and more translucent than I thought it could. There were three cures to end this feeling: sex, drugs, or blood. Considering there was one person in the world I'd want to have sex with, and well, considering he wanted nothing to do with me, fucking was out of the question. And well, I'd cut myself but I was beginning to doubt there was any blood left in my veins. So I had to turn to drugs, my nearest and dearest friend at all my times of need. Except, when you are strapped for cash and you already owe your dealer money for your last "necessity", it's not so simple.

I turned to discover my new dealer, Eric, standing beside me. I had ditched Lucas after he tried to become more of a friend than a dealer, thus attempting to cut me off after he developed a new-found compassion and concern for me. My response? Just give me the drugs, mother fucker. I haven't seen him in about a month, and frankly, I didn't give a shit whether I saw him ever again. I had encountered Eric in the bathroom of Domain as he was in the process of dealing and I pounced at the oppportunity to meet him. He was a short, stockier guy with a baby face and receding hairline. He had vibrant blue eyes and crooked bottom teeth. He also possessed a "take no shit" attitude, which made me miss Lucas. Lucas was...a lot of things to me, and I was a lot of things to him. He made the mistake of getting too close to me, which I happily took advantage of when I was hard up for cash but in desperate need of a fix. With Eric, you either paid him or you remained tortured by your anguish. I considered giving him a quick backroom blow job but that was something I just didn't do any more. Since Jason left me, I had no desire to engage in any sexual activity with anyone who wasn't him. Since he no longer wanted me, I was to remain celibate forever. And rightfully so.

"Uh, hi." I greeted him, with a half smile. Well, how else are you supposed to greet your drug dealer?

"Do you have what I want?"

"Sixty, right?" I said, my voice shaking.

He said nothing, staring at me with his huge, blue eyes. My hand began to shake as I handed him the money. He quickly began to count it as a frown came over his face. "This is only fifty."

A sinking feeling began to develop deep in my stomach as I felt around in my pocket for ten dollars I knew was not there. Fuck. I had already gotten a second chance with Eric, and I knew this was just going to further piss him off.

"You don't have the rest of the money, do you?"

"No." I replied, defeated.

"And you realize you are not getting more tonight, don't you?"

"Yes." I replied again, as if I were a child being scolded by his mother.

"Oh, Andrew. Andrew. How many chances do I have to give you before you finally learn your lesson? Now, I let you off the last time because I'm friends with Lucas, and he apparently has a...crush on you, or something. He told me not to hurt you, and I listened. But now, I am not going to be so nice." He said, grabbing me by the collar of my red t-shirt and slamming me against the cold, hard, brick wall of the club. My head felt as though it was on fire, the pain shooting up like dozens of hot knives. Again, he grabbed me and slammed me even harder, causing me to see stars. This time he kept me pinned against the wall, punching me so hard in my mouth that I immediately tasted blood. Tears began to form from behind my eyes but I bit the inside of my cheek to prevent them from falling. There was no way in Hell I would show an angry, violent drug dealer in the midst of well, beating me to death, that I couldn't take a punch to the mouth.

He kneed me in the stomach, automatically knocking the wind out of me. As I gasped for air, he punched me again, this time in the cheek. I felt my head begin to spin, and it was difficult to focus my eyes. I tried to retain my balance by clutching the brick wall but to no avail; my legs began to give, feeling almost like jell-o and unable to support the rest of my body. My vision began to blur as I tasted vomit in the back of my throat.

Darkness.