“Nothing happened,” he said again, but with less passion, like he knew he was caught and wasn’t trying too hard to fight it.
“I don’t believe you.”
He glanced up at me, his jaw slack, like I was the one being an asshole. “So that’s how it is, then? You don’t believe me. That’s all there is to it?”
I did some conducting of my own. “Maybe if you’d come to me before, if you’d been honest with me. But now? When I had to see it for myself? Jesus, Fang. Really, Andre? How could I be such a fucking idiot to think you could be faithful?” I buried my head in my hands. “I was so blind.”
Blinded by his beauty and his charm. Blinded by my desire and my insatiable need to be with him. I could forgive him, though—he was young. I had to forgive him, because I didn’t think I could live without him.
“Yeah, Martin, for an artist, there’s a lot you don’t see.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tossed it on the couch. He put on his shoes and hat, flipped up his deck and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” I shouted. He couldn’t just leave like that.
“See you around, Martin.” His back was to me, and he raised one hand in a good-bye salute. “It’s been real.”
I thought he’d only be gone for a few hours.
But like everything I assumed about Andre, I was wrong.
17. Blind
AFTER ANDREleft I started drinking, heavily. I tried to get into his phone, but it was password protected, so I called Melissa, left her voice mail after voice mail, retelling the events of that bizarre night, demanding an explanation. I may have cried for part of it. It was the longest drunk dial of my life, the marathon of pity parties. I passed out sometime around dawn and didn’t wake until late in the afternoon, feeling like I’d been hit by a bus. I checked my phone, no calls, no texts, no nothing. I should have called in sick, but I had to see him. Beyond that, I had no idea, but I couldn’t be without him, that much I knew.
I showered and shaved, dressed in my work clothes, and arrived at the restaurant a half hour early. I expected to see Andre in the kitchen, since he was scheduled to work that night, but he wasn’t there.
“Martin, where’s Andre?” Hector asked me a few minutes into my shift.
“I don’t know.” I wasn’t too worried about him. I figured he’d be back in a day or two. He needed the job, after all, and a place to stay, unless he was intending to shack up with Fang. God, the thought made my stomach turn.
Fang arrived shortly thereafter, looking like he’d been crying all night long. It was strange, though. I didn’t want to gut him like I thought I would. I was more pissed at Andre for betraying me than I was at Fang for fucking my boyfriend. After all, Fang had found him first, hadn’t he? Technically, I’d stolen Andre from him. Poetic justice and all that.
“Where’s Andre?” I said when our paths crossed later that night.
“How would I know?”
“I know what’s going on between you two. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
“Thanks, but I’m pretty sure he prefers you.”
Whatever game they were playing with me, it was over now. I was so done with being so fucking clueless.
“You don’t need to cover for him anymore. We got into it last night. I know you guys have been meeting up.”
Fang looked confused. “Your Andre?”
“Who the fuck else would I be talking about?” Now I was pissed. The stupid act was infuriating. That shit made me want to punch him in the face.
“We’re not hooking up,” he said glumly.
“The hell you’re not.” My anger flared. I wasn’t about to be played twice.
“I told my wife about my”—he lowered his voice—“about my preference. She kicked me out, so I’ve been staying at that crummy apartment. Andre just came over to say what’s up.”
“Bullshit,” I spat.
Fang looked at me like I was an idiot. “Come on, Martin, you really think he’s going to mess that up? Don’t be a dumbass. I mean, look at me. Now, look at you.”
If what he said was true, then I was the biggest asshole in the entire world, which also happened to be my fatal flaw.
