“You haven’t been fucking my boyfriend?”
“No, and it’s not because I haven’t tried.”
For some reason I believed him. Because he’d never stopped trying to get with Andre. And if he’d been successful, he’d rub that shit in my face.
“Fuck,” I said aloud. I had to find Andre and apologize. Get down on my hands and knees and beg for forgiveness. Kiss his feet and grovel. Jesus Christ, I’d been such a dick, and he tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t hear it. None of it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“You broke up with him for that?”
“I didn’t break up with him. We just got into a fight.”
Did Andre think I’d broken up with him?
Fang shook his head. “Damn, Martin.” Then he started laughing, a gut-busting belly laugh that made tears sprout in his eyes. Just when I thought he was done, he’d start up again. “Oh, shit, man, I can’t believe it, but you actually made me feel better.”
Dick.
A panicky feeling rose up inside of me, mainly because I had no idea how Andre was feeling right now, if he hated me. And I had no way to get ahold of him. All I could see was my own injury and hurt feelings. What if he never wanted to see me again? Shit.
“If you see him or hear from him, will you tell him to call me?” I was on the verge of begging.
“Yeah, maybe. Maybe not, though. I kind of hate your guts.”
“Please, Roger.” Now I was begging. He noticed it too and shrugged noncommittally.
As soon as I got off that night, I tried calling him, then remembered he’d left his phone at my apartment before he took off. So I started making the rounds—the skate park, his favorite restaurants and cantinas, the neighborhoods around my apartment. I cruised South Beach and creeped through the bad neighborhoods too, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. No such luck.
What if he’d hopped on a bus to San Francisco? Or Alabama. He could be anywhere right now. I checked his Facebook page, but there was nothing new posted. I tried messaging him, getting more desperate each time, but he hardly ever checked his Facebook and maybe he was too pissed to even respond. I kept his phone charged and carried it with me in case someone called or texted, but it was maddeningly silent.
I expected to see him at work the next night, and again the night after, but he didn’t show. On the third night, Hector told me he was fired. Fang hadn’t heard from him either, at least that’s what he said. Andre had simply vanished.
On the third night of Andre’s absence, his phone rang, and I picked it up before it finished its first ring. It was Demarcus. I briefly told him what had happened, that we’d got into a fight and he just disappeared. I asked Demarcus if he knew where he might be or how I could reach him.
“No, man. That’s Andre.” He sighed, and it sounded just like Andre, which tore me up inside. “Shit gets real and he takes off. Just like that arrow.”
I begged him to call me if he spoke with him, to tell him I was sorry for being such a grade-A asshole, that I just wanted to talk to him. I knew I must have sounded crazy because I felt fucking out of my mind. When I got off the phone with Demarcus, I hugged Andre’s pillow to my chest and inhaled what little I had left of him.
But it wasn’t nearly enough.
18. The Deal
THREE WEEKSlater Melissa showed up on my doorstep. Three weeks after the revelation that I was Martin Bonnaire incarnate, who was shaping up to be a miserable slob. Three weeks after Andre disappeared. Other than to go to work and look for Andre, I’d not left my apartment. I’d hardly even showered. Nicky called me, but I let it go to voice mail. As far as painting, it hadn’t even occurred to me to pick up a brush.
I was more than depressed; I was suicidal.
“Where’s Andre?” Melissa asked me with a skittish look in her eyes.
“He left.” I started bawling, cracked wide-open like an egg and emptied my guts on her pointy designer shoes. “I’ve looked everywhere for him, Melissa. He’s just… gone.” I’d even created catfish accounts online to find him on dating apps. Nothing.
“Did you hurt him, Martin?” She asked it cautiously like she was afraid to hear the answer.
“What, like, physically?” She nodded. “No, of course not, why would you ask me that?”
I remembered my vision, Simone’s eyes bulging, her mouth frozen in horror.
“Did I hurt her? Simone?”
Melissa wouldn’t answer.
