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Andrew couldn’t believe he offered to tell her this story. Ten minutes ago, he was berating himself for turning Susan down, arguing that he wouldn’t have hesitated if she were anyone else. He didn’t know if that was because of her or Mercy, but a tiny nagging voice said it had more to do with Susan.
Now he was volunteering to spill a past that haunted him six years after the fact, and about which only he and Mercy knew the entire truth.
Susan stared at him, jaw clenched and eyes rimmed with red.
He needed whatever resolve she had, to make it through this. He summoned a light tone. “It was a couple of weeks before Christmas, and I was in Belgium. I was twenty-two, and it had been a few years since I traveled alone. We made a lot of friends out there, and we all tended to drift together and apart, depending on where impulse took us.”
“That’s nice?” Susan twisted her mouth.
“Stay with me. There’s a point to this.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Her sincerity sank into him, and despite her expression, he had no doubt she was staying right here and wasn’t upset about it. He cleared his throat. “Anyway. I was shacked up with a woman I met in the red-light district. She knew exactly who I was. I was paying her for pictures, the sex was decent, and she let me crash on her couch. She was sweet. Hid it from her johns...” The past surged forward in a haze of pain and regret, and he stammered. This was going to be harder to talk about than he thought. “I was also kind of a warning to her ex-boyfriend that she moved on.”
“So you’ve always been a rescue-the-maiden-in-distress kind of guy?” Susan asked. She leaned in, listening attentively. That made things worse.
“Yeah, well... not this time. I’ve had a lot of vices over time. Back then, they were alcohol and GHB.” Jesus this hurt. “One night we drank, we got high, we passed out. Like pretty much every night. Her asshole ex-boyfriend lit her trailer on fire with us in it. We both slept through it. I sustained third-degree burns.” The memory surged inside, scorching with agony. “She died.”
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.”
He forced a smile. The tough part of the story was yet to come. “Me too. I spent weeks in the hospital, wrapped in bandages, writhing in pain and loathing myself. Because I didn’t protect her. Because I ached. Because I was jealous she didn’t have to live with the scars, when I did. That last one made me hate myself the most.”
Susan opened her mouth, and he held up a hand to silence her. If she interrupted now, he wouldn’t be able to finish. “Mercy found me about a month later. She apparently called every hospital and local police station, until she tracked me down. At the time, I hated her for doing it. Which made me loathe myself more. You see the cycle. She walked into my hospital room the day I planned to kill myself.”
“Fuck me.” Susan’s whisper barely reached his ears.
He was grateful she wasn’t spewing false pity. That was the one thing he didn’t need. “She was sympathetic. Kind. Exactly what one would expect. Tried to feed me bullshit lines, like it wasn’t my fault, and reminded me I tried to be there for the woman. The whole time Mercy was talking, I was trying to figure out how to tell her goodbye without cluing her into my plan.
“Then she said something. I don’t remember what, but it was one of those obligatory things people say to those who survived. It struck me hard, and it felt insincere—so unlike Mercy. I snapped. I shouted at her, Because everything happens for a reason? She’d want me to go on with my life? Blah blah—fuck you, too?”
He breathed deep, to stem the flow of emotion that came with the memory, but it didn’t help. “She stared at me and didn’t say anything for the longest time. I wondered if she was going to walk out, and I wanted her to, so I’d have another reason to hate myself. Then she told me shit happens all the time for no other reason than people suck. As for what my prostitute friend wanted, my life should be about what I wanted. If I wanted to keep living, I would. If not, that was on me. I couldn’t shift that blame to anyone else.”
“I can’t believe... What did you do?”
“I told her to get out and that I never wanted to see her again, and while we were at it, what the fuck was wrong with her? She was the worst fucking grief counselor ever. She pointed out she wasn’t a counselor; she was my friend, and we were always honest with each other. I disagreed. It was the perfect reason. The truth hurt, and I wanted a little fantasy in my life. And why the fuck hadn’t she left yet? She looked wounded, but she said goodbye and walked out.”
“Then what?” Susan’s voice cracked.
“I seethed. I hated myself, and then I hated her. At least the cycle had changed. Why didn’t she try harder to tell me how amazing and wonderful life was? She didn’t bother feeding me lines I didn’t want to hear. Night crept into morning, and I realized she was right. If I stayed in this world for anyone besides me, I wouldn’t be happy. I called her, begged her to come back, and told her I owed her an apology. She said I didn’t owe her anything. And she stayed by my side until they released me.” The skin grafts covered most of the damage, but he knew what lay underneath.
“Wow.”
He needed to numb the memory. Too bad he also quit drinking back then. “My point is, if you keep dancing, do it because you’re passionate about it. Mercy wanted her freedom. I wanted my future. You want your expression. Family expectations are a bad reason to throw away your dreams. Same goes for the sex. Don’t do it because you’re tired of not doing it. Do it because you want to.”
She gave him a half-smile. “You sure know how to make a point.”
“That’s why I’m in porn, Suzie-Q.” He couldn’t linger in the hurt any longer. She leaned forward and kissed him on his scarred cheek. Though he didn’t have nerves there, he swore it burned.
“I can’t believe you’re comparing deciding to live to whether or not I should keep dancing,” she said.
“It’s my understanding that when you’re passionate about anything, giving it up is a bit like dying.”
She shifted on the mattress, scooting back to pull her legs under her. “So what are you passionate about?”
“Besides living every day to its fullest?”
“That’s actually pretty good.”
Fuck it. If he was dragging skeletons out of his closet, he might as well go for broke. “Lucas.”
“Your nephew?”
“He’s my son.” Andrew gave her the Cliffs Notes version of finding out he was a dad when he was eighteen, and his reasons for both leaving Lucas with Kandace and wanting that to change now. He left out the conversion therapy information. There was only so much pain he could take in an evening.
Susan fiddled with a loose thread on the comforter. “Now I feel childish and immature, carrying on like I did, given what you’re going through.”
“Don’t,” he said quickly. “My reasons for not sleeping with you have a teensy tiny bit to do with Mercy, but a whole lot more to do with me enjoying your company. I respect you. I’m choosing friendship over sex.”
“So if you couldn’t stand me?” A hint of teasing lay under her question.
It was nice to slide into the joking. “All other things being equal? I’d fuck the hell out of you.”
“Then damn me, for being sweet.”
“Damn you to hell.” With the story fading, he could breathe again. It left raw bits inside, but those would ice over with time. “Did you still want The Bistro for dinner?”
“Or you take me back to my car?”
“Only if you want to leave. Otherwise, we order room service and see what’s on HBO, while I find out what skeletons you’ve got in your closet.”
She patted the bed next to her. “Only if you join me over here. I promise to behave and keep my hands to myself.”
“Give up a secret first.” He tried to keep his tone light.
“Um...” She screwed up her face. “When I was seventeen, I lied about my age, in order to audition as a Jazz cheerleader.”
He moved to sit next to her on the bed and grabbed the room service menu in the process. “That needs a lot more embellishment. Pick what you want for dinner, and we’ll work on adding a little flair to your story.” If he kept this up a little longer, he could stuff the past back in its box—that was the plan. Having her here was numbing old wounds, and that was a good start.