Jack Mitchell is troubled by dark memories of his past, unable to accept his own sexuality. Skeptical of help offered through religion and psychology, he rejects the love of his partner, Peter, and scorns any attempts to alter his situation.Then he returns to the country where he grew up, the source of his haunting troubles, where an unexpected encounter points him toward a resolution.
This story appears in the author's print collection, ATTRACTIONS.
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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.
Jack moved Peter’s arm away from his knee, stood up and walked to the window.
“Fuck it, Peter, I’m not here to be helped by you. You make me feel as if I’m one of your maladjusted students who are doing badly at school. I don’t want to be dependent on you, or anyone for that matter. I know I should have been more open with you, but I want to do it in my own time. I thought that going there would help. And now I know I’m just as closed up and pissed off as ever.”
“I can see that, and I’m getting the brunt of it.”
“Sometimes you just seem like fucking perfect, Peter.”
“And not perfect enough for you, obviously.”
“What do you want of me? You took me as I am now. You knew how screwed up I was when we met. I never hid anything from you. Now it’s like you’ve got some missionary zeal to convert me -- to what? To who? To someone you want me to be?”
“You’ve got it all wrong. I just want you to be a happy guy, regardless of who you are.”
“Very noble, Peter. Selfless and saintly.”
“Now you’re trying your own brand of sarcasm to get to me. At times I don’t think you want this relationship, and you just want to find a way out of it. You think that if you get me pissed off enough with you, maybe I’ll surrender you up. You also knew what I wanted when we met. I wanted to get close to you. I needed a guy who would give me that. I’m not succeeding.”
“Obviously not. I wonder why you keep on trying.”
“I keep hoping that as long as you keep trying to deal with your demons, we’ll make it. I can’t fight them; I don’t even know what they are. I just hope that you won’t give up.”
“So now you don’t believe I finish what I start?”
“That’s not fair. No, I don’t believe that. I’m just hoping you can see it through once and for all. I keep hoping we may reach a point where our relationship can really work. But I’m beginning to wonder if that’s ever going to happen.”
“So all this is just hard on you.”
“I’m not saying that. I don’t think of it in that way.”
Outside, a pigeon was building a nest on a neighbour’s balcony. Jack envied its solitude, its single-mindedness. Will it be left there in peace?
Jack leaned his forehead against the glass. “I don’t know where all this leads, or even what I want.”
“You will know when you get there. Your heart will tell you.”
“Straight from the pages of Boy’s Own Psychology,” he said, turning to look at Peter. “What’s in the next issue?”
“I can’t win here, can I, Jack?"
“Probably not.”
“Why do I love you?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know. I always wonder.”
Peter laughed.
Jack turned from the window. “I love you, too.”
So easily said, so automatic, thought Jack, and so untrue, for he knew he had never been in love with Peter.
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